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Dreams Underfoot: UnquietDreams' Dark Whimsy

UnquietDreams

UnquietDreams

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Joined
Dec 20, 2023
Posts
27,319
"I would spread the cloths under your feet. But I, being poor, have only my dreams --I have spread my dreams under your feet."
-"Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven," by W. B. Yeats

While I am social, I don't want to intrude on other's spaces too much, so my own patch of nonsense and folderol. Feel free to join in if you would like.

Romance, sensuality, coffee, and books. Poetry, memes, lyrics, music, softcore porn, and probably more than a few gifs. These are a few of my favorite things...

------------

These are things I am playing with; or turn me on, and I want to share; or just things I wish to share in general. But just for clarification, most of what I post are things I have felt in the past and am I working at (or through), rather than something I am going through at the time. Or something I just like. Don't read too much into into it. And not all of it is positive towards me.

This thread is a lot of different things to me (and yet all of one thing), but one thing I do try to do is look at the parts of me I am not entirely fond of. Maybe a form of therapy amidst the soft-core porn and weird words...



One Rule: please do not post images of The Rapist James Deen. Thank you.

In keeping with Lit's new Standards and Practices on nudity, please put any nude images off site behind a link, please.
 
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So, I afell upon Lit's Bad Boy List by posting too many pictures from other sources, which...okay, fair, ToS, but I think it a bit ticky tacky. Rather than reach out to fix this, they deleted EVERY ATTACHMENT I EVER MADE. So a lot of the early pages are going to be sparse at best. I have thought of deleting them to be cleaner, but I haven't decided yet. I may repost some of my favorites as well.

View attachment 2376616
 
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"Submissive"
by Lauren Zuniga

All day long I expend
I hold together, I lift up, I give out
I pour life for a food supply, irrigate crops with my mouth
It is a rare occasion where I just take in.
So when she asked if I was a dom or a sub, I didn’t know what the fuck she meant.
I just knew I wanted to be the opposite of her so we could fit.
To be quite honest, I would have settled for kissing her wrists.
Now I am a strong liberated woman,
My ex-husband will tell you that you will never find submit written on these palms.
But they are always face up and open, ready to give.

According to Cosmo, men like a woman that can take control.
So, I have long memorized the erogenous zones.
The exact placement of tongue for the desired response.
I could always make a man’s microphone sing some pretty damn
good songs.
But I have no fucking idea how to please a women

She held me like an edge of the cliff holds the feet of the fed up
Like the sky holds the surrender of a falling body.
She maneuvered me, like a canoe through crashing rapids,
My hips the stern, her hand the pivoting blade through water.
I reached out to return the favor but she said, “No, relax. I don’t want you to do anything.”
That is a move I do not know.
The move to nothing.
To be completely empty and open.
To be effortlessly receiving pleasure without thoughts of strategy or counter.
She placed my hands above my head.
She pulled and pressed and bit like I was the last piece of fruit on
Earth and her survival dependent on it.
She consumed every inch of skin, every drop of juice.
I didn’t notice any pain, just the joy of proper use.
There was a fretboard between my legs and a soundbox in my mouth.
There were chords that never existed until she pulled them out.
There were no chains or whips but I would have called her
Master.
Not because I felt I was less than her
But because I felt like she knew things about my body that I didn’t.
Like she’d been studying it a thousand years and she deserved a fucking certificate.
Like I was the eastern sky and I was the prayer mat and she was
the goddess that conquered the last square of a turbulent mind.
Then she asks me, “How do you feel?”
And I say, “Alive.”

I guess I'm a sub, whatever that means.
I guess I'm a femme whatever that means.
I guess sex doesn’t really fit in boxes anymore.
Gender and sexuality are words and images clipped from
magazines waiting to be glued down on our vision boards.
But they are always our vision boards because the way they were
originally assembled does not make sense anymore.
We are un-definable.
We are prims of light.
Shades of masculine and feminine looking for someone to bounce life off of.
Looking for someone to give when we need to receive,
To receive when we need to give.
And when it is done right, both gets done at the same time.
Sometimes it is rough, like bone to bone, your insides cling kind of love.
Sometimes it is candle wax on torsos or moonbeams on eyelashes.
Sometimes there is no skin involved at all; it is just being to being.
Here let me hold that soul for you because you have been drowning
in labels for so long that you have grown tired of survival.
Here is a moment of bliss, a moment of aliveness.
All day long I expend. I hold together, I lift up, I give out
And sometimes, I just take in.
 
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