Bound

Jul. 27th, 2008 at 9:13 PM

It is hard to type this way, bound by your Smith & Weston Steel love. I suppose I should have behaved, that I deserve the faint cold pinch of these shackles. My misdeeds have earned me another hour in your irons. Unrelenting, no safety release. I am bound to your will and so I will remain until you see fit to set me free. Shall I share with you a secret, its revelation as much my torment and my ultimate pleasure to admit it? I would pray in vain that I never be released from your clutches. And always remain, your most willing slave.

Music:Phase - Incubus

Bracing

Jul. 23rd, 2008 at 10:13 PM

It's come to this, I've sealed my heart to yours. I can't imagine how boring, trivial, and uninspiring my life would be like without you in it now. I can't return to how I used to feel: numb and exsanguinated, when you make me feel a rush of life with each and every kiss; with your lips so close to mine, my breath melding with yours, the sweetest perfume carried with it into the depths of my soul. I have never been kissed so fiercely, so deeply, and so passionately as when you are kissing me. I can tell you now, that is your signature checkmate, your kiss, second only to your smile. That same smile that curls back your delicate lips around teeth that try in vain to mirror the glimmer of pure joy in your eyes. Chocolate and mint, my favorite flavors mixing in a heady way, your gaze knocks me to the floor faster than tequila on an empty stomach. Funny that this spinning floating feeling you give me doesn't disorient me the same way though. I feel happy, at home, like there is no where I'd rather be than in your arms, my fingers twisting through your tangled curls. Those curls who dance across my body whenever you bend your rose colored lips to my pallid skin. They're animate, like thousands of delicate fingers, following the curves and bends of your head, tickling in a strangely luxurious way. I want to bottle the scent of your curls and muzzle myself with it the day long. That comforting nostalgic smell that speeds me to another time and place. Like a secret island only the two of us know how to find. The treasure map, charted out in skipped heartbeats and stifled gasps. You're far too astute to miss out on the signals I am sending, however subtle or obvious. I can't help but want to say it, with every heart beat, with every breath, with every eye blink: I love you. So it has indeed, come to this, you've opened the floodgates and like a roaring river I am overflowing with the emotion you raise within me. It is flooding the landscape all around me, dragging the ordinary pedestrian things of life into it's violent currents. Cars, mailboxes, cats on floating wooden boards, half empty tin cans all taking on the brilliant colors of what your love has done to me. I should be running for high ground. I should be sand bagging my house and setting up the sump pump in my basement. I should be readying the wet vac for the impending destruction it will leave in its wake when the flood a baits and leaves a high water mark on all I own. A high water mark indeed, one that will never be paralleled the same way in this lifetime. But I'm not running anymore. I'm through sand bagging, I just rip their stubborn plastic weave of faux burlap open with bleeding fingers and dump the sand around my heart, making that island a real place I can carry with me. An island only you know how to find, with the scent of your curls waving in the breeze and carried offshore. And instead of fighting back the burgeoning tides with the help of mechanical vampires, I open my doors wide to the flood, strip off my armor of inhibitions and decide to slip into that current. I will swim, perhaps until I drown, but I will swim and flow with the rapids your love supplies me with. And if I should ever feel like I'm loosing air, like I'm close to succumbing to a watery grave at the hands of these currents, I will steal a breath with one exhilarant kiss and swim on.

Music:Sunday Morning - Lily Allen

Ellipses

Jul. 22nd, 2008 at 2:02 AM

I'm tired baby. I'm so tired. Of everything, of life. I want to dare to dream to make my life far greater than I ever could have imagined. I want to make it a thing of unspeakable beauty with my eyes wide open and my feet on the ground for once. I want you there with me but for the whole wide world, I feel like it is tearing us apart. I look at you and I want to see my life reflected in your eyes. But time, my sweet love, is stealing me from you. Time and circumstance are just a they always have been for me: unfortunate. I wish I had met you when you were older. I don't know why my brain wants to distill it down to that but it does. We have our whole lives ahead of us and yet I feel the slow march of time carrying me away from you; my heart, my truest companion, my love. How can I put this in just mere words? How can I soften the blows when they rail against my own heart so blindingly? You, you are truly the one made of riches between us both. You are a rare fresh-water pearl and I want to be your oyster. To offer you comfort and softness and safety in my embrace. To show the world what a rare jewel you are at every moment. You, a young wisp of a woman who captured my foolish heart, who has changed my life irrevocably forever. I couldn't truly look upon you with a disapproving eye for more than a scant second really. I wish you would know my heart the way I do. I wish I could be less honest with you and spare you the pain. I wish I didn't feel compelled to ware you, to be the alarm endlessly sounding in your ears. You are right, whatever I could visit upon you, I know you are visiting much wore upon yourself. I suppose *that* is the very heart of the matter. When I met you, you were as beautiful as you have always been, as poised, as lovely and as breath-taking as ever. I imagine I react to you the same way that a sculptor does when they see the painfully beautiful raw form of untouched marble. In vain, I want to give you the form I see locked away inside this maze of stone. To free you from its concrete confines and give you movement, grae, and the deafening beauty you have sheltered deep within yourself. I should have known from the start what I know all too well now. You are the marble and the sculptor. You alone will be the one to carve yourself out and flesh out that is to become of your beauty. I'm so deeply sorry I can't/I couldn't understand that sooner. I am sorry if my attempts to free and fortify you have left you feeling weak and brittle at my hands. I adore you. I worship your essence with every breath, even if it seems the contrary, I promise you it is the truth. I can't do you any good, that is the lesson I must learn to live with, suffering for it in earnest. I have ruined what I set out to do, unknowingly, to love you as you are. Please forgive me. I hope you find what you deserve because I know it's not this. You taught me what it was to truly love someone: it is to accept them as they are, without prejudice or bias. My heart breaks a thousand times over to imagine my life without you in it for a moment, but I know the best gift I can give you now, is to give your freedom back to you. Because I can't imagine how you would ever be happy with me when I can't love you without treating you like this. I don't want to give up on you, on us. But I feel compelled to for your own safety and sanity. I won't make you a slave to my whims anymore. The choice is as it has always been, yours and yours alone. I love you, Sasha. I love you enough to remove my harmful influence from your life if that would grant you the promise of true happiness. Even if that means I'll suffer forever because of it. No one can take you place, no one every will. I"m sorry I entered your life and filled it with so much ugliness in only four months. I wish I could have given you the soft caress my love held in earlier years, instead, I have tried to give you the only thing I have/had left: my Strength. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I ever sought to change you, to make you better, to re-envision you in any way I have. I'm a coward, I suppose, to afraid to let time take its course. I have to cast me from you like a stone because I can see now, I'm the biggest danger to you. I'm far more of a threat to you than any of the things I try to caution you against. I'm sorry all I could ever be was miserable and denigrating. I am sorry for being a relentless, perfectionist, a tyrant, and an insensitive brute with your soul. I'm sorry that is the only and best way I know how to love you. I'm sorry you met me, but I'll never be sorry for meeting you. No one will rival your brilliance, your charisma, or your beautiful soul. I'm sorry for being hollow and cheap with you I wish I could be netter but I don't know how. I love you, that's all I can do and that's not good enough.

Music:As Long As Your Mine - Wicked

Your Villianess

Jul. 21st, 2008 at 11:27 PM

I can't say why it is exactly that I should always end up the villain in this game of chance. Why it is that if I expect, or encourage, or refuse mediocrity it makes me hard. Should I be soft then? And let it all just waste away? Should I stand idly by and allow life to become a mockery of the lessons it teaches us? I suppose it's better not to learn these lessons, but to keep making them repeatedly, endlessly suffering when a little change would have done a great deal of good. How quaint, how curious that soon the best of all champions turns into the chorus of disapproval. I suppose it would be safer to be nice for nice's sake and not invite their scrutiny. But the bottom line is, I am not seeking their approval, and their opinion really matters little to me in the grand scheme of things. Especially those who have enabled, who have sheltered and coddled these elements to come to their full fruit, who would threaten to tempt it further. They may be content with complacency, with shows of little effort and ill gains, of backslide that threatens foundation, much the same way mudslides threaten hillside homes. But I have seen too much to play the dumb ignorant. And I have seen too much in you not to be hard. I have seen to much in you than to give over to soft and let you slide away, all my treasures and hopes sliding with you into canyons below to always be lost. So let it be said that I was in fact, "too hard." Let it be said that I wasn't ever satisfied when there wasn't active improvement on some front. Let it be said that I was "no good for you." I'll play out my checkmate and see what the presence of that voice, that demanding voice, always encouraging you to reach your best and then surpass it will end up at. We'll see whether it was too hard when it's no longer sounding in your ears, and you're left with a chorus of soft flutes unable to carry your tune. I know the best course of action has been run as far as I can run it. I know there are only two paths open to me now. I can move forward and see if that is the direction you will take yourself. Or I can stay frozen, waiting for baby birds to fly from nests that are sheltered in heights they are afraid of. Heights that on some level, some would be content to keep them in forever. I am taking flight sweet bird, I won't call your doorstep my birdhouse for much longer. I needed a safe place to mend my own broken wings, to recalculate what I had lost, and learned in my fall. And you provided me that, for that I thank you. You gave me reason to believe in the sweet but fierce swallow that flies over my heart again, and for that I thank you. You gave me inspiration, and guidance, and conspired to ignite within me all things that will lead to my greatness manifest. You restored my judgment, my insight, my perseverance, and above all: my Faith. You gave me your heart and with it, I gave you mine; the most precious gift of all I will treasure, regardless of what time deals us hence. Cherish you, adore you, and push you I must. I don't know any other way to be, especially with something so gorgeous as yourself. Ask a jeweler why they use the tools they do to cut diamonds. It may seem like a cruel trick of fate that to make the rare stone sparkle unabashedly they should have to cut it apart. But even the jeweler will tell you, of tougher stuff, there is nothing more precious, rare, and beautiful made. An honor then, it must be to them to cut away the imperfections, to smooth down the rough hewn edges, revealing only the most excellent specimen was hidden in something that once appeared ordinary, crude, or even like it should have been left as it was at the hands of others. But the wild winds of change are calling to me, and the wings of destiny flap violently in my ears. I believe that now, there is no going back, and there is only this wall of wind to sail on in front of me. I will take that leap into the wind sweet bird and fly higher now than I ever did before because of you. But, will you follow? Or will you stay where I have found you, perched in your nest even as winter threatens to freeze your claws to the place you once called safe, a place you once called home? A place where there is no wind, and only perilous heights for flightless birds. Perhaps I am too hard then, so let me be your eagle, and you ever my swallow. I would have liked to fly these soaring winds with you at my side, but hen pecks from clever birds who would "know better" have driven me the last time from your nest. I am away with the whirlwinds sweet bird. I pray I'll hear your sweet song again, never dampened by a deafening chorus of placation. Your finest arias I will strain to hear as I build a new nest somewhere obscenely high, on the free born wind, some vista that will show you endless beauty, somewhere hard and marvelous. I will build that nest large and hope for your return, hope that you will have learned enough to follow where your destiny might lead you, away from the safety of softness and home to the arms of tender hard wrought admiration.

Music:For Good - Wicked

July 17th, 2008

2:37 AM

My cherished mind,
How my soul cries out for you tonight. But it is not your counsel I can seek in this matter. Not directly at least. The reason I will give you presently: I saw what was written. I read what was said. All of it. All that passed before you, between you, every nuance in every word. Every heartbreak, every new love, every curse and sigh the same. And I was so many things at once it was hard to understand where one ended and the other took up its proper course. I suppose you could describe it the way that water follows gravity, that it finds its own direction and then flows...hopefully all rivers meeting at the same destination, the vast and un-chartable ocean. I spun first in silent eddies of jealously. But that's to be well expected of me by now, is it not? Then passing through them, rip tides of anger, my heart beat a terrible fast rhythm at the injustices I saw scrawled there and SO many that were left unwritten but took up their vacancies in my mind. "Facts" that sealed the unspoken fate that remained transcribed by many clever tongues and sharper minds. Then the tender words, the tokens, the passions there that I discovered; the dreams however common and mutual struck something in me, something I dare not name. I am in a word, disgraced to you. You probably did not intend to grant me access to all that abundant food for thought. But know, my cherished mind. I wept tonight, and none were tears of joy.

Por siempre el suyo,
un fantasma.

Music:Starlight - Muse

Half Pipe Dreams

Jul. 11th, 2008 at 1:03 AM

Someday, someday...The heat of the day was muggy. Humid air clung to every pore, seemingly suffocating us in the weight of it. An intense fog of hot still air surrounded us that added moisture to our skin in the form of slow trailing ribbons of sweat. We sat in the sunshine, absorbing the glow you donned in slightly baggy jeans and me in long shorts. Your dark denim was set off by a studded belt threaded around wide but toned hips. In the heat your tight led zeppelin shirt clung to you and you had thrown your beanie to the side of us, landing it perfectly on the handlebars of your bike when you pitched it. In the wet heat, your short curls hung heavy and stuck to your jaw line, scattering in frizzled ends from the heat along the nape of your neck, just past your skull. You had kept your vans on, but had remarked earlier that it was hot enough for them to melt on the asphalt if your feet weren’t sweating enough inside the thick walls to create puddles that put the stopped the melting. I had laughed at your ridiculous suggestion, collapsing on the curb near the half pipe after vaulting off my bike and letting it topple on its side. Unable to move, we sat sprawled out against the curb of an abandoned skate park, legs spread we took up more space than we needed. Just two unassuming bois and their bikes in the skate park at nearly 2:00 o’clock. I was sticking to every surface and my clothing clung to me uncomfortably. Every piece was like a wet blanket thrown on me from my black and grey plaid converse and thick socks, to my deep moss green shorts, and my white wife beater hugged every inch of skin with it’s ribboned surface becoming sheer where my sweat pooled. The sun glinted off the spokes of our tires and cast a glare into my light green eyes. Squinting at the glare I turned my head and it lolled to the side, causing the sun to catch in my straight blonde shag. Heavy lidded from the heat of the day, I opened my eyes slowly, and took in the sight of you sunbathing beside me. Laid out on your back your eyes were closed and sweat sprinkled on your calm un-furrowed brow. Your skin had grown from a light pink in the winter to a deep olive tan in the summer’s sun. And the muscles in your arms and legs showed the hard work you had been doing in extra work outs and mastering your tricks in the park after work. You were a maze of flats and curves all hidden exceedingly well in the androgynous stance you sported. People still knew enough by your abundant curves to know you were indeed a girl, but what kind of girl looked more like a boy than a girl? My kind of girl, the kind of girl that fucked me raged in the ass after sucking my own dick dry, and then let me clean up her cunt with my tongue when it was all over. Just thinking about the way you fucked me the night before was making more than my back drip from the heat. My eyes wandered further down from your ample chest, past your smooth but rounded belly, to your thighs and down to bulge at their center. The sunlight glared off your belt and sent my eyes scattering down your legs to your vans, the ones you let me paint up for you like the Gates of Hell. But the bulge in your pants is impressive to draw my eyes back to it, and I felt my own stirring in my shorts as my fingers twitched in reflex. The newfound rush of heat in my body not brought on by the effects of the brilliant sun above us but by the promise of what your bulge meant, caused me to roll over easily onto my side. I stopped and stared down at you, propping myself on my elbow close to you, hovering near your shoulder. With my free arm I reached out and rested my hand above your knee on the inside of your thigh, kneading it slightly in my greedy palm. Your eyes still closed, and lips still donning that mona lisa smile, I saw a single eyebrow raise curiously. Your sliver of a smile grew into more of a knowing smirk as my hand slide upwards massaging your thigh, grazing your cock in your pants and feeling the heat and sweat making the denim cling to you. Eyebrow still raised you opened one eye to cast me a sideways glance paired with your devilish smirk, “And what do you think you’re doing mister?” you teased me. You knew I wasn’t ordinarily one for public sex. Especially not in a place this public and in broad daylight no less. “What do you think I’m doing?” I whispered above you as my finger tips traced the outline of your cock dragging against the edges of it, defining it further in your damp jeans. “I think the heat has gotten to you,” you said breaking our eye contact to move your chocolate and mint eyes to the ministrations of my fingers further south. The glare from your belt was too strong for me to look down with you, but I knew from your vantage point that the glare wasn’t going to stop the show unfolding before your eyes. This made me re-double my efforts to drive you crazy, I wanted what was buried in your denim and boxers first in my hand, then sinking between my lips, and then driving into my ass, and I wanted it: now. I stroked your cock, pressing it into your cunt, driving the base of it in an incessant rhythm of ebbing and flowing nudges against your hardening clit. My hand curled in an unrelenting fist around your thickness and pumped up and down your shaft, curling my thumb around the head of your cock before driving my hand down to the base of it, twisting my hand as it went. Slowly but steadily I hand fucked your cock, feeling your hips start to rise to meet it. All the while, I watched your face, your eyes cast downwards and your eyebrows intermittently knitting together and relaxing with the efforts of your hips movements. I slowed momentarily, gripping your cock in a vice like grip I knew you could feel, pulsing and timing it so that I knew it would mimic the sensation of penetrating me in any number of the orifices I would have gladly handed over to you at that moment without thought. At that moment your eyes rejoined my gaze and your eyes shining with lust and understanding sent a bolt of pure electricity to my nexus. We exploded onto each other an instant later in ferocity reserved for animals in the wild. Lips crushed each others, trapping them between teeth and forcing our mouths open with suction. Our tongues lashed at each others, curling around the other inside our mouths in a passionate tug of war. We came out of the kiss gasping for air only to plunge deeper into it, my hand rooted firmly to the base of your cock, urging you on through your deepening thrusts. My fingers tangled in the curls at the base of your skull and tensed slightly, just the way I know you like as you moaned into our kiss. I stood violently, dragging you up by your hair and my unyielding grasp around your cock. You moved with me, slightly staggering back from the force of my kiss intensified. I slid my hand down your back, dragging my nails down your back until I reached the small of it, then slid my hand around your hips to support you and keep us from tumbling down to the asphalt again. “Stand up,” I growled against your ear; trapping the velvet skin of your tender earlobe in my teeth, I grazed along the pathways of the folds of your ear with the tip of my tongue. Breathing noisily into your ear I ran my tongue in a flat agonizingly slow trail up the backside of your ear where it met your skull. You tasted like heat and salt and I could smell your obvious arousal muffled through your clothing. I felt your knees buckle and your hips shudder in my embrace. “I want to suck your cock,” I rasped into your ear still sliding my hand up and down its length. “I need something to stand against,” you panted, moving to undo your belt. “Stop,” I said, full of the need to liberate you myself. I looked around for a moment, disoriented by the blinding light and my desire for you. Then I saw it, the perfect place for our torrid affairs. The half pipe, shimmering in the heat of the sun,waxed edges would ensure the splinters would be worn down and offer us some cover in case anyone came upon us in the deserted skate park. Snarling in a dangerous smile I walked you back roughly, grabbing your jaw with my free hand in an effort to keep the surprise to myself. Our faces lingered close to each others, our eyes scanning each other’s faces and the emotions painted across them: lust, need, love, desire, and above all passion. Just before slamming your back up against the half pipe I sneered down at you and claimed you in another violent kiss. Reaching up with one hand you grabbed a hold of the half pipe above you as I slid down your body, dragging my breasts down yours and over the front of your body. I knew you could feel my cock pressing into you as well as I slid down you, as hard as your own.I pressed the softness of my breasts into your cock, teasing you further, rubbing them all over it watching your look of desperation, anger and mounting satisfaction above me. I grinned up at you as I slid my hands to your thighs and pressed you back against the half pipe, pinning you there, unable to move until I did. Your arm flexed deliciously above me as you gripped the half pipe for stability, the other was pressed flatly against the wall of it, spread as far as it could. I looked you in the eye then as I slid both my hands to your belt, and undid it with speed. I was through waiting, I wanted you with an ache that would not subside until I had you inside me. The zipper gave in a quick audible sound, your belt clinking as my hands disappeared into your pants. Your musk hit my nostrils like a cool breeze and I felt my hips sway underneath me as my mouth watered. Your cock was hot and slippery, both with sweat and the wetness that had culminated between your thighs. I knew you loved every second of this, my little exhibitionist. About now I might have come to my senses and dragged you back home kicking and screaming, but instead I gave into my lust and took you here in this open place where anyone could see us. Maybe the heat had gone to my head, but it wasn’t in control anymore, only the need to feel your cock plunging into my depths was in control of me now. I fished your cock out of the fly of your boxers and it waved in the air in spite of the heaviness of its stiffness. I closed my hand around it tightly, each finger curling in a wave from pinkie to pointer as I examined it with my eyes before devouring it with my mouth. I ran my tongue in a slow deliberate drag up the length of it, along the bottom edge of it, following it with my hand, and then as my hand moved back down my mouth teased the head. I ran my tongue in circles around the swollen head, tonguing the slit at the end before wrapping my lips around it and sucking it into my mouth. Your hips drove forward then, but my free hand stopped you at your thigh, gripping you tightly. My hand drove up and down you as I pulled your cock to the side to drag my lips in a slippery trail up and down the topside. I knew it was driving you mad by the feeling of your hips straining to drive it into my mouth at any opportune moment, but I had a very good purpose for making you wait. I had to get it wet, wetter than it already was in spite of your juices and sweat. It tasted like you and I could smell your cunt behind the garment leather of your harness. Thank god we packed hard today, I thought as I slid my mouth up to the tip of your cock again, then closing my eyes I drove your length into the back of my throat in a slow but deliberate swallow. As soon as it passed the momentary resistance of my throat you were driving into me. I kept my hand rooted at the base of your cock, following your thrusts with my head bobbing up and down your cock with ferocious suction. Loud slurping noises and moans came from my mouth around your cock, stifled by its thickness and heat. I could hear you grasping and groaning above me and I look up to meet your eyes as I drove my mouth down on your cock faster. Teeth gritted and fixed you looked somewhere between surprised and angry at me for doing this to you, for bringing you this pleasure that only I could. My hand had found my own cock and stroked it while I sucked you off violently. I undid my pants and pulled it from it’s bounds, stroking it within your view as I captured your cock again and again in my wet mouth. I could see you were nearly ready to throw me up against the half pipe and take my ass as only you could, but I wasn’t ready to be rid of the taste of your cock in my mouth. I pulled your cock out of my mouth with a pop, and trails of my spit and your fluids clung from the head of it to my swollen lips. I leaned back enough to afford you a better view of my cock, the way I was stroking it for you, the same way I had done to yours. I licked around the tip of your cock in feather light tickles, frustrating you and making you curse at me. Your hand met the back of my head to try to force your cock into my throat again but I shook it off with a grin and a sinister chuckle. I sucked the tip between my lips and showed you my teeth against the edge of your cock, grazing slightly so I know you would feel it. Never tempt a boi who bites, and hard at that. You knew better than to force me; I had my reasons for slowing us down. Taking my mouth from your cock again I pumped my hand up and down it as I spit on my own, then took your cock in my mouth again. As I sucked you into my throat I twisted my head in a swivel, then coming back off it, I ran my tongue in slight wiggles along the base. Pass after pass I pleasured you like this, driving you onwards into my blinding lust for you. My own cock strained in my fist as I fucked it hard. I was nearly there; I wanted you in me soon. But I needed something first and we hadn’t brought any lube. Coming off your cock I gasped loudly, I looked up at you as I hand fucked you faster and faster. “You wanna fuck me in the ass, don’t you baby?” I said up to you, my voice raw and husky. “Fuck yeah I do, you know I do bitch,” you growled down at me, trapping my face in a violent grip. “Yeah, I want you to fuck me hard baby, you know I do, I always do,” I said, stopping to nibble at the head of your cock. “Ugh, Fuck! Get up here,” you said dragging me to my feet against you. “Wait,” I said feebly as you slammed me up against the half pipe, circling around me and pinning me to it with your weight. Your cock rubbed against the inside of my thighs as you kicked my feet apart grinding it against me. Your hand met my cock and pumped it slowly, “Don’t worry baby, I know what you need,” you whispered into my ear. Then biting the back of my neck where my shoulder met it you slid down my back. Pressing your breasts into my back as you went down, your mouth nipping at my back as you went. Your free hand slid up the back of my thigh and under my wife beater over the naked sweaty skin. You calmed me and stilled my movements until I settled into the half pipe, leaning my weight into it and presenting my ass to you. Your hand slid back down my back, suggesting the sharp points of your nails against the sensitive skin along my spine. You pulled my pants and briefs down with your hand, still stroking my cock the whole time. As you tugged them free, just below the fullest of my ass, the cool air rushed onto my ass covered in sweat, and I knew you could smell what sucking you off had done to me. You covered my ass in kisses and nips, exploring each of the rounded handfuls my ass presented to you. Stroking my cock in a stiff downward fashion as you worshipped my ass with your mouth, you were sighing as you heard the loud moans you were eliciting from me. My ass ground into every kiss, every grazing of teeth over naked sensitive flesh, every time they bore down I squirmed under your touch. My cunt was flooded, but held together from the harness and my cock pressing into it over and over every time you thrust your hand from tip to base and back again. Even so I felt my wetness coating the insides and backs of my thighs and I felt you bend lower to gather it with your tongue. Your velvet soft slick wet tongue that left first its heat on my skin shocking my nerves and then the coolness of the air against it. I knew the salt of my sweat and my cum was mixing together and you were driving your face into it to collect as much as you could with your tongue, making your face and mouth slicker and slicker. Every time you licked at my wetness you’d pull your face up and burry it between my ass, mixing the slickness of your mouth with my ass, lubing it up for me. Each time your tongue flicked across my ass I screamed for you, biting my forearm to keep from being too loud. You were loving it, every second of it. Driving your tongue inside my ass, you spit into it, and then fucked it with your tongue. You were driving me mad with need, making my ass open for you creating a wet mess you’d soon plummet with your cock. My own cock was still thrusting in the embrace of your hand and you knew it was all driving me to that point; I could come just like this for you, with your tongue in my ass so deep, the moans from your mouth vibrating within it. But I didn’t want to come like that, not yet. I wanted to come like we usually always do, together in a simultaneous burst of unadulterated pleasure. “Fuck me!” I screamed as you corkscrewed your tongue in and out of my ass. “What was that?” you teased up at me with a mouthful of ass. “Fuck me! Do it now, pound my ass with your cock,” I barked. “You want me to fuck you boi?” you said seriously as you stood behind me, spitting on your cock several times and rubbing the head of it against my ass. The question was more rhetorical than literal and I answered it with my body as I ground back against it feeling my ass grabbing at its tip even before you started to press against me. “Ohhhh, so eager my little beaver, you want to get fucked badly huh?” you said swirling the head in circles around my ass as you drove it in a little further then pulled it out. “Yessss,” I hissed against you, arching my back into your cock. One hand flexed around my hip pulling me back slowly, the other held onto your wet cock, gauging the depth as you buried it slowly into my ass. “Yeah baby, you like that in your ass don’t you?” you whispered into my ear, sliding your other hand around to grasp my cock upside down and pump it as you fucked me slowly at first in shallow barely perceptible thrusts. My ass stretched to accommodate your cock, and my hips didn’t know which way to move first, into your hand to pleasure my cock, or into your hips to fuck me deeper in the ass. I kept still and tried to match your slow rhythm, and soon you were building on it, pulling out further, then fucking back inside me slowly all the way to the hilt. I had lost control and every second of it clawed at my reason, screaming your name, not caring how loud I was anymore or who saw us together. “That’s my boi, you like getting fucked in the ass by me don’t you?” you said grabbing both of my hips and fucking me harder. My hand found my cock and squeezed it. “Oh yeah baby, you know I love it when you fuck me, any way you want. I’m yours,” I groaned fucking back into your cock, matching the strength of your thrusts with my own. “Say that again,” you said, slowing down and leaning into me, kissing my neck. I forgot what you said, the pleasure was so great from how you were fucking me, the sensation of your mouth on my skin, and I was so close when you stopped moving completely. My ass flexed in vain around your cock and you groaned from the pressure but did not relent in my torture. I whimpered under your weight, trying to drive you into me. “Say it again!” you swore at me biting the back of my neck. Blinding heat and stars littered my vision until I remembered I wanted to come for you. “I’m yours! I’m all yours, you know that. I’m always yours,” I panted, sagging against the half pipe. My nipples rubbed themselves raw against the wood grain, too hard from the stimulation you were giving me. “Yeahhhh, that’s right, you’re mine cunt, all of you, whenever I want you. Where ever I want you,” you thrust into me with each word harder than the last and I was gasping and panting for breath. I was so close, but I was waiting for you. “Baby, I can’t, I’m gonna come soon,” I pleaded with you. “Shhhh, that’s ok baby, I’m gonna come with you, you wanna come with me don’t you good boi?” you cooed into my ear in your deep sultry voice as you fucked me faster and deeper. “Yeah, yeah I do, tell me, tell me when I can,” I managed to stammer out, tripping on my words while I held back for you, staving off the most blinding orgasm until we could come together, racked in pleasure. You fucked inside me deepening your thrusts, moaning loudly behind me, fucking me into the half pipe with your full weight. It seemed like hours and I teetered on the brink the entire time, suspended somewhere between heaven and hell. You ran one hand up my stomach to hold me further against you with the other you bore down on my shoulder, bearing my ass down on your cock as you thrust up into it in a maddening pace. I was close to either coming or passing out, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Please baby, can I come?” I whined, bracing against your thrusts, a bundle of raw nerves, sweat, and cum. “Yeah baby, come now, come with me,” You said nuzzling your face against the backs of my shoulder with feverish kisses as you picked up your intensity just before freezing deep in my ass. My ass squeezed in wave after wave around you, my cock twitching in my hand as I came, my cunt flooding my thighs with a rush of wetness. Your cock was jerking inside me as you moaned my name, coming with me; I could feel you shaking against me as you followed me into orgasm. You rode my ass slowly as you came down from coming, then pulled out slowly. I let go of my cock and stuffed it back in my pants before turning around on weak knees to squeeze your cock and shove it back in your pants. I grabbed you and pulled you against me, wrapping me in your arms and you in mine. We held each other sweating and panting, our bodies discharging electricity like live wires in a puddle of salt water. “I love you,” I whispered to you as my forehead pressed against yours. The sweat on our foreheads mixed and I felt my brow furrowed against yours. “I love you too, Blythe,” you said sliding your head into the crook of my sweaty neck. Your lips found the skin on my neck and I shuddered from the pleasure of it. “Hey now,” I said take me home before you start all that again. You pulled back grinning at me that evil glint in your eye, “You know, I think the damage is already done here mister, but I’ll definitely take you up on that offer.” I blushed and grinned sheepishly, shrugging my shoulders, “You caught me red-handed, you’re hot, so sue me,” I said wiggling your hips in my hands, our cocks brushing against each others through our pants. “Comon,” you said grabbing my hand and leading me to our bikes. You did up your pants as you bent to pick up your bike and then sit on the seat. “Let’s go home,” you said smiling at me over your shoulder as you sped off towards our house, “I want you to fuck ME in the ass this time!” I laughed and picked up my bike, jumping on it to ride home behind you, staring at the ass I would soon be fucking before we fell asleep in each others arms. “What a great day in the sunshine,” I thought. And it was.

Music:I kissed a girl - Katy Perry

Don't Confess

May. 22nd, 2008 at 4:28 PM

Have you figured out the answer to this puzzle yet? My darling genius with a razor blade tongue, have you unlocked the secrets hidden behind my gaze? There's a gentle breeze carrying with it my thoughts as my lips graze over your warm scalp. You can cry on my shoulder, you can hold me in spasms, but don't hide your face. You can tell me more with your feelings, your raw uncensored emotions, than you ever could with meaningless words. I pray you have discovered this secret, it is the cipher you have been looking for to decode my absent behaviors. And if I change the subject abruptly, it is only because I can't confess these things myself just yet. And if I seem hard on you, I'll ask you to humor me with your forgiveness, I'm not as hard as you think I am. This is just a shell, a suit of armor worn to protect a very soft core. Understand, try to comprehend that I have to secret myself away from the whole of the world. I walk in two worlds and the flapping of my wings is the sound of a timid heartbeat. I have to protect that with a kind of calculating chess game of strategy. Time will reveal each move and with it you'll gain more and more of my pawns, of my pieces. I ask humbly that you not loose them or discard them were I cannot retrieve when you are through admiring their forms. There's time yet for you to discover all. And I may have very well given myself away altogether already to your wit. However, I'll ask you to be patient. I require time, aching as it is to be patient, know I think the world of you. Know that I do with every thought in me. So I may confuse and obfuscate, I may be revealing and then retreat in the same instant, but just like you sweet mouse, I too am trying to discover the proper answer to this puzzle and only time will afford me that revelation.

Music:Don't Confess (This Thing That Breaks My Heart) - Tegan & Sara

Tarnish

May. 21st, 2008 at 4:46 PM

Grate against my cunt with a sand paper tongue. Light a strike-anywhere match and set the sopping hole ablaze with blue and gold flames. Bask in the crackling glow of your own private fire pit, one you exceed in tending its febrific coals. Rasp, rub, I need you to toil for it, till the sweat pours off you in rivulets. It is rough and wanton, and it requires a strong hand, comprised of several iron fingers curled into a lascivious fist. So, come, bring me your hands, adorned with ironbound kid gloves of chain mail and steel wool. This rapacious cunt is sopping with gasoline instead of the usual timid liquid essence of sex, the oil slick rainbows of its languid charms playing tricks with the light in your eyes. The scent may be strong, but I assure you the taste is far subtler, much more akin to a kick in the teeth. Go on, engulf me with heat and baptize me in fire. Make me forget my god-given name with the blistering fervor of this passion you kindle within me. Maul, Tear, Mangle until you can break down the onerous want that it emanates. To be sure, the insistent although invisible scent of it through my clothing is enough to incite you. Go on then, I dare you, to tame this surly cunt.

Music:Don't Stop Me Now - Queen

Buddha's Lesson

May. 14th, 2008 at 1:50 AM

Anger, pure and unadulterated rages through my veins; it is the only toxin that can permeate every barrier science has been wise enough to manifest to protect me from its full effects. Crossing my blood brain barrier like a speeding bullet train to Tokyo it hurdles invisible tracks, tangled and twisted, lighting up my cortex in a stunning light parade of electricity. Years of untold drug abuse have taught me well, anything has the power to be abused. That is why Buddha can appear like an enlightened saint to some and nothing more than a smug bastard to me after all this time. Yes, life is suffering. Yes, this is the path to true growth. And yes, you conceited fuck: everything, everything in moderation. So there I am at 1:30 am digging through a meagerly filled gallon zip lock bag of discarded cigarette butts, searching for those few that have a few scant drags left clinging in stale form for me to light up and suck down ash. An addict searching for the luxury of excess in a barren desert of moderation. It has made me sick, weak, and crippled my judgment. This endless need, this want to engage in all things fiercely, with too much passion and leave me aching. That is why codependency offers me such an enticing lure. I prey on those weaker than I, idolizing them to mock heights of perfection and potential. As if trying to save myself over and over I seek out ones who counter every aspect of myself I try to bury in denial. I fixate and tinker, trying to absolve them from the sins I fear I succumb to so easily. I twist their "truths" to reveal their true flaws and uselessly pour myself into them, a seemingly endless resource to motivate them to transcend. Like these wasted butts I draw each one from a plastic vacuum of fear and insecurity hoping that each time I light them up they will offer me a high I have been unable to attain for long on my own: success. But like these butts, they lack the essence of gratification I seek before they burn out against my lips and trembling fingertips. Poor decisions, none of them are ever meant to last and my choking wet hack of a cough is the only thing to drown out the mocking peel of a fattened Buddha's laughter in my ears.

Music:Lithium - Nirvana

Front Seat Fuck (In Progress)

May. 1st, 2008 at 2:53 AM

The sun poured down on me like an ocean of heat. Slick lines of invisible waves danced above the asphalt and the sweat beaded up and poured into the spaces between my breasts and thighs. I thanked god for customized hard top convertibles as I roared down the lonely stretch of the 92 east my car's wheels are tearing through. The tires of my 1972 Chevrolet Malibu hugged the curves of the winding 92 and I sped towards my destination. The slick black gloss of my car made it look like a speeding oil slick come to life, save the matching platinum white racing stripes sliding over the hood and down the trunk in unbroken beauty. Chromed hubcaps and trim shone and sparkled in the noonday sun and the wind whipped my hair into a bed head frenzy. The car's floor behind my leathered driver's side bucket seat rattled with the sound of an empty plastic bucket filled with soap, wax, and sponges. My trunk was filled with baby soft cloth diapers waiting to be dragged across the hood in loving circular caresses. The girl to do it was waiting for me at an old abandoned gas station. We'd discovered it on a long drive one day, just before the 280 it sat delapidated and sagging, the broken light bulbs of it's signage a glaring reminder that this place was a ghost town fixture along the highway. We had stopped there to take photographs, on a spring day right before the summer hit us full force. In a fit of post photo shoot desperation brought on by the heat we had accidently discovered that although the place wasn't running any longer, it's water supply still was. She was a 20 year old then, with all the tenacity and pretenious outrageous exuberance of her youth and she had remarked on a whim that she would love nothing more than for me to fuck her over the hood of my car in a place like that. I took the dare in stride, telling her that if she could supply the hose, I would meet her there, let her wash my car in practically nothing and then deliver said fuck in abundance all across the hood of my waxed beauty. She called me on that Saturday, a tone in her voice I recognized well, she was horny. "You know, it's such a beautiful day, and I have this unspeakable urge to wash your car. It's so weird too because I was digging around and I just happen to have found this hose. I'll be waiting there in 20 minutes. Catch me if you can." I had hopped in my car after grabbing the wash bucket and topping off the engine. She was right it was a beautiful day, and so hot she'd probably be thankful to get soaking wet toiling over my classic black beauty. I couldn't wait to see her shine, and I wasn't thinking about my car for once. When you hit certain parts of the highway, there's nothing along it, save the rugged sandstone of our hillsides and the brush that sprang up all over it. If there were trees out here they'd offer the merciful shade everyone sought on a day like this, but closer to the coast here the tree line dropped back and thinned out. By now you could smell the phantom scents of the ocean, out of sight but clearly close at hand, carried inland on the breeze. Today it was calm, not too windy, just perfect weather for what she had proposed. I pulled into the last 200 yards at 83 miles per hour, gunned the engine and listened to her roar in satisfaction. She was well tuned, every inch of her, running just as well as she looked. The gas station's rusted sign was within sight and there wasn't another soul for miles. I caught a glimpse of her car parked a mile back along the roadway, tucked into a random soft shoulder. She must have parked there on purpose and walked the mile to the gas station on foot. Good, I thought, she's already worked up a sweat. I could pratically taste the oceanic salt tang of sweat on her skin as I pulled into the gas station a wide left leaving dust clouds behind me as I pulled to a stop. She was lucky I had just cleaned out the interior of my car a few days before, it wouldn't require any inside work today. Just the exterior of my car required her loving touch, now that a fine dust was settling all over it's glossed up exterior. I killed the engine and waited for her entrance. She came slinking out of the shade like an alley cat, slow but deliberately. I could see the sweat just starting to collect below her breasts, it made the white of her tank top sheer and the pink of her skin beneath it visible. The sweat clung to her curls, weighing her ringlets down in a sexy half wet kind of way. Her face shimmered, the fine mist of her persperation gathered on her cheek bones and cast an enchanting glow about her. Her eyes were half closed, heavy lidded from the heat and she looked like she was dreaming. A lazy smirk painted her face, the white of her teeth set off by the rosey blush in her cheeks. "Well hello there, need a wash?" she drawled and dangled the tip of the hose over her crooked finger. "As a matter of fact," I said as I leaned one arm out the side of my car's window, "I really do need a good wash." "I think I might be able to help you out there," She leaned her hip up against the car's side, the denim of her cut offs rested near my arm. "Jesus christ you are hot," I said as I reached up to cup the back of her neck as she bent to kiss me. My hand slid along the soft skin on the nape of her neck, it sent a bolt of lightening straight to my crotch, her lips tasted like sugar and sex. Her tongue slid inside my mouth and carried the taste of rolled tabacco and coffee with it, skimming along the tip of mine leaving me hungry for the depth of her kiss. She teased me, something she had become painfully adept at over the months. Her hips wiggled slightly in the desperate grasp of my other hand, pulling away and breaking the kiss I had just about lost myself in. "Oh goodie," she said as she slipped her hand into the backseat behind me to retrieve the bucket resting there "You brought wax." Her breasts flashed the deep valley of clevage she displayed so easily right into my field of vision and I sat back further into the buttery leather of my bucket seat to admire the view.The skin of her breasts sported the dusty tones of sunset and she mocked the heat of the high summer sun with its generous rosey tint. She stood up, bucket in one hand, hose in the other striking a somewhat defiant pose, her hip jutted out to the side. "Oh would you be a doll and go turn on the hose for me? The spigot is just over there," She teased me in sultry tones motioning the bucket towards it, "I just have to get this beauty wet right now before I burst." I slide my hand along the paneling until I reached the sparkling chrome of the door handle, pulled it up with a slow twist of my wrist and gently swung the heavy door open. She walked backwards seductively, rolling her hips in a suggestive way, watching me as I exited the vehicle and closed the door behind me. I could feel her eyes all over me, tracing my curves like my tires had the road 20 miles behind me. I shut the door behind me and strutted over to the spigot that hid in the sinister shade of the decrepid gas station's overhang. It was rusted and cobwebs hung in delicate lace like patterns between the spaces the gnarled knob left open to their invitation. "Turn her on slow now," she shouted over her shoulder to me as she crimped off the hose in her left hand and emptied the contents of the bucket with her right. I complied, turning the knob slowly, the feeling of it giving way with the hushed hiss of muffled flowing water and the whine of rusted metal. I stole a glance at her over my shoulder, her legs were spread wide, and she was bent over the bucket as she poured the soap into the bottom of it in a long molasses like drizzle. Her heart shaped ass was flexed slighty, the denim taut across it's swell, she was heaven to look at. She rose, standing up straight and turned her head to catch me staring. "Ready to get wet?" she mused as she uncrimped the hose and placed her finger firmly over the gentle trickle it released. The pressure of her finger in its stream quickened its pace around the obstruction, just like my cunt did presented with the same resistance. The water spurted out in a foamy spray rattling inside the bucket, filling in a soapy spiraling motion. I walked back to the car, my swagger exagerated by the 8 inches constricted within my jeans. The heat of the day made me sweat, the garment leather of my harness hugging to the unmistakable feminine curves aided by the sweat and the heat that coursed through my aching pelvis. "Wait, I want a good seat for this show," I said as I hopped over the back door on my Malibu and climbed up on the back. I sat back, leaning on my hands, placed behind me on the trunk of my car, my legs spread feet resting on the leather of the backseat. "Ok," I said all settled, "let her rip hot stuff." Her wry smile spread across her face, as she walked around to the hood of the car, tilting the hose up so that it hurled its contents in a gentle spray glittering in the sunshine and beading up along it's flawless factory lines. She soaked the hood of the car down, then dropped the hose at her feet in the dust, walking over to grab the bucket and sponge. Returning to her position at the head of my car, she bent over it gratuidously, showing off her cleavage and locking her eyes with mine as she cerimoniously soaped up the hood in large slow cirlces.She soaped up the hood of my car the way she teased my breasts, paitently, covering every inch of it with her hands, spreading the bubbles everywhere. She leaned so far over the car to cover every inch, that she rubbed against it, her breasts and stomach becoming wet and soapy themselves. She would watch what effect her ministrations were taking on the hood of the car, only long enough to look up and see what effect she was having on me painted across my face painfully. Her mischevious smile would flash at me, winking, teasing me, before returning to double her efforts in cleaning my car. After all, it had to be clean enough to eat off of when all was said and done. And that was a fact she knew all too well. She finished soaping up the hood and front of the car, releasing all the dirt and dust from its cracks and crevices. Then she retrieved the hose and sprayed it down, sending the soap scattering away from the paint job and onto the dusty gravel below us in quick trickles and slow drops. She grabbed a clean diaper off the windshield and started the hard work of drying off the section she'd just cleaned. Quickly, but throughly her well muscled arms worked in labored circles, catching every left over droplet of moisture and wicking it away with the absorbant cloth. She was careful now, not to let her body touch the car, as it was wet and soapy, her tank top just a flimsy layer of see through frabic showing her skin off and clinging to her curves. Her nipples were hard, even in this oppressive heat, and their dusty pink color showed through the wetness of her top. I wanted to bite them, to lash my tongue across them and rip the sopping top off her, cast into the dusty parking stretch next to abandoned gas pumps, but that would have to wait. She was heading around to the other side of my car, wetting it down as she went, careful not to get a single drop inside the interior. She leaned back on her haunches, legs spread to soap up the side of my car, sure to soap up the hub caps and scrub extra hard on those spots that needed it most. The wetness from rubbing against the car's hood had mixed with her sweat as she toiled. It sent moisture coiling down her thighs in rivulets and spiraled from between her breasts down her stomach to inside her cut offs in ways that I wished I could do the same. I wasn't sure I was going to make it through this torture, but she was certainly enjoying every second of it. Ever the exhibitionist, she adored knowing I was watching her every moment with an ache building steadily in the nexus of my desire. She made no idle chit chat, never spoke a word in my direction, only offering me painful moments of choked silence and startlingly lustful eye contact. She knew all the ways to make go crazy, all the ways to drive me to the point of no return. She wanted it, she was inviting it with every deliberate movement she adopted. She cleared and dried the left of side of the car in record time, leaving it to sparkle as she moved back around the front of the car to the ride side. She knew I was leaning forward to watch her as she soaped up the back driver's side hub cab, the vantage point offering me a delicious view of her wet cleavage. She was soapy and wet and dusty all at the same time and I wanted to fuck her like a rag doll for it. She shot me a slow upwards glance as she returned the soapy sponge to it's bucket home and stretched her arm out like a feline to retrieve the hose. Bent like that near the ground, I could see her mouth slightly parted, the flush in her cheeks, the unmistakable glint of lust in her eyes. And my mind wanted her face to look just like that, looking up at me as she unzipped my fly and freed my cock before I fucked her. Just the thought of her dragging her wet clothed body up over my thighs and stomach as she would stand to kiss me, pumping her curled fist around every hard inch made me go insane with perversity. She was almost done washing now, just the trunk of the car to do, then the wax. But I already knew, I wouldn't be able to make it through the wax job without her at least letting me get my hungry fingers inside her soaking panties. Finished drying the right side of the car, she moved around to the back and I slide inside the backseat, turning to face her as she wet it down with a clean sponge she ran under the hose. Then she did the unthinkable as she filled the sponge again, dropped the hose, and wrung it out over her chest. The water flowed over her curves, carrying away the last bits of soap that clung to her shirt and skin. It revealed more of her pink flesh and made the cover of her shirt absolutely useless, save the way it shrunk to her form highlighting every inch in the most delicious way. "Fuck," I cursed under my breath throaty and deep. She caught the thick swear as soon as it exited my mouth and excited in the effect she had on me. Tossing the sponge aside she lathered up the trunk of the car, going over it with expert attention to detail, making sure to work overtime to bring out the whitest whites of the racing stripes and the chrome trim. She hosed it off gently from the safe vantage point of the back passenger wheel well and set to the task of drying it immediatly with a fresh diaper I tossed her from the backseat. As she finished up the last of it I climbed over the side of the car, careful not to leave fingerprints on the clean she had labored over. I retrieved the can of wax and hid it under the seat of my car. She had finished drying the car and stepped back to admire its sheen, shining like she had painted it with a coat of liquid diamonds and silver. Satisfied she smiled and gave the car a prefuntory nod of a job well done. She walked to the side of the gas station slowly, wetness dripping from her curls and curves in equal abundance. Turning the spigot it whined a metallic protest and the gentle flow from the mouth of the hose slowed to a stop at my feet.She walked back over to where she had left the wax, scanning the ground with a furrowed brow. "Where's the wax at? Did you move it?" I sat on the front passenger side corner of the hood of my car, one foot resting on the bumper. "Forget about the wax for now babe, if we do that right away, we'll never be able to stay on the hood while we're fucking," I said patting my lap, summoning her close to me. She put her hands on her hips, defiant to the last, enjoying every moment of me loosing out in this game of cat and mouse. "But, don't you want her all shiny and slick?" She pouted in response. "If you don't get over here right now and let me fuck you, I swear to god I'm going to cum all over this car just so that you have to wash it again before you get a chance to wax it," my eyebrow cocked as I made the assertion, how could she refuse and offer like that. I knew her, and the joy of vouyerism belonged squarely in my seat, not in hers. If the tables were turned for this little show, she wouldn't have gotten past me washing the hood of the car, she lacked the patience for voyuerism the way I did. But she had put on one hell of a show and I couldn't take it anymore. Conceding to my desire, she smiled as she walked over to me, sliding her hands up either of my thighs to the bulge that strained at my fly. "Oh my, must have liked watching me clean your car, eh?" She taunted me as she rubbed her hands all over my cock through my pants, her wet breasts pressing into mine. I groaned as my head lolled back, my neck arched and exposed as my eyes shut tight, feeling the sensations she sent spilling through me. More of her body pressed against mine as she leaned into me and ran her tongue along the curve of my neck. Goosebumps spread like a wildfire up my arms and thighs, turning my already hardened nipples to fierce points against the wet fabric of her tank top, at once wet and cool a thin layer concealing the heat and humidity of her aroused skin beneath it. She might as well have been steaming in this heat and I wanted to feel the firey embrace of her liquid sex gripping around my tongue.

Music:Do It Well - Moto Blanco Radio Mix

Metamorphosis

Apr. 25th, 2008 at 1:35 AM

The springtime heralds your impending transformation. I have built you a cocoon for your unfolding. Come, let me sequester you here for your metamorphosis. And I will stand guard, your Morpheus, your vicious watch dog jersey moth. I will hold the key to your sanctuary like a shield as you shed each bloated section of your caterpillar youth. I will clothe you in curtains of wine and burgundy until you are ready to come to the world again. Complete yourself here in safety and solitude and embrace the winged destiny you have kept yourself from. I will fold these sleepy, tired, tattered wings of mine around your cocoon and tap out the rhythms of the world for you. Through morse coded antennae snaps I will bring you news of the outside world. I will frighten back the predators that threaten to shake your cocoon with my fierce black and white wings. I will wait calmly while you unzip from your old flesh, trading many stumpy legs for spindles you will use to alight with in the future. I will be vigilant while you change from something that used to crawl about the ground taking too long to get anywhere effectively without climbing arduously to something winged and free, that calls its new home the back of soaring winds. I will tenderly bite free your tethers when you signal your arrival, I will shield your new eyes strange to the light under the gentle shade of my wings. I will stroke your newborn wings to life, trembling as they dry, revealing colors that people all around you will startle at. I will marvel at your new-found fluent beauty as your wings uncurl and stretch, free to spread for the first time, no longer encased safely within the walls of a discarded husk. And I will coach you as you beat your virgin wings, faltering momentarily the first time you take flight. I will teach you the secret art of flying; The finite details of how to flutter, how to hover soundlessly, to coast gracefully, and above all how to glide in painfully perfected slow motion. And when it is all over and you no longer require a watchful flight instructor, I will have earned myself a proper flying companion with which to skim these clouds with. Be it fluttering in moonbeam or in sunlight, you will forever be my kindred, and for that I will cherish and protect you while you yield vulnerably to your transcendence.

Music:All I Want Is You - U2

Souse (In Progress)

Apr. 23rd, 2008 at 1:03 AM

She had been at it again, stuffing my cunt with each of her fingers the night before. She left my cunt bruised and aching the day after. Still, greedy little bitch that it was, it wanted more of her. It always wanted more of her, a trick of fate I could not yet determine was because of my need for her, or because of my fascination with her. She was the matchstick flare to my candle's withered wick and I was only too glad to ignite and illuminate for her. She could leave me spent, dry cold smoke coiling from me on her bedside table night after night for all I cared, just so long as the next night she took her furious flames to me again. Hell, she could burn me at both ends and I'd sigh for her just the same, melting into hot pools that would stain satin sheets and send sprinklings of goose flesh over soft skin. And the impact of each sinking fingertip inside me left its indelible marks within my mind scrawled in red glowing ink on the backs of my fluttering eyelids, "More." I always wanted more, I always wanted it deeper and harder and faster. Or maybe I wanted more of her kiss, slow, languid, the way mist unfurls from the mouth of a champagne bottle when it's been de-corked quietly. And tonight, I wanted something specific from her again, not the taste of champagne or the feel of satin sheets ripping, no. I wanted something far more visceral than that. This time, I wanted her words. "Speak to me," I taunted her in a whisper over burdened with lust, crooking my finger under her jawline and drawing her lips closer to my ear. "You want me to speak to you?" she whispered back in the dark, my eyes half cloaked, all I could feel were her fingers inside me, I could smell her perfume. I moaned my affirmative softly, almost inaudibly, nodding my head against her lips. Violent, unmerciful words poured from her mouth in a tone I did not quite expect. And their nature, even more startling, set me on fire. The were so similar, so vaguely familiar to another time and place, one in which I did not feel aroused or safe as I did just then in her arms. Strange juxtaposition, the way I agreed with the sentiment of her words, how I welcomed them from her and was so repulsed by the same insinuations years earlier from a lesser foe. Too alarming, and too confusing, I turn my head away from her voice, when really I am aching to turn my lips to her hungry kiss. In moments, she has me close to coming, she is teasing me inside my sex, and I am panting for her. I want her to fuck me harder than this, in all the ways she just promised, the way she did last night: sliding all of her finger lengths out of me, making me delirious with how slow and sensually she did it, then fluidly but swiftly thrusting back inside of me to the hilt, fucking the back of my cunt just so. "Fuck me hard." I gasp against her, and she gloriously complies, making my legs shake and my cunt shiver. It is the feeling of her fingers sliding in and out of me that is driving me to that point past reason. I am lost, and the climax bursts upon me quicker than I realize, spiraling upwards in a way I can't quite understand, then dissipating just as suddenly. It affords me the release I was desperately needing, but its sensation is as confusing as the reaction brought on by her words. She asks me if I still want more, and for once I shake my head no, a smile spread across my face. For a while, we just lay there, uncharacteristically I am not jumping to the task of making her come in return right away. I am needing to come back to her from a place that is very far away. I am wandering out of this fog of disorientation, of dangerous nostalgia. I loose myself in the comfort of her embrace. She is soft and warm and I am all too at home with my face cradled to her breast, her chin resting near my forehead. I have gone lax, she has lulled me into some kind of peaceful calm near sleep and I could stay this way forever, blissfully content to be her aging Ripvanwinkle. But she stirs, and I mumble some question trying to see what she is after. "I just have to get off quickly," she whispers.

To Be Continued, I wave the white flag at sleep...

Swift

Apr. 22nd, 2008 at 1:47 AM

I can smell you on me still, hours after leaving you. Even through my illness, I can smell your scent. Intoxicating. My fingers know no greater joy than being curled tightly in the heated embrace of your sex. Ah my temptress, let me beguile you with the lust you arouse. Show me the mercy that only your touch can. You have left me a wild, wicked, animal howling at a full moon. Let me roam freely in the curves of your countryside. Let me smell your wildflower scent on windburned breezes. I am undone, but I can smell you still, hear your whispered curses as you tremble against me. Sleep is like a phantom, a thief that robs you from me, leaving me alone without the warmth of your skin and only your fading scent to wake to.

The Lighthouse Keeper (In Edit)

Apr. 13th, 2008 at 10:49 PM

IN PROGRESS....

I miss you, I can't deny it, and I hate you for it. I miss the way you used to smile at me, the way I felt so at home in your eyes. I miss the way your lips felt moving against mine, the way they practically whispered beautiful things to my soul without saying a word. I miss that look that would sweep over your face when you wanted me to kiss you. That same look you kept mocking me with the last time I saw you face to face, when we spoke last. God damn you. God damn you. You're nothing I really want, and everything I was always waiting for. We could never have made it, but I could never have resisted you either. I hate that you will always be, my first love. I hate that all the others will pale in comparison, even when I try to avoid the inevitable subconscious pull of my mind writing endless book reports: "compare and contrast." I detest the fact that of all the heartbreaks I have endured, yours is the most excruciating. I despise you for remaining beautiful to me. Why can't you be ugly? Why can't you be utterly forgettable? Do you have to remain aloof, distant, and the same as ever? You must know, that by keeping your distance as you do, you feed and fuel this ancient flame. You never let me fully let go. You never afford me a moment to see you as anything other than you've always been to me, in a word, lovely. Your name even, as free as its meaning. You bringer of light, I want to cast you out. You are the little flicker of bullshit in the darkness of my mind while I try to enjoy your absence. A lighthouse in a night-scape sea. I just want the sound of the waves in the darkness. I just want the gentle rocking, the slapping of the underside of my hull. Your beam cuts through my sleepy fog and ruptures something deep in the back of my brain as its path scans along everything. Illuminating things I forgot were once there, memories I had tried to abandon and apparently could not. Stop fucking being you, please, I beg you. I don't want you back. You all but destroyed me the first time and I'll never really be over you, it's sad but true. Some part of me will always pine away, wonder what could have been, be waiting with the light on for you to come back. Come home. But I don't want your spotlight coming and going as it does, I don't want the light, it's garish and blinding. I want to blink and forget you. If I must have you be something I can't escape, something I can't leave behind, let yourself really be that lighthouse, but I implore you: at a distance. Let me harbor in the calm of raven coated star speckled skies and sleep with your winking light far on the horizon. Let me know, when I need to come ashore finally, the familiar light of your beam will lead me back to love and warn of the rocks I could be dashed against. Let the sentiments of your love, my first love, remind me of the safe harbor it can be, without the shipwreck that will ensue. Let the artificial memory of your light remind me that dawn will bring the sunshine that as a heat to it I have been missing in the dark all this time. But please, let me cut these ties to you and move on a slick and silent wake through onyx aqueous ripples. I need to stop waking, startled from sleep, or pulled from the arms of other lonesome sailors by the focus of your unforgiving beacon. Let me dream of something other than your face for once. Let me swim away from the shipwreck to sail another day, and stop tangling myself in the rusted barnacle clad links of this anchor chain that keeps sucking me down. Even through all your irons, I am navigating along the curling currents of the Baltic Sea, I am homing in on a small island, Bolshoy Tyuters. On the daughter island, as the neighboring Finns call her, is a sole inhabitant. A lighthouse keeper that I hear, has ivory for skin, spirals of Bituminous coal for hair, and two stones of amber housing bright green croziers for eyes. She plays hopscotch in its fertile soil, between the land mines left after World War II. It is her "mined island" you have more chance of meeting your doom on its surface, one errant step suddenly explosive, while lost in its beautiful scenery and the views of the Baltic sea than you do of crashing into it from the frigid waters that surround it. And because she is a dutiful lighthouse keeper, she plays cribbage with the ghosts left over after the evacuation of the Winter War, sipping vodka and singing along to Sila lyubvi i nenavisti. The wooden church from 1772 and its ancient cemetery headstones are practically identical in their petrification and she rings the bells on Sunday for a mass she doesn't believe in, for no one in particular, other than the seabirds that seek sanctuary on the islands and protection from the state. She takes short day trips to another island in the chain, Hogland, the shipwreck queen of the Beryozovye Islands. She bathes in its five lakes, scours its beaches for shipwreck treasure and marvels at the beauty of its multiple lighthouses. I have seen her in photograph, dangling her shoes playfully from gripping tiptoes off her lighthouse guardrail, more haunting in her beauty than a ghost. And I assume, it is that solitary life she once lead as a lighthouse keeper with only seabirds and ghosts for companions that have made her something of a genius in a very specific area. Her penmanship. Her letters, my god, her letters.

IN PROGRESS....

Memory Trace

Apr. 9th, 2008 at 11:18 PM

Remember these moments, with the wind blowing through the trees outside your house, scattering the branches in a twilight ballet for my eyes. Recall these moments with you sitting in my car, a pair of wasted pseudo-sixteen year olds, reclined and listening to the mixes we make for each other running my tired car's battery down to death. Recollect these moments with you singing along to songs quietly, painted eyes shut, your curls tangled in your face. Relive these moments with my right foot stomping out phantom kick beats and my fingers twitching out air guitar riffs. Conjure these moments where my aching eyes tear over your face, painfully aware of the heart-murmur inducing smile you sport. Immortalize the sideways glances, half smirks, and fingers pointed sharply to the radio for the lyrics we feel most. Evoke the sight of smoke curling through my car and into the street, trying to mock the beauty of your faux-raven hair. Reminisce about the way your skin looks in this light, the way your fingers sparkle in seven points of light; the same ones you have to slide off one by one to touch me inside. Memorize each thread of every outfit you ever wore each time I picked you up. Review every pissed off glare you shot at my camera's lens, even that, showing how sexy you are through your sass. Look back at the moments my miserably mutilated fingers were graced with the feeling of yours interlaced with mine. Think back to every curl, twist and pull of your cat clawed fingers in my stick straight mop; how each tug pulled on more than my scalp. Relive each kiss, perfected more each time; like your mouth was too disoriented at first by mine to chart its depths. Retain each moment of raw hunger that passed through your eyes, infecting and reflecting my own at the same time. Hark back to the frightening mint swirl in your chocolate and honey tinted eyes. Recall the sensation of picking strands of your hair off my clothing after I had left you at home that night. Remember these moments because in less than an "instant" they will be gone. Remember these moments because they were the moments I started to stumble and fell in love with you.

Music:Come to Me - Bjork

Misanthropy

Apr. 6th, 2008 at 10:40 AM

I miss you, but you've misunderstood me. Once again. Obfuscated, you take numbers and re-arrange them into insults. Like my years are inches I have over you, and the words that float down from just the 12.7 centimeter reach between us are meant to be "patronizing." You mistake the intention of that word. Run to your beloved dictionaries, your thesauri, look it up...I dare you. Beneath the glaring contradiction that you would like to view me as, is my true definition. A patron, whom offers you support. No more your pillar than your pedestal. Are you afraid of the heights I would aspire to see you grace? Content to fester on the ground with the conventional wasted souls of this world? Or perhaps the coins I dangle in front of you cheapen your resolve to create greatness. They aren't meant to buy your soul, they'll be no deals with the devil here. Run off with them, steal away if you must, claim you weren't given them freely, but that you beguiled them out of me like a clever thief. Whatever suits your image most. But know, somewhere within you, they were given. Gifted to you, to pursue the pleasures of your most creative character. These coins are not meant to buy you, but to help you till the fertile land of your brilliant mind, your wanton lust, and expose the flesh of your spirit. I do not come to possess you, but rather to set you free; to liberate you from those shackles you have placed upon your own ankles and wrists. Flourish, self-pollinate, but do not mistake my place in this matter. Temper the incredulous tone in your stinging tongue before we next meet. I will NOT become a whipping post for your insecurities; the walking backside of your self-flagellation. If my presence is such a nuisance to your ego, I will take it elsewhere and leave you to your own ill-gotten devices. It would be best not to sharpen your claws on the underbelly of a person that comes to lay such gifts at your feet. Stifle your misplaced pride with me and realize I do not see you as a child, unless you act out against me with impertinence. I see you as a glorious equal. You would see this too if you weren't too busy throwing tantrums in my face and calling my sobriquets "bullshit." So take your "nostalgia" for another mind who meant you wrong and do me one kind favor by sparing me the mistaken and insulting comparison. If that is all that you can see me as, your sight is more blunted than I thought, and you have already cast my coins before SWINE. I will not sully my hands by digging through slop and shit for your benefit, they bear too many wounds that beg for further infection. Rather, I will make my final recompense to you, my lasting reparation, and take my injured fingers to suckle in the regret of your absence. Vindication would taste sweet, but I strongly doubt you'll afford me that act of compassion with your hubris hanging in the balance.

Music:Adore Adore - Yoav

Tailored

Mar. 29th, 2008 at 1:01 AM

It pains me to think of your face. To while away the hours, to whittle away the days like scrimshaw until I can see you again. And you, you are truly a thing of beauty, not even this shallow soul can deny that much is truth. Curse all the times I scoffed at girls like you my friends and I would laugh at the discos. You opened my eyes to the lies I was hiding in my soul. Loud and abrasive and crass, I adore you. You take me as I am, foul weather and obnoxious laughter. You make the word "fuck" sing when you say it. And it plays on the twisted slinky spring strings of my heart. But I must admit, for as much as you flaunt your style in everyone's face, I want to change you. Not the core of you, of course, it is the thing that inspires me most. It is your barbed wire, slut red lipstick wearing, fuck me heel wrapped soul that carries me thought each miserable day. But yes, I must admit, there are a few things I would alter if you would let me. You wear your flaws like your offensive sense of fashion, a suit of armor you don to keep the fools of the world at bay. Snapping their jaws at your hooker-heeled ankles they are hungry for what you wear so well: Confidence. Even if it's a mirage, they some to lap at your sparkling waters, never knowing their unworthy mouths are filled with the stinging sands of your brilliance. It's not your confidence I wish to temper in actuality. No, in fact, I want to inflate it. You're a tapestry that doesn't need anymore encouragement, mixing paisley with plaid. But there are a few threads out of place that I would love to tug on with my insidious fingers and devour them with my clever mouth. Oh, let me change you, so the world can see you for what you really are. Don't fight me about it, just succumb because I want nothing more than to alter you in all the ways you hold yourself back, and then set you free. You are a sling shot, loaded with piss and vinegar and lightening bolts. You've been drawn back so long, your elastic straps are starting to crack under the pressure. Let me steal your finger off it and hurtle you to your targets. Let me slide that weary strung out finger in my lustful mouth and curl my tongue around it in spirals. Relax, and let me do the shooting for a while, my darling protege. Stop fucking fighting me about it and just hang on for the ride. I may be tired, but I'll be the last one standing in the end; right by your side basking in the limelight. And you can hate me and thank me for it later, I really don't care which one anymore. But I've set my sights, and I always, always, get what I want. So when I ask you to go hiking, or on long walks, or to count my sit-ups before I count yours, fucking do it. Know its not a request but a demand you must meet. And why, you ask? Why if I adore you for all these things you do without even thinking would I want to change a single scrap of you? I'll tell you why if you haven't figured it out yet.You are that girl I wrote about in that shitty poem months ago. And although I can't hope to captivate your attention forever, I know you are a walking god damn goddess. And I want everyone to know it like I do without having to do a double take. I want you to wreck the world around you with whiplash and traffic collisions the way you already do. I want you to be as perfect as you are, in all your fucked up glory. Because you are: perfection in motion. Forgive my violent tongue, your enigmatic beauty has unleashed its contents and I can't hold back any longer. So if I have hurt you with these words, I sincerely apologize. But I'll kiss those bruises I left on your unrestrained ego if you let me. I'll run my greedy perverse hands all over your god damn body and show you there's NO reason for you not to rise to the level of your own beauty. Fucking surpass that shit, girl. Stop hiding in your own skin, the inner wall flower shaking her ass to hell and gone out loud. You know, or you wouldn't wear it so fucking well that you are meant for greatness. Fuck humility, and self defecation, and self mutilation, and humble endings. You are the new image of Adonis hidden behind a chain of curtains. And since you let me in, and I saw what you keep hidden so well, I want to rip every filthy curtain down and set them on fire at your feet. I want to show the world the beauty I have seen so easily. I want them all to fall miserably in love with fantastic unattainable you, just like I have. So when I say, I want to change you, it's really a sweet lie masquerading as brutal truth. I don't really want to change you, not in any way that would kill your spirit. I'm not asking for you to forsake yourself or be anything you weren't already. What I'm asking, patiently, pleadingly, desperately, is for you to give me your hand and never look back. Let me make you reflect everything you are with a single glance. And you can be thick, I wouldn't have you any other way, making idiots dizzy with your hourglass figure filling their head with the need to keep turning you over, but you can't be unhealthy. And you can carry in you all the secrets of a once wanton addict, but you are going to stay clean as the driven snow you used to snort from now on, damn it. And you can sport your sexy scars, the runs in your skin stalkings, but you can't add anymore marks to your frame in anger or self-hatred. And you can take pills if you want to by the dozens, but you can't indulge in being "crazy" any longer. No more than it feeds your genius. And you can visit barren black tops under blankets of stars to let the voices of your dead friends haunt you, but I won't let you share their fate. I'll sit right there by your side in the dark, listening to the promises you make me and wishing they would come true. I told you I only make promises to break them. Like everything I say, it's half heartbreaking truth, half bold faced lie. This is the one promise I will make in my life I actually intend to keep, fuck all the rest. I may never be rich, I may never achieve notoriety, I may never achieve greatness in this miserable wasted life of mine, but come hell or high water I will drag you to the level of YOUR greatness. Kicking and fucking screaming I will push you down the path so boldly laid before you. And you can call me a hypocrite, a shallow fuck and blisteringly vain. Go on and do it, I'll take it all gladly. I AM all those things. I'll wear their scarlet letters with pride. Because just like you, I used to have scars. Only mine were stolen from me with the help of lasers and skin that stubbornly refuses to reveal my self abuse. And just like you, I used to wish my white horses didn't have to rage in a corral of memory. And just like you, I used to be infatuated with my mental illnesses. And just like you, I used to hide my beauty behind the crippling excuses of "Fuck what society thinks about my body, I'm beautiful this way. " So YES, I am a hypocrite, and I'm proud of it. Because I may be vain, but just like Narcissus I know beauty when I see it, and you are enough beauty to tear my eyes from my own image. Cast me aside like the rest, tell me if I really loved you I wouldn't change a damn thing about you. But you'd be so wrong, sinning against yourself for remaining hidden from the world. Let me make you the beautiful flowers you write about, your roots are already steadfast in the soil of this world, you just have yet to bloom. Tied and staked like some exotic orchid, I will take my sheers to you, sharp as switchblades and cut away the tender shoots until only the strongest blooms survive. And you will be as beautiful as you always are, only impervious to the frosts, foul weather, and unmerciful heat of the sunshine of life. Where weaker annuals will wither and die, you will thrive, profound and perverse, the eternal perennial. So I've said too much yet again, and I wish the words could have been spared from your velveteen ears, but I'll ask you once again and leave you in the embrace of your own silence. The checkmate is yours to play out now in the response to my question: "Can I conspire to re-create you in your own image?"

Music:Flawless - George Michael

Adoramus (In Edit)

Mar. 27th, 2008 at 3:21 AM


"No baby you can't see inside. No, baby, no you can't see my soul!" I sang along to the words of Rufus Wainwright's crooning. "Is that a dare?" she asked, the wickedness of her grin belying the tenderness she tried to hide in the hazels of her eyes. My face broke out into a sprawling smile, she excited my soul. "It's a challenge," I laughed back. "Well, I'm always up for one of those," she said indignantly as I rounded a wide left and pulled in the gas station. She was beautiful, but in a way only I could see. She was so many things at once, a cacophony of noise in a soundless vacuum. A nurturer without the pretense of the needy affection I craved. Violins, horns, piano, strange hectic drum beats and whiny angry voices; Twisted words and sarcastic double meanings. These are the things I gave her tonight on our three hour car ride. The thought had occurred to me, to keep driving, to take her away from here. But to steal off with her in the night would be delivering the challenge squarely at her feet, a total surrender. No, that could wait. I wasn't done putting up a fight yet. Her silence irritated me. I wanted to know everything. She was keeping her thoughts to herself, like secrets, and I longed to learn each one. Spare me some tenderness my Russian Tsarina, have you no mercy for this abused soul? She is as hot as the fire that has burned my skin so many times, and as frigid as the ice around my heart. She is forever confronting the skeletons in my closet, my every weakness, my difficult past, a labor of love. Yet she remains distant, aloof, and removed while still offering me the kind of support that turns clingy children into self-respecting, independent adults. Beneath the glaring exterior of Hole, Tool, and Alice in Chains, there is the tender music of mournful silver flutes hiding in the dark points of her eyes. Those same eyes that track, observe, and notice virtually everything too painfully. Her vision is more effected than others. Born with the veil lifted, I am longing to teach her to see. She brings out the Leo in me, allowing me lengthy moments of unabashed self confidence, a stark contrast to my usual cloak of self-defecation. I despise her for giving me the thing I crave most from her: silent adoration. She comes to worship as the truly pious do: quietly, inwardly. Casting nothing through her serious exterior save her belief, her faith, unwavering. Why? I suppose it is the same reason followers only mimic priests words; standing when told, singing only when structured opportunities reveal themselves. She is the Latin I used to sing as a young wisp of a girl in Catholic choir. Their meaning, painfully dutiful, breaking the hearts of only those who know their true meaning through the cold pronunciation of their tongue. She is ethereal to me, as garish as the sound of organ pipes vaulting through the ceilings of empty cathedrals, gently rattling stained glass visages set in lead. And this lonely priest is drowning out the sounds of the choir with a strained and strangled voice. She gives me the strength to preach, long winded in my sermons. But she gives me the sweet solace of solitude to write my homilies. Still in Progress...

Music:I am the Day - Libera

Poseidon

Mar. 26th, 2008 at 7:40 PM

Raging like the tempestuous sea, I am crashing against the shores of life. Storming your beaches, and then retreating , chase my cold foam licked back with your toes if you can. But be sure, I will come rushing back to you before you can avoid my swells and surges. Caught in the under toe, I am dragging myself out to sea. Deeper, to where the water is a deep haunting crystal blue and sharks stalk for prey in between filtered rays of light. Farther, into the dark of my salty abyss where creatures so alien to your land-locked eyes delight and amaze. Where mortals fear to tread, these depths block out the light one shade of the spectrum at a time. And the deeper you go, the colder it becomes, each thermocline shimmering below you as you descend like the heat waves above the deserts' sand. How far do you want to go? Can I carry you to the bottom of my oceans where the nitrogen will make you drunk? Try to escape, expelling your needless precious bubbles, tickling my second skin. Shoot to the surface, the rising panic of drowning tapping on the shoulder of your consciousness. And emerge you might, but you'll be sick with the bends I left in your blood. Blistered and bruised, your skin will bear the angry rash of my unrelenting pressure in a path of broken capillaries. And your joints will ache until you are contorted into shapes you weren't meant to belong in. Haunched and gasping, the only remedy for your sickness is more depth. Decompress then, in the terrifying vacuum of a dry chamber, when all your really wanted to feel in the first place was the kiss of a sea breeze and the warmth of my shallow waters. I am the oceans that surround your fragile islands, that bring life to your shorelines, using ill-evolved feet for the first time. Your sweat and tears bear the same chemical signature of my essence. One part sodium, one part hydrogen, the other oxygen. Drink me if you can, bathe yourself in my wetness. But don't try and tame my tides. They will carry you to a watery grave like a lullabye, the sound of lapping waves muffling your heartbeat in a similar rhythm. Sail on my surface, using the wind as your shelter, but be warned, a nor-easter is brewing deep in the stillness of these waters and their waves will consume you with the ancient strength of the titans. Through fear or adulation I will call you from the coast, and if you are brave enough to tempt the fate that awaits you, I will bless you with treasures. Vow to me, the birthplace of all things, your final sacrifice and I will clear away the tempests to reveal the stars in my rolling black embrace.

Unctuous

Mar. 26th, 2008 at 2:08 AM

This insufferable longing has taken its toll on my spine. Once an upstanding member of society, I have come undone into the poor posture of debauchery. Shoulders squared in the tantalizing stance of androgyny I sport, I make passers-by quiz themselves on the finite ingrained social markers they were born into of: what is male and what is female. It begs the question, I know, whether it's hard or wet inside my pants. Let me give you a simple answer: Both; in abundance, always. There may be spaces of soft and sweet, but everything is hard, rough, and weather worn at the same time. My eyes don't wander the same curves twice during a single day. On Tuesday I might be enamored with the raw beauty of men's hands, larger and more powerful than my own. Then on Saturday I might be entranced by the swell of female hips, the suggestion of our procreative origins. Try as I may, I cannot reconcile the hedonist within me, and it begs to whisper the one or two words in everyone's ear that will make them wilt under the tender touch of their lovers. Call me the patron saint of your suppressed lust. And I seem to infect others with it, a single raised eyebrow and a well directed glance, all the weapons I require. My walk: one part catwalk swish, one part pirate swagger. I have something to offer them all. And oh, how I intend to. There is indeed, reason to stare at such a suspicious creature. But I'd be nothing but a startling ghost, here and gone again in moments, if it weren't for her. She moves with a grace that mocks mine. Everything the essence of femininity, with none of the ridiculous pretense. I wonder if the pedestrian people of life can appreciate the raw, inescapable qualities of her beauty the way I can. The fierce sexuality that lies behind her painted lips, in the form of unforgiving and yet merciful teeth. Her smirkish smile, that devilish glint in her eye, that makes me want to show them how passion between such formidable opponents can often appear violent; the way tango looks to the niave eyes of a foriegner. Her body is a maze of curves and her skin sinfully soft, a wonderland for hands as hungry as mine. Ravished are how my eyes feel after gracing her image. And I can see the way they all look at her as she passes by, so unaware of their attentions. She has the kind of look about her, that makes you want to straddle the nozzle as you pump gas, the click of each gallon mocking the suggestive rhythm her heels spell out to those around her. I feel almost sorry for all the poor sods outside the car as we drive around, what a pair. Screaming wildly to Alice in Chains, air guitaring with our fingers intertwined. Each of us sporting our own set of claws we'll drag down each other skin later in the dim lights of underground parking garages, or the harsh lighting of gas station bathrooms. She evokes each sense with a new layer of beauty, adding to the firmness in my stance. I have more than bones to support with this frame, I have the heaviest mettle to bear now in her presence: desire. If she would but beckon me with one sharp tipped finger and I would crawl like a slinking cat in heat to her side. Lesser fools would succumb to her charms more easily, letting her confidence take charge of the situation. But although the smell of her perfume, her hair, and her skin, is as intoxicating to me as anything, she is learning to part her legs easily when my hand skims her thighs. She is learning that the kisses I place upon her pallid skin will leave her black and blue for days. She is learning the more she incenses my desire, the rowdier I get. But she is also learning, that for as rough and tumble as I can be, I'll moan softly when she touches me in return. She's learning that when she twists my hair around her fingers and pulls the way only she does, I will prostrate myself at her delicious mercy. She knows, although I may be hard, she is the only one that makes me wet for days. And she has no idea the finesse she carries to leave me in such a state. The way she bites the tip of her finger in silence, her mind a barrage of quick wit thoughts she refuses to voice at my expence when I preform a terrible rendition of "the robot" in the driver's seat of my car below the bask of a red light in a San Mateo intersection. The soft sarcasm of her chuckle, and the way she corrects my spelling without hesistation. Oh her corrections, they stirr such conflict within me. I am at once driven to do better, to make her proud with how long I can articulate myself without the nessicity of correction, but instantaneously I am resisting the urge to foul up more than I would ordinarily just to watch her cut me to pieces. The way she looks away one moment, when my eyes are willing her to me, and then the next my eyes are startled by the focus of her piercing gaze. How that look of deep pensive thought crosses her all too often and my own mind is screaming, "What are you thinking?"With the patience of a saint, and the lust of a sinner, she brings me to a level of arousal I have hardly known before. I may have met my match with her, but I intend to drown in the waves of need she stirs within me, like the moon stirs the tides. And I do not intend to let her go by unscathed. When this is over, and she leaves me spinning in the dying winds of her passing whirlwind, I will have left my watermark upon her heart. In the shape of a ring of teeth, and the fire of a single kiss. She will have infected me with her raw beauty, making everyone know I am exactly what I am without wondering. And I will have left her with the power to whisper those words into the ears of the lovers of the world to make them wilt under her touches the way I once did so eagerly.


Music:Jealous of your Cigarette - Hawksley Workman