The Iron Gate

I taste him.

His sheer maleness
wakens my senses,
arouses my spirit,
stimulates a moist warmth within.

I ache inside
want him, want him,
need to be filled by him,
breathe his musky scent.

I caress,
kiss, taste,
every inch of his body.

He grows firm
beneath my touch,
exploring fingers,
loving lips, searching tongue.

He wants me, wants me
to wrap myself around him,
taste him,
take him in.

I hear him,
quiet gasps,
soft intake of breath,
moans of restless pleasure.

I bury my face
in his hair, chest, abdomen,
make my way down
to the maleness
I so desire.

I taste him,
lightly at first,
all around his maleness,
finally draw him in.

So smooth, so hard
beneath my lips, my tongue.
Oh Heaven,
what joy, what bliss.

I taste him,
move faster, more firmly,
'til at last he sighs
with passionate release.

I drink his sweet nectar
greedily, wanting
to give so much more,
make it last for him.

I kiss his damp forehead, cheek, lips,
close my own eyes
in exhausted pleasure,
the taste of him
still on my smiling lips