My body fills and fills like a tumbler
of lemonade poured by God. I am
a hundred light bulbs burning out.
I am your favorite dessert. I am opening
and opening and I feel as though I cannot
open anymore or my legs would surely grow
flowers from the back of my knees.
I am overflowing the bathtub. I am spilling
spilling spilling clean.
- Sierra DeMulder (via sierrademulder)
after Rainer Maria Rilke
You ask me if you were good, and you compare our evening with so many others as you worry about your inadequacies, questioning if you should have said this, or done that, or kissed there. You ask me, no doubt, as you have asked countless others before me. And I beg you to stop. I beg you to ask yourself, Is this what you were meant to be? To do? Really? If not, do us a favor. Give it up. But, if the answer is yes, and still yes, then please, learn a little silence. (I have never cared for those chatty orgasms. The kind that talk all night. Nor do I like sleeping in an aviary.) And learn a little patience, why don’t you? For isn’t the beginning of the orgasm the most memorable? Those moments rife with anticipation? Your love with her hair unclasped, spilling over her shoulders, a blush just beginning like a red wave to wash over her nude breasts? For what meanings would our lives, so full of yearning, have if what we wished for most were always close at hand? Or worse, already and easily within our grasp? For is not longing itself the essential ingredient in a young orgasm’s brief life?
allofthefantasies: I wish you'd come back- the fluidity and breadth of your sexuality always just got to me. Maybe this will entice you: check out apolloniasaintclair 's tumblr.
Ah, what a sweet & completely unexpected note.
I neglected this blog for a while, & the backlog of questions/post ideas eventually got so unwieldy that I stopped updating entirely. Now that I’m a little removed from all of it, I think this is part of why I fell off in the first place: despite the fact that sex permeates nearly every aspect of my life in some capacity, writing about it so frequently began to affect how I viewed it in relation to my personal life. I felt myself becoming overly analytical, & viewing everything as potential blog-fodder. That sounds super neurotic & absurd, I know, but maybe it makes at least a little sense? Maybe I’ll ease back into posting soon! Thank you for thinking of me.
(Oh, &/but: I’m still here. It’s admittedly been more diaristic/mundane than vulgar in recent month.. that’s liable to change, though!)