Candidly speaking and with socially acceptable gloves off…it’s time to lay it all on the foreplay of life line.
Nature is sexy!
There I’ve said it. You don’t have to acknowledge it. I’ll take all the blame for the following not defined by absentee diverse minds ‘sex talk’.
I walk into nature on a daily basis. Fortunate am I to feel the swollen earth below my feet. Happy am I to relish in the warm sensation that breathing as one with no one but provocative mother nature…I find myself getting a tingling from the inside of my thigh to the right side of my lower back…and slowly the transition takes place.
Foreplay, I suppose means what it means. For us to play…before we begin our animalistic ritual of letting the beast that lives inside us all out.
How do I know that Mother and her nature turns us on?
It is that simplistic charm of knowing that something good lay ahead on my journey. The damp and moist afterglow of a slow summer rain. The abolishment of inhibitions and the exonerating freedom to be just who we are meant to be without questions being asked.
I suppose the natural beauty in the land escaping before us is akin to pursuing things we cannot have…yet, go after in full throttle noise any how.
The glance at a woman’s smile that adjourns a smirk and a confidence that allows for the electrics to happen. Possibly no different from the wind the sheds upon our skin off an adjacent pond of pure grace.
It is a charm in all it’s goodness…woman, nature and ravenous thoughts.
Thoughts of how it would taste to be within the soul of beauty…beauty we can never seem to quite harness.
Is there ever any doubt that between two opposing sides, somewhere in the middle there is truth? The instability between the two is as vast as the deep blue sea! Whatever the fuck that means! Someone happened to say it to me once and it sounded good, therefore, it is my intelligent line for the day.
Just because there are fouls in my court; cries, temper tantrums, warnings to perspective ‘romantic’ interests that my mood may be different tomorrow.
In a nutshell while confined to an emotional attic room up around White’s Park, Concord NH this is how I read:
Rest assured that
When I start to make you nervous
And I’m going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change
And today won’t mean a thing.
So, true. Yet, it isn’t all me. Although, I’d like to think it is all about me.
-I know that Kate, my ex-girlfriend, no I am not a lesbian and quit asking, well, psycho bitch left me with nothing but the taste of bad cum in my mouth. And, I don’t even like going down on women.
-She claimed to be out of the bed of her wife, she wasn’t, and I know it.
-Claimed to be celibate for two years, wrong again! Rumor has it she had a pretty healthy sex life before, during and after my youthful stupidity entered her life.
-Claimed to love me to the end. But the more I think of it, our relationship was as a good book waiting in the wings.
How did I put it to her once?
“You should write a book on how I seduced you.”
What does she say?
“First, I’m going to start to blog about it.”
“That’s one way to start. You should remember to include, how I started wearing short shorts to work. And, purposely would bend over right in front of you. Just leave the going up the ass stuff out, Mother Theresa would have a bird.”
Wish I knew then what I believe to be whole hearted truth now. Book three almost ready for the press and Book Four had already been in production.
There is more to this shitty prescription drug workplace romance story. I haven’t covered it all. What the fuck was I thinking?
Kate’s tastes in women were brunette, short, feminine, smart and well hung.
Foreplay in life, as well as, the bedroom can be a little confusing to anyone I mark with my scent! The basics seem simple enough to me. Yet, time and time again, I have to explain exactly what, where, how and when things need to be done.
Perhaps, self-love is the way to go. It has never failed me or my clit. The only thing that has failed me is my fancy and centuries old antiquated daybed. The more the rubbing myself the right way goes on, the more the bed slips away into the black hole of my sexual romps in the attic.
Penny never satisfied me. She believed I was the man, she was the woman and all would be right with the world if she just closed her eyes and pretended I was someone I could never be. We only had sex once and it was a forced and not mutually desired activity. After the bar closed in a sleepy little Shit Kicking, Wrangler riding Texas town, I made me move. Thrusting her again a brick wall, I too closed my eyes and hoped I could be the man she wanted me to be.
Poor Penny was bone dry from her head down to her toes. The sudden harshness of a solid wall made us both not pliable and/or sexual. I kept at it though. Hearing her cry, I thought maybe this is how she wants it?
Her cries were of despair, however! The pleas were not for more but of please stop Ambien Grace, you’re hurting me.
That was it! Short and simple affair really, in and out in no time at all.
Why is it so difficult to satisfy me? Why can’t anyone feed my needs, like I do? My mother is so engrossed in my not being gay; she would most likely be the only candidate to solve my frustrations. Only Mother Theresa would know that there are rules:
Don’t expect me to eat you out. However, I will offer a blow job if you are a guy. There is something very pungent and wrong about women’s secretions.
Don’t believe me when I tell you that caressing my breasts will get me going every time. Ever since my liaison with a terribly butch rugby player, along with the biting, tugging and sucking, my tits have never been the same. No feeling what’s so ever, below the neck or above it.
Do not stick your tongue in my mouth. I cannot stand that. Makes me want to throw up each and every time.
Do I say not as I do? I am the master to my sexual universe and only I have been able to give myself an orgasm. Come along for the ride but know you had nothing to do with the end result.
Do not tell me about your ex-girlfriends, ex-boyfriends, pretty actresses you have had a crush on or anyone that you work with that you may have had a fantasy about. Our sex life if it wanders outside the discussion of ‘how to please Ambien Grace’ will leave me high and dry and jealous every time.
I’ve always wanted to do it in a church…I’m a terrible person but in a confessional I can believe I have sinned. The weirder the better.
If love is ever mentioned during sex I have a patented answer:
You don’t have to make me orgasm to make me happy.
You get me weak in the knees when you’re in me, you give me goose bumps, and you get my nipples hard
You’re doing so much better than anyone I’ve have slept with
You are doing everything right, it’s me
I think I have a back of the mind fear of letting myself go and believing someone can do for me what only I have been able to do.
Waltzing around the first floor now as the parents are gone, I have learned much from watching my mother. Her fit body. Her obsession for exercise. Her need for verification of her worth without the word ‘love’ being mentioned.
I admire her really. Distancing herself from pain, love, sex, attachment. I have also learned from her that that is indeed how I want to be.
Alone with my right hand, my clit, nude photos of Zoey or myself, an hour of free time and no one speaking the dreaded words, LESBIAN or LOVE!