Secret Thots for a Very Private Gentleman
tales, temptation, and titillation…
I don’t know: this gravity elastic feeling to let go and fall together with you is one thing, but it is better to live exactly where you are with as many permanent emotions in you as you can muster.
Talking to myself.Your spirit is with me.
Please kiss whatever part of you can reach for me.
— John Cage —
Beauty and grace are performed
whether or not we will or sense them.
The least we can do is try to be there.
— Annie Dillard —
(enchanted by this strange proximity)
Longing, and mystery, and delight…
as if from the swaying blackness
of some slow-motion masquerade
onto the dim bridge you came.And night flowed, and silent there floated
into its satin streams
that black mask’s wolf-like profile
and those tender lips of yours.And under the chestnuts, along the canal
you passed, luring me askance.
What did my heart discern in you,
how did you move me so?In your momentary tenderness,
or in the changing contour of your shoulders,
did I experience a dim sketch
of other — irrevocable — encounters?Perhaps romantic pity
led you to understand
what had set trembling that arrow
now piercing through my verse?I know nothing. Strangely
the verse vibrates, and in it, an arrow…
Perhaps you, still nameless, were
the genuine, the awaited one?But sorrow not yet quite cried out
perturbed our starry hour.
Into the night returned the double fissure
of your eyes, eyes not yet illumed.For long? For ever? Far off
I wander, and strain to hear
the movement of the stars above our encounter
and what if you are to be my fate…Longing, and mystery, and delight,
and like a distant supplication…
My heart must travel on.
But if you are to be my fate…— Vladimir Nabokov —
translated by Olga Voronina
I take my time undressing you. I know your eyes are on me – intent and trusting – and I resist the urge to fall into your gaze. I want to enjoy this first. I want to drink you in with my fingers. I want you to feel me devour you with my eyes. I need you to feel the tender adoration of my touch. I want us to taste the promises floating in the air.
My bold nipples brush up against the goosebumps of your cooling flesh. This whisper between us compels me to look into your eyes and softly say, “Hi.” The sound of my voice triggers ripples of pleasure down your spine, ending at the head of your cock – minor explosions foreshadowing… everything.
It’s a strange feeling, this next moment: knowing exactly what I want and having no idea what to do to get it. And so we stand before one another. So very naked. So very still. Seeing and being seen. The miniscule space between us defying physics with all that fills it. This tension is delicious. I ache with it all, too.
A new dance begins: our gazes part and return as our hands slowly trace the other’s outline – suspended in the spirit more than on our actual skin. Even though your hands don’t actually touch me, I am moved. Deeply. I feel myself warm as your hands float over and around me. The back of my hands, my palms and wrists are mirror to yours – only mine are dancing in their own tempo, swooping and divining where you most need me – those places you secretly fear I may find.
Finally, our fingers entwine and pulling me to you, your head tilts, your lips part and you kiss me. What early pause and restraint there may have been is no more. This kiss is a game-changer. This kiss removes the blinders.
You pull me in by my lower lip and then my upper. I hungrily taste your tongue and suckle you deep in my mouth. Back and forth, sweeping and searching, we are nothing short of enthusiastic. Of course, our hands now find their way around the other. You pull me so close, it’s like you’re already filling me. You feel the urgency of my own grip – against your broad back, and as your ass cheeks spread that little bit when I grasp them to draw your body even closer.
You pull away suddenly, your eyes wide, looking into me. “I can smell you!” I laugh with delight and blush. My voice husky replies, “But can you taste me?” It’s like a rubber band snaps: you scoop me up – I am light as a feather – the certainty of your desire empowers you (and fuck, are you ever glorious, my sweet).
Somehow your tongue and your fingers manage to stop Time. I know this is a bed. I know that is the ceiling above us. But why does it feel like we are more than just a man and a woman, gasping and grasping the Mystery of (our) Pleasure?
I want to ask you this, I want to hear your sexy mind at work. But all I can do is splay my legs and grip your hair with reaching fingers. All I can do is moan and arch my back with toes spread and curled. All I can do is pant with an open mouth. I cannot speak your name even though it is the only word occupying my simple brain. All I can do is return to your eyes and then find myself transported once more.
When you finally do enter me, when your beautiful cock pumps forth my honey-wet, I am all yours. There is no one else. My hair is drenched from our exertion, your jaw clenches with the powerful clarity of our mutual need. You are so beautiful in this moment. My heart opens and in this, you choose to mirror me. My eyes tear up from the beauty of what I thought could never be.
You understand this – it spurs you on, and inspires a verve in you that I haven’t seen before. I have never felt so free. The power of your thrusts echo through our bones. The depths of my pussy’s walls begin to pulse, gripping the growing thickness you are inside me. Our silence is a thing of the past.
Our cries are feral. Honest. Pure.
This is the light that cleanses, that heals.
This, my sweet love is you and me,
Together.
I have a freind
At the end
Of the world.
His name is a breathOf fresh air.
He is dressed in
Grey chiffon. At least
I think it is chiffon.
It has a
Peculiar look, like smoke.
It wraps him round
It blows out of place
It conceals him
I have not seen his face.But I have seen his eyes, they are
As pretty and bright
As raindrops on black twigs
In March, and heard him say:I am a breath
Of fresh air for you, a change
By and by.Black March I call him
Because of his eyes
Being like March raindrops
On black twigs.(Such a pretty time when the sky
Behind black twigs can be seen
Stretched out in one
Uninterrupted
Cambridge blue as cold as snow.)But this friend
Whatever new names I give him
Is an old friend. He says:Whatever names you give me
I am
A breath of fresh air,
A change for you.
— Stevie Smith —
I don’t know how to write love letters.
But I wanted to tell you that my whole being opened for you.Since I fell in love with you everything is transformed
and is full of beauty…
love is like an aroma, like a current, like rain.
You know, my sky, you rain on me
and I, like the earth, receive you.
— Frida Kahlo —
ever want to know what would happen
if your life could be fertilized
by a love thought
from a loved one
who loves you
— Nikki Giovanni —
This is how you lose her.
You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery store, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.
You must remember when she forgets.
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.
She remembers when you forget.
You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.
You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.
And, this is how you keep her.
— Junot Díaz —
