Excuse me as I day dream about my night before today – As I reminisce about this man and his hands and the way he squeezes me The thought of it teases me… I dream of his lips…mmmm, to taste, to kiss – I lick my own lips to aid in my reminisce …those strong hands and how he holds me close Air itself can’t breathe; still I inhale and boast of the love that awaits me See, I know that this is just a prelude to something more The entrance to his body is here around the corner and behind his bedroom door, “Knock knock. May I come in?” My right of passion is here and if my instincts are clear, it is leading me to you. Oooo, forgive me. I forgot I had and audience and I got lost in my day dream; if I carry on further, things may become a bit obscene… ‘Cause I would have started thinkin of that thing he does with his tongue and how he holds on to my thighs tight because he knows that if he doesn’t, up the headboard I might run due to the overtaking of the sensation that he’s giving me. But don’t get it twisted, all’s fair when the tables are turned – ‘cause I got a little tongue action too That is known to make him squirm with a firm hold, some deep throat and a squeeze… Humph, I can make my case and feel the jury in his knees I like to kiss him all over his body – starting at the top of his head, his cheeks, his lips, his neck, his chest, etc., etc., etc. I like when we’re in mid-thrust and he tells me, “You’re beautiful.” I like how he holds on and holds off until he is satisfied with my satisfaction. And then I like holding him tight and feeling him tremble in my arms as he releases a million reasons for me to reminisce such an event over and over and over again. That is, until the next time it happens and we go beyond the plateau of before, because we always do; for we both like to excel and explore new heights (so to speak). He is my right of passion and I would have him no other way… Well, I’ll have him a few ways, but that’s too much information. - Blackrose Jackson

“To whom much is given, much is expected – that’s what my sixth grade teacher Mrs. Sullivan use to tell me. Humph…she should have added, but never expect anything in return.” Six months into her bi-weekly therapy session, Dr. McCrary observes her patient is still just as bitter and hurt as the day her sessions began. Imani Childs, a successful entrepreneur, single mother of three, oldest of four on both her mother and father’s side and a stepchild, is seemingly still fighting for equal rights in her family. “Tell me Imani, did you ever go to your mother as I suggested? Did you talk to her and tell her how she makes you feel?” asked Dr. McCrary. “No! That would just be a waste of time. She and everyone else in my family are convinced it’s just me and it’s all in my head!” exclaimed Imani. “Of course, that’s easy for them to say, they are on the outside looking in. They don’t know what I feel. They’re not me!” Just as she ended her heartbroken statement, Dr. McCrary watched as Imani drifted off into a blank stare of nostalgic recollection and her eyes began to water. “I know I am old enough to be over this Doctor, but I don’t know what to do to get over it. Anytime something is said to me by my mother that makes me feel judged, my mind recreates the painful memories I have of my past and how I was treated differently from my siblings. I still feel that way today. What is wrong with me? I feel like I am so screwed up inside and I don’t want to be. I wish I didn’t care what they think about me or how they treat me. I wish I wasn’t so emotional.” Imani dabbed at the corner of her eyes as not to disturb the artistic craftsmanship of the liner framing them. She then turns and looks out the window to gain a sense of peace from the serenity of the view. Dr. McCrary’s office was strategically situated on Tybee Island in Savannah, Georgia. Imani went to Savannah for a long weekend to do an assessment of the Bed & Breakfast she owns there, when she saw Dr. McCrary’s advertisement on a local billboard; she had been contemplating seeing a psychiatrist for a while. Imani took down the number and called the office. Dr. McCrary was able to schedule her for a personal evaluation meeting that same weekend. Imani has flown there for a session twice a month ever since. “It’s ok to feel disenchanted by your past Imani, but you do have to begin the process of letting go. During your childhood, you suppressed a lot of feelings because you were not allowed to express them without repercussion – years of suppression may require years of therapy to release it all. You’ve only had six months. However, we need to begin making some progress; I fear you may be spiraling towards an emotional and psychological breakdown and that is the last thing you need. Therefore, I am recommending that your next session include hypnosis. What do you think?” asked Dr. McCrary. “Is that ok with you?” Imani was still staring out the window and offered no response to Dr. McCray’s suggestion. “Imani…Imani!” Dr. McCrary called in a tone a little louder than normal. “Hmm. Oh, sorry doctor. What did you say?” “I wanted to know if you will consent to undergoing hypnosis during your next session. I think it will help us get to the root of your emotional distress.” “Oh, ok, that’s fine with me.” answered Imani. “Good,” exclaimed Dr. McCrary. “However, I am going to have to give you a little homework assignment in order to prepare. I need you to write down any and all significant memories from your childhood. For example, family vacations, heated arguments, anything that may have severely upset or hurt you. Do you think you can do that?” “Sure,” Imani answered in a blunt, dry tone. “Okay then, I will see you in two weeks. - Blackrose Jackson

I’m still smiling from your words and sugar kisses – the mere thought of the matter has me missing the way you covered my body and face in them and wishing for the taste of your lips and them sugar kisses…mmm, how I savor the flavor that lingers on my tongue from them, so sweet. My cheeks, my breast, my ears, my neck, my forehead, my hand, my lips and any part of the rest of me you want to dress with your sugar kisses is more than willing of the task of fulfilling the order of housing the pleasure that arouses me from your mouth on mine. I can think of nothing more sweet or divine than your sugar kisses; not even the delectation of chocolate can compare to the rare and exquisite indulgence that drips from your lips like lemon drops – still not sour, bitter or tart, but sweet like icing from a cake before it is spread over it once its baked…like when you take your index finger and run it around the inside of the bowl and linger until you have just enough on your finger to put in your mouth and lick it bare and afterwards you continue to lick the corners of your mouth, hoping to find a taste still there – I do the same when reminiscing your kiss; I lick my lips to see if I have missed one in the corner, above or below my lips. In my effort to continue to taste your sweet sugar kisses, I keep my lips prepped and ready and I hold them steady whenever you are close to me. It’s the softness and gentility of your lips that makes your kiss so sweet to me; there are times when your lips look good enough to eat to me. And I know that the sweetness that abounds in your kiss comes from the sincerity of your sweet personality. The kind, thoughtful, lovingly gentle you pours through in everything you do – including what you do to me when you lace my lips passionately with your sweet like candy, good enough to eat sugar kisses. To me they are a treat – never expiring, always sweet – suitable for all holidays and every other day in between. I know my metaphors may seem obscure or obscene, still it is the only way I can attempt to explain how I enjoy and crave the taste of your lips; its like sipping bliss through a straw so not to become overwhelmed by the fullness thereof, but only to receive just enough at a time to get the full effect of and not be overcome by the complete satisfaction that follows as you inhale and swallow what you can only understand through feeling alone because if you attempt to convey the experience through words alone you fail. For in the process of utterance, reminiscing takes over and your mind becomes intoxicated, no longer sober enough to portray it figuratively due to the mere memory of those sugar kisses. At least that’s what happens to me. Forgive me if my analogies have left you still unable to see and understand what I feel when I feel your lips on mine. It’s just that your kiss is so fine that it cuts through the fabric of time and causes it to stand still - at least that’s how I feel when under the influence of your sugar kisses. I drift into a world outside of reality and I find myself embracing the fallacy of my ascension to cloud nine. Your kisses are the extreme of a natural high and I’m afraid I’m addicted and I fear to want nothing less. I can’t say that it is the best thing for me but I can say that in its own right, it is the best and I can’t wait to have another taste of your sweet like candy, good enough to eat…sugar kisses. - Blackrose Jackson