Intersexion

oh Master what masterpieces will You paint using Your brushes which tickle and prick on the strokes You choose what shades of red and brown, purple and black will splay across the golden caramel canvas that lays obediently taught yet slack before You oh Master what shapes will appear, what messages will be relayed, what joys will be displayed, that Your artistry commands from its praise for the masterpiece You craft, shape, and devise to bring pleasure to the mind upon those secret set of eyes _____ Magic exists in the stroke that is also where Heaven is found  in the bend of Your wrists, in the twist of the brush And the canvas is Yours to command as You wish, a display of Your power a kind of Love that  becomes  Bliss

I woke up from a fuzzy dream this morning that made me laugh and struck me as strange: I dreamt that my good old friend Rubin and I had sex, not once but three times, in the span of a day, in various guises, positions, and temperaments. We were of course, having lots of fun, laughing and carrying on as two old friends do but there was an intensity to the passion of each of our encounters. There was a strong sense of desire and lust for each other that isn't usually there between two old friends. Mix that with familiarity, and the feeling is one of something akin to love. I couldn't shake the intensity of his dream eyes, staring and piercing into the core of me at the moment of deliverance, the final image left on my mental dream screen.  Later in the day, I actually had to speak to Rubin and I mentioned my morning dream to him. We had a real good laugh over it!  Afterward, I found myself wondering why such an intense dream about a good friend had to play itself out in the...

Thursday morning, 10:11 am text message thread Him: How much longer until you’re here in my arms?  :) I miss u, need u. Me: I miss you. 24 little hours, baby. Him: you free tomorrow eve? Me: YES, all yours. In need of you and the pleasure you give me. Him: Good. Thursday night, 6pm, American Airlines Flight  85 somewhere above Nevada My thoughts are white hot, especially now that I’m on my way like a winged goddess returning to her temple. Perhaps it’s the glass of wine or perhaps the anticipation of seeing Him again. My panties are damp from the delicious thoughts I’ve been playing in my mind about tomorrow’s date night. I reminisce on just how great it is to give myself to Him, how he takes me on thrilling rides of so much joy. He knows how to get me to places only he has directions to. I can’t wait to land and get onto the streets of San Francisco, being chauferred to bed. Being with Him can’t come soon enough. Friday morning, 7:03 am W Hotel ...