Lyrics

Nothing compares to the feel of this music. Rolling into me, through me, carrying me with it, I so easily lose myself in the flow of it. Move with it. Hips rocking, the music a sensation all it’s own. Pick the right soundtrack, and you’ve made the night. My pick is always heavy with drums, bass, and excruciating guitar riffs in combination with delicious lyrics. Always this music steals me away, each beat satin inside my skin, evoking emotions better left dormant, most often desire - exquisite, this music, this feeling.

Moving music always includes provocative lyrics - incendiary, visceral lyrics. Lyrics of lust, of being consumed by love or desire, lyrics of burning. I want solid concepts. These are not always positive notions, but also include desperation, living/dying, lust and love lost. Many, many beautiful songs are heartbreaking in their intensity, speaking of pain, of sorrow, of absolute despair - music of a passionate life.

One song in particular affects me like no other. The initial sweep of guitar drugs me, speeding my pulse, narrowing my focus until all sense is drowned out. My mood and the events of the day do not matter. Nothing matters. Within this song, all things are possible. The lyrics do not form a cohesive story for me, they are just bits of danger, of something menacing lurking. The bass centers and binds, the guitar pulls and whips, the two creating a rend within, a frenzy of torn longing. I’m left with an uncomfortable feeling, and an irresistible pull to play it again.

Abandon

She surprised me with her daring. I expected her to protest, straddling me, as I slide her up to meet my mouth. She utters no protest, but complies, already grinding against my lips, teeth, tongue. Her self-possession is darling. Later, legs astride my hips, she continues her rocking motion. With complete abandon she pounds herself into me until another exquisite orgasm rocks my core. After each one, she purrs, “You’re so fucking sexy!” The words draw out, melting in her mouth, a heartbreaking expression of feeling. After each one she seems completely unsatisfied with her work, and pushes to continue on. Kisses resume; she slides back down between my clenched knees. I beg her, “a break! I need a break,” but she doesn’t comply. I know that desire. I remember being so consumed with scent and taste and touch that I could continue eternally. She doesn’t know that it does run on for me, even after I leave her. I am consumed by her, my skin aflame with echoes of what she wrings out of me. Never have I been loved to the point of absolute exhaustion like she loves me.

She is an enigma to me. So self-assured, so willing to abandon anything for this pleasure. She so willingly mounts me, her face between my legs as I bury my face between hers. She loses herself in sensation as her pleasure peaks. She grinds, rides, thrusts against my face, fierce, just like I thought it would be. Exquisite.

She’s an enigma because she’s so free, and yet so chained. She makes my blood burn.

Agony

“Oh fuck,” she says, “oh fuck baby, oh fuck,” each syllable delicate, girlish. “Oh fuck,” she cries, her legs wrapping, unwrapping, grasping, pulling, tugging at my head. That first night she whispers, “I want to fuck you,” and I swear I swoon. Titillating to hear such a harsh word uttered with that exquisite, fragile little voice. Her desperation is the sweetest part. I want to immerse myself in those longing hips, continually wrap myself between those thighs and knees. Her delicate frame belies the ferocity she demands in lovemaking. I’m addicted to that muscular back; deep kissable dimples found low, sinewy lines up and up spread into a perfect curve from hip to shoulder. Her voice alone is enough to make my desire run hot. What would she be like, legs astride my face? Fierce, I’m certain, and very powerful.

My skin is awash in scent; the scent of her, of cologne, of cigarettes, of beer, of her mouth, of cunt. I’m rolling, swallowed up in it, in her. Strange to attribute all this to chemical reactions when surely it must be much more.

A kiss before she runs off and with a soft growl she cries, “stop looking so sexy!” My mind is an agony of her words, her sensations. I don’t see what she sees, but all I see is her.

Fearless

This one has no visible display of passion. I ask her what lights her fire, she tells me, “This.” So many, many things light mine. In my perverse journey to find someone who matches me, I find only people with some madness of their own. What madness do others see in me?

She’s still radiant, even with her small madness.

Crossing the bridge my heart beat with the whipping wind. Constantly pushing boundaries and challenging small fears, this bridge has always been one of my trials. The city lights are incomparably lovely, the glint off the roiling waters magnetic but also alarming. The bridge does not cause my alarm, nor does the fierce wind. It’s the water. The fairly shallow water should not produce anxiety either, but it is the water I fear. Even the gentle lapping against the bank seems like an impassioned boil, the opaque depths seem an angry living thing. Surely some creature must be slipping around beneath the surface, ready to burst forth in a spitting fury of water. I do not understand how something so enthralling can be the source of such tension.

Fearless. I want to be fearless. Conquering that emotion is the first step toward complete freedom. Last night, I was fearless. My skin could not hold me in. I felt buoyed by the constant buffeting wind, overjoyed by the warm air, the embracing dark and leafless branches a perfect backdrop to my fire. I belong.

Memoirs of A Single Girl: Lesson #1

Lesson #1

If you’re going to try online dating, invest in a text friendly phone.

Who does not have a text friendly phone in this day and age, you may ask? Well…Ok, so before all these smart phones came out, I was a firm believer in the “my phone is for my own damned pleasure” mentality. As in, if I don’t want to talk, I’m not gonna answer the damned thing.

*Gasp!* I’m sure to hear from potential readers.

And to you I say, “get over it.” Also, phones were for texting and talking. Not for Facebook, Angry Birds, and watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother. I’ve changed my mind though. Now I WANT to play Angry Birds, but even the adequate phone I purchased the first time around sent it’s touch screen capabilities to cell phone heaven. My carrier kindly gave me a loaner phone…from the 80’s. No QWERTY keyboard folks. Ugh. Flash back to the 7 potential dates I’m currently texting…

FLASH!

Ok, not 7. Seven is overkill, and only exists in my dreams of social butterfly-hood. Still, even one or two potential suitors in addition to random texts from friends means my down time is now filled with furious (but very, very slow) texting. I’m almost like, “omg, just call me.” Not quite though. I just want my old phone back please.

K thanx bye.

Steps

As a 24 year old woman, I have a perfectly "normal" libido (substitute also: lively, vigorous, voracious, etc.). Despite present attempts to temper said voracious libido, it remains untamed. Perhaps I'm just reacting to the abundance of attention showered upon newly single little me. I feel as though I have a red neon "Available" sign emblazoned above my head. The attention is all male, of course. I look decidedly straight. I haven't the slightest idea how to successfully navigate the lesbian dating scene. I'm doomed.

I made a decision to lay off the sex for a bit. It seems the universe obliges by making every person I find attractive immediately available to me for any pleasure I may seek. Thank you, Universe, for the timing. So, I "laid off the sex" for all of a week. I'm struggling with that journey.

I have a baby crush on a girl I work with. She is oh-so-taken already, and is a step or two above me on the workplace ladder. This attraction spells disaster anyway you hang it. I know I have to bury this little infatuation, when in the past I may have acted upon it. Step #1 in that same journey. I still look at her every time she passes, still imagine I see a spark of returned interest. I find it embarrassing that at my age I am unable to quell the attraction outright.

I am beginning to believe I am drawn only to trouble.

My, me, mine

I let the submissive parts take over. I rolled, tail tucked, belly exposed. I said, "yes, master." What a game to play. All the while I knew I was better than that. All the while I knew who the dominate one was. Now I'm disgusted. Now the dominate one is biting and clawing its way right out again. If the suppression continues I'll be shredded when it all ends. The dominate one is too insistent. I know what truth looks like. I know how lies disguise themselves. I let the passion conceal everything else. Shameful, really.

I'll lick my wounds. I'll regret. I'll believe I made a fatal error.

I'll emerge a cliche. A caterpillar, a butterfly.