Saturday, December 29, 2012


I miss you, and I have so little time to tell you just how much. Today, I feel so tied, so restricted, so unable to move. I am not used to be made to be still. Take that how you will.

I look forward to seeing you soon. I always do, you know?

Friday, December 21, 2012

I miss you. Tonight it is a deep, sad ache, even though I have had time with you. I wish I could reach out, but know I cannot. Two simple words with such complexity behind them: you know.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012


I love the idea of you touching yourself and thinking of me. Countless times I have done the same, thinking of you. Show me what I want to see. Put your hands between your legs and let me watch. Play in front of me. Let me see you drive your fingers deep. I need to lose myself in the whirlwind of your scent and touch and sighs. I ache to explore you, my head wrapped between your thighs, tongue pushed deep seeking your taste. I need to fuck you, as hard as you can take, harder even. Your sighs, your whimpers, your cries all feed me, all satisfy my craving. I want to swallow your pain and swallow your pleasure.

I want you naked, want to lay my head on your hip, to drink in your scent. I will cover you with kisses and nips, will pinch and bite and scratch. I will be soft and be rough. I will arrange you how I want you. I will display you the way I want to see you. I will wring your pleasure out of you. You continually please me, tease me, give me what I want, but you haven't the slightest idea of what I can do for you. I will take you on your knees, my fingers inside you setting the motion of your body. I will take you on your back, your legs spread wide. I don't want some quick fuck. I will take all the time I need to enjoy your body, and you'll let me. I will leave you spent and dripping. Give yourself over to me.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Under my skin

Some mornings I am in and out of sleep with my mind already churning out what I want to say on the page.

What is it about a good solid hug that can make nearly anything better? My thoughts keep returning to your arms tight around me while I broke down. You held me solidly when I shook with the tension of anger and hurt and frustration, your firm hold making it okay to let it out, to collapse but not fall. I keep returning to that feeling of utter support and safety. When I said that I was tired of feeling not good enough you asked if that was a feeling just from work. It is not. When I feel defeated all the old anger and frustration comes back. I was made to feel not good enough, to feel that I was lacking, to feel that anything that goes wrong is my fault and that is a feeling I will not stand for anymore. Some days I fail at fighting it, but in your arms, even hurt and tired, I do not feel those old ghosts. What you make me feel means so much more than you know. Thank you.

The unhurried moments when I am able to touch you as I'd like are pure heaven. I cannot help but to reach up and rub your ear lobe, or press my lips to the corner of your eyes. Such a simple brush of your skin and mine leaves me so content, so happy.  I look forward to every moment in your presence; just seeing your beautiful face calms me. What have you done to me, love?

Wednesday, December 12, 2012


You want to know more about me, and maybe writing it isn't the way to go, but I'm feeling like putting myself up on the page. All art is exposure in some way. Even when the artist reveals himself cryptically, the viewer sees more than they might understand. That says something right I feel my writing is art? Isn't that a little egotistical? I don't think it is. Writing is creating. Creating is art. I'm not saying this is great art...and all art is about perception.

I am a hardcore introvert. I have been incredibly shy most of my life, and it has only been this job and travelling that have dissipated some of that timidity. I am social and I no longer shrink away from speaking with strangers, but it was certainly a journey to get here. If my confidence level occasionally dips now, take a second to imagine where it wallowed before.
I still require plenty of time by myself to recharge and I get positively irritable when I do not receive that much needed solitary time. That said, I do not need to be alone today.

What causes the desire to be seen? What causes the desire to expose oneself for others' eyes? I adore the beat generation because they lived and loved and obliterated themselves right in front of everyone and did not care. They lived explosively. They were mad, and unashamed.

I adore museums because each work of art is the pure soul of the artist hanging from a peg, framed in gorgeous gold baroque curlicues. These were people who said, "Look what I have to show you," and offered up their world. It's all about exposure, and passion. Everything must be done with passion or not done at all. Why hide when you have something that beautiful within?

Monday, December 10, 2012


The energy between us has shifted. All of this time I have been tentative with my touches, cautious about where I place my hands; I have been reading your cues. You know you can have what you want of me; you have had me, and undoubtedly will again, as you please. You have the freedom to be bold. I am still uncertain about what you will allow me to do, and so I wait.
I need clear permission from you. I need your assent. Even tucking my thumbs under your belt for a few seconds longer than you were comfortable with yesterday leaves me unsettled. I don't want to push your boundaries. I don't want to cause you any discomfort, but jesus I want you.

I like you vulnerable with me. I adore every second of your attention, your kisses, nips, caresses, slaps. I would gladly let you do as you will with me for hours, but I think you underestimate how much I long for the same liberties with your body.

My thoughts keep returning to that moment yesterday, kneeling between your thighs, my hands under your shirt, those gorgeous lips of yours pressed to mine. Those little sighs were the first I think I have gotten out of you, and they echo in my mind. Seeing you clearly aroused and wanting me is absolutely unforgettable. I want more.

I badly wanted to continue undressing you, to unbutton the last of those buttons and peel that shirt off your arms. You can keep the undershirt if it makes you more comfortable, but that damned bra has to go. I want unfettered access to your beautiful breasts. There is no reason to keep them trapped away when I should be pulling your nipple into my mouth and rolling it between my teeth. I need to cover every inch of that smooth, pliable flesh with my lips. I need to explore you, make you sigh and blush.

It was so thrilling to be between your legs, my hands on your hips, pulling you against me; so thrilling to feel the muscles in your hips and thighs, so thrilling to imagine my face between those thighs. I wanted to yank your hips farther down, free you from your pants and see just how wet you were, but I kept my hands on your hips. I still need your permission.

You have no reason to be self-conscious. The things you perceive as flaws are things I just don't see. You are beautiful, and that's what I see. Do you want to know how sexy you are to me? Let me please you. Let me explore you, tease you, and take you. I want my fingers buried inside you; let me lick your juices from my fingers. It will be absolutely clear to you how genuinely I desire you. If my utter enthusiasm to please you isn't enough, if my ardent need to cover every inch of you with my touches isn't enough, then maybe the liquid proof between my own legs is enough. With every ounce of my attention focused on you, your noises, the scent of your skin, I am drenched. That is a fact you could easily check for yourself darling.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012


//And is it worth the wait/All this killing time?/Are you strong enough to stand/Protecting both your heart and mine?//

There is no clear reason to wake after only an hour and half of sleep, but wake I did. I woke with a hot core of anger charging from me, a solid defiance burning my belly, and here I am. I will use every ounce of steel within this frame to make circumstances as they should be. I am determined. Gone are the times of maintaining the status quo. I am either advancing or I am falling behind, and I will not fail what I have set my mind to do.

I cannot be more clear, but do not intend to be vague. There are many issues swirling within my brain, each requiring more than I feel like I have to give. I cannot fall back on the platitudes so many rely on; no "everything turns out the way it should" will fix this.

I have so easily shown you my weakness, and now I hope you'll see my strength. You told me I had a look of defeat, told me you wanted to wrap your arms around me. I need your arms more than you know; know that you help steady me. I am tired of defeat. I am tired of confusion and restlessness. Yes, I am resilient, but I am about to test my endurance. No, I will not accept waking every night with despair and fighting that tide to return to restless sleep. I am weary to the core. There is no need to exist with this discontent.

There is something between us. This is no sophomore infatuation. Forgive me for taking liberties, but I feel this is the truth. Correct me if I go too far.
I cherish every fucking moment with you. More than anything our situation forces me to learn patience, to learn the value of the lesson.

I began writing this with all the backbone I could muster, but so quickly my backbone melts. Quell this ache. Steady me. Tell me everything will turn out fine, but if you say those words you'd better believe them. Give me the answers...why is it so easy to lean on you?

Friday, November 30, 2012


After two glasses of wine, I'm happy - not at all drunk, just warmed up and pleasant. When I get home and drink two more (three more? four?) glasses of wine, and can't stop dancing...that's when I'm trouble. God, I am in a mood tonight.

You've never seen me truly dance...I'm not saying I'm amazing, but I definitely want to be grinding against you right now. All I need is a beat and your warm body to move against, hips grinding, undulating, body moved like a marionette to the music. I think you'd be pleased. For some reason, you like my body. You'd like it exponentially more feeling the music as deeply as I do right now, skin electric, all inhibitions lowered, moving like stopping would kill me...

In my slightly inebriated state, it is so very difficult to restrain myself. My need for you is threefold increased. I feel so flirty right now, so incredibly wanton. It's nice to feel so sexual, but it is terrible to be so sexual and yet so untouched. Maybe it's best to remember lust is just the firing of certain synapses in our brains, and should be ignored and retrained like so many other emotions.

Thursday, November 29, 2012


I get to share so little of myself with you. I get so little of you in return, but not for a lack of trying.

Time is everything for us. I want to show you the side of me you've yet to experience.
My first priority for every little moment we steal away is to be in your arms. I crave those arms around me and infinitely enjoy the warmth of you so close to me. I want those sweet gentle kisses, and I want your tenderness.

The heat returns once my need for the pure sweetness of your touch has been placated. The feel of your hands on my body is so distracting that I think the only way to get to you is to take charge first. I want you to know me unequivocally. I want you to know my nature. Yes, sweet, genuine, nice but also confident, playful, dominant. Also resilient, fierce, and occasionally predatory. Yes, predatory.

Seeing you only where we do frustrates me. See you there and only there forces me to continuously play to your rules. You are in charge. You are better at hiding, better at watching out, so you retain control. My urges to be in control remain stifled.

Sometimes I want to shove you hard against the wall, smother any protests you might have with my lips, and take the liberties I want to take. It should be my hand to your throat, holding you still; my hand over that gorgeous mouth of yours, muffling your noises. It should be your hands pinned down - don't think for a second that I couldn't do it. It should be my teeth biting an imprint in your lip that swells and reminds you of my kisses for days. It should be your warm, warm body that feels the cool trails my eternally cold fingers leave behind. It should be my fingers delving deep to force out the moans I so need to hear. I can see your face flushed from holding back those noises, your body unsteady and tensing. It should be you left shaky with the adrenaline of almost teetering over into orgasm, but almost getting caught. It should be me devouring you, feeding my hunger.


Tuesday, November 27, 2012


You chose your words so carefully, just to tell me that I make you wet. How sweet of you to protect my delicate sensibilities. You are so charming.
You make me wet too, gorgeous. After one of your little visits I am always pleased to be wearing dark pants. You leave me soaked and wanting you.

I am wet now just thinking about my hair balled in your fist. I love your pure enjoyment of that moment, how easily you control my movements, how you seem to relish guiding my head where you want it. In that moment more than any other it was so difficult not to unfasten your belt, pull your pants down and let my tongue explore you. When we are finally able, I want you just that way, you pulling my hair so hard it hurts, you forcing my mouth against you, you letting out that little noise you do when something pleases you.

I withhold so much. We've talked about "switching roles." You don't know of what I am capable, and I cannot show you with our current restrictions. You must take charge right now, because I trust you not to get us caught. Aren't you curious, gorgeous?

Yes, fuck me on that desk. It is still so risky, with that window, but that adds something doesn't it? Take off my pants and bend me over the desktop. Grasp one of my hips to steady me while you fuck me, because I know you won't be gentle. I want it to hurt. Shove your fingers into me, I'll be so swollen and wet for wanting you. Make me cry out, make me beg. Make it too much, and don't stop when I ask. When you tire, sit me on the desk and kiss away my soreness. Bite your way down my body, leave an imprint of your teeth at the juncture of my hip you love so much. That chair is the perfect height for my knees over your shoulders. Trail kisses up my thighs. Be gentle with your tongue, barely brush it against me. Make me squirm and try to force you closer. Tease me, pull away when I am getting close. Make me use my legs to hold your mouth against me. When I can't hold back anymore, when I shake and cry out and writhe, kiss me with those gorgeous soft lips of yours. I want to taste myself on your lips.

Saturday, November 17, 2012


My desire to write is very like lust. It wakes me from my sleep and demands my attention. When I am unable to placate the urge, it remains an itching in my brain, a deep primal compulsion. My mind rarely strays from the insistent burn when the desire goes unsatisfied. Even when my thoughts must move to daily tasks, there is a place in my brain that cannot forget what must be consummated before I can rest.

You are the reason for my restlessness. You inspire me to write and you arouse my lust. Between the two, my mind is constantly pressed with urge, desire, need. This is not a complaint. You feed that live wire electricity beneath my skin. Without it I would be hollow. This is what it feels like to live.

My desire to write can be satisfied, at least temporarily; my need for you seems endless. Again, it's too much to tell you how often my thoughts stray to you.

When I write, when I embody the perfect mind state to craft my words the way I want them to fall on the page, I am all sensation. I am the words on the page, they are an intrinsic part of me. I am the restlessness, the urges, the compulsion, the pressing fuck me now need. Do musicians meld with their instruments the way I live my words? Every chord flowing from my speakers the musicians plucked on my guitar string rib cage. There is sheer artistry in pulling emotion from your audience the way these players do.

You asked me why I had such a good morning. Silly question. I had an extraordinary morning because the object of my desire was moved by my writing, by my pictures. I relish that response, "Jesus." I had an extraordinary morning because the glowing need controlling my body was answered by the same need guiding yours.

I crave your touch. I have an insatiable need for you, for what your touch does to me. Every blog I write is a call to action. Every blog I write is a plea.

Friday, November 16, 2012


You said, "You should drink a few more glasses and come see me." It was a flippant remark, and funny, but darling, I have no need of wine to come see you. All I need is a serious request (order?) from you. True, my inhibitions would be completely lowered, but I have so few inhibitions where you are involved. You don't want me reckless in your presence. It is already so hard to hold back.

I love the sense of urgency when we're together. I thrive in it, that's why I smiled. My wrists hit the wall, the slam reverberating through my body. Yes.
I had to test you just a little; it's so pleasing to me that you held your ground and pushed harder against me, anchoring me to the wall.  How tantalizing, your kisses almost out of reach. I became nothing beyond the need you continuously stir in me. 

How easily I see what could have happened. How quickly my mind strays to you swiftly unbuttoning my pants, yanking them down, my wrists still imprisoned by your grasp. How readily I'd take anything you have to offer. Drive me against that wall, your fingers buried deep. Make it impossible for me to keep quiet. See my abandon, my recklessness, the absolute pleasure of having you inside of me written all over my face. Take me.

Kneel before me, knowing that even in that position of submission you hold the power. Affix my hips to that wall with your mouth, my leg wrapped tightly around your head, your body and mine both rocking with the writhing I cannot control. When I can't stand anymore, pull me to the floor, carry me to the table, whatever you please, just please don't stop.

I can't stand all the clothing. I need your skin. Let me feel how much it turns you on to touch me. I want you wet; I'd kill for the taste of you on my lips. If you won't let me touch you, let me see you touch the places I long to caress. Trace my lips with fingers damp with your own desire. You drive me wild. It would be such a privilege to please you.

Meet me after work, any place is fine. The dark is a great equalizer. Don't leave me wanting, please. I need your touch.

Saturday, November 10, 2012


Over the last few days I have been unable to resist sliding my hands over the paths your hands so recently traced. Those wonderful hands of yours left echoes of warmth in my skin that I can't help reviving. My hands are a poor imitation, but I still feel the tingle, the gentle reminder that you've touched me. If I close my eyes and slowly move my hands the way you moved yours, I see you in that moment. I see the lustrous blue of your eyes, I see your tenderness, I see your desire.

A million times a day I run my hand through the hair that is constantly in my face and push it aside. You made that same gesture, twice running your fingers so gently through my hair. Maybe it is too much to tell you I take pleasure in that simple moment, that the million times I brush my hair aside bring a million images of you to my mind.

Do you know how hard it was to tell you my little story while you teased me from your chair? What little fantasies did you have playing in your mind while I was seated before you? Every word I was trying to say caught in my throat, held in by the images I had of you in various states of undress.

I want my hands buried in your hair beautiful, my lips pressed to your throat. I want to trail my fingers along the gentle dip of your spine, I want to follow the paths I traced with my lips. I want your skin to my skin. I ache for you.

Thursday, November 8, 2012


You make my knees weak. I'm sure you could tell. I am not shy about voicing my pleasure, so I hope you appreciate how absolutely difficult it was to remain silent. I had to hold even my breath in, because those moans I contained would have spilled out with my breath, had I allowed myself to breathe.

You are this amazing woman, beautiful, strong, tender. You're irresistible to me. I'd do anything to bring a smile to your face. Say the word beautiful, and what you want you get.

I want more. You said those same words the first time we kissed. They are still true for me now. I want more of you. I want you to finish what you started. I want to make you feel what I felt.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Hold, please.

One of the pure pleasures of a chilly house is the utter deliciousness of wrapping yourself in warm blankets to ward off the chill. That pleasure is, of course, magnified when you're able to add the touch of one person who frequently fills your thoughts. Wish wish wish...

Some days call for evocative fantasy, and some require a substantially more tame reality. This is a reality kind of morning, replete with longing, chill, and that ever present hunger. The chill is probably fever.

Expect more from me Thursday. I hope to feel thoroughly better again by then, and expect to do some writing then. I'm thinking of a few new recipes you might like too.

Thursday, November 1, 2012


Perhaps it seems odd to write about food on a blog so devoted to sensuality. Sensuality need not be so narrow. I'm loving the definition of sensuality as "unrestrained indulgence in sensual pleasures," with sensual defined as "arousing or excited the senses or appetites." Just the words in those definitions are tantalizing. I find it infinitely possible to explore life sensually. I feel too much.

A brief browse of the library shelves yields slow cooker recipes, recipes for health, recipes for people who dislike cooking. I cannot stand cooking for necessity. Seldom found are the books created by and for people carrying on a love affair with food. Seldom found are the people whose senses are aroused by the fine texture of good flour, the rich hunks of butter in a pie crust, the incomparable aroma of that buttery crust browning. I bake for the sheer love of the thing. Boxed cake mixes and bread machines are blasphemy. Wooden spoons, hand kneaded dough, and quality ingredients are the essence of baking. Remove the essence and the whole experience whithers.

The recipe titles leave all but the most experienced food connoisseur wanting. Poached winter fruits with crème anglaise does not sound appetizing or overly special, but oh what the picture of that miraculous dessert will evoke. When poached in wine and amazingly aromatic spices, plums and apples become complex and otherworldly. Words on a page mean nothing. Texture, taste, piquant scents, mouthfeel are all essential. Food creates memories, desserts all the more so. Beyond the pure sensuality of a properly prepared dessert, there is a gratification in sharing that beauty with others.

“If you are careful,' Garp wrote, 'if you use good ingredients, and you don't take any shortcuts, then you can usually cook something very good. Sometimes it is the only worthwhile product you can salvage from a day; what you make to eat. With writing, I find, you can have all the right ingredients, give plenty of time and care, and still get nothing. Also true of love. Cooking, therefore, can keep a person who tries hard sane.”
― John Irving, The World According to Garp

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

May I?

Flip me over, force me face down on the bed. Yank my jeans down and imprison my legs.
I'm not ready for you yet, but push my panties aside and shove your fingers inside me. You'll fit tightly, driving a rush of passion through me, driving a gasp from my throat. Whisper dirty things in my ear; make me blush.
Fuck me, from behind, one hand around my throat. It will be exquisite torture to have you so close, but so inaccessible. Impale me with your fingers, press into me, fuck me until you drip sweat and gasp for breath. Leave me sore and bruised; a pleasant reminder the next day of how deliciously we came together.

Make me beg you for release. I won't come this way, so you can prolong my begging for as long as you'd like. Leave me unsatisfied and demand that I please you. Require me to ask permission for every move I make. In a soft, pleading whisper - may I run my hands through your hair? May I kiss your earlobe? May I bite a trail from your jaw to your breast? May I unbutton your pants? Spread your legs for me, may I lay between them? May I fuck you, fingers gliding inside you, mouth devouring you? May I moan my pleasure at your permission for this privilege? Know that any denied request would break my heart. Know that your taste, your noises, your movements whip me into a frenzy, and a single touch could spill me over. Come for me. May I watch you redden, writhe, tense? May I lose myself in your noises? May I?

Monday, October 29, 2012


Sometimes I wonder if you're aware of how your words affect me, but coming from you I have no doubt your words are intentional. You stood there, holding those tweezers, and told me you like inflicting pain. I thought about the possibilities for hours.

That second picture I took and never sent was missing something. I think it would have been much improved had my hands been bound behind my back. Coarse, prickly rope is a perfect contrast to soft skin. You do remember that picture, don't you? You don't need another?

I have written too many times begging for you and imploring you to take me. Forget "let me."

Make me. Teach me those lessons I so yearn to be taught.

I know you want me on my knees. Run your hands through my hair gently before you snap my head back. I swoon at the mixture of tenderness and dominance in you. Grasp tightly and expose my throat, command me. Inflict the pain you want to inflict. Play with me. Guide my mouth where you want it. Kneeling, head back, what else can I do but submit to you? Force my mouth against you, grind against me until I am gasping for air. Be rough. I am an enthusiastic lover, you won't hurt me. Or maybe you want to hurt me, just a little. Do it.

Yes, I am going to be just a little bit rebellious. Wrap your fingers around my throat, slam me against the wall, tell me just how you're going to punish me for my disobedience. Do you want me on all fours? Kneeling? Bent and exposed? Bound and gagged? Force me to do your bidding darling. I'm new to this game, but I know you'll instruct well.

"Lessons in control, lessons in pain and pleasure."

Friday, October 19, 2012


Some weeks I feel positively crippled by longing, by lust. I wish I could turn off this desire. It hampers my life. I want to shut it down.

I'm not fool enough to believe anything would change after our last big step. Not that I am counting, but how long has it been? Supposedly, a woman peaks sexually in her 30's. Dear god, I am not prepared for that.

This morning is painful after last night's particularly delicious dream. Tell me how to turn off the live wire electricity beneath my skin. Tell me how to cool the warmth between my thighs and halt the images in my head. I can't stop.

So, like a dutiful housewife, I clean. I bake, I read, I get myself out of the house as much as possible. When my mind sees nothing but fantasy, I write.
I suppress these urges. It won't work. The body rebels. The body gets what it needs. Suppression leads to explosion, to mutiny. I work so hard to channel this energy into other things, and I fail miserably.

Please make it stop is my plaintive plea to a higher power that doesn't exist. Let me be asexual. Turn it off. I am tired of suffering.

Friday, October 12, 2012


I swam out of my gentle, murky dream state this morning to find my hand already loitering between my thighs. My thoughts were of you, beautiful, as always. I succumbed to the temptation to continue my play, and let one exquisite, lonely orgasm rip through my body, leaving me wasted and fully awake.

I go back through and read old writings periodically. I like to let my words provoke those old creaky feelings. I read back through "Yielding," and instead of feeling the echo of the passion I felt when I wrote it, I felt the torturous burn of you reading my blog back to me. The afternotes of your perfume fill my senses, and I hear the lilt of your tongue reading those words. I hear your enunciation, your emphasis. "I'll try so hard to be strong." You liked that, I could tell. "Anything you wish." Just fuck me already, baby. Stop letting me twist and dangle. Stop making me squirm. I can still see the smirk gracing your lips. You asked, "What are you offering, exactly?" I never responded, because you know what I am offering.

Letter to a playground bully...

Some days more than others I am overwhelmed by awareness. I am overwhelmed by a sense of shame to belong to a human race so full of anger, betrayal, lies and ego. I joined a local church to seek those full of humility, kindness and empathy. I found several people I am happy today to call friends, people full of joy for life. I treasure their company.

I also found people seething with anger. I found people wallowing in hate. I found people guided by that self-same ego. I cannot live buried beneath those who live, breath and eat anger as they do. I do not understand the games being played around me.

Why tell me a horrid story, supposed friend of mine? Why tell me a story designed to provoke jealousy, designed to provoke a measurable response? You made a mistake to assume I would be as easily played as so many others. Yes, I am an emotional woman. Yes, I experienced an emotional reaction as you spouted your deception...but then I let it go. Jealousy solves no problems. I have an active mind, above all else, and my mind is telling me that there is something wrong with your story. You are much too eager to press these details upon me. You are much too eager to gauge my reaction.

I refuse to believe the person I have been getting to know all this time is creating a nonsense persona for me to absorb. It defies logic. What I see in this woman is pure and true. It is not manipulative.
Yes, your tale stopped me in my tracks. It made me stop and think. It made me second guess myself, it made me mistrust other people. What are you gaining from my mistrust? What are you gleaning from my reaction? How does this scenario advance your ends?

As eager as I am to accept new people into my life, as eager as I am to see all that is good and true, do not think I am fool enough to allow people to remain in my life when they have proved themselves destructive. I have no need for that sort of unpleasantness, and no hang up about severing ties.

For you, my one regular reader...this was not intended for you. This is just one letter that will not be sent.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Give it up

I once wrote in another blog, at another time, that I want my sex to be all consuming, my reading to be all consuming, but never my love. I do not want an all consuming love. I feel a love like that eats your life. I want someone I can share life with, not someone that swallows it for me.

They were words from another time, words I was hurting to feel. I lost that all consuming love and in due time found what I was seeking. I found a love that does not swallow me. Later, I again found what I was seeking: an all consuming passion. That the love and the passion belong to two separate people puzzles me. Perhaps it is impossible not to be depleted by a person that embodies both an all consuming love and an all consuming passion.

I'm left with quite a quandary. Or maybe not. I have resolved my issue. I have made my choice. I cannot kill off a portion of me. My sexuality is an intrinsic part of who I am, so woven into my fabric that to suppress it would be self-destruction. I cannot stifle it. As much of a nuisance it can be, squashing it would only make the problem worse. So here I am, naked for all the world to see.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012


I know the music is perfect for writing when the strains of guitar make my belly clench low. I need that deep physical response.

I am still awaiting your punishment, darling. Do I show too much eagerness, reminding you of your duty? It doesn't do to have a willful slave, does it? Willfulness, and enthusiasm. You'd want to break one and encourage the other, yes? You know I am so eager to please you.

What would you choose? I'm already on my knees, bent to your will. Would you prefer using those hands you are so good with? Isn't there something so sweet about flesh to flesh, the echo of the sting you dealt reverberating in your palm? Isn't there something so satisfying about the defined red hand prints left behind as evidence of your fire? Isn't there something so tempting about pausing to grab and pinch already heated, tender flesh? I am sure you have a sadistic strain; I am sure you wouldn't hesitate to make the pain just that little bit more exquisite, more piercing.

Maybe you crave more than palm slapping flesh. Maybe you want more spilled forth from me than just sharp breaths, and choose the leather of your belt. That would better achieve the color you are seeking, better force noises from my throat. Forget sharp breathes; instead, you'll hear my gasps, my little cries. Don't be too gentle. My body tenses, preparing for each blow, my breath torn from me when your lashes connect. I'll try so hard to be strong. I won't ask you for mercy, even moaning between clenched teeth. I yearn to yield to you, my body quivering from stinging pleasure pain. Anything you wish.

Will you kiss away my tears when my body is overcome? Will you recharge me with your fingers and tongue when all I have to give has been drained away?

Friday, October 5, 2012


Don't think for a second that a few days without writing means I have any less sensation roiling beneath my skin. A few days of absence just allows this fervor to build. These wishes and desires bind me so completely; only a short wait hinders my inevitable spill across these pages.

Yes, I will again make my craving for you visible and plain. Yes, I will again tell you pretty stories, again create images for you to return to when you need them. Please keep reading.

...but spilling here brings no relief. I still miss your smile, your energy. I still miss your lips. I still have visions of your naked skin dancing in my head. I still run my fingertips over my lips and remember you biting, teasing. Damn, I just want to kiss you.

Monday, October 1, 2012


Tonight's class was exhilarating. I pushed myself harder than I have in a long time; instead of hurting, I feel so much more alive. The problem with getting the blood pumping through every molecule of your being is the inevitable increase in blood rushing through every molecule of your being. I am so much more aware of each curve, muscle, sinew of my body. I am intimately conscious of my heart beating wildly, my breath quickened, my capillaries filled with life. Libido soars after a workout like I just had.

...and every ounce of that lust and fire and life has remained contained. The only time I should be this tied is bound before you, submitting like you so want me to submit.

I am so fucking tired of shutting myself down. Why live in a world of "no" and "can't" and "don't"? I have so much to offer, so very much to give, and it just remains contained. When do I get to be let out?

Yes, I desperately want. I want hot, sweaty, fucking on the floor because making it to the bed doesn't matter sex. I want something physical, passionate, and earth shattering; I know it is there, I want it.

Do you know why people are attracted to me? I have a theory. Sure, maybe I have something physical people are attracted to, and yes I can be good and sweet and kind and nice. I can be nurturing. More than anything though, I have a fire for life. I see what life has to offer, and I indulge in every minute of it. I'm not letting go, I'm not giving up.

So yes, when I am in a deep hip opening pose, my knees and hips and legs spread as far as they will open, my torso flat on the ground, my arms stretched as far as they can reach ahead of me, letting all that tension go...know that I think of you. Know that I think of laying prostrate before you in such a manner. Know that I think of being hopelessly exposed, and perhaps a little embarrassed for it. Know that I would willingly do just about anything to thrill you.

Thursday, September 27, 2012


Pretty baby, you are going to give me what I want.

Our last little encounter ended with my hands sliding down your waist, over your hips, to the small of your back before you had to pull away. For many reasons, I have been allowing you to make the moves. Your desire for me impels you to come find me, to offer furtive little kisses, to wrap your arms around me for the brief seconds we have together. I just eat up the idea that you are moved to take action.

In turn, I am compelled to focus my desirous impulses right here, for your reading pleasure. One caveat:  these yearnings will not remain flat and glued to this page. These yearnings are real, they are 3D, they are as alive as you or I, and I am so restless. My hasty liberty taking, that mere brush of my hands down your sides, left thoughts spinning in my head. Thought becomes action.

I hunger for you. I long to explore you, to run my hands over your skin, to skim my fingertips over the delicate hairs down your arms. Unbutton the next button on your shirt, let me see that little triangle of your undershirt peep through. Just that little glimpse of your skin stirs me. Leave the rest, I will unbutton them later. You should be sitting; I want to straddle you, your hips and thighs between mine.

When I brush gentle kisses from your ear, across your jaw, down your chest, know that I am driven crazy by the scent of your skin, aching for more. Feel my lips at your ear, teeth tugging at your lobe, biting, licking, teasing while I stroke my hands through your thick hair. Feel my softness pressed to yours, feel the building heat between us, feel the excitement in my chest. Feel the press of my fingers to your lips, fingertips pushing past your teeth to touch the wet heat of your mouth. Bite down, if you will, trap me within you. Let me push you back on the bed, and slide down to kneel between your thighs; I want to look up at you from my knees as I unbutton your shirt, pushing my hands against your soft skin. Do you want me to loosen your pants with my teeth? I can, you know.

I want to bite my way along your hips, the taste of your skin at my lips. Be patient, gorgeous one, there is a lot of skin to cover between the knee and that sexy junction of hip and thigh. I will take my time and seek out every inch of that delicate skin with my tongue and teeth before I am satisfied. I can't wait wrap my arms around your hips, bury my face against your thigh, and breathe you. I want your taste, I want to see how wet you'll get for me. I want to see your face flushed. I want to push my fingers inside you, I want to make you moan. I want to bury myself inside you and see if your sounds match the noises you make in my daydreams. Do you know how wet I am for you right now?

Monday, September 24, 2012


Sometimes I just want your arms around me.

Yes, sometimes your scent, your smile and your gorgeous good looks make me want to peel every inch of clothing from your body and cover you with my lips, but sometimes I just want the simple, sweet comfort of your arms. God I wish those melting in your arms moments did not have to end so quickly.

Wish wish wish. Want want want.

I live for the thought that you might one day drop by work and whisper in my ear a time and place.
Living with a naive hope is sometimes preferable to reality.

Sunday, September 23, 2012


Last night was bruising and I am so weary. The ins and outs, the rights and wrongs don't matter. I wish I had more time to process, but processing will not change what happened. There were many transgressions on both sides. How can you mend your own bruising when that energy is needed to soothe  another?

No one can remain strong incessantly. Caretaker that I am, I am so eternally thankful that when I needed to be weak I had someone there to be stronger than I. I am thankful for having such a good friend who provided a safe space and a nonjudgmental ear. As thankful as I am, I still wish it could have been you.

That brief embrace today, that limited touch of warmth against warmth, gave me enough to steel myself for what comes. I couldn't stay away, today of all days. I hope you don't mind.

Thank you for giving me what I needed, although you didn't know it at the time.

Friday, September 21, 2012

No holding back

You are so exquisitely irresistible! Can you tell when your words flush me with desire? Do you know that you could have had exactly what you wanted, right then and there, with no protest from me? I almost begged for it. I am begging. I think you like that.

I don't know how you can keep fighting this. Can you imagine how explosive we would be in a room alone together? With this raw energy between us, can you imagine? I can and that is why I keep pushing. This is not wrong.

Fuck me. Indulge for once. You know I want you. You know that anything you want goes. I won't protest. Caress me gently until I squirm and beg for more. Order me to do your bidding (hopefully something that involves my face planted between your thighs...) Let me have my way with you. I do not care what we do, as long as I get to kiss and touch and breathe you.

I have never been so subjugated, and it's endlessly funny to me that you never intended this domination. Here I am. I am yours. I'm spread before you, offering pleasure for the taking. Surely I must be tempting. Isn't it so much more fun to conquer those who will fight back?

Just say yes baby. You know you want my kisses. You know you want me to bite, tear, claw your passion to the surface. Say yes.

"Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest..."

Thursday, September 20, 2012


This is glorious. Swimming in sensuality, wallowing in it, feels beautiful. I've taken a good portion of the morning to indulge in blogs by women that I used to worship. Some, I find, washed away like I did and no longer write their signature blogs. Some left such an enormous backlog of writing that I can continue to swim for days in their intellect, lust, emotion. The connections astound me. I miss CityDifferent and wish I could find him. I hope AAG comes back. ...but Chelsea G. Summers knows Kim Boekbinder, knows Amanda Palmer, knows The Bloggess. I'm fascinated by the swirling talent. I wonder if Dangerous Lilly ever mentioned FairNine. Whatever happened to The Beautiful Kind? I miss my (few) connections to this underground little world. Am I brave enough to ever attend one of those conferences? Am I brave enough to meet these idols? Sometimes what I write is good enough. Sometimes I am a puddle of self-doubt.

The return feels good. I think I need to return to Twitter and cull half of my list so the other half will be visible. I yearn to reconnect. On another note...Ginger Slap is following my Twitter. Fangirl squee!!

Wednesday, September 19, 2012


I like surprises. I liked your little surprise for me earlier. So shocking, your fistful of my hair. So shocking, the surety with which you moved. Even thinking about it now makes me feel the same electric jolt you yanked from me earlier. I've never been more instantly aroused.
Even now, that jolt still pulses inside me. Even now I ache for you.

When I lightly trail fingertips down my neck, I imagine your lips tracing those lines. When my hands slid down to cup firm breasts, thumb gliding over nipple, tickling, sending waves of arousal down deep...they should be your hands. The fingers dipping along my hips are your fingers, thumbs poised to press those tender spots, hands grasping me to you like they did this morning, forcefully. I need your teeth, your mouth. In my mind, you bite your way down my body, nipping my thighs, teasing. I need you to spread my hips broadly. Pin me. I can't help but to push my hips against you, wrap my legs around you, sigh and breathe deeply. I can't help grinding against you, every small pressure increasing the desire within. With your (my) fingers finally pushed inside, I'm riding those deep shocks, deep waves. I should be writhing against you now, not against my couch. You should be building this rhythmic dance to a peak, your wet fingers plunged deep, your mouth seeking my taste, my hands in your hair.

Yes, right now, I'm all take. Don't think I don't know how to give.

"I want a girl with lips like morphine/knock me out every time they touch me/I want to feel her kiss just crush me/and break me down..."

Tuesday, September 18, 2012


Come to me. Keep your control, but shift it.
I want to see desire in those deep, expressive eyes; I want to see your lust.

You are not shy, so don't be so coy. I'm addicted to the tension between us. I want to drink your scent down and come back for more. Just standing where you've been makes me heady.

Start with those soft, heartbreaking kisses. Let those kisses deepen, explore me. Grind your mouth against my lips, teeth, tongue. Grab my hips, yank me close, press your thumbs against that oh so sensitive juncture of hip and thigh. Swallow my gasp so no one hears. Force your thighs between mine, spread me, cram yourself against me. Moan when you feel how hot I am for you.
Slide your hands up the sensitive skin of my belly, make me shiver. Push the fabric of my bra aside, pinch, grab, squeeze a blush into my cheeks. Echo my sighs. Be rough, be demanding. Order me around. I'll do what you command.

Monday, September 17, 2012

"Yes, I know, and I'm enjoying every minute of it."

 Some of the things you say echo.

Saturday, September 15, 2012


When you're trapped and burning, what can you do but explode? Sometimes it's nice to control.

My thoughts are all control right now; demanding, forceful, writhing, sensual control. Give me the chance. Sometimes the chance can't be given and must just be taken.

Sometimes the choice cannot be to react, but to act. The body does as it will.

Last night my dreams were disconnected strands of temptation, the worst I've had in some time. Don't leave me to my imagination. I will be consumed.

Now I wish to consume. Don't you miss the fire?
Come to me. Let me glide my fingertips down your arms, creating the same tingle beneath your skin I feel in mine. Let me kiss you with all of the passion I can no longer contain. Let me light the fire in you.
Don't resist. Don't block it anymore. Reveal it, revel in it. Let me lay every inch of me against you. Take my kisses, my touches, my desire. Take what I have to give.

Or don't. Let me force it upon you. Make me push you against the wall and take what I want. Make me drag the kisses I want from your lips. Make me grab your hands and place them where I want them. Make me pin you, and remind you what it feels like to be so alive.

I want to fuck
the living breath
right out of your lungs
so that just to survive
you have to suck
from me
when we kiss.

Gasp - CityDifferent

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Maximum Contact

My cat lives, it seems, for a gentle scratching between his perky little ears. He waits, perched on the dryer or the table, for me to pass. He spends his day divided between these places, alternately sunning himself and sleeping. He deliberately situates himself for maximum contact. Sometimes he grows tired of waiting and seeks me out himself. He will stand with his entire bodyweight pushed against my arm and side, preventing any actions save those that further his ends. Smart cat. He curls himself against me, every inch of his small body against mine, endlessly wanting more.

Is this a story about a cat?

Monday, September 10, 2012


"It ever was, and is, and shall be, ever-living Fire, in measures being kindled and in measures going out." - Heraclitus

Don't feel. Don't catch your breathe sharply when she walks by. Don't look up and away so quickly. Don't smile that secret smile when you are left alone to your thoughts. Don't let that sparkle creep into your eyes. Don't look for her every time you pass. Don't let your mind race for hours lying in bed, thinking thoughts of her.

Don't remember every second of each embrace like each second could be years. You can't live in those moments. Don't let your body feel when she kisses you. For god sake, don't let your body respond. Don't flush when you think of that last insistent kiss. Don't let the fire eat you alive when you are consumed by her touch, scent, taste.

When your pulse beats liquid under your skin to a rhythm she set, don't get swept away.

Friday, September 7, 2012


There is a time, nearly every night, during which I wake. The time does vary; never is it solidly 3am.
I feel things more wholly as I waver between consciousness and sleep, and the emotions I feel when I "wake" are amplified like none other.

Last night my feeling was a feeling of you. I cannot describe it in an understandable sense. I woke feeling lonely, sad, empty, and missing you.

Tonight I intend to sleep through the night. Tonight I want no whole feelings. I just want you. I don't want to wake missing you any more piercingly than I already do. I do not want to wake wanting you. I do not want to wake with the fear that tomorrow today will have been a fantasy.

Instead I will saturate myself in each exquisite sensation the day brought. I will think until thinking becomes impossible. I will feel...I am feeling. The need is a reverberating echo in my bones. The fear is a sinister heaviness in my visceral organs. The desire needs no description, as it is the selfsame desire that drenches us both.

Please. It is a plea so heartfelt, so desperate. Please.

Monday, August 27, 2012


"A doctor once told me I feel too much. I said, so does god. That's why you can see the grand canyon from the moon." - Andrea Gibson

I feel too much. My body is constantly a roil of emotions. I experience nothing that is not experienced viscerally first. Intellect is second. I am slowly, slowly, slowly, painfully learning how to think first and feel later, but sometimes the yearning is too strong. Sometimes the anger is much too great. Sometimes I feel everything as a serrated knife to my bones; an ache and a grinding much too deep to ever ignore.

I will never care about the grammar in these blogs, never care about the proper punctuation, because e.e. cummings had it right. Emotion first, rules later and maybe never.

Here I am spilling. Who follows the rules when they pour forth all that they are?

I'm stymied by the contradictions. I see what you are damming up. I see the concrete springing leaks.
"...Sometimes I wish that the tide would take me..."

Chris Pureka - Shipwreck

Sunday, August 26, 2012

For you

I don't really know why, but I want you to see me. I want to share all of me with you.

I wanted you there today, experiencing the beauty I was experiencing as I walked around the church garden. I wanted you to experience the vivid gladiolus with the sun making them glow. I wanted you to see the genius in Andrea Gibson's work, to feel the heartbreak the way I feel it when I hear her perform.

I want you to be moved. I want beauty for you.

More than anything I want to connect with you. I want to know what lights your fire. Maybe what makes you burn isn't at all close to what makes me burn. That's ok. Maybe I want to see your joy because you have a seemingly endless supply of composure. I just want an opportunity to see the real you. I don't want to see your restraint. I don't want to see that pain in your eyes, that downturn in your lips. I want to see the pure happiness and love in you that each and every soul is capable of showing forth. Forget "showing," I want to see it explode out of you.

I do not want to be the stumbling block on your journey. I do not want to be the source of the pain in your eyes.

What I am asking for is innocent. You know the day, the time, the place. All I am asking is that you come, still your mind, and find peace. No tricks. Just mutual peace.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012


My mindset during yoga translates to daily life.
Today I learned experience in one pose by no means translates to ability in another. Today I learned to be mindful of each and every muscular movement my body makes, as the slightest adjustment could potentially prove painful. Today I learned that letting my mind wander sometimes leads to the letting go of tension I have been so desperately seeking.

Through today's yoga I was reminded to be humble, mindful (both in action and thought), and less vigilant.

What will tomorrow's yoga bring?

Saturday, July 21, 2012


So much of my life revolves around my injured back. I began regularly incorporating several therapeutic yoga poses into my daily schedule, as well as a short meditation. The stretching took a ridiculous amount of pressure of off my back and I couldn't be happier to have avoided pain medication. When the pain starts to fade though, so too does the yoga and mediation practice. I have skipped practice more often than not this week, but getting back into it today is a step in the right direction.

Tomorrow I attend church for the first time in years. The church is unitarian, and very welcoming from what I have heard. I feel the need for some self-exploration. I feel the need connect to some higher power. I have had so much trouble with the traditional notions of God and Jesus, but I have so much respect for those who follow "the word" and love all equally. My trouble with God and Jesus stems from human hate. I know this new church does not preach hate, and I am looking forward to it a great deal.

I feel as if I am entering a new stage in my life; a more grounded stage, perhaps. I feel that the meditation and church service are connected. I feel better than I have in such a long time.

Friday, July 6, 2012


I have had many misgivings about my decision to leave my current job. I got a clear signal though. I hurt my back again, doing something unavoidable in my current job. The pain is a healthy reminder to take it easy and take care of myself first. The next few days at work are likely to be stressful, painful, and all around difficult. Just more incentive to get working.

I feel like I am letting everyone down. I promised, by signing that contract, to be with the company for the next two years. I am only six months in and I am already backing out. I feel judged for it, probably rightly so. My friend's brother told me, "I'm too pure of heart too. You always want to make sure other people have what they need, but you need to make sure you are taking care of yourself first." I needed to hear that. It goes against my most basic instincts, but he is right.

Sunday, July 1, 2012


Once more through another revolution, another rebellion. This time it will be my job. I have always made decisions suddenly and this one is no different. I am afraid of being without employment, but am excited for the next big thing. Here's to hoping.

One moment every day stops my heart. The waking moment, the moment between dreams and reality, the moment I think of you. I am happy now. I'm in a good place, but still you haunt me. I wake to thoughts of you, I wake to the ache of the pain I caused, I wake to regret. I wake to missing you. I want to ask, "Are you sure?" I almost text you the last time I was drunk. I almost asked, "Are you happy?" Just asking you that could cause pain, and so I didn't text. I'm only sad when I wake. I hope you are well. I wish for our mutual happiness.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Survivor's guilt

I am learning to accept that I will not forget her. I use to hate the memories that continually arise out of seeming nothing; sometime I still hate them. More and more I am finding that each memory is a reminder of how great life is now. Each memory is a reminder of the hate, the agony, the hurt, and then proof that I never need to experience life that way again.

The anniversary of the tornado was rough. I am in the grips of survivor's guilt selfishly experienced despite not actually "surviving" anything. I did survive though, when so many died, when so many lost loved ones. I loved her still all the while she was in that basement, our puppy clutched tight between her knees, the wind reeking havoc above her. She was terrified. She was always fearful of even the most innocuous storms; terrified of the hail, of the green clouds. I feel guilt because I should have been there too.  Had I been there, I may have been in any one of the houses cruelly demolished, could have been one of those lives cruelly demolished, all because the nature of my job.  Had I been in the basement with her, with puppy, I would have survived with her. She claims the experience changed her for the better. She claims seeing the dead taught her to value her life. She was two blocks away from being one of the dead. Her experience makes me value life too.

The woman I knew always valued money and objects, always valued pretty. Appearances were everything. I do not know her after her survival. I hope she morphed into someone wholly different. I hope she treats her fiancée well. I hope she does value the life she has, and does something beautiful with it.

I know real love now. I know real love because I left, because I never experienced that tornado, because I stood up for myself. Leaving hurt, but I am alive today because I left. I hope to do something beautiful.

Friday, April 6, 2012


Sometimes I understand the cat's urge to knock something off the table just to watch it fall. I discovered Chris Pureka today. After listening to and loving Andrea Gibson for so long, I am amazed I never looked up this name she mentions so often.
I look to this as my capsule. A way to store all of the other bits I don't want in my life; the old longings, the boredom, any unhappiness. This is where it goes. Why does it need to be public? I don't know that answer. Maybe all people feel a need to connect, even if "connection" means yearning for an unseen person who may or may not be present.
God, this song is a roller coaster. My heart has it's hands in the air, voiceless, feeling the plunge the screaming so often covers.
I love the melancholy introspection of Annie Dillard. I feel the same feeling from Chris Pureka. It's beautiful.
I have nothing to be unhappy about. I think the feeling is actually from the muscle relaxers. More chemistry in action.
I love talent. I yearn to express myself the way those two do. Beautiful.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

I haven't written in so long I'm almost rusted shut. High fire danger today. The wind is billowing heavy smoke scented air, but outside I go because I can.

I did yoga today for the first time in months. My spine feels loose, but strained. The cats invariably lay on the mat beneath me during down dog, or push into my side for petting during spinal twists. Max just tries to ignore my heavy nose breathing.

Each pose teaches me something new. I never feel still; constantly adjusting, aligning, straightening. With a lower back problem and incredibly tight hamstrings, I am being taught to go slow. Slower still. It still feels good.

So this is love. I am struggling with our sex life. It is a problem in every relationship I have had. I am learning to relax a little. I try not to bring up sex, because I don't want to push. This relationship, my love her for, well...she is more important to me than sex.