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?
Tag: Feelings
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Beautiful mother, daughter of Constancia, hear the words that I whisper: you are in my heart, and I will love you forever. There will be no reconciliation with the person who is supposedly my father. His memory is washed away from me like drops of water in a raging flood. He is unworthy and cowardly; I renounce the lineage of his blood.
Search my soul, and read the letters of my heart detailing the trauma within me that is untold. I am a flower alone in a dark and desolate place that withers in the cold. My petals fall and are taken in the wind. Here, it is unforgiving. There is no compassion or understanding. I am at war with demons; I slay with sword and shield unrelenting.
Amaryliss, let me feel the warmth of your presence. Comfort your descendant with a kiss. Embrace me in celestial sunshine. Sing to me the songs of your mother and her mother and all those before her. Bestow upon me preternatural power. Be with me, especially in my most despondent hours. Let me float on peaceful waters in my slumber. Strip away from me all hindrances that threaten my ascension. My blood is your blood — I am eternally your faithful son.
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The hands in black satin gloves glide across the smooth surface of what holds the lifeless. Her husband kneels beside her casket, giving her a final kiss. There is weeping in the great hall. It is cold, and outside rain falls. Silver haired women adorning black veils conceal gold crucifix necklaces beneath black shawls. Old men who have survived many years of deep sorrow sit stoically in the back rows. Tears stream as cold rain turns into snow. There are variations of flowers in many different colors, but the lifeless does not know. Six strapping men stand in position to lift her again. After hoisting, they walk slowly in tandem; each one of them wearing gloves of black satin. Rose petals fall gently on snow as if the roses themselves shed tears in mourning. Winter winds carry the sounds of sorrow. A sea of black is the procession that follows. Black clothes contrast against white snow as if the pitch darkness of night was invading the brightness of daylight. Elder men lean on vintage brass handle walking canes at the grave site. Widowers comfort each other as they gather. Though usually stoic—still, they cry for her. She was a beautiful wife and mother they whisper. At the moment of the lowering, her husband falls to his knees; weeping, he reaches for her. She was immensely loved. She no longer lives, yet still, she does.
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I love you deeply,
She said genuinely
From sensuous lips
So sweetly. -
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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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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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 