wet panties

Soft white creamy full thighs draw your eye

The contrast of black panties inciting your arousal

You want to bite them, kiss them, lick them

You want to squeeze them and raise gooseflesh

Hands aching to touch the fullness of my body

With a heavy masculine hand and gentle touch

You can barely see my secret female flesh

The softened seam and fullness of lips

Through the gauzy not quite sheer fabric

Can you imagine what my sex feels like?

Through the inconvenient silk over my sweetness

The full press of your palm, your fingers

And finally your mouth as you press lips there

You can feel the heat burn through the barrier

You can see the wetness start to seep through

Deep drawn breath draws my lascivious scent

Your lungs and mind bursting with my aroma

Imagine hooking the smooth elastic band

With the tip of your finger to expose me

Your carnal mood makes your cock jump

As the tingling engorgement swells your flesh

Decisions to tear the panties off completely

Discard them carelessly and take your bounty

Or to tease yourself by slowly peeling them

Down my thighs to tangle around ankles

Your imagination runs rampant with possibilities

Will I arch toward your mouth and hands?

Will I passively comply with your wanted attention?

Can you illicit my delighted sighs or make me beg?

Will you hear my guttural sensual commands

As I verbally direct you to service my needs?

If I denied you the access you desperately wanted

Behind the shimmering veil of my wet panties

How long would it take you to actually remove them?

This entry was posted in a womans body, Poems and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to wet panties

  1. Village Idiot says:

    Dear rougedmount:

    Last Saturday marked 17 years to the day since I porked what’s-her-name. I saw the title and panned down the post. Can’t reply as it cuts too deeply tonight. But this looks warm, beautiful and sensual, just as I imagine you to be … As ever, thank you.

    Village Idiot

    • Dawn D says:

      I want to hug you.

      • Village Idiot says:

        Dear Dawn D:

        Thank you for this. I do not hug a woman easily, although it happens with some regularity. While not a kiss, the embrace of a woman is [for me, at least] an act of great intimacy. At that moment, we are in the same position we would be if were were together as is the nature of a woman and man. Because of my past, it is difficult not to be moved emotionally by that. My concern is that some day, some woman will sense within me the profound hunger with which I have lived for for most of my life…

        I am a man. I do not cry. My heart throbs in no way that produces sobs. But on some or another occasion, an inward response of which I had no awareness welled up in my spontaneously moistening eyes which I did not know how to stop. I lost no composure and I felt no better or worse than ever. But tears where there. It was truly odd.

        rougedmount has said that she waited some 22 years before making a change to her circumstances. My mistake was in waiting too long, twice that time, really. I’m too old, useless and set in my ways to change now. Even so, rougedmount is now my love-coach. In this, she has no choice or say. I’ve adopted her for this job. If seriously doubt that anything will change for me again. But if it does, it will be her fault. And by the way — I’ll absolutely love her for it. But in either event, I find healing and needed perspective in the posts here. As I said earlier, I’m glad to have found her blog.

        The magic, pixel screen displays beneath your moniker words that touch my heart. You are so kind. Thank you. Were you with me today, I think I might hug you as well.

        Village Idiot

      • Dawn D says:

        It is never too late. You have but one life and only you decide what you want to make of it.
        I think it is a sad thing that boys (thus men) are taught not to cry. Crying helps release some of the mental anguish, some of the emotions that otherwise will come out in other physical ways.

        As for hugs, they are a powerful medicine. Touch of any kind is a powerful medicine. What I like most about hugs is that you get back at least as much as you give. It’s a win-win. 🙂

        Thank you for your long response. It brought a smile to my aching heart. What a great honour for Rougedmount to be your new love coach. I do hope that she succeeds 🙂

        Let’s try an experiment. Close your eyes and acually feel my arms closing around your back in a big hug. Enjoy it for as long as it feels good to you. I’ll do the same on my side of the screen. It is impressive how powerful even virtual hugs an be 🙂

      • rougedmount says:

        I am profoundly touched by your kind comments about me. I often wonder if the words I throw against the wall have any impact other than to express my need to vent them. Many times I am lost or discouraged and often I feel a sense of fear that I self edit because I simply do not want the responsibility of others needing me. I fear being judged for my writing ability as much as my actions, at times.
        I’ve struggled. I’ve endured. I’ve made choices. I have gladly sacrificed myself upon the alter of the greater good and I know that staying for the sake of the children was what I was meant to do. My sentence of 20 years was simply a lifetime. I forgot how long a lifetime could be. Instead of being easier, things became harder and I was not prepared for that and had no way of knowing how I would respond to that.
        Love. It is such a rare and precious thing. We become too jaded and bitter to see it even when it’s presented to us. Trust. It takes so much to build it up and it can collapse in a brief and broken heartbeat and can never be regained. Hope. Our human condition drives us forward in hope and it’s connected to our spirit and soul. Rarely does it completely die and it can surge forward and completely fill you with a simple yet profound gesture that surprises you with its suddenness.
        I write when the choice is to die if I don’t. In inside my writing, my voice is not filled with pain and longing. It does not shake with unshed tears. It does not get husky and raspy when I fight to find the appropriate words. Wiring is my filter that slows the traumatic bleeding of my emotions so that the words can be understood as opposed to the confusion my emotions become.
        The single and only day that it is too late to change your life is on the day you die. Every day that we are gifted with seeing the sun rise, is a day that can fill us with the hope we need to heal the past in a grand sweeping gesture of finding something we believed to be completely lost to us. Life is magic. Watching toddlers or young animals reminds you of the newness of the ordinary. Nothing is ordinary when you actually take a moment to remember the complexity of life. Music becomes better, people become more interesting, color is a gift to your eyes.
        I battle demons every day. My own are always ready to take over my life and ruin everything I value. There are days I allow myself to bask in the pity I feel for myself and then I get on with life again. Having lived an inauthentic life, I will never lie to myself again. I can not see how damaged I am due to proximity to the problems I face. But I simply do not care anymore. There IS a plan. I can not see it but I trust it’s there.
        Tears are for when your words can not express the emotion you feel. The numbness of years makes crying seem impossible but as feeling starts to flow through your heart again, then surprisingly the tears come easier. I hate crying. It means I am weak and emotional, unable to balance myself. It makes me feel exposed and vulnerable which is what I hate more than anything. But tears are not bad. It lets others empathize with you. It lets others want to protect and care for you. they help you to heal.
        Thank you for appreciating my words. They are almost like an extension of my children and I feel protective of them at times. I could care less if people love them as I do, but I do not want to see them abused or mistreated in anyway. What I write is not an opinion; it’s a feeling. Because of that I am more invested in exposing them. If you find value in them, then I am truly humble and grateful.

      • Village Idiot says:

        Dear Dawn D:

        Hugs are indeed medicine, but sustained touch of a woman eventually becomes something more in my mind. While arousal is most unlikely, invariably become aware at some point that it is a woman I am holding in my arms. Then I wonder how long I should hold her, what she will wonder if I continue to hold her, why she is holding me this long, at what point holding her in public, social situations becomes tacky, etc., etc.

        I think that rougedmount’s posts affirm that the healing power of sexual touch is extraordinary, and if some are less than comfortable with some of her lifestyle choices, I have to say that from my perspective, the issue of healing and living with ourselves well is paramount. How profoundly contrary to our nature it is that what ought most to bind us to each other becomes our undoing!

        More than hurtful, the lifestyle some of us lead does not care for ourselves as we ought. My relationship could go nowhere since affection led to no physical option. I was determined to ‘win her heart.’ Alas, this was not to be. And yes, this endangers our emotional health. It bears repeating that rougedmount rightly frames this as a matter of emotional health and spiritual healing.

        Thank you for tolerating a lengthy reply. For much of life, my pen was my sustenance. Poetry I tried once but my productions resembled a literary Goya’s massacre of the citizens of Madrid – http://tinyurl.com/q924tdj . I vowed never to go there again; it was too emotionally volatile.

        I dismissed your ‘virtual hug’ at first. But your words made me recall an event many years ago.

        I was on a beach. Whats-her-name was with me, deeply engrossed in a book. [This, let it be known, was her common state, and believe me, no man can compete with her book]. Only a little before me and to the side was a young woman [25-30ish]. She decided she was too warm and wanted out of some of her clothes. She sat up, pulled her T-shirt out of her jean shorts, unsnapped her bikini top, slipped the straps off her shoulders, and pulled the offending garment off her arms and out through an armhole. You know the move I’m sure. Then she stretched out on the sand again, and removed the shirt. Very nice tan! No lines.

        Several hours later, we returned to the parking area. Her vehicle was several down past our own. Her hood was raised. Naturally, I offered help. It was a simple matter. Her battery was dead. I had cables and jumped her. She was greatly relieved and offered me money. I refused repeatedly and adamantly. She was equally insistent and would not take ‘no’ for an answer. I was supposed to specify a specific amount of money. ‘Tell me what you want!’

        An idea.

        ‘Do you remember when you felt warm and needed to remove …’ patting my chest just below my neck?’

        ‘Yes.’

        I look aside and down. Then I say, ‘for a moment, I saw … everything.’ I look directly in her eyes but focused on her very soul inside. In a quiet, evocative voice, I said with great conviction, ‘you’re very beautiful …’ I stared in her eyes for another moment as that registered. Then I added this …

        Tonight, when you are alone and pleasuring yourself [notice the unstated assumption], I want you to think of me, knowing that I am doing the same thing, thinking about you and being utterly smitten by your beauty. I want a promise. Do that for me, and we’ll be even. Do you promise? Her answer was immediate and unequivocal. A stinging slap to my face.

        Oh wait! THAT’S not what happened. That’s what what’s-her-name would say that any decent woman would do. And this woman was clearly indecent.

        She smiled, drew her hair out of her face, looked in my eyes and said …

        ‘Oui.’

        So yeah. Maybe we can do the ‘hug.’

        Village Idiot

      • rougedmount says:

        (thank you for seeing me … having believed my words were invisible for so many years, it holds great value to me)

  2. Dawn D says:

    This is so inviting! If I had panties on, no doubt they’d be wet 😉

  3. siuch beautiful poem, i dont think anybody can keep their panties dty, while reading it

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