Animal Lust

Originally published elsewhere, reproduced with full permission.

As i sat on the edge of the bed, and inhaled my cigarette deeply, I looked up at the ceiling, noting its fresh coat of paint and absence of cobwebs. I could still feel my breath as I exhaled, pumping a slowing beat through my chest, and gradually subsiding. I was still coming to terms with the intensity of what had just happened.

I hadn’t expected that.3840a1c1c7a23956ba15cd5js2[1]

I was taking a break from an incredibly intense and passionate threesome. I sat, naked, skin filmy with massage oil, hair slick with sweat and exertion, pushed back behind my ears. Legs stretched out in front of me, crossed at the ankle. Idly, I pointed the toes of my right foot, making a mental note to refresh the tired varnish when I next got the chance.

Beside me on one side lay the panting body of Amos. He lay on his side, regarding me silently from under hooded eyes. Behind me was Andy, and I had been under the impression that he was catching a speedy couple of Zs, until I suddenly felt him slide up behind me in one fluid and practiced move. He moulded himself to my back, bringing his muscular arms around, and crossing them over me, then ran a single index finger down my arm until I shivered. I felt his breath on my neck as he brought his head next to mine, and rested it on my shoulder, pausing to dot tiny little kisses along my neck and up my cheek.

Somehow, I felt protected, secure, seduced and helpless all at the same time.

I turned, and met his lips in the kiss that I had sensed was imminent. Such soft lips, couple with such a strong jaw, his tongue seeking and locating my own. Softer, this, than earlier kisses we’d shared — chalk it up to position and timing, but it was a definite promise of more to come.

The sensation of his body against mine was incredibly arousing. Given the string of cataclysmic, gushing orgasms I’d experienced only minutes earlier, this was special in and of itself. His very proximity made my knees wobble. I stretched my legs again, hoping to imbue my knees with renewed strength, but I failed.

Raw animal passion. You could describe it as the purest emotion there is. The spark of electricity felt through skin on skin. The eye contact connection, unspoken and unheralded, yet very much there. The urge to touch, to hold, to feel, to stroke… to possess, to own… to consume.

As I pulled on the cigarette, a mental picture flashed before my eyes of not ten minutes previously. Looking down at Andy as I sat astride him, his hips bucking up into the rhythm of my own as i rode him, his hands on my hips, his cock buried so deep inside me I could have cried with sheer pleasure. My g-spot throbbing with anticipation, as his nudged it each time he pushed into me.

I felt him slide even closer, and effortlessly glide a finger between my legs, finding my engorged and glistening sweet spot with ease. I reached out my arm, and blindly but carefully extinguished my smoke.

It was time for round two.

Advertisements

Clair de lune

moon-claire-de-luneTonight he returns. It’s been three long, tedious weeks of staring at my bound-in-synthetic-plaster leg, and sighing from the heat — and tonight he boards the plane to return.

There are several important and significant people who inspire in me a need to put my feelings into black and white. This one is the one who is *the one* — if that makes any sense.

I love them all, my men. Each in their own way delights and excites me — else why would I spend my time with them. And I care for them all deeply. They all know that exclusivity is not my way, and they accept it — I’m upfront about that from the word go. But there is one with whom I share the bond of the soulmate — and it is he of whom I write in this particular piece.

How do I describe that oh-so-subtle something that sets him apart? I do not wish in any way to sound overly sentimental and kitschy, so I turn instead to the higher power of Claude Debussy. The beauty of this piece in particular (and I have deliberately linked to the extended version) uses music to say the words that, for once, are failing my fingers.

What can I tell you? It must be love. It is love.