Desultory and Impulsive

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Mmm mm
 
Speaking of "Mmm"

if you've not tried this

you should.
 

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Hey all you women folk...

Y'all are pretty fascinating.
You know that right?

Why y=mx+b, why do you say this this time?

I say this because it's pretty fucking obvious. But in addition to that! I say it because of how freak-fuck nasty you all are in bed and wherever all else some of you like--or would like--to have sex.

Some of you are straight up lay-it-all-on-the-table this-is-what-I-need-and-want-from-you.

Many of you others are seemingly unsure of what all you are into and require a bit of lock-picking and Excel spreadsheeting

Yet even more of you know exactly what you want but feel as though what you like you really shouldn't and really really want it brought out of you without having to talk about it because then that way you are in the clear and free of any mental/emotional hang-ups that all too often comes with being honest with yourself.

Am I judging and generalizing? Fuck yeah I am! Nevertheless, what I am saying is that at some point in the process of fucking and making love and all that--at some point--when ALL is going JUST right...

You are game for anything.

And you all are like:

Don't ask
Don't tell
And show no signs of hesitation
JUST FUCKING DO IT!!!

Doesn't fucking matter what it is... unless it's that one thing.

Then it's curtains.
The ride's over.
 
I need you now more than ever

Because I cannot cope with this

It needs to come out of me
But it won't
Because it needs something warm
To absorb it

It needs your body
And my eyes need to see it going in
My ears need to hear it
My flesh wants to deliver it to you

The strength in my hands
Miss the give of your throat

I miss seeing you
And feeling how your body tightens


I want to call you
I want to tell you how I have to make you hurt
And how I would do it

I want to hear your breathing
Between my words
And during my pauses

I want to hear you close to me
As I beat the fuck out of you
With my body's need to orgasm.
 
Because I have to continue...

I have to make something about you black and blue

I would love for it to be your eye
The anger it would solicit from the men that saw you
The rage they would feel
And dire want to bring ruin to whoever did it to you

So many of them
Wanting you
For their own
To protect you
Like they think you should be


I would protect you
And preserve your disastrous want
Of feeling disgusted with yourself

I would hold onto you
And press my thumb against the bruised flesh of your face
As I rode your throat
To reach the orgasms
You fail to take
As well as the ones
You fail to give

You would look so pretty
Looking up at me
Looking like
You're living a life
Many women wished they didn't
 
Because I cannot cope with this

It needs to come out of me
But it won't
Because it needs something warm
To absorb it

It needs your body
And my eyes need to see it going in
My ears need to hear it
My flesh wants to deliver it to you

The strength in my hands
Miss the give of your throat

I miss seeing you
And feeling how your body tightens


I want to call you
I want to tell you how I have to make you hurt
And how I would do it

I want to hear your breathing
Between my words
And during my pauses

I want to hear you close to me
As I beat the fuck out of you
With my body's need to orgasm.

This...
 
I never did clean this off.
 

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I have...

at least half a dozen half written unfinished posts.
 
Some were deleted
Others saved and filed away in my journal of half written shit I'll never get around to finishing.
 
This happens from time to time whenever I'm faced with some serious real life shit.
Shit that really needs to be reflected upon

And dealt with

And written about

Because the struggle is real

And because it's mine and not so much yours
You would like to read it
So that you can either identify with it and not feel so alone
Or be fuck-all-thankful for the cards you've been dealt

Or to put more arrows in your quiver for when the time comes that one of you feel the need to think you are able to humiliate me for whatever reason
 
So I write and write and write

And at some point one of two things happen



One--the shit I start writing gets to be too much for myself and I spiral further and further down and come to realize it's none of your fucking business.

So I stop and stare stupidly at some innate object until my brain flips into self preservation mode and fires up some sort of sexual situation for me to figure out how to into words. Or masturbate to. Or see what I can find online to masturbate to.

Or two--the shit I start writing ends up being way the fuck too personal. And well... fuck you quiver filling assholes.
 
But the real truth is...

I get really bored with whatever it is I'm writing about.

So I stop.
 
But between you and I...

and everyone that you tell.

I have grown really really tired of loss
And saying goodbye.
 
and I really wish I could fucking sleep as I am certain I would be much less like I am at the moment and a whole lot more attractive. Because let's be honest here. I'm fucking whining

The only people that are attracted to whiners listen to Morrissey
 
I am going to do push-ups now until I blow-out my shoulder.
 
One of the more enjoyable things that I really like doing is fucking my wife in the ass.

Now granted she ends up getting off way before I do. Nevertheless, the sensation of working my limp dick up her well lubed asshole and feeling myself swell balls deep inside her, the muscle of her asshole working like a natural cock ring, slowing the blood flow back into my body making me swell all the more against the slut sensitive walls of her rectum. Watching her begin to sweat to the pain of me slowly trying to pull myself out of her...


I fucking love it.
 
YeeeeeHawwww! Trippin' balls on Zolpidem!

I fuck my little sister.

Now... I don't have alittel sister
But if I did
And it was the one I wanted

There's a pretty good reason we


Fxk im done.

This shit's been awhile since I last taken some. It's hitting me hard too. Had a mini micro nap threes to a scone n

Fuck it. I done e
 
Speaking of my wife...

I got up earlier than I wanted this morning
So I went for a walk.

It was lovely.


When I got home she was up but still in bed checking the headlines on her iPad
She was covered only by the bed sheet
Her legs were parted

Her left leg was straight
While the right was slightly off to the side and bent at the knee

I crawled up between them
And laid there with my head resting just above her pubic bone

She felt good
Like home
A place where I belong
A place where only I am welcome

I am absolutely lucky in that regard

Never once has she given reason to be suspicious
Yes, there have been moments of jealousy
Due only by this periodically warped perception of mine

Which can be so goddamn difficult to walk my way out of
And all to easy to come to believe is completely true.

I digress.

What's interesting as well as shameful
Is just how much I take her for granted
--how much my spoken and unspoken sexual desires pollute our relationship
How the such remain a hope-to-happen in the back of my head that bubbles no less than once a day, and how much that hope seeks out whatever path of least resistance it can find--for nothing more than what's likely to end up being just a transient experience.

And I take her for granted
For as much as I belong to her
She belongs to me

And that's all she wants
Someone to belong to

She said such to me
Back when we had opened up our relationship
To include other couples of like mind

It was a perspective I don't think she intended to have stuck as much as it has.

It's all too easy to come to believe something is more popular, more accepted, equally desired when you seek out and surround yourself with like minded individuals. Fuck... you don't have to seek it out. Sometimes it comes to you through a mutual or slight deviation of your interest.

I remember when my wife and I started to swing. It was with another couple, an older couple that had the same interest but no experience.

It was all so new
And though we all knew better
It felt as though we were the only ones in the area that did such a thing.

A year later... who the fuck wasn't swinging? Fuck.

And it was so fun. Even though we weren't as active we were still in with the scene of being in the know.

Years later and having stopped altogether it's as though we never even done such a thing eventhough we're still really close with the friends we made.


And there I was this morning laying between the legs of my wife, my head wonderfully comfortable resting on her abdomen. She, naked below the sheet. Hours prior my cock was high up her asshole and I was dripping with sweat.

But at that moment you wouldn't know it.
And it didn't matter

Because we were together
Breathing in unison
 
And the fact that I don't fucking remember posting that ambian post proves that I actually did. And I kinda wished I didn't.

Not out of shame or anything.

It's just that I should have used the time sleeping. As was the point of taking the fucking medication.
 
Her name was Sara.

She works at the new hardware store about half a mile away.

It was raining
I needed to get a cheap hammer because we had already packed mine away for the move.

It was metered parking on the street
I didn't have my wallet let alone any change

But I found a dime to feed the meter.

Twelve minutes.
Plenty of time.

I went in.
It began raining harder.
My shoes squeaked on the newly finished floor
Having already seen her standing behind the counter trying to look busy to avoid having to talk to one of the two other guys working there, the squeaking of my shoes further added to the discomfort of being in an unfamiliar environment.

Nevertheless I was feeling good
I needed a hammer
And my options were limited.

She all too eagerly looked up at the sound of my enterance.

A guy about the same age as I was at the paint counter looking busy by himself

There was a weird feeling about the place
She certainly looked like she didn't want to be there
And the way she asked if I needed help finding anything sounded scripted, forced. A common question asked by every cashier in such a place world wide. But the way she said it sounded to be more the result of micromanaging rather than corporate customer courtasy.

Normally I'd say no
Even when I knew I would
Because it's part of being a guy

But I said yes, that I was looking for a hammer.

She seemed rather pleased that I did, stepped out from behind the counter and said
"Follow me..."

And that I did.

She was a brunette
Hair pulled back into a ponytail

The swish of it countered the sway and the natural roll of a woman's hips
And she had a spectacular sway and roll to her hips. Accentuated by the fact that she walked with purpose

Her jeans were a dark denim
Blue
With intricate embroidery on her back pockets

I did what I could to avoid adding to the "ick factor" I now felt that she was feeling behind the counter upfront.

But she was pretty

Approachable pretty

The kind of pretty that makes a guy want to see naked for the sake of admiration rather than perverse exploitation.

The kind of pretty you wanted to be close to
To smell
To feel upon your lips as they skimmed across the small of her back

The kind of pretty you hire to work up-front to greet people as they enter

The kind of pretty whose needs you never meet but continue to be convinced that you do because she hasn't left.

The kind of pretty that doesn't feel that she really is
And figures she'll never find anyone better.

I followed her all the way toward the back where the other guy was working.

He was older.
My brothers age
With a struggling-to-stay-sober look about him.

Upon seeing him the reprieve of having finally escaped collapsed to the floor as she abruptly turned down the aisle we needed to be.

I'm glad I asked for help because there wasn't any way I would have found them on my own.

After showing me where they were and me thanking her she just kind of stood there looking at the hammers.

That's when I noticed her name tag
And how she tucked what hair had fallen around her face back behind her ear.

She was young
But not collage freshman young

More junior year

She stood there longer than she would have normally
And I soon felt a little awkward which she must have sensed as she made her way back up front... which wasn't the same way we came, but rather a more--avoidant way.

I grabbed what I needed and was distracted by things I didn't need but got anyway.


She was quietly yet swiftly organizing sales flyers behind the counter as I approached. The guy at the paint counter made his way towards the back room which should have changed the less-than-pleasant environment up front--but didn't.

I set my stuff on the counter to be rung up. That's when she asked me in a more genuine tone if I found everything I needed. And that's when I said, "Yes Sara. I did"

Her eyes were brown
Clear
Honest
And they danced with mine as I looked one-to-the-other of hers until I looked down to the wallet that was in the cargo pocket all along and pulled out my debt card.

She said the price the moment it popped up on the card swipe.

I swiped my card and followed the prompts while Sara waited for me to get to the "Please wait for cashier" point of transaction

Which I already had.
And had been waiting for her just as well.

I looked up at her from under my brow as she continue to stare downward in my direction, fiddling with her necklace, bringing the pendant to the bottom of her parted lips.

The strand of hair that she tucked behind her ear had fallen against her face once again.

She looked up as she brought her hand up to tuck her hair back behind her ear to find me watching her.

This time our eyes met directly and she looked at me with a confusion of sorts

I told her that I was to wait for her and she looked confused down to her display

With a slight shake of her head she hit the button to complete the transaction and quietly bagged my items.

The receipt printed and was put in the bag as well which was then all handed to me with a brief darting moment of eye contact

She said thank you

I said have a good day

She said you too.
 
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Tomorrow I will be where your memory isn't...

but the memory of others are

Memories of showers
And baths together

Memories of moments
And feelings of belonging
Rooted belonging
Of being cleansed by the sweat of a late August heat
And tasting a fleeting cotton-candy wisp of September autumn air

And I will have to close my eyes to see you
Because I won't see you in anything

Not like I once did







Not like I do now
 
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