April 2026 – Listen Here

Each intimate encounter, I have begun to notice, leaves behind a singular artifact – a small, gleaming remnant that refuses to be catalogued and tucked away with any semblance of order.

At times, it is the god himself, or the constellation of them. At others, it is the charged prelude to his arrival… or a fleeting indulgence – a cunning use of teeth, the introduction of a curious instrument, or the peculiar thrill of being seen – displayed, almost – with such erotic clarity that the moment etches itself into permanence for reasons entirely its own.

I have taken to collecting these fragments. Observing them. Turning them over with a certain salacious care, so that one day, at the close of my years, I might lay them out like a velvet tray of jewels – each one sparking its own private recollection – and allow myself the indulgence of an implicit smile at every decadent, ruinous little treasure.

I had one of those rare jewels with him – the Warrior.

From the outside, it would not have appeared remarkable. Not some grand, cataclysmic shift. Not a perfectly jutted thrust, nor the fevered cadence of my body riding him until my thighs screamed in protest, my eyes milky – lost in a mythic haze. 

Not the moment he stayed me with a hushed command and used me at his own unhurried pace, moving with infuriating restraint, coaxing patience from me when I wanted nothing more than to abandon myself entirely to the penetrating presence of his monolith. 

Not even the instant he unraveled with me – that final, driving ascent – our bodies flushed and glistening, movement growing less measured, more feral, until the world narrowed to nothing but that shared, breathless brink.

Those junctures were there – riotous, luminous, worthy of recollection.

But this time… it was something understated.

So slight, in fact, I would wager he never marked it at all.

And yet it has remained with me. Lingering. Reverberating in the days since like the slightest aftershock – an attenuated tectonic settling…something realigning beneath the surface.

A mending.

You must understand – there is a ghost I carry. Fifteen years in its making. A man who preferred not to perform oral favors. Or rather… not where I was concerned. It is a peculiar injury, the way it burrows into the hidden recesses of the mind, nesting there with a patient, venomous stasis waiting to strike at the most vulnerable occasion.

Even now, though I have been assured – again and again – that there are those who find true delight in such attentions… though I tend to myself with meticulous care, leaving no detail unattended…still, there remains that treacherous whisper:

Why would anyone choose this of me?

So I made my peace with it. Or something adjacent to peace.

I carried the sentient notion that such oral acts are performed out of courtesy. Obligation. A necessary prelude before more meaningful pleasures commence.

And I did not protest. For my own carnal unraveling lives elsewhere – when I am wholly taken, riven, and conquered–when I am filled beyond reason and sense, it is then that my Inner Goddess unfurls her wings and ascends in blasphemous surrender.

There I was.

Reclined along my bed, the fan above turned with an idle indifference, marking time as though it held no allegiance to the world beyond those walls. He knelt between my parted legs, his stalwart arms braced around the outer curve of my thighs, his illustrious mouth, his roving tongue already having drawn me into that luminous brink where thought loosens its hold and dissolves into sensation.

We had found a rhythm. Not hurried. Not searching. Simply… understood.

My legs were already open, as far as comfort would permit.

Or so I believed.

Until, with the most unassuming certainty, some instinct within him disagreed.

One hand left its place and came to rest upon my knee – not possessive, not forceful – merely present. A solid weight. And then, with the faintest persuasion, almost absently, he pressed downward.

It was nothing.

And it was everything.

No urgency. No sharp cry of disapproval from my inner thigh. No crude insistence. Just that measured pressure, that velveted encouragement… and the unmistakable implication that he desired more of me. 

A flower, coaxed open – petals parted, granting him passage to that guarded, honeyed center. Knowing that what had been offered was but the outer bloom… that there were yet hidden folds he meant to unfurl, draw into the light, and savor in full.

His other hand, still encircling my thigh, drew me nearer, as though proximity itself were a privilege he intended to deepen. And his mouth never faltered – never strayed from its purpose – remaining wholly absorbed, intent on coaxing from me that inevitable next release.

And something within me… shifted.

A sudden scattering of innumerable stars flared to life behind my closed eyes. Heat coursed the length of me – bright, insistent – and I cried out.

And in that unspooling, improbable as it may seem, something mended.

A stitch drawn through what had long been left open.
A balm soothed over a lingering roseate scar.

…

I find I am rather taken with these men – these gods in mortal form – who move through seduction as though it were their native tongue. Who do not announce their skill or devotion, but render it instead in gestures so subtle they might be missed by anyone not paying exquisite attention.

Sometimes it is never the grand displays. It is the smaller trespasses.

A hand placed just so.

The sudden press of a body against a bookcase.

Lips left bruised from a kiss held a heartbeat past propriety.

This was one of those times.

I could write pages – volumes, even – on the Warrior’s particular talents. But this time, I find I cannot.

Because it was not the fervor that stayed with me.

It was that single blink…
that palm at my knee,
that occulted insistence…
that invitation for the flower to open further still.

That is what lingers.

That is what returns to me, unbidden, as I move through otherwise ordinary hours.

That is the memory that draws that faint, sapient smile to the corner of my lips – unexplained to anyone who might glimpse it, but a jewel I will one day set among the others… and admire for its particular, exquisite mischief.

Until next time, XO. Elsie