An open letter to future lovers

When I say "I want you," it is not simply some carnal desire that I'm expressing. It is the need to lose myself in you, to let the sensation of your skin, your touch, your scent, your breath, your hands, your lips overwhelm me until it is like so much surf crashing against the shoreline of my being. The need to have my ears filled with nothing but white noise, a static buzz that roars and roars until I fall into it, lost, my eyes closed, dropping further and further into the feelings that you give me.

And all this is simply desire for you - it is what happens in my mind when we build it up, slow, tentative, getting tangled up in each other, unhurriedly uncovering each other with nothing particular in mind. For me, the journey is gorgeous, with many many possibilities, opportunities just waiting to be taken. I almost never make it to a destination, so I have stopped planning for it or expecting to get anywhere.

Perhaps you will at some point understand how elusive and transitory orgasm is for me. I can't even get myself off without needing an image in my head of something so lascivious, so filthy that it drives me over the edge. My mind is a maze full of leather and chains, soft words and hard smacks, humiliation and praise, delicate touch and pain, exposure and privacy, tenderness and sternness all coalescing into this whirlpool which I struggle to hide from the world, for I doubt that ordinary society could ever understand or accept the things that float my boat.

The point is: if you care to come, I'd love to let you in, show you around, let you play curator to the museum of oddities in my mind. It's almost all in the mind (it always is - much more than most people like to admit). The more you explore my mind, the better you'll know me. And the better you know me, the further you'll be able to push me. And I want you to push me. I want you to want to push me.

On Giving Head

This post comes out of a late-night walk-and-talk-and-sometimes-sit with a boy I think I may be developing a bit of a thing for (we'll get to that later, and for now, let's just call him K-Far Boy). Specifically, it comes out of a story that he told me - the story of how he and 42 stopped being friends with the guy they were rooming with last year. It centred on disagreement over whether, when a girl gives a guy a blowjob, she's doing it because she likes it, or because she wants to make the guy happy. K-Far and 42 said it was the latter reason. Their roommate insisted that it was the former, and was extremely upset when they disagreed on the issue. While they didn't come to blows, something between them snapped for good. They didn't speak thereafter, etc. etc.

Now, what stayed with me from that conversation wasn't the notion that boys can act like girls sometimes too, or that people pick the strangest things to have massive fights over. It was simply the question of whether there was something strange about me because I actually enjoy giving head. I eventually came to the conclusion that there wasn't, because I'm sure there are plenty out there like me, and also because there's a certain healthy wholesomeness to a relationship in which you enjoy giving as much as you enjoy getting - and in which you give as much (and as good) as you get.

The question: "Which girl would like to have a dick in her mouth??" is therefore easily answered: this one.
Of course, the wannabe lawyer in me must at this point place qualifications on that statement. I love it when I'm horny and lustful (the need to be filled up bypasses every other thought process), particularly when it's part of foreplay (the idea of being forced to my knees to suck on it and make it rock-hard so that it can be used to fuck me senseless is a huge turn on), and when I want to surprise the guy I'm with (many fun mornings have begun with my mouth coaxing a cock to life while its owner is still caught up in the realm of sleep [it's amazing how the human body doesn't require any active mental participation in arousal. :) Viva la morning wood!]). I don't enjoy dirty or smelly cock (bathe regularly, dammit!), though I do absolutely love licking my own juices off a cock.

And somewhere, I'm glad I enjoy these aspects of sex. I'm profoundly grateful that almost nothing freaks me out (though I don't hold an interest in any fetish but BDSM), and that if I have an adventurous, caring lover, the sex will be fantastic.

And, K-Far: I like you enough to want to go on another 'make-out' walk with you and actually follow through this time. Just finish your goddam papers, and we'll see what can be worked out. :)

But, 42: I think I've fallen out of lust with you. :-|

On needs, hopes and reality

Feeling like I've lost my way, I attempted to sort my room out this morning. Failing miserably at that, I picked up a book (which some might call the reason for said failure) and proceeded to read it for the next hour or two. An attempt to meet a friend for lunch failed due to the vagaries of the silent mode on cellphones; a message from a newly-met Malaysian friend drove me to Facebook; a subsequent feeling of loneliness and sexual frustration nudged me towards Literotica. Four hours and more passed in a haze of arousal and building frustration, interspersed with awkward but brief conversations with visitors to my room (putting me in mind of another time two days ago when the visitations were more frequent and my awkwardness was far more pronounced, due to the active role played by my recently-acquired vibrator in the situation). Release was eventually obtained, but didn't help remedy my mood.
Still feeling lost, unfortunately.
And the entire Lit session (as I am wont to call them) just made me realise how massively kinky I am - and perhaps how difficult it will be to find someone who can cater to my very specific needs. There's a fine line between sexy and gross, which I walk very often (though sometimes one is the other, for me, sigh) and which not too many people may want to or be able to keep up with.
It also saddened me greatly to find that CoatBoy is not, as I had hoped, single. He also appears to be a fairly decent human being. Sigh.. Now I really want to sever and incinerate my desire for him - for it will only bring me pain, as I don't wish a break-up on anyone, on principle. Sigh...
And I'm not entirely happy my ex-roommate is back on campus, either... she irks me. Meh.
I guess I just need to sit and figure my life out. Which is not a particularly attractive thought. I'd rather fuck around for a while.
But things don't just work out, as I've found.
Blast it.

Ramble.

I, like, totally love this statement.
And I just discovered Polyvore. I think the concept is frickin' awesome - though I'm sure it must result in a lot of wasted time, heheh. It's one of those... addictions that I'd love to have.
Sigh. I want an addiction.
Perhaps I already have one, in him. I'm afraid that it really is one, our relationship. It scares me to analyse it like that - and it scares me even more when we talk about it and he analyses it like that.
Desperately wanting things to work out won't make them work out. That's a lesson I learnt a long time ago. I can only hope that goodness follows, and does not abate. I don't even want to hope for anything too specific. Like I'm afraid I'll jinx it... whatever it is.

In other news, I've also discovered Playlist.com. Which I have fallen in love with. My current playlist includes Blondie's Maria (from the 90's, people), Emosanal Atyachar from the Dev D OST, and Shine On by The Kooks, which shuffle with Just Like You Imagined by NIN and Rooster by Alice In Chains. That's about as diverse as I can get. Oh, and the Jonas Brothers and Katy Perry also feature on the list. As does Will Smith. So, yeah, you get the picture. I've thought of a song I want to listen to, and added it. This is the result - the kind of beautiful chaos I've always struggled to embrace.
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Which brings me to another thought I often have - the real extent of my self-proclaimed liberal philosophy. I've realised that I don't feel offended or scandalised when faced with most forms of profanity or vulgarity - as long as I don't have to actually see/experience it in person. I love being able to joke about a good fuck with my lover. I love being able to talk about how our professors are such grumps because they haven't gotten any in a while, and I totally love imitating the way MPPP feels up guys sitting by the aisle during his class. I loved the movie Shortbus (so. much.)

So while I love the idea of sex (and love it when I can have it, too), I can't reconcile myself to the idea of casual sex. That bit I find myself unable to deal with. This inability also encompasses casual encounters of the drunk-making-out kind. I'm a rather paranoid, cautious person, which means that I would never let myself get into a situation where Drunk Making Out With Random would happen. Heck, I can understand drunk making out. But when someone says that all the guys she's made out with while drunk "don't count" - yeah, that freaks me out some. A lot. A huge fucking lot.

Maybe it's just that I've never had to look for action (my being committed to someone for the last couple of years might have had something to do with it), or maybe I place meaning and value in being intimate with another - but this is one thing I just can't get my head around. Perhaps it's hypocritical. I know that in my head I secretly want to have casual sex, for the fun of it (and that's possibly the least of my fantasies, which stretch to domination and group sex without much effort). But the peculiar state of my real-life relationship means that I will never, as long as it continues, go there, or ask him to let me. I love too strongly, and have given of myself too wholly, and learnt bitter lessons from too many mistakes, to let that happen. So I don't mind being a hypocrite in this matter, if it means that I know where I stand. It gives me peace of mind. Wouldn't you choose the same, too?