How do you interpret it? I tell you all about it over and over but you somehow manage to shrug it off every time. Yet my eyes barely close and I smell...your luscious female heat as my mind pictures your dark weeping cave. Sometimes it’s very hairy with your natural juices making the thick dark pad of hair all moist and sticky and tantalizingly fragrant. Other times, even before you told me you began shaving down there last year, it’s been smooth, naked and bare, a beckoning set of thick, pink. My heart was beating so loud I was sure he could hear it. I paused, searching for words,... my hanging calf dead still. Moments like this are hard to put into words.I'm dressed in attire no Mother would wear in front of her Son. I have violated some societal line by stepping over several times, in the recent past. His craving for flesh so profound that even his Mother, became a suitable candidate for exploration. His weakness for legs is his Mothers best asset. My ability and will to. More

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