Eyes
It was recently - We had a good old-fashioned fuck affair, one that lasted a week, then he went back to his home interstate, and I went mental knowing I would be eternally dissatisfied with sex forevermore unless I was having it with him - This man with the eyes, ooooh ladies, I'm blushing forehead to toes just thinking about it, I sting with lack like I'm being tattooed beneath my eyelids and there ain't nuthin I can do about it - Eyes feline, yellowish green, something out of a bag of props or a jar in a craft shop full of mixed dolls eyes - Not just that though, he's all muscly in the right ways, just enough bicep bump to keep me pleased, little flat belly, nice solid trunkish legs, square forehead and cheeks that dip to a fine little chin, brown hair that I insisted had flecks of ginger but he vehemently disagreed, extraordinarily sensitive nipples, super-sensitive everything in fact, put it all together and you have a distressingly attractive man who knows without a doubt that he is gorgeous but still somehow manages to be down to earth and not egocentric in the slightest.
Those eyes, those fucking eyes - Not just that though, I mean, a boy who looks that good is bound to be bad in some way - Perhaps stupid, or a bastard, or a wrong kisser, or a bad cook, or farts in bed, or is too rough in bed, or wears terrible shoes, or spits gollies into your kitchen sink, or gives really bad massages. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, the man is fucking perfect - Not only because he is/does none of the bad things listed above, but my dears, he is passionate about words, creative, hideously intelligent, friendly and sociable, smells nice tastes nice smiles nice laughs lots and oh fuck oh fuck, holy fuck, the way he fucks makes love makes sex makes touch kiss tongue melt fuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkk....
Made only more appropriate by the fact that he lives in another town and therefore is fleeting and unattainable, otherwise I might be tying myself in knots...
It's the whole ultrabodytantrachakrabreathing thing, you know? Five minute fuck? Not this man - He just does this breathing thing and 'sends energy to his head and other chakras' (yes it sounds fruity, I don't really care) and instead of just blowing he starts to shake, shudder more like it, and he puts his hand somewhere on me - a breast or forehead or lips, and takes me somewhere or does something because suddenly I'm shuddering too, buzzing as if I'm holding an electric fence, and there are orgasms now, orgasms orgasms orgasms that beat me into submission with their ferocity, and I have no concept of sound or anything outside the shaking of our naked sweating bodies, and once I burst into tears it just felt so...emotional? No, wrong word. Just so intense, I can't explain it, and I'm so amazed that someone I just met can do this to me and by the time he leaves I feel like I've known him for years.
He said I am more responsive than most - He said sex with me is phenomenal - He said I respond so easily, I said that he responded more than anyone I'd ever come across, which fits my theory that there's no such thing as 'good in bed,' just an ability to lose yourself, and enthusiasm, and trust - I would kiss him and he would melt into my mouth and I could feel him doing that thing that I do where I just become my tongue, I give it free reign, I lend it my brain and my heart and, so armed, it sets off on its own private exploration - Others kiss with the rest of the body in mind, or think about the situation or what comes next or the rest of the world - Nay, one must become ones kisses in order to make them the sublime mini-fucks they are meant to be - So we kissed and kissed, Eyes and I, and remarked with neon exclamations how perfectly we kissed, how well our tongues liked each other, liked all the bits of our bodies, oh, sitting here typing, I just want to rip off my clothes and conjure his image and take to myself with a dildo and a paw paw.
On the last day I walked him to the train station.
"I'm really not into this, this whole leaving thing, this you-going-home business. It doesn't suit me at all," I said.
"Yeah, it's weird isn't it?" He clocked me with those fierce eyes and I wobbled a little.
At the ticket gates we hugged one more time and then I turned and left, risking a glance backward as I neared the station stairs, and wouldn't you know it, at that point he turned for one last peek as well - Like a fucking romance movie - And I smiled and kept walking - Partway up the street he sent me an SMS - Girl, I fucken adore you.
Pray that I will see him again sometime.
Those eyes, those fucking eyes - Not just that though, I mean, a boy who looks that good is bound to be bad in some way - Perhaps stupid, or a bastard, or a wrong kisser, or a bad cook, or farts in bed, or is too rough in bed, or wears terrible shoes, or spits gollies into your kitchen sink, or gives really bad massages. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, the man is fucking perfect - Not only because he is/does none of the bad things listed above, but my dears, he is passionate about words, creative, hideously intelligent, friendly and sociable, smells nice tastes nice smiles nice laughs lots and oh fuck oh fuck, holy fuck, the way he fucks makes love makes sex makes touch kiss tongue melt fuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkk....
Made only more appropriate by the fact that he lives in another town and therefore is fleeting and unattainable, otherwise I might be tying myself in knots...
It's the whole ultrabodytantrachakrabreathing thing, you know? Five minute fuck? Not this man - He just does this breathing thing and 'sends energy to his head and other chakras' (yes it sounds fruity, I don't really care) and instead of just blowing he starts to shake, shudder more like it, and he puts his hand somewhere on me - a breast or forehead or lips, and takes me somewhere or does something because suddenly I'm shuddering too, buzzing as if I'm holding an electric fence, and there are orgasms now, orgasms orgasms orgasms that beat me into submission with their ferocity, and I have no concept of sound or anything outside the shaking of our naked sweating bodies, and once I burst into tears it just felt so...emotional? No, wrong word. Just so intense, I can't explain it, and I'm so amazed that someone I just met can do this to me and by the time he leaves I feel like I've known him for years.
He said I am more responsive than most - He said sex with me is phenomenal - He said I respond so easily, I said that he responded more than anyone I'd ever come across, which fits my theory that there's no such thing as 'good in bed,' just an ability to lose yourself, and enthusiasm, and trust - I would kiss him and he would melt into my mouth and I could feel him doing that thing that I do where I just become my tongue, I give it free reign, I lend it my brain and my heart and, so armed, it sets off on its own private exploration - Others kiss with the rest of the body in mind, or think about the situation or what comes next or the rest of the world - Nay, one must become ones kisses in order to make them the sublime mini-fucks they are meant to be - So we kissed and kissed, Eyes and I, and remarked with neon exclamations how perfectly we kissed, how well our tongues liked each other, liked all the bits of our bodies, oh, sitting here typing, I just want to rip off my clothes and conjure his image and take to myself with a dildo and a paw paw.
On the last day I walked him to the train station.
"I'm really not into this, this whole leaving thing, this you-going-home business. It doesn't suit me at all," I said.
"Yeah, it's weird isn't it?" He clocked me with those fierce eyes and I wobbled a little.
At the ticket gates we hugged one more time and then I turned and left, risking a glance backward as I neared the station stairs, and wouldn't you know it, at that point he turned for one last peek as well - Like a fucking romance movie - And I smiled and kept walking - Partway up the street he sent me an SMS - Girl, I fucken adore you.
Pray that I will see him again sometime.
posted by Tamzin Femme @ 11:39 AM
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