Eroticism

[softbird]

The 1920s seem like a strange universe of joys and lows, harsh and sensual all at the same time. Such optimism! Such up arching sentiment. I sometimes feel I’d like to have been living then, to become the women whose eroticism oozed such sensuality, they became goddesses.

Soft as rain, tender as spirit, brave as danger, sultry as Autumn.

 

[Hmm72]

The 1920s seem like a strange universe of joys and lows, harsh and sensual all at the same time. Such optimism! Such up arching sentiment. I sometimes feel I’d like to have been living then, to become the women whose eroticism oozed such sensuality, they became goddesses.

Soft as rain, tender as spirit, brave as danger, sultry as Autumn.

Pure Elegance

 

[bookworm69]

Beautiful thoughts @Coconutty70, all your fine points underline for me that eroticism requires slowing down, thoughtfulness. It cannot be rushed, otherwise its value is not adequately appreciated.

 

[softbird]

https://imgur.com/a/2qHXQ78

I find ambiguity to be very erotic. Eroticism can come from the definite… the explicit… the apparent, because our eyes are enticed by what we see, but I believe eroticism can also come from uncertainty; the excitement of not quite knowing for sure; to catch a glimpse of a signal; a lingering, desiring, even lustful glance… before a mutual sensation of being caught, and looking away. Our greatest unconscious desire in that moment is that we will look back at one another in synchronicity. But nothing is said yet! Nothing is certain! I feel the danger of advancing without being sure: is there consent here? Am I reading this correctly? I don’t know! The wait; the anticipation; the imagination running wild because there are no boundaries formed yet; I have already imagined our embrace… the touching of our foreheads as we stare into each others eyes while our hands seek out ways to release each other’s skin. When we say “yes”, only then there is certainty… in that comes form and a conception, perhaps leading to the intimate moment. But before this? It is a world of infinite, formless, chaotic possibilities, where imagination runs riot! It makes the heart beat fast and the mouth open to cope with the breathlessness of it. The allure of the not-quite-knowing can be extremely erotic. If we are present, and pay attention then we may catch ‘it’.

Imagine we are in a beautiful hotel room, on a huge four-poster bed. We awake from our restful embrace, and untie ourselves from each other’s limbs. I look deeply into your eyes as I take the blindfold from the sheet beside us and gently, silently place it upon you. Just like we agreed I would. Suddenly your usual erotic visual stimulus is gone and your other senses try as hard as they can to compensate. We say nothing but listen to each other’s presence for a moment. You take a moment to imagine that I am looking at you, while you lie blindfolded and vulnerable, with possessive eyes. Without warning, you are shocked that I unexpectedly rise, cross the floor and leave the room… you are alone. Why did I go? Why have I left you alone like this? Where have I gone? Should you take off the blindfold and get up, or should you stay and wait? You lie still, listening, anticipating. You can hear your heart beating. One hundred, pounding beats. Footsteps outside the door come to a stop. There is a pause… how long have you been here like this? Was it one hundred beats of your heart or one thousand? The pause is long. It is so long that you wonder whether you heard those steps at all! Did you imagine them? You suddenly feel alone and feel a strong desire to remove the blindfold, but you don’t. There is a profound silence. Are you alone? Did I even leave the room! You imagine that I have been in the room, counting your heartbeats with you, until it is time.

A key turns in the lock, quietly, as if trying to hide it from you. Is it me? You can’t be sure. You utter, with a light whisper, as if you are asking only yourself “is that… you?”. The uncertainty of the moment makes you tense. If this is not me then who is it? I am the only one with a key, unless it is a member of staff! You trust me… we spoke about trust… so it must either be me, or the one person in the hotel tonight that I know you desire. I know who you well enough… what if I handed the key over to… her! You imagine the sensation of her lips brushing across your thigh, and her seeking tongue entering you. There is silent movement in the room, you feel the air of the room moving on your skin! You take a deep breath and accept the pleasure found in the ambiguity of the moment.

I place my hand gently on your chest; warm and restful, fingers splayed apart. You know my hand, it is a familiar energy. I can feel the beating in your chest, and you smile at the moment of imagination you had. For a moment, you quietly wish it was her, but this is replaced, like a queen taking a pawn, with a wicked grin when you realise what is now in store… what is it going to be? The aching intensity of no longer knowing where and how I will touch you next! How will this play out? Suddenly you find yourself back in this moment of ambiguity, unsure of what journey this will take. But there is one thing you do know for certain; over the next hour, I won’t tell you what is going to happen next, but whatever it is will allow your senses to be flooded, and your imagination to be free. Maybe she will join us, after all.

I fill the glass with ice, and light the candle…

But I really think that the visual mars the erotic.. the visual, the physical brings the erotic into the realm of the tangible. The erotic itself is as you say possibility, interstices, syncope, gaps in knowing.

 

[softbird]

The neck is liminal, secret, both absence and presence, both trace and imprint. It is a column of strength, but held aloft only by faith.

It kills me, it resurrects me, it makes me, it queens me. I am earth itself when my neck is seen, and I am desire, when my neck is devoured.

 

[Wonderer67]

great thread; good comments and pics.

I love eroticism and exploring my wife’s body. Looking for and how to bring my wife as much pleasure as possible.

Sure.. some of our intimate moments are a little more sexual than erotic, but my wife is very touch centric. And nothing gets her started more than sensual kissing.

 

[softbird]

Who is she? Why is she reading? And what is she reading? Does she wish for the world of the narrative to consume her? Perhaps, she sits by the window’s ledge because she seeks release, liberation? Or does she not cross the threshold because she fears it? What does she look like, what confounds her?

 

[Robbo694u]

Who is she? Why is she reading? And what is she reading? Does she wish for the world of the narrative to consume her? Perhaps, she sits by the window’s ledge because she seeks release, liberation? Or does she not cross the threshold because she fears it? What does she look like, what confounds her?

Definitely gets the imagination going to paint a picture surrounding those legs

 

[Wonderer67]

Who is she? Why is she reading? And what is she reading? Does she wish for the world of the narrative to consume her? Perhaps, she sits by the window’s ledge because she seeks release, liberation? Or does she not cross the threshold because she fears it? What does she look like, what confounds her?

I think she’s a dreamer….

Great photo and great vibe.

 

[bookworm69]

Who is she? Why is she reading? And what is she reading? Does she wish for the world of the narrative to consume her? Perhaps, she sits by the window’s ledge because she seeks release, liberation? Or does she not cross the threshold because she fears it? What does she look like, what confounds her?

She appears to me, or at least in my imagination, as a thoughtful person caught in the world of her book. She wants to be one with the world that the book has woven, yet she's on the window ledge because she wants to be connected with the outer world as well ... to breathe the air, to receive the outside light.

The book she's reading? A romance, a historical novel from the '20s ... doesn't matter. She is transported. What does she look like? Currently, thoughtful as she is ensorcelled by her book.

 

[softbird]

She appears to me, or at least in my imagination, as a thoughtful person caught in the world of her book. She wants to be one with the world that the book has woven, yet she's on the window ledge because she wants to be connected with the outer world as well ... to breathe the air, to receive the outside light.

The book she's reading? A romance, a historical novel from the '20s ... doesn't matter. She is transported. What does she look like? Currently, thoughtful as she is ensorcelled by her book.

‘Ensorcelled’!

 

[bookworm69]

‘Ensorcelled’!

You offered a magical image ... I can do no less in describing it.

 

[Pad_Foot]

@softbird Thank you for sharing the other side to your vision, and your descriptions
I already was addicted to clicking every short description of tantalizing gif sex
This? Is all quite the opposite. A pleasure to be savored, as sexual partner should be breathed in before all that lovely sex you present elsewhere

Poorly presented by my words.

Thank you for this thread!

 

[softbird]

@softbird Thank you for sharing the other side to your vision, and your descriptions
I already was addicted to clicking every short description of tantalizing gif sex
This? Is all quite the opposite. A pleasure to be savored, as sexual partner should be breathed in before all that lovely sex you present elsewhere

Poorly presented by my words.

Thank you for this thread!

Thank you! I’m glad you enjoy them! It’s a pleasure for me too!

 

[softbird]

George Bataille sees eroticism as a transgression, the erotic moment carrying a thrill of violating a prohibition. For him, it wasn’t just about pleasure. But the pleasure we derive comes from breaking a sacred belief or line, a liberation that comes for stepping over, and finding nothing to stop us except our own compulsion to follow the rules ( which if we’ve crossed the line, we never go back!!)

That is why, the idea of a convent or a monastery strikes us as strange, the complete opposite of taboo. If taboo is transgression, the pure faith of a monk is radical belief. And yet, the erotic is in the middle of everything.

It’s like a beautiful wound that blossoms unseen.

Our minds can’t fail to see this wound, to taste it.

 

[Celand]

Let us now here how you manage to display jpgs ( albeit small).... Thanks in advance.

Maybe this one? https://boundheat.com/mistress-of-souls-2/38/gallery/810.jpg

 

[softbird]

I’m not sure. The jpgs are on my phone or on my laptop. I just drop it in here and they are posted

 

[lifeis2short2b]

Your photo selections to start discussing EROTIC are perfect....DM me anytime...

Pretty sure that's a sexual request.

 

[TheVegasMark]

Pretty sure that's a sexual request.

You have read that correctly...

 

[lifeis2short2b]

You have read that correctly...

An Agreement and a like....Let the games begin.

 

[softbird]

The body has its own philosophy, its paradigms always shifting, metamorphosing in chameleonic adaptation. It’s contours are sinuous rills of our imaginations, and each new adornment turns it into landscape, art, weapon, theology, desire, vengeance, wrath, love.

Vittoria Cerretti is all of this.

 

[softbird]

https://imgur.com/a/zBHiNMT

(JP Greene, typewrittenlovenotes)

Obsession. How many times will I need to touch you, kiss you or feel your intimacy before I become obsessed with you? Once? Twice? I promise you, no more than five times. Let me in, so that every moment of my day will be connected in some way to you. I can’t be without you any longer; I am intoxicated by your existence!

You sound like one sending a coded missive. Are you?

 

[peekingone]

The body has its own philosophy, its paradigms always shifting, metamorphosing in chameleonic adaptation. It’s contours are sinuous rills of our imaginations, and each new adornment turns it into landscape, art, weapon, theology, desire, vengeance, wrath, love.

Vittoria Cerretti is all of this.

Beautiful

 

[softbird]

See how she blends with light into the world around her. See how she eludes capture, eludes our comprehension. And yet, she is real, real, in the immediacy of our apprehension. How often do we miss the erotic present, and we only get the traces of their having been there?

The erotic never stays, it is like apparitions that plague the soul by their ephemeral nature.

 

[softbird]

More than anything, I love the way lines are drawn on our bodies, the soft fabric harnesses that cross us like erotic grids on a map, vast and cosmic - the strap of the shoulder, the clasping arms of a brassiere, the clinging embrace of a panty line. They are avaricious, but they are also subtle angels of form, shaping our contours, sculpting us




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