Diary ~ Oct 6th 2014
I have a third eye.
Erotic stories are like a perpetual vine, leafing and blooming wherever I look. For the composer, I wonder if life’s noises are a symphony; if the world is an algorithm to the mathematician; or if, to dancers, choreography is in life’s every gesture. I see the erotic in words, art, music, nature. I’m aroused. I’m exhausted. I’m in love with beauty. I’m overwhelmed by it.
Today I bought cheese, cold cuts, baguettes and wine. The ceiling is painted black girders and half concealed spot lights. The air is filled with the smell of breads, meats and confection . I and another another couple wait at the deli counter. They’re college-aged. He’s tall, thin and black, wearing glasses. She’s half his height, nicely curved, and Asian. They’re beautiful. I imagine their lovemaking.
October — her hip against his as they wait
His skin is the dark of the equatorial sun. Her face is like a pale moon. I see how lovemaking is different for them — how easily he lifts her and how she can’t help want his chest and nipples between teeth and tongue. His taste for her makes her ache. When they’re joined they can’t kiss. He’s too tall — unless she sits in his lap. His cock isn’t too large for her, though other women thought it was. She closes her eyes when lowers herself. She asks him not to move. It can hurt if he presses too soon; but if he waits his thrusts can bring her to orgasm. The small fingers of her left hand hold onto his shoulder. Her right hand, palm down, wrests behind her on his knee and she is turned just a little as she lifts herself, then presses downward, spine curlinjg. Her lips part. She exhales. She almost likes these moments the most, before the fucking begins, when she closes her eyes and explores him inside and outside herself. Sometimes he will lie down, his beautiful length beneath her; she, in the middle, the palms of both hands crossing his abdomen; his other beautiful length parting her thighs.
nipple jutting through his fingers as he penetrates from
This morning was different. I see what happened. They needed to be quick. She didn’t wake as early. She comes to the kitchen in a long shirt. He is in his clothes, black jeans and a black jacket. He smiles when he sees her, the flash of his white teeth netting her the way they always do. She feels the twinge between her thighs. He lifts her onto the kitchen counter. He’s tall enough that he only has to push her knees up and apart. She’s not ready when he fills her. He likes that. He likes the way she grips the counter’s edge; the way her back rises and her nipples jut. He likes pushing her raised knees apart, back, and flat against the counter top. He opens her completely. He likes the way her voice grinds with every thrust and the way her orgasm, just before he fills her with his own, is a shocked blink, a stunned and half-conscious gaze. Someday, as they learn more about each other, he’ll buy handcuffs and a blindfold. He’ll be embarrassed. He’ll be at a sex shop and make silly comments as he pays for them.
after bathing — her lover’s orgasm wetting her
She’ll giggles when she sees them. Then, after she handles them, looks at them, asks him if she can use them on him, she’ll grow quiet. She’ll turn onto her stomach and place her wrists at the small of her back. Her beautiful black hair will spay across the pillow. She’ll turn onto one cheek and peer back at him. She’ll open her thighs and lift the entrance to their orgasms. Her cries, when he thrusts, will be unlike anything he’s heard before. But for now, waiting for their turn at the Deli, her hip presses against his hip. She smiles. They’re just like any other couple