In All The Right Places

June 19, 2005 at 10:37 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

This is how you make love to a man. You stand before him, unafraid, unashamed. Your clothes are undone, and so are your walls. You have an inviting look in your eyes, and an insatiable craving in the crook of your smile. The race of your heartbeat could beat the speed of light at any given second, but you take your time to take in his image – the stark bluntness of his desire.

His hands are around your body; you run your hands along his hair and your lips are locked in an instant, a burning arrow of dark pink tongues darting forward with an urgency, as if searching for a decidedly impalpable treasure inside each other’s mouths.

Close your eyes.

Don’t let the room distract you from the pleasure. Forget the low light emanating from the lampshade, the muted furniture and the waiting bed. There will be time later to lie down in it.

And when he runs his tongue down your neck, to your chest, let him savor the absent milk from your breast. That is not the point. Enjoy the tactility of the moment, the heated clasp of his teeth around your nipples, the sudden grab at your rear and the play of his free hand between your thighs.

Return the passion.

Grab at his hair, kiss him on the nape, send shivers all over the continent of his skin. Let him go down further, an explorer of whatever hidden geography lies between your legs. Lie down.

Make the sign of the twins, approximate the mutuality of two bodies in opposite directions. Return the gesture; let him feel how much you hunger for his presence in your mouth. Go slowly — tune your rhythm with his motion. Feel free to let your hands caress him as if egging him on to do more.

And should you find his tongue, or his digits, or his palm, or his lips trying to open up the puckered sensitivity of your deepest recess, let him know you want it. Let him know there are no limits to the possibilities of the long night ahead of you both.

Limbs twist, heaves of sighs and chests pounding in anticipation and expectation, skin on skin sweating, the tender wants of two lovers entwined. Lips find their way back to each other. The hunger is more pronounced this time, the appetite of tongues growing even more demanding and exacting.

Open yourself.

The night grows longer, goes deeper but the flames of this union consume you faster than the setting of tides. The embrace of a firelight is around you, and you twist and you turn, pleasurably amazed, grasping at the sheets and at your lover’s back in turns, desiring an inevitable climax that pushes and pulls at your innermost regions.

Breathe.

Let him lie on his back, soothe the marks you left on his back, trail the coat of sweat that runs down it to where you want to go next. A gentle coax. A whispered reassurance. A soft, categorical landing.

You pace your desire to the melody of your lover’s pleas. Your hands are gentle guides on his thighs. Opened gates await the retreat and the advance of a knight on a mission. A benevolent endeavor of passion. It is not a war, the brave warrior is not out for vengeance, or to exact defeat. He is only running to find the horizon. Where the heavenly sight of a lover’s submission meets the pending bloom of your own desire into a fluid fire against his guts.

This is how you make love to a man. In equal parts a surrender, a declaration and a tangible emptying of the contents of yourself. A physical means to a purpose. A meeting of body parts and of hearts. An exhausting wait for a new day to come.

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2 Comments »

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  1. Wow.

    Especially liked this line: “And when he runs his tongue down your neck, to your chest, let him savor the absent milk from your breast.”

  2. i get that mood once in a while. the pure pleasure of the physical act. it’s so beautiful, di ba? 😀


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