| Monday, November 20, 2006 |
| listen |
Most days now I am out and working. There are too many distractions at home, and what i need to be doing is writing. I find it easier in many ways to do this elsewhere, in a cafe or somewhere. Libraries are too quiet many times, and I am mostly at a point now where I do not need to do research, what I need to do is synthesize what I have read and pull out something new---from inside myself.
When he calls I'm trying to write, somewhere public, near my place. We're talking about ideas, not about us, not about sex. He's so very greedy for this. It's not about me, really. It is not that I am particularly clever, particularly well-read. I am these things, I admit, but so are so many.
His wife is, for one.
It's about his hunger for a different life, the one he did have and gave up for a job that would provide for his wife and children.
And so something about conversation makes us suddenly need to fuck. I'm not at home and I can't, I say. I'm surrounded by people and I cannot answer him properly. Yes, he says, yes you can. I need to. please. I'm hard now, he says.
I just had this image, he whispers to me. I can see you over me, leaning back. I can see you slowly taking my cock in your ass.
My hands are on your hips holding you up, you lean back and show me your cunt, spreading it open for me.
I can see this too now. I can't stop. I can't talk with so many around me. ---Fuck!, I whisper. I hate this. I hate him for this: reducing me to words of one syllable like that.
Go into the bathroom, he says, please come for me.
I need to hear you.
Yes, I say, surrendering, 5 minutes.
In the bathroom with the door locked I pull down my jeans and my panties are caught around my knees. I'm leaning back, sitting on the toilet. My legs are spread as wide as they can be, but the panties and the jeans trapping them make it feel like I'm tied up, restrained in some way. I want to be spread open, this restraint is hard, but I know I will come harder because of it.
Touch your clit for me, he says. Tell me.
Slippery, I say, hot. I'm gasping. I can't breathe properly. I'm so wet my clit slides away from my fingers, I can barely even feel myself touching it. I feel shame mixing with this excitement, I am afraid of the acoustics in here, can people outside hear me?
I can hear him. I can hear his ragged breathing, he tells me low and dirty what he wants to be doing, remembers doing. He tells me how he'd work the head of his cock into my ass, bend me over the sink, pull my hair, we'd watch each other in the mirror.
We've done that before.
Sometimes we imagine him meeting me secretly in a public bathroom, somewhere where he is with his family. How he'd fuck me fast and hard on the edge of the sink, go back to his family with his cock still swollen. I'd leave later, flushed, his come leaking out of me. We wouldn't look at each other, no one would know.
Do I like this? The truth is yes--there's some kind of horrible thrill from it for me. There is for him too. It's bitter, it hurts us both, but we can't stop.
Push your fingers inside yourself, he tells me, and I do. I want to feel you fucking yourself, while my cock is in your ass.
My god I can taste you now, he says.
Hidden in his wallet he has a small innocuous piece of black cotton, the crotch of my panties. He carries it with him to remind him of me, so he can hold it and remember pushing them inside me, using his fingers to probe me through them, how wet he makes me.
I imagine it there, hidden away, tucked behind his photos maybe. I haven't looked, but he is the kind of man to carry photos of his children and his wife in his wallet, proudly shown on any pretext. Does this somehow excite me more, knowing that this secret he has is hidden there?--shamefully, yes.
Oh fuck, I gasp. I lose control with him, my thoughts and my vocabulary are reduced to single images, single syllables. I feel like a hole.
Yes he says. Christ--O. O. Tell me.
I do. I don't recognise my words or my voice. Or my wants. They spill from me. I want him to use me. I want to be a thing, taken, ravished.
Christ, I love the desperation in your voice, he groans.
Inside me I feel my cunt opening more, impossibly, yearning. My hips rise and fall. I can't stand up when I come, my knees go weak, I collapse, shuddering. Him saying this, I unlock and flow, yes I say suddenly. I know you do.
You fucking love my need, don't you. You love my desperation. I don't care. i am desperate--
Listen to me now, listen to how wet I am, how much I need your cock.
How much I crave it.
Please let me come now X. I need to come.
I don't understand it entirely. Something about giving myself over--I always beg him to tell me when i may come, I hold off til he says it.
I've never done that before with anyone, but with him I need to do it.
and no, he says this time, not yet. not yet.
I curse him and say many filthy things. My babble, this profane psalm, praise-song, is all about loving it though. I hardly recognise my words, theyre crude and direct. I am incapable of metaphor now, and language itself is just a signpost now for me.
Tell me about worshipping my cock.
He keeps me on this knife edge, itself a kind of skill, to recognise from my voice and breathing when he can tell me to stop, when to go on.
Prolonged too long and I'm on the downslope, I will still come but less hard, less completely. Prolonged by someone unskilled and coming will be gone, even with me--and I can almost always come.
Finally--now, he says, and I answer No--I hold off. I want to hear him come.
I stop, I listen, eyes shut, heart pounding. I stop deliberately, because I need to hear him and not be lost in my own pleasure as I usually am when he comes.
When he's finishing I am coming too, because the sound of him is too much, I come hard and fast and dirty, as quietly as I can--I fall.
[...]sometimes everything I write
with the threadbare art of my eye
seems a snapshot,
lurid, rapid, garish, grouped,
heightened from life,
yet paralyzed by fact.
All's misalliance.
Yet why not say what happened?
Robert Lowell, Epilogue
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posted by O @ 23:34   |
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| 36 Comments: |
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The need to be desire, the need of desire.
Powerful things.
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yours is the 2nd brutally honest blog i have found this week. the other 1 is
http://postsecret.blogspot.com/
the honesty amazes and alarms me. the writing intimidates and inspires me.
thank you.
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I fell. Recently, all too recently.
"It's bitter, it hurts us both, but we can't stop." No, and neither can we. The reasons behind what we are exploring are different, but the bitterness and hurt come from who we are, our shared minds, our similar backgrounds, our thoughts about everything and nothing. We hurt, and we hurt each other (both mentally and physically), but we simply can't stop - to do so would mean an end. An end to what? Everything, seemingly. We are travelling a dangerous knife edge, down the silver blade from safety to where?
Reading this, therefore, made my breaths - my increasingly rapid breaths, more of recognition than anything else - catch in my throat. I shivered in a way that was eerily familiar. I felt like that voice on the end of the line. The tone and words were too familiar, all too familiar.
We say we are an addiction, that we are addicts.
We say we're lost, even though - in a sense - we know we are found, too.
And I try and analyse it, come up with some answers. I want to understand what is driving us together like this in a whirlwind that can surely only end in disaster for both of us. But I can't understand. Maybe I refuse to understand. Maybe I should just whirl through the leaves and the debris too. I don't know.
Thank you dearest O, as ever, for voicing these thoughts far more eloquently.
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How undeniably sexy. It sounds like quite the relationship you have with X, but honestly, it's the way you retell it that makes it so very hot.
Love,
The Butterfly Temptress
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Come let me hear you
Let me feel passion
Let me feel pain
Let me cry out
At the sound of your lust
Come let me hear you
Let me laugh
Let me cry
Let me feel
Alive !!!
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A potent experience O
So well preserved by your words...
Thank you...
Mr Whispers
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I think I need that shower now...
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The sounds, the voice, and the desire. They seem to explode even more vividly when what we want most at the moment isn't there. I have heard those voices, I have felt that desire. And I have also felt with it, the pain.
O,
Your words bring memories of a time for me that is past. The Power of your words bring them back with vengeance.
Thank you for sharing, and helping me to remember. I have read the word "Therapeutic" used to describe this blog. Rightly so.
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Transcendental. Brutally direct.
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O,
I am somewhat at a loss for words at the moment - having experienced similar "trysts" while trying to escape and do what needs to be done in the parallel world I live in...why is it that when they call and their need is so great...even as we try to push them away we still cannot and our addiction and desire overtake us and we do as they ask - no matter what.
alphagirl
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That was one fine piece of writing. Sometimes understatement is all you can provide in such instances, but...
All I can think for how to express my response is to say it in Spanish. There it has two meanings, inextricably combined. It doesn't work in English.
Lo siento.
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Just when I think you couldn't possibly be any more brilliant...
Viola... I mean wallah... you go and post this.
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I think that may have been one of the most brutally erotic pieces I've ever read.
And the truth motivating your words laser cut a hole straight through my heart -- that searing passion and need and want and desire and must and must and must must have you now.
I've known that too. I've been there also. And you write as though you knew I had.
Amazing.
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Did you hear me knocking on the door? I really needed to pee.
:D
That was beautiful, really. Beautiful and awesome and terrifying.
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beautiful and evocative words wrapped around a moment. true.
have a wonderful thanksgiving O.
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para,
They are, it is true. thank you.
xx
O
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sissy,
thank you! I've been reading you, and will be adding your link, for many reasons. One is the sheer range of your writing and skill; I know i couldn't do it, nor would I try.
thank you for your words, here and elsewhere.
best
O
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orpheus,
As usual you give me far too much credit. See how easily you say what took me paragraphs to say:
We say we're lost, even though - in a sense - we know we are found, too.
Yes, like that.
I'm very happy for you, and also sad; I know you'll know what i mean. (miss syl says it better, below)
with love
O
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temptress,
You are so kind to me; thank you. I've been reading you too, though I so rarely comment. thank you for this--
best
O
V,
you also do me too much credit, all my words are Lowell's snapshot only--to me. thank you, as ever--
O
mr. W,
thanks sweetie; you know I appreciate you.
best
O
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debra,
so move over, or make room for me anyway! ;)
xo
O
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My Liras,
for you to tell me it is transcendental is something that means a lot, as you know.
lovingly
O
ryder,
as always i am glad that i can write anything in which you see yourself, as I always find much of worth in reading you, and the shock of recognition as well as the new.
love
O
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alphagirl,
In some ways I loathe the parallel worlds. In others i recognise that it satisfies some need of my own, for secrecy, intensity maybe...for privacy. I am not sure. But as you say, in a way it is also an addiction.
One day i'll be over it. or him at least.
But not yet.
yrs
O
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Miss Syl,
Lo siento-- I know some Spanish, though am very far from fluent. (I did impress myself when visiting spain by being able to say "My friends are English alcoholics, and so we need the largest beers you have." However, this act of spontaneous conjunction is probably my finest moment involving Spanish. Plus it was the World Cup, so drunken brits were much in evidence.)
So I knew both your meanings at once, I thought, but googled to be doubly sure.
Thank you. how perfect.
It helps to know you understand it too, and you obviously do.
xoxo
O
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DX,
wallah? Is that one of your fancy scrabble words, you slut?
Voo-lay voo coo-shay ahveck mwah. Door-may voo? Son-nay la martina navratil ova til it's ova. Din din don.
kisses,
O
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PS Tell jacques to make room!
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Juno
thank you sweetheart!
i loved your last, btw, as you know. also brutal, also painful...alas
love
O
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AAG,
dammit, i wondered what disrupted my rhythm. Now I know! Next time turn your back and whistle loudly, please. I promise not to leave my underwear on the floor and to be quick.
:D
Love
O
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My art,
and to you, and the lovely Lady L. You're on my list of things to be grateful for and i wish you both so much happiness in the coming year.
love
O
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So very hot and inspiring post !! Excellent. A beautiful illustration of just how extremely sexual we can be, even when separated, living lust and passion through brainfucking ... Delicious !
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my dearest O,
what can i say to that? you reduce my reaction to two syllable words...."goddamn" and then one...."fuck". your emotions and lust just floods my mind and i feel i you, i am there. how many times do i have to say i know that feeling? your thoughts are meshed with mine and those supposed "shamefull" thoughts...well i don't see them as shame but as the thoughts that cause my gates to flood with pure unguilty lust.
my god O, you are like an angel that sits on one of my shoulders whispering "it will be all right". i want to tell you the same, but you already know it.
thank you for the updated links. i am shocked you put deviant dreams on your list and smiled so proud when you put my "V" on there. he will be thrilled when i tell him. he can be a vain slut.
i leave you with hugs and kisses with a bite in the end. cuz, i want you to remember me. *wink*
G
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m-O-rticia, Cara mia! That's french!
You know I go crazy when you start speaking french!
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O,
I took the plunge...
http://alphagirlssecondhalf.blogspot.com/
alphagirl
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grace allowed me to leave a comment, so, as she says - "goddamn". i love your blog. it's wonderful and true. thank you for the link.
v
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aragorn my darling!
thank you as always for your kind words. I am grateful for your friendship, on and offline.
Fabulous interview, btw, though I'm confining my comments to the private world for now. ;) Except this one, i suppose. Two of my favourite men, what could be better?
love,
O
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aragorn my darling!
thank you as always for your kind words. I am grateful for your friendship, on and offline.
Fabulous interview, btw, though I'm confining my comments to the private world for now. ;) Except this one, i suppose. Two of my favourite men, what could be better?
love,
O
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Reading you doing this to yourself is a true synthesis, the combining of his thesis with your anti-thesis. The thrills you seek are all the more dangerous for the need for secrecy in a public place. The very real fear of embarrassment imagined is the stuff of fantasy for many of us and you do it well.
Hope your distractions aren't too distracting, especially in that haven called home.
But libraries are good too.
Him
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Congratulations on your Fleshbottage, my sweet O. Sometimes, good things do happen to good people...
Love you,
Minxy xxx
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![Your writing in the other hand [sic] is pure filth and disgusting.](http://www.gotbears.com/gund/sesamestreet/75985.jpg){kind=link}
The need to be desire, the need of desire.
Powerful things.