*** Guest Post : MUSS ***

Muss's fingers have this tale to tell:

Muss has collapsed on the side of the bed, exhausted. But with her face flushed. Nipples, hard. Blood, pounding. Still, aching, and unfilled.

We - her fingers - reach down again, find the folds again, that are unsatisfied still, with our clumsy fumbles. We, her fingers, are not big enough. Not thick enough. Not round enough. Not smooth enough. Not warm enough. Please forget us, we say to her, please forget us artless things, in and on and of your body.

Or remember us on the body of that lover, then bring us back inside of you. Remember the girl with thick black hair: it poured down her back, it tangled around us. Remember that boy and his smooth, hairless skin, and how they then caressed him. Remember - rounded nipples, and long hard shafts, and the wetness - and - and - and - and -

- AND -

- and then she let go of us, draping us down the side of the bed, exhausted and collapsed, but not as before.

What do the bits of your body say about you? Tell me. Be my guest.