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Still, there are words left unspoken years after I thought I had completely purged you from my system. Fucking other women was supposed to be my exorcism. My feelings for you were supposed to end. With every intense release of passion there should have been more distance. I made love passionately and intensely in the rapture of deep intimacy to women who told me that they loved me, but your memory is my prison. In the company of friends and associates I feigned indifference to stave off the outward signs of emotional ruin. Fuck her they would tell me, and I would pretend to agree with them. I’ve never been a man to be consumed by any particular obsession. As a fatherless child, I was raised by stern uncles who taught me to control my emotions in the company of men, and be exceptionally stoic in the company of women. Perhaps they would think that I have strayed from their discipline if they ever heard any of my intimate whisperings. Confessions have been told and tears have flowed before love making at 3:00 A.M. Naked and drenched in sweat saying barely coherent words through heavy whispery breaths, an attempted exorcism is in progress yet again.
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U.S. Poet Laureate, Natasha Trethewey; a brief introduction and two readings:
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I dreamt of several rows of Ferragamo Oxford plain toe and Square toe shoes in preternatural white marble rooms. With them were perfectly pressed heavily starched white dress shirts, Purple Label navy blue blazers, and black Ferragamo Chelsea boots. There were several large rooms filled with beautifully tailored hand-made suits. My collection was extensive; initial engraved solid gold money clips were used for incidentals and evening expenses. Black and blue Ferragamo Moccasins with bicolor ornaments and loafers with metal tips were in abundance. I employed a dynamic staff of highly skilled les petites mains and tailors with several years of experience. My ateliers were located in the penthouse at Central Park Tower with a breathtaking view of New York City’s lights at dusk. My dream was exceptionally vivid. Solid gold and diamond encrusted cufflinks gleaming at an extremely envied private evening event was exceptionally exquisite. For that particular gathering I wore Ferragamo Oxford with metal tip. The lady that accompanied me wore Givenchy black G Cube leather sandals with gold anklet and a Givenchy evening dress in flawless fit.
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A timeless performance from Julie McKnight
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Directly looking into lustful eyes the session begins with kisses falling softly on inner thighs. A cube of melting ice is rubbed around nipples yet to be sucked. The anticipation causes a reaction of natural lubrication that cannot be stopped. Another slow soft kiss, then a seductive whisper, open your legs wider. Ice melts over erogenous nipples like a slow flowing river thawing at the end of an exceedingly cold winter. Kisses go lower…the receiver of pleasure moans, wanting soft kisses to finally reach the destination of her wetness followed by something intensely satisfying sliding in and out of her. Pinched slightly numb nipples feel so wonderful. Neck kisses commence; the absolute need for heightened satisfaction is unbearable. Warm willing mouth sensually mounts cold nipples — the proficiency of licking, sucking and uninhibited intimacy is on another level. She rubs her pussy furiously as he services her upper body. She says in a distinct sensuous tone softly, goddamn, I want you to fuck me; but he will make her wait for the thrusts of lascivious penetrative ecstasy. He wants to taste her because orally pleasing her fuels his primal desire. She’s clean shaven, sexy, and on fire. Again, he goes lower methodically using his mouth with his fingers inside of her. He is extremely turned on, and it shows in his sultry behavior. His tongue is extremely skillful, causing her body to shudder. When her first orgasm comes he can feel the pelvic contractions tighten on his fingers — though she is shaking he keeps going, withdrawing his fingers and inserting his now stiffened tongue inside of her to savor the essence of her erotic nature. After the second wave of orgasms there is an intermission; he watches her keenly, the bed and his face drenched in the release of her absolutely untamed ecstasy. Later, she will be blindfolded, tied, and spanked. She assumes doggy saying repeatedly, now fuck me, looking back.
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Insatiable craving for the taste of passion; tongue writhing, pleasure heightening, continuous fluid motion like a snake on black satin gliding, sensual whispers teasing to entice the unquenchable need for two fingers to slowly slide in — nipple pinching simultaneous with every brush of the willing tongue on erogenous clitoris; moaning, heavy breathing, screaming open declarations of how wet she is; untamed kisses — she tastes herself by licking and sucking the tips of his fingers. He goes lower and slower for deeper exploration. Within three minutes there are waves of powerful explosions. Erotic sensations; so much passion, so many fucking positions to choose from. Missionary immediately, then she’ll ride him hard in rhythmic consistency. She is loud because he’s experienced, strong, and well-endowed with eyes of mystery. Looking at him directly she utters, fuck me enthusiastically. He switches positions quickly, taking her from behind and pulling her hair roughly. He knows her psyche and her body thoroughly, constantly immersing her in depths of unrestrained intimacy. Positions are switched yet again for the absolute access of side entry. The impassioned rhythmically slow thrusts of his girth are lengthy. They kiss again with a longing that is dreamy and fiery. Pedicured feet draped with gold anklets in clear high heel mules are so fucking sexy. She releases again intensely, shaking uncontrollably after he says, baby, please cum for me.
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Before your inception you were a beautiful destiny, meant to be a radiant light and comfort to many. You may be berated unjustly by some publicly, but in secrecy you are their adoration and their envy. The calmness of your heart is infectious, taming the ferocity of the beast of anxiety. You have suffered cruelty, and you have shed tears endlessly. You have held painful secrets for years tearfully, reluctant to tell anybody. Your cross is extremely heavy, and you carry it, sometimes having to drag it on bloodied and scarred knees. You give of yourself selflessly and generously, yet no one seems to see your needs; no one offers a kiss or a gift or a gesture of preciousness. They constantly take from you without even a turn of the head to say thank you. You were violated and abused, yet they still don’t believe you.
I see you my angel; I offer all the love that I have in my heart, and I send you gifts of gratitude. I see you on the train, tired from work and in pain. I see you walking home with sorrowful eyes under dark skies and heavy rain. I see you nodding off from exhaustion before you board your plane. I see the disappointment on your face after speaking to the man you thought that loved you, only to realize he forgot your name. I see the wounding of your soul when you are tearful and words escape you, but you don’t have to explain. My beautiful and precious angel, you never have to explain. My soul is also wounded — I understand your pain. I understand the depth of your silent cries, because I cry the same.
Intimate Compositions 