Real life adventures: Dirty talk

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Poetry: Meaning?

What do you mean when you say love?

What do you mean when you say passion?

Is it what I mean, is it something different?

How do those words shape themselves in you?

How do they fill your being?

That tug of the loins, do you feel that too?

That which brings you instant hardness and me instant wetness, is it the same?

That explosion of the heart that I have learnt to call love, does it have the same meaning to you?

Perhaps it does, perhaps it doesn't.

We are both human after all.

Can I ever really know, not having lived in your skin?

We use these words thinking we know what they mean,

yet what are they but scanty symbols of the things that make us human.

What do I mean when I say love?

What do I mean when I say passion?

I can tell you, but you may not understand.

But I can be here with you,

Feeling love, feeling passion,

And through some miracle we'll both know.

A Bohemian Rhapsody

Ah, Banshee girl, you are a complicated creature. Spending the evening with you had been strange - never sure whether to be in awe of you or wanting to mother you. After a random and somewhat odd club night, all three of us landed in your bed - to sleep, I stress, merely to sleep. Not that I did much of that, your alarm waking me up every hour on the hour, somehow refusing to be silenced by my tired fingers. In those weary moments, my fatigued mind would not have been able to imagine the strange and beautiful day that was to follow.

It's precious to me that day, so precious that I do not even want to make it into a story. Precious in a way that only allows me to reflect glimpses of it to the world. Not even glimpses that are all about sex. You know? That kind of precious. People that are precious to me - I can see their flaws, their failings, but I never want to speak them. I want to hold them in my outstretched hands, in the width of my heart and carry them there, in their entirety. I don't want to pick them apart into good and bad, light and dark. I want to keep them whole.

So I'm holding all of our wholeness that day, you in the middle, soft between us, his holding us both ever so tenderly. You in nothing but his shirt, sitting by the window, smoking, talking about the philosophy of consciousness of all things. How beautiful you looked as you ventured out, your fitted coat over his shirt. How beautiful you looked as I thrust into you from above with a fierceness you were not expecting. How beautiful you must have looked as you thrust into me from behind with a fierceness that I was expecting. How beautiful.

I still smile as I remember how we tied him - still shy about his own submission, but braver that day than he would have been with me alone. We were kind on him I think, but he deserved that. His favourite moments of these years of adventure, lying in bed with two beautiful women in his arms. No need to possess, just to hold and treasure - pure sensuality. I think he will remember that moment on the day he dies and regard it as a memory of a life lived well. We were lying like lovers that day, not like swingers, it's quite different, adorably different. What precious moments, always over too soon...

Literotica story contest - votes needed

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Vanilla holidays ahead - but the devil girl's coming right along

I'm about to head off on holiday, so there won't be any posts to speak off for a couple of weeks. You might think that we ought to be going on some crazy swinging cruise (great idea!), but actually it's all a little more vanilla than that. The greatest amount of nakedness we'll see will be in a Swedish sauna on our ski touring trail through the wilderness. That's also a great experience and not one I'd ever devalue even compared to some glorious fucks.

But before that I'm going to go even more vanilla. I'm going on a week long painting course and to top it all off, I'm going take my mother and big sister along! This is a little tricky, because everybody on the course who knows us already expects the perfect family bliss. Unfortunately I however, am a cesspit of rebellious feelings at the moment and suffocating nicey-niceyness just makes me want to vomit.

Real life adventures: Black Man's Fan Club

There are swinging nights and then there's this: nights where we abandon any pretence of harmonious 2 couple soft swapping, full swapping and whatever else there is. There are nights when it's just about getting yourself fucked. Doesn't sound pretty? Believe me it isn't, but it's also amazing, outrageous, physically intense and exceedingly greedy.

Now, before I say any more, I should really say upfront that in many ways I'm not that comfortable venturing out with my husband on a night that's all about my pleasure and mine alone. But he will insist, and I believe him, that whilst this isn't his main kick, he gets much pleasure out of watching me have a wild time. So I won't argue and instead humbly accept his generosity (and his graciousness in passing me condom after condom after condom that night).

But I digress. Black Man's Fan Club is exactly what it says on the tin.

Good girl, slut - there's only ever been the one girl

My most significant learning from the events of the past few weeks has perhaps been this: the girl who loves, the girl who cares about others, who thinks hard and feels deeply,  and the girl who likes to get herself fucked, who pursues her pleasure, who likes to get her arse spanked - they are one and the same. There's only just the one girl. At least three different people have now told me that they are often not sure what they want to do to me: slap me or cuddle me. Both, I answer, always both. They sit just side by side in me, in that strange one girl it's taking me a lifetime to understand.