Waco inspired a smoldering spark in me this past weekend we have yet to have opportunity to fan to flame and exhaustedly extinguish. I think this from Purpleanais captures my desires when we do…
caught in the rain
in our veins
pushed up against the wall
our senses on alert
obliterating all thoughts
Read it all at Cornucopia of pleasures
It was 9pm and he either needed to go to bed and get up at his traditional 4:30 or push through, finish the advertorial he was being paid to write, and get up later.
But his mind was elsewhere and wanted neither sleep nor work. His mind, his body craved her intensity. He wanted to take her, tease her roughly. Bending her over, pulling her hair the way she enjoyed and ending with them both completely spent.
She had captivated his mind the last time they were together. He was holding her, massaging her in the best possible way. He asked her if she wanted his special kiss. Her head barely nodded a yes. He made her tell him again. She looked so vulnerable, so willing.
That tiny plea had captivated his mind since. Nine days. They hadn’t had real intensity since he introduced her to the surprise new toy – a month or more? He could feel his body’s lustful longing.
But he wanted, needed more than the intensity. He needed the tenderness after. Holding each other naked as they slept, waking in the middle of the night to make slow, delicate love. He needed the intimacy of looking into her eyes, feeling her body softly beneath him, her hands brushing against the sides of his face.
The love in her touch meant everything to him. He needed it just as much, and so did she.
What is “real”?
Are the organic, free-range thoughts I got at Trader Joe’s more “real” than the genetically modified, preservative packed thoughts I got from Walmarts?
Are my smiles, my words, my actions just an affectation? An attempt to wear the Emperor’s clothes?
Getting real is a virtue, until it is not. Until it is too uncomfortable. Too divulgent. Until being real breaks the social norms of no tears, no fears, no anger. Professing love or lust or hate.
We wear our mental Spanks to cover up the unsightly bulges we’re ashamed for anyone to see. We look in the mirror and tell ourselves “sure, they’re uncomfortable to wear, but, damn, they make me look good.”
And it becomes our uniform.
I love this piece from Laurie…reminds me of something, someone…
Looking down into her eyes
One hand brushes her hair away from her face and neck, followed by the other
A palm on each cheek and jawline, cradling her head
First, a brush of the lips, and another
Then he consumes her mouth, wrapping his lips all the way around her
His tongue explores, then invades, dancing with hers
He presses his lips firmly against hers, taking and taking
But giving by taking
A hand moves to her shoulder, her back
Another moves to her hair…or her neck
The intensity shifts and increases
He disconnects long enough to change the angle before diving in again
Taking her breath with the kiss
Her lips feel swollen, tingly when he is finished
And she has no choice
But to lean into him
Until she can stand on her own again.
It was 4am and the power had been off since 2.
As he lay there in bed, in the pitch, not sleeping, all he thought of was her and wished she were there.
It always started the same – he would stir, holding her more tightly. On their sides, her back to his chest, his right arm cradling her head, his left exploring the softness of her body. She would stir and move against him, encouraging him to continue. His hands would then move more deftly, more excitedly to the places they both longed for him to touch, caress. His lips would find her shoulder and neck and…
She had once compared their sex life to the old Dr. Pepper slogan – 10-2-4. This morning he would have been happy just to get the 4.