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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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