poeticdesires

Month: September 2012

  • Running

    ~ a story ~

    At its essence it was innocuous. Merely pieces of paper folded and secured together with two staples. At its essence it was small, easy to loose, simple to destroy. But it was all that it meant that meant so much to her and now means so much to me.

    Her passport told the story of her life, from the first days of travel with her parents, to her last days before her end.

    As I flipped through her pages, I recalled the stories she told me.

    Paris, where she grew up, mostly. It was the longest her parents stayed anywhere if you combined the multiple stamps shown in the little book. She was fluent in French, but that was true of other languages. That was something I loved about her.

    Barcelona. She had a scar from a bull when she had, in her abrasive teenage years, decided she needed to really feel fear. She survived mostly unscathed, but my heart still quaked each time she spoke of it.

    Sydney. Her skin was a cocoa brown, but I loved her pictures of her tanned complexion, a deep chocolate that brought out her eyes and stood in strict contrast to her dyed copper hair.

    She loved being different, eccentric. She wore her complexities as badges of honor. Any who did not love the various parts of her never got to love her at all.

    She was quick to back away, quick to shield her heart. I was surprised I lasted as long as I did, though I suppose there are always exceptions.

    Home, her actual home, was Washington DC. Her extended family lived on the right coast, and she’d always visit in the summer. I met her one of those summers. With sunnies from down under, an Abbey Road vinyl purchased in London, and actual chopsticks from China, I found her enthralling.

    When she invited me to go with her, to run to some far away country, I couldn’t help but say yes. Yes, even though I couldn’t really afford it. Yes, even though I wasn’t the first. Yes, even though I didn’t know if she loved. Yes, because I loved her and the rest didn’t matter.

    When she kissed me, in a dark alley somewhere in Amsterdam after we’d eaten pot brownies and spent the afternoon listening to jazz, I thought my life couldn’t be any more perfect.

    And it never, ever, got better than that.

    Sitting here, flipping through her passport, remembering the trips I took with her and the ones she recounted on cold nights while sipping cocoa or over beers at a dive bar, I wonder if she traveled for fun or if was all just a ruse. Was she running towards a fabulous life or running from living a real one?

    Now that she’s gone, and I have no chance of asking her the hard questions that never came up in our adventures, I guess I’ll never know.

  • Up High

    When we arrived, our group disbursed, heading to their toy bags or directly downstairs. Since I had my things with me, I stayed in the upstairs, wanting to get ready.

    I’d grabbed a simple black wrap dress that accented my cleavage well, some jewelry, a pair of daunting heels, and my tail. Though quite tired, I was still in a frisky mood. With no modesty needed, I changed in the living room.

    Slipping into the restroom, I looked at myself. I decided to tone down some of the jewelry, lending a more subtle look to my attire. I knew, if all went well, I wouldn’t being wearing my clothes for long.

    My outfit mostly complete, it was time for the daunting part: the heels. Bought on a whim, they were taller than I’d ever worn before.

    As per a friend’s suggestion, I’d worn them around the house to practice. This happened only once. I donned them while making my dinner one night. Fifteen minutes, which included me walking down five stairs to set my food down. By the end, my ankles and feet were throbbing.

    With this in mind, I stepped into the accessory, knowing my time in them would be limited.

    Cruising around the house, I first joined the crowd in the dinning room, just outside of the main floor dungeon. The room was still crowded with bags from earlier that day as I spied the activities in the room just a few steps above us.

    One woman was tied to a ladder with her breasts pressed together by a mean looking contraption. Others were moving around adjusting a fucking machine. Satisfied that this was not what I was looking for, I moved on.

    Slowly, slowly, walking down the stairs to the basement, I immediately saw Rough sitting on the couch opposite the stairs.

    “What’s up with the shoes?” he asked.

    And then it dawned on me: I’d forgotten this was a no shoe household. As soon I traversed the last stair, I slipped the shoes off. Of course, just as quickly, someone in the room asked, “Do you wear those outside?”

    I huffed at the notion. Those heels would only be worn indoors for short periods of time. At this admonition, my shoes were approved for wear around the house.

    Back up high again, I looked around the room. There was food in the small dining area, people lounging on couches cuddling and watching porn, and some activity in the dungeon. Slowly walking over to peek inside the play area, I saw Gray and Symetrie were playing around on the wrestling mats.

    Quietly I eased into the room and sat just to the right of the door, trying not to be noticeable. It looked like they were having fun and I didn’t want to interrupt.

    But then Symetrie saw me and whispered into Gray’s ear. With me now in both of their sights, I was beckoned onto the mat.

  • I’m Fucked

    ~ a story ~

    Sometimes it’s obvious, immediate. As soon as you meet a person, or even just upon first sight, you know.

    Oh shit. Here we go again.

    Something about them, you’re not always sure what, but something grabs you, and in an instant you are done. You know you are destined for at the very least attraction. At the very least warm thoughts in those parts of your body you love to play with. And, of course, at its worst deep abiding drowning love. Those, I think, are the kinder encounters, the kinder intrigues.

    Because then there are the ones that sneak up on you. The ones that simmer, slowly, warming up to a boil. Not a flash in a pan, but a smolder that turns to red hot flames.

    That’s how it was with Jacob. He was sweet, a warning sign I should’ve noted from the start. But I merely accepted his kindness, not realizing how from the beginning it had an effect on me.

    The others were cold. They didn’t like the idea of me being around. Didn’t like knowing I even existed. Didn’t want to acknowledge that one of “them” had some how made it into their midst.

    But Jacob saw me. Not what I represented. Not some statement I made just by being there. He saw me. He befriended me. And I fell for him.

    The first time I recognized it, the first time it dawned on me, the first time I knew I was fucked was a normal enough Tuesday. The air was cool; fall was fast approaching. I’d gone for a walk, but was back now for lunch. When I sat down and began to even think about food, he reached over my shoulder and laid a wrapped up sandwich on my desk. Roast beef with cheddar, my favorite.

    I looked up, saw his smile, and knew.

    I love him and hate him. I love who he is, how he is. I love the way he is helpful, so giving. I love how he sees me. I love how he is my friend.

    I hate how he is my friend. I hate that I will only ever be a friend to him. I hate that no one here will ever be so good to me as he is. I hate how I have to pretend I’m happy just to be here. I hate that he makes it easier and harder to be here.

    I hate how much I love him. Not just his smile. Not just his eyes. Not just his kindness. His teeth, with one just slightly off center at the top. His lips, and the way he licks them. His hands, how strong they are, how gently he uses them.

    I hate him. I love him.

    Yup, I’m fucked.

  • Closing

    We all gathered back where we’d started, again amassing in the basement living room. I sat by the front this time, nestling on the floor. We assembled in a circle, everyone looking at one another.

    Gray stood by the front again, all the sheets of paper with the class names in his hands. One-by-one he read off all the classes we’d presented. Flogging, canes, hitting people with swords. Tantra, formal place setting, knife play, blood play. Cigars, ass fucking, kissing, female orgasms. Fisting, video games, breath play. Whips, fear play, some rope, discussions of the public scene, and even a ten minute walk thrown in. In total, thirty one classes were given.

    We did all this. We presented our passions, shared our love for these parts of ourselves with the people in this home and in those moments.

    After a full day of classes, of effort, of hard work and fun, now it was time to take a moment to speak.

    As we went around the circle, one-by-one people thanked others for their passions, for the time they took, for sharing themselves, for opening up, for showing others things they’d never seen before.

    Some were pleased to have had such a great time without having to present. I was happy to have been one of those in the front, putting myself out there, giving light to passions I wanted to share.

    As each person spoke, I was just able to keep my tears at bay. My day was a great high, a flying soaring roller coaster of moment after moment. And now I was crashing. Now our day was coming to an end.

    I almost felt the need to run around hugging everyone there or for us all to hold hands and sing kumbaya or something.

    “And I can now say this: You have all been eaten by a Grue.”

    Gray dismissed us to dinner, a two hour break before we would all be back. That night, as part of the come down, was the party afterwards. It was appropriately named the After Grue.

    With such a short time, Inretrepida thought it best to stay near the house. The only thing was my After Grue attire was still at The Naked House. With my apologies and reassurance from my ride that it was fine, we settled on food, a quick trip back for my things, and rushing back for as much time as we could get for play.

    With three more of our friends in the car, we first tried a chicken place, a mere fifteen minute drive away; fifty minute wait. Strolling around the corner, we then tried a supper club. I had visions of steak and potatoes. Alas, forty-five minute wait. Walking some more we found an Indian restaurant. We were seated immediately.

    As we waited for our food, I gulped down water. When my lamb finally arrived, I ate it hungrily. About half way through my meal, I realized a slight flaw. My food was somewhat spicy, and I had no idea whether or not there would be cigar play later that evening.

    With a sigh, I replied, “I’ll eat ash for Gray or Rough. I’ll take pain if I like you enough.”

    Of course one of my friends pointed out the rhymed.

    After dinner, with a general fatigue setting in, we hurried to The Naked House. I ran inside, grabbed my things, and just as quickly I made my way outside and back into the car.

    We arrived at the After Grue about an hour after its start.

  • e[lust] 40


    Photo courtesy of @iSlut_ of A Slut’s Memoir

    Welcome to e[lust] – The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #41? Start with the newly updated rules, come back October 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates! I’d like to also direct your attention to a new Editor’s Letter that’s up.

    ~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

    The Bitch is Back – The temperature at the table drops several degrees. “Like that?,” I say. ”Is that what you want?”

    On Women Who Like Sex – I like sex as much as any man I know. I am not a weirdo, I am not a slut, and I am not in any excessive danger.

    Secret Secretary– There she was in the reception room on my couch, lying on her back, legs spread, skirt hiked up over her torso, her hands frantically feeling between her legs.

    ~ e[lust] Editress ~

    Street Harassment: It’s everywhere, all the time

    ~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

    Thoughts: Regarding Limits In BDSM

    All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

    Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

    Begin rant
    Communication Breakdown
    Family Planning
    Great Expectation
    My Fantasy
    Rituals, Symbolism, Kink, and of course ME

    Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

    How You Know You Are On The Rag
    Intersecting

    Kink & Fetish

    Anal Slut
    Belted
    Flogger Use and Safety from a Beginner
    Janet’s Magical Toybag
    Protest Much?
    Property of Seven
    Playing With Fire
    Please
    Tonight I am going to fuck your (slave) ass
    The Long-Anticipated Gangbang Post
    Welcome To The Club

    Erotic Writing

    Almost Broken
    Alive
    A Bad Habit
    A Sinner Sits for Sacred Sunday Service
    BBQ & Beer
    Birthday Sex
    Cap D’Agde -spit roast with a stranger
    Dirty Talk
    Lolita Twenty-Twelve, Part Five
    Lush
    Matched
    Oral at a Sex Party
    once in a while
    Revelation
    Random memories: First love
    Saturday Morning Pussy
    Stress Reliever – Lubed Fingers
    The shopping assistant
    The Sting of the Crop
    You

  • Full Contact Improv

    “An orgy without sex.”

    “Free form modern dance.”

    “Presense through movement and touch.”

    I couldn’t completely trust. I couldn’t completely let go. I couldn’t completely extend my arm.

    The exercise was simple: let your partner take your weight. I held Inretrepida’s hand and leaned back, but there was a bend in my elbow. Gray had instructed us all to fully entend their arms, trusting that our partner would be able to balance and take our weight.

    With Inretrepida and myself right up in front on the wrestling mats, he came over and pointed out my caution. He instructed me to full extend my arm. And I did… for about a second. He called out my hesistance, but still moved on.

    We all sat in a circle. This exercise would be a round robin. With two people inside, they would dance, allowing themselves to move with the pressure and point of contacts of their bodies. When one person felt it was time, they would ease out of the center and another person would enter, continuing the dance.

    As we began, Gray started with one of the students. The pass came. Gray eased out and another eased in. And then the second pass happened. And then the third. Inretrepida, who had sat beside me, flowed into the movements. She, along with the other person in the middle, seemed adrift in a beautiful synchronized flow. Their interaction lasted longer than the others.

    Gray then felt it was time. He opened up the dance, encouraging everyone to start however they felt. I looked left and then right. All of a sudden pairs and triads formed, bodies moving to some unknown beat. And there I sat, alone, no one close to me.

    I felt lost, out of sorts. I didn’t know how to enter, when or where to enter. I didn’t know how to begin. And just when I thought I would slip away, just when I contemplated leaving the mat and never being a part of the dance, Gray extended out towards me. Feeling him as a point of contact, I glided into the movements.

    Throughout my time on the mat, as soon as Gray eased me in, I made myself close my eyes. If I didn’t, I knew I would think too much, knew I would over analyze, trying to find the right move to make, the best way to go somewhere. I knew I needed to not think, but instead be. I knew I needed to let go.

    As we moved, I could hear breathing, feel flesh, and let myself fall into movement and presence. I remember my back against anothers, my hand and forearm against anothers, my head against anothers. I remember my breathing, full and deep. I remember the feeling of being fully in my body.

    And then somehow, naturally, the dance ended with most of us either sitting or slumped on the mats, breathing hard and tired.

  • Almost Gone

    It happened in an instant.

    I was teaching my first class of the Grue, a presentation centered on cigar play from the bottom’s perspective. Gray consented to helping me, taking on the role of my demo top. We had already demonstrated a few fun aspects of play (smoke kiss, smoke rise, and eating ash) when Gray noted he had more ash to give.

    Since I’d already eaten ash out of another’s hand, Gray asked if anyone else was interested in tasting the treat. My students didn’t seem eager.

    And then I volunteered my chest. Inretrepida piped right up.

    However there were two problems. One, we were outside. I couldn’t just take off my shirt for fear of snoopy neighbors. Two, the shirt I wore had a button up collar but did not completely open down the front.

    Fixing the conundrum took a group effort. Gray held open the collar of my shirt. Rough held my necklace out of the way. Gray then spread the ash across my exposed chest and Inretrepida licked up the flecks.

    This was, once again, one of my Minnesota moments where I felt spoiled. In that moment, my life absolutely did not suck.

    But just as quickly it all tumbled away.

    When the group stepped back, happy and gleeful from the experience, I sat up straight. Inretrepida had ash on her lips, so I took her head in my hands and licked it off.

    And then I could feel it as it happened, yet I had no control to stop it. My necklace slipped from my neck onto the patio floor. Thankfully the chain mail caught on my Zim jacket, which I had been sitting on during my class. But my pendant and ring, which normally hung from the necklace, slipped through the wooden slats and landed under the patio.

    “Oh no!” I cried. Tears welled in my eyes as I scurried off the patio and under the deck.

    I saw the pendant through the slats when it first fell. With the assistance of one of my students, I was able to easily retrieve it. But then I realized the ring was missing too. Thankfully he saw it as well and pointed it out as I crawled over prickly wood to grab it.

    Back on the patio, I remade my necklace. Chain mail again around my neck, my relative’s ring and my Love pendant again kissing my skin, I felt right with the world again.

    Sometimes I forget how attached I am to my necklace. It is a symbol of me, kink me, all of me. People have recognized me just from the metal around my neck.

    On occasion that reality feels cumbersome, like a weight bringing me down. But in those moments, I reassure myself that my necklace is a symbol of my choosing. I can always take it off and set it to the side, a symbol of me I can pick up and put down at any time.

    But when it fell, when it was almost gone, the realization that so much of me is associated with those pieces of metal came crashing into me.

    I own me. That necklace is a subtle way of me projecting my own personal power over my life. And that symbol was almost taken away.

    For a moment, I felt lost. For a moment, I was so near to crying an ocean of tears. For a moment, I felt like a part of me was almost gone.

  • Fisting Is Fun

    Before we began, we had a little laugh. This would be the first time we fisted using a glove and lube.

    When I walked upstairs for my Fisting class, I was a little nervous. Inherent in the premise for my presentation is a slight flaw: I needed a demo fist.

    I knew this, and hoped that someone I knew, a friend, someone I was comfortable with would show up. When I walked into the room, only one person was there, a gentleman I had not interacted with before. Uh oh.

    I walked back downstairs and found Gray. I explained the situation, saying my class may turn into a discussion since I was not comfortable with someone I did not know fisting me. He said that would be okay but he encouraged me to wait, saying he’d heard some folks talk about attending my presentation. Also it was still early, with other classes soon to let out.

    Taking the opportunity to ask a small favor, I inquired if he could possibly be my demo fist. He said he would try to make it, allowing that the other classes needed to be in a good place for this to happen.

    I took Gray’s advice and headed back upstairs. I informed the gentleman we would wait for about ten minutes before starting. As I spoke, two more people entered. Already things were looking up.

    After the waiting period I had about five people in the room, so we began.

    I started talking about why I wanted to present on fisting. I mentioned how people in the past have told me this particular sexual act to them was scary because they’d only seen it in porn. I talked about how I loved fisting and how it is one of my primary sex acts.

    I talked about intention, how it had taken me many years to learn to take a fist. I warned against self sabotaging a session, going in with only the intention of having fun. I spoke about how much fun I had when I did it.

    And then Gray arrived.

    After our snicker, we began with the demo. Soon enough, Gray’s full fist was inside me.

    Through my orgasms, I spoke about the different ways I’ve found for achieving orgasms using a fist (vibrating, “fucking”, rotating, pulsing).

    After a question from one of my students, I spoke about different body positions for fisting. Working together, Gray and I rotated to show fisting from the side. Slipping out, I got on all fours and Gray was able to fist me doggy style.

    We covered different spots to stimulate (the G spot, above and below the cervix, as well as the cervix itself).

    I mentioned ways the bottom can assist in the sex act. I personally love being able to push my hips against a fist, in essence fucking the hand.

    Above all I stressed communication, the bottom constantly talking and asking for what they needed as well as the top consistently checking in.

    Many orgasms and screams later, Gray slipped out, needing to check on the other classes. Demo complete; class dismissed.

  • Watcher

    ~ a story ~

    Behind it was the real me. Behind the clothes, the smile. Behind the lilt in my soft voice, the coy look in my eyes. Behind it all lived me. And I never let any of them see it.

    I was shy, quiet. I was never the first to do anything. I hung back, stayed away, an actual wallflower. And I watched. I always watched them, always saw them. And I remembered.

    As they played. As they kissed. As they fucked, I remembered. As they yelled, screamed, cried, I remembered. As they lied, cheated, hated and loved, I always remembered.

    They never tried to force me to do anything or be anyone. Occasionally I gave them the smile or the coy look, just enough for them to know I was still there. Just enough for them to realize my actions were a choice. They would quickly forget I existed, that I had not engaged, that I was watching.

    There were some more than others I looked upon. The ones who were the worst. The ones who lied like it was breathing. The ones who cheated like it was a part of their relationship. The ones who got what they wanted, whenever they wanted, no matter who they harmed in the process. I made sure to watch them closely, to remember all their exploits, and to never, ever, engage with them.

    I came close to revealing myself, once. His name was Oliver. He was chocolate skinned and bald headed and had a tattoo of fire ascending up both his arms meeting at his chest and back. I sometimes wondered how much pain he was in as he took that ink.

    Once, when we were all warming ourselves by a camp fire, sweat shirts and hoodies covering muscles and cleavage, Oliver sat beside me. I’d chosen a log just on the outside of the circle of camp chairs, the barest amount of warmth drifting back towards me.

    Holding my mug of cocoa, I softly blew across the top and sipped slowly. His hands held coffee that smelled better than I suspected it tasted. He too warmed his hands with his drink while partaking of his beverage.

    For a moment, he looked over at me. My gaze, normally down or to the side, lifted for just a few seconds to meet his. He had beautiful green eyes, eyes I’d never seen so close before. His smiled started at his lips and ended at those eyes.

    “You’re always here, but you never really… engage with us. Why is that?”

    Why was that? Because I knew them. I knew them too well. I knew the mean ones, the nasty ones, the pathetic ones, the spiteful ones. I knew who did what to whom when and how long. I knew it all.

    I even knew him. Knew how much he loved her, the one all the guys loved. I knew how she had hurt him. I knew his heart still ached for her scent. Knew he hated her boyfriend, and hated her other lover more.

    Knowing them, who they were, what they’d done. It never made me want to be a part of them, but it also made me want to never stop watching them. They found me useful, to be utilized. Most didn’t care that I hung around because I was always around.

    His question hung in the air, a weight pulling me towards him. Of all of them, he was the one I watched not because of his faults but because of his qualities. He should’ve been the one they all ran to, aspired to, loved. And yet at times it seemed he had it no better than me.

    He was beautiful, honest, sweet. He was kind, caring, giving. And they knew it, and exploited him for it. And yet he stayed.

    In that moment, the question in the air, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to connect with him. I wanted to… connect.

    But when he stood, his question never answered, my desire quickly melted with each of his steps away. He sat next to her, offering a blanket. She turned him down, opting to instead snuggle up to her lover as her boyfriend lay passed out on a nearby log.

    Once, I almost showed myself. Once, I almost revealed…me. Instead I finished my cocoa and then drove all of them home.

  • A Kiss

    A moment later, my pouting somewhat subsided, MattP and Roughinamorato announced they needed a nipple. Of course, since I was right there and am always happy to be helpful, I volunteered. I quickly disrobed, removing my school Gir shirt, tie and bra, standing in front of them in just my Gir booty shorts.

    To show what he wanted to demonstrate, Matt needed small diameter rope. He stepped away in search of the proper chord.

    With just Rough and I standing there, I then realized I didn’t have my glasses. I walked back over to the side of the room where we’d spoken just five or ten minutes earlier. They weren’t there.

    Turning to Rough, I wondered if he was hiding them.

    “Do you have my glasses?” Stepping back towards him, I saw he held his hands behind his back.

    “Do I have your glasses?” he asked. And then I saw them… hanging from his shirt. Once again, something was hidden right in front of my face.

    Just as the revelation came, Matt re-entered the room. He could not find the rope he wanted, but he had found a twist tie. Matt twisted around one of my nipples and then pulled it towards the other. I asked if I could push them together to make the process easier. They both consented.

    With both my nipples now connected, Rough instructed me to put my arms out to the side. I slowly let go, allowing the tie to take the weight, pulling my sensitive flesh, until the twist failed, one wrenching free.

    Matt decided they needed another and quickly found a second twist tie. This time Rough connected the twist ties and then applied them to my nipples, again with my assistance. Once more Rough asked me to let go and I did. This time the twist ties stayed, pulling my nipples together.

    Success achieved, Matt stepped away; Rough remained.

    “What did you ask me earlier?”
    “May I kiss you?”
    “Louder.”
    “May I kiss you?”
    “Louder.”
    “May I kiss you?”
    “They can’t hear you in the other room.”
    “May I kiss you!?”
    “I don’t know. Can you?”

    With my arms still out to the sides, I slowly leaned into him. I danced my lips close to his. I softly brushed my nose on his. I was but millimeters away.

    Slap!

    He smacked me across my face. My head whipped back, but my lips quickly returned. Again I danced near him. Again I played so close to his mouth, our lips so close to touching.

    Slap!

    “You can do better than that.”

    His words drove. Unhindered from my soft restraint, I moved faster. Tried harder.

    I rushed in to kiss him. Slap!

    I stepped forward, my lips so close to his. Slap!

    I brought my arms up to block him, grab him.

    He took hold of my throat and turned me, pushing me backwards even as I continued to urge myself towards his body.

    Thunk!

    He slammed me against the back wall. My left leg instinctively wrapped around his waist, keeping him close, holding him where he’d put us, trying to pull him into me.

    “That’s better,” he said.

    My mouth now found his lower lip, just softly touching it. I could feel a hint of stubble.

    Releasing, my mouth immediately found his lower lip again, gently caressing it.

    I wanted more, so much more. I wanted to ravage his lips with my mouth, for our tongues to dance, to loose my breath in his kiss. But just this, the slightest of touches, the most subtle of kisses, was what he granted me.

    In that moment, I was out of breath. I felt the passion bubbled up in our violence. For those brief seconds, I was lost in the sphere of the wall, my body, and his lips.

    Letting go, Rough stepped back, picked up my glasses from his shirt, and handed them to me.

    “Thank you,” I said. For, well, everything…

    He placed his hand on my forehead as I leaned against the wall to regain my composure. Soon I righted my breath.

    With me somewhat back to normal, Rough simply said, “Time for lunch.”