One, just one
Long and skinny, it’s not enough. It’s a tease, a horrid tease, it makes me mad.
Two has a purpose
Two can stick firmly side by side and do curl-ups like they teach in books and magazines.
Two isn’t bad but soon I’ll ask for more.
Three, give me three, I need to feel the feeling of being full in a way
At first three felt like four, like a magician’s ruse. I couldn’t quite believe you that three wasn’t four.
Three hurt in that delicious, big way.
The next time around, though, three was the new two and I soon found my hips silently reaching for four.
And somewhere along the way, four snuck in.
But my eyes were closed and I couldn’t see the logical, I only saw colors as I focused on the sensations.
I close my eyes so that I may feel more intensely and more surely.
I close my eyes so that nothing distracts me from the climb.
Afterwards, in my giggly hazy post-game show, I was in happy awe when you said it was four, right up to the knuckles and a little bit of five, even! As I stared at your hand and marveled at the width my cunt just stretched, stretched like a toothless grin, I showed you how to form your hand so that five might gain entrance next time. It’s my goalpost and not yours, but you aim to please nonetheless.
It’s not until later that I think it over and I mentally compare his hand to His hand. The hand that’s been there is an artist’s hand, a drummers hand. Strong but long and thin. His hands rough and bigger, His fingers are thicker. And I wonder if His hand would ever have been able to gain full entrance. But I shudder a little when I remember that this was His curiosity as much as mine and he would have made that hand go in there, no doubt about it.