Soft Spot

There is a small soft spot inside of me, inside of my vagina to be precise. It seems to be the most out of reach place on the whole earth. I do not even know, (when I feel it), where it is anatomically, though I am sure it exists somewhere on the outer ridges of eternity.

I know it is commonly known as the G spot. I had a lover, (years ago), who had its coordinates mapped out in engineering style graphics in his head. He never really touched it despite his best mathematical efforts.

I forgot. My body forgot that this spot even existed, forgotten like an unread dusty manuscript in an ancient tongue, in a sealed sacred tomb.

Until recently.

Like I said it is soft and he had penetrated his way in, with his cock and after some strokes, he was there, touching the place inside of me where God exists, where the threshold of the universe unites with mortal human flesh. My human flesh. His human flesh. Our human flesh.

And he touches and touches and touches and I come in waves, gentle short lapping waves.

And I remember.

My face flushed. My heart pounding.

My body awoken. Reborn. Speaking in the tongues of orgasm. The most ancient of languages.

His gentle penetrating persistence.

I experience his orgasm too as he arches and ploughs himself into my soil.

He does not know yet how he brings me back to life. Back to live and feel alive.

My heart expands.

My heart expands.

My heart expands.

The finite space in my chest expands.

His cock expands. Hard against my soft spot. My softness and I am reminded. I am reminded of who I am.

Love is who I am

Love I am



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