At the risk of inspiring Google to fill my page with ads about mental institutions, I have to comment on one bit of current news.
I woke this morning to news of a quasi massive protest in Kabul. 300 women strong, decided they had to STAND UP for what's right, decent, human....they were protesting a new law which would see them bound to fucking their husbands 4 times per week. THE HORROR.
What's interesting is that this dastardly move by the government infringes, they say, on a woman's right (seemingly) to not fuck her husband if she doesn't want to. Critical planks of female liberation have been eroded by this act....women now think it legalizes rape in marriage...Que?
Ladies, one should never let a Government have to resort to detrmining your wifely duties.....your husband, and for heathens like myself, your man, deserves to be fucked....you deserve to be fucked.
Sex is a gift from God, mainly for procreation but damn, we have found some other quite palatable uses.....I for one wouldn't want a world without it. So what if you have to put out 4 times for the week. Its a shame that these are the matters occupying our minds when children are hungry in the streets and nations are rising up against nations.....men and women have lost their identity, and if legalisation is what it will take to set the record straight, then I am all for it.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Dreams of a J'can dawta
I have often times dreamt of a bedroom with a mirror on the ceiling and ground to floor mirrors on the wall adjacent to the bed....ahh the fun of watching his body in motion fucking me and me him, that would be an absolute pleasure.
I would see my body respond to his touch, I would see him run his tongue up the line from my ass to my neck...I would see my back arch in reflex response. I would watch as his hands encircle my breasts from behind, spreading long skillful fingers across the mounds of flesh.....I would see the gentle rise of my nipples under his sweet force.
My line of vision would not be interrupted as he lays me down to explore my body. With my eyes lifted to the sky I could watch his reflection make love to a woman, tracing her curves with his finger tips, placing kisses on her stomach and inner thighs, coaxing her to open wide, it is then that I would be most grateful, for I would get light headed at the sight of his head bobbing up and down between my legs, the ripple of teh muscles in his back, one hand clutching my thigh, the other buried deep between our bodies, and I would get the opportunity to see myself cum.....yes, to watch him suck me would be worth the investment.
I would see my body respond to his touch, I would see him run his tongue up the line from my ass to my neck...I would see my back arch in reflex response. I would watch as his hands encircle my breasts from behind, spreading long skillful fingers across the mounds of flesh.....I would see the gentle rise of my nipples under his sweet force.
My line of vision would not be interrupted as he lays me down to explore my body. With my eyes lifted to the sky I could watch his reflection make love to a woman, tracing her curves with his finger tips, placing kisses on her stomach and inner thighs, coaxing her to open wide, it is then that I would be most grateful, for I would get light headed at the sight of his head bobbing up and down between my legs, the ripple of teh muscles in his back, one hand clutching my thigh, the other buried deep between our bodies, and I would get the opportunity to see myself cum.....yes, to watch him suck me would be worth the investment.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The Simple Life
Having too much choice is at times not as fantastic as one would’ve thought. There always comes a time when all and sundry do not live up to your preconceived expectations of availability. So further options are explored, afterall, a bird cannot fly on one wing….balance is required sooo…..
In the darkness of the night his golden brown skin glowed…alive with the anticipation of the task at hand and the activities to follow. As he smiled and made his approach I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t see the effect of the occasion on me.
“What can I do for you this evening?” His question was a simple one but I felt anxiety as I pondered what I really wanted.
“A medium conch soup and a bottle of water” I responded and enjoyed the sight of his strong jeans clad thighs as he rushed to fill my order. Lover’s Rock floated through the speakers and voices were raised in excitement while the smell of steam and roasted oyster wafted through the air.
Harbour View Round-About on any night but moreso Friday and Saturday nights is the place to be for seafood lovers. Now, this stuff is not for the weak….wi talking real, real conch stew, raw and roasted oyster, pepper from a questionable bottle which just adds to the excitement, fish frying in a black dutch pot, fried chicken, jerk chicken at every spot, fish soup, conch soup, chicken soup, rice and peas, vegetables, festival a roll, bammy bubbling in hot oil and lots and lots of alcohol…nice.
If you can appreciate a simple flex, this is the ideal thing. You can enjoy your meal to the sounds of Beres or watch a movie or two from a picnic table. Conversation, if that’s your thing, is easy with all you meet cause the vibe is jus’ sweet but if you prefer to gaze at the stars while you eat, that can be facilitated.
Sitting on my own at a picnic table smiling mostly at every person who stops to say “Goodnight”, I had my conch stew and thought about what I would do when got to the airport…how good it would feel to be in his arms again….if only for the weekend.
In the darkness of the night his golden brown skin glowed…alive with the anticipation of the task at hand and the activities to follow. As he smiled and made his approach I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t see the effect of the occasion on me.
“What can I do for you this evening?” His question was a simple one but I felt anxiety as I pondered what I really wanted.
“A medium conch soup and a bottle of water” I responded and enjoyed the sight of his strong jeans clad thighs as he rushed to fill my order. Lover’s Rock floated through the speakers and voices were raised in excitement while the smell of steam and roasted oyster wafted through the air.
Harbour View Round-About on any night but moreso Friday and Saturday nights is the place to be for seafood lovers. Now, this stuff is not for the weak….wi talking real, real conch stew, raw and roasted oyster, pepper from a questionable bottle which just adds to the excitement, fish frying in a black dutch pot, fried chicken, jerk chicken at every spot, fish soup, conch soup, chicken soup, rice and peas, vegetables, festival a roll, bammy bubbling in hot oil and lots and lots of alcohol…nice.
If you can appreciate a simple flex, this is the ideal thing. You can enjoy your meal to the sounds of Beres or watch a movie or two from a picnic table. Conversation, if that’s your thing, is easy with all you meet cause the vibe is jus’ sweet but if you prefer to gaze at the stars while you eat, that can be facilitated.
Sitting on my own at a picnic table smiling mostly at every person who stops to say “Goodnight”, I had my conch stew and thought about what I would do when got to the airport…how good it would feel to be in his arms again….if only for the weekend.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
A Lovely Day
Really, Really good Sundays start with my eyes fluttering open to the sounds of birds and....my warm body wrapped in his.
It is a day where only two things occupy my mind ....to see if he can keep up with me, and that we'll end the day with battle scars from the sucking, tugging, licking, slipping, slapping which occurs all in the name of love.
These Sundays are usually preceded by a week from hell and is a wonderful tool to refocus oneself through surrender to your attraction to him and his lovemaking with absolute ease.
Curling into his chest, kissing his bulging biceps, brushing your lips against his bearded cheeks, watching him slowly awaken....asking at that point if you could make love to him....seeing his eyes light up at the thought. Yes, on Sundays like that you conquer the bed, the bedroom floor, the bathroom adjoining, the kitchen....ahhh the kitchen....and any other room you choose. Its a necessity that no room is left unblessed.
If you are really, really lucky, this unfolds in a Hotel room on the North or South Coast where sustenance is but a phone call away. For Sundays like that you would actually pick a fight just to see how well he could channel his anger into more constructive energy.....
As he lays there... chest exposed, hair sprinkled across each pec, eyes glossy, his dark skin against the white sheets...you watch the rise and fall of his stomach as his excitement builds at the sight of you kneeling over him, tongue between your parted lips, hands trailing a path to his groin, swaying to the primal rhythm of his fingers on your clit....
How sweet a Sunday can be when you set yourself free.
It is a day where only two things occupy my mind ....to see if he can keep up with me, and that we'll end the day with battle scars from the sucking, tugging, licking, slipping, slapping which occurs all in the name of love.
These Sundays are usually preceded by a week from hell and is a wonderful tool to refocus oneself through surrender to your attraction to him and his lovemaking with absolute ease.
Curling into his chest, kissing his bulging biceps, brushing your lips against his bearded cheeks, watching him slowly awaken....asking at that point if you could make love to him....seeing his eyes light up at the thought. Yes, on Sundays like that you conquer the bed, the bedroom floor, the bathroom adjoining, the kitchen....ahhh the kitchen....and any other room you choose. Its a necessity that no room is left unblessed.
If you are really, really lucky, this unfolds in a Hotel room on the North or South Coast where sustenance is but a phone call away. For Sundays like that you would actually pick a fight just to see how well he could channel his anger into more constructive energy.....
As he lays there... chest exposed, hair sprinkled across each pec, eyes glossy, his dark skin against the white sheets...you watch the rise and fall of his stomach as his excitement builds at the sight of you kneeling over him, tongue between your parted lips, hands trailing a path to his groin, swaying to the primal rhythm of his fingers on your clit....
How sweet a Sunday can be when you set yourself free.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Jumbled thoughts on a Whimsical Saturday
Like the vines of the Ivy planted at the base of a wall, growth takes place in several directions.
From the heart of a wee twig life springs and reaches toward the sun with extensions of self growing at variable rates....magnificently.
Unlike the Ivy, which is in no hurry to cover the great expanse of wall, Man sometimes is rushed to mature and reaps certain doom to be charted in the annals of his life. The natural flow of life is interrupted to man's peril...until......if one is lucky, one uncovers and learns the lessons of life and growth, quickly....Should you be blessed with discernment, this is an easy task, should, however, lady luck despise your friendship, you languish in failed attempts at building self.
Character, like the Ivy, is never the arm of you that reaches to its peak first. Instead, it reserves its fever and is informed by every failed attempt. The struggle, the fight, it all feeds the real you to be unveiled in the future when the lessons have been learnt, when new paths to development are found.
A component of you however is always left behind to remind you of who you were at a particular time in your existence. These remnant experiences become the rock on which your true self builds......stop for a moment, let the real you be heard and seen...stop.....and let life unfold naturally.....you'll be happier for it.
From the heart of a wee twig life springs and reaches toward the sun with extensions of self growing at variable rates....magnificently.
Unlike the Ivy, which is in no hurry to cover the great expanse of wall, Man sometimes is rushed to mature and reaps certain doom to be charted in the annals of his life. The natural flow of life is interrupted to man's peril...until......if one is lucky, one uncovers and learns the lessons of life and growth, quickly....Should you be blessed with discernment, this is an easy task, should, however, lady luck despise your friendship, you languish in failed attempts at building self.
Character, like the Ivy, is never the arm of you that reaches to its peak first. Instead, it reserves its fever and is informed by every failed attempt. The struggle, the fight, it all feeds the real you to be unveiled in the future when the lessons have been learnt, when new paths to development are found.
A component of you however is always left behind to remind you of who you were at a particular time in your existence. These remnant experiences become the rock on which your true self builds......stop for a moment, let the real you be heard and seen...stop.....and let life unfold naturally.....you'll be happier for it.
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