beautiful back

I have a beautiful back. It's smooth to the touch, usullied to the eye, olive all over and the curves around the waistline are ready for grip. From the nape to the thighs, it glides with flow and symmetry. I lay with my knees dotting the mattress and ears pressed into the pillow as if the bag of down is a conch speaking to me, now my profile is a still wave. One arm above my head, a fist molded around the bed rail, head on its side, chin careening upwards, and my hair flowing over my shoulders past the blades. Wave. The other arm into the mattress, elbow trapped beneath my stomach and hand caressed between my thighs. Wave now set in motion. I lay on top of my comforter, it pleasures me to think of my back exposed, open to the air.

My fingers start a wave down there, the way a player rolls a coin down his knuckles. Ripples. The tips of the fingers start gentle then ascend to a rub. I allow my entire weight to collapse into the palm of my hands, my back, a plateau shifting around like a trowel smoothing out the sheets. My other hand, gripping the post, tightens into a white fist. I'm moist in my folds and cracks. I can smell me. My sprays and lathers from the morning have worn thin. Only residuals of the scents remain and those whiffs are fused with MY smell. A smell that cannot be bottled. I am attracted to me. My breath, my quiver, my hair falling into my gape. But it's not enough so I evoke pictures. Behind my tight shut eyes are flashes of him. His touch, his smell, his wave planing against mine. His weight is yielded onto me and I feel secure. Even in my sexiest thoughts I yearn for security. Security is needed to feel free, and I do. I feel free on my bed, I feel free in my mind and my back, my beautiful back, feels free.