A few days ago I was thinking. I was also being fingered. Neither of those two occurrences are peculiar in isolation but they are usually independent of each other. Nonetheless, as Jay slid one hand under me to cup my ass and deftly worked at my pussy with the fingers of his remaining hand, I found myself in thought.

I quickly realized that these were thoughts I have had before.

Over, I thought. Yes, right there on my clit. Mmm, with your thumb, that is lovely.

I was thinking these things and they were happening. I looked at Jay and he was intently focused on my pussy and nibbling on my hip. I listened carefully, was I speaking?

I heard the sound of my wetness being stirred up. I heard my own moans and my breath catching in my throat as I shifted my hips to meet his touches. But I didn’t hear myself issuing directions.

This is when it hit me. Jay touches me in the exact way I want to be touched. He anticipates what will make me squirm and quiver. He seems to deliver it instantaneously, as the thought crosses my mind. Or perhaps before.

His touch is part of my body’s memory – the history and geography of who I am and how I feel. Thinking of his hands on me is soothing, it feels like home, and it makes me slick just from the memories.