Bewildered and furious

He isn’t the one.  The one I’ve been waiting for for so long.  The one whose soul I know as well as I know my own.  I’m very confused.   Why would my world turn upside down and immediate recognition hit me when it WASN’T him?  I saw him in person for the first time,  so joyful and hopeful, sure that he would recognize me as well.  Nada.  And every time since, I’ve felt less and less for him.  There’s no more recognition.  There’s even a mild sense of repulsion, like a shield between us.  I don’t get it.  I really really really REALLY don’t get it.

FUCK IT

I’ve stuck to my principles of not being with anyone who wasn’t a match in my holy triad; mental/physical/spiritual.  Stuck to those principles for FOUR fucking years, with constant reassurance from the Universe that he was coming.   I trusted it.  Now I feel it was some cosmic fucking joke. “Let’s see how long we can keep her going for!”.  Fuck you.

I miss companionship, cuddling, sex (WHICH, by the way, has been a YEAR).  Not that I haven’t had an opportunity.  They’ve been after me like moths to a flame.  Especially younger men.  But I just look at them and know I would eat them alive.  Sure, I’d give them the experience of their lives, but then they’d be following me around like puppies.  I don’t want one-sided devotion.  I’ve had enough of that.  It sounds arrogant I know, but it’s true.

I’m at the height of my confidence, strength, assurance, and magnetism.  I have a strong personality.  I need a match otherwise I’ll completely eclipse them.

Fuck it I’m feeling carnivorous.  Watch out little guppies.

The Lovers

She is about to come.  This time,
they are sitting up, joined below the belly,
feet cupped like hands praying
at the base of each others spines.
And when something lifts within her
toward a light she’s sure, once again
she can’t bear, she opens her eyes
and sees his face is turned away
one arm behind him, hand splayed
palm down on the mattress, to brace himself
so he can lever his hips, touch
with the bright tip the innermost spot.
And she finds she can’t bear it -
not his beautiful neck, stretched and corded,
not his hair fallen to one side like beach grass,
not the thin curve of his ear, washed thin
with daylight, deep pink of the inner body -
What she can’t bear is that she can’t see his face,
not that she thinks this exactly – she is rocking
and breathing – it’s more her body’s thought,
opening, as it is, into its own sheet truth.
So that when her hand lifts of her own volition
and slaps him, twice on the chest,
on that pad of muscled flesh just above the nipple,
slaps him twice, fast, like a nursing child
trying to get a mother’s attention,
she’s startled by the sound,
though when he turns his face to hers -
which is what her body wants, his eyes
pulled open, as if she had bitten -
she does reach out and bite him, on the shoulder
not hard, but with the power infants have
over those who have borne them, tied as they are
to the body, and so, tied to the pleasure,
the exquisite pain of this world.
And when she lifts her face he sees
where she’s gone, knows she can’t speak
is traveling toward something essential,
toward the core of her need, so he simply
watches, steadily, with an animal calm
as she arches and screams, watches the face that,
if she could see it, she would never let him see it

Mrown

I want to be beneath you…

feeling your warm hands caress my body

gently touching and stroking

your face close to mine

your hot sweet breath washing over me

your soft lips touching mine

running my hands down your back

feeling your skin move and shiver under my touch

feeling you deep inside me…

moving gently, touching my soul

gazing into your eyes and losing myself there…

becoming one

Must have……

sex sex sex sex sex sex sex SEX! It’s been forever!  I’m about to explode!  I’m prowling around like a cat in heat!

I want rose petals and hot oil and body worship and I want barely making it in the door before I’m  slammed up against the wall and in the ocean and in the woods and every room of my apartment and the shower and to be played like a violin over and over and over until I can’t see straight and soft loving kisses and animalistic scratches growls and scratches and bites and need need need need need.  *GROWL*

Taking care of *ahem* myself just makes it worse and one night stands aren’t an option.  Morals and all that and besides they are always awkward and unsatisfying.

Only one person in my life has ever fully satisfied me sexually and he’s all the bloody way in CHICAGO.

AARRRGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Is it possible to spontaneously combust from sexual frustration?