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Laughing Medusas

When I write, it's everything that we don't know we can be that is written out of me, without exclusions, without stipulation, and everything we will be calls us to the unflagging, intoxicating, unappeasable search for love. In one another we will never be lacking. ~Helene Cixous "The Laugh of the Medusa"

Saturday, March 20, 2004

Just a peek... 

Liam listened to Brennigan moan in her sleep and anxiously awaited the moon’s emergence from the clouds that currently absorbed its reflective light. For the third night in a row, Brenn had woken Liam while she whimpered, gasped, and rocked slightly in her sleep. At first he had thought she was doing this for his entertainment because she knew he was something of a voyeur. However, when she never acknowledged his presences next to her, or even opened her eyes, he realized Brenn was still asleep.

Earlier tonight he had struggled to get to sleep, afraid Brenn wouldn’t dream as she had the past two nights. There had been no need to worry, he thought to himself as a soft moan escaped Brennigan’s throat. He was already hard when he awoke to her whimpers and it took self-restrain he didn’t know he had to keep his hands above his waist. God, to just watch her was enough, but the thought of more is what guided him as he gently shifted his weight and stood up out of bed, taking most of the sheet with him. Liam turned to look at Brennigan from his new vantage point and felt desire surge through him. Brenn’s tan body shone with sweat in the moonlight.

“Mmm.. mhmm..” she moaned as she arched her back, turned her head to the left and reached her left arm out on the mattress next to her.

“Ohh...” she exhaled as she splayed her fingers and then spread her legs.

“Thank you, God.” Liam whispered when he saw that the inside of Brenn’s thighs was glistening. He observed how her nipples hardened as a slight breeze came through the window. He yearned to take those taut bits of flesh lightly between his teeth and flick his tongue at them while rolling his teeth gently, ever so gently.

Brenn’s hand slid under her pillow and pulled on it. Her breasts, nipples still erect, rose and fell with every lusty breath she took. Liam could smell the sticky sweet scent of his lover as he watched her hips rock. Hungry, he thought, her cunt looks hungry. He knelt down her and blew softly towards her clit.

“Uh, uh-huh, uh...” Brenn began thrusting her hips into the air violently. Liam responded with quick, hard exhalations directly on her clit. The warmth and perfume of Brenn was intoxicating. Liam’s previously aching desire was now an excruciatingly pleasurable throbbing and the quick breaths were making his lightheadedness turn into dizziness.

Brenn’s orgasm woke her up and before she had opened her eyes, Liam had parted her labia with his thumbs and thrust his tongue inside her. He threw one arm onto her stomach and pinned her as she tried to sit up. He held her down as he licked and sucked her to a state of continuous, rolling orgasm.

Brenn’s head was swimming, unsure if she was awake or asleep. She wiggled then thrashed about, unable to free herself. The pleasure was reaching an intolerable level when Liam pulled his head back and looked at her, his face wet.

“Thank God,” Brenn thought as she closed her eyes to relax, and then gasped as Liam slammed himself inside her. Her toes curled in pleasure as Liam thrust deeper and deeper into her.

Liam watched Brenn’s face contort into one of pained ecstasy and lost all self-control. He bit her shoulder and as Brenn cried out, Liam’s desire exploded into her. The orgasm shook through him, and they lay trembling and intertwined.

“Good morning love” he whispered breathlessly as the sun peeked over the mountains.

~Asherah
posted  @ 3:15 AM

Friday, March 19, 2004

Adam's Hands 

The first man incarnate, you were to me a Greek statue made flesh. The skin, the seeking eyes, the form of a marble athlete with a small layer of humanity, and those hands. My god, those hands. The sensual promise of that palm and five digits...

You studied me with your fingertips. As though the secrets of the universe were written in braille upon my body. Your hands, that appeared so unassuming as they ran through your hair, pulled me close and held me tight. Your deft fingers that danced between my thighs with agility and precision.

Your hands that transformed me, as even my most awkwards places became sexy beneath your caress. Your hands that would pull my hair out of my face so you could see me when you kissed me, when I took you in my mouth, when you penetrated deep inside me.

Your hands that never type my name, that no longer pick up the phone, that have stopped reaching for me. Your hands that I feel even now, as I close my eyes and retrace the trail of your last touch.

~Asherah
posted  @ 5:13 AM

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Atlantic 

the whole of the ocean
the Atlantic
and tides
could be swallowed
by the pure emotion
of this feeling
euphoria
inside my restless being
your eyes offer fascination
inviting another caress
from which my fingertips
can scarcely recover
arriving bewildered
at the shores of reality
to feel your essence
tasting you in my mouth
still
as the waters somewhere
across the Atlantic
steady
as the beat of your heart
where I rest my weary head

- Adetoun
posted  @ 10:23 PM

Longing 

a thousand drops
of lily white
rain down upon unfettered mountains
cooling on their peaks
emanating into every crevice

I torture myself
with the image of your face
struggling, writhing
slowly stroking silky rivers
swimming through
the depths of this longing

asking nothing
screaming everything
enwrapping you into me
how wonderful to feel
so immensely alive

- Adetoun

posted  @ 9:37 PM

Naked in Bed 

We engage in literary seduction
And I taste you on my lips

Softly whispering your words
Leaves me breathless

Your English language love songs
Elicit an illicit response

Still, I desire the gentle licking
Of your native tongue

Moistening my finger
Before turning the page
Of your poetry that I read
Naked in bed

by Asherah
posted  @ 9:17 PM

Excerpt from "The Laugh of the Medusa" by Helene Cixous 

To write. An act which will not only "realize" the decensored relation of woman to her sexuality, to her womanly being, giving her access to her native strength; it will give her back her goods, her pleasures, her organs, her immense bodily territories which have been kept under seal; it will tear her away from the superegoized structure in which she has always occupied the place reserved for the guilty (guilty of everything, guilty at every turn: for having desires, for not having any; for being frigid, for being "too hot"; for not being both at once; for being too motherly and not enough; for having children and for not having any; for nursing and for not nursing...)-- tear her away by means of this reasearch, this job of analysis and illumination, this emancipation of the marvelous text of her self that she must urgently learn to speak.
posted  @ 7:55 PM

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