His Ambiguous Nature

He says

“I’ll take you to church... and school you in the art of compatibility & comfortability” and in an instant my mind consciously switches the channel and flips the script, knowing that when we get out of that place, after sitting at the church pew holding hands, and listening to the sermon unravel whilst gazing at one another now and then, that we’re destined to sin.

Its deeply embedded within the fabric of his inner mechanisations and I never professed to be a saint, and I can’t help but bite my lip at the ambiguity of his undertones because we’re not young & naive anymore, but he insists on being ambiguous for the sake of leaning upon a pillar to guide us, just like he guides me to stand up against that concrete wall in an abandoned building complex marked for demolition as he fingers my psyche, and plays with my split ends to make sure my attention is based purely upon his belief.

I wonder if he thinks of G_D when he’s taking me every which way but missionary, or when I’m sliding up & down his rock hard cock, whispering nothing but filth to him as I cup his face with my hands and tilt his head slightly just so I can kiss his gorgeous lips deeply & passionately as I taste myself upon them, or when he’s gripping me tightly by the hair, and ramming himself into my mouth as tears stream down my face and my gag reflex kicks in, as if he were trying to climb deep inside me when all he wants to do is relieve the tension in his mind, and his balls.

Sighs. Hmm. Some things, are better left unspoken.