For the decadent,
Sinful, feel of you.
For the decadent,
Sinful, feel of you.
It’s in the words.
This dream confused me.
For the life of me, I can’t let it be.
Our stomachs pressed together.
Dur et doux.
Why would that stick out to me?
Why should I be turned on by your stomach against my own?
My heart was racing, thighs and panties wet,
Ready to be your pet.
It was then I paid attention.
You whispered words in my ear.
Nonsensical, fast, slow, words.
With every word you spoke,
My mouth watered.
My skin pulsed.
My eyes dilated.
I wish I could remember the words you said to me.
I wish I could hold them close for the lonely nights.
I wish I could carry them with me like I do my sight.
It was the words.
Yeah, you read it correctly.
I’m only saying what other people are thinking.
Of what others are feeling.
What lies within all of us.
What we are afraid to let out.
What’s the worst that could happen?
I’m like the rest of you.
I’m the coward that pretends to be appalled,
Secretly marveling at the tales being spun.
Does that make me a deviant?
Tu pourrais être rude c’est ce que je veux
Look at me.
An absolute mess because of my thoughts centering you.
Twisting and turning in this bed.
Legs in a vise grip.
Air levels are depleting.
Gasping for acceptance,
Gasping for love,
Gasping for truth,
Gasping for understanding.
I am a huge contradiction.
I am the thing I fear the most.
I shake my head no,
But spread my legs,
In desperate anticipation,
For the devil’s euphoric stroke and flow.
My chest heaves anxiously,
For his talented tongue to taste my skin,
I need this sin.
My nipples tighten in practiced rhapsody,
For the soulless being taking me to ecstasy.
My core soaks in abject blasphemy,
For the ignorant bliss he brings for the night.
Suffocation is here,
The man in black has [finally] re-appeared.
My affinity for the sinful,
For the debauchery,
For the unattainable,
Will be the death of me.
So I had a religious experience this weekend. It was full of wisdom, deep insight, and I left feeling completed, sated, and spiritually blessed.
I had my revival service at the Magic Mike XXL premier this weekend.
As I was sitting in the theaters, watching the many previews, and waiting with bated breath for my favorite boys to light up the silver screen, I was thinking about the objectification of women.
In society, especially in the good ole’ U.S. Of A. women are judged constantly by what we wear, how we act, and what we should want versus what we actually want. (Good old fashioned, toe-curling, coma inducing, hair pulling orgasms, [yes plural] followed by good food, conversation, and possibly a relationship) However, if a naked woman comes on during a commercial break, and says anything remotely sexual, or holding anything representing a phallic shape, best believe the National Organization for Women will be on that commercial like white on rice.
Don’t get me wrong; I agree with all the women’s organizations, and such. No woman should be objectified, criticized, or demeaned just because of what is on her chests, and between her legs. But say we took a different approach; What if some women (Not all, of course) basked in the objectification? Men do it sometimes, (As seen throughout the film) and seem to flourish under all the attention. Are we being too sensitive?
Again, just an observation, nothing else.
I’m not calling Magic Mike XXL a stimulating, intellectual, IFC film; What you see is what you get, and the title says it all. But what if we took the same approach as the magnificent strippers and just not give a fuck?
Now wait! I’m not going to sit here and waste over 1,000 words boring you about all the gorgeous men and their abs, the dancing, sex, lots of ass, Twitch, abs, roll on the floor laughter moments, Tarzan, Matt Bomer, abs, long *ahem* manhood troubles, (did I mention abs?) and such. I’m not even going to tell you about Mike’s past life, and his alter ego, (A.K.A. white chocolate) or the amount of feels you’ll get listening to some 90’s, and early 2000’s throwback music.
No, I’m not going to say go see it at all.
Heart beats quickly.
I can’t breathe.
This heady sensation.
No don’t stop,
If all I can have is pleasure,
Then let me treasure.
Laying on this bed,
feels like paradise.
My heart feels compromised;
Yet I roll the dice.
You lean over my body.
You whisper in my ear,
You tell me things a woman should hear.
Where is the fire coming from?
This internal steam.
You make me cream.
You scare me because you make me dream.
Dream about more than the average,
To reach for something above and beyond.
Because of your hands,
You have me doing things I don’t understand.
You make me second guess what I thought I knew.
How could I never had a clue?
You hold my body as a person should.
You tell me to trust,
You tell me it’s a must.
I’m trying, but it’s hard.
I tell you but you kiss me,
Shake your head and tell me that you can keep me safe and warm.
I shake my head and disagree.
I tell you,
It’s so hard to give something you fear being broken.
You caress my face,
And tell me of a place we will go.
You tell me to close my eyes,
And you will make all the worry subside.
Seen, scream, beam.
You know the theme.
I take a sip from the flask,
and take off the mask.