While I very much enjoy devouring inch by naked inch of Artem’s naked torso on a daily basis, I also enjoy the gutteral sounds eminating from throaty voiceboxes heralding his oncoming eruption of ecstasy. But even more than satisfying a carnal urge, I enjoy that simpler, drowsy time post coitus. That moment when the throaty growls become the soft purring of BedSpeak.
BedSpeak is that delicate and quiet conversation whispered between lovers as the pyre of passion has burnt itself out and the pair lay shivering in the dankness of sheets and littered clothes. BedSpeak isn’t limited to just utterings. Oh no, it can take on mews, giggles, and tender moans. Sometimes it can be heard amidst the pouring of rain showers or as an elipse between the popping of bathtub suds.
My favorite BedSpeak occurs over cappucino in the sidewalk cafes of Paris or while strolling the 8th arrondisment arm in arm with Artem.
BedSpeak is the only language lovers ever speak. It doesn’t matter where or when or why. Lovers know of no other language than that of BedSpeak: BedSpeak is the language of the heart and understood only by those whose souls are bound. Just like my sweet Artem and I.