Title: [F4A] Greased Desire.. A [sensual] exploration of that slick greasy feeling we crave [Mature] {slow] [gentle] Permalink: /r/gonewildaudio/comments/1lvvo6m/f4a_greased_desire_a_sensual_exploration_of_that/ Selftext: [listen on Soundgasm ](https://soundgasm.net/u/ohshelly/Greased-Desire-A-sensual-exploration-of-that-slick-greasy-feeling-we-crave) Slow jazz background... sensual remembering how greasy foods are so... sexy... GREASED DESIRE — A Slow, Sensual Monologue (\\\~10 min) \--- So... this last weekend... the Fourth of July... it got me thinking such naughty thoughts.... the weekend was so hot, so loud, so sticky… And so delicious. It wasn’t the fireworks... It was the grease. That golden, glistening promise of everything you shouldn’t have... and everything you want anyway. Hot fried food right out of the bubbling oil, steaming and slick… Piled high, begging to be touched. Bitten. Begging to be smeared on your lips... Corn dogs glistening like they’re needy. French fries sweating in their paper baskets. Onion rings still hissing from the fryer like they know they’re sinful. Everything shimmering with heat... and fat... and want. You reach for it and your fingers get slick... Not with water. Not with guilt. With pleasure. With Grease... And then you lick... Your knuckles. Your fingertips. The little crease between your fingers. Poking it with your tongue as you taste the salt. The fat. The indulgence. You taste… yourself as you lick And you don’t stop. You don’t want to. Mmm. That’s what grease does. It doesn't ask you to behave. It invites you to surrender. Grease is not a mistake. It's not a weakness... It’s a blessing. The anointing of appetite. A slick little invitation to stop pretending and start consuming. It says to you, This body… this moment… this heat… is yours And isn’t that what you’ve been craving, sweetie? Have you ever watched olive oil in the sun? Just… sat there, lazy in the heat, and watched it dance in the bottle? Moving like hips under silk… Slow. Thick. Patient. You pour it over something warm and the scent rises up like incense. This isn't cooking. This is worship. And butter? Butter isn’t just food. It’s a temptation. A soft yellow promise waiting to be licked off someone’s finger... or their thigh… or the corner of their mouth while they’re still chewing. Butter melts like longing. Like desire finally touched. It waits. It glows. It moans against the skin. The way my thighs slide together in the heat. The way my lips glisten when I've just bitten into something forbidden. The way grease lingers on my skin like someone’s mouth was there... and maybe their mouth was there... Maybe it still is... That’s what indulgence does, baby. It stays with you. Like a bruise that makes you smile. Like a taste you can’t forget. Grease is a sacrament. Every fried bite an offering. Every moan behind closed lips a hymn. Every dribble of oil on your chest a holy mark. And you… you are the altar. You give in. You feast. You ache. And after... you glow. The sacred shimmer of excess. The evidence of touch. The divine stickiness of sin. Don’t wipe it away. Let it stay. Bask in your greasiness... There’s something holy about summer indulgence. About the way sweat and scent and sunlight all blend together into one long, glistening kiss. There’s no shame in pleasure. There’s only more. More heat. More hunger. More stickiness between your fingers and thighs and sheets. Have you ever tasted your own pleasure after a greasy meal? After a summer night? When everything just stuck to you... your clothes, your hands, your lips... your lover... Grease... is a memory. It’s a mark. It’s what’s left after the heat is gone but the body remembers. Why do you think we crave it so much? We crave it because it’s like sex. No... Because it is sex. Every bite is a moan. Every drop of oil is a whisper. Every mess is a memory. Of someone who didn’t hold back. Of something slick and sacred. So let it drip... Let it coat your fingers. Let it slide down your wrist and pool on your skin. Don’t rush. Don’t clean. Relish the grease... That’s what your mouth is for. So when I think of the Fourth of July now… I don’t think of fireworks. I think of grease. And bodies. And butter that never made it to the toast. I think of glow. I think of mouths. I think of how good it feels to lick something clean… And still want more. Don’t you? \---- I Knew a Guy by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. [https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/) Source: [http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1100199](http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1100199) Artist: [http://incompetech.com/](http://incompetech.com/)