Hands only

If masturbation is a form of sex that is safe,
Let’s exchange hands, get slippery, and avoid chafe.

Take our time if we can, watch the other undress,
In this act, I’ll go first and start this recess.

Shirt up, boxers down, eyes glued as I flop.
Then pinkish-brown tips emerge from under your top.

A duo of birthday suits, let’s celebrate, you me, face to face,
Smiling at the coming adventure, excited to find our pace.

My attention, we appreciate your soft looking skin,
Your cards show, all is known by the width of your grin.

Together we step, with me looking down,
We crumple, intertwined, pale flesh on my brown.

Hands slide south for the hard, south for the wet,
South for the high that we both seek to get.

I breathe deeply as you stroke, the length of me glistens,
You moan under thumb, I rub gently, watch, and listen.

You grip, you fondle, you tease and you jerk,
I circle, and explore, and continue my work.

My fingers slick, drenched, with tales of your pleasure,
My core warms and flips, time’s near, I must measure.

It starts, you roll, your hips rise and buck,
Urged to mount you, I can’t, maybe soon with some luck.

You shiver, you moan, you plead in my hear, “Don’t stop…”
So I guide you through waves, while my end begins to drop.

No control as you writhe, as you whimper, as you soak,
I release lines of warmth as I groan, as you finger the head of my yoke.

Between us we’ve created a mess, this release,
Damp, sticky, we relax, let’s take in this peace.


This is one of those works where I could never be satisfied with my edits. Suggestions are always welcome. F. Grey.

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