Saturday, May 4, 2013

Rhythm, Sensitivity and Energetic Exchange


Valentine’s day

    I rode across the Brooklyn bridge at night, to witness the empire state building glowing a fuscia pink hue, like a ginormous luminescent nipple, a testament to feminine love shooting upwards towards the sky. Love day is not just a hallmark holiday for me; truly I could feel love throughout nyc and what better excuse but to celebrate humans coming together but in a loving embrace? To fine wine & dine in romance with your beloved?



For my inner lust angelic self, this is my favorite holiday, even though I haven’t had a boyfriend on this holiday in over 3 years. This is when I always strengthen my connection to shiva, the lord of ambrosial nectar and ultimate reality, which is unification with all things. If I am not unifying with a living breathing shiva in human form, I can still chant to the great lord and celebrate divine love raining down from the heavens flooding my body; this silent but ever-vibrating force that rings throughout eternity, which will now sooth my untamed heart from not actually being in love with a human on Valentine’s day.

I also celebrate the day by buying new lingerie at victoria’s secret; for my Master of course. I try on 6 or 7 sets of lingerie and send pictures of each from the dressing room to my master. He is to pick which one I buy for him, and wear when we meet. He picks a light pink lacey bra and underwear. It’s my favorite pick as well so I gladly buy it for him.

Next is getting my nails done. I make my way to a nail salon and must pic 3 options, but my master must choose the color. I text him the color options; purple, red, or pink. He chooses purple, again my pick. The instructions are to tell the Asian chick doing my nails that my master picked my color for me. I choked. I almost said it for like 10 minutes, but I stopped every time before the words “My Master Picked my color” came out. I just couldn’t blurt out the words. This made me feel uncomfortable and strangely controlled by agostino, which I think was the point entirely; to be sitting in the chair and to be thinking of nothing but him; of pleasing him. Or thinking about how he was to punish me for not complying with his request.

Friday rolls around. I’m supposed to meet up with Ty and finish getting my hair done that night. He became too busy and needed to push my appointment to Saturday night. This meant that I wouldn’t be able to see agostino for our date at the end of a week of serving him as his submissive.

I call agostino, after he had left a voicemail on my machine that he actually had to flip plans as well. He had to watch his son, even though it was his ex-wive’s weekend to watch his son. I return the call, saying that I actually had to cancel the session also. We were both extremely disappointed, especially since we had all this build up and no delivery on al the words, exchanges, etc. It’s not a perfectly designed world for loving intimacy, but I knew that if it was meant to be in the future, that I would get to bow before him the next time I return to NY.

I finish my trip off with putting up an okCupid profile in ny Friday night, after I knew I was completely done seeing clients. Perhaps I wasn’t maxed out with the masculine, I think I was just maxed out being in a dominant space, and I just wanted a man to take care of me.

Mike, a local New Yorker replied to my post. He was cute, fit, had a few tattoos, seemed stylish and sexy. We exchanged phone calls and his city accent threw me off; I’m not really all that attracted to it. I tried to cancel going over to his house, as I always think it’s strange that I’m so willing to meet a stranger, but he makes the plea that he is a nice guy and I’m going to have fun with him. I cab to the upper east side and catch him fresh out of his shower, and he answers the door in a towel. He’s smaller than how he appeared in his pictures, and I’m at least two inches taller than him. He orders me food as promised from downstairs (it seems like I am always hungry) and sets me up to eat my salad while we pick out a movie to watch together. Eventually we get all snuggled up on the couch, him behind me, his body pressed up against mine, and he is turned on for the entire film. His cock hard, his hands grazing my skin, him occasionally licking my neck, I am charged with pleasure. When the movie is finished, he is all riled up and takes me to the bedroom. I think for sure we are going to fuck. We don’t but he proceeds to finger me strong deep and hard, obviously aiming for my g-spot and trying to get me to squirt; this has only happened twice in my life, and only to extremely talented hands. Nonetheless he starts to dominate me subtly in just the sensual ways that I love; he slaps my face, he bends me over and slaps my ass; he slaps his dick across my face, thighs and pussy. He works himself up so much that he comes, and when he finally does, it shoots all they way up to my face. I’m covered in his come and I am so satisfied, and happy even that he didn’t fuck me. I find that all too often men rush to get their dicks in a woman and miss so much intimacy in between.

Saturday

I get another couple of messages from Johnny, a good looking and fit Hispanic working professional. It’s noon and we start texting, even upon my return from Mike’s house, which I decide to walk half the way home. So I make plans to meet Johnny in my apartment at 2 pm and he is to fitness train me because I didn’t get to the gym that day. He agrees and shows up at my door 15 minutes late from Brooklyn.

He’s built, also short, but not shorter than me, and a man of few words. I proceed to teach him yoga in the little space that we have available in my apartment, because he wasn’t taking control of the situation. I take sadistic pleasure in his pain in every posture; that such a strong and muscular man would find a simple yoga posture so difficult. Sometimes the bulkier the muscle, the more difficult that makes yoga.

I complete my lesson, or we get distracted. He sits on my tiny couch. I sit on top of him, and we share our fist kiss. We have great chemistry, then he lifts me up and sets me down on the bed. Clothes are flying off, and we are naked and in our desire. Sometimes we have sex even though the kinetic charge isn’t there; that results in one-dimensional sex, which is just a physical exchange of a dick rubbing in and out of a pussy. You can experience localized pleasure, which ends when the sex ends. Endorphins may not be flying, your spine isn’t undulating, and your two souls certainly aren’t merging together into the potential of making love.

This was not the case with Johnny and I. He entered me and my whole being was flooded with endorphins. Heat rose up m spine, and his face squinted in pleasure and delight. Holy fuck, this is way better than two strangers could possibly expect. There are a few things that I judge a man on being good in bed; rhythm, sensitivity, energetic exchange, and how long they last. Sometimes lasting longer isn’t always better. Sometimes after I come I really don’t want to have sex for much longer. But obviously coming within minutes isn’t satisfactory either. Our bodies moved in rhythm with one another, merging with the melody and form of one another, sweat building on him and on top of me, and he does have an orgasm inside of my body (safely of course). I’ve not had my fill, hardly actually of this mind- blowing sex. We wait a few moments and then we go at it again; I let him have all of me, including my most favorite unconventional way of experiencing my body; he goes into my backside and once again explodes inside of me after having his fill of pleasure.

We collapse in a flood of chemicals rushing to the brain, orgasmic power pulsating through every cell of the body; for this moment we feel complete. I am left satisfied, still undulating in an ecstatic state. He leaves shortly thereafter. 

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