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Slow the fuck down and let the moment take over. It is not a race when you make love to her. Be like a wine taster and savor her flavor. Sit back and gaze upon the sexy embroidered black lace that drapes her. Enjoy the freshness and sweetness of her breath when you kiss her. Enjoy the feminine arches of her feet, the prettiness of her pedicured toes and the wonderful colors. Enjoy the color and length of her hair and it’s texture. Enjoy the wetness and beauty of her vagina. Enjoy the fullness and the shape of her breasts; enjoy the picturesque silhouette of her neck. Take note of the sexiness of the arches of her eyebrows, the shape and color of her eyes, and her eyelashes that have held the tears that she has cried. Admire the bridge of her nose, as if sculptured by a master. Feel the fullness and softness of her lips. Look upon the shapeliness of her legs, ass, and hips. Say something sincere to her, and then give her an intimate kiss. Massage her body with moisture; and after, watch her sleep in heavenly bliss.
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Fantasies are immersed in an exploration of eroticism. The tongue is a multipurpose tool of seduction; to whisper, to lick her, to suck, to tongue fuck. Wet dreams are when she is wet and daydreaming about being tied up and fucked. She wants the full length and width of a well endowed man in her mouth. She wants to ride his tongue. She wants her ass to be spanked and her hair to be aggressively pulled so she can cum. She even bought handcuffs to restrain her left hand to her bedpost to increase the intensity of her self pleasure. She breathes deeply and shudders when she first stimulates her pussy externally, then she screams, finishing her session with a G-Spot dildo internally. The evidence of erotic pleasure is the wet spot on her comforter and the beads of perspiration on her body. She’ll bathe or shower and be horny again in another hour. Inside her is a never-ending passionate fire. To be tied up and roughly fucked by an experienced well endowed man is her desire.
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That a woman could understand me and we hold each other tearfully, is a higher level of intimacy that is incomparable to anything physical. To forgo a temporary night of pleasure because I treasure her is a sentiment that is spiritual. To lovingly convey to her that I desire for us to be of one breath, forsaking all others, until death, is an act that is deeply sentimental. When we are of one body who she was with before me is inconsequential. If she is in my rapture, I will unconditionally love her forever; my vows are not vain utterances or ineffectual words on paper. In a peaceful place under the sun, with an abundance of flowers, let us all gather together to witness a ceremony of passionate kisses, backless silk white dresses, and loving whispers. The exchange of rings is symbolic of the giving of ourselves to each other. She is radiant with the gold necklace that belonged to my late mother. She is an angel, for all I have is her.
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I dreamt of you. There was intimacy of mind and body in perfect harmony. The navigation of your body was a slow process like the southward sweetness of molasses. You seductively removed your glasses in our fiery moment of passionate kisses. I made love to you like you had been away from me for years, never fading from my memory, framed in loving tears.
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Enough with the monotonous fucking and the nights of unpleasurable penetration faking it just to please him. How many times have you fucked him and drove home angry that he couldn’t bring you to orgasm? You dress in lingerie to visually stimulate him, and usually he only lasts for five to ten minutes sweating with heavy grunting as if he accomplished something. He refuses to even attempt to give you oral stimulation, but that’s another thing. Yes, he’s handsome, but not well versed in the intricate intimacy and ecstasy of pleasing a woman. You’ve masturbated in front of him to show him the points of a woman’s stimulation, but he still hasn’t learned anything. There is zero foreplay; he just jumps in. “Baby, I’m not wet; I’m not ready yet” you tell him, yet still there is no slow and deep kissing, there is no looking into each other’s eyes with beautiful whisperings, there is no caressing, there is nothing that is remotely loving. He pulls out water based lubricant attempting to assert his delusions of sexual prowess in the bedroom and you constantly allow him. If you have to use something vibrating in tandem with your own fingers, then what’s the sense in being intimate with him? He has money and a great career — but about intimacy and loving reciprocity he doesn’t care. Several times you’ve thought about cheating, but if it’s come to that, you might as well be honest with him and leave him. Do you stay because of his socio-economic status and his high position? If you do, then it’s on you. Oh, by the way, he fucks other women unprotected that you don’t know about too; and in the company of his friends and fraternity brothers he disparages you. He sees the “relationship” as something transactional unbeknownst to you, so in his eyes how does he truly view you? Is the tradeoff worth it? Will he make you his “wife?” Will he finally start to treat you lovingly? Is it your ultimate aspiration to rub shoulders with high society? Will he confess truthful vows of love in the congregation of your friends and family?
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When she has an absolutely beautiful vagina, the desire to please her is so much deeper. When she is freshly shaven with the scent of perfumed soap out of the shower, the anticipation of the taste of her causes the mouth to water. When she slips into lingerie and clear mules in the bathroom and enters the bedroom displaying a pedicure with a new color, there is a strong desire to fan the flames of her fire. When her skin is glistening with wonderful moisture there is an undeniable want to passionately kiss her all over. When she uses Oscar De La Renta dusting powder and there is deep inhale of the euphoric scent of her, there will be no cessation of oral pleasure until she shudders. When she wraps her legs around the neck, moaning heavily and beginning to sweat — a skilled tongue will cause her to release orgasms over and over until there is nothing in her left. When her favorite vibrator is stimulating her clitoris and a yearning tongue is thoroughly teasing her ass, there is certainty that waves of ecstasy will take away her breath. When she decides to ride significant girth and length, nails will dig into chest as she controls the pleasure of her desired depths. When she is in missionary, her pedicured toes will be sucked, and she will be proficiently fucked immediately after her lover tells her to dexterously massage her own breasts.
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There is stillness in the underneath where they sleep, under the soil permeated by the tears of the living who wept and they who still weep. They who are no more were returned to earth’s keep, roses placed upon them lowered into the deep. The depth of love for the dead overflows when tears are shed in the winter and in the spring when roses arise from their slumber. Flowers are taken to the dead where the remnants of them lie; the heavens open and rain falls symbolizing the tears shed when the dead were once alive. They are forever marked upon the loved ones by whom they are survived. Under overcast skies the living kneel and whisper prayers with tears falling from solemn eyes. They eternally sleep, yet in loving hearts they repeatedly arise. In the depths of the souls of those that survive they who sleep repeatedly arise.
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Unconditional love is often sacrifices unseen, selflessness not necessarily noticed, and labor unrequited by well worded compliments. Unconditional love can be expressed with directness or subtly woven through many sentiments. Unconditional love can be words whispered in a last breath. Unconditional love is an ocean with infinite depth. Unconditional love is loyalty flawlessly maintained even after death.
Intimate Compositions 