Passion's Path

I make no excuses for the way that I am, the life I chose to lead. I believe I was born destined for this path. It is in my blood. I was conceived and pre-programmed with these desires and needs and the ability to have them fulfilled. I don't feel guilty, I don't have regrets. Good or bad, I languish in this bed that I have made. I throw open the closet door and invite my bones to lay with me. Dance with me.

I come from a long line of cheaters and womanizers, mothers and fathers taking lovers over and over again. Raised in a house where sex was the "wink wink" prize in a bet between spouses. Where nakedness was beautiful, and open communication was encouraged. My mother and father have re-married over and over again and yet when I talk to the exes they all still express their love and longing for these two. There is no bitterness or regret. If I asked every one of them if they would do it all over again they would immediately say yes. It taught me that passion is important and that we have a right to have our needs met.

Life is so short. I don't want to be old and feeble and have regrets. I don't want to look back and wish that I had done more, lived more. I don't want to be sad that I just settled for what I got. Angry at myself for not doing more to make my needs important too. I deserve to be fulfilled and content. Those bones in my closet have made me who I am and I have enjoyed them all. The bed that I have made will not be rumpled with guilt or regrets.

The path of life can really be something when you are brave enough to wander off it for a bit...and into the adventure that awaits on each side.

Need

I need it hard. I need to be fucked hard, slammed into. I need to turn up the volume on the stereo as loud as it will go so that the hard rock throbs inside my temples. I need to get on an open stretch of highway and see how high I can push the needle on that speedometer, both hands on the wheel, 90, 100, 120, 130, faster. I need to chain smoke. I need to shoot heroin. I need to run and run and run. I need to scream, stand on the edge of huge canyon and scream until my lungs bleed. I need to hurt. I need to break something, shatter it, hurl it against a wall. I need to be fucked.
I just need.

Your Loss

Just like a shot when you are a child it only stings for a second. When I playfully rub up against you and murmur that you are making me hot, only to be pushed away, the sting of rejection hurts for just a second. It only takes a second for me to remember that there is someone else who wants me. Someone else who needs me. Someone else who will satisfy my hunger to be filled. To be desired. To be fucked. You have no idea that by shoving me away you are actually pushing me back into another man's arms. Another man who will catch me and gladly have me. I don't want it to be this way. I didn't go looking for this. But there is only so much hurt I can manage. And just like the lollipop the doctor gave you after that shot I needed something to make it all better.

The Sum Is Equal To The Parts

What attracts me to you?

The way you pin me against the wall so that I can't come to my senses and get away. The way you wind your hands into my hair while you kiss me with your soft, wet, mouth. The way your cum tastes. The way you trace my curves lazily with the very tips of your fingers. The way you whisper "you're MY whore" into my ear just before you slide your cock in deep. The way you don't take "no" for an answer. The way you sound when you cum. The way you reach out and touch me when no one is looking. The way your cock looks, long and beautiful. The way you suddenly flip me over onto my stomach so you can have my ass. The way your fingers hit my G-spot as your thumb circles my clit. The way you pull my panties up into my cunt just before you pull them aside to slip in your tongue. The way you pull me across the bed to the edge so you can kneel down before me. The way your fingers, slick with my wetness, find their way into my mouth. The way our eyes lock in a room of people who have no idea we are fucking. The way you fuck me.

Not My Virtue

My patience is being tested as one day rolls into the next and still we haven't been able to meet. The tension builds incredibly and we find we can't concentrate (and really shouldn't be operating heavy machinery). You tell me over the phone that you had to jerk off this morning just to momentarily take me off your mind. We're so desperate and so edgy that when we can finally meet I imagine us slamming so hard into each other that POOF we combust into dust as we collide. I know we will try to literally climb INTO each other. That feeling you get when you actually wish you had another limb because there just isn't enough hands or mouths to cover every place you need to touch and be touched at the same time. The frenzy of mouths and tongues and hands and hair and clothes being ripped off and bodies joining FINALLY. I am waiting, not so patiently, for that ahhhhhh of FINALLY.

Proverbial Truth

There's a saying I love that goes like this:
Happiness is not having what you want...but wanting what you have.

But what if what you have doesn't want you? What if I want more? What if I need more? What if it ultimately comes down to being wanted? I was such a good girl for so long, settling for what I got because it's all a trade off in the end and you have to take some bad to get mostly good.

But I was lured....reminded of what it feels like to be wanted...jolted by that rush that comes from pure desire....desire on someone else's part to have you...no matter what the costs. And all of the consequences, and all of the players, and all of the risks diminish to nothing in the face of pure desire.

He didn't have to ask me twice.

I went to him and he devoured me. Him so full of pent up lust...and me, so desire-starved. Our needs meshing perfectly, filling in the gaps of our everyday lives. Stolen moments that set us right again. I lie back willingly for him and let him do all those naughty things that he's always wanted to do but was afraid to ask for. I feed his beast. And I am repaid with the way he looks at me in awe as if he can't believe his good luck. Satisfied to overflowing with the way he moves, speaks, and takes me like he just can't wait one more second to have me.

It works. And there's another saying I love that goes something like this:
Don't fix what ain't broke.

Tick, Tock

I didn't talk to you today. And it's left me anxious and on edge. I don't need to talk to you every day, I really don't want to talk to you every day. We don't owe each other the connection, and I more than anyone appreciate the hunger that builds when it's missed. I remind myself that the small talk makes me uncomfortable, the snuggling makes me want to bolt, and that the day to day is none of my business. So I concentrate on the physical. The need for you to just fuck me. The desire to feel your fingers in my mouth as you pound into my cunt. The ache to hear you whisper "you're my whore" into my ear. The feel of your fingers digging into my hips as we cum.

But I would have settled to hear your voice.

Need

You want me
You can't help yourself
You think of me all the time
When you are at work
When you are alone
When you are with others
Imagining me there for you
Imagining what you would do to me
Imagining how I would swallow while looking in your eyes
I make you have to touch yourself
I make you do naughty things in places you shouldn't
I make your cock hard
I know just what to whisper in your ear
I know just what turns you on
I know just how to touch you
You like that I lie back so easily for you
You like that I will let you be you
You like that I like it
I am your dirty little secret
I am your whore
I am your desire
I make you say those filthy words
I make you think those nasty thoughts
I make you want me

I love it

Two For The Price of One

With this look of awe on your face you call me beautiful...with the same mouth that whispers "you're my whore". You bite my nipple hard and cause me to pull back in pain...and then lick and gently suck them. You choke me on your cock, my head shoved against the wall, my hands on your thighs pushing back, mascara running...and hold my face as you kiss me so softly on the mouth I could cry. You force me onto my knees so you can fuck me from behind...but allow me to straddle atop you and pin your hands over your head and use you. You beg for me...before slapping my ass hard enough to leave your print. You wrap your hands in my hair, your very own reins...but allow it to fall and tickle us both. You fuck me...and make love to me. You are lover...and friend.

69 Flavors

Sex and ice cream. This is how my mind works.

There are those that can call it good with a bowl full of vanilla (missionary) and a spoon (bed).

Then there are those who CRAVE a whole lot more...that creamy chocolate (endless positions) with the chunks of brownie (hair pulling), drenched in chocolate syrup (a spank), sprinkled with nuts (ass fuck), topped with whip creme (whip creme), and a cherry (window shaking orgasm), eaten from a cone (fucking in public), as melted ice cream runs down your arm (licking and sucking up every last drop of each other).

I'll have a triple scoop of #2 please....