if i told you

if i told you what i'm afraid to tell you, you might laugh and walk away.  see, i'm not one of those people who can be casual about sex.  well, i can be, but i don't get the point.  i can have an orgasm all by myself, and i'm sure you can, too.  for me, the point is, the fun is, the magic is, the Connection.

the risk-- not of life and limb, but of something much greater than that.  the risk of it mattering.  the risk that we could fall into one another in such a profound and earth-shattering way that we would fall away changed... from the inside out.

sure, there are lots of fun positions and implements to be explored, but what gets me off, what makes me hot is when our connection goes so deep that i can feel what's happening inside your body with my own.  when i can see you opening, see your rolling internal landscape shift and change, see the crimson wave of your passion as it boils over and into my core.  when i can feel your soul pressing down upon my hand, coming to meet me, coming for me, coming all over me.

when you have to bite down into my flesh to keep just enough of yourself here while you're sending shockwaves into the cosmos that just might change human existence, i am riding those waves into an abandon that tells me i am God-- for a minute, anyway.

see, that kind of sex, our kind of sex, i can't be casual about.  and i know i'm not cool, and i know i sound crazy, and i'll even keep quiet about it, if it means i can have some more.

belly

I.       round and firm,
         curving just above
         my intended destination,
         i must first kiss you
         in reverence

II.    there is nothing
        more grounding,
        more soothing to me
        than the weight of your belly
        pressed against mine


III.    the fullness
         of your belly,
         knowing the power that
         lies behind it,
         can buckle my knees

IV.    broad, curvy,
         bearing testament to
         your woman-ness,
         your belly feels
         like home to me

V.     my hands adore you,
         my lips yearn to pay homage,
         my cheek longs to rest
         against you
         as i reach down and in

VI.    ripeness, fullness
         symbol of possibility,
         there's a reason
         goddess statues
         have big bellies


VII.    i can't desire
          a skinny girl,
          too many bones and angles
          give me your curves,
          let me love your big belly

VIII.   press your belly
          into mine--
          let the fire in you
          connect with the
          want in me

marks

these marks i bear speak volumes.  i find myself stroking them during stressful moments, and they bring calm as i am reminded of their source.  i smile when i'm caught off-guard by glimpses in the mirror of their red-purple/fading to yellow message on my body. 

like a child, i want to show them off.  "look what she did!"  "look what i felt!"  never before have i wished for a bruise to just stay a little longer...hurt just a while more.  they're my trophies; my evidence the you were there-- beneath me, burying your teeth into my flesh as i rocked my fist so tenderly in your cunt. 

the marks you leave bear witness that the passion i feel with you is real, and the pain is a delicious antidote to the stresses of my day--my own sweet reminder that sometimes i get to be someone else.  they say i'm not too old, not just somebody's mother, that i'm capable of being and doing and feeling something so raw and powerful and alive that there are marks left behind.

they whisper of all that lies beneath my flesh, the ecstasy and power that are waiting to be brought forth.

Date, Part One

Our first Real Date.  We'd already had sex a couple of times (a bit cart-before-the-horse, but...), so I couldn't understand why I was so nervous on my way to pick her up that night.  I guess some psychic part of me knew that I was in for an evening I won't soon forget.

She buzzed me in, and I gazed up at her as she stood on the landing of her stairway.  Fishnets.  Wow...and they led under the hem of her dress where my fingers already begged to be.  I made it to the top of the stairs and could barely look her in the eye, I was that nervous.  A quick kiss "hello"; I wasn't sure if we were alone in the apartment.  I couldn't breathe-- don't think I even told her how stunning she looked, from her perfectly-styled dark hair to the deep red of her lips, to the bright flash of her nails and the tantalizing cleavage that I ached to outline with my tongue.  If we were to have a proper Date, we needed to get out of the house and on our way.

So out we went, thankfully to a busy restaurant with lots of noise surrounding us so that I couldn't be expected to make much clever conversation.  I'm rarely clever when my cock is campaigning to be let out and into her, and tonight it was pounding insistently against my inseam.  We made it through dinner, which I'm sure was tasty, and on to the next part of our Date.

Innocently, I'd wanted to treat her to something relaxing.  She works hard, with few breaks, and a friend had suggested the local hot tub spa.  I'd made the reservation with the idea that she'd be soothed and relaxed and feel well cared-for.  I swear, I wasn't planning for sex, but the jumpy toes of my left foot as we drove to the spa gave lie to the impulses I had when I glanced over at her thighs.  There they were, spread just a little on the seat next to mine, encased so beautifully in those fishnet stockings. Her skirt had inched up a bit, and it took all the restraint I could muster to keep from reaching over and into her.  How I thought I was going to "behave" myself in that hot tub is now beyond me.

She asked me to undress her when we got to Room 4.  Kiss, unzip her dress and pull it over her head.  Kiss, reach around to unhook her bra.  Oh... the garter belt.  Beautiful.  More kisses, and then I kneel to remove her shoes, reach up to release the stockings, my face right there.  So close I could smell her, my mouth watering in its yearning for her taste.  Slipping those fishnets down, folding them carefully before I reached up for her panties... and standing again for one more kiss before she turned her back and let me watch her walk up the steps and into the hot tub.

trick-or-treat

the treat that i long for tonight
isn't coated in chocolate,
doesn't come wrapped
in plastic.

i'm longing for one more
drink of you,
pouring down my throat
as fast as i can swallow.

while i circle your clit
with my tongue,
reaching back to strum
your nipples.

i crave the salty tangy rush
of you--your essence
to light me from inside
as i make my way back home.

confidence

confidence.  it's so sexy.  i long to have that sexy kind of confidence-- the kind that knows it's wanted, knows it's got what it takes to be desired.  me?  i've got-- a humble sense of competence at best.  how many times have i been called "cocky", and turned to see who's being discussed?

i'm not cocky.  i'm earnest, and willing to listen and learn your body.  i am capable of turning off my critical mind and just listen-- with my hands, with my mouth.  to close my eyes and see the inside of you; then do my very best to find the rhythms and force--or gentleness-- that it desires.  this comes not from feeling confident, but from having something to express; from wanting to be heard, and known, and wanting you to know that i see you, too.

not just see you, though.  i yearn to meet you in those unspoken places, long to bring light to our hidden corners so that we're both illuminated in the blazing glow of our Fuck.  our own original, often-imitated-but-never-duplicated Fuck that leaves us crying, laughing, amazed that our bodies remain intact after all the exploding that was going on.

i suppose there is a sort of confidence in here somewhere, at least a belief in my ability to show up and connect.  but i'm not likely to ever be sure that another wants that with me, or will long to learn the secrets of my body that are waiting for the light of a lover's attention.  as sure as i am of what i'm willing to give, i'm still waiting for the moment i'm sure i'm wanted.

lit

you are the one i am lit for.  you, with your assertive want, your demand that removes any thought of resistance in me.  i am lit by your strength and your vulnerability.  you blend passion so fierce that i am momentarily terrified, with excruciating tenderness that my heart has never before received.

i am lit in my very core.  the glow that radiates throughout my body and my mind, causing me to thrum with anticipation of our next encounter, burns with more intensity each time we meet.

our first kiss, in that doorway, is emblazoned in my mind.  i'm still amazed that i showed up when you summoned, but some part of me must have known this was an experience i didn't dare pass up.  your lips, so exquisitely soft at first contact, pulled me immediately into your vortex of fire.  your teeth, taking my lip between them, clamping down to the point just before blood would be drawn, stamped me as yours that night.

my hands sought your skin, sliding your slip up over your hip so that i could feel more of you as you pressed your breasts, your belly into me. your breath-stealing passion lit me then and there.

that night, as we caught our breath between bouts of kissing, fucking, sucking...before the bruises began to show as evidence of our hunger for one another, i knew.  the realization of what had just happened to me dawned with startling clarity.  i was lit for you, and this is a blaze i don't want to extinguish.

pierce

17 pieces of metal in my body
touch them, and bring back
the pleasure/pain of each time
the needle pierced my skin,
my submission bringing
fierce intensity and exquisite release

Wood working

We both loved projects.  She was a woodworker, and she loved using exotic hardwoods in her work.  She'd call and say she was in the neighborhood when she was at the store that carried the woods she loved.  Truth be told, that store wasn't in my neighborhood at all, but I wasn't about to point that out.  See, a call from her meant a visit, and she was always so full of light and energy after she'd been browsing the ebony, the rosewood, caressing the curly maple.  I loved seeing her in that mood.

So I'd broken my bed some time back--showing off to a past love, trying to impress her with my incredible strength by carrying her into my bedroom and throwing her onto the bed.  Crack!  Oh, shit-- this was my grandparents' antique bed, and I'd broken it queering off.

My lovely woodworker friend offered to fix it for me.  She brought over her wood glue and clamps and settled into my bedroom to tackle the project at hand.  Did she do it on purpose?  I can't tell you for sure, but what I remember is that wood glue looked so suggestive, smeared over her fingers as she spread it down the cracked frame of the bed.  My breath drew in, and I couldn't let it out.

Those strong, capable fingers coated in that glue had every ounce of my attention.  She stroked, spread, smeared... and I was gone.  It took all I had to keep myself from licking that glue off her hands and replacing it with my own wet.  When I dared to pull my gaze from her fingers and up to her face, she was staring right at me, a devilish gleam in her eye.  She knew what I was thinking!

My breath still captive in my lungs, I somehow managed to ask if I could help.  She offered the glue and our hands moved together over the wood, carefully filling in the cracks between the broken pieces and sealing our agreement that this was about to get messy in a very good way.

We kissed, and to be honest, I don't think anyone washed their hands.  The best we might have done is to wipe the excess glue on our jeans as we rushed to remove one another from our clothing.  Finally, her fingers were soothing the ache they'd created, and mine were seeking the wet I craved.  We fucked right there on the floor, right there in the midst of the bed frame and clamps and glue, the scent of our sex co-mingling with the smell of the glue and the wood. 

To this day, I can't look at a tube of wood glue without having a smile creep across my face.  Wood glue, or the cutting board she made for me from some of her exotic woods.  The smell of fresh-cut lumber can make me blush, and I'm always up for a good project.  There's always the possibility of something delicious when tools are involved... 

what i learned/what i didn't learn

Sex Ed.  What was that?  5th grade?   I remember is was such a big deal... boys and girls were separated, permission slips were required in order to participate.  There was a hushed feeling beforehand, the sense that we were going to be given Important Information that would change our lives.  We were going to learn the mysteries of S-E-X.

So what did they teach me?  I remember posters of women's sex organs...the uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries.  Maybe there was a poster of a male's sexual parts, too.  I remember Kotex pads and omg, the belt.  (Yes, I'm that old.)   I remember thinking that I never wanted to menstruate if I had to wear one of those!

Thing is, I didn't learn about sex.  Didn't learn that there is actual pleasure involved.  Didn't learn that it could feel so. damned. GOOD.   Better than good, that it could make me want to promise anything for just one. more. time.

I certainly didn't learn that girls could love girls; long to kiss them, long to taste them, smell them, reach inside to explore the depths of passion buried there.  Didn't learn about the clitoris, or female ejaculation, or Wet, and what it's for.


They forgot to mention that some girls are boys, and that some boys are girls, and that some, like me, were all rolled into one.  Sex Ed, it seems to me, was intended to sterilize the whole affair in order to prevent us from wanting to explore the amazing power and adventure that sex can offer.  Fortunately for me, they didn't manage to turn me off of the idea completely, and I started on the path to learning what sex can truly be.

tattoo/you

He touches the needle to my chest, and I am gone.  Not escaping the pain, but going into it through another channel.

I close my eyes, and the torching pain of the tattoo gun becomes my fist thrusting into your cunt.  You, on your hands and knees, rock forward slightly as the needle bears down onto my clavicle.  You scream out for me to fuck you harder, begging me to give you my pain as your ejaculate cools the burn.

He moves across my sternum, and I move over you.  Grasping your hair, grazing your neck with my teeth; the whimper that escapes you flutters across my skin as I take your wet, fill your cunt with the fire that scorches my chest. Your voice crying out for me, calling my name, drowns out the hum of the tattoo gun.

His face is right in front of mine, his body leans into me, but I'm feeling the weight of your belly pressed into mine, savoring the musky essence of your nipple between my teeth, anticipating your next delicious move.

The hum drones on, the s-c-r-a-t-c-h of the needle across my skin transmutes into the softness of your lips, your sweet tongue as they take my erect clit/cock into your mouth and you offer your dripping cunt to my needy hand.

"Almost done", he says.  Okay, then, let's finish this.  We move together, you moaning as you suck me off, screaming into my cunt as I fuck you into your own abandon.  We come together, erupting in a chorus of "YES!!" as he pulls the needle away.

He and my buddy look at me.  My pal is amazed that I didn't complain once.  "Did it hurt?"  Well, yeah, but...I liked it.