Desultory and Impulsive

[Arianthe]

I love your poetry, but if I was going to have any of your "shit" tattooed on my body, it would be a quote from your spectacular erotica.

 

[y=mx+b]

I love your poetry, but if I was going to have any of your "shit" tattooed on my body, it would be a quote from your spectacular erotica.

The thought of it makes me feel weird.

 

[Arianthe]

The thought of it makes me feel weird.

I get that. This is why I wouldn't tell you unless you mentioned it first.

 

[Arianthe]

I still think you should publish a coffee table book of some sort.

 

[y=mx+b]

I get that. This is why I wouldn't tell you unless you mentioned it first.

Have I even written anything notable enough to be tattooed on a body?

I still think you should publish a coffee table book of some sort.

I'd need a manager or some kind of person with smarts and know how. I'm just a lowly mechanic that can barely change a car battery.

 

[Arianthe]

Have I even written anything notable enough to be tattooed on a body?

Yes, but I've got better things to do this week than go through 17 years of smut looking for it.

Ask me again when I'm on week 8 of quarantine...

 

[y=mx+b]

For the sake of entertaining myself prior to taking a shower to wash off the last eight hours of work, I got to looking for something I had written that would perhaps make someone a nice tattoo.

This is what I found...

It's been quite some time since I've thought about wrapping my fist in barbed wire and shoving it up inside a woman.
​

 

[y=mx+b]

Yes, but I've got better things to do this week than go through 17 years of smut looking for it.

Ask me again when I'm on week 8 of quarantine...

You know... seeing the math for how long I've been at this. Sweet Jesus. 17 fucking goddamn years.

 

[Arianthe]

That's a little extreme, even for me.

Barbed wire is a hard limit.

 

[y=mx+b]

Honest to fuck.

I think I'm having a bit of a moment now.


I'm off to shower.



Take care all.

 

[y=mx+b]

That's a little extreme, even for me.

Barbed wire is a hard limit.

I recall you mentioning that to me once before. My apologies.

 

[Arianthe]

Honest to fuck.

I think I'm having a bit of a moment now.


I'm off to shower.



Take care all.

Enjoy your evening.

I recall you mentioning that to me once before. My apologies.

You have nothing to apologise for, the quote still made me twitch. And then common sense kicked in.

 

[y=mx+b]

What
Is this touch
My hand doesn't feel
As it reaches out
Across the bed
To where she once slept

But is no longer there?


Covers
Pulled back

An empty sheet
Cold
But broken in
By her once body

Resting in place
As we slept so long together

Together

In our own personal grave
Sleeping our intimate sleep
Of dreams

Touching
With eyes closed

Comfortable
Quiet
In an escape
To a place
Where I so wish
She could stay

My hand
Reaches out...

Her pillow
Where her head once laid
My memory
Kisses
The scent of her hair

And in my missing
I hold her

I hold her so tightly.

 

[mcato]

Wow

wow!
I really like this!
thank you.

 

[y=mx+b]

wow!
I really like this!
thank you.

You are welcome.

Thank you for checking things out and leaving me a note that you liked it.

 

[y=mx+b]

I looked at her

She was older
But so was I

I didn't know how to start
Where to start
Or even if I should

Things had changed
But my feelings for her
They felt
Like the same
Flowing river of passion
I felt
The first time
She responded to me

With meaning.


I welcomed it against my will

Her searching
Offered me the opportunity
To rebuild my walls
And fortify them
With better resolve

Stuck inside
My imagination kept me company
Entertained me
Extended the same hand she once did
When I asked her to dance

And as beautiful as my imagination was
The freedom it gave me
Still wasn't her

It still wasn't of flesh and blood
Or actual emotions
That I could manipulate
In such a way
That would cause mine
To rage hot

And passionately

For her


For her deadening pulse
Under the grasp of my hand

The orgasmic
Death roll of her eyes
Back into her skull

Her body
Limp
Falling towards the ground
Entering
Into that subspace
Where she could be comfortably nothing.

I miss that
I miss her

I wouldn't admit to it
If I knew I could keep my eyes
From telling her
Or her grabbing it from me
When we touched

Her skin
Even if only
Just the slight back of her hand
Skimming across the back of mine
As we walked...

...the walls I had built
The resolve...

I could see it all.

A sugar cube
Dissolving in hot water

Grains breaking off

Crumbling
Tumbling
Becoming
Liquid thick ribbons of walking fuck
And small talk

...until we did.

 

[Arianthe]

For her deadening pulse
Under the grasp of my hand

The orgasmic
Death roll of her eyes
Back into her skull

Her body
Limp
Falling towards the ground
Entering
Into that subspace
Where she could be comfortably nothing.

I miss that
I miss her

Oh wow...

That took me straight back through the years.

I will never forget his eyes as I faded into nothingness.

Thank you

 

[y=mx+b]

Oh wow...

That took me straight back through the years.

I will never forget his eyes as I faded into nothingness.

Thank you

You are welcome.

 

[y=mx+b]

It is painful to see
What I've always noticed
Fail to be where it once always was

Our everyday nothing
Has become even less.

 

[y=mx+b]

Educational Article.

Bad Orgasms

 

[y=mx+b]

Guilt and shame?

When our bodies “betray” us. Our bodies function the way they are built to. If you touch here, stimulus, response. Then our brains get pissed. Or even more excited.

CNC is a kink for me, and I think about all this a lot.

Why?
What are your thoughts on the matter?

 

[y=mx+b]

Between my work History and personal history, none of that should get me wet.
I keep telling myself matter over mind.

But yet, it still does?
Why?
How do you feel about it?

 

[y=mx+b]

I’m working out the why. Sometimes I let it go.

Well, guilt and shame, of course. Very anti-feminist. It goes against all I am, which makes the twisting in my stomach even better.
I’m not used to answering direct questions about this, so, I’ll have to dwell a bit.

Guilt and shame are anti-feminist states of being?

 

[y=mx+b]

In my moment, at the time, yes. The love of the Rapey Stuff.
I twist it all up.

Ah yes. But I think the feelings are not felt exclusively by those that identify as feminist, or that the feelings are felt worse or are more conflicting by those that do.

What about the girl on the playground that hates how the boys pull her pigtails... lives in fear for when they will be pulled next, but yet likes the feelings she feels after the fact?

 

[Arianthe]

I’m working out the why. Sometimes I let it go.

Well, guilt and shame, of course. Very anti-feminist. It goes against all I am, which makes the twisting in my stomach even better.
I’m not used to answering direct questions about this, so, I’ll have to dwell a bit.

It took me years to come to terms with this cognitive dissonance around CNC; to understand that there is no conflict between my identities as slave and feminist.

Consent is the key for me. That degree of trust and submission has to be a conscious, active choice; communicated clearly. I have to genuinely want to give all of myself to a particular person.

In that choice, I find liberation. I'm free to be all that I am and reach all of my potential. There is nothing more feminist than that.

It hasn't happened very often.