Monday morning

Ezra Finch
6 min readSep 13, 2022

Last night I must have left the tent moved. In the absolute darkness a glimmer of light filters through, just enough to wake me up. I don’t open my eyes waiting for the mind to realize where I am, what to do, what time it will be. It will surely be another gray and rainy, cold and boring day. I barely remember closing the alarm clock and turning to the other side, covering my bare shoulders with the warm duvet. It is probably late. I notice it from the light that comes in, from the noises coming from the courtyard, from the excited voices of the people on the street. But they reach me so far away ‘.

I stretch out in bed enjoying the warmth I feel. The feeling of nakedness is wonderful and getting out of bed is tiring. Slowly the eyes get used to the dim light. I open them slowly, peering at the time projected by the alarm clock on the ceiling. As I feared, it is very late, but this morning I don’t have to rush to the office. It’s Monday. I can take it easy. The appointment is set for 11.30 ′. Once in a while I have time for myself.

I slowly uncover my shoulders, freeing my arms. I observe the swelling of the duvet at the height of the breasts. I feel them pressing against the blanket, I feel them hard and aching. I discover those too, letting them reveal themselves to my sight. The nipples are dark and hard. The large, round and wrinkled areoles. I place my warm hands on the small sensitive buttons, fiddling and tickling their palm. I wet my fingertips by dipping them one at a time in my mouth, slowing the movement as I feel the excitement build unstoppable. I go back to playing with my breasts, smearing my saliva on my nipples, shivering at the gentle touch, the cold, the desire.

Alone in bed, naked and excited, I realize I am thinking of her face, so far away from me, so present. I think of her mouth, of her tongue that searches for my moods, while her hands slide along her body, uncovering it completely, while the heat between her legs becomes more and more intense, while the desire grows without limits. I would like to touch myself, look for the center of my desire, tease that sweet little pink protuberance, knowing that those drops would become a lake, that my breath would become deep, that the faint moans would become screams. But I don’t want alone. I don’t want to watch myself in the big wall mirror as I lick my full, white, sweet…

Ezra Finch