I think kissing is the most pure and raw form of physical contact there could ever be. Sex is intimate, sure, but you can have sex with anyone. A kiss though, my god. A kiss can change your world. A small touch between two pairs of lips can blow your mind. Whether it be short and sweet, or long and intense. And when you find someone that looks at you like you’re more beautiful than a blossoming rose; you never want to feel another’s lips against yours ever again.
— The Purity of a Kiss - (jpzg)
Kissing. The thing that I love. The thing that I miss. My "thing".
A mouth that craves the taste of skin, a tongue that desires to trail its wetness over the plains of a body. Lips that ache to kiss, stealing breath, taking you within an inch of your life. A clash of lips, meeting with a craving and a longing so deep it leaves them breathless. Lips moving with slow and gentle precision, each kiss telling a momentum of passion, of depth, of love.
*sigh*
You write your first draft with your heart and you rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is to write, not to think.
Sean Connery, Finding Forrester.
For me, the key is having the time. The motivation. The inspiration. And I haven't had any of those for so long. It's been so long since I've written. So long since I've had the time to write. Life is busy. Life is manically busy and there's no time to write let alone think!
On Wednesday, I stood in the Abbey at the funeral of a friend who was just 49. A battle lost against bowel cancer. And standing there as I watched her two teenage daughters talk of their Mum, it hits home just how precious life is. How so easily life can be taken away, that it is so short. She was making the most of her life, doing the things that she loved to do, right up to the end, right to the moment that the damn awful disease that cancer is stripped her body of life.
It makes you realise that sometimes, just sometimes, things have to take a back seat, that there are things that must come first. Whether things are from the head or the heart, the first key is to take the moments that we have, to take the opportunities, the chances, the risks. Because it can be over all too quickly.
There can be times, there can be moments when something so beautiful comes into our lives, completely out of nowhere. We may not understand it, we may want to question it, but sometimes we have to trust in it. Trust in ourselves, trust in the ability to make and take the right decision, the right path for ourselves. It may not work. But sometimes, perhaps we just need to have a little faith. Perhaps we just need to take a step into the unknown, for as I've been reminded this week, we never know if that step may be our last.
Sian. Rest in peace and free from pain.
Gripping him. Drawing her closer. Never letting him go. Their mouths consume each other as they share the same air. Her pulling him closer, holding him tightly. Him enveloping her as if his life depended on it.
They both dine on their hunger and salacious desires. Feeding upon their gluttony of their yearning and ending the famine that had starved them for so long. A biting of lips, a tangle of tongues, a scraping of teeth as the taste of each other is embedded within each of them.Satisfying their lustful craving as greedily they feast upon each other.
I want to write. I need to write. I've not done a great deal of it of late. I've gotten a few words down recently, but it's not how I want the words to flow, to be released, to be.
And it is frustrating.
I want the words to come, floating like the blossom that is falling from the trees. And they don't.
And I think of you. And how you left on the same breeze, fading into the distance, like the blossom blown away and never to return. Now I know why they name hurricanes. They leave their mark, their name. Their force and strength.
I wonder what we would have named you.
So.
I receive an email from someone commenting on what "level" of FLR I follow. I mean, what is that all about? WTF?
My relationships are female led. End of. They don't go to any particular level they just are. I was curious to how he was suggesting I was a level 3 and then realised that he'd probably read some "guide" or some online blurb about how we fit into neat little tick boxes and fit into certain levels with these things that we do.
And yes. I was right.
He sent me a link to "What is FLR" and there, it attempts to "define" what constitutes an FLR! Why are people so hellbent on trying to "define" the things that we do, trying to label, trying to fit everyone into little tick boxes of how we are or must be to be Dominant, or submissive and that if we don't do X, Y or Z we aren't either. Why?
This article does say they created these four levels for discussion, but people, especially those who are new, exploring and trying to discover, take these things so literally. But what pisses me off, is that people then take this "stuff" they read and insist it is how it is.
He couldn't get past the thought that because I don't do something, I couldn't be a level 4, that my FLR couldn't be "defined" as a level 4.
What absolutely fucking bullshit!!!!
Now, this somewhat pisses me off. Actually, no, it seriously pisses me off!
I don't work to levels. I don't work to what someone may happen to say my FLRs reflect. Who is anyone to say what "level" I lead my relationships? Who is anyone to say whether my relationships are female led or not? Whether something is right or wrong?
There are things I explore. I do so because it is MY choice to do so. Just because I don't do something doesn't then mean that my relationship isn't female led.
If it is right for me. If it works for me. It is.
Simple.
Why do people insist on writing these things? Why do people insist on leading people to these things? It brings those who find this stuff online into a place which for the main is just bullshit and they get drawn into thinking that because they've read it somewhere that this is how it is. People do not fit into levels or tick boxes. They do not fit neatly into what labels get thrown out there.
Wow.
My relationships are female led. No level. No debate. They are. That's it.
End of.
You had no idea as we had dressed for the evening formal dinner that this was how the evening would end. In the days of planning, neither had I. But with everything in place, I knew exactly how the evening would pan out. I knew that we would stay for dinner, we'd have champagne and dance a little. But I also knew that at the end of the night we wouldn't return home alone. And I knew that what was going to be a pleasure for me, would torment you. That what would build me, would break you.
You had no idea until you had seen us flirting over the dinner table, a dark haired, younger very handsome man with the most kissable lips. You could tell from the way I looked at them, that I wanted to devour them, to devour him. You could tell from the way I looked at him and the way he looked at me, that there was a current of electricity, shocks passing across the table which everyone else was oblivious too.
You had no idea where we had gone when I had excused myself from the table to "powder my nose" and you had no idea where he had gone when he had left a short time after. The bewildered look on your face when we returned together, flushed faces, and a smile on my face. As I sat down beside you and guided your hand between my legs, you knew. You knew what had just happened and as I placed my hand on your device I could feel your cock begin to stiffen and I knew that you knew.
You had no idea that he would be coming home with me. With us. And you had no idea that you would be sat across the room, the same room, while I straddled him, kissed him and lowered myself slowly onto his hardened cock. And as I took control over his cock, the speed and depth to how he entered me, I could hear and sense your humiliation as I told him how wonderful it was to finally have such a big cock inside of me, to be filled by a real man. I knew. I knew that you were longing to be him, longing to be in that place, that you weren't jealous of him, but longed to be him.
I knew that your cock would be straining against the device I had locked you in before we had gone out for the evening. After all, I wanted you properly dressed, you looked so handsome in your dinner suit, the bow-tie, it was as much as I could do to keep my hands from you before we had left, I had teased you, tormented you, edged you until you were so aroused and then locked you away. Laughing at your frustration.
And there you sat, across the room, witnessing him fucking me. My kissing him, our moans and groans of passionate release as he fucked me harder, deeper, as I rode him. All the while, you sat there watching us. Watching him. Watching me.
We were lost in the desires, the lust of the moment, oblivious to your humiliating defeat, oblivious to the strains of your cock. Oblivious to your burning cheeks of longing, of need, of desire, your broken humiliation as his cock filled me deeply. Oblivious to your own moans as he came deep inside of me.
And you had no idea that soon it would be your turn. That this would be your moment of even deeper humiliation as I order you to your knees before him, to clean his cock which had moments before been deep inside me.
And you had no idea that your humiliation would only be complete as you led on your back while I straddled your mouth and ordered you to clean me, to clean me deeply and thoroughly, your tongue recoiling at the taste of him.
And you had no idea as your tongue brought me to a shuddering orgasm that my juices, his juices would flow over your face, your mouth, and your tongue, trickling down the back of your throat causing you to gag. You were broken. Your humiliation marked by us both.
You JoJo. Had no idea.
She loved to tease him. Tasting him with her tongue. She loved to leave a trail of saliva over his body, relishing in the shivers and goosebumps that were created as the cool air hit the heat of his skin.
She loved these moments of closeness and intimacy, ones that followed their wild and passionate times that they had shared only moments before. She loved to kiss him gently. To kiss him where she had teased him, tormented him, beaten him. Hurt him.
She would stroke him tenderly, as her lips gently kissed him, hands and lips gently soothing away the pain that had engulfed his body and marked his skin. She loved to lavish his body with kisses, thanking his body with each kiss for the pain he had suffered for her. She loved to kiss and wipe away his tears and his hurt. Hurt and tears that she had brought to him, which fell for her.
She loved to touch him. Stroke him. Hold him. Taking in his taste and his scent, both of which were always embedded in her mind, in her heart, in her soul. She loved to hear him sigh, to hear his breathing change as he regained some sense of normality. She loved to hear the release from his body, releasing the tensions as it processes and sets free the pain and the torment that had permeated through to his depths. She loved to watch him in that space, that moment. That depth. That darkness. She loved to watch him. She loved him.
I remember the taste of your lips. And recall with pleasure the way your mouth felt against my own. The warmth, the taste. Lips that met with such sweet perfection. Heat of mouths as they slowly devoured the other. Kissing those lips was like kissing a black hole, pulling you in, consuming you completely, just for that moment until there is nothing remaining to be consumed.
Fingers reaching into hair, gripping, as tongues dance a powerful tango and it feels like an earthquake has hit, a surge of feelings, of desire, of longing, like a volcano has erupted. A whole series of powerful natural disasters, sending shockwaves right to the pit of the stomach, surging around the body with a power and strength like a tsunami hitting shore.
And yet it had a sweetness like champagne, intoxicating, where just one taste leaves you wanting more, craving more, desiring more. And you want to hold onto that kiss for as long as you can, to drink from it when there is nothing left, like being stranded in a desert without any water and that kiss was the only moisture that there will be.
I'll remember the kiss and wish for just one more.
It is amazing the things we come across when insomnia hits.
I have a book to read and yet, neither my mind or eyes could focus on it. I don't know if I will be able to. At least not for a while at least. So I will place it onto the bookshelf until the time may come that I will re-open its covers.
Instead in the depths of the early hours, I have just read a translation of Aristophanes speech in Plato's symposium. Within it, there is such simple beauty, reflecting the naïve hope that we, each "find" our other half, their discussion upon their thoughts of "love".
There is one particular part of his speech, where the words have such simple beauty within them, yet they are words that reflect that naïve hope . . .perhaps the thing that we hope to "find", in whatever way, or wherever we may seek it . . .is it a naïve hope?
"And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and would not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell.."
Sometimes words from others have such simplicity, yet, can hold such depth, such meaning such truth . . words which can at times touch, right through to leaving one breathless.
Maybe it is a naïve hope.
Things happen which give us hope that we may one day find what it is that we may seek, the thing that we may hope to find. And hope can be dashed, it can be trampled and crushed and discarded. Maybe we looked in the wrong place. Maybe we are looking for something that isn't ultimately possible to find. Maybe it just isn't.
"In everyone's life, at some time our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit."
Albert Schweister
This quote, these words will not mean a great deal to many people. But I came across these words in the depths of last night when a really bad night of insomnia prevented me from sleeping. When so many thoughts, questions without answers passed through my mind.
They speak to me.
They are close to words I've recently spoken. Of bonfires, and flames and bellows. I'm sat here right now, watching the day begin to dawn, the light starting to creep into the sky, the birds outside beginning to wake with their morning song and I realise that my fire had gone out.
That my fire had been rekindled. And while someone has come along and thrown water over it, for whatever reason that may be, that it is still there, still burning in the embers and not totally extinguished.
This week sees it being 5 years since I lost my Mum. Her passing has left a void that is felt every day. We lost another family member this week. A dear friend has been told that the tumour on her liver has been joined by several others, that her body is being attacked by cancer, just as it attacked and finally took my Mum from me. Sometimes, words are just so hard to find. Words are sometimes impossible to find.
And I feel guilty that my focus for a little while was taken by the flame, by the warmth, by the way the flames could dance as the inner spirit is woken from it's dormant state. But I liked how it felt. Liked how it made me feel. It made me see that it was, that it is possible, however short lived for the spirit to be really felt. For the things, the feelings, the wants and needs and desires to be felt.
There is a real deep sense of loss for many things right now. These past few days have added to that too. And those feelings, are probably just enough to put the fire out.
Just not yet.
Just not right now. Maybe tomorrow.
Sometimes I wonder.
I wonder what goes through someone's mind, or why life must be so amazingly lacking for some, that they take steps to quite literally take something away from someone else.
I don't get it.
*sigh*
You can have hope for something and it can be gone in the blink of an eye. A week of really difficult days, sad family news and "this".
I didn't need this right now. I didn't need "this" full stop. It's not what I wanted at all and I really don't know why...why some things happen...why someone may do what the choose to do.
I didn't need "this" at anytime but certainly not now. But that's life I guess.
It can be so crap at times :(
*sigh*
"Fuck you!" he recoiled inside at these words daring to escape from his lips.
Her hand pulled back and struck him hard across he face, leaving him stunned and shocked and his mind fighting the depths of the space that her slap could send him to.
She looked at him, coldly. His eyes had darkened from fear. He knew he had gone too far. He had pushed her too far. She had been teasing him, tormenting him, urging him, but his reaction from frustration had stepped over a line which her slap had immediately taken him back beyond.
Her fingers wrapped themselves around his throat, tightening, his life in her hands as she brought him up to her, bringing him up to his knees. Her beast saw the darkness that enshrouded his normal clear blue eyes and she relished the fear he was feeling. She delighted and revelled in his predicament, the fear that he felt, the feeling that his heart was being crushed under the weight of those two words. She knew she had pushed him, but still!
"No! Fuck you!" She whispered into his ear letting out a somewhat evil chuckle which she knew made his fear grow even more. She wasn't angry at him, but she would make him pay for his words.
"I forgot myself." He began to plead.
She intended to make him remember.
Remember his place. Remember the line that he had crossed.
He wouldn't forget again.
She shoved him to the ground, pushing his forehead to the floor which made him raise his ass into the air. Slapping the inside of his thighs to force them apart. The sting on her soft skin of her palms knowing that it was stinging him. He flinched each time she slapped him, the pain beginning to increase, his skin reddening from a pattern if red lines from her outstretched fingers.
He felt the burn, her unending slaps against the soft flesh of his inner thighs, fingers occasionally catching his cock making him gasp and flinch even more. He daren't cry out, fearing that it would unleash the beast. That it would make her want to hurt him even more.
He feels nails and fingers clawing at his naked ass, assaulting him, scratching him. Burning. Stinging. Hurting.
His fingers grabbing the carpet his head burying trying to find relief in the softness of the pile. His ass still raised an easy target for her ongoing assault of his body. He was not going to forget crossing that line. She would make sure of that!
Her fingers moving over the curves of his ass, probing between the cheeks as she feels his muscles begin to tighten, his attempt at preventing an intrusion into his body. She slapped him again telling him to relax the muscles and just as he did so two fingers forced their way into the depths of him. He gasped, he cried out, his pleadings awakening her beast as she pushed further into him.
His hands dug into the carpet, his breathing fast and shallow as his body reacted to this intrusion.
"Fuck you?" She said
"No! Fuck you!"
As her fingers pushed in and out of him. Fingers assaulting him, clawing, fucking him. Pain starting to arouse him, as she took what was hers to take. Pounding him with her fingers, deeper and harder, the beast willing her on along with his gasps, moans and pleading. His words of sorry were not enough. And she deftly increased the fingers that entered him, and as she filled him, her whole hand forced into him, she left him with no doubt that he had pushed her too far.
She fisted him, deeply. No care for his begging, not hearing his pleading, not hearing the "sorry" that gasped from his lips. And so she fucked him.
This wasn't about him. This was about her. This was about his place. Him knowing that place but more so not forgetting that place that he done so momentarily before.
His cock was hard, pre-cum dripped from it, and she knew despite the pain, despite the intrusion in his body that he was close to orgasm. She stopped, her fist still inside him as she felt his muscles clamp against her. "You don't deserve that. You're not going to cum".
She removed herself slowly from his depths. Wiping her hand over him. Shoving him aside as she turned and left him there to go shower. She knew that he would come crawling to her, begging for her forgiveness. She knew that he would thank her for reminding him of his place. Knew that he wouldn't forget it.
"Fuck you?" she whispered into his ear.
"No. Fuck you!"
She had read his words. And now she had the sound of his voice.
His laugh. She could picture his face as he smiled and now her mouth
craved his lips, his neck, the taste of his skin.
A tongue desiring to to trail it’s warm wetness over the
plains of his body. Lips which ache to kiss him within an
inch of his life, yet bring him to untold heights of desire,
of pleasure. And passion wins out, words, looks, wants that they had
shared for what seemed like forever. A simmering desire, a longing need. Each with their own stories, own lives, own experiences, own fantasies and thoughts which melt in searing heat of passionate desire. Taking is easy, falling is harder, as they give into the hunger. A meeting of lips, a delicious taste of succulent skin. Feeling the softness as hands tangle in a mess of hair pulling lips closer together. Harder together. Bodies melt into one, her own pinning his into the bed, hands searching, stroking. Touching. Exploring. The heady smell of his body, his scent, his aftershave filling her. Thighs pressing. Meeting. Touching. As her legs fall between his own and up to the heat and hardness of his body. Hands locked together matching as she moves them up above his head, lowering herself onto him. Her breasts meeting his mouth as he takes her hungrily. Tongue circling, searching, begging as she teases him moving back out of reach, frustrating him, tormenting him. He begs her. Drawing her into his mouth, suckling like a new born hungry for what ever is offered, trailing with his mouth, his tongue as he feeds hungrily. She trails kisses on his face, down over his nose, kisses fluttering gently against his lips. Mouths meeting. Tongue fucking. As the warmth of tongues move over lips, needing. Hungry. Wanting. Bodies tremble as pleasure takes them. The feast begins as they take their fill and yet knowing that moment isn't enough, that there is more. So much more. That there will be more.
Your hands. Held in mine. It is I that captures them. Captures you. It is I that holds them and it is my grip that pulls you close. That pulls you to me. Against me.
Your hands feel my strength. My touch. My control. My need. And your own hands are giving. Touching. Wanting. Needing.
A gentle touch, a gentle kiss, a tongue tip gently flicking around your out turned palm. Drawing patterns, leaving a trail of warm saliva as it teases each of your fingers. A look between both, a look that draws you deeper, that brings you in, drinks you in. Takes you in.
Eyes locked, gaze not broken for one moment as I take one finger, lips gently closing as I feast upon your skin. I am filled by you. By the taste of you. By the sight of you. By the sound of you. All of my senses filled in that one moment. My need to devour you, consume every last part of you as my lips close tightly around you.
They are your hands. But it is I who has captured them. Taken them. Taken you.
He was stripped bare. More than just a physical nakedness, but one of inner transforming, she was taking all that he was and laying it all out before them both.
He experienced such raw emotions, fear weighing heavily, an overwhelming desire and a need burning as she promised to protect him. Promised to be near. Promised to take him. Love him. Hurt him. Hold him.
He was stripped bare.
She watched him closely from behind, he would go, where she would lead him. Knowing that the risk was worth it.
Amidst the days, weeks and months of chaos, I sometimes find myself drawn to moments such as this.
A yearning? A longing? A moment of a you and I?
A clear blue sky with a gentle warmth from the early summer sun. Watching as the breeze gently blows through the uncut grass. The scent and freshness of spring flowers and wild herbs. Bodies pressed together. No words needed. Eyes simply saying it all.
Amidst the chaos of life, I long for a peaceful moment such as this.
