so i heard the intro for a song called “The Loudest Silence” … would this be love if you could let go of me so easily? probably not.
Subject yourself to being subjective.
say, “I feel like,” or rather,
“I believe that if you place your thumb firmly on my clitoris, I will climax on your index and middle fingers.”
Sometimes you have to allow yourself to feel like shit. Respect any process – even the emotional process but NEVER LINGER.
I feel so disconnected from sex. It is as if passion has eluded me. Without passion why have sex? The tingling between thighs cannot be satisfied by penetration alone.
Give eager kisses before penetration. The kind of breathtaking kisses that send chills and butterflies. The kind of kisses that ignite passion.
admire my sex in the literal sense. the way the roundness of my ass frames my delicately folded lips. they in turn shield the most forbidden part of my pleasure. before you taste me, take note.
The succubus has come undone.
She peers out of the eyes of her vessel and tugs at the locks of her enclosure.
but she will never live to hunt again.
I am mad at you for leaving me again. When I was 14, I left my lil boyfriend, a young man that saw past my awkward physical appearance, for an older young man who was sofisticated and smart. One night, after we’d decided to be in a relationship, I had this dream that I told you about. We were standing in a dark room with a spotlight over our heads. I held your hands tightly as you held mine. Then you dropped my hands, turned your back to me, and walked away. I called for you but you didn’t turn around. I was devastated.
So I told you this dream and you were somewhat unphased, I think. You were 19. Oh the trouble we’ve had since. You left me every other season. Literally. We went on this way until I was 16. I’d be crushed. I’d chase you until my youthful legs couldn’t bare it any more and my heart had enough. I’d turn on Etta James and lay across my couch. Her words were a blanket for my mourning. Then, when you’d finally managed to shake me from your coattails and I was covered in your dust and I’d found someone new; you came back. There would be a knock on my mother’s back door that grew to be expected by the time I, myself, was 19 years old. The finality of our end grew to be less finite.
When you moved out of state and didn’t tell me, it was par for the course. You’d call and ask me if you could come home. The answer was always yes. It was yes until I found out why you were leaving. There was another girl. She was the same age as me. I wasn’t hurt anymore. This time I was confused. Anyway, we managed to get through that as well. We fought a nasty fight but then you took me to Macy’s and bought me this beautiful, modest ring. I adored it. I still do but my mind and body were no longer dedicated to you. I was tired of picking up the pieces of my little broken heart.
You were finally ready but now, I’m 19 and I know what the freedom feels like. From my current adult eyes, I understand why we couldn’t get our shit together. I had a new freedom that I didn’t have at 14, 15, or 16. I learned there was more to life than chasing a boy that doesn’t want you. Then I started leaving you in my dust. Lord knows you chased then I would turn around and try to chase you away but you never left. You were always two steps behind me and closer if I’d let you. I loved you still. That never changed and you loved me but our love was different.
Years pass and things happened. Things that don’t matter. We started families with other people and that dream of us standing in the spotlight didn’t matter anymore. Three years passed and I didn’t think of you much. Then you sent me a message. “Happy birthday.” i both laughed and scowled because I knew what that meant. You wanted to come home but this time I wouldn’t let you. Three years of secrecy and of touch and go. Three more years and I was falling in love again but this time with a married man. We were ready to come home. Argument after argument and separation after separation, we’d decided the only way we’d get over the pain was to be together. But I knew better. You had a wife. She’d become a fixture in your life. There’s more than “I’m leaving.” There’s children and family members and everything needs an explanation. So we argued again. I threatened to tell her if you came back to me without an answer. And you came back anyway. You always came back. You asked me what to do and I refused to tell you. We argued again but this time when you returned, I was ready to tell you what to do.
Now you’re gone. The dream in the spotlight resonates differently and I’m so mad at you because we couldn’t get this right and you left. Or rather, you died. You left me in my life to mourn alone. My heart feels rotten. My soul feels like it’s being ripped out of my back and no one will ever understand why.
Now I see you in a new dream. I think it’s the resurrection. We’re dressed in white you’re holding my face in your hands. You kiss me on the top of my head and tell me that you always find me, no matter what. That’s the trouble with grief. That’s the catch. You stop knowing what’s real. You’re eager to know if there’s an after life but you know you can’t leave this present life yet. I wish this feeling would go away.
I am an open book. When I say I want to be friends, I mean it – usually. It’s time to remove that mindset. Not everyone is your friend. Don’t give 100% to people giving 50%. Learn when to move along when your dedication is not being reciprocated. This is for any relationship type.
Sex is not only a physical connection but it is mental as well. To improve your sexual experience (even between fwb), make eye contact. Don’t be afraid to look over your shoulder when he’s getting it from the back…be present for every physical interaction. 💯