Eroticism

[Hmm72]

I find that a hint, a suggestion, a swirl of skirts, a brief tantalising glimpse, a faint hint of perfume, with a glance, is so much more effective than straightforward and open provocation. Although sometimes there’s a time and place for that as well.

Lucy xxx.

Amen!

 

[MasterDarcy]

I define myself as a sapiosexual, demisexual as well as a romantic, in the same vain as the romantic poets (Shelley, Byron, Burns).

I'd even credit Edgar Allan Poe as a romantic. Yes, he's gothic and dark and wistful and bleak, etc, but he's also ethereal and morbidly erotic.

Poe has always had an intrinsic way of quickening my heart and warming my blood, much in the same way as any of the aforementioned romantic poets.

Words are erotic to me. It doesn't even have to be sexual. It's more about the emotion behind those words.

It's the notion that every passing second of our time is a second that's gone, never to be relived

The idea that someone has spent their precious time, and spent unknown amount of firing neurons in order to communicate with you, and only you, in a private and an intimate manner.... it's highly, highly erotic.

Especially the written word.

It's why I snub instant messaging and exclusively patronise email.

In terms of the sapiosexual and demisexual go. Intelligence is erotic to me. And so is forming a spiritual as well as a mental bond, as rare as it is.

There are many types of intelligence: linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, musical, bodily-kinesthetic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, naturalistic, existential, creative, collaborative, practical intelligence, humour, etc

 

[softbird]

I define myself as a sapiosexual, demisexual as well as a romantic, in the same vain as the romantic poets (Shelley, Byron, Burns).

I'd even credit Edgar Allan Poe as a romantic. Yes, he's gothic and dark and wistful and bleak, etc, but he's also ethereal and morbidly erotic.

Poe has always had an intrinsic way of quickening my heart and warming my blood, much in the same way as any of the aforementioned romantic poets.

Words are erotic to me. It doesn't even have to be sexual. It's more about the emotion behind those words.

It's the notion that every passing second of our time is a second that's gone, never to be relived

The idea that someone has spent their precious time, and spent unknown amount of firing neurons in order to communicate with you, and only you, in a private and an intimate manner.... it's highly, highly erotic.

Especially the written word.

It's why I snub instant messaging and exclusively patronise email.

In terms of the sapiosexual and demisexual go. Intelligence is erotic to me. And so is forming a spiritual as well as a mental bond, as rare as it is.

There are many types of intelligence: linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, musical, bodily-kinesthetic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, naturalistic, existential, creative, collaborative, practical intelligence, humour, etc

Indeed, words are like emissaries to some unseen country. I may have mentioned something like this somewhere else, I have no idea where it could be. So, thank you, you step in good company. I tend to think, when it comes to words and poets, that women write with a lot more subtlety, and with a lot more delicacy, that naturally evokes some kind of erotic grace. Christina Rossetti, Elizabeth Barrett browning, even Sara Teasdale, Angela Carter, Clarice Lispector, Fleur Jaeggy, Sylvia Ocampo. Women who keep my heart. Of course, I do not deny the men - Burns is beautiful, and so is Thomas Chatterton, who sadly died too young, Yeats, and Heaney...

 

[Coconutty70]

Hands are emissaries of love - they are the ambassadors of our awareness of the other. Like Levinas, hands enter into a contract, because when they reach for an other, they do so with the awareness that one must love. Aren't we all so afraid to love? We fear love, because we fear the vulnerability that comes with love. We should all be hands.
View attachment 2558220

View attachment 2558221
View attachment 2558222

Oh my goodness… hands. Your words live up to your name, Softbird!

Hands are beholden the their owner. They can be deft and light of touch, smooth like satin; able to raise a wave of goosebumps up the spine, climbing the neck and into the nape. Drawing a single line of a finger across the body can cause an uncontrollable arousal of sensations, culminating in a momentary, anticipating silence; open-mouthed; which can only to be released by an expression of breath, made audible with a gentle. passionate utterance conceived from the back of the throat.

They can be firm and rough. When you can’t handle the gentleness any longer and you ache to be held tighter, it is hands which will lead the charge. A firm hand will make the skin comply as it is forced diagonally across the belly to the small of the back, follow the concave of the shoulder blade, back over the shoulder to grasp a breast like clay; flesh spilling out between the fingers, nipple compressed hard into the palm.

Or a hand can strike the skin in a moment of untethered, clenched passion, causing it to yield, stimulating countless nerve endings to send a message to the synapses, turning electrical charge into sensations, to flood the body with an alchemical release of pleasure to the body’s most erogenous places.

I don’t have your deftness with words… but hands are erotic. You see it too.

 

[softbird]

Mirrors reflect, but I see mirrors as landscapes of dream wishes, refracted reality like the light of stars that we see in the sky at night. They are not the stars themselves, but their refractions that announe the presence of stars, millions of lightyears away. They pronounce longing, as well as distance, an unreachable sublime we are so much aware of, despite its unreachability.


(C) Danya Kontorovich



View attachment 2558332

(C)Helmut Newton, for Vogue, October 1973

 

[softbird]

Oh my goodness… hands. Your words live up to your name, Softbird!

Hands are beholden the their owner. They can be deft and light of touch, smooth like satin; able to raise a wave of goosebumps up the spine, climbing the neck and into the nape. Drawing a single line of a finger across the body can cause an uncontrollable arousal of sensations, culminating in a momentary, anticipating silence; open-mouthed; which can only to be released by an expression of breath, made audible with a gentle. passionate utterance conceived from the back of the throat.

They can be firm and rough. When you can’t handle the gentleness any longer and you ache to be held tighter, it is hands which will lead the charge. A firm hand will make the skin comply as it is forced diagonally across the belly to the small of the back, follow the concave of the shoulder blade, back over the shoulder to grasp a breast like clay; flesh spilling out between the fingers, nipple compressed hard into the palm.

Or a hand can strike the skin in a moment of untethered, clenched passion, causing it to yield, stimulating countless nerve endings to send a message to the synapses, turning electrical charge into sensations, to flood the body with an alchemical release of pleasure to the body’s most erogenous places.

I don’t have your deftness with words… but hands are erotic. You see it too.

Eloquence, deftness with words - these things come in many shapes and forms @Coconutty70 . I read your words, and I want to reach out with my hands and touch you!

 

[Coconutty70]

Eloquence, deftness with words - these things come in many shapes and forms @Coconutty70 . I read your words, and I want to reach out with my hands and touch you!

So then, if I close my eyes I can wish for your touch to be soft tonight. I would shed a tear for it. Thank you.

 

[softbird]

So then, if I close my eyes I can wish for your touch to be soft tonight. I would shed a tear for it. Thank you.

Expect me tonight, wiping away your tear, but not before, I trace soft lines using your tears as ink against your flesh. xx

 

[softbird]

Legs are rivers, fluidity made manifest in bodies.

Even Neruda could not resist:

My thirst, my desire without end, my wavering road!
Dark river beds down which the eternal thirst is flowing,
and the fatigue is flowing, and the grief without shore.

They stamp their mark, like embossed tulle over the the skein of the world. Long after they have been seen, they track our paths like road maps, guides lighting our way.

 

[Coconutty70]

Mirrors reflect, but I see mirrors as landscapes of dream wishes, refracted reality like the light of stars that we see in the sky at night. They are not the stars themselves, but their refractions that announe the presence of stars, millions of lightyears away. They pronounce longing, as well as distance, an unreachable sublime we are so much aware of, despite its unreachability.

View attachment 2558329
(C) Danya Kontorovich

View attachment 2558331

View attachment 2558332

(C)Helmut Newton, for Vogue, October 1973

View attachment 2558333

View attachment 2558334

View attachment 2558335

Today, I walked through the beautiful city of Bath with my daughter, and I said to her how struck I was by how much beauty there was in the people that we passed by. She said that she hadn’t noticed, but once I had said it she noticed too. You just have to remember to look for it! She said that the people had a particular look that’s different to other places. All day I saw such beautiful faces! Just like these pictures.


It's hard, we got our heads down and our hackles up
Our backs against the wall, I can feel you aching
None of this was written in stone
There is nothing we're forbidden to know
And I can feel things changing
Even when I'm weak and I'm breaking
I'll stand weeping at the train station
'Cause I can see your faces
There is so much peace to be found in people's faces
(Kae Tempest)

 

[softbird]

Today, I walked through the beautiful city of Bath with my daughter, and I said to her how struck I was by how much beauty there was in the people that we passed by. She said that she hadn’t noticed, but once I had said it she noticed too. You just have to remember to look for it! She said that the people had a particular look that’s different to other places. All day I saw such beautiful faces! Just like these pictures.


It's hard, we got our heads down and our hackles up
Our backs against the wall, I can feel you aching
None of this was written in stone
There is nothing we're forbidden to know
And I can feel things changing
Even when I'm weak and I'm breaking
I'll stand weeping at the train station
'Cause I can see your faces
There is so much peace to be found in people's faces
(Kae Tempest)

I'm swooning at Tempest's words, what a tempest of words, and I am swooning at the thought of you and daughter walking in bath, seeing the beauty in faces. All it requires is just one moment, a syncope, a break from our little preoccupations, and we get vision, pure vision of aesthetic sublime. Thank you! Today, I will look for this beauty in faces...thank you...a much needed reminder! xx

 

[softbird]

Hats - Sun blocks, perhaps even stylish ornaments that crown our temples. But hats, are secrets, they are cloaks, not of shame, but depths. Beware the one who is hatted, for they hold more than reveal. The soul that wears a hat, is a soul who speaks in the grammar of whispers.

 

[JeanPanty]

Hats - Sun blocks, perhaps even stylish ornaments that crown our temples. But hats, are secrets, they are cloaks, not of shame, but depths. Beware the one who is hatted, for they hold more than reveal. The soul that wears a hat, is a soul who speaks in the grammar of whispers.

View attachment 2558343

View attachment 2558344

View attachment 2558345


View attachment 2558346

like the gloves in the top pic

 

[bookworm69]

Mirrors reflect, but I see mirrors as landscapes of dream wishes, refracted reality like the light of stars that we see in the sky at night. They are not the stars themselves, but their refractions that announe the presence of stars, millions of lightyears away. They pronounce longing, as well as distance, an unreachable sublime we are so much aware of, despite its unreachability.

View attachment 2558329
(C) Danya Kontorovich

View attachment 2558331

View attachment 2558332

(C)Helmut Newton, for Vogue, October 1973

View attachment 2558333

View attachment 2558334

View attachment 2558335

This post and its images of mirrors reminds me of that erotic film, Mulholland Drive. . A must see movie, IMHO.

 

[softbird]

This post and its images of mirrors reminds me of that erotic film, Mulholland Drive. . A must see movie, IMHO.

Yes! It was such a 'smooooth' film...

 

[softbird]

When one steps into some darker realm, one must shed the vicissitudes of your life, reforge yourself, so that even the being that emerges from your reforging terrifies you, entices you, like some gothic pleasing terror that keeps reaching out.

You are never truly separate from the dark. The night lives in you.







View attachment 2558371



View attachment 2558373

 

[bookworm69]

Legs are rivers, fluidity made manifest in bodies.

Even Neruda could not resist:

My thirst, my desire without end, my wavering road!
Dark river beds down which the eternal thirst is flowing,
and the fatigue is flowing, and the grief without shore.

They stamp their mark, like embossed tulle over the the skein of the world. Long after they have been seen, they track our paths like road maps, guides lighting our way.

View attachment 2558339

View attachment 2558340

View attachment 2558342View attachment 2558341

The images of legs, heels and derriere ... are so erotic, hinting of something more ... perhaps, a tease of the availability of the forbidden?

 

[Hmm72]

Legs are rivers, fluidity made manifest in bodies.

Even Neruda could not resist:

My thirst, my desire without end, my wavering road!
Dark river beds down which the eternal thirst is flowing,
and the fatigue is flowing, and the grief without shore.

They stamp their mark, like embossed tulle over the the skein of the world. Long after they have been seen, they track our paths like road maps, guides lighting our way.

View attachment 2558339

View attachment 2558340

View attachment 2558342View attachment 2558341

 

[lucy_anne21]

This was gorgeous! Such fluidity, like flowing water! Xxx

I have to confess, I have a weakness for other girls who are ballerinas.

Lucy xxx.

 

[lucy_anne21]

https://i.postimg.cc/gd2zZZFQ/IMG-6539.gif

I have to confess, I have a weakness for other girls who are ballerinas.

Lucy xxx.

 

[softbird]

I have to confess, I have a weakness for ballerinas.

Lucy xxx.

Would it surprise you to hear that I do too? https://pin.it/3T9NmWSx5

 

[lucy_anne21]

That I’m not alone in my desires is very reassuring.

Lucy xx.

 

[lets_roll_12]

Perhaps there is a visual connection in this video to your thread. Tonal. Beauty in her face.
Augmented with the music.

 

[jonnoback]

I have to confess, I have a weakness for ballerinas.

Lucy xxx.

Interesting. There’s some that put on very special kinds of discreet and exclusive shows in London.

 

[IrreverendBoob]

When one steps into some darker realm, one must shed the vicissitudes of your life, reforge yourself, so that even the being that emerges from your reforging terrifies you, entices you, like some gothic pleasing terror that keeps reaching out.

You are never truly separate from the dark. The night lives in you.

View attachment 2558368

View attachment 2558369

View attachment 2558370

View attachment 2558371

View attachment 2558372

View attachment 2558373

View attachment 2558374

View attachment 2558375

Love these - especially the fourth one seems to be deeply evocative.