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, May 01, 2004

My Perfect Stranger 

There will be a day when I know how you smell and I can no longer pretend it's of my favorite cologne. After I know that, I will get a chance to see you truly upset. You can't keep your composure at all times. Eventually you will break... you'll yell, or tremble, or cry. Maybe all of that and more.

How I anticipate the breakdown of any remaining facades. I want you naked... literally and metaphorically naked... within my view, my reach, my future. I know that I have envisioned you perfect from this distance and I can barely wait for you to prove me wrong.

Once I know you're not perfect, you'll no longer be a stranger.

posted  @ 9:33 AM

It's Always Hot With Us 

The candles burn themselves out, but this flame will not extinguish.

You misunderstood when you thought I read in the early morning hours before you woke. I do not read in these hours, I write. I write how it feels to wonder if you are being gentle for me or for you. I write my desire to feel my lips bruised from the pressure of your kiss. I write the fantasies of your skin against mine, having just left yours behind the door.

I know, I know, I should wake you. I should take you in my mouth and let you wake to warmth and moisture. But what I really want is to sleep in your arms. I want to still be sleeping when you wake. I long to awake to you between my legs… your cock, your tongue, your fingers… anything. Just to wake up knowing that you could not stay there next to me, without touching me.

That’s why I am in the other room you know. I cannot lay next you and not touch you. I am here to let you sleep, for that reason alone. I cannot forget that be it early or late… near or far… real or imagined… it’s always hot with you.

So I’m in the other room, hoping you’ll wake soon. Just so much as a stir and I’ll be next to you again. Reminding you that it’s always hot when it’s with me.

posted  @ 9:31 AM

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Can't Seem to Finish What I've Started 

You thought I was kidding when I told you I wanted to tie you to my bedposts. You playfully agreed to wear a ballgag, assuming a girl like me wouldn’t really have something like that, especially not waiting in the nightstand. That’s why I made sure the tethers were in place before I brought out the ballgag and secured it in your surprised mouth. You didn’t realize my tethers came in a set of four and weren’t quite expecting to look as though you were about to be drawn and quartered on my bed. There’s apprehension in your eyes and I think I like it.

“Are you sure you don’t want a safe word?” I ask, smirking, and you nod in response. “At least say ‘stop’ once so I know what it sounds like with that in your mouth.” You shake your head, no. “Fine, not my fault if you are left with permanent damage then,” and the conversation for the night is ended.

I stand up and turn the lights out, knowing that my eyes will adjust to the darkness much better than yours. It helps that I made sure you weren’t wearing your glasses or contacts. I also have the advantage that this is my room. I know exactly where I left the candles and the matches. I pretend to fumble in the nightstand looking for them and hear you gasp as the feather I have in my hand brushes lightly against the inside of your thigh. I place the feather down, out of your sight before striking a match and lighting the cylindrical, black candle in my hand. I leave it burning on the nightstand and pick up the massage oil next to it.

The scent of peach fills the air as I pour a small pool of the oil into my palm and then rub my hands together before smearing them over your chest. You keep your eyes on me, just watching. I straddle your waist, hold the bottle of massage oil above me and squeeze… the oil squirts onto me in a clear stream just below my collarbone and drips down my breasts. Even with the red rubber ball in your mouth, the corners of your lips creep up, betraying a smile, as I rub the oil in my own skin. I’ve purposely used too much oil and my skin shimmers in the candlelight. I lean past you for the candle and let my tits dangle, gleaming just above your face.

As I sit up straight again, I run one hand down your chest to see if your skin has absorbed all the oil, and smile as I feel you, slick beneath my palm. I hold the candle in my other hand, lift my hand from your chest to dip my fingertips in the melted wax, and lightly caress your face while the wax is still warm. You close your eyes as I touch your face.

So peaceful, so content, so still… hot wax drips onto your right nipple and your eyes snap open as you emit a muffled, involuntary cry. I drip hot wax on your left nipple while you watch. You flinch a little, but remain quiet this time. I grin, but say nothing as I pour the remaining melted wax on your sternum. Some of it runs down you, forming warm estuaries that stop short of the sheets, just barely. I drag a finger lazily through the wax that hasn’t solidified quite yet…

posted  @ 5:44 AM

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

She Dances 

In and out of my mind
From my dreams to your sheets
With or without costume
Always lacking inhibitions

If I could just share her with you

She dances

With the shadows
Through the haze of incense
Across the floor
Into your lap

If I could just meld with her

She dances

Peeling off insecurities
With unnecessary clothing
Discarding fears and hesitations
Knowing her pleasure is your pleasure

She dances

And I hope
To still be her
When I wake

posted  @ 3:40 AM

Monday, April 26, 2004

Moist Skin Warm Breath Fantasies 

One rivulet of sweat
Meanders slowly

Finding the path of least resistance
Between my breasts

Leaving a salty trail
For your tongue to follow

Dancing its way
To the desired denouement

My moist skin
Your warm breath

These fantasies I have
Still damp from the bath

posted  @ 1:39 AM


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Lane Bryant