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Recently Rex was solicited
to write for a major women's magazine, from the woman's
point of view and in a woman's voice. That's when I discovered
Anna, my female alter, lurking in my sensitive places. Suddenly
she was free...to speak her mind. And she got paid for it,
quite handsomely, too; so now she insists on being heard.
This Valentine's month, Anna has taken over this page to
tell a softer, gentler story about a favorite topic we could
both agree on: the gift that keeps on giving--giving head.
I give you Anna in her Exotic magazine debut. Call
it "Boy Trouble."
Sir can I speak...now with your
cock like an engine oiled by my mouth? Can I mumble 'I love
you' as your advancing desire demands my scarlet lips open,
my head bowed and bobbing, my joyous cheeks filled overflowing
with you and you? Sir, can I speak? I am not love or passion,
compassion or caring, I am only pleasure, yours and mine.
Do you sense how close I shiver to orgasm reciting your
cock like a long prayer in my mouth? There can be only one...cock,
one mouth, indivisible under God.
Caress my long taut throat as
I fellate your wisdom, will, domineering skill and I will
tell you, wordlessly with my bubbling sucking mouth, I am
not whore, Goddess, mother, daughter, daydream, nightmare,
succubus, sister, wife. Though my mouth obeys your cock,
you succumb to my mouth more completely than any cavity-in-captivity
you can create.
Vessel. Empty. Cavern. Feel
the void where all things are born. Some women so wounded,
the mere thought of fellatio feels more fearful than rape.
I pity them, knowing my jaws hold your cock and balls, transferring
all power like the mountain river flows to the crouching
lake. I collect you. There is no other course your cock
can take but the one I dictate. Now.
Sir, can I speak, collared
and restrained, wrists bound  behind
my back? You say to me, I'm jacking off in your dirty
mouth; but I know the summer lake serves far more
than pleasure. I reflect thoughts' passing clouds, mountains
and trees and give life to all these transitory things...like
you...gliding, striding over my tongue, my lips become
portal into a stargazing future. Poems, songs, books all
written about me. Unfathomable, I am, even with my eyes
open looking up at you...not a mountain, just a man, pulling
the leash on my collar in rhythm with my bobbing face.
Lapping, gentle immutable water engulfs the finite shores
of your cock...so close to its own dying, wilting, retreating.
Which is more infinite: my soft mouth or your hard cock?
This Valentine's month,
Anna has taken over this page to tell a softer,
gentler story...
Sir, can I speak, difficult
as that is right now? Didn't I take my new plastic teeth
out for you and create this empty sucking vessel ingesting
your cock and balls. In this conscious cavern, my mouth
is my vagina where you are born. My face becomes all lips
and tongue, cheeks and gums that could barely talk or
eat, and yet I give you life. Make you a man. For if a
man is not erect, then what is he? I have made you so
completely, and will keep making you that way till I suck
all the juice out of your erection like bitter sweet sap.
Take your being down into me.
And you will never...
And you will never...
And you will never forget
me...forget this, revisiting you later in your dark
solitude like a succubus, draining you again and again.
My mouth will be gone, mounting another and another
and you will be pulling it all out of this moment passed:
my hair, eyes, lips, face, tongue. This vessel that
I make carries you, your cock, across the wide lake
of joy turned to sorrow. And standing on the other shore
of your being, do you know it was me who took you there?
And you want to go back, come home, but there is no
vessel. You can't return. Ever.
Sir, can I speak? I cannot
taste you anymore, or even recall your flavor. I only
see your eyes, feel your shudder, hear your last groan.
And you're gone. Forgetting, "Love is always eternal
and therefore is its own eternity." Remember me there
in your eternity--just a dream or a free thought passing
like a cloud, reflected in this lake of joy or sorrow.
You decide.
Sir, can I speak? I am forever;
you are going to
come in my mouth. Always.
And never.
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