We’re all born to our bodies, tethered to brains and souls that overtake us as we build our lives. Lovers and offspring are pivot points, geography counts but only so much. In the way that Nature does, we need to accept the idea of tolerance. There’s what most of us are and what some of us are; there are prototypes and archetypes.
Our bodies are built with skeletons and stretchy flesh within a well-known range between 4′-6′ tall, not all of us but most of us. We have established patterns of fat deposits and muscle development and accept wide ranges. Intellectually we pegged 100 IQ but don’t agree on how to measure it. Tolerance from the ideal to the real. Love the one you are, love the one you’re with.
Nature intended sexual function but accepts our deviant ways within tolerable limits for viability. Nasal intromission is just not going to work. We learn to see the sexual beauty in others and eventually even ourselves. This acceptance is key to high quality sensuality in life because the first person you seduce is yourself — you must believe you have a chance. It is not survival of the fittest but of the fit (close enough). If you are worried about this lump and that deficiency then you will not understand that those are nothing compared to the heat you are built to make, the caresses unique to your arm length and wrist structure. The beauty of sharing what is yours, peculiarly yours as it is, tempers the mechanical fact of fornication that it is the same among the species: donkey to pig, rat to human… cheetah to gazelle.
Full tilt boogie on the lovemaking. Forgive yourself and each other for the imperfections and instead notice what does work, what purrs, what gurgles, and thank Nature for the opportunity. The most basic working version of parts mesh, the plainest of faces imprint, do not withhold all that you are because of stuff that you aren’t.
As a sexotic writer, I work in a vivid vernacular and seek rowdier readers who may self-identify as loners but travel intellectual circles packing big vocabularies and large spirits. It is our brain’s intention to read and it is my eccentricity to focus on the carnal and the comical. I hear back that most people’s advances in sexual self-confidence come from relaxing their standards, from understanding what is mutable and what is not about a lover, a friend, body type, and family. This is not to say “lower” standards as much as adapt them to prevailing conditions, and recognize there’s more going on than your side of the equation so that you might yourself be judged more kindly. My erotic-graphic language is a good reminder to think about your sex∞life, to plan to enjoy yourself, and to be glad for any chance you get to BE turned on.
From a technique and physique perspective, Kathleen K. Books are thought-provoking and carved carefully because we’ve drawn a veil across our passion and desire, even as we pulsate with porn-adgraphy in our media. No wonder our receptors are worn out waggling in response to false stimuli. Better lovemaking takes time, and consideration for other rewards the self as is shown again and again in our fables and fantasies. Reading about sex at bedtime is a natural way to pepper your dreams with wayward images; perusing a naughty book on the train takes you away from the mundane. Nature intends us to adapt to our decisions but allows us to live through our choices. Finitude (Bingle it, web-wise).
– but work is only 1/3 of 5/7 of the week
He had a long plump penis and very powerful hands so I kept seeing him long after we had much to say. There was so much to do that we didn’t rub each other the wrong way. He had the same appreciation for my ass, it just drove him wild, he told me, to see it sweep down and around from my waist to tuck tightly to my muscular thighs. It made the big boy jump, I can attest to that. We fit all over but it was my special pleasure to ease that significant snake up deep inside myself, knowing a fullness that is indescribable by analogy. To have a functional place on the body function to full flower is in and of itself a definition of fulfillment.
His ‘thing’ was spanning my lush ripe can with his talented hands and pulling the ass-halves back (apart but inward?) so that everything shifted tighter where we connected. It was exquisite. We were generous with each other. He mounded my titties together with all four of our hands to insure maximum “envelopment” of his prick between my tits, and I could lip the tip/top like he liked. He ate me out with care, understanding it was a language rather than an activity.
The social contract of relationships has little to do with the way I felt when he rummaged in my dress, hissing his whispers in my ear: I was his dirty princess, his red-hot witch. He smudged me when he touched me but that would wash off later when I didn’t need it anymore. Even now I feel him notching in, having taken his time and coaxed me to accept the girth of dick, that phallus so much more than the ordinary, gorgeously and proportionally bigger than average when average is already great.