Silence

Silence is essential. We need silence, just as much as we need air, just as much as plants need light. If our minds are crowded with words and thoughts, there is no space for us    –    Thích Nhất Hạnh 

to dream such dreams

I dreamt of you this night. I saw you with some kind of hallucinatory clarity, and, all morning long, have been going around in a sort of cloud of tenderness for you. I felt your hands, your lips, hair, everything – and if I’d been able to dream such dreams more often, my life would’ve been easier. You are my love. 

 Vladimir Nabokov – Letters to Véra, trans. Olga Voronina & Brian Boyd 

Apart…

I think of you at midnight, yes, but also at every other time of day…

The bite marks your teeth leave

I want you. Your bones. Your body heat. The bite marks your teeth leave. To see how bad and beautiful those eyes look beneath me.

Beau Taplin – Bad and Beautiful

Sunday humour

This is a fine day for it, boys & girls!

I need to kiss you so badly. One of those kisses where I’m pressing against you as much as possible and my hands are in your hair and moving down your back, clutching to you in any way I can, kissing you as deeply as possible and thinking you’re mine, mine, mine.…

The language of love is a secret language expressed in a naked embrace.‎…

Things I forgot to tell you:

That I love you, and that when I awake in the morning I use my intelligence to discover more ways of appreciating you.

That when June comes back she will love you more because I have loved you. There are new leaves on the tip and climax of your already overrich head.

That I love you.

That I love you.

That I love you.

I have become an idiot like Gertrude Stein. That’s what love does to intelligent women. They cannot write letters anymore.

Anaïs Nin – A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin to Henry Miller, 1932-1953

Amo amas amat amamus amatis amant amavi amavisti amavit amavimus amavistis amaverunt amavero amaveris amaverit…

Everything was love. Everything will be love. Everything has been love. Everything would be love. Everything would have been love. Ah, that was it, the truth at last. Everything would have been love. The huge eye, which had become an immense sphere, was gently breathing, only it was not an eye nor a sphere but a great wonderful animal covered in little waving legs like hairs, waving oh so gently as if they were under water. All shall be well and all shall be well said the ocean. So the place of reconciliation existed after all, not like a little knot hole in a cupboard but flowing everywhere and being everything. I had only to will it and it would be, for spirit is omnipotent only I never knew it, like being able to walk on the air. I could forgive. I could be forgiven. I could forgive. Perhaps that was the whole of it after all. Perhaps being forgiven was just forgiving only no one had ever told me. There was nothing else needful. Just to forgive. Forgiving equals being forgiven, the secret of the universe, do not whatever you do forget it. The past was folded up and in the twinkling of an eye everything had been changed and made beautiful and good.

Iris Murdoch – A Word Child

our two bodies bound together

I’m waiting for you, I’m waiting for the evening calm, I’m waiting for our time, the oblique light, this pause between day and night. Peace will come, surely. But I can imagine no other peace than that of our two bodies bound together, of our gaze given over to each other – I have no other homeland but you.

Albert Camus –  July 17^th 1949 letter to Maria Casarès

A rude, crude confession of recent sexual intemperance

Sunset. Clouds building like light grey mountains in the rosette sky above the bay. From the window of my hotel room, I can see across to Brixham and the lights coming on over there.

Amber is undressing. Her eyes are darker than the sky outside. She looks about slowly, carefully. Her skin is smooth as untouched cream. Long black hair falls across the shadows of her cheekbones. More black fur at the base of her belly, silky and catlike. She has tiny pink nipples – like peony buds.

She lays on the bed.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘Fine.’

‘You can back out of this if you want.’

‘I’m fine, really.’

I stand at the end of the bed. Take her right foot in my hands and gently caress it. Lower my mouth to kiss the toes. She says: ‘I usually can’t stand having my feet touched. Ticklish. But that’s nice…’

I move onto the bed beside her. Lightly kiss her ankles, shins, knees. I feel her tense-up as my lips trace a pattern over her thighs. She is keeping her legs together, but I gently part them, tell her how good she smells and tastes. She is already very wet. I lick her, the lips first, inner and outer. Then the nub of her clit – teasing, courting, passing my tongue over it. My licking gains in intensity – I’m like a big shaggy dog lapping carelessly at its water bowl.

I press her thighs even further apart, hold them there momentarily. Then relax and stroke the soft curves of her inner thighs. The tips of my fingers lightly brushing – an almost subliminal touch before two fingers enter her. My mouth returns to her clit.

Time passes. Five, ten, fifteen minutes. Her thighs are soaking. Still, I lap at her core, gently fingering all the while.

‘Oh dear,’ she says abruptly, her voice – like a small child’s – little more than a whisper above me. Seconds later she says it again, only louder. ‘Oh dear.’ Her hands grip the back of my head forcing my face even harder into her sex. Then, ‘Oh dear GOD!’ she gasps, and her body lurches violently as if she’s experiencing an electric shook – a series of high voltage electric shocks – against my drenched face.

Slowly she relaxes. But I continue to explore her sex with my tongue and fingers…kissing, licking, sucking. She starts to moan.

‘Again,’ she says. ‘I’m going to cum again.’

She begins to breathe heavily. It’s as if she’s trying to suck all the air out of the room. She grinds hard against my face. Those electric pulses and contractions begin again. Her whole lower body is shivering. The orgasm goes on for a long, long time and when it finally begins to lessen her pussy is still contracting violently around my fingers.

‘Are you okay down there?’ she asks. ‘It feels like I’ve peed myself.’

I assure her she hasn’t. She’s fine. Just very wet.

‘I need the loo,’ she says.

#

From the bathroom comes the sound of the power shower. I pour myself a fresh glass of white wine. The only illumination in the room is from the bedside lamp. Outside the world has become formless, melted within the darkness. An absolute mystery wrapped in the distant sighing of the sea.

We’d planned this sexperdition way back in December. Dee, Gabby, Amber and her husband Paul agreed I should book three hotel rooms for early February. We’d all keep our fingers crossed that crappy Covid would not interfere. Dee and Gabby would spend the night with Paul; I would accompany Amber.

And now here we were.

Three women and two men each with their own hungers…no place for secrets, now. All was revelation without [hopefully] astonishment.

I sit on the bed. I’m still wearing my white tee-shirt and blue boxer-shorts. I am sweaty and my face smells of her sex. I sip my wine. My cock is only semi-hard now.

When she comes fresh and frisky from the shower, breath smelling of mint toothpaste, I pour her a glass of wine.

‘I must wash, brush my teeth. Make myself more presentable.’

‘Don’t be too long, lover, the night is still young…’

Her smile makes me feel swimmy-headed. I blow her a kiss and hurry to the bathroom.

Mutual masturbation at the monthly sex party…

For me, most parties entail having a few drinks, dancing and perusing the crowd, while others end up being more eventful. I’ll gyrate on the dance floor, smile at an attractive lady, and give the man she came with just enough attention to not be considered rude. If our conversation graduates to physical activity, we’re vocal about our desires and what kind of contact we are comfortable with and will permit. As in real life, the woman’s pleasure is always my chief focus, so I’ll kiss and caress her as a kind of extended foreplay. I’ll let the man know that he can put his penis in my hand, between my breasts, or rub it against my backside, but he can’t penetrate me with anything but his fingers.

Mutual masturbation is incredibly sexy ― it’s fun to watch how others please themselves. Oral sex is a mixed bag for me: I reserve cunnilingus for select women and fellatio is always off the table, but I’m happy to observe the other woman’s technique. Two of us might collaborate to make the third person in the triad orgasm, and one way to go about this is giving the man a massage while the other woman fellates him.

Spencer Jones, I Attend A Sex Party In NYC Every Month

Marks

I want you to leave marks on me. Marks from loving me too hard, from kissing me too hard, and holding me too hard. I want you to leave your handprint. I want your loving words to hit me hard. I want to feel your love on my skin.

Bellamy Blake – Only kind of marks