November 16, 2006
Is there a term for the fetish of face-licking? Is that even an actual fetish? I guess it must be. What isn’t. I can’t think of what it could be called though, probably something like Licksest. Anyways it’s irrelevant because Hugh Laurie didn’t come out to you as a Licksest when he invited you up to his flat. He just told you want he wanted, which was for you to sit on his lap and lick his unshaven face. And he had a little outfit he wanted you to put on, some skimpy vinyl shorts. OK hotpants, if we’re being honest. You wished you’d known beforehand, you would have just brought yours. No way to tell how clean the pair he gave you was, but whatever, you were going to have sex with Hugh Laurie. If face-licking is sex. You went into the bathroom and changed and had to admit they were flattering on you.
You found him fully-clothed, sitting on a chair in his gracious living room. You walked over and curled up in his lap. “No hands,” he whispered. You arched your neck up and began licking. It was like licking velcro. You shuddered to think of how your tongue was going to feel in the morning. He tasted slightly of sweat and tobacco. It felt dirty and wrong and yet so right. You were emboldened by the quickening of his breath–clearly you were doing this right, whatever this was. Long strokes up each cheek, and under his chin, and across his lips and mustache area. He began touching you through your hotpants and then it was on, you were just sex and tongue and nothing else. You licked his face slow and you licked his face fast. You licked his face both hard and soft. His face was his sex. He touched you harder and harder until finally you were quivering in his arms. He held you for a moment, then you slid down off his lap, reduced to a puddle of pure emotion.
He stood and began walking towards his bedroom. He instructed you to show yourself out. He said you could keep the hotpants, he had more. How many others had he let lick his face? You knew you would never see him again, and it would haunt you forever.
You still have the hotpants. Occasionally you think about selling them on eBay, but it’ll never happen. Oh Hugh, it’ll never happen. It’ll never, ever happen.