For who I am

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Onyx. Photo by Eric Francis.

I turned off the air conditioner and the room gradually drew warmer. Her sheer dress was orange, and it wrapped her frame carefully, holding onto her where it touched her.

As she sat down near me with her long legs extended toward me, I felt the inevitability of what would happen here, and it was lovely. Her expression was soft and unwavering. I reminded myself that this was a moment when I could go deeply. I reminded myself that in the abject silence of my loft she was my only witness. We are free. Therefore I could afford to be honest. Yet there were other times when it seemed no easier for having a witness; that was my own resistance at play, flirting with me to forgo it.

Some part of me thought, if she’s your witness, let her see. Show her and love that you can.

I looked at her mouth, now free to embrace the thought of her lips caressing him while I stretched my knees apart; while I breathed and relaxed into what was happening. It was easy to visualize her, and to embody her feelings as she did so, and to see the living expression on her face, now and as she loved him. Now, as she gently held a space for me to love myself. In truth I understood that their lovemaking created that space for me, created the inevitability that I would hold the experience in my awareness by loving myself.

Her eyes steadily held me, alert and gentle, bright even in the dim light. My mind animated her mouth and her face, sucking and playing with him and then as he teased to the edge of his release, suddenly swallowing him, naked, over and over: I felt the events in sequence, four or five of them. I melted into my helplessness and her delight. Then it was easier.

“I love that you suck him,” I said to her.

“I know you do,” she replied softly, so compassionately. “I love that you do, it’s so amazing to feel that. Sometimes I can’t believe it.”

“You swallow him. You’ve done it and you’ll do it again. I know you want him.”

“I want him and yes I plan to do it again. I will suck him off again the next time I see him.”

Every time I acknowledged her, or felt her speak about her desires, I plunged deeper into my love for her. This time I groaned, deeply and urgently, not quite skimming grief. Her boldness was a vector; I needed oral contact, so rolled over onto my belly and my mouth pressed against the cool surface of a mirror coated in dry semen. I licked the salty crust from the surface, embarrassed enough to be self-conscious, and then delighting in it.

“Yes,” she said.

With that encouragement, I wet my tongue and licked my old seed off of the mirror as she watched and felt and listened. It was difficult to space into myself, that is, to really relax into myself, until I opened my eyes, then I melted a little, and a little more. My eyes were half-child, half-animal, hungry and thirsty for acceptance, of which I caught a glimpse in my own eyes.

Then I sat up, and faced her; I needed her to see my face.

She looked, still so gently. “I love the sounds you make,” she said. “I love to hear you.” I looked at her, breathing deeply, my cock hard and extended toward her, wanting to fuck her, needing to, yet understanding that I needed something different in that moment.

“You fuck him. I know how you fuck him,” I said, visualizing her riding him, clinging to him sweetly, sitting on him with his penis buried deep in her pelvis. “I know how good he feels in you.”

“He does, he feels so good inside me.” I let that soak in.

“And you moan when he does it…?”

“Yes, I do. Of course I do.”

“And he hears you…”

“Yes,” she said. “He hears me, and he loves it.”

“I love that you fuck,” I said, breathing out the words, tasting them as I spoke them.

“Yes, I fuck. Sometimes I fuck you, and sometimes I fuck someone else.” My heart shuddered as she said these words. If I felt sadness, it was the exploding kind, setting me free. Then I melted into gratitude.

“Thank you for fucking me,” I said, though barely coherently. “I surrender to you having anyone you want. It may hurt sometimes, I know. But I will love myself through it. I love that you fuck.”

With that, I slipped onto my back, so that I could do it to myself. Next to her was a stool with a strap-on dildo attached to it, laying on the floor. I tipped up my hips and oiled my ass with a little spray bottle of olive oil, and then I did my hand and worked the purple dildo with oil; then I slowly mounted it.

“I love that you fuck. I’m going to fuck myself. That you…” and the rest of the sentence was a deeper groan, of my root chakra being pierced at my own discretion; I pulled up my knees and mounted the thing, rocking on it, my face visible, my soul naked, my voice making a sound I had never heard. “I love that you fuck.”

“And you masturbate…”

“I masturbate while you fuck,” I said, pulling and grinding against the heavy stool, envisioning her wrapped around him, her legs and pelvis in control of her movements, taking her pleasure, bestowing her pleasure, fully intentionally. Then the intention itself grabbed hold of me: the incontrovertible thirst of her desire.

My eyes studied the torso of the living woman in the room with me. I traced her breasts and her hips and her long legs that came closer to me.

“How does he like to cum when he lets go into you?”

“Well, she said gently, and paused. I agonized in the moment, not sure I wanted to know. He likes me on my side, as he is kneeling up. I think, this is when he moans the most deeply and that’s how I know.”

Gazing at her as I lay fucked, I could imagine her in that position, and then naked, relaxing her beingness into the inevitability that he would let go, once situated like that. “And you know it’s going to happen…”

“Yes, I know it is, I do know.”

“Ohhhhhh…” escaped me and I pulled the stool up hard onto my ass and let my knees drop back further yet.

“Good,” she said. “Make love to yourself.”

“Oh, I want to,” I said.

“You can…”

“I want to tell…I want…him to know…that I do this so that you can make love, please tell him that this is how I open the space for you to love. I love myself…while you fuck, while you fuck who…you…want,” speaking in rhythm with the solid slams against my ass and penetrating into the canal of my pelvis, feeling the beauty of their connection.

She said, as I plunged into the humility,

Oh, that is very beautiful.


(Posted at Book of Blue)

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