I enviously have been, um, appreciating the photos of breasts my fellow dissolute, Hyacinth’s readers have been sending her. And I confess, my first reaction was one of envy: I want all those women to send me their breasts.
But then I realized, slut though I may be, I don’t really crave disembodied body parts of women I don’t know. That does little for me.
This morning, it dawned on me: What I crave, what I value, is connection, a tiny bit of knowing. I don’t want to see your breasts, I want to know a little bit about you, about what draws you to this blog, about what gets you wet, what turns you on, what pisses you off, what makes you think. And….
And I crave three other things.
Compliance. You know that. A visual taste – just a hint. Are you short or tall? Slim or round? Blonde, brunette, redhead, bald?
And sound. Sound is in some ways the most exciting to me, because it’s the most intimate. I want to hear you. Sure, I want to hear you cum, but I also want to hear you talk. I want to hear your voice, your words.