Tuesday, July 31, 2007

it is about everything

oh god
oh god
oh god

sometime I cannot even feign eloquence in the face of overwhelming pleasure.

oh god.

That expression, ripped from my lips by the touch of another's, where a flash rushes over my face, my skin rippling, tickling, goosebumping. A light headedness that mere alcohol could never produce. Ahha oh.

But what is it about? Why, why, why, why, why?

It isn't about the size of your cock, or your checkbook. It isn't about your toys, or the places you can take me, rl, sl or bed. It isn't about the home you talk about, the children you have, the things you want.

It's about everything dear, it is about everything. It is about how I want you to be my everything, my whole world. To get lost in your mind, lost in the things that you create, could create, can even dream of creating.

It is about everything, because when we are as one, that is what you are, I see neither sky, nor earth, nor even myself. I feel myself only as you press upon me, in me and through me.

oh god oh god how it feels with your lips suck the skin of my neck, and I can feel the welt rising, knowing that I will there be marked as yours.

oh god oh god, how I shake like an autumn leaf just ready to let go and soar into free fall. Death, so swet an embrace that death that is when I let go of all the things my mother said, and my father feared in his quiet moments. I am falling upwards, into your sky.

oh god oh god, when you have your hands on my, smooth and rough. I want them to be soft, but they are not, they are hte hands you handle the world with, and os I want you to handle me.

oh god oh god, what you do to everything, I want you to do to me. The way you take a shaft of wood, the way you do what you could. I want it to be tender, I know I should. But the force is making me giddy.

When you have your tongue on my pearl, my bright and searing diamond made of heat. How your tongue feels as if it will rip me from my body, pull me up. I want it to be soft, but like a cat you tear at me, and I shake and stammer out your name. oh god, oh god, the ripple runs up through me, and jerks my limbs like a puppet, only the strings, I feel them, I feel them within my body, torquing, torturing, taut and taunting. I am coming for the first time with you, from there, from there, from the shivering shaft that makes me suqirm and writhe.

It is like the tolling of the bell, and it tolls once, wrung from me by you.

Then you have your hard curve pressing on me, I am tight and closed and open all at once, feeling wet within and clenched without. I want you tyo be softly, but you are not, instead pressing, pressing pressing on me, as if you were pressing on every part of me, and I am surrounded by you, until all my awareness drains to that one point, were you are breaking through me.

I am stabbed. You have stabbed me. No knife can plunge in so deep and hard.

Kill me darling. Kill me. Stab me stabe me stabe me. Rape me if you can. Oh god oh god. I want to be every woman you have ever had, every will have, ever will dream of. All at once. I want to be softly your girl, warmly your wife, passionately your victim, coldly your whore, by turns on each stroke, a different woman as you turn me inside out.

Oh god oh god, I pulse and clench around you, giving your crest that deepest kiss, over and over and over again that deepest kiss that showers down upon you, my outer lips rubbed raw with your pounding.

And it is like a bell, and I come the second time. But my shame is this as my midriff clenches around oyu, and I can think of nothing but hodling you within me... I feel a shameful pressing in my inside, I want to tear away to piss out this passion. Oh god it burns and itches, oh god oh god. But I cannot bear that you might leave me.

Oh god. Oh god.

But however long you have me, I know, whether in midnight to your other, or the morning to your world of work. Or in some different moment when the tides of your boroding nature call you. I know I shall be alone, as you face that restless inner sea, from which your everything arrives and emerges.

Oh god. Oh god I hate you in that moment, and I am angry because I am so in love with everything of you.

And so in my anger I lie on my bed, and I think of you. I have stolen your shirt, it reeks of you. I wear it, and it surrounds me, you surround me, and I can smell your sweat scent rising from it. I remember vivid the touch and kisses, the stabbing shame of being so overwhelmed. My face is flush, my feet are warm, you know not what that means, my cheek is burning. And from no where and everywhere, I come again, the pleasure flooding in to my head like light and rising steam at once.

It is the bell that tolls again and again, you cannot leave me. Promise you will never leave me. Promise you will live beyond me, and let me die first, because I could not ever bear to be alone in this world without you, my everything.

Oh god oh god. I can't believe that I have become this way.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

The Inner Life of Sex:
Peripheries of Desire

I'm starting this here, because while this post isn't NC-17, it will rapidly head there.

One thing to get firmly in mind, is that every woman is different, as every man is different. Every night is different. What drives me wild one night, will hurt on another. Learning the map of a woman's desire, and learning the nuances of the evening, are the first skill of the intrepid sexual oral adventurer. In this, I think, men and women are the same. Our moons of desire have many phases and faces.

However, my experience is that there is something that is different between men and women. For a woman, it is more important to get her body to tell her mind that you are the one, than to directly try and press the matter. Many men worship size, because in their minds, they think that if they can stretch a girl out, then she won't be satisfied with less. There are girls who worship size out there, and endowment of the right fit is certainly a plus. But the size script, of the man stretching the woman out, gets it in reverse. Yes there is a very particular feeling to having a man who is just slightly larger than you can accomodate easily, but that feeling comes not because he is larger than your last lover, but because of the inner life of sex.

You see, if I don't want you to be the one, I can be tight for the next man in my life just by waiting a few weeks and doing some kagels. I know tight feels good for a man, but being tight isn't what makes sex good for a woman. Instead, being tight is a sign of the body embracing, not a sign of the body being pushed. Even rape fantasies turn on something simple: wanting it, underneath it all, wanting it.

This means that people who, rl or sl, try and simply force the issue by say, emoting or by say, just pushing ahead when it is clearly too early, aren't creating that deep need in a woman, but are, instead, coming off as ... um ... a bad cocksman, and selfish as well. I don't know where the script of "stretch her out marks her as your territory" came from, but it is simply reversed. You aren't going to win a woman by stretching her out, but instead, by wanting her to wrap herself tightly, tightly, tightly around you, hold you inside. For ever. Never letting gone, never leaving. It is that hope forever which is sweet, and tingling. Since men, I know, hope for it as well, it is only a matter of bridging that gap.

So realize that approaching the corners of erogenous zones is essential. Let me take one example, along the inner thighs, if you kiss them, and it causes my muscles to tighten, it pulls on me. Suddenly, it isn't just you, it is my body telling me "this is the one." Ask women who have conceived, many will tell you that there was a whole body experience with the man who was the potential father. Make my body pull on me, make it stretch me, make it tease me, and I will be the right size for you, or will have sex with you until it does work.

So don't just think pink, kiss and tease, so that muscles tighten, that skin becomes flush and warm. Remember that under a woman's skin is a layer of fat, and thus the skin is often cold, the sign of good insulation. A woman's body also pulls blood into the center faster. This means we are less likely to have hypothermia, but it also means that our fingers and toes often feel like ice. Muscle's rippling and skin heating, digits flexible and flush, so common and easy for a man in his prime, is a different experience for most women. When combined with erotic sensation it feels... it feels as if your spirit has broken through your skin. But often it doesn't need to be that spiritual to feel very, very good.

Don't knock it boys, more than one man has been saved by having warm feet on a cold night.

This is particularly true of those "secondary sex characteristics" that catch your eye in a swim suit. What are breasts and full hips? Well to be blunt for a moment, they are well sculpted fat. Which means that making them warm is mmmmm a good thing.

By warming the skin around the pinnacle, it makes reaching it that much more, more, more.

These sensations create a small web of details, details that all begin to sing out the same desire, and spell out the same name. And if you know how to write on the skin as a canvas, that name can be yours. So lick long up and down the spine, kiss the curves of the waist, and spiral towards the nipples. Kiss the neck, the ears, and every part where blood may come to the surface, because it is this welling up of life that starts moving the deep waters of desire that you crave so much.

Saturday, July 7, 2007