Angeline
Poet Chick
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I was just thinking that once we respond (and I notice that the gentlemen are thus far SUCKING at this challenge)--where was I? Oh yes:
Write a found poem from one of the posts in this thread.
Holy Sh*t They're NAKED in Here!
- Thread starter unpredictablebijou
- Start date
I was just thinking that once we respond (and I notice that the gentlemen are thus far SUCKING at this challenge)--where was I? Oh yes:
Write a found poem from one of the posts in this thread.
BooMerengue
Literotica Guru
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I was just thinking that once we respond (and I notice that the gentlemen are thus far SUCKING at this challenge)--where was I? Oh yes:
Write a found poem from one of the posts in this thread.
How do you do that again, exactly?
Angeline
Poet Chick
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Choose any post from this thread. One post, yours or someone else's. Use the words in that post to create a poem. Obviously, the longer the post you choose, the more words you have to play with. You can repeat words, you can change a verb tense, use a word in a different grammatical sense than it was written in the post (e.g., they used it as a noun; you use it as an adjective), and you can add a prefix or suffix to any word in the post, but you cannot add words, only use what's there.
Anschul
Literotica Guru
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I'M WORKIN' IN IT. GOD, IT'S COMPLICATED!!!!!
Geez...I hadda write a freakin' food and sex and origami poem all in one verse...Geez...
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unpredictablebijou
Peril!
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Y'know, one doesn't have to do ALL the questions. Just pick a few that you're interested in, or whatever. It's just a way to spark some talking and writing. But I am really, really loving what's going on in here so far.
It's a powerful thought, to take someone else's ideas or story and write about it. Obviously one would want to be kind, but I think sometimes we can find compassion and understanding for someone else's grief or weirdness more easily than we can find it for ourselves.
bj
It's a powerful thought, to take someone else's ideas or story and write about it. Obviously one would want to be kind, but I think sometimes we can find compassion and understanding for someone else's grief or weirdness more easily than we can find it for ourselves.
bj
BooMerengue
Literotica Guru
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Should we put it here? Or start another thread. People might stop answering this thread, maybe. Just sayin'.
UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
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I was trying to write yours but don't know if I can do it justice it's poetry in it's own right
BooMerengue
Literotica Guru
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If you mean mine go for it.
Angeline
Poet Chick
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I'd put it in here, sweets. I guess I see it as a continuation of Bijou's directive that we converse about sex in here.
Anyway, Bijou strikes me as the type to love wherever her threads move as long as they're active and interesting, yknow?
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
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Boo, I hope your computer lasts out the week. I have to go to the cardio next week and get wired up, forced to breath into a tube and prodded on a treadmill. My heart rate is up and I feel short of breath way outside of normal. The good news was the echo didin't show any probs, the bad news is now my doc figures he can torture me with a stress test.
I need all the good thoughts and wishes I can get, so order your video card (my desktop fried just over a week ago) to stay with you. Keep the screen resolution as low as you can tolerate and the colour program at 16 bit... Fewer microscopic switches working means longer life for the motherboard.
I need all the good thoughts and wishes I can get, so order your video card (my desktop fried just over a week ago) to stay with you. Keep the screen resolution as low as you can tolerate and the colour program at 16 bit... Fewer microscopic switches working means longer life for the motherboard.
Angeline
Poet Chick
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You've had far more than your share of ills and losses this past year. I'll keep you in my prayers.
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
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Thanks so much S. I think upbj should do another witching... whatever spell she sang for me last time made the echo results wonderful... I need the stress test and I need knee surgery.. should be an interesting time on the ole treadmill... I can barely walk at my own pace nevermind on a band of rapidly inclining rubber.You've had far more than your share of ills and losses this past year. I'll keep you in my prayers.
If I trip, I'll litigate.
Senna Jawa
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pre-electronic times
My high school friends made a joyful birthday party for me but I was getting a bit tired and drunk. Just then Andrzej, our leader, said: Now for your present, we have rented a mechanical doll for you, for one day, but you have only ten hours left. I didn't understand. The host, Kazik, and the rest of them, boys and girls, took me to a small room, with nothing but a low narrow bed and a girl or a doll on it. The doll was covered by a white sheet except for her head. She's pre-lubricated -- Andrzej said. He also pointed at a dial next to the girl, saying that it is there to regulate her temperature. To illustrate the point Kazik grabbed the dial and was about to touch the doll but gave up on the idea under my glare. I was clearly embarrassed by the situation. So, Andrzej showed me the key in the door, on the inside, and asked everybody to get the hell out of the room. The girls were still giggling outside, and finally I felt alone. I turned the key, put it in my pocket (I am always somewhat pedantic) and got to the doll. Was it a doll? I asked her -- are you a doll? She seemed to slightly nod her head yes. Are you a girl? -- I insisted, and she slightly moved her head from left to right and back into position. Ok, I was satisfied. I took the dial in one hand, and put my other hand under the sheet. Her breast indeed got warmer soon, and the nipple got hard, very hard. I tried to make sense of the situation by fiddling with the dial but perhaps because of the alcohol I couldn't concentrate. Left? Right? Thus I switched my hands and put the other hand on her other breast, again under the sheet, because I didn't want my hand to be visible. Everything had repeated itself and while I was rather confused I didn't care anymore, my concentration and logic were not getting any better. I remembered about the lubrication. I parted her legs and moved my hand underneath, partly uncovering her legs, only up to her knees, and I burried my arm under the white sheet. Yes, she was lubricated, that's for sure. She even kind of jumped up at one moment in a very mechanical way. No real person would jump like this just from my touch. Good craftsmanship. I was sure that she was made in Germany. I thoughtfully licked my fingers (I liked it) and only then I disrobed myself, and got rid of the white sheet. Then the doll felt actually quite soft to my body, I was much harder. I was well read about sex hence I knew what to do. The whole thing felt very Hollywoodish. Fireworks in my head etc. At one stage when I pushed into my doll rapidly and more strongly she grabbed my head with both arms and hands. I meant to say to her sorry but the word somehow got lost in my throat. Why should I apologize to a doll anyway?
Afterwards I was very sleepy. I'd spoon her if I were not shy. Instead, I have fallen to the floor, and before falling asleep I reached for a sweater and used it to cover my groin.
I woke up when I felt cold. In the middle of the day! My friends were in the room. Girls too. I got annoyed anyway. Kazik had explained that he had another key. Then I looked at the bed and shouted -- Where is the doll?!. Everybody was laughing and winking one to another, while Andrzej told me that it had to be returned. We'll think about something new for your next birthday - he said seeing my disappointed face.
My high school friends made a joyful birthday party for me but I was getting a bit tired and drunk. Just then Andrzej, our leader, said: Now for your present, we have rented a mechanical doll for you, for one day, but you have only ten hours left. I didn't understand. The host, Kazik, and the rest of them, boys and girls, took me to a small room, with nothing but a low narrow bed and a girl or a doll on it. The doll was covered by a white sheet except for her head. She's pre-lubricated -- Andrzej said. He also pointed at a dial next to the girl, saying that it is there to regulate her temperature. To illustrate the point Kazik grabbed the dial and was about to touch the doll but gave up on the idea under my glare. I was clearly embarrassed by the situation. So, Andrzej showed me the key in the door, on the inside, and asked everybody to get the hell out of the room. The girls were still giggling outside, and finally I felt alone. I turned the key, put it in my pocket (I am always somewhat pedantic) and got to the doll. Was it a doll? I asked her -- are you a doll? She seemed to slightly nod her head yes. Are you a girl? -- I insisted, and she slightly moved her head from left to right and back into position. Ok, I was satisfied. I took the dial in one hand, and put my other hand under the sheet. Her breast indeed got warmer soon, and the nipple got hard, very hard. I tried to make sense of the situation by fiddling with the dial but perhaps because of the alcohol I couldn't concentrate. Left? Right? Thus I switched my hands and put the other hand on her other breast, again under the sheet, because I didn't want my hand to be visible. Everything had repeated itself and while I was rather confused I didn't care anymore, my concentration and logic were not getting any better. I remembered about the lubrication. I parted her legs and moved my hand underneath, partly uncovering her legs, only up to her knees, and I burried my arm under the white sheet. Yes, she was lubricated, that's for sure. She even kind of jumped up at one moment in a very mechanical way. No real person would jump like this just from my touch. Good craftsmanship. I was sure that she was made in Germany. I thoughtfully licked my fingers (I liked it) and only then I disrobed myself, and got rid of the white sheet. Then the doll felt actually quite soft to my body, I was much harder. I was well read about sex hence I knew what to do. The whole thing felt very Hollywoodish. Fireworks in my head etc. At one stage when I pushed into my doll rapidly and more strongly she grabbed my head with both arms and hands. I meant to say to her sorry but the word somehow got lost in my throat. Why should I apologize to a doll anyway?
Afterwards I was very sleepy. I'd spoon her if I were not shy. Instead, I have fallen to the floor, and before falling asleep I reached for a sweater and used it to cover my groin.
I woke up when I felt cold. In the middle of the day! My friends were in the room. Girls too. I got annoyed anyway. Kazik had explained that he had another key. Then I looked at the bed and shouted -- Where is the doll?!. Everybody was laughing and winking one to another, while Andrzej told me that it had to be returned. We'll think about something new for your next birthday - he said seeing my disappointed face.
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Anschul
Literotica Guru
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- Feb 14, 2008
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- 875
What musical group would you let gang bang you, and why?
Heart circa 1980. Nancy Wilson and her guitar? C'mon. Anne Wilson and that voice. Wow. The backing players, not so much.
What already-dead person will you be seeking out first to seduce when you get to the afterlife, and why?
Janis Joplin. Dead Bang! (pun intended). I'm thinking it might never end. And there'd be some pretty good drugs and bourbon.
Have you ever broken a sex toy?
Could a condom be considered a sex toy? Otherwise, never.
How many people have seen you naked?
At my age? You kidding? I lost the ability to count somewhere in Northern California.
If you had to chose between coming and making someone else come, which would it be?
Making someone else come. Every time. To me, there is nothing sexier on the planet than a woman's orgasm.
What's the shortest time you've known someone before getting sexual with them?
Not counting that hooker the first time, two and a half hours. 1967. Between acts on a blanket at Tanglewood Music Center in Lenox, Massachusetts. Saw a double header of Carlos Santana and Chicago Transit Authority. About thirty minutes between the shows. Santana came first, then Beth Stewart, then me, then CTA.
List the inanimate objects you've used in sexual contexts.
pillows, candles, feathers, a Kermit-the-Frog puppet (I don't think I'm gonna elaborate on this one).
Talk about your sexual orientation, how much you feel is nature vs. nurture.
I'm absolutely straight. Experimented with another boy once when I was thirteen. Wanted to know what sex felt like. Didn't like it. Didn't get it. I think gay is a gene. I've known people who at eight, from apparently normal homes, with apparently normal parents grew up gay. No trauma that I was aware of. I've also done a little research, and I believe it is a condition of birth. I don't know if a traumatic event can cause homosexuality, but I kind of doubt it. I think that would reinforce whatever one is to begin with. My favorite relative was gay. I loved him more than anyone in my family, ever. He knew he was gay--we didn't call it that then--he didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew very early on that he was not attracted to girls. His father got him a hooker when he was fifteen (same man that got me mine at fourteen), and he was repulsed, embarrassed, angry, and about fifteen other things, none of them good. He died of AIDS. I named my elder daughter after him.
Where did your kinks come from, if you have any? Can you trace any of them to an early source?
I don't know if I have any "kinks." I love to watch, I love to watch videos of women masturbating (found the website of my dreams last year. Something called Ifeelmyself.com. Just my kind of porn. Grab a look occasionally when I'm feeling neglected. Where did this come from? I had a girlfriend once who absolutely loved to masturbate before we started groping together. Said it got her in the mood. It's the first time I had ever seen this, and it was the most exciting thing I had ever seen. I was immediately hooked. My quest in life now is to find the perfect video of female masturbation (by the way, I like screaming).
I also love to read beautifully written erotica (mainly straight, couples, first time, stuff like that. That's what got me here in the first place. My sister told me about it.
How do you feel about Hate Sex with an ex-relationship?
I don't get it. Never done it, couldn't do it. Couldn't imagine doing it. To me, sex is sex and hate is hate, and I can't imagine them in the same room.
Name seven substances (not the obvious body fluids, but rather things like crème brulee or french dressing) which you would eat, drink or otherwise ingest off of the body of a naked person.
Chocolate syrup, good brandy, champagne, Key lime custard, chocolate syrup, tequila, marscapone, crushed fruit, tapioca pudding. Did I mention chocolate syrup?
Compare and contrast some aspect of sex to one of the following things:
Baseball
Sex can be like a really good low-scoring baseball game (I think). In the beginning, you're never quite sure how it's going to develop, what it's going to look like, but it unfolds gradually, building in intensity and drama, a couple of surprises along the way, some offense, more defense, and it builds to a climactic end, which may be totally surprising, or not, but usually brings loud screaming, full adrenal rush, and sometimes, a home run.
Heart circa 1980. Nancy Wilson and her guitar? C'mon. Anne Wilson and that voice. Wow. The backing players, not so much.
What already-dead person will you be seeking out first to seduce when you get to the afterlife, and why?
Janis Joplin. Dead Bang! (pun intended). I'm thinking it might never end. And there'd be some pretty good drugs and bourbon.
Have you ever broken a sex toy?
Could a condom be considered a sex toy? Otherwise, never.
How many people have seen you naked?
At my age? You kidding? I lost the ability to count somewhere in Northern California.
If you had to chose between coming and making someone else come, which would it be?
Making someone else come. Every time. To me, there is nothing sexier on the planet than a woman's orgasm.
What's the shortest time you've known someone before getting sexual with them?
Not counting that hooker the first time, two and a half hours. 1967. Between acts on a blanket at Tanglewood Music Center in Lenox, Massachusetts. Saw a double header of Carlos Santana and Chicago Transit Authority. About thirty minutes between the shows. Santana came first, then Beth Stewart, then me, then CTA.
List the inanimate objects you've used in sexual contexts.
pillows, candles, feathers, a Kermit-the-Frog puppet (I don't think I'm gonna elaborate on this one).
Talk about your sexual orientation, how much you feel is nature vs. nurture.
I'm absolutely straight. Experimented with another boy once when I was thirteen. Wanted to know what sex felt like. Didn't like it. Didn't get it. I think gay is a gene. I've known people who at eight, from apparently normal homes, with apparently normal parents grew up gay. No trauma that I was aware of. I've also done a little research, and I believe it is a condition of birth. I don't know if a traumatic event can cause homosexuality, but I kind of doubt it. I think that would reinforce whatever one is to begin with. My favorite relative was gay. I loved him more than anyone in my family, ever. He knew he was gay--we didn't call it that then--he didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew very early on that he was not attracted to girls. His father got him a hooker when he was fifteen (same man that got me mine at fourteen), and he was repulsed, embarrassed, angry, and about fifteen other things, none of them good. He died of AIDS. I named my elder daughter after him.
Where did your kinks come from, if you have any? Can you trace any of them to an early source?
I don't know if I have any "kinks." I love to watch, I love to watch videos of women masturbating (found the website of my dreams last year. Something called Ifeelmyself.com. Just my kind of porn. Grab a look occasionally when I'm feeling neglected. Where did this come from? I had a girlfriend once who absolutely loved to masturbate before we started groping together. Said it got her in the mood. It's the first time I had ever seen this, and it was the most exciting thing I had ever seen. I was immediately hooked. My quest in life now is to find the perfect video of female masturbation (by the way, I like screaming).
I also love to read beautifully written erotica (mainly straight, couples, first time, stuff like that. That's what got me here in the first place. My sister told me about it.
How do you feel about Hate Sex with an ex-relationship?
I don't get it. Never done it, couldn't do it. Couldn't imagine doing it. To me, sex is sex and hate is hate, and I can't imagine them in the same room.
Name seven substances (not the obvious body fluids, but rather things like crème brulee or french dressing) which you would eat, drink or otherwise ingest off of the body of a naked person.
Chocolate syrup, good brandy, champagne, Key lime custard, chocolate syrup, tequila, marscapone, crushed fruit, tapioca pudding. Did I mention chocolate syrup?
Compare and contrast some aspect of sex to one of the following things:
Baseball
Sex can be like a really good low-scoring baseball game (I think). In the beginning, you're never quite sure how it's going to develop, what it's going to look like, but it unfolds gradually, building in intensity and drama, a couple of surprises along the way, some offense, more defense, and it builds to a climactic end, which may be totally surprising, or not, but usually brings loud screaming, full adrenal rush, and sometimes, a home run.
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UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
- Joined
- May 20, 2007
- Posts
- 15,794
Nancy Wilson and her guitar?!!! O my and you say you have no kinks? BTW I very rarely masturbate well fingers wise, it doesn't do a lot for me I don't know why I never started doing it as a child
H
hmmnmm
Guest
I was just thinking of some of this the other day. A few curious musements were walking around. Some of them connected, others haven't, yet. Partly, I realized that a lot of my prose (and probably some of the poetry, too) ideas end up with recurrent character types. Hadn't really thought how consistent they were, or seem to be until I started to really look closer. Hm. Then someone was saying here about early experiences leaving impacts. And I remembered a girl who was a couple grades ahead of me. She'd babysit me when my mom would be working. The babysitter had a sort of bossy way about her. And she'd sometimes have me hold the palm of my hand out, which she would smack with a ruler. Not like in a real cruel way, just... hm, hadn't really thought of that til lately. If she hadn't been kinda cute... of course, one will wonder where she got the idea. Then there was the step-mother with an evil gift at conducting fearsome interrogations. That bitch.
Hm, better stop now. Got that weird feeling in my guts.
Interesting thread.
Hm, better stop now. Got that weird feeling in my guts.
Interesting thread.
FlippantDavid
Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 15, 2008
- Posts
- 32
What musical group would you let gang bang you, and why?
Nsync (except Lance Bass) ... not a fan of the music, but they're all so pretty.
What already-dead person will you be seeking out first to seduce when you get to the afterlife, and why?
Audrey Hepburn. She's just so the most beautiful looking person I've ever seen.
Have you ever broken a sex toy?
Does letting the batteries corrode count?
How many people have seen you naked?
LIVE? 25-ish. I'm not counting all the times my mom's friends have looked at the photos of me naked in the tub at age 6 months though.
If you had to chose between coming and making someone else come, which would it be?
Totally it has to be making someone else come. No bigger turn on in the world. I frequently don't even orgasm when masturbating, so the climax isn't the climax for me.
What's the shortest time you've known someone before getting sexual with them?
45 minutes, approx.
List the inanimate objects you've used in sexual contexts.
Vibrators, dildos, carrots, chocolate, whipped cream, shoelaces, hair brushes, oranges, rope, scarves, books (ones I've already read, though, just in case), mayo, paper clips, shower heads, bath pillows, rulers (haven't worked up to yard sticks yet), confetti, toast (loooonnnggg story), scissors, razors, assorted creams and jellies, ben-wa balls, stuffed animals (not in the way you might think), money, wet towels, shoes, and ponytails holders.
Talk about your sexual orientation, how much you feel is nature vs. nurture.
So very bi, so very very bi. Notice my first two answers here. I'm guessing 95% nature, 4% nurture (or lack thereof), 1% various coin tosses.
Where did your kinks come from, if you have any? Can you trace any of them to an early source?
Abandonment issues. Sure. Probably. Overwhelming needs to be controlled ... and cuddled. Awwwww....
How do you feel about Hate Sex with an ex-relationship?
Would never happen with me. They ALL really really fucking hate me.
Compare and contrast some aspect of sex to one of the following things:
Dictionaries
I love looking things up, love exploring the roots of things, their beginnings, their metamorphosing over time ... I think I try to make love to a partner with the same philosophy. I don't mean I have to know their whole history, but seeing their reactions to my hands/tongue/whatever on various parts of their body ... seeing how this may affect OTHER parts of their body ... feeling how they are changing AS we make love. Wow, sounds really pretentious doesn't it? It isn't though, when your heart is in it.
Thanks, Bijou ... this is a great exercise. And I didn't write everything down I was thinking, only because it seems a fair bit presumptuous to expect folks to read TOO much goo about me. Everyone's responses so far are very intriguing. It's funny how answers to any given question here go in really really different ways. Thanks again.
Nsync (except Lance Bass) ... not a fan of the music, but they're all so pretty.
What already-dead person will you be seeking out first to seduce when you get to the afterlife, and why?
Audrey Hepburn. She's just so the most beautiful looking person I've ever seen.
Have you ever broken a sex toy?
Does letting the batteries corrode count?
How many people have seen you naked?
LIVE? 25-ish. I'm not counting all the times my mom's friends have looked at the photos of me naked in the tub at age 6 months though.
If you had to chose between coming and making someone else come, which would it be?
Totally it has to be making someone else come. No bigger turn on in the world. I frequently don't even orgasm when masturbating, so the climax isn't the climax for me.
What's the shortest time you've known someone before getting sexual with them?
45 minutes, approx.
List the inanimate objects you've used in sexual contexts.
Vibrators, dildos, carrots, chocolate, whipped cream, shoelaces, hair brushes, oranges, rope, scarves, books (ones I've already read, though, just in case), mayo, paper clips, shower heads, bath pillows, rulers (haven't worked up to yard sticks yet), confetti, toast (loooonnnggg story), scissors, razors, assorted creams and jellies, ben-wa balls, stuffed animals (not in the way you might think), money, wet towels, shoes, and ponytails holders.
Talk about your sexual orientation, how much you feel is nature vs. nurture.
So very bi, so very very bi. Notice my first two answers here. I'm guessing 95% nature, 4% nurture (or lack thereof), 1% various coin tosses.
Where did your kinks come from, if you have any? Can you trace any of them to an early source?
Abandonment issues. Sure. Probably. Overwhelming needs to be controlled ... and cuddled. Awwwww....
How do you feel about Hate Sex with an ex-relationship?
Would never happen with me. They ALL really really fucking hate me.
Compare and contrast some aspect of sex to one of the following things:
Dictionaries
I love looking things up, love exploring the roots of things, their beginnings, their metamorphosing over time ... I think I try to make love to a partner with the same philosophy. I don't mean I have to know their whole history, but seeing their reactions to my hands/tongue/whatever on various parts of their body ... seeing how this may affect OTHER parts of their body ... feeling how they are changing AS we make love. Wow, sounds really pretentious doesn't it? It isn't though, when your heart is in it.
Thanks, Bijou ... this is a great exercise. And I didn't write everything down I was thinking, only because it seems a fair bit presumptuous to expect folks to read TOO much goo about me. Everyone's responses so far are very intriguing. It's funny how answers to any given question here go in really really different ways. Thanks again.
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
Anschul, Kermit? You've left something forever changed in me--thinking about muppet sex. 
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
This thread is blowing my mind. Completely blowing me away.
Right now I don't want to say anything about any of the writing so far, except that it's phenomenal, all of it, and beautiful.
It feels like stones, dropped one by one in a pool. Best to just let the ripples go out, quietly, for a little while.
wow. Wow. Go go go you beautiful poets.
bj
Right now I don't want to say anything about any of the writing so far, except that it's phenomenal, all of it, and beautiful.
It feels like stones, dropped one by one in a pool. Best to just let the ripples go out, quietly, for a little while.
wow. Wow. Go go go you beautiful poets.
bj
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,173
I laughed for five minutes here! Sorry, Angie.
There is a reason to call 1-800-DENTIST. It's called Are you comfortable with sexual molestation? [ ] Yes [ ] No.
The correct answer is NO.
What I love about you, though, is that you love someone maybe as much as I do, but we both love other people as well as both loving some jazz or other music things and and and I get real confused at that point.
You and e² remind me of me and M. Not that we would watch Mayberry RFD, 'zactly. We're more like the late show of La Traviata or Doctor Who, truth be told.
Whatever. Drink Moxie. 'Spose to be good for you.
I just saw this. I really, really like you, too. I think we get each other. We're passionate people. You love M and I love T and we all love life. L'Chaim.
I should add a few things:
1. I never on my own would choose to watch The Andy Griffiths Show (I'm def more of an Antiques Roadshow kinda girl), but E-dub obviously gets some nostalogic thrill out of watching it, and I dig watching him grin at it like a little boy. It's a very sexist show, I've noticed (I guess most were then), but I do get a kick out of Floyd, especially. He acts like he's on acid. Oh and since this is the sex thread, I want to state that fucking while The Andy Griffiths Show is on the tube makes me giggle uncontrollably. Take that, Aunt Bea!
2. No Moxie. Never ever ever. I tried it once (at one of my student's urging). It was more than enough.
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
I understand hate sex with an ex.
You can't really hate someone unless you have loved them fiercely, and run the course of your damages on one another. Perhaps you are like Jim and I were, tempestuous, moody, 19, and fucking like crazed weasels anytime we weren't trying to kill one another. That's during the relationship, mind you.
He was an acoustic guitar player, and his guitar was his other girlfriend. He was constantly standing me up or breaking dates with me at the last minute to be with her. I still have issues with guitar players.
I loved him, with all the fierce and destructive and hysterical love I had, and I threw myself into his existence, because that was what I believed true devotion looked like. He, in turn, threw himself into mine, and soon we didn't know where one of us ended and the other began.
And the sex, from the very first to the very last time, was phenomenal. We knew each other instinctively; our rhythms were the same, our desires fit like puzzle pieces. We were beautifully matched physically as well. Everything fit. Our bodies danced like we'd been trained together all our lives. He was gorgeous, muscular, graceful. I was, well, 19. He was the best lover I'd had so far. By a factor of ten. We were a well-oiled machine, a graceful circus act. Looking back now, I know it would have been beautiful to watch us.
How could I give that up, just because he nearly drove me to the psych ward with his manipulation? How could he give that up, just because my neurotic mood swings, co-dependence and gargantuan neediness made him want to cut off his own head, just to avoid hearing me cry and freak out and bitch?
How could we give that up, even though we knew that if we said a single word to one another we'd be at each other's throats again?
A month. A month of silence, of being truly gone, seeing other people, trying to get past it. I honestly don't remember who picked up the phone first. But one of us was brave enough to say it. "I want you."
When I walked to his door what you'd have seen on my face was pure murder, absolute killing rage. He, that fucking monster, that bastard, had something I needed, something I couldn't get anywhere else. He opened the door with the same raw, open hatred on his face. I had something he needed as well. And we didn't say a word to one another, and there was no caress, no kiss, no reconciliation. We were both smart enough even then not to kid ourselves about ever going back.
Just turn on the fucking machine. I hate you. I want you. Your body is a drug, as mine is to you, and we will fix each other, under one bare bulb with no candles lit. Our bodies punished and rewarded each other, rhythmically, for what our minds and mouths had done, and with every stroke I thought I Hate You, I Love You, I Hate You, I Love You, I Hate You.
We did not go back to one another. One time, maybe the sixth or seventh time we did this, we actually tried to talk, to consider our relationship, to go back to old stories and try to solve them, and of course it turned into a murderous fight.
In retrospect, I know that we broke what we had when we tried to contaminate it. After that, we couldn't even get together just to fuck, as we had done. The wounds were refreshed and deepened, and we couldn't keep it pure anymore. I regret that, deeply. It was probably my fault; my guess is that I'm the one who decided to "try to communicate." My only excuse is that I was nineteen, and obviously a moron. But whoever was at fault, it was broken after that, and we never had that connection again.
I have had better, or perhaps just different, lovers since then. It doesn't seem quite as unique or irreplaceable as it did then. But still, the purity of those moments is unparalleled, when we allowed our animals to speak to one another without the interference of our hearts and minds. We allowed our bodies to heal and reward each other, creating a simple truce, staying out of their way.
Perhaps 'hate sex' isn't really the right term. But that's what I heard it called, when I once met someone else who had experienced that moment with an ex. Hate sex? Love/hate sex? A bloodless and perfect Tango, pure, excellent and stripped clean of the old complexities. A trapeze act, exacting, death-defying and beautiful.
You can't really hate someone unless you have loved them fiercely, and run the course of your damages on one another. Perhaps you are like Jim and I were, tempestuous, moody, 19, and fucking like crazed weasels anytime we weren't trying to kill one another. That's during the relationship, mind you.
He was an acoustic guitar player, and his guitar was his other girlfriend. He was constantly standing me up or breaking dates with me at the last minute to be with her. I still have issues with guitar players.
I loved him, with all the fierce and destructive and hysterical love I had, and I threw myself into his existence, because that was what I believed true devotion looked like. He, in turn, threw himself into mine, and soon we didn't know where one of us ended and the other began.
And the sex, from the very first to the very last time, was phenomenal. We knew each other instinctively; our rhythms were the same, our desires fit like puzzle pieces. We were beautifully matched physically as well. Everything fit. Our bodies danced like we'd been trained together all our lives. He was gorgeous, muscular, graceful. I was, well, 19. He was the best lover I'd had so far. By a factor of ten. We were a well-oiled machine, a graceful circus act. Looking back now, I know it would have been beautiful to watch us.
How could I give that up, just because he nearly drove me to the psych ward with his manipulation? How could he give that up, just because my neurotic mood swings, co-dependence and gargantuan neediness made him want to cut off his own head, just to avoid hearing me cry and freak out and bitch?
How could we give that up, even though we knew that if we said a single word to one another we'd be at each other's throats again?
A month. A month of silence, of being truly gone, seeing other people, trying to get past it. I honestly don't remember who picked up the phone first. But one of us was brave enough to say it. "I want you."
When I walked to his door what you'd have seen on my face was pure murder, absolute killing rage. He, that fucking monster, that bastard, had something I needed, something I couldn't get anywhere else. He opened the door with the same raw, open hatred on his face. I had something he needed as well. And we didn't say a word to one another, and there was no caress, no kiss, no reconciliation. We were both smart enough even then not to kid ourselves about ever going back.
Just turn on the fucking machine. I hate you. I want you. Your body is a drug, as mine is to you, and we will fix each other, under one bare bulb with no candles lit. Our bodies punished and rewarded each other, rhythmically, for what our minds and mouths had done, and with every stroke I thought I Hate You, I Love You, I Hate You, I Love You, I Hate You.
We did not go back to one another. One time, maybe the sixth or seventh time we did this, we actually tried to talk, to consider our relationship, to go back to old stories and try to solve them, and of course it turned into a murderous fight.
In retrospect, I know that we broke what we had when we tried to contaminate it. After that, we couldn't even get together just to fuck, as we had done. The wounds were refreshed and deepened, and we couldn't keep it pure anymore. I regret that, deeply. It was probably my fault; my guess is that I'm the one who decided to "try to communicate." My only excuse is that I was nineteen, and obviously a moron. But whoever was at fault, it was broken after that, and we never had that connection again.
I have had better, or perhaps just different, lovers since then. It doesn't seem quite as unique or irreplaceable as it did then. But still, the purity of those moments is unparalleled, when we allowed our animals to speak to one another without the interference of our hearts and minds. We allowed our bodies to heal and reward each other, creating a simple truce, staying out of their way.
Perhaps 'hate sex' isn't really the right term. But that's what I heard it called, when I once met someone else who had experienced that moment with an ex. Hate sex? Love/hate sex? A bloodless and perfect Tango, pure, excellent and stripped clean of the old complexities. A trapeze act, exacting, death-defying and beautiful.
Anschul
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 14, 2008
- Posts
- 875
Some additional thoughts...
On sexual orientation: I just got back from my daughter's ballet recital, a 40-act extravaganza that was as awful as it was wonderful. Imagine forty dance performances by girls, ages three to seventeen (I know, I know...) and a few boys, by the way, dancing ballet, tap and jazz, in sequin-laden costumes, dancing to tunes that ranged from "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider" to "Thriller" to "The William Tell Overture." Okay, bored?
Now one of the feature dancers was a 12-year-old boy, who danced in about a dozen of the numbers, an oddity in a dance school for kids, but not completely foreign. He was the star of the night, in my opinion, because he could dance more accurately, more crisply, more precisely than most of the girls, even the older ones. My daughter introduced him to me after the show, and this 12-year-old, a nice Jewish kid from Miami Beach's Nautilus Middle School (my school, coincidently), with surely no sexual experience whatsoever, was so clearly gay, and with no shame or guile about it. He already knows that he wants a career in dance or theater, knows all the show tunes, knows the dance numbers from all the great Broadway productions, and wants to be the best dancer of his generation. All this, so very self-possessed, at all of 12 years old. I met his parents. Nice people, and although I know I can't know what goes on behind the front door of their house up the beach from me, they didn't strike me as strange in any way. Just another family, with a son who wants to be a dancer. I'm not a sociologist, but this kid just had to be born this way.
Just a thought.
On sexual orientation: I just got back from my daughter's ballet recital, a 40-act extravaganza that was as awful as it was wonderful. Imagine forty dance performances by girls, ages three to seventeen (I know, I know...) and a few boys, by the way, dancing ballet, tap and jazz, in sequin-laden costumes, dancing to tunes that ranged from "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider" to "Thriller" to "The William Tell Overture." Okay, bored?
Now one of the feature dancers was a 12-year-old boy, who danced in about a dozen of the numbers, an oddity in a dance school for kids, but not completely foreign. He was the star of the night, in my opinion, because he could dance more accurately, more crisply, more precisely than most of the girls, even the older ones. My daughter introduced him to me after the show, and this 12-year-old, a nice Jewish kid from Miami Beach's Nautilus Middle School (my school, coincidently), with surely no sexual experience whatsoever, was so clearly gay, and with no shame or guile about it. He already knows that he wants a career in dance or theater, knows all the show tunes, knows the dance numbers from all the great Broadway productions, and wants to be the best dancer of his generation. All this, so very self-possessed, at all of 12 years old. I met his parents. Nice people, and although I know I can't know what goes on behind the front door of their house up the beach from me, they didn't strike me as strange in any way. Just another family, with a son who wants to be a dancer. I'm not a sociologist, but this kid just had to be born this way.
Just a thought.
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,173
You just reminded me of a kid I taught a few years ago. He was 12, in seventh grade, at the time. I was tutoring him in writing and study skills. He's absolutely beautiful, could be a model, and really a sweet, smart funny kid and so, so gay. He was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland (for his 13th birthday present he most wanted a Marilyn Monroe impersonator at his party--he had one from Vegas all picked out). He was also fascinated with Marie Antoinette. I know all this because I used his interests to get him to write and be engaged in his writing. Oh and he carried a pink compact mirror in his backback. I hate stereotyping but yknow, if that kid wasn't gay I'm Marie Antoinette.
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2002
- Posts
- 7,671
Let them eat brioche!
sassynyc
Fine and Mellow
- Joined
- Sep 15, 2007
- Posts
- 1,335
I've always heard the sentiment about not being able to hate someone unless you've loved them. I beg to differ. I can understand that both emotions are steeped in passion, and in essence, have the same roots. I can even understand love turning to hate. However, I for one, am fully capable of feeling hatred for someone that I've never loved or even liked. There are people that I find just that contemptible. I'm talkin', they're-on-fire-and-I-wouldn't-spit-on-them-to-put-them-out type hatred.
Now, indifference is a horse of a different color. Sex with someone I feel indifference toward is way doable for me. The physical attraction is there, sans contempt. Oddly enough, there's no other significant feeling involved either. For me the distance is sort of a safety net. How crazy is that? I guess everyone has a defense mechanism of some sort.
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