I am perverse.

I have no shame in saying this; I embrace it. I revel in it. I seek to understand it.

One aspect of my perversity is my desire to touch the human animal within those I play with. To distill for a few minutes that electric liquid exilir comprised of two parts raunch, two parts rigid instinctual need, and one part laughter.

This is my nectar.

When I am in a particularly good mood, I find myself mentally undressing those women I have the potential to be attracted to.

I’m not picturing perfect bodies – I can stare at a plastic Barbie doll if that was my desire. What I think about are the imperfections – the differences that makes them unique, that shift them from being an abstraction and into being a potential reality.

I want to hear the story of their desire in the pattern of their breathing. I want to feel the rhythm of their lust in the undulation of their hips.

I live for that moment when they stop being a lady. When they cross over to me – racing, stumbling, wide-eyed or blindly seeking. When they give into impulse.

When they become mine.

Gone With the Wind, No Lady

6 thoughts on “Undressed.”

  1. Perfection is overrated. The real truth lies in the whispers of curves, and in the places of which we do not speak in “polite company”.

    I could say that being ladylike is overrated as well, but I’m sure you can guess what I think of that.

  2. LADYLIKE has its place.

    It is much more fun to be the lady who becomes undone, undressed , stumbling , running , seeking .. for whatever peverse reason.

    Much more scarily fun to give into that impulse.. and see where it takes one.

  3. I’m two parts lady, two parts creature and certainly one part laughter. Lust and laughs – both beautiful bridges from one place to the other. I live for the fall into primal numinosity and knowing that you are there is all the faith I need.

  4. A world where breath is hunger and lips, bruised with combative, collisive kisses, suction together like North and South on the bar magnets we were all handed at birth…

    I am far from perfect. As are we all. Some are simply brain-imperfect, which is what makes them yearn after Barbies, instead of blood and bone-bearing F-L-E-S-H… My world of lips, wind, and hunger is my blog. Never waste the precious hungerbreath of Desire. Make violent love, not businesslike war. And drink the blood and milk of humankindness where it’s offered, especially by a man holding your arms up above your head, making your shoulders ache like harsher sunsets than the Martian…. visit me in my world, the Damp Grotto. I need more like you in my head…

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