We could sit in your room when your parents weren’t home, and you could walk around in my shirt, it’d be like a robe to you, and your fav pair a undies underneath. Barefoot. Your pets could chill with us. But we’d only kiss when they weren’t looking, because I feel bad when they are. Because I see pets as babies. But you’d be my baby, and we’d wrap our tongues around each other, and it’d make our stomachs feel nice, our faces feel warm. You would say certain words in certain ways, different than me, and eventually I’d start to say them the way you do. And there’d be things, like my arms around your waste, my stuff against your butt, tickles in your armpits with my mouth, things that made you happy. And sometimes you’d curl up against me, and push your head under my head, and youd be my dirty baby, a bit sweaty, your pretty hair a bit greasy, your soft face a bit sticky, and I would love it, and I would hold you. You can dance, I can watch, you can sing and I can listen, and say it’s lovely, and say “do it again baby”. And you know I’d wanna fuck, and I’d wanna taste. Anything you wanted, til you were as happy as could be. And afterwards I would kiss it where I had spanked it, lick it where it was sore. Watch you smile and laugh and giggle and snort.