Of all the five senses, the one that resides in our mouths is the one most closely tied to satisfaction and satiation. Through taste i feed myself, i fill my insides with nutrients and sustenance. Obviously, it rides sidecar to the digestion function, but it makes that process meaningful and worthwhile. Without the sensory zones on my tongue, i might otherwise not adequately supply myself with nourishment. Interestingly, the main operation center for taste is the mouth, which is also one of the three orifices that satisfies another (i feel equally crucial) hunger.
I can tell immediately. I usually detect it first near the back of my throat and on the underside of my tongue. I develop a specific texture and flavor in my saliva when the hungers of arousal take over. I believe it's akin to the "mouth-watering" axiom so many fast food and grub hawkers have trotted out as their enticement to get you to sit down and feast on their fare. This heavy lubricant creeps up on me sometimes, catching me off guard. I'm not always prepared for it. My oral glands produce this rich, protein-drenched liquid, only to then impose on me its agenda. I can sense the force of energy that manifested this fluid suspended in it, and fully consent to the cue my body is sending. It signals me that it needs to exact some level of erotic release - i must act.
Then there are those times where my mind initiates the sexual campaign. These moments, my taste buds are slow to respond. My head, like the spunky and energetic member of a dogsled team, is doing everything it can to excite and motivate the rest of my body to pick up on the impulses it feels. My mouth, the Alpha leader of my body's pack, is usually the first to legitimize my mental urges. It fabricates this flavor that broadcasts to the other senses, ordering them to turn on their coital receptors. The flavor lingers, clings to the rear portion of my mouth, acting as the clearest indication that i've succumbed to overwhelming sexual impulse.
I won't say that the presence of this taste is what leads me to seek a cunt to fuck or an ass to slap, but more appropriately, this is a seasoning that fills the mouth unlike any sirloin or fillet ever has. When it arises, the thick notes of organic life that inform it strips my day and perspective of any pretense. I am transformed into a warrior whose only quest is copulation. I smack my lips, mix the saline flavors of this potion around in my mouth, and any civil reservations i may have for holding back are dissolved. I want to pillage the very nascent anatomy placed before me. I want to stab with all of my might my erect member into the targeted flesh. For a brief moment, i do not account for or care about the needs and wants of the receiving party. All those social customs are tossed aside, and my fucking ignites with a timbre, a rhythm that can only be referred to as beastly.
At these moments, when nary a rattle can be detected in my head, any images are blurred and grayed out, my ears have ceased absorbing any noise, the primal creature who's in control uses the savor in its mouth to guide and lead it to the magnificent finish.