erotic blog

Lounged I this evening on the porch, in order to escape the souless, sterile air conditioning. I was reading a novel which imagines the love life of William Shakespeare, fingering olives stuffed with bleu cheese, and sipping the bottom half of a bottle of red rotgut. The round, moist air being blown on me by the ceiling fan was extremely pleasant, though the raucous crows having a patio dinner party next door were not. I set aside my book and tilted my head back to take a bit of a near golf-ball sized olive. So ripe it was that a drop of oil slid out of it and took up residence on my left breast. I gazed at it curiously for a moment, admiring the way the oil distorted the evening light on my skin, before taking a finger and, unsuccessfully, wiping it off. The action only served to leave a smear of oil across the width of my breast (not a vast expanse, mind). I was left with no recouse but to lower my head and lick the sweet oil off with my tongue, at which point it dawned on me, somewhere in this world, there lives someone who would love to share this with me. Would that I knew who it is.