Desultory and Impulsive

[y=mx+b]

I want...

To fingerbang a woman that isn't my wife in public today.

I don't really have a woman in mind

I just know that she wouldn't be my wife

Because she isn't into that

She's not an exhibitionist

At all.

Which kinda sucks for me

But it is what it is

And a guy can dream right?


Today has a fall gloom about it
Foggy, overcast, rainy

Cold

We'd meet in some rural public park

Or
Cemetery

It would be a mutual affair
Where we met the other's need
To feel that rush
We felt

When we were both kids
Chasing a fear

An imposed felt sense of daring

We would only project
And feel

Once.


Her hair would be in a ponytail
Increasingly becoming wetter by the weather around us

Small talk
--awkward

A speed bump laid down by the both of us
To make the moment build
And last

That much longer


Different parts of both of us
Becoming uncomfortably cold

Drawing us closers
Seeking out
The corresponding source of heat
Of the other

And fitting together
Like the missing peace
In each other's
Perfect puzzle

Sliding my fridged fingers
Behind the banded fabric of her clothing
Her hyper hot flesh
Finally being quenched

Finally being felt

The incongruous sensation
Between our damp
Cold
Friction filled
External surroundings

With her hot
Lubricated
Want
Between her legs

Drawing my fingers up away from her
Bringing my slutfuck slick fingers
Between the two of us
And looking at her
Look crosseyed close
At her slick clear
Wet webbing
Between my fingers

And watching her
Watch me
Touch my lips with her

Tasting her fuck
Before returning my hand
Back to her source

To hook my fingers back inside her
And proceed a repeated
Violent attempt
To lift her off the ground
By her crotch



And succeeding.

















Fuck I want that right now.

 

[Wife of Bath]

“I with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me innocent or naïve, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” Anais Nin

 

[y=mx+b]

"We must declare ourselves, become known; allow the world to discover this subterranean life of ours which connects kings and farm boys, artists and clerks. Let them see that the important thing is not the object of love, but the emotion itself." Gore Vidal

 

[y=mx+b]

And now for something completely different.

From a few pages back.

 

[LizzieEr]

From a few pages back.

If it could have been something other than what it was.
Yes!
This became my favourite thing you have posted so far, whatever that is worth.

 

[y=mx+b]

It is worth a lot to me Lizzie.
It really is.

Thank you

 

[raindancer]

Lovely reading. I wish I had logged in during my insomnia haze last night. Your voiced words soothe me. Thank you for sharing.

 

[y=mx+b]

Lovely reading. I wish I had logged in during my insomnia haze last night. Your voiced words soothe me. Thank you for sharing.

Thank you.
It will be here for you for whenever you may need it.

 

[y=mx+b]

Okay, now this is silly....

But I had Pandora on whilst I cleansed this here abode and a song I hadn't heard in quite some time came on.

Released in 1995 while all the girls were still secretly getting wet panties over NIN's release
of Closer and all the boys --wanting said girls to pay them the time of day but never getting around to it because they were too busy getting banged in the cornerfield by their football boyfriends-- were fast anticipating NIN's follow up release Hurt... the nostalgic song-o-mine kinda got lost in the shuffle.

As I mentioned before... I never really got into NIN. I think it was the scene of it. The fashionable BDSM angsty bullshit. I already had too much of that going on inside my head. I think I just didn't have the time or patience for the external theatrics

So while everyone was caught up in that... The Toadies slipped in Possum Kingdom and it was relatively lost on everyone... except for me. For some reason.

It's such a wonderfully violent fucking psychopathic song that only seemed to exist as that one song between the other songs everyone wanted to listen to.

Blah blah blah...

I listened the shit out of this song staring blankly into a blank wall between sets of lifting more weight my little frame should probably lift at the time--lost in a thought about some fictional woman I figured would never exist in my life, playing out a fantasy scenario between she and I

God I would get so fucking mad at her in such a fictional kind of way that she liked... I can't really explain it and any attempt of me doing so would paint me as champion for domestic abuse. Which I am not.

Anyway... yeah... this song... even the video for it... love it.

So thank you Pandora for reintroducing me to a situation I secretly wish I were able to act out for whatever woman out there into such unadulterated possessive obsession.

 

[y=mx+b]

Can i...

Can I touch your breasts?

I mean... would it be okay if I did?
Because I want to.

It doesn't have to be bare.
I don't need to see it.
I just want to feel it

I just want to sense it

To feel my lips
Around the erect flesh
Of your nipple

With my hand


I want to feel the other one as well
I want my walk behind you
To be the equivalent of me taking off your clothing
I want the pressure of my hands
Against the fabric between you and I
To be the heat between your thighs

I love this thought we are having together

I want you to feel me like you once did
When you once wanted to when you read what you did
Of what I wrote for you.


I have to keep the overhead door to the shop open
A group of wrens like to camp in there over night.

Even with the doors open they all flutter about
When I enter inside.

I kind of like it
The sound of their wings beating about
How it vibrates the air all around me
Darting in and out
In and out

All day long



I would like to see you without your panties on

And I want to call your vagina a cunt
I want to whisper the word in your ear

"Cunt"

Because that is what your fuck is
And I want to stick my dick up in it.

I seriously think I will

I want to feel what it is like to be inside you.

I have never been inside you.


Not like that anyway.

 

[LizzieEr]

Your writing affects me at a very visceral level - Everytime. I can never understand why. It is very odd. There is a flow and honesty to your writing perhaps. Or perhaps your thoughts reflect the disarray inside my head.

 

[jezzilee]

Reading your words is delicious torture as I ride in the truck with my boss and the guys in our crew

 

[Wife of Bath]

He had worn a place for himself in some corner of her heart, as a sea shell, always boring against the rock, might do. The making of the place had been her pain. But now the shell was safely in the rock. It was lodged, and ground no longer.

 

[y=mx+b]

I want to remember what your vagina looks like

The part of me
That has become so dependant on modern technology
Suggests that I take a picture of it

That same part of me would love to
But I don't want to
Because then I wouldn't be there

With you.

You wouldn't be in front of me
My view would be obstructed

And it would be
Less time spent

With you.


I want to press the crotch of my thumb and forefinger
Behind the bend of your knees
And hold your thighs up and open
And I want to breath my vision
Along the length of your labia

For however long it takes
For me to be able to make love to you

Forever.

 

[y=mx+b]

"By night, beloved, tie your heart to mine
and let them both in dreams defeat the darkness."
Pablo Neruda

 

[LizzieEr]

"By night, beloved, tie your heart to mine
and let them both in dreams defeat the darkness."
Pablo Neruda

You know which piece this picture reminds me of? Porphyria's Lover.

"That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. "


PS: In hindsight, I understand why this bit from Neruda fits better... the shared darkness of the mind.

 

[y=mx+b]

You know which piece this picture reminds me of? Porphyria's Lover.

"That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. "


PS: In hindsight, I understand why this bit from Neruda fits better... the shared darkness of the mind.

Good call!




I say that as if I were familiar with the poem
And up until a quick google and skimming of a wiki page I hadn't been.

And while I am being honest... I cannot be credited with the pairing of Neruda with the image.
This all was something I found on Facebook while surfing some of the pages I like.

I am a fraud people.
A liar.

Not one of you should fancy me.
And for all your own sakes
I hope that you do not.

And while I am on the subject of "you" and "people"
I wish to discuss an observation I made quite some time ago inside my head
Which only came to light not to long ago.

I mean not to out anyone in particular as having become anyone I've come to know anything about. Because I haven't. But I will gladly imply that I did only to serve as proof that I know what I am talking about. Which by now, you all should have caught on because the observation I made recently long ago up until now is that a huge majority of you people that have given me somewhat of a notion that I might be an individual worth any effort to fancy--are incredibly intelligent.

Like absurdly intelligent
And in the event that my observation is erroneous in nature --to which there always stands a chance-- and the bulk of you are dumb as fuck--you all are impossibly well read dumb fuckers.

Why this strikes me so fascinating
Has been a revisited topic of discussion I used to have with my therapist

You see... I am by-and-large not particularly intelligent and not remotely well read. A fact I have been continually (inadvertently and unintentionally) reminded of all throughout my life. A fact that has been well documented in the form of grade-point-averages, professional growth, and a bunch of other shit I fail to rise above the below-average benchmark.

And yet here is you all are talkted at me. Making me feel as if I am more than I really am. And being rather successful at it too.

Up until I find myself in a situation reminding me that I am not.


This is where I wish to explain to those of you that come to feel spurned time to time (perhaps everytime) because I do not reply to your post. Fact of the matter is... I don't fucking know how.

It fucking BLOWS to feel as though you have not been heard... that you've been ignored. And right now I am feeling compelled to single out one particular individual that has been orbiting me for sometime now and not been given so much the time of day. Wife of Bath... I see you. The things you've posted cut me the fuck open. As one that is not well read, the excerts I am pretty sure you pull directly out of what I imagine to be a card catalog of everything you have ever read and no doubt will retain and just as easily reference again clear as fucking day on your 98th birthday--are deeply appreciatedo

Which reminds me of another interesting little --strikingly painful-- fact about myself. It is a serious struggle to remember anything that I have written myself. Even the pretty good shit.

And I think that's what makes it all so fucked up painfully difficult. Being told that you are good but unable to understand how or why because you can't fucking recall anything you have ever done. It's fucking bullshit.



This is where I tell you I should have just went back to bed to let this all keep me awake instead of the veiled regret of having posted it.

All well.

Here's to an hour or so of hating myself until I fall back asleep. Awesome.

 

[Wife of Bath]

Don't be a dismissive asshole.

 

[y=mx+b]

Why must thee insist upon busting thine testicular orbs as such whence thus be thy word of such day?

Doth ye of such beauty not possess a dram of compassion for such as I? Am I not even of worth whereas such a word beset upon this day apply?

Alas I must be not
For I am of great certitude that such a fair; courteous lady, as true as the sun lay warmth upon the soul of my flesh would hasten to quell such woes within the chambers of her heart.

 

[y=mx+b]

You know...

like this.

 

[Wife of Bath]

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=6KrU1LY-pQU

 

[y=mx+b]

Change of mind.

 

[raindancer]

I can't sleep again tonight. And I can't seem to find the masochistic melodies of words on a screen to lull me to sleep. I revisited your thread. So now, the perplexity of thought that that maybe sadism sat beside me and whispered "fuck you," when I thought a connection through words could be delved.

 

[y=mx+b]

Fall.

The sharp crispness of the night air
There is something so clean about it

You know?

A certain romance
A romance that rivals spring

There is a certain desperation come springtime
An over eagerness to fuck
To fuck fast
And fuck often

The eagerness is lost come fall
The nights are longer
The harvest of provisions take precident

Exaustion ensues
Eagerness is lost


Intimacy is gained


The sky is dark and clear and cold
And the sound of the second hand is heard

A ticking around a clock
About a time forgotten
Through the haze of summer

The clock
Ticking a box off
For each second of life
You cannot reclaim

Eagerness is lost in the fall
Intimacy is gained

Because life ends
And who you are with
Is all you will have

And so fucking slows down
And sensations become felt once again

The soft heat of her body
The course hair on his chest

How it feels against the curve of your ass
And the small of your back
How it brushes along the naked flesh of your body
And how soft it feels
When his elbows hook into your hips in such a way

 

[jezzilee]

Hooray Hooray, the first of May, outdoor screwing starts today!

Wait, it is November

*sighs*