Tag Archives: crave

The need to be out of control

The last 7 days have been, perhaps, some of the most delectably decadent days I’ve had. From my first swinging club and orgy, to indie night with Moriarty and the economist, to sampling the ‘fetish’ scene, being spanked by some guy in a pub, exchanging numbers with three very interesting men, one of whom I sat next to on a flight, to being driven by a cab driver who wanked whilst speeding me to a weekend of partying with Moriarty, the economist and his girlfriend and dancing with a beautiful older woman.

I am exhausted, yet not satiated. I can feel the pull, the drag, the need to cast off all restraints and plummet head first into an abyss of abandon. The more I sample, the more I crave. Perhaps this is some form of self-destruction, but already, my mind is planning my next project. There are a number of candidates to choose from. It is most definitely time to lose control.

 

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No reprieve

Sunday night. And no reprieve from this bubbling undercurrent of sexual desire that has been threatening to pull me under since “Running high“. I’ve tried reading erotica, writing erotica, looking at sensual paintings, running, masturbating (many, many times). Nothing works. I am conscious of my heart beat with every breath. I feel the tension in my shoulders and neck. There is that place just between my shoulder blades that tingles at the merest thought of touch. I catch myself looking longingly at men passing by. I have to stop myself from accidentally touching the man at the next table as I reach for the sugar (I don’t even use it in my coffee!).

I drink a glass of wine at night, in the hope it will help me fall asleep. Anything to take the edge off this rawness, this heat. And in the midst of this fever, hidden desires seem to bubble to the surface. What would it be like to be out of control, to let someone else take control? Be controlled, titillated, teased, pleasured by someone, a stranger? I crave so much. But there is no reprieve.

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The importance of scent

Scent. A man’s scent. A woman’s scent. It is the key.

If his scent is not right, then I do not feel aroused. It does not have to be a particular aftershave or a perfume. It is the underlying scent of the person that arouses me. Man or woman. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, tasting each delicate note in my nostrils, on my tongue and at the back of my throat, letting it fill my mind with images of what is to follow. As I write this, I can feel the warmth of his skin, the gentle touch of his fingers on my body, the dark room, the wetness. Our scents mingle and soar together. We are perfect companions.

Today I will splash a little of his aftershave on my left wrist, let it settle and then inhale. It is like a little sensual fix. I am transported every time I breathe in. I desire him. My older lover.

A poem by Baudelaire (Flowers of Evil):

Exotic Perfume

When, eyes closed, on a pleasant autumn night,

I breathe the warm scent of your breast, I see

Inviting shorelines spreading out for me

Where steady sunlight dazzles in my sight.

An idle isle, where friendly nature brings

Singular trees, fruit that is savoury,

Men who are lean and vigorous and free,

Women whose frank eyes are astonishing.

Led by your fragrance to these charming shores

I see a bay of sails and masts and oars,

Still wearied from the onslaught of the waves –

While verdant tamarind’s enchanting scent,

Filling my nostrils, swirling to the brain,

Blends in my spirit with the boatmen’s chant.

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