awaken the dawn

when laying in bed, the window to my left, faces the sunrise. weather being what it is, it is not often i am greeted by the retreating grey dawn as the blues, golds, pinks and shades of morning over take my square of vision. so those rare mornings it happens, i lay abed, watching and marveling at the subtle changes which occur moment to moment.the incredible complexity of it and sheer beauty, pure in it’s absolute simplicity. the dawn sky, before it becomes morning, is the place of magic and hope; of inspirations and joy, a time that emotion washes over sleepy bodies and refreshed minds and allows you to feel a truer form of who we were meant to be, which connects us to the magnificent beauty of the world that we live in. how fortunate i am, that i was born and  have vision; for that and this morning, i am eternally grateful.

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tease and talk

don’t. leave your hands where they are. i’m the one unsnapping your jeans. feel my fingers on the zipper? i can feel your cock engorging as i run my fingers over the delicious bump in your pants. you’re getting so much harder. shifting foot to foot. you’re wriggling and your hips need to thrust. it’s pleasure painful, waiting for the pressure. you want more. you want my mouth. and yet you stand there. letting me tease your cock until you soak the front of your cotton briefs without even ever having touched you properly.

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morose muse

i used to be beautiful. before i cared about loss, letting go and moving on. vibrant and earthy, i cherished life and expression. until i sank into the putrid stench of self protection. the sun is not brilliant. day is not driven in front of the dawn. fog and desolation swirl in eddies of ennui and trite banalities. deaf to the music around me, i’ve fallen. i am unable to progress. frozen like the patterned frost on clear glass in the dark early hours of a winter morning. waiting for the cold warmth to seep into fragile bones and let me fall into a peaceful sleep where awareness will never touch the sadness in my eyes, ever again.

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grande americano

how you kiss me is perfect; the combination of restrained power and the promise of demanding sensuality. you pull my hair and stroke loose tendrils away from my face and off my forehead. you kiss me like you want to consume me and are afraid to scare me away. you are tense with the withholding even as you gently pull me close with corded forearm muscles.

i kiss you until your entire focus is on what i am doing to your body. i can feel it. the hard throb pressing against my belly as your jeans get uncomfortably tighter. my hands wander over your muscled body, as they slip up and beneath your un-tucked shirt, as i melt against your hard chest. i can feel your entire abdomen ripple when you groan against my mouth before you bite my lip. the scratch of your whiskers has abraded my mouth, leaving them ripely swollen and reddened.

as we shift and part, your eyes glance to them as you say ‘jesus’ before dragging me back against you, hands in my hair and cupping my head before sliding down my body and around to my ass so that you are pressed against my heated center. ragged breathing. urgent pressing. needing more contact. we’re lost to the erotic awareness that consumes us as we kiss with the wild abandon of sexual chemistry.

the weight of my breasts are perfect in your large, work rough hands. thick thumbs flick over distended nipples, as you growl down my throat, realizing i am not wearing a bra. you don’t hurt me, but suddenly i am pulled and pressed, your mouth biting and kissing down my neck and over my clavicle bones, both hands cupping my breasts and squeezing them together, your mouth searching to latch onto one through the thin material of my shirt.

when your teeth raze one and fingers pinch the other, i arch and gasp. my hands reach forward and cup your engorged cock through the denim and you thrust your hips forward and into my palm. groaning, you come back to kiss me deeply; turning me so that we are pressed together once again from waist to chest and i can feel the pounding of your heart along with mine as our mouths find each other again.

kissing you is everything i remembered it to be. i ache with unsatisfied lust. i am perfectly aware of how suited we are sexually. you’ve told me how much you want me, how much i turn you one, how sexy i am. it makes me wonder what you’re going to do about it and when; as well as  how much people have seen while we said goodbye in the starbucks parking lot.

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strong enough to leave

i miss your heavy hands. confident in their touch. knowing what pleases me. i know you are bad for me. it’s why i don’t pretend what we had was real. but i know. in my heart i know. you are inside of me. you have been since the day you entered me. from the day i saw you. in quiet, peaceful moments you enter my mind. when i am aroused and wanting, you are there. i have never tried to fight against it because there will never be a time you will be divided from who i am. even as i go forward in my life, i know you will be the rustle of leaves in October and the reflection of sun off the bright new snow on a January morning.

i once would have lived with you in squalor, simply to feel how i felt while i was with you, all of the time. illusions. that’s what we create when we love someone. and i loved you. and i almost lost myself and the vision i have of the life i need to live, to have the future i want for my children. that future did not have you in it and my needing you, almost lead me to a path which would have created irrevocable harm to those i love the most and have sacrificed so much for. i gave up my path to ensure that theirs was easier.i don’t regret anything. and i miss you so much at times that i can’t believe i am able to function and be happy, without you. but i can. and i will. but god knows i want you.

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Canadian view of US election

To all Canadians in regards to the upcoming US elections, please remember, “not our monkey, not our circus” . We have no input about, no electoral representation, no need to comment on, how our neighbors and cousins, conduct their political business. The reality for Canadian’s is like knowing your neighbors are going through a bad divorce. No one is asking us to pick sides. No one cares whose side we are on. While they are splitting assets and deciding who gets to live in the marital home, Canadians will be notified who the sole neighbor will be, once all is said and done.

Are their Canadians who side with Trump? Who cares if they do. What about the staunch Clinton Canadian supporters? Could care less. Immature people like to believe they know more than others, that they gain credibility for choosing a winning side and it somehow raises their esteem in others eyes. Once you grow up, or medicate your psychological issues, you realize this is behaviour is unwarranted and pathological. Any Canadian spouting off an opinion about a US Presidential candidate is a mockery of our education system. My guess, is most of them wouldn’t be able to explain even in a rudimentary fashion about the electoral process or procedures.

And for a Canadian to feel threatened or marginalized by other Canadian commentators about the preference for or abhorrence against one side of the other, is the ultimate expression of narcissistic behaviour as your self importance does not actually impact the reality which the majority live as productive and functioning members of society. I don’t like your opinion because it differs from mine and so you are a threat to my personal and mental safety, is ludicrous. You. Are. Not. Involved. So get over yourself and grow up.

The Americans will be voting who they want to represent them. The majority vote does not necessarily reflect the majority of the people. Take a class or two about the American political system, read a few books about it. Take a few economic and political science classes to discover how American elections actually work as it is very different than the Canadian one. After the elections, Canadians will discover the results of the change of US representation via economic means as business opportunities and relationships are changed or created. American politics don’t actually mean anything to us a nation.

The majority of Canadians could care less who is in office as long as a stable political platform is maintained so that your country, as well as our own,  can remain economically viable because of the incredibly close ties we share. Like any neighbor watching the bad divorce happen, we just want it over with, we want you to eventually get along with each other, so we can go back to enjoying our holidays without wondering who is going to throw the next shoe or do something spiteful to the common property.

Besides, we have our own monkeys to deal with up here.

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sexual distraction

as i typed the first few sentences of an article i am composing, all i could think of was this is not what i wanted to be doing at this moment. flashing in my mind was a series of naked men, posed so that their groins were the singular focus of my attention. i was imagining those i’ve seen in person, or wondered about; those i’ve seen in digital print or online. i had visions of buttocks and a forest of muscular thighs, all vying for my attention. rather than write prose, i wanted to touch skin. my brain has no desire to follow higher functioning and would like to be appeased by baser desires.

the male form is one of the most artistically beautiful things i have ever seen. it is my sunset. i am amazed at how much i admire a mans body, virtually every time i see one. nothing compares to the wonderment i feel at the immense degree of variable which make up a mans form. hairless or hirsute, muscled or lean. short or tall. every shade that a person comes in; men are the most intensely interesting thing i have ever seen. i notice how their fingers are formed and if they have ragged cuticles or not. if their palms are worn from working with them or soft from an office job. i notice if their fingers are calloused from guitar playing and the fine hairs which pattern the back of their hands.

men distract me in the way a hound can not focus on anything other than the scent of its prey. i inhale their scent of masculine animal and it makes my stomach tighten and twist upon itself, as i respond to the primitive awareness of his presence. who has time for words or subtleties when your subconscious acknowledgement of his virility is something you have responded to. some men are aware of this immediately, while others seem to be less aware of the women in their midst who react to them. i often wonder at this iniquitous social experiment which plays out on the periphery of our adult lives amidst the shadows of our sexuality.

i celebrate the contained violence of a mans body which comes from his restrained or contained strength. nothing makes me want to tempt him to respond more than seeing a man in neutral repose. my mind interprets that quiet reflection as him waiting for me to trigger his response by my availability to assuage his sexual gratification and thereby my own.  the last thing i want to do today, is anything more productive than acknowledging i am horribly distracted by the possibility of touching a man who responds under my warm palms and against the tips of fingers.

 

 

 

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sick. i can’t actually complain as it happens so rarely…every 2-3 years or more. so when i go down, i go down hard. and i’m a horrible sick person. i don’t get to not cook or clean or just lounge around doing nothing but napping. because when i wake up, i have to do everything i didn’t do earlier.

tired. adults are not supposed to stay up all night finishing a paper for a course they are taking. at some point, after growing up, after the whole too young to be impacted by staying up  because sleeping in fixes everything and staying up half the night having sex and it was worth it, is feeling like you are hung over and need a week to recover.

cramps. seriously? why do i need to be ovulating at this age? would any of those eggs be viable anyway considering they must be hard boiled by now. i am not young. i don’t care that people think i am 10 years younger than my age, but maybe it’s tied into my body not understanding how old we actually are.

migraine. so a beautiful weather bomb has to be coming this way because as my head vise has been tourniquet’ing all day, so that  my eyes are watering and i had to start wearing sunglasses while inside the house, lay down in a dark room and wish it away while hoping to sleep in peace. yeah. right.

medication. for everything.chased by whiskey as i give the world the finger and say fuck you day. you sucked.i’m going to bed and plan on staying there until my bladder wakes me up at 7am.

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eye for an eye

i find that the older i am getting the more intolerant i am of bullshit and idiotic laws that protect criminals instead of actually punishing them for what they’ve done and supplying some sort of restitution to the families they have impacted. if you can’t play by societies rules by the time you are a grown ass’ed adult, then society doesn’t need you in it. and i am not talking about more prison time for petty crime. i’m talking eye for an eye, biblical shit that shuts down hard core crime because people are actually afraid of the consequences. if i hear one more fucking idiot talk about their rights, after hurting other people, i am going to lose my mind. there is something very dark inside of me that would celebrate this type of justice and could easily carry it out with a clear conscience.

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casual contact

i think about the purpose i might have in your life and the reasons why you continue to remain in contact with me. is it because you enjoy the secret we once shared? the hope that it will resume at some time in the future? is it the single thing you can have which is truly yours alone in the busy schedule of your family life and career?

i think you feel secure with me. that i place no demands on your time. you hold no accountability to me and i don’t require any. and you aren’t used to people being in your life with no conditions attached to the connection. maybe you think about me in terms of ‘what if’ and that by our periodic contact, the possibility may not be lost over time.

i enjoy who you are. we are exceptionally compatible. it would be easy to see a future with you which is not just allocated to a sexual need. and it is because of that knowledge that i stay to the sideline, content to know that this is neither the time nor place for that type of relationship between us. maybe it will be one day, which is why you stay connected to me.

hope is a funny thing to have. isolation is the sad reason why so many married people need hope. failure to communicate is why couples seek out that hope in other people. developing that relationship instead of correcting your primary one, drives the wedge further between a couple who is intent on marriage, in spite of its failures.

yet because you can not live in isolated hopelessness, together and yet apart from your partner, you cling to the tenuous hope that one day, life could be different if you were married to someone who you were more compatible with and who you felt more than just a familial connection to.

or it could be just as simple as thinking about me when you are sexually frustrated and after months of having no intimate contact from a female partner, you simply need to touch a responsive woman who wants to be inside your embrace and feel your hands against her skin as you seek to please her in every way and just lives in the moment.

 

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