CurvyBuffG

You don't touch me. and yet my skin turns on. It is your way of looking at me, to disarm me without a single finger. You walk close, and the air between us is thick, full of words that no one dares to pronounce. You lean to tell me something, your breath brushes my ear and travels a sweet chill. No more is needed, because I know that the distance is fragile, and that in any second a minimum gesture will make the desire that we have kept as long as it spilled and came over the night.

Your eyes and mine play silent chess, moving invisible pieces that bring us closer without remedy. Your laugh sneaks into my defenses, your fingers touch the table as if they touched my skin in the distance. There is no kiss yet, but we feel it: that heat that goes up, that pulse that hits the temples, that urgency that makes everything else background noise. And when finally your lips lean towards mine, it is not a kiss: it is the final firm of a pact that we made from the first look.

You approach and the air changes. It's not perfume, it's the warm essence of your skin, that smell that stays in my clothes long after you've gone. You rub my hand unintentionally and the world shrinks, everything is reduced to that moment where the skin is recognized. The conversation continues, but I no longer listen to anything. I only imagine your mouth drawing words on my neck, and the serious murmur of your voice unleashing knots that I didn't know. When you leave, the air keeps burning, and I discover myself looking for you in every shadow, in every corner of my thought.

The sun is gone, but your shadow is still here, drawn on me as an invisible tattoo. I remember your hands, the slow descent by my back, the way your lips deciphered my skin as if it were a secret map. I close my eyes and come back, not with noise, but with the burning silence you left between my ribs. I look in the mirror and I don't see my reflection: I see the footprint of your gaze, that invisible line that reminds me that I was yours. and that you will claim me again.

The wine in your glass trembles when you look at me like this, as if my lips were a crime and you, the perfect accomplice. We talk about anything, we laugh at everything, but under the table your knee brushes mine and conversation is set in a secret language. You take a sip, the red of the wine is mixed with the carmine of your mouth, and I imagine the taste, the texture, the temperature. Between sip and sip we shorten distances, until the air that separates us is so thin that any word could break it

The night breathes slowly, as if I knew your steps approach. The gloom becomes complicit and my skin awaits your rubbing as the earth awaits the rain. Your fingers play on the border of my shoulder, travel to my neck, leave a warm trail that turns on with each caress. You tell me something to the ear, but your words dissolve in my blood, mixing with the urgent beat that pushes me towards you. There are no watches here, only the pulse we share, only the music of our breathing and that suspended moment in which temptation ceases to be promise and becomes a reality.

Salut je suis MICHEL I appreciate your time and mine, that's why I'm delighted to arouse your interest and make you come read a little about me. and I want to express what has awakened me on this site 🙂 I've discovered that it makes me crazy L'échibixionnisme. seduce. provoke. be observed and observe. I feel my skin frissoner for multiple and generous erections in young and old men... I love the playbook... a scene of a quick or a long time. I'm learning, not mocking me. I'm trying my best.. Would you like to taste a little with me?