They call me easy.
Lower case ‘e’ and filled with all the implications that word implies. A derogatory term meant to shame me for the way my legs divide. I make fools of their shame because I own it. I own my easy ways.
Easy in the way I lift my hips. The judgment pouring down on my back makes me chuckle because the cocks parting my flesh are attached to the lips doing the condemning. I simply tell them to thrust harder that way the wet slap of our bodies drowns out the pity they think they feel.
Easy in the way I present my breasts. My cleavage will be the downfall of men, beckoning mouths to suckle blackberry nipples and lips to kiss between pillowed mounds. But I always enjoy the lips of the hypocrite on my skin more than any admitted sinner that would come to me.
Easy in the way my mouth opens wide. I’ll welcome the uncontrolled thrusts and the cum coated tongue I get from men who can’t believe I would stoop so low. I’m not stooping though, I’m kneeling quite willingly to receive and the taste isn’t beneath me.
Easy lips that petal open, wet and wanting. Easy eyes that flutter shut, glossy and full of lust. Easy legs that invite you in, deeper and deeper inside.
My term of endearment as I offer my body. They call me easy because it feels better to condemn when you can’t correct your own sin.