day 30 - where I go off and get all lady chatterley

I've done my best to not contaminate this blog with the filthier outputs of my mind, and to avoid discourse of my fornicative exploits, but I had some of the most perfect sex of my life last night and that needs to be celebrated. (I think we should all be pleased that I did not shout and sing about it as I walked down the street this morning, no matter how much I have been tempted).

So anyway, yes. Sex. Which I'm going to get onto in a minute. Which was glorious. But if you don't want to read about that, here's a picture of a puppy to look at instead.

Aw, puppy!

*
*
*

And now, smut.

*
*
*
*

The sex I love best is spontaneous. It is initiated by an exchange of glances, the sudden feeling of tension which enters the room. And then the next thing you know you're in each other's arms, and clothes are being shed and cats frightened and furniture knocked all over the place in the hurry to reach the bedroom. To sink into each other, and entwine limbs, to drink at the well of the other, be sundered and lost. A hunger, an aching, the driving need to move close, closer, closer still, until the edges of everything are dissolving and the room is full of pent up breath and sighs and there's only the sensation coiling, ascending higher, taking wing like a bird.

And after two weeks of extreme tiredness, and mostly-celibacy I was getting ready to start throwing things, and after three consecutive nights of Erotic Dreamings I had reached the point of fearing that either a)my head would explode b)I would spontaneously combust c)all of the above, Z and I came home last night to an empty house and it was like God was showing me that he loved me and didn't want me to die of inner torment.

Evidently my husband did not want me to explode either, because clothes were shed as expdiently as the laws of physics allow and our bodies were doing the Magical Tricks That Bodies Do with the passion and the perfection of bodies in romance novels - all alabaster skin, and heaving bosoms and enflamed gazes and powerfully muscled arms and chiselled jawlines and towering column of love seeking secret valley of womanhood.

And the positive side of having endless buildup? By the time that sex actually happens you going off like firecrackers.

In my best sex moments my mind is fully present in my body, in the experience the body is having, but it is blank and open - I am thinking of nothing. Unfolding, reaching up/out towards something, unfurling a hundred secret senses as though the core of me is hidden in a series of boxes, stacked inside each other like Russian dolls, each smaller than the last all opening up like a rose. And the orgasm that comes surges forth slams against me like a wave. I gasp for breath. I crash with it, am broken into a million tiny pieces.

I am falling, flying, freewheeling off the edge of the world. My mind is a garde, a riot of colours - saffron and orange, shimmering green, opulent blues - blooming, shooting, unfurling through me like the bold, fiery sweep of a peacock's tail.

Comments

[Paige]

Um. Yes. And yes again.

[patches]

I'm jealous...wait I'll have to get back to you my husband just got home: )