What Kind of Man

I am a "vulva man." Is there anything more enticing than the rising mons pubis? Show me the parting pout of aroused lips. My senses tingle for the scent and taste.

Shaved or unshaved? I adore combing fingers through ripe sexual maturity. Moist curls leave trails along my cheeks. Yet, bare flesh compels slow wet savoring exploration.

I am not a "breast man". I've been caught admiring cleavage. A jaunty bounce can quicken my pulse. Breasts distract and bemuse. But, breasts nurture more than arouse.

I am not a "legs man." A shapely thigh will draw my glance. A dancer's pose can make me squirm. But legs are merely sign posts along the road to my destination.

I am not an "ass man." A firm grasp serves as prelude to pleasure. Lip smacking sounds motivate buttocks massage. The ass is the platform from which I dive into the deep.

I enjoy a pretty face, but only the way I enjoy a pretty landscape. The face can be a scenic vista or inviting spot to rest. I may pause to savor before proceeding.

Eyes are the mirror of the soul, but to me, they are the gauge of a lover's excitement. Have I conquered her desire? Have I aroused her to open at my touch?

I am a "mind man." The mind opens before the lips. The mind lubricates. The mind positions. Eyes gauge only the mind. The clitoris is a live wire to her mind.

In truth, I play between my lover's ears.