Posts Tagged ‘sexy’

can i tell you that you have been on my mind this morning?

standing in the train on my way to work…the image of you was running in my head…i am no maniac, but i keep on seeing your face and your naked body…i am craving to touch and feel you again…though i know as you told me already, it is not possible…i feel a little pinch in my being now…it is called regret…

why didn’t i let go of everything when i was with you? i want you so close to me again…to grab you and your behind to pull you so close to me…to go down on you and to devour every inch and centimeter of your sex…to taste everything that is about you…i should not have minded the feeling of being tired that day with you…if i had known it was the first and last day with you, i would not have slept for even one second…i want to feel your weight on me again. pressing my face on your sheets as you bite my nape like a cat…

yes, we live in different continents…but for 20 hours we were together that day and i was in your territory…and we spent 14 hours making and breaking and creating love…stolen moments behind the souvenir shop on top of that magical cathedral and in every wing of the gallery…and the languid afternoon delight we spent in your kitchen…and up the stairs to that wicked bed of yours…in between wine and panna cotta…

and now i’m back in my far eastern world…alone again…all of them who will come after you are ghosts…they do not know how to touch me the way you did. they don’t know how i melt and die at the touch of your breath on my back. they don’t smell like you after hours of foreplay. their mouths don’t have your flavor. our flavors mixed together in your lips and your tongue. creating a distinct taste i can never have again…

when i met you for the very first time in person…that morning, outside my hotel, in an unfamiliar city…i did not pause to think. there was no fear or doubt in me. you could have been a serial killer for all i care…i let go of all my inhibitions and i enjoyed every dart of pleasure…all of our words and letters came alive that day. all of our potent threats to each other’s needs became tangible. i never thought it was possible for us to be together that day but it happened. period.

…and now you tell me now that it is impossible to happen again. now you answer my yearnings with cruel cruel words. you tell me that to desire is better than to have. but i am not a masochist. i am a 31 year old woman in need of a man. it just so happens this man is you. and our needs do not meet anymore…

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Dear P,

Your taste…remains in my mouth.
Your face…embossed in my eyelids.
Your scent…lingers through my brain.

My wicked sensations from yesterday still throbs between my loins….

Our stolen moments come in between seconds…

And this guilt irks my every breath.

Let me have peace
let me breathe guilt-lessly again.

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The first time we made out you made me so late for a show. I was meeting up with some of my favorite people and yet I couldn’t make myself leave your house.

I had to go all the way home and change my pants. I don’t usually get quite that wet making out with people. As if you made me a teenager again for a moment. No more grey jeans around you.

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When I was tiny I watched movies that were somehow deemed “appropriate” but still often confused me with their adult subtexts.

One of my favorites was Footloose, of course. And when Sarah Jessica Parker tells Ariel “He’s from out of town and don’t tell me that doesn’t curl your toes because I know it does,” I really actually had no idea.

Maybe smarter kids knew what “curl your toes” meant – but I didn’t until I was old enough to engage in toe curling activities.

But even knowing, I feel like you redefine it. You actually literally make my toes curl. I can’t quite handle all of the things you make me feel.

I know the circumstances heighten the feelings, but my whole body goes to another place when you touch me.

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I have a raging crush on you. You talk about being attracted to gold diggers. Only woman you wanted to marry was a gold digger. She dissed you. You are blatantly insecure about your money problems and income limitations.

I am right in front of you. Getting to know you. Sharing myself. Being funny, open, warm, friendly. I have a college degree, a good career, and upper middle class grooming. I am the opposite of a gold digger. I take care of myself.

I ask why you are attracted to women like that. You say, “I am like my father. I have champagne taste on a beer budget. I like fine dining, nice vacations.” I go to fine restaurants. I also like to paintball and hike around in the dirt and curse and ride motorcycles. I get manicures, pedicures, take care of my hair, dress up, salsa dance. I am a diva. I am a tomboy. I go on nice vacations. In fact – I fantasize regularly about dressing up and going out with you. There’s a strapless cocktail dress and string of pearls in my bedroom with your name on it. I fantasize about going on vacation with you.

Listening to you and feeling sad and bad about myself is so typical for me. I listen to you describe what you want in a woman. I compare that to me. I conclude you don’t want me. You show no interest in me and like the book says “You’re just not that into me.” I allow it to make me feel like less of a woman.

Today the rebellion sets in and it’s healthy. I know I am the full and fantastic package: fun, fabulous, diva, dirty girl, great with kids and animals, a flexible open-minded sensual animal in bed, an elegant striking tall woman at dinner and at events. I can dance like a stripper, take care of a two year old, play with dogs on the beach, organize an event with the mayor, or suck your dick with pleasure.

You are starting to online date. You will keep chasing your gold diggers. I will keep pining for you. I will be right in front of you. Sharing myself. Inviting you to do things with me. You will continue to decline my invitations and ignore my fabulousness. I feel sad for us both.

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I never expect anything from you because I know you are so unfocused. We were laying in my bed having a snack. Talking about sex no doubt, since that is my favorite topic. You suggested we watch some porn because I was really excited about this new feminist porn I had gotten. We put it in and chatted and snacked like we were watching a regular movie. You asked me some details about my ex and told me you wanted me to feel free to talk to you about him. That was the first time you had ever opened up to the idea of being even remotely supportive, even though we had been friends for a long time. We were so detached from the porn it might as well have been the news on in the background.

At one point in the film, you asked if I could come that way. I said yeah, and you said “should we try?” It makes my eyes wide even now to think of how excited I was to touch you everywhere. Your soft skin, your perfect muscles, and your smell is to die for. You are the most masculine boy I have been attracted to since high school. Usually I am attracted to slightly effeminate boys. But your pheromones must match mine perfectly, because I want to eat you for breakfast lunch and dinner.

You told me you weren’t really into that one porn star. You didn’t like her voice. Which translated into not liking the sound of her moaning.

We turned it off, but that didn’t stop you from making me come that way.

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Dear Trainer,

I have to take responsibility for the part I play in my interactions with you being weird. In fact. It’s 100% me.

I am playing out some shit from past relationships on you. You have similar qualities as men I have dated who are noncommital and checked out. But also very kind and sensitive and sweet. I react to you in ways that have everything to do with my insecurities and baggage about men. Sometimes I am normal and friendly with you. Other times I am bitchy. Real weird.

You’re weird in your own right. One day you’re vacant and distracted. Another day you tell me about how you were molested, your commitment issues, your money issues, your sex issues, your past with drugs and drugdealing. You told me you’re a people-pleaser. Are you just telling me intimate things to make me feel comfortable?

You’re hot. It doesn’t always impact me but other times it does – painfully. The height, the face, the eyes, the hands, the smell, the graceful way of moving around, the dorkiness underlying it. Ouch! Sometimes affects me a lot and makes me gooey. Sometimes when you lean all over me on the table doing bodywork on me. I feel lust and then I feel gross and dirty for objectifying you like that. You’re just trying to do your job.

More weird. You were doing bodywork with your hands all in my hips and legs and neck and glutes. Meanwhile we were both talking about being molested and sex. GEEZ! Sometimes your hotness makes me feel hate towards you. I have let hot men manipulate me sometimes and make me feel awful and rejected other times.

Other times you make me sad because you are awesome and so broken. I want to nurture and mommy you.

A different level is that we have things in common. I wish we could have a friendship. Like dudes. Like a bro-mance. I like to do that with hot men too – act like I am asexual and just one of the guys. Pretend I am so unattractive to men like you that I am sexless.

Meanwhile, I am supposed to be training. I feel a really complicated mix of excitement, anticipation, dread, and depression before, during, and after the appointments. This is an opportunity. I hide from men when I feel this complication. Now I have to face it. I pre-paid for three months of appointments for twice a week.

I have to take responsibility for the weirdness.

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I think of you often, but not as much as I used to. I really hope you are well out there in the emptiness of the desert, if that is where you are now. There were so many rules about what we couldn’t talk about, because of your job or your ex-wife, or whatever. I tried to follow them all, and be as good to you as you were to me. And I tried to tell myself that I could have sex with you without being emotionally involved, even though I knew it was impossible. I loved you in the way a young girl loves a man, a man who was so careful and patient and sexy. That is to say, I loved you too much. I wanted to love you with my heart and soul and I could only love you with my shy stiff damaged body. And I did and it was awesome. You let me please you and tease you and kiss you (never enough;I love kissing you).

We talked, we laughed, we teased, we flirted, and then we would go to bed. I only ever saw you in my dorm apartment on campus, but it was okay. You wanted me, and I didn’t understand why, but I wanted you too. You were an absolute gentleman every time, always so careful of me, but never afraid to put your hands on me, to move me around when I couldn’t do it myself. You had magic hands, everywhere at once. The first orgasm i ever had, I couldn’t even breathe.

You taught me, patiently, how to please you. I love giving you head, and I love giving head because of you. If I saw you tomorrow I would give you head without question. One time, you touched your beautiful big dick all over my face. It was the most erotic thing, I think, that I ever experienced.

You were always being deployed; I was always terrified you wouldn’t come back. You did. Then you were very sick and I feared you would die. You didn’t. We haven´t spoken in years, but I wish I could tell you…You made me feel so beautiful, so whole, so enough for you. I never thought a man would want me. You couldn’t keep your hands off me. I’m so glad that you were my first. Even though I hardly knew you, I trusted you, and you are an amazing man. I hope you have someone with you who appreciates all the things you do and who you are. I do.

Much love and many thanks.

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You straight up want me to write something filthy about you. Yet I am so terrified of revealing the secret. And you already know that I think the absolute dirtiest things about you. So I probably shouldn’t make it explicit, right? Let you know that I have fantasized about taking you in the back room, you pushing me against the wall and holding my body up with your hips. Taking you in the parking lot, where I have a strangely erotic association with you. That I’ve imagined pushing you discreetly into the bathroom, your hand firmly over my mouth to muffle my inevitable screams. The front seat of my car, or better, the bed of your truck. The hidden roof garden in the middle of the day. Sunshine beating down on our sweaty selves.

I love the feel of your body and mine. I love the idea of you finally getting to touch me in all the places you aren’t allowed. Pull my hair just a little to draw me closer to you. Grab a handful of my ass while I straddle you. Kiss my neck, my tits, my hips.

I’ve tasted just enough to know it would be worth it. Know it would be fun. Perfect. As hot as your dreams and mine.

You know my panties are getting wet as I write this. The perfect pair to slip into your pocket – to fulfill what fantasy of yours, I’m not sure. You must get off on the risk of getting caught. But we both know we couldn’t go through with it. Or we already would have again and again. You’ll just have to get your heart rate up knowing that you’ll never really know all the dirty thoughts I have reserved only for you. It’s innocent enough. Or not innocent at all.

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Wow, you are totally married now. That’s weird.

I heard about you for years and years before I ever met you. You were a close friend of one of my best friends, and she had endless affectionate anecdotes about you from college. It always seemed strange to me that we’d never met since we’d all gone to college together and been in very close social proximity.

When we finally did meet, I remember being totally entertained that my friend was hooking up with you, her legendary college buddy. You had a girlfriend and apparently some kind of “understanding.” But you two only hooked up a couple times. Maybe your “understanding” was nullified? It was never totally clear to me. I was in a serious monog’ thing then, and I couldn’t help but act extremely aloof around dudes I found attractive.

I saw you again when I was back on the sexual upswing. I had just gone on a really fantastic first date a few days before and was feeling totally foxy, even though I wasn’t really on the prowl. But I saw you and went full tilt flirt. You still had that same girlfriend, but I’d never met her, so she didn’t really exist. The bike ride back to your house is still so vivid: me sitting on the seat, holding onto you for dear life, squealing as you pedaled down the street. We reached our destination, and I was still squealing. You grabbed me and suddenly we were making out on the hood of a car.

Every time you would reappear, you were exactly what I needed. After I’d been dumped by a dude who I was really starting to like, you invited yourself over to my house to make me an epic steak dinner. That was when I found out that you’d dropped out of college to become a chef for a while, before pursuing the zillion advanced math degrees you have now. Because you totally needed to be a sexier human being.

There was the time that you invited me to your “office hours” on the top floor of the math building on my old college campus. I bragged to probably too many people that I’d gotten to fuck a math professor. You seemed a little disappointed that it wasn’t the first time I’d fucked on campus.

But you always had this mysterious girlfriend character who lived like a million miles away. I remember saying to you that I really enjoyed messing around with you, because you had a girlfriend so it completely didn’t matter whether you liked me or not. It took the pressure off, so we could have fun with any of the where-is-this-going bullshit. You said, “But I do like you.” I replied, “That’s awesome! But it totally doesn’t matter. I like that.”

So I found out recently that you married her. And apparently you’re living on the other side of the country again. You’re like some kind of ephemeral creature. Even though you’re ostensibly monogamous, I’d probably totally still fuck you if you reappeared. Somehow, you’d probably still be exactly what I needed.

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