What can I do? I’m useless.
I can fuck you. Erase everything. Lift you up for a moment. Press you down hard against the cushions. Easy. I can squeeze your hands in mine and shove your cheek against the fabric. My hand flat on your chest. I’ll spit at you; yell. Screaming how much I want you. Making you hear me. Pushing everything else out of your mind.
I force you. Force. Push. Hold you tight. Move you where I want. Position you. You don’t resist. You look out at me behind something I don’t recognize in your eyes. You grab and pull me harder against you and slap yourself with my hands. I hear you grind your teeth.
It’s my honor to rise to your call. You push me this way, wanting me to control you more. I feel it. When I slap your hands away from me and bind them over your head, you settle for a moment. You hush. When I clamp my hand tight across your mouth, I feel a jolt go through you. It’s like this. A surge. A hush. Calm but alive. The taught wire, the tension when I push you down underneath me. The bright way you writhe beside me. I whisper in your ear all the things I want to do next. You know there is always more.
You demand me and I rise to meet you. Next time I will do as I said. I’ll bend you over and jerk your pants down just enough. You’ll hear my belt. I’ll push you into the cushions and tell you to put your hands where I can see them, flat. I want to see your veins. I want to watch your skin flush red. And I will.
My fingers, stiff, where my cock would be, press against your pussy. “Say it for me,” I whisper. You moan in response but it’s not enough for me, “Say it. Tell me.” My belt buckle clicks out a rhythm. I push my stiff fingers against you, teasing just at the edge of your hole. I grab your hip. You wiggle against me, breathing louder, thinking you can tempt me this way, but I know how to wait. I need you to ask me. I want to hear your voice. When you’re ready for me like this, it’s a deep, husky sound. It’s animal. It makes me twitch. “Fuck me, goddamn it” you finally say, sounding annoyed. You’re stubborn. That streak in you, so strong.
I pounce when you break and ask me. Three fingers jam into you. Feel me, big, inside you. I reach around and push against your clit, press it flat in my hand and slowly rub. My other hand moves quick and deep inside you. I want you confused. I want your pussy confused and mine to fuck and tease and enjoy. “I love your pussy,” I tell you. “My cunt,” you answer. “Your cunt,” I agree. “You just like pussy,” you say, sounding like a bitch, knowing I’ll react. I respond with a sudden grip on your neck, my fingers sticky. I want you to smell yourself. I drag my fingers across your lips. “Shut up,” I whisper and go back to fucking you, being slow about it. Dragging my fingers down the back of your shirt.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask, with my fingers shoved back inside you. You’ve made me rougher. I’m pounding into you harder and with less control. You don’t answer. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your head turned to the side. Your hands still where I can see them. Knuckles now bent slightly. Your fingers poised to crawl. I fuck you hard, stiff, unrelenting. I want to fuck you like this and never stop. I don’t stop.
When you come, I watch you struggle in the time it takes before you can push me away from you. I always want more. I crawl on top of you and you tell me, “No,” but within minutes your hips are moving against me, calling. I will rise up. New. Something new again. Always. You entice me. You make me want to find more. You appreciate me. You get me like no one else. You laugh when you see me work at it. You know how serious I am and you laugh it away. You slap away my intensity and make me go wild, deeper down, always finding more. You get me. You see how useless I feel and put me to work.
Let’s face it. We’re undone by each other. And if we’re not, we’re missing something. If this seems so clearly the case with grief, it is only because it was already the case with desire. One does not always stay intact. — Judith Butler, Undoing Gender (via swanfucker)
And then there is that afternoon when the air is newly hot and heavy. And construction is suddenly everywhere loudly banging and sawing and grumbling somewhere on the street. And we are sad and exhausted, each in her own way.
This is when we lean against each other. You move the book off my lap and rest your back against me. I wrap my arms around you and listen to your stories of the day. My hands find your hip bones, your ribs just below your heavy breasts. I am adoring you and listening.
As my hands prowl, you lean your head back and turn your face towards me. You kiss my neck and your breathing deepens. My belly, my hands get hot and you feel me start to burn. You lift the edges of my shirt, pull my clothes away from me. You grab my hands and move them over you. When I move on top of you and suck on your neck, it is salty and warm.
We’re moving without thinking now. Here. Now here. Like this. Your hand on mine. I see your fingers moving under your bra and I push you aside with my mouth. My teeth pinch your nipple. I feel you get hard in my mouth. I hear your delight in it. Yes. More. Like that. Stay here with me. Stay in this. The warm air.
Later, my hips lift and my palms press flat against the wall. I shudder and fall. Grab you to me. Hold you. Let you go. Watch you reach down between your legs while I wrap myself around you. I breathe against your jaw and don’t know what I do or say anymore. The description is lost to you. Only yours. You. The look on my face when you turn to me. Yours. I only know it from the look you give back to me. The way your eyes smile at me when you kiss me last. When we hold each other just a little longer.
Nearby there’s a jackhammer ripping up the asphalt. It’s louder than I’d noticed. I hold you and feel the sound rattle in my chest. “I love you,” I whisper, lost in the noise. But you’ve heard me say it so often, it doesn’t matter if you hear it now.
I’m never gonna wait
that extra twenty minutes
to text you back,
and I’m never gonna play
hard to get
when I know your life
has been hard enough already.
When we all know everyone’s life
has been hard enough already
it’s hard to watch
the game we make of love,
like everyone’s playing checkers
with their scars,
whenever they get out
without a broken heart.
Just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart.
I intend to leave this life
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my flying parts. —
this. a thousand times this.
(Source: the-healing-nest, via cuntext)
A little more of the truth -
If I am giving you the impression that I’ve just moved on, that I am starting a new life all joyously and without reserve, then I am not giving you the whole truth. (I’m not sure that is my job her…
only up for a day or so before I’ll put it under a password. read it while you can, or sign up for the password.
A beautiful glimpse at the truth.
Quickies in New York: Say Yes to Everything -
We switch with the seasons.
There’s not a category on Fetlife for it, but it works for us and we’ve been doing it for years. All winter long she curls up in my arms and I keep her safe and warm. I fuck her when I choose and she begs for punishment when she’s coldest. I tie her to the bed…
Sounds lovely, yes
One of the cruelest things you can do to another person is pretend you care about them more than you really do. — Douglas Coupland (via basedjane)
(Source: fleshscars, via cuntext)
She was going out with a lover. They were meeting someone. I listened to every word. I saw her eyes. Her excitement shivered. When she left I was shaking. My smile stuck on my face. She was happy. She was free. This is how she needed to be. This is how I loved her. I slow down in these moments. I slow down and look at my hands on the table. I lift my fingers carefully and push myself back. Slow motion. Calm. The air moves around me like water. Muffled sounds. I’m still smiling. She’s gone. I blink like a cat.
Tonight, I go home alone. I stare at the key in the lock. I leave all the lights off and let the sunset drape me in it’s eventual darkness. I sit. My hands on my thighs. I imagine her. I imagine them. I enjoy it. I breathe into it. I taste it.
Does her lover know to hold her wrists behind her waist and grip the back of her neck? Will someone else hold her shoulders back tonight? Will she feel a soft, flat tongue slide down over the hood of her clit, curling around her sweet little shaft? Will she gasp and push the tip of her tongue against her teeth? Will her lover pause and stroke her pussy with a long tongue to taste her over and over again? Will she moan and sink her fingers deep into flesh?
I burn when I imagine them together, tangled. It makes me wet. And tonight I’m also lonely. I breathe it deeply in and out again. Fly away. Give me peace. I smile. I squeeze my thighs. I stretch my neck long. I open my mouth.
She likes to suck cock while getting fucked. She likes to have her head held back by the hair, keeping her throat open. She likes having her hips lifted up and being fucked hard. She likes to reach one arm behind her and feel another body, pressed up near her, craving a piece of her. What will she give? Her fingers slide up an inner thigh. It’s fleshy and ripe. She pushes two fingers inside. Someone grabs her wrist. She’s being pushed and pulled. Her fingers curl, press, twist. It’s hot. Everyone’s sweat drips down an arm, a back, the curve of an ass, the back of the knee, her neck. Her hot neck, wet with sweat. Someone licks it.
She’s pushed down onto the mattress on her back. One of them kneels above her neck and tilts a cock into her mouth, cradling her cheek like an old lover, deeply known. She stares up at the strange chest rising above her. “I don’t even know you, really,” she thinks. It doesn’t matter. They’re fucking. What do you need to know? She feels hands on her thighs, pushing them apart. Someone’s mouth pushes against her. Distracting. She’s trying to suck cock. Trying not to get too aroused and forgetful. Greedy. But she wants them both. She wants everything.
She pushes the cock aside, out of her mouth and grabs, pulls, now she has what she wants. A tongue in her mouth and a mouth on her pussy. She closes her eyes and feels herself in the wetness and the grip and the need that overwhelms her. Teeth. Lips. Tongue. Furious. Her swollen clit will take its time. She pulls on this head that is next to her own. Pulls it to her and feels this body and another body. Wrapped together. Imagining them being bound, slowly, by a thick rope. Held in place. Pulled tight around them to keep it all put.
This is the pleasure of it. Three mouths. Three cunts. All these arms and legs and fingers. Wetness. Breathing. The hot room. It gets so hot. The dripping sweat. She wants to be fucked. Let them fuck her. Let them devour everything she has. She will laugh and pet their heads. She will laugh and hold them to her for a moment before she slips away. She wants to press them together. Hold them mouth to mouth. Wrap their arms around the other. “Love each other. Right here in front of me. Let me see it. I want to feel it.”
My eyes are open wide in the black room. As if that can help me see in this total darkness. I picture my own wide-eyed stare and for a moment I feel ashamed as if I’ve been caught at something. I let my eyes fall closed. I bring my quivering fingers to my lips. She’s so alive. It makes me shake.
More from The STLGBT Outsiders Project
Oh, don’t we all…
(Source: archieoutofcontext, via pussylesqueer)