Sunday, June 24, 2007

New story, started this morning

The throats of the orange-red flowers seemed to swell as they drank greedily of the sunlight's golden sweetness. My eyes tracked a couple of bees flirting from flower to flower, slipping deep down the flowers throats to gather the sweetness for themselves, only emerge seconds later, launching back into the air in search of the next source of nectar.

Glorious day, I thought, as I closed my eyes and let my head loll against the back of the chaise. I could feel the breeze tickling my skin, teasing the sun-kissed flesh, making my nipples harden. Sighing, I shifted a little and licked my lips. The sun was making me hot and the wind was making me hotter. I found myself wondering how I could entice my lover into the shadowy interior of the beach house for an afternoon of lazy love-making.

"Are you ready for some food?" Kurt asked from somewhere above me.

I opened a lazy eye and spotted him.

"Mmmm. Lunch. What a good idea," I said, thinking how providential it was that his stomach decided it was empty in the same moment I'd decided I needed filling.

I lifted my hand and he took it, pulling me upwards, out of my chair. I leaned into him and slipped my arms around his waist. I pressed my lips to the skin exposed by the vee of his shirt and inhaled sharply. His unique scent co-mingled enticingly with the salt-tang of the air, flooding my senses. I slid my hand down his arm and taking his hand in mine, stepped toward the house.

"Life's uncertain. Lets have each other for dessert, first."

"Oh no you don't," he said, and tugged back. "I said 'food', not 'fuck', you insatiable wench."

I pouted at him, then smiled, realizing we'd be going inside to eat, and once there I could use my hands and mouth to convince him to feed me what
I wanted--bent over the kitchen table. My clit twitched at that mental image and a small shiver ran through me. But he knows how my mind works, Kurt does. He smiled down at me, and there was a slightly cruel edge to his voice when he spoke.

"We're going to Seabiscuits," he said, naming a busy little place that was a combined internet cafe and lunch stop. He knew I liked their finger sandwiches, unsweetened iced tea, and free wifi.

A bead of sweat formed between my breasts and hung there, trembling with each beat of my heart, each breath, making me extremely aware of my skin, my breathing, my pulse.

My need.

Just as I was preparing a protest, my tummy grumbled.
I rolled my eyes and capitulated. He crooked his arm at me and I looped mine through his, and off we strolled toward the main street of the little beach town....

Time to get ready for a date.
Sushi for lunch, and I get to hear about the Naked Art in the Dark party I missed last week. Whee!

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Saturday, June 23, 2007

Making connections

Its too easy to make a 'lesson' of the past, to take what happens and turn it into a decision about myself, the world, and others. A decision that is carried forward into the future, affecting how I participate in my life, frozen in time, like the water droplets in the photo above whose ripples eternally ruffle the surface of the tidepool.

In the work I have undertaken for myself in my personal life (encouraging sensual immediacy and connection) I have encountered all sorts of people. I thought that I have been operating from a place that was open and genuine in my dealings with people who have contacted me regardless of venue (my blog, Literotica, Yahoo, HypnoFantasy, etc) but the truth is that, while I have been genuine with people, I've used the experience with CD earlier this year as an excuse to shut down a bit, to be less open, to be wary of new people.

And thus I've been less connected.

But really, Life is about Connection. We live for ourselves, but who we are for ourselves is lived through our connection with others. And a life of self-limited connection and self-limited expression, well, its... unsatisfactory at best.

So fuck it. I'm not going to let the lesson I take away from what happened with CD be that I'm going to close myself off from others lest I get hurt again. Because of course I'm going to get hurt again. That is rather inevitable if one is living life. Really living life. And by that I mean... living life with gusto, experiencing every vivid moment of it, participating fully in it. And I like living life that way--it beats that shadow realm that so many people seem to dwell in, feeling disconnected from themselves and others, feeling like imposters in their own lives. I prefer to be connected. I'm jacking back in, 100%.

And speaking of new people and new connections...

I was contacted by Alicia Night Orchid last week. She asked if she could feature me and my writing on her site. I was very flattered and looked through her site. I enjoyed it immensely. She is a talented writer. So, I consented and she put my story "Jack" up on her site, here. Please do pay her a visit... reading her stuff has given me the impetus to get back to work on some of my story sketches... particularly a very hot little sketch taken out of my portfolio of personal experiences. We all know how it will end, but its the journey there that makes it so very erotic.

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Sunday, June 17, 2007

He is sleeping

He is sleeping. I can hear his breathing change when he stirs in his bed. If I close my eyes I can see his dark lashes against his pale skin, his heavy shadow, the smoothness of his face, the faint smile on his mouth. He needs twice as much sleep as I do, so I slid out of bed and moved to where I am now, sitting in the sunlight. I wanted to wake him with my mouth and hands, bring that wonderful expression to his face, call forth that pleased purr from him. But I did that yesterday, and he looked a bit tired most of the day, so I've resolved to let him wake himself up. It is difficult, though, because as the sun warms me, his scent is rising from my skin. Our combined scents are rising from my skin, tantalizing me. I want him again. Yesterday he made me keep going. He wanted me completely satisfied, he said. I rode him until my muscles were trembling, until I bled from the wild, heedless slamming of my body down onto him. And then, when I was wrung out, laying face down, he used another entrance, and urged me through two more orgasms before he emptied into me. He let me nap and then we went to dinner. The scent of 'us' was very strong. I could feel the salt of my sweat and his tightening my skin. I ate my sushi and cold soba noodles with unsteady hands. I squirmed a bit in my seat. I kept dropping things. And he smiled. He smiled that self-satisfied smile that a man gets when he knows he has pushed a woman beyond her normal limits, used her well. When we got into bed he asked if I wanted anything else and I answered "snuggle." I put my arm around his chest and tangled my legs with his and slept deeply for my usual five and a half hours. But now I am awake and my body sings with tension and I want to taste the sleep on his skin and breathe in his scent and work my mouth slowly down his body. I want to paint love on his skin with my fingertips, watch it sink into him, see him glow, see the urgency tighten his body, until he reaches for me. Just a little while longer. I can wait. Really....

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Thursday, June 07, 2007

Laughing in the face of...

(Photo credit: The above is a photomerge of a statue in a monestary in Florence. Photos were taken by the person this post is about, using my camera equipment.)

I am taking a 3-day seminar and one of the things I am supposed to bring is a notebook. So I went to one of the shelves by my desk and thought about what would suit my needs. I knew I would be taking notes in my seat without a desktop to rest it on so I wanted something that I could hold in one hand and that would not be too flexible. After a moment I pulled off a hard-cover spiral notebook that is somewhat like a journal, but larger... the size of a hardback book.

I've had this particular notebook and another just like it for years and not done anything with them, so I was quite surprised to find writing inside it when I opened it. In my ex-girlfriend's beautiful handwriting was written the following words:
Jan 13, 2002
101 things to do
1. Read "The Procrastinator's Handbook"

And then I laughed. No, correction. I roared with laughter. I laughed until I had tears in my eyes and my throat was raw.

I laughed because the rest of the entire notebook was EMPTY.
She had procrastinated writing the other 100 things to do.

It was such a fitting legacy. There, in three lines, was the story of her life. There, in three lines, was an illustration of what did not work in our relationship, and in her life then and now.

And in the face of those words, the last of the hurt and bitterness left me, and I laughed, genuinely laughed, at my folly and hers, and with joy at my freedom, both from her, and from the trap of procrastination.

Life is so absurd. How can we not laugh at it?

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Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Awake to the Weather

We've been having schizophrenic weather here in Western Oregon. The sun shines, and 15 minutes later there is a fierce storm, and then glorious sun and blue skies, with only the downed branches and the wet pavement to attest to the fact that a storm came though. The best part is that the air smells so good. It smells fragrant with flowers and clean and pure. This photo is of the Grand Canyon. I took it about two years ago, on a hike with a friend and a hail storm blew up. It was beautiful and exhilarating and bitterly cold. I remembered my trail manners and spoke to a couple pressing on to let my partner know I was heading back. He caught up with me shortly and we agreed that conditions were more adverse than we planned for. So we retreated back up to the rim and went back to our cabin, where we spent the rest of the day warming up and watching the storm form through the window.

I have a huge respect for Nature. I find in it an endless source of wonder and beauty. I also find displays of Nature's ferocity highly erotic... probably because I feel so alive, so present to the moment, pumped full of adrenaline and feeling with every part of me... even the tiny hairs on my arms. I dance in the rain. I turn my face up to the sky. I love the feel of thunder's 'boom' on my skin... I can feel the impact of the sound against my body. The lightening's flash, so jagged, seems to illuminate my mind even behind closed eyelids. And I know myself alive in a way I'm rarely awake to.

What is it about modern life that makes us numb? I think it is the routine. We like our routine, we like the certainty of knowing what our day will be, what the weather will be, who we will see, what we will do. We like life predictable as possible, because uncertainty makes us anxious. And yet it also makes us feel alive. The greatest certainty in life is death. And the greatest uncertainty is when death will claim us. And in the face of death we cling to what we can control, to certainty and predictability, and in that process, we leech ourselves of life, of vitality, of aliveness.

Reclaim the wonder of your daily life. Dance in the rain. Hike in a hailstorm. Stop what you are doing and tip your face to the sky. Disrupt your routine: try something new every day. Do something you fear. Take a bite of the unknown. Awaken to the sensual immediacy of life. Its so fucking short!

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