So many tears fall from their eyes. With no wings to fly, they keep falling from the skies. The silent walls witnessed their last cries.
Tag: Feelings
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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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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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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
