A lot of people are silly and playful with sex. The notion is almost completely foreign to me. Some folks giggle and make puns, and some folks try hard to look sexy, through dance, and tease and games. My preference, with sex, boils down to intensity or shame.

I am a big fan of lust, of pinning someone against the door, and going down on them as their fingers slide into my hair and squeeze it into a tight ball. I enjoy gentle intensity as well. Holding someone, leading them in comfortable silence to a bed, and simple acts like stroking their spine with my fingers. Hell, I like the intensity of snotty, crying, let me think about anything other than my pain, sex.

Let me mention shame, and then we can set it aside for the time being. The more I isolate myself, the lazier, the more disgusting I feel, the more I crave the horrible kind of sex. I don’t need anyone to give me anything. This sex is only done in the dark. The silence is uncomfortable, but sacred. The more talking, the quicker I need them to leave. This sex is functional. We meet, I give, you leave.

The only way for me to overcome this shame, to receive, is through pain. Physical, emotional, and I haven’t tried it with a partner yet, nor do I understand what it is, but I am quite certain that I could handle spiritual pain. This is dangerous sex for me. I should avoid it at all costs… but I won’t.

So, back to the good stuff. The damned good stuff. It had been a while, for me, since anything like this had happened, see above. I was out of shape, and out of practice, and, as I told Abby, hard pressed to find my moments. Having confidence is crucial for me since I value control. Not having it was a chastity belt.

In my experience, nothing removes those pesky chains like a fire pit and some good whiskey. Abby agreed to a late night, hastily enough to remove any doubt I might have been having. So, we sat on the patio, in flimsy deck chairs, with the light and heat of the flames pushing out waves of heat that pressed at our faces, whilst the whiskey worked its warmth from within.

I had shimmied closer to Abby during one of my terrible stories that had us both in stitches, to where I could hardly tell it, and she could hardly listen. I hadn’t noticed when I closed the gap, so as my hand fell onto her knee, a little too familiarly, we had both paused for a moment before I withdrew.

She reacted fast, and with drunken imprecision grabbed my hand, holding it in place. I was looking to the floor as she did but glanced up to check her expression and caught the slightest smile before shifting focus to the flames. I kept my hand there with hers.

I am unsure if this is an anxious behaviour, or because I am some kind of narcissist, but I like to test the waters sometimes. Make sure I know they are interested in me. Even at eleven pm, with a date choosing to be alone with me, and drinking, I test them. Suffusive to say, she passed.

“Hey, stand up.” I say, regretting a lack of a plan.

“Okay.” she replies, and I help steady her to her feet, using the clasped hands as I do.

She stands facing me, and the joined arms rotate down to our sides, and my fingers intertwine with hers. She looks confused.

“I am sorry. I didn’t have a plan. I thought for a moment about dancing with you, just so I had an excuse for making you stand.”

“You just say all of your thoughts out loud, don’t you?”

“No, less than a fifth of them, to be honest.”

“Oh. Did you want to dance?”

“No.”

A nervous laugh escaped from her. “Okay.”

“Sorry, I just wanted an excuse to get close. Then I got nervous. So, here we are.”

The fire crackled, and a branch fell. The sparks and the noise drew our attention, and we were both hit by another wave of heat. I enjoyed staring at the fire.

“So, what did you want to do?”

I understand it as an invitation, but I feel uneasy, and it lacks clarity, so I don’t bite.

“Did you want another drink?”

“I should probably slow down.”

I am a grown man. Why am I acting so feeble?

“I could be persuaded to have one more, I suppose.”

“Why am I so feeble?” Damn, that was out loud.

“Uh, you’re not.”

“Oh, sorry. That wasn’t meant to be out loud. It’s just…” I take a mental deep breath and bring my empty hand up to meet her jawline. “You’re very pretty.”

This isn’t right. All this talk of intensity, and I flap around like this.

“Thank you.” She steps closer to me and leans her head into my grasp.

One thing I know, is myself. If we stay here, nothing will go well for me. Not here tonight, just here, in this spot. I need to move, to reset my brain, so to speak. So, I step away from her, and pull her away from the fire pit, towards the patio door.

“Come on.” I say with conviction.

She follows. We reach the patio door, and I swing her round to face me. I step in, pressing myself towards her, making the kiss an obvious, but certain thing. One last test to see if she will leave.

We kiss. Her lips press into mine, but as the gentle movement comes to an end, I push the kiss deeper and pull her into me. I squeeze my fingers into the nape of her neck, and her hands drop to her side. She grabs the bottom of my t-shirt and pulls it down tight against me, as if fighting the urge to tear it off.

I bring my other hand to her side, and I push up into her ribs. Her top bunches as I slide up. I pause, and let out a breathy “Do you–”

“No.” She interrupts, grabbing the hand and pushing it higher.

Under her top now, I grasp at her breasts and stumble harder towards her. We fall against the brickwork, and I use my hand to shield the back of her head.

She slides the now free hand between us, squeezing through the tight gap to run her hand down to my jeans. Grabbing at me through them. The sudden intensity of it catches my breath. I release her chest and move my hand down to her jeans. I run my finger along the waistline, half inside them, but never going in. Instead, I move my hand down over the jeans and run firm fingers between her legs, too.

She arches her back, and I kiss her neck.

She reaches to undo my trousers, and I grab her hand to stop her.

She reaches up to my shirt and tries with both hands now to disrobe it.

I pull away again, and say, “Not here. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Mhm”

She grabs my hand and waits to be led.

As we climb up the stairs, I look back to her and say, “You pass.”

I know I’ve done something wrong, but I’ve no idea what. You are very busy and focused at the moment. I should not interrupt your work. Still, it spins in my brain. Amends. You need to make amends, but how do you do that without being sure exactly what you did wrong. I glance in your direction. A thought comes into my mind. I bite down on my lower lip. Will it help or will it irritate? I’m not sure, but I must do something before I start to spiral downward and become obsessed with trying to figure out how I messed up.

I glance again your way, Sir. You are very much still hard at work. I reach down and pull my shirt over my head. I fold it neatly and put it to the side. Next, I unfasten my jeans and slide them down my legs. I step out of them, fold them, and place it on top of my shirt. I reach behind me and undo my bra, one hook at a time. Shrugging my shoulders out of it, I place it on the pile. Lastly, I slide my panties down, and with my foot kick them over to land nicely on the stack of clothes beside me. I can feel your attention shift just the slightest little bit. You’ve noticed but I’ve fortunately not distracted you. I think for a minute. Now, knowing you, you would want me either somewhere close to hand or else on display. I find being on display difficult, so I move to the middle of the lounge and lie facedown on the carpet, my toes pointed straight and my hands resting on either side of my head. I chose the Floor pose so that you can see my submission to you. Lowering myself so that you can visibly see that you are above me. That my body is here for whatever use you have of it. I reach out and set the timer for 15 minutes, then quickly lower my head back down, my nose and forehead making contact with the carpet underneath.

At first, I get my breathing under control, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. As it starts evening out and my breathing becomes more deliberate, I think of the air coming in through my nose And out through my mouth. I think about how lucky it is that I don’t have the ball gag in my mouth, that would make this much trickier. Wait. Stop. You are not here to be aroused. You’re here to show your submission.

I want so much to look at the timer, but part of the discipline, I‘m sure, is doing this without keeping an eye on the time. I close my eyes. I think of myself there, in your lounge, the feel of the carpet beneath me, the crush of my breasts against the floor, the idea that you could do anything to me just lying there. An image of you, standing above me, a lit candle in your hand. You turn it sideways as the hot wax drips and lands on my back with a quick intake of breath. I close my mouth, and wait for the next drip. Oh, the pain feels so good. As the candle heats up, the wax falls in quicker succession. My breathing becomes laboured and I feel myself starting to grind my cunt against the floor. No! This is not what you’re supposed to be focusing on. I try to shove the thoughts out of my head.

I open my eyes and stare down. This is not a time for coming. This is a time for repentance. I keep my eyes firmly down. Why is this so much harder with my eyes open? Do you see who you are? You are his slave. To do as he wishes with you. If he really wanted to, he could leave you there for an hour, maybe two. Your body is his. Your submission is his. You hand over all that you are into his hands. It is what you want, what you long for. Someone to take up my submission and make full use of it. There’s so much I would like to give to you, Sir. So much I have yet to offer. Please do forgive me. Let me show you what I will hand over to you. My thoughts begin to cycle over all the things I could be and do and take and absorb, again, my hips start to grind against the floor as my thoughts begin to manifest themselves firmly in my imagination.

I hear your chair move, and out of the corner of my eye, I see your bare feet approaching me. You stretch up onto your toes, then come back down and walk around me. Abruptly your foot lands on my ass, pushing me Hard against the floor. ‘Stop that, slut,’ is all you say to me. You keep the pressure up until my hips fully stop their movement.

Contrition, yes, that’s what I need. I try to think through all that has happened. What did I do? Where did I go wrong? Did I say something. Did I do something that displeased him? I can’t pinpoint it, only the definite sense that I’m in the wrong. What can I do to make it right? What will he ask of me in ways of demonstrating my contrition? Anything, really, as long as I am forgiven. My entire being goes still. I feel his foot lift off of me and his footsteps fade as he goes into the kitchen. I can hear him getting a drink.

What could he do? St. Andrew’s cross? Kneeling with my hands cuffed behind me? Nipple clamps weighted and pulling on my breasts, bringing a sweet pain I long for. Maybe the single tail. I love the crack it makes, the sound as it cuts through the air and that delicious burn and sting as it makes contact. I hear him coming back towards me. I start to salivate. Will he try out some of the shibari he’s been thinking about? Something new? Something unknown? Or maybe he will grab a cane. Again I can feel myself thrusting against the carpet. Working myself up. Wanting to come. Wanting to fuck and be fucked. I gasp as your toes make contact with my cunt. You wiggle them about causing me to moan, driving them deeper. As you step back, I hear you say, ’Hey whore, don’t leave a stain,’ with that you remove your foot, reset the timer and step away.

tall

younger but older all the same

ginger

bad hair day everyday

makes me feel confident

cares

questions

accepts

Today, I have spent a lot of time thinking about which Gorean position I was going to do for you today. I wanted to show you how much I appreciated last night. All those orgasms, one after another, spending myself for you. I feel that I should challenge myself in a way that might be pleasing to you. So, as I finish the housework, I knew that the time to make a decision had come.

I go to my bedroom and strip off all of my clothes. My nipples go instantly erect with the cold of the air. Standing there naked, I grabbed my phone and set a five minute timer. This was it. I took a deep breath. Once the timer was set, I placed myself in the inspection pose. My hands on top of my head, my eyes forward and my pelvis tilted up, my legs splayed wide. I chose this pose as it is the one that is most difficult for me. It is total exposure. Everything is there for everyone to see. I am putting on display the thing that I most dislike about myself - though not as much as I used to, you’ve taught me that.

Within 20 seconds, I am already looking at the timer, wishing my time was up. Not even close. I feel so completely vulnerable, so defenceless. I try to keep my eyes open, but I find it nearly impossible. I try lowering my gaze, but that only makes it worse as then I can see myself. I glance across at the timer but my screen has gone into sleep mode. I could come out of the pose to check the timer, then I would know how much longer I needed to endure this, but I realise that part of the challenge for myself was to stay in the inspection pose. I would just have to wait it out. Time crawls past.

I open my eyes again. I realise that I have started to close in on myself. My pelvis was thrust back and my shoulders had started to round inward. ‘No! Do it right!’I tell myself. I raise my eyes, push back my shoulders and push forward my hips. Full accessibility. I push myself forward so you’ll be able to see everything, touch everything. With that in mind, I widened my stance. Nowhere to hide.

Time passes. I start to twitch. Why is this taking so damned long? I don’t like it. I hate it! Being so exposed, showing myself for anyone to see, it makes me so anxious. And yet, there is a wetness building.

I start to play out in my mind a scene where you have me standing like this with all your friends about. Each one is allowed to come and touch me, play with me, inspect me, tease me. If I’m good, you say that you might even let some of them fuck me and use me at the end of the night. I shake my head. No! You shouldn’t be imagining a scene. You should be remembering who and what you are, not losing yourself in a fantasy.

I take a few deep breaths and make sure I’m fully on display. I am yours. Your toy to do and play with as you will. This body is not mine, but yours. If you choose for it to be displayed, then that is what I will do. If you wish to leave me like that, then that is what I shall do. If you want me to accept who and what I am and the package that it has come in, then I must do that. I start thinking that maybe my service is beautiful and in that service, maybe I am beautiful. I force myself still. I calm my mind. I make sure all is available, that I am ready for whatever lies ahead.

Then the timer goes.

I walk through the door and drop my book bag down on the bench. As my gaze sweeps the room, a smile starts to spread across my face. There you are, huddled over the laptop, tapping away at the keys. You’re so engulfed in your work that I’m not sure you’ve even registered my arrival. My smile grows wider.

In no time, I slip out of my clothes. I fold them neatly and stack them on the bench. Then I lower myself to the floor. On all fours, I crawl across to him. I nudge up against his leg. Almost absently, he lowers his hand and runs his fingers through my hair, brushes a thumb across my cheek. When I glance up, it’s impossible to miss the utter exhaustion on his face. I suspect he’s been up all night and all day again. Always working and when he does get a reprieve, sleep eludes him. It’s not good for him. He needs to sleep. Worry fills my soul.

Moving the trash bin to the side, I slip underneath the table. His feet sit bare before me. I lean down and I shower light kisses, first on his left foot and then his right. I slide my hands up his pants legs. Every muscle is taut, strained. He is working far too hard. My hands work their way back down, lightly kneading as they go. His leg is jiggling up and down. Something has him on edge. I slide my hands gently up his legs until I come to the fastener. I make fast work of that and as I start to ease his trousers down, he lifts up from the chair momentarily so that I can remove them unhampered by the chair. I throw them to the side and slowly I start again. Little baby kisses starting with his feet, then moving up his left leg, one light kiss as a time. His leg starts to slow. I continue on up around his knee, and along the outside of his thigh. As I plant kisses along the line of his briefs, his legs slide open. I shower kisses across his thigh, brushing his tightly constrained cock with my head as I return to my trail of kisses. So very slowly and deliberately, I kiss my way down his inner thigh as my hands caress his legs on the way down. As I move to the right leg, I glance across and see that his leg is nearly still, the frenzied motion slowed. I replicate the same path up his right leg. I am ensconced nicely between his legs as I reach the top of his thigh. I take and deep breath in, smelling the utter maleness of him. I nuzzle my face into his crotch, running his rock hard cock across my cheek. I reach up again and start to pull his briefs off while he continues to tap away at the keyboard. However, I can’t help but notice that his typing has slowed. As I proceed back down his leg with my kisses, my hand stays just over my head, lightly grazing his cock, feeling it bob around under my touch. My fingers glide with the lightest of touches over the solid weight of him. I can feel my wetness growing, but now isn’t about me. It’s about him. What he needs most and yet constantly sacrifices. He needs to sleep.

As I feel his cock jump against the brush of my hand, I move in closer, and take him into my mouth. He glides smoothly across my tongue and down my throat. As my head comes back up, my tongue wraps itself around him, savouring every inch of his cock. I pull back, keeping only the head in my mouth. I suck hungrily on the tip, until I hear the sharp intake of breath. With that, I release the head and slide all the way down, my jaws widening and stretching, taking it all in. Suppressing my gag reflex, he hits the back of my throat, I increase the suction upon his cock, and I feel his hand come down and tangle into my hair.

As he pulls me up by my hair, I let the suction ease as I take in a breath, he slams my head back down his cock. He sets the pace as he fucks my mouth. Harder he pushes back, then slowly draws himself away, only to slam all the way to the back of my throat. I reach up and start massaging his balls with my hands. I hear a groan from above me. He’s enjoying this, I can tell. I’m feeling very pleased with myself, but realise that if he comes here at the computer, he will just return to work again. That’s not going to work.

Taking a chance, I relinquish his balls and push back against his knees. The chair rolls away from the table. With his cock still in my mouth, I follow along with him, emerging out from underneath the table. When we are a sufficient distance away, I let his cock fall out of my mouth. I climb up his body and straddle his lap. I can feel his hardness caressing my cunt, making me even wetter than I was before. Pulling his shirt off over his head, I lower my head to his nipple. I liCloud and tease it with my teeth, nipping at it and capturing it between my teeth. Now both of his hands are in my hair, but all I hear are low moans. I smile in satisfaction. He moves my head across to his other nipple where I tease and bite and lick until it’s standing up just as hard as the other one. Kissing my way up his chest, along his throat, nibbling at his earlobe until finally our mouths connect and a whole new frenzy breaks out as hunger and desire pours out of us. It’s that touch that sears through my body. I start to lose myself in him, giving over to his desires when a thought knocks at the back of my brain. He needs sleep.

With all of my willpower, I disengage from him and rise up off his lap. I grab his hand and pull him along to the bedroom. He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls his legs up as he settles into the middle of the mattress. I climb over him and guide his cock straight into my dripping wet pussy. I start out slowly, but it’s no use. My want of him causes me to speed up, riding him fast and hard. He reaches up, grabs my nipples one in each hand and twists and pinches at the same time. I throw back my head in pure pleasure as I work my hips, pulling him into me as fast as I can. His fingers once again pinch hard on my nipples and I nearly scream, I’m going to come and I’m not going to be able to hold off. As I speed up, he grabs hold of my hips, pulling me down onto him, driving deep until I throw my head back the strength of my orgasm hazing my brain as I feel him inside of me, shooting, spurting, filling me. His moans join mine as we both hit that release we both needed.

Laying my head across his chest, I sit and I listen as his heartbeat pounds underneath me. Gradually, it begins to slow, and return to a steady rhythm. I rise up and kiss him lingeringly, enjoying the taste of him. I climb off and push on his side until he gets the hint and rolls over onto his stomach. I mount him again, but with a different objective this time. Firmly, I start to massage his back, his neck, working the kinks out of his shoulders, deep into the muscles, releasing all of tenseness held there from earlier, as I continue to work up and down his body, I heard the quietest of sounds, it’s the steady, undeniable sound of sleep. I climb off, cover him in a blanket and close the door to the bedroom behind me. ‘Sleep well. Sweet dreams,’ I whisper as the door clicks into place.

Looks have never been the main factor in me finding someone attractive. I struggle to judge if someone is good looking until I have a chance to talk with them. If I find them intelligent, funny, or kind, then it’s like a magic trick. Only then, will I notice their beauty. I am not saying this to sound deep or to avoid being misogynistic. I don’t pretend I am not shallow, or a bit of a pig. I can hurt someone just as much as they have hurt me.

I wish that weren’t true, but it is. So, to start with the shallow part, and show you I am not the person I wish I were, here are some attributes I tend to look for before I know a person:

Someone who is smaller than me is a big plus. Either in height or weight is good, so long as I feel like I can man-handle them. I am not a tall person. I have broad shoulders and a lifetime of abuse that makes me feel safer, when I can smother someone, and feels fantastic when I choose to use that for bear hugs, and cosying up or protecting them, instead. Like I said, I am not exactly a good person.

Red hair, hippy clothes and autumn hues are nice too.

Now, to think about my ex’s…

Most of my memories about major ex’s ebb and flow and don’t really take root. There are only a few thoughts that have truly cemented themselves in my mind. I would draw from these solid thoughts, to create the franken-bride.

I hate using labels, but they are better than using names for this, so…

Ex A: Her sharp wit, and goofy sense of humour. I never had to explain when I was joking to her. We had a thousand inside jokes, recurring jokes could laugh our way through holidays, awkward family dinners and even our breakup.

Ex B: She feigned timidity to make others feel comfortable. Only once to her own detriment. she put people at ease. When we met, I was boisterous, loud, and a much simpler mind. She used her intellect, and emotional intelligence to manipulate people, but not for bad, for the good of others. She brought the best out of a lot of scared people and built them up. She built me up too.

I betrayed that and hurt her. I sabotaged it because I didn’t think I deserved her, and I learned that I would never do that again, to someone so kind. This is a lesson that I wish I had learned without hurting her, but I will never do it again, to another person.

Ex C: She was passionate and full of ambition. If she saw something she wanted, she went hell for leather towards it. She built her own career, a brand, and an idea from nothing. Constant criticism and setbacks never slowed her down. She rolled with the punches and continued her pursuit. She was also passionate. The sex was intense. That is what I would take from her, for this strange experimental, and imaginary bride.

So, picture a mousy, red head. she curls into a burnt-orange cardigan, quietly giggling to herself, from a sofa somewhere off at the back of the crowd. She hides behind a book, but secretly watches the event, she helped organise. She smiles and her eyes swell as she see’s the people she believed in succeed. She would lock eyes with me, and I would be paralysed by the kind and fierce look.

Eventually, when my nerves would settle, I would leave. I am not a good guy. I certainly would not be good enough for her. I was fortunate to have experienced these things before. This perfect person deserves better than me.

was big as a house

with a head of State

and church to boot

with popular caboose

there was something

in the tresses louselike

plaid a dress kept up

in kerchief and bow

the union of the mess

with apron tongue tied in

matron might spanning

east and western blocks

of hood and suburb too

ah the stale breath of

cake crust and wedlock

in the nuts and bolts

of Frankenstein and

his whole world, fear

that beautiful bride,

till death do them part

instilling terror in the

the heart of mankind

09.22.2024

Frankenstein's Spouse challenge @AJAY9979

From the curly blonde Australia

I'd keep the way you loved your brothers

The friendship you shared with them

Was heart warming and pure

As was your patience and respect

For someone so innocent

From the Canadian I met in Greece,

I'd keep that sense of adventure

That lust for travel, that hunger to live

To sleep in caves and on beaches

To savour the food on every table

To dance joyously in nightclubs

From my German ex in Berlin

I'd keep the picnics we had in your room

The olives, hummus, cheese

Spread on stretchy Turkish bread.

I'd keep your hot-breathed desire,

For it lit a fire in me

From the Queenslander in Sydney

I'd keep the excitement

That came from peeking into your world

Of eating in nice restaurants

And meeting your cool friends

Your cooked breakfast and crooked smile

From the one I thought was mine

I'd keep that razor sharp intelligence

That goofy, silly side that rarely came to play

I'd keep the love you had for your mother

And the love you had for cuddles

And the way you held my hand in the car

From the French sailor in Harlingen

I'd like to keep you still

Those lips, those eyes, that laugh

That fresh smell of soap

The picnics, the sailing, the bike rides

You coloured my summer

If my soulmate were to be a mixture of the aspects of all my exes, he would be tall, hazel-eyed, tan, curly-haired and slim. He would be proud and vain and harsh with my feelings. He would adore me in private and ignore me in public. He would call me stupid and fat on private chat and always try to belittle me. In all honesty, if my soulmate were like this, I wouldn't want one to begin with. It's better to be alone than to be in a constant state of pain and torture, stuck between loving them till your last breath and letting them go.