There is Power in Words

I remember the first time I heard your voice. It was like no other voice I’d ever heard. You might think it cut through me clean and surgical, tearing me asunder, rocking my world, touching me in ways unknown. But it did not. No. Your beautiful voice, with its lovely cadence, its deep timbre, its raw honesty and feeling… it could have never cut through me so perfectly.

Your voice was a ragged blade, tearing through the skin and muscle and marrow, leaving rivulets of blood blossoming from jagged edges. Your voice became a deep wound within me, unable to heal–every scab, no matter how newly formed, ripped fresh from the gash to let me bleed again. I feel you distinctly, an unending scar cut into the fabric of my soul. You are like a tattoo that only I can see, something living and breathing, a constant reminder of all that is you.

And like a tattoo, you are an addiction. I want a fresh needle, a raw wound, new blood. I ache for the sound in my ear as much as I ache for you, your body, your mind, the feel of your hands on me, the feel of my hands on you.

I thought about the first time I heard your voice, and the way it sent me spinning, reeling, flying into every moment that has passed between us since.

Who knew it would lead us here.

I Wanna Shape a Hundred Million Feelings

I’m talking. As I speak, I become more aroused. Besides feeling it in my panties, I can hear it in my voice. I’m speaking dirty talk and ideas and words and my tone is becoming lower and my voice is becoming throaty. Sultry is, maybe, the word.

I’m talking fantasy and I’m aroused. And I know you are too. And I can tell you become more so by the tone of your voice. And I wonder if you’re answering in kind because you are genuinely excited or because by myself I’m boring you. This is how I am. This is how I think sometimes.

“Baby, you’re so careful with your language, with your words. You’re always worried about whether you’re going to weird me out or upset me. Say what’s really on your mind now, let it pour out.”

He’s right. There are words I’d love to say to him. Dirty, disgusting things. Sweet, emotional things. Strange, and maybe disturbing things. In the heat of these moments, I am not really responsible for the thoughts that cross my mind and my heart. But I am responsible for keeping them close to the bone.

“Let it pour out.”

I’m not sure if you know what you’re asking. I am not sure if I let you in behind my last wall, it’s a place where you would want to be. I cannot let the gate peak open. I am an all or nothing girl, and you know this better than anyone else. If the flood is allowed, it will be a deluge that doesn’t end.

I fear what I might share with you or say to you if I did not keep such a tight lid on my mouth, on the things I think about, on the things I want. But sometimes I want to. Sometimes I do want to give you the last inch of me.

But sometimes it is the last thing that I fear.

TMI Tuesday: The Ways You Paint Me

Color is everywhere–nature, food, clothing, skin, animals. Different colors symbolize or mean different things in different cultures. Finally, color affects mood.

Rainbowtmi

From your life, tell us about an object, experience or idea related to each of the colors of the spectrum:

1. Red:
The way I burn for him and him alone. Flames that consume me, threatening to fill my lungs and drown me in heat… the hue of my cheeks when he says beautiful or filthy words to me… the colour that his hand leaves behind on my skin.

2. Orange:
His vivacity… the way he makes me laugh on a bad day, even when I think no one else can…
3. Yellow:
The bruises ten days later, still marring my thighs and cheeks and feet… reminding me of lessons learned and the sweet pleasure that comes from the torment of pain… the way I feel when a coworker comments on my marks and I’m scrambling for an answer because I couldn’t possibly tell them what a depraved girl I have been…
4. Green:
The impossible feeling of jealousy when other eyes move over him, sizing him up, taking in all that he is, coveting what I want to  only be mine…
5. Blue:
The unfathomable depths of his eyes, all at once beautiful and terrible, all-knowing and unknowable, full of passion and longing, stern with command, dominance, dark and light, reflecting winter storms and snow clouds, bleeding out intensity that stops me in my tracks…
6. Violet:
What it feels like to hear him speak in his mother tongue to me in quiet moments of intimacy, voice husky, raspy, dark… growling out the syllables in beautiful lyricism and desperate intonation… and even the words I do not yet know the meaning of… I can hear the melody… I know the song…

 

Bonus: What is the color of sex?
Golden, like stars exploding behind my eyes, supernovas, while you whisper sweet and dirty nothings, the need in your voice makes a fire move through me and when you plead with me to whisper your name… *your* name and no one else’s, only yours because that is who and what I am—yours… molten, shining gold, like the way I feel when you tell me in the middle of sex how beautiful and desirable I am, even if in that moment, I struggle to believe it, I know your words are true because you’re saying them… honeyed bronze like the colour of your hair, and like the way I feel, glowing from the inside out with an ethereal light, like I am precious because you are so deep inside of my body and my mind, how I could not be…

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How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Last Night, Damn You Were in My Sex Dreams

The heat is cloying, pressing in from all sides. A late night in May, the air would already be wet if it wasn’t for the early summer storm. With every roll of thunder, every crack of lightning, the smell of ozone invades the house, the pressure in the air changes. My body feels electric, like it is of the storm, and all the baby fine hairs on my body stand up on end. It’s late evening, the clouds blanket the sky, and the world is darker for the want of a moon. The flashes of lightning are the only source of light. The power is out; technology outdone again by the awesome force of nature. I lean against the open sliding glass door, inhaling the scent of petrichor, absorbing the sound of the rain into my skin. My body feels alive. Continue reading

If You Were Mine, I Would Live For Your Love Alone, To Kneel at Your Shrine, I Would Give Up All That I Own

A Sinner Sits for Sacred Sunday Service
Singing the liturgical tones of
sexual ardor
I move
to your taciturn tendencies,
exercises in silence;
a sojourn in discipline;
momentary lapse of reality–
how many times
will you make my eyes speak to you?
breathless,
I whisper across the fire,
begging pour le deluge.
tes yeux de glace
precipitate desire,
but
my
eyes
are only for you–
waiting to again make the
carnal sounds of coitus:
a litany of pumping hips
the chorus of animal sounds
guttural,
primal,
as I lick the sweat from the hollow of your
throat.