Peepshow

Summer heat has us all on fire.

I've been delighting in the spectacle: hungry lovers feeding ravenously on burning flesh, sipping sweat and spit.

Mouth to tit.

Fingerprint roadmaps charting new adventures explored across corporeal mountains and caverns.

Furry gardens abloom with ripe scents, intoxicating the mind, blurring all borderlines and boundaries.

The jungle of love, dense and humid, spills and spans across marked and owned territories.

Pulsing hips slash and burn their way through the pungent wilderness, careless of propriety.

Oh! How I love these feeding, breeding seasons.

From my perch, I witness the lovers. I hover over their desires.

I hear their call in moans, whispers, tender begging. I sing their song.

Lovers waft upwards on winds of passion to my aerie; I am flanked on all sides.

They grasp and nuzzle, pawing to pull me down and into their cuddly cult.

But I prefer my cloud. Prefer to observe what's happening all around.

A girl must take heed in these dangerous landscapes.

Animalia elicits primal urges which could compromise hearts, minds, health or sanity.

Better to resist the serpent in this garden, so as not to fall from the goddess's good graces.

Yet, I voyeur on. I sop up the energies of this potent elixir.

I am ego-stroked and stoked to feel so craved.

I am as powerful as the summer sun at high noon...

... but reserve my juices for...

The Art of Loverhood

I have taken up with a man who has inspired the lover in me.

What does this mean?

It is an expression of the truest, most high, most free love. There are no labels attached to it. There are no rules, no expectations. There are no demands, or needs to tend to. No sacrifices or compromises required. It has been a long time since I felt such bliss. I had forgotten this ancient art.

I have spent the better part of the last decade in relationship/partnership mode. It's been nearly a year since I've been autonomous and independent, and I am relearning the joy of loverhood. It's the happy medium between one-night stands and marriage. It's the perfect balance of intense intimacy and complete freedom. It's being able to enjoy another person's mind, heart, sex and spirit in the moment, fully present, without ever anticipating what will come next. Senses are fully heightened, and the unknown is most thrilling!

A friend explained it to me over the weekend: lovers are the way to go. When two people come together and are tuned in, making each other feel good, treating each other with respect and care - whether it's for two days or twenty years - a pure spirit of love is experienced. Pure love, which often gets muddied in relationships, or taken for granted, or untended to. Love that becomes bored, or expected. Love that may fizzle while the relationship endures. But not with a lover... for when the energy, or excitement, or connection becomes strained, lovers simply float away.

My lover has another lover, one that he feels deeply connected to. He speaks to me candidly about it, but delicately too - taking my heart and emotions into consideration. His openness and honesty, and his gentle way of communicating, make me celebrate him all the more. The respect he shows me is reciprocated, and I feel genuine joy that his other lover makes him feel so good. There is no jealousy, or competition. No possessive ownership. There is simply love flowing, between us, between them... and I smile. I embody the goddess, act as a conduit, and radiate this love outwards to all. Not a bad gig.

I cherish my freedom. I enjoy connecting with many people, in infinite ways. I delight in the fact that I have so much love to offer, so much life and passion, and that each pairing is so unique and serves its own purpose. Whether they be sexual, emotional, spiritual or even the most casual, I call amazing people into my life and onto my path. I learn from them all. My heart, community and world expand. I have stepped into my true spirit.

To my current lover, I am grateful to have you in my life. In your eyes, I see a reflection of the woman I like to be: beautiful, sexy, interesting, passionate, happy. You please all my senses. You fit so nice. Ever unknowing if and when we might couple again, I am already fully satisfied in the experience and love we have shared. What a gift, which I will always cherish.

The passion in me has awakened...

super fuckin' fun

Wrenching Wench

You cause me pain.

I hate you for your eyes.

Steely blue fixed gaze naughty naughty wanting love sex peering seeking knowing

Stop looking into my brain. Keep your eyes off my heart. Shy away from my soul.

I loathe you for your mouth.

Fucking mouth slick tongue lick lick gobble suck speak devilish coo grin spit bare teeth

I curse your twisted voice. I damn your nibbling fangs. I reject your lingo and breath.

Your skin makes me sick.

Raw rugged working hands hair curling tempting foot rubbing toes clawing throbbing neck

I defy the heat, the vapor in the ethers, the hot wetness, the magnetic air as you draw near.

You have made me ill. Sleepless. Thoughtless. Careless.

Bewitched me with some pagan pirate curse. An earthsucker's trick.

A flip of the switch.

I resent your advances, and detest your withdrawals...

I am stark-raving mad to want you so bad.

What Have You Learned, Little Girl?

The heat is on... in more ways than one...

Another sleepless night. Mind forbidding me to forget skin, hair, foot and hand, lips, nose, eyes... dots. I try to make them all vanish inside an infinite array of black dot-like abysses, to be swallowed whole in a vacuum-suction-swirling of plaguing delights expelled from the covetous, ravenous heart, the fiendish clit, the ever-demanding ego that constantly needs to feed. Glutton. Pig. Got a tiny nibble of something not belonging to me, (can I say "borrowed" a bit?) and am salivating for more!...

I learned to thieve in the first grade. Self-taught, and quite prolific for many years. My first take was a Mr. Happy pencil box from Becky McCameron's desk, where I sat during math class. I didn't take it because I disliked Becky. I didn't take it because I loved Mr. Happy. I simply wanted it, and honestly didn't think I'd ever get caught. I brought it back to my homeroom, and carelessly let it dangle on the outer edge of my desk.

It was found. By another student, or teacher, I can't recall. But Mrs. Wagner, who already had it in for me, held me back one day as my friends went to lunch. She presented the box to me, questioned me with a sneer, and I lied (also self-taught, and quite prolific for many years). She then demanded I go to Becky's homeroom down the hall, return the box, and apologize.

On the walk down the hall, I decided I didn't really need to apologize for taking the box, so long as it was returned. When I reached her homeroom, I quietly placed the box outside the door, and bid my adieu to Mr. Happy. I lingered a moment (clever enough to know if I HAD apologized, it would take a little time, at least), and then headed back to Mrs. Wagner with a grade school-showgirl's smile, that I had done as she asked, and all was forgiven.

Until Becky and her homeroom teacher showed up moments after, with box in hand. Busted. I would have to do it, to say "I'm sorry." I didn't want to so badly that I cried... I knew I had done wrong, and was guilty, and afraid my mom or friends or other teachers would find out and think I was so bad. Was I so bad? Am I still?

I apologized to Becky through thick tears and heaving sobs. When it was all over, she gave me a hug and said "it's okay." I took a moment to blow my nose, and resumed the first grade with the rest of my friends, all unknowing, in the cafeteria below...

Skin, hair, foot and hand, lips, nose, eyes... I've been thieving them all as of late. Not because I dislike her. Not even because I love him. I just want him. So fucking badly...

The moral of the story is:

a) Never let the things you steal carelessly dangle, or you might get caught.

b) You know you've done something wrong if it would make you cry to say "I'm sorry."

c) Learning lessons from first grade will serve you well through life, if you really paid attention.

d) all of the above

e) none of the above;

write correct answer here____________________________

Desire

Desire awakened me this morning like a Mack truck on a collision course with my... feminine parts. Awakened from another unrequited dream, where I'm dancing my way around and to an unknown beloved, and just as our lips are about to meet, just as his hand is slipping between my thighs, I'm awake. Awakened a full two hours before the alarm would go off. Awakened, knowing there's no way I'll fall back to sleep when I'm so full of this longing, this heat.

My desire is so strong these days, it gets the better of me, in sleep and in life. It's been eight months, after all, since I've been single again. It's been over ten years that I've ever even been single that long. So, I'm adjusting. I'm loving it, actually, loving my single-hood. I've recently started going out with new people, going on dates, meeting up for drinks, taking in a show, and I'm having a ball! I'm definitely in no hurry whatsoever to partner up again anytime soon. I'm happy to have my own space, make my own choices, do whatever (and whomever!) I want. I think the lack of intimacy is the only drawback so far.

Not that there aren't options. Lord, help me, it seemed that as soon as the word got out that I was single again, there was a freakin' line around the block - friends, fans, old admirers, new admirers, colleagues, ex-boyfriends, you name it! I can't even say it was flattering, because I was grieving the loss of my marriage after all, and it seemed a little... tacky. So for months I've been encasing myself in an energetic wall to ward off all of the advances, trying to send out the signal that "it ain't gonna happen." For the most part, it's worked. That desirous energy that was coming my way like a meteor shower of erect phalli, bombarding me at every event, party, coffee date or walk with the dog has finally cooled. Cooled right as my own kundalini awakens in a blaze, desperately trying to uncoil from its long, dormant state.

So, what's the problem, you ask? Why not just go out and find something to sink my teeth into? To be honest, I have. I can't say it was all that intentional, in fact it kind of took me by surprise, but it certainly unlocked the gate to my garden. It is springtime, after all, and everything with a pulse comes to life. I guess that includes me. But it's not my style to run around town, adding notches to my bedpost night after night. My style has always been to lavish my affections on one deserving suitor, who wins my heart as part of the deal. This is what make it so tricky now. I'm trying to re-invent my sexual persona: how do I remain unattached (staying single, which I know I want), not be sleeping around with vast randoms, and yet be able to get off with something other than my own hand?

In an ideal world, I would have a lover (maybe two) whom I could see on a somewhat regular basis - once or twice a week. We would go out for food, watch foreign films, read together, go for a run - simple pleasures. And, to share some level of intimacy. That doesn't even have to mean sex... sometimes, all I crave is to be kissed, to lay my skin on someone's skin, to delight in the smells of another, the sound of their breathing - again, simple pleasures. At times like these, when I'm extra-ravenous, it seems ridiculous that this should be so difficult to conjure up! I question if it isn't my extreme desire, that energy of "desperation" (for lack of a better word), that ironically becomes its own repellent - that sends out a vibe that makes men cringe rather than crave. Such a paradox... if it's true, I guess I would need to smother my heat, and if that happens, I'm back to the old "it ain't gonna happen" routine.

...Here comes the rain. Pouring down in this early morning, sending a cool breeze through the window. What perfect timing. I needed that cold shower - I have a long day ahead of me yet, and have probably lingered too long on this topic as it is. For the moment, I guess there's no concrete solution. I just have to keep moving forward as I have, and trust that whatever is meant to be, however it's all destined to work out, it shall.

In the meantime, I think the best use of that potent elixir, "Desire," would be to spill it onto the page, let it soak into a song. If it can't be shared with someone (or some ones), then let me mull it into a creative cider for everyone to imbibe. Drunk with love, passion or sex... we're all fuckin' addicts.