You’re in my lap, your back gently pressed to my chest.. I’ll start with rubbing your shoulders and work my way down so I can get to know the rest of your body first. Our bodies are complex machines. I think rushing to intense centers of pleasure will limit synchronization. I like to work my hands in roughly circular patterns, rolling from palm, to fingers, to just above the wrist, back to palm. gently pushing and pulling your skin, moving down along your side. Each motion a kinetic poem of desire. Fingers exploring your front side, your nipples, the small of your belly. When I reach your thighs, it’s like the calm before a storm. Your pussy salivates with anticipation. Your labia is a fleshy sea shore, my fingers the rising tide, moving in waves. Just before I commence fondling your clitoris, I lay my face into the back of your neck. Planting a trail of kisses from the center of your shoulders. Up your neck. Veering left, to your ear. My hands now working to massage your pussy, I gently nibble your earlobe with lip muted teeth. I work my fingers up to focus on your clitoris, and I whisper a closely guarded secret into your ear. “I’m all potatoes.” You softly giggle. “What?”. I reiterate, in a harsher tone, lips pressed to your ears, “I’m literally a sack of potatoes!”. The sensation of warm flesh pressed on your back, gone to the feeling of a course, lumpy burlap sack. Your back flinches straight and you cry out in shock to see my hands, my legs, have disappeared. You whip your head around, disillusioned, to see all 20 pounds of me in my sack, on your mattress. Russet potatoes, grown in Idaho, USDA certified. It seems you’re still in shock. Perhaps some homemade fries will calm your nerves.