Sweet Pear Pair
Even just picking them up and carrying them into the dining room for their photo shoot causes me to involuntarily kegel. Touching them, I feel slightly naughty, like when I used to steal chocolate chips from my mother’s pantry and masturbate when I was left home alone as a kid.
As I caress their smooth skin, I can feel a light, prickly flush rising to the surface of my own skin. I try to make it all business — I am just a transport system to the photo shoot — but my hungry hands can’t help but cop a feel. My thumb presses ever so gently, and the soft flesh gives the slightest bit under the pressure. God! I want these pears. Both of them. Together. NOW!
And I guess the fact that I am actually taking the time to photograph something that I don’t plan to eat is a sign of my twisted perversion — my fruit fetish.
I imagine my sharp knife slicing through their flesh, separating them into bite-sized spears. I can feel their wetness touching my own wet lips, and their juice spilling off the edges of my tongue as my teeth clamp down severing that first precious bite.
And now the Child is up, and she wants one. She’s washed it herself. Now it’s all wet and glistening. And I have to take it into the kitchen and slice it into those tender spears, and give them to her, their fresh juice on my hands. And suddenly my pear porn still life is a live action drool fest. And I took a picture anyway, so maybe I should eat one, just one…
OK. Enough! Yes, I want these pears in an unholy way, but I want to reach my goal weight more. (And I want that darn Jillian Michael’s DVD I promised myself as a reward for doing so.) <Sigh> Here’s to “pearing down” my ass!
butt girdles don't come in small 