Dear Diary,
It’s 5 AM right now. Between 4 and 8 AM is my favorite time of day. It’s the time that the sky begins to transition from night to morning and the sun is groggily waking up like the rest of us. Unlike man or the rest of the living creatures in this world that rely on instincts, coffee, or an alarm to knock them out of their sluggishness, I rely on a mirror. The faded shades of blue from dawn’s break enter my bedroom through my blinds and reflect off the exposed brick like water, turning my room into an enchanted cave and me into the goddess that dwells in it. At least that’s how I feel stealing glances of myself through low, red eyes that smile lustfully at my reflection. The large dresser in front of my bed holds a mirror that perfectly captures every captivating orgasm induced by a lover... or my fingers.
I started crawling on my knees seductively towards the end of the bed. Diving down slowly to let the barely-there T-shirt I was wearing reveal my tiny, stretched-marked, ass, daring the sun to kiss it. What I lack in the ass department I make up for in my titties; they are unashamedly my favorite part of my body. 32E means they’re big enough for me to grab a handful and let them both spill out my hands like Play-Doh and they’re just as soft. I used to hate my saucer-sized areolas but now my tongue runs over every bump on them, only stopping periodically to flick my nipples. I never take my eyes off myself and if you have a brain you wouldn’t either. Shout out to my man in the southside for getting my haircut right every fucking time. With a low-cut fade? It’s like I’m even more naked. I can see all of me. Coffee brown eyes may turn men to stone, but they just turn me on.
I excitedly throw myself onto my back and rub my body starting from my tits and moving down to my pussy, listening to the slow, quick, breaths I’m taking. Masturbation, meditation; tomato, tomahto. I have to be quiet because if I don’t, I’ll miss the anticipated gasp that escapes one’s mouth when the pointer and middle fingers finally enter inside. I’m always surprised at how wet I can get in a seemingly short period of time, feeling my waters roll down my fingers and onto my hands as I go in and out messily. I never gave a fuck about a neighbor or any other person whose name ain’t on this lease, so ya’ll gonna hear me.
“Fuck” is my favorite cuss word and I scream it repeatedly in between moans and whispers. My eyebrows furrow as my face pleads in the mirror as if to say “enough!”, but my body knows that that just means “let’s hit this shit from the back.” I flip over in a face down, ass up position and watch as I shake it from side to side, marveling at every loose jiggle. Little booties not only matter, but they also definitely shake. I give mine a hard slap before the self-love making commences again. I enter faster this time, knowing that within the next few moments my water will turn to cream. The bed squeaks as my body moves with my natural rhythm and the wheels on this old bed frame start to scratch across my hardwood floor.
Sometimes I use porn or toys. I’m pretty sure I left my favorite dicks in my grandparents' basement when I moved out; I really need to go get those. For solo sessions like these, though, there’s nothing and no one who can do it better than myself (with the help of my Liberator Wedge I like to use for different positioning).
Like clockwork, the old lady next door that probably hasn’t seen cum since prohibition starts banging on my walls and threatening to file a noise complaint. It’s time for the grand finale, anyway. From an Extended Puppy Pose, I ease into a tantalizing Hero Pose, never slipping my fingers out and letting them play with my clit instead. You have to grind the pussy slow while the hand seems to go a mile a minute clockwise. I never tap out, though. You have to make yourself work for it if you ever want to get a chance to enter the goddess cave again. I slide them in and now that I’m on top I control the motion. If my lover were here, this would be the time I’d tell them not to move, then pinch my knees into their sides so they couldn’t.
I’m already halfway there at this point, so now it’s more like a home run or being up by 20 with 3.2 seconds left in the game. I’m hopping now on my knees and my breast clapping against my chest is almost rhythmic. With a face like mine, you’d be missing out if you didn’t look at every love-face I make. Sex is a performance. No one wins Oscars by making the same face the entire movie. Give me drama! Give me lust! Give me Jill Scott!
Fuck.
The sugar water stream pours onto my favorite throw blanket on top of my comforter. I don't care right now, though. Just like a kid ain’t thinking about a cavity on Halloween, and my shit’s sweeter than anything a pumpkin bag could hold. I can hear the traffic outside as people are racing to work. I look in the mirror as I put two fingers in my mouth and suck off the remaining residue and smile triumphantly.
I’m really beautiful in the morning.
