2.33. He Kissed Me

And I felt like putty

Like the sky at 7:53am on a Tuesday while Bob Marley played in someones car…”No woman no cry.”

Like an empty bottle of creamy baby oil left atop an unused counter…waiting

Like a cool bottle of wine, uncorked but owned

Like a valley unpaved by mankind.

He kissed me 

And I felt like an orgasmic tigress

An unleashed heathen

A closeted slut

A pornographic master

A willing submissive

An intrigued Dom

Waiting Prey

The hungry predator.

He kissed me 

And floodgates opened

Unfaked

Unprecedented

Untouchable

Unknown

Unsure

Unleashed

Lips to lips

Exhales

Lips to throat

Inhales

Palms to palms pressed, fiercely, against cold brick

Lips to chest

Whimpers

Dreaming

Pleading

He kissed me

With every intent of staying

And fleeing

Gasping for more

My oxygen in his lungs

My everything in his hands

My world in his words

Anywhere

Anytime

He kissed me

And I was something else

Someone else

A vixen

A kitten

A little bit of both

A culmination of what shouldn’t be and what had to be

Lips to stomach

Staring at the back of eyelids

Familiarizing scents and tastes

Tongues sway

Linger

Hover

Lips to inner thigh

He kissed me 

And I watched him beg

To feel pretty lips

Below the hips

For one thrust

One drink

One…

One…

One…

1.196 – For Your Cuntsumption

~
I want sex
Without the skin
Ten thousand brush strokes
when fingertips
become pens
gracing the pages of your…

Ten thousand
musical notes
flowing from lips
in baratone moans
strumming at the strings of my…

Ten thousand ways to say
those words of longing
in deafoning silence
with eyes clenched shut
and thighs pried open
I am braille
you are blind
Read me…

Ten thousand
layers of icing
decadent and sweet
because I love the taste of your…

Ten thousand ways to
come…
closer
deeper still
into untouched waves
crashing on the shore
that is my…

Ten thousand hues
to explore
through bites and scratches
smacks of the perfect measure
the prettiest ruptures of skin
I am your canvas
you hold the brush
paint me…

I want the sex
without the skin
above me
below me
within me
as I touch…
those words come

endless convulsions
spastic explosions
admiring you from every angle
as I watch…
those words come

Sweat and saliva
sex
covering us like silk sheets
As I inhale…
those words come

Everything you want
sent to me on petals
of grunts and moans
through clenched teeth
travelling on orgasmic whimpers
As I listen…
those words come

Licking my lips
through each smirk
insatiable thirst intensifies
because of your…
As I taste…
the words come

Ten thousand triggers
to the senses
As tongues embrace and bodies
collide…

Ten thousand
words against your skin
chapter upon chapter
of gasps and heaves
panting through perpetual
bliss in every stroke…
of a tongue

Ten thousand
droplets…of rain
immerse me
and I am humbled
feeling ecstasy cum
through and through and through

Ten thousand
flavors for your
cuntsumption
layers of buttery velvet streaming
like music

Ten thousand
screaming banshees
consumed by the need
to return the savagery

Ten thousand
oceanic waves
surging over the course of my…

As I slip into
your…
and we soar intertwined

Ten thousand
ways to call your name silently
to watch you shake uncontrollably
as brick turns to
clay in your hands

Ten thousand
burning embers
as I am your…
and you are my…
and the words come…

I want sex
without the skin
~

1.195 – When She Has You

~Your hand tightens in her hair, almost jerking her head to the side, but she grasps at your arm before she will give you such control. Because it isnt your turn…not tonight.

~Sweet nothings shared like music as she becomes like putty in your hands, almost losing focus of where she wanted to take you, her delicate frail form becoming apparent now. How could she resist? Instead, she thrusts her body tight against you, her breasts becoming one with your chest, her tongue lathering yours in her much needed attempt to stay in control. She could ask herself, where are we, outside or in, near or far but it mattered not for our bodies could be anywhere so long as we are one…

“We are are everywhere yet nowhere all at once.”

~A giggle strokes her, trickling over every aroused sense, like waterfalls against her skinless, limitless force, like prayer for a soul. She is soothed. And she wonders of you so occupying her mouth, unable momentarily to explain, to continue but she knows that she doesnt even really have to. As no one would get it but you. How she wants it, likes it so, needs it all the more. Because she wants it all and then some. Because the body can only fuck for so long. And she is, in this paused climactic moment, one of her own doing, yet knowing you have driven her to this said place of nonexistant yet perpetual bliss, she is your damsel, whisked away in your arms from strikes of tyranny.

“Open your eyes Love, see it all with me. Swallow me in the structure of your build, as I am safe right here with you, trust in your intentions. Because you didnt know Papi…yet you still wanted to. Could you possibly comprehend what you mean to me, what you do to the most forbidden parts of me? I would say you have no idea. And I want to ravish you right in this moment, to take what is mine, all mine, to show you just how you make volcanos erupt and falcons soar and suns rise..but that would ruin the structure we’ve made here tonight. Savour it love, anticipate, wait for it.”

~She removes any garments so standing in her way, just the right motion, in just the right direction and bliss would be present, orgasmic transactions, to give, to take, to take some more and then give ten fold. She reads your body again and again, the best kept secret, the scribe that should have been read, she raises herself onto her knees, her bosom heaving just inches from your face, she looks down into your eyes, the flicker making her want to drop her hips down against you all the more, to fulfill and be filled in one greedy stroke. But patience is a virtue and her certainty of how far and wide you will go cannot be overshadowed by her lust.

1.155 – Yep, She Said Abstinence

Does abstinence have to equal loneliness?

This is the question at hand for the evening. In my current life situation, I am in no place to deal with any sort of physical encounters. That’s just being honest about things. Encounters of the flesh simply complicate matters and if my life isn’t complicated enough as it is…just trust me – it is. So no need to add fuel to the fire, right?

I’m also going through some deeper spiritual considerations. Religion – not quite. Spiritual Soul Searching – Yes. With that in mind, it’s not exactly a prime time to fog my world with lustful acts, thoughts or encounters. If I’m really putting all of this into consideration, I need to do so genuinely and with a clear perspective.

Now trust, I don’t have guys banging on my door. Ugly duckling syndrome makes that a non-factor BUT that doesn’t mean I don’t wonder. About the future. About relationships. About connections. About the possibility of meeting someone that makes me want to love again. Even not so pretty girls get lucky sometimes.

And what happens IF that does occur. I’m in that “I want to hold hands, cuddle and kiss” phase. Meanwhile, guys my age want sex. Or the promise of sex. But what if that’s something I can’t give. Not because I don’t want to. But if I do become serious about this spiritual journey…I have to pursue it with my whole heart. And that includes no sex.

I no longer believe in the union of marriage. Not for everyone. I just don’t think I am meant to know that type of relationship…in any way. Yes, I sound like the typical scorned woman getting ready to do the divorce dance. But I genuinely feel like it’s just not meant for me. But if that’s the case, and sex outside of marriage is something that will disrupt my spiritual growth…does that mean I’m meant to be without companionship of any kind forever?

Intimacy doesn’t necessarily mean sex but what guy…at 28…wants to JUST cuddle, JUST kiss, JUST hold hands? Virginal boys who want to marry…maybe. But I can’t give that end result either. Do I think anyone can change my mind? Not even a little.

This whole spiritual situation is fucking with my head far more than I can explain. I don’t expect anyone to understand any of the above. It’s just a rambling session from a girl that doesn’t want to be alone forever but also from a girl that wants to know she is more than just a body to be had. I want that part in the middle. And I want someone to savor that part with me without expectation of the next step. I want patience.

I want something I may never have.

Fuck me running.

1.133 – The Price She Pays

She can forgive those who hurt her the most but she can’t forgive herself for mistakes made and wrong paths taken. For dreams unfulfilled and thoughts to be had. She can’t forgive herself for sins she never committed and crimes she never saw but she will hug the demons that ripped at her soul, that egged her on as she sat under the droplets of a long cold shower…a pile of pills soggy at her feet.

She can forgive those who hurt her the most but she can’t forgive herself for the lost time and the aged bruises upon distant faces in unforeseen times of crisis. For the desire of her heart that burns like a trickling ember down a slope of sand. She can’t forgive herself for acts of weakness and moments of vulnerability that ended in a dreaded stalemate but she will forgive the taunting of enemies she now dines beside.

She can forgive those who hurt her the most but she can’t forgive herself for the whimsical thoughts of escape into a time and space when she could matter and mean and know and feel and love and be loved and grow and prosper and be recognized for more than the wickedness that spews from her mouth.

To run away from who she is into a storm cloud of who she could be…atonement…to nod and smile and accept the foe as a friend because no one else will know her name beyond bitch or slut or hey you or loudmouth or mistake or why are you still here. Redemption.

She can forgive those who hurt her the most but she can’t forgive herself for being born and breathing and wasting time and wasting space and not being smart enough and not being skinny enough and not being funny enough and not being glamourous enough and not being innocent enough and not being beautiful enough and not being sexual enough and not being enough enough enough enough enough

Worthy, special, wonderful, vibrant, brilliant, magical, hypnotizing, tempting, amazing, captivating

She can forgive those who hurt her the most but she can’t forgive herself and so she is willing to walk a mile…a million miles in shoes she doesn’t want to wear just for the sake of being…someone.

1.120 – Keep Your VDay

Every year, just about this time, flower shops are flooded with last minute orders, boxed chocolates are flying off the shelves, hallmark is selling out sappy ass sayings, and diamonds glisten as they are set into an abundance of settings. On the flipside – Victoria Secret and every other lingerie chain is swarming with anxious woman.

Yes, I’m one of those people who highly dislikes Valentines Day. I disliked it growing up, I disliked it through the two years of courtship that led to six years of marriage. I dislike it as a single woman and I will, undoubtedly, dislike it as a grown ass spinster.

Lets be real – Valentines Day is a glorified day of prostitution. Guys cough up money for chocolates, flowers, cards, teddy bears, jewelry, and expensive dinners. In turn, women slip on the slinky undergarments (or go without them), the high heels, the skimpy attire, get into beauty mode, and turn into the tigress of her mans dreams.

Fair trade?

Maybe.

But not really.

Are we so fucking programmed that a man can’t do for his woman unless a date is set? Why is the value of a mans love measured in the expense of some shit the girl will care less about this time next year?

Are we so fucking programmed that a woman can’t be a sexual, primal temptress without bribery? She can’t tell if her man cares 364 days of the year? She cant want to be his Aphrodite…just because?

I know guys who will only treat their woman like the queen that she is on Februrary 14th because the world tells him to – instead of showing gratitude, adoration, honor and loyalty all year round.

I know girls who save sexual positions solely for anniversaries, birthdays and Valentines Day. REALLY?

I’m serious about this…For reals reals?

Screw Valentines Day. Magic lives outside of a box on the calendar. He will run a bath for her because he knows the days been hard. He will bring her orchids because he knows she hates roses. He will create something for her because diamonds are not every girls best friend. He will take her to a chill spot with a live acoustic band while they share divine niblets of various cuisines because he knows pretentious “high-end” restaurants make her nervous. He will leave post it’s reminding her of their love the morning after a fight. He will touch her like she is the softest of clay, the smoothest of glass, the swell of her inner thighs being the most precious divine inspiration to have ever blessed his shoulder blades.  He will make her turn into a waterfall with a whisper and rage like fire with a growl. He will be lathered in masculinity, romance, artistic intuition and a charisma in his nervous banter that could never be matched by a perfectly penned card.

Screw Valentines Day. Magic lives outside of a box on the calendar. She will listen to him as he banters on about nothing, massaging him from head to toe. She will stimulate his funny bone, his heart, his soul when she puts aside all of her qualms and truthfully attempts to understand his passions. She will seduce him with her eyes, her lips, the mystery in her smile from across the dinner table…as if it were the first glance. She will remind him why he is her puzzle piece. She will say thank you for being the man that you are…because he needs to hear that truth. She will be his lady in the streets and his freak in daydreams because what she did to his body in between the sheets was that fucking delicious.

They will relish in one another’s magnificence every day, all day. They will listen to the silence between them. They will laugh at themselves and put down all guards and laugh wholeheartedly. They will bask in the reasons chemistry and magic make everyone’s Vday seem like their October 7th. They will be a power couple – spiritually entwined, mentally erotic, emotionally fused, physically drawn, universally recognized as two stars living amongst us.

I want that. So keep your Valentines Day one act. I want the entire performance. Encore. Encore. Encore.

1.97 – The Door

An erotic piece inspired by a dream.

If you can see it – I’ve done my job. 

She’d heard him before he’d come in, anxious to see his face and simultaneously terrified. There had been no hesitation in his voice when he’d told her the hotel address or the room number. The key had been at the desk just as he’d said. She knew he wouldnt be there when she arrived, his tone made that very clear.

There had never been a moment of fear and yet her heart pounded as the doorknob turned. Moving toward the edge of the bed, she couldnt take her eyes off the handle, twisting as if in slow motion. The lights were off on purpose. Buying just seconds, her eyes had already adjusted whereas he would still be used to the sun. This was to her advantage – to assess him without knowing though she was sure he’d figure it out.

The door opened and he stepped in; she gnawed at her lip. She’d spent the hour alone walking the length of the room, staring at the bed he’d slept in for many nights before her intrusion. Her fingers touched everything in sight, her mind racing, wondering if she was tracing anywhere his hands had been. The last thing she’d touched was the bed.

As he latched the door, the panic gathered in the pit of her stomach. Would he be able to tell that she’d layed under the sheets? Would he smell the sex in the air, knowing exactly what she’d done just moments ago? Mentally scolding herself, she watched him turn, brushing her feet against the ugliest carpet she’d ever seen.

He stood there, just a few steps into the room, light peaking in through the blinds showing just a hint of his face, his silhoutte made even more tempting by the sound of his breathing. She would swear she could see just the hint of a smile. Bruising her lip, she was frozen but felt parts starting to melt. He turned his back to her, removing the jacket he wore and hung it over the back of a chair. Her eyes travelled over him from head to toe, he paused, aimlessly smoothing the fabric of his shirt.

His voice broke the silence, sending shivers down her back, “Couldnt wait, could you?” Before she could stop herself, she heard the giggle and covered her face from the heat. Dropping her hands slowly, she looked toward the bathroom. The door was partially opened and she told herself she could hide in there until he grew tired of waiting, perhaps falling asleep. As if reading her thoughts, he turned around, crossing his arms, leaning to one side, he cocked his head and looked at the door then back at the girl. Their eyes met and the look he gave was unmistakable. It screamed three words, making her pulse quicken and her palms sweat; “I dare you.”

Without missing a beat, they both jetted for the door, her advantage being that she was use to the dark, she beat him and slammed it shut behind her. She could feel the thud of his body on the other side as she pressed her back against the wood. He didnt push, but she knew he was there. Something told her she didnt have to lock the door, he would wait until she was ready to turn the knob.

The girl closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about why she’d come, only to put a barrier between them. Wanting that man and yet pleasing herself without him even being close. And yet he was, her hands have never been her own as long as she’d known him. A minute could have been thirty, thirty could have been a minute while she breathed in the dark. His breath was hushed as their lungs were perfectly in sync, every inhale and exhale in complete unison.

Listening closely, his hand moved over the door, as if he were trying to feel her, his voice came in raspy whispers, torturing her at his will. “I’m not going to ask you to open this door. I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing behind it. I’ll only ask of you one thing…”

And she wanted him to keep talking, to hear his voice move over her, through her until her hands wouldn’t  stay still. She tried to swallow but her mouth had run dry, hanging open in desperate attempts to catch air. She nodded, knowing he couldnt see this, her hand flicked at the door, her knuckles sending a soft knock to tell him she was still there.

“I want you to listen.”

And then he was quiet but she knew before she knew. Pressing her teeth into her lip, she turned until her forehead pressed against the wood, her hands dropped over her breasts, one planting itself on the door…the other hanging just above her skirt.

She was already a wicked mess, rubbing her thighs together, ever tempted to break down the barrier and devour him. But she knew she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. As much as every inch of her wanted to relieve the ache of wanting to feel this mans body pressed roughly to hers, every inch wanted the ache to last a lifetime, this painful torture he gifted her with by saying everything and nothing at all. She could hear him undo his belt, moving his hand over his groin, the digging of his other hand into the door. Piercing her lip, her fingers dipped between her legs, finding a soft slick honey.

Inhaling sharply, forgetting to stifle herself, pressing her head harder against the door, the palm of her other hand pressing fevereshly on the same. She could hear his smile as if he were screaming. His hands clawing down her back as they had so many nights before, his tongue circling over her nipples while his eyes stared up at her longingly. Those eyes, no matter how many times she tried to press her own shut, to lock them out, there they were, coaxing her to touch just a little deeper. Pushing her fingers further, she exhaled the softest moan and blushed at his reply.

His tongue rolling against the roof of his mouth, a pronounced purr eminated from his lips, his words hooking into her like one of her own fingers, delving deeper with each syllable; “I can taste you beautiful. All over my tongue and down my throat.” He spoke through clenched teeth, “I could watch those lips all day, could feel your tongue all night if you let me.” And she would because the thought alone of tasting him could make her earth shatter.

She’d memorized that pulsating twitch against the back of her throat until she could feel it simply on demand. He didnt speak and didnt have to. It is amazing, she thought, how hands can become tongues, mouths to be quenched through wooden doors.

How their hands could embody one another for a moment of delirious convulsions. His growls grew louder as she let herself moan and breathe freely. Streaked with sweat, they would go like this forever or until sleep deprivation or starvation prevailed. She held her breath, pushing her fingers deeply one last time before pulling them away and grabbing the door handle. His eyes met her instantly, his hands never skipping a beat, she stepped toward him, placing her wet hand in front of his lips.

Opening his mouth through a smirk, he lapped over her fingers. She brought her mouth to where her fingers had been, tasting herself with him for what felt like the first time, her hands replacing his with a cruelty only he could deserve. He spoke against her, his nails tearing her shirt away, “You didnt have to open the door.” 

She giggled, licking over his lips, his tongue and the roof of his mouth, where those purrs had lived momentarily. She continued pulling at him as her back slammed against the sink, his body pushing against hers. Replying would only endorse the obvious and so she said nothing. But his eyes said he understood.

1.94 – Baffled

When I started this blog in October, I was pretty confidant that no one was going to read this shit. To be honest, I didn’t see myself getting past a month or two. 94 posts in and several dedicated readers (outside of those I’ve pretty much forced via Facebook) and I’m still writing. That’s a triumph for this self-deprecating writer.

So, you can only imagine how shocked I was to find that I was nominated for The Versatile Blogger Award by a very kickass, sarcastic and hysterically funny writer.

My deepest gratitude to MRMARYMUTHAFUCKINGPOPPINS for nominating me for this award and spreading the love via aspoonfulofsuga. This writer restores my faith in artists supporting one another, freedom of speech and just how funny complete and utter sarcasm can be. I will never be the writer I hope to be without the feedback of great minds such as this one. (If you’re uptight…I wouldn’t recommend the blog but then again, I’d ask you why the hell you’re reading mine).

That being said, as with everything else, there are rules to this whole blog award thingymabob. Damn you rules, damn you’re yeast infected face. I’ll follow them this time though I kinda wanna be defiant just because.

RULES FOR THE VERSATILE BLOGGER AWARD

1. Thank the award-giver and link back to them in your post.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Pass this award along
4. Contact your chosen bloggers to let them know about the award.

Okay, so I did number one and I’m not going to do it again and you can’t make me, so there. But maybe I should since I really don’t want to do number two…hah, I just laughed as I wrote that. I sound like a kid learning to potty train. “I DON’T WANNA DO NUMBER TWO AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME. *shits in diaper*

Fine, fine. I shall conform and shit in your designated pot I.E tell you 7 things about myself.

  1. I’m very loud and energetic to most people but I’m actually pretty shy when I feel out of my element. 
  2. I have a secret addiction to knitting and Harvest Moon on Wii. (It’s a game in which you farm and do stuff and get the girl and do more stuff. I’m a cornball, I know).
  3. I can be in a crowd filled with people and the center of attention and I tend to still feel lonely. 
  4. I care far too much about what people think about me even when I say I don’t give a damn. 
  5. I was published in middle school and got to meet a famous author…and I can only tell you the piece I wrote was called Woman and I don’t even remember who the hell the author was. 
  6. My favorite book is A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. 
  7. I hate Harry Potter. 

Damn, I feel like you should buy me dinner now. But before you get me some Sushi, because if you’re taking me out – we’re going for sushi…I still have to pass on the love.

Brain Candy – Stemming from a long stint in the world of Second Life, this blogger holds no punches and is a beast with the words. Brutally honest, she makes me piss my pants – Somewhere between fear, respect and laughter.

Blogs-of-a-Bookaholic – This blogger inspires me to read more, to challenge myself and to open myself to the potential of different viewpoints via vast genre selections.

TheSubwayPoet – This blogger makes me reconsider anything I ever penned and bothered to call it poetry. Vivid, intriguing, therapeutic…makes me want to ride the subway.

TheMentalWard – Posts on sex have never been done so well. Pretty damn blunt and so well written. Talking about sex and so much more with such a distinct voice, this blogger is just another testament to the knowledge and humor that can be found through the blogging world. I’m still rereading the spit/swallow post as I pen this nomination.

I would nominate the blogger that nominated me but I think that would just cause some cycle to be set in motion and I don’t think I can come up with 7 new things about me if I were to get renominated.

Again, I thank everyone who bothers to read this thing, the people who comment and the people who continue to believe in my chaotic ass.

1.86 – The Inevitable Sex Post

Almost to 100 posts and I haven’t touched on a pretty inspirational topic: Sex.

I’ve always had a skewed view of sex. It’s kind of a part of my genetic makeup. To put it briefly, though not intentionally lightly, I was involved in sexual acts long before I wanted to be. This made me scared of sex. Through the years, I made the not so rare mistake of engaging in sexual acts for the minimal companionship it gave me, the feeling of being wanted, beautiful…every cliche rolled up into one. This made me resent sex. But time, and a healthy amount of self-love can fix those things.

Nonetheless, I still think sex is so…yeah. It’s sex. To be quite honest, sex in general bores the fuck out of me. HOLD THE PHONE! Let me explain before you think something way off the mark.

The male penis is ugly to me. All of them. Its this floppy thing that just hangs there. Balls are…balls. I know they hold purpose but anatomically – damn they are ugly as hell. Vagina is no better. I’ve seen my share of those and they are just…unappetizing. They don’t resemble flowers or pretty shells that artists try to impose on the body part. Breasts are hanging globs of meat and assholes are just that…holes. None of this sounds appealing.

The actual act of sex is just some jabbing and sloshy movements. That shit is not enticing to me. But you know what is?

That moment of silent staring when you and your potential send surges of energy through the air. That first brush of the lips. Tugging and biting playfully before the slip of the tongue occurs. The push and pull of heavy petting and groping. Those whispers of sweet/dirty/endearing words are muttered with eyes shut tight. The panting and soft whimpers when the tingling sensations are un-fucking-bearable. Pleading eyes when the racing of your heart becomes just too much. The entanglement of fingers and hair, teeth grazing against a bare shoulder, a elongated neck, a delicate inner thigh. Those first moments when you are truly convinced your potential is all you need, a throbbing pulse, an electrifying quiver, a gasp escaping your salivating mouth.

Sex is war. A battle between two bodies, struggling for dominance, submission, deliverance, reason. The act of sex itself can be a culmination of some all out primal, disgustingly beautiful moments. I don’t enjoy war as much as I enjoy the preparation for battle. I want the hours of anticipation, the torture, the hunger – the genuine feeling of starvation.

Good sex is dessert. I prefer breakfast, lunch and dinner. I want the madness that makes you stuck on stupid right before that first pelvic thrust. If the days meals were fulfilling, dessert is always a fucking dream; the icing on that slip and slide of a cake.

This is probably why I don’t watch porn. Slap slap slap, mmmm, slap slap, ohhh..done. I’m bored. Don’t get it twisted. I’m not talking about the cutesy dating, the courting, the romantic bubble baths and vanilla theatrics a lot of people are asking for. This post is not about dating. This post is about the act of sex itself. As its own entity.

I want that silent movie filmed between the layers of sheets – silhouettes of clawing fingers, mouths paused open mid exhale, curling toes and silent nuzzles. I want that unseen kinetic energy that pulsates through two puzzle pieces so deeply, so naturally needing connection. Those lustful giggles when you know you’re breaking all of the rules and not giving a damn. Those deep moments when eyes are locked and a slow smirk spreads across your face, electricity reverberating from your very core. Sticky sweaty aftermaths that leave you parched.

 

 

All day, I dream about sex – my kind of sex – my kind of dream.