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Posts Tagged ‘vulnerability’

This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is “trust.” I’ve talked about here a few times previously. Most notable are Trust and When You Can’t Trust Your Body. Take a read if you haven’t already.

When we talk about trust we are most often referring to trust of another. What about trusting ourselves? What about trusting what we want? Truth be told that is what I have the biggest issue with, trusting myself. Oh, I trust that I can take care of my son and ensure he is happy and healthy. I also trust that I am knowledgeable enough to always have job opportunities available to me. What I don’t trust is verbalizing my wants and desires to my partners. Oh, I can do it here no problem. I can let all my bits hang out here. Telling my partners, in person, face to face with no barrier between us, with no ability to delete and rewrite, well that is something different entirely.

Recently, Mr S and I were having some fun and he said something that made me laugh. I didn’t laugh at him or because it was funny. I laughed at myself. I laughed more as a relief than anything else because he had asked me to do something that I enjoy doing, something that I know we would both enjoy, but haven’t in many years. Why haven’t I done it? I’m not entirely sure. Maybe I thought it was something I shouldn’t do, or something my partners wouldn’t like me doing. Maybe it was just because I never asked before. We often leave things unsaid, desires unfulfilled, simply because we don’t want to open ourselves up and be thought less of or be made fun of for having them.We don’t trust ourselves. We don’t trust that what we want is ok, regardless of what anybody else may think.

I want to be talked dirty to. I want to be called names and told what a slut I am.

I want you to say no so I can beg you for what I want.

I want you to photograph me. I want to see what you see.

I want to be desired.

I want you to use me for your pleasure.

I want to be shared by numerous men. I want you to watch.

I want to be naked and play while others watch.

I want to drive my fake cock into you the way you drive your real one into me. I want to make you my bitch.

I want to queen you.

I want to watch you suck another man’s cock. I want to share one with you.

I want to learn how your body reacts to various stimuli. I want to blindfold you so you only feel and experience without any preconceived notions seeing would give you.

I want you to restrain me and force my orgasm, over and over again.

I don’t want you to stop, even when I beg you to.

I want to be able to express all of these things to you and more. If I can tell you what I want here for the whole world to see, why can’t I do it when you ask, when I am laying naked beside you?

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Have you ever had an experience you were too naïve to understand or appreciate? So erotic, but you were too insecure to just let it be and embrace it? I relive the following experience in my head over and over again. It’s been 25 years, yet when I close my eyes I am transported back to that little bedroom with that amazing young man I was completely mad about yet unable to love the way he wanted and deserved. I’ve had this written for a while but couldn’t quite get the style of it the way I wanted. I didn’t want a poem or a long story so I was left with breaking the rules.

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Standing in the middle of a dark room,

nearly pitch black

and I can’t see a thing.

But I can feel him,

his breath against my neck,

his hands gently caressing me.

I tingle all over.

My breath grows shallow.

No words.

He stands in front of me.

Close enough for me to reach out and touch,

but I don’t dare.

The buttons on my blouse

slowly, ever so slowly,

come undone.

His hand glides across my shoulder

pushing my blouse off.

Next, the other shoulder

then he pulls the sleeves

one at a time

and lets it fall to the floor.

Gentle kisses on my neck,

my collarbone,

as his hands now move lower.

The pop of another button

precedes the sound of a zipper,

my zipper,

slowly going down.

Achingly slow.

I hear every catch of the zipper as he goes.

Two hands now move across my hips

down the back of my jeans

pushing them down,

past my behind,

down to my knees.

Lift, he says.

One foot,

then the next,

as my jeans join my blouse

on the floor.

His arms are around me now

tugging at the clasp

of my bra.

Easily unhooked

it is swept from my shoulders

and drops to the floor.

The pile of shed clothing grows.

He cups each breast,

squeezes

and kisses them tenderly.

My nipples ache for more

but I dare not ask.

I am a good girl,

I don’t do such things.

He kneels in front of me

and slips his hands

under the waistband of my panties.

His hands slide down my thighs

bringing the soft fabric with them.

Lift, he says again.

One foot,

then the other,

and I am naked.

He leans in now,

buries his head

between my legs.

I tremble

nervously,

yet completely turned on.

Soft moans escape

as his tongue makes contact.

Oh my!

Off his knees now,

he kisses me

before taking my hand

and walking me over to the bed.

He pulls the sheets back

and sits me down.

I hear the sounds of his clothes

now being removed

and left in their own

crumpled pile on the floor.

Gently,

tenderly,

he takes me.

 

 

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