Bi-Polarism and life.
Bi-polarism, according to a range of definitions, is a mood disorder that causes radical emotional changes and mood swings, from manic highs to depressive lows.
Mania and depression: both words conjure up unfavourable and quite scary states of being and the juxtaposition between the two must be extremely frightening to the sufferer.
How can manic excitement be frightening, one may ask? Well because the person with bi-polarism who is going through an episode of hypermania knows full well that there is a down turn at any minute, and unlike others who do not suffer from the disease, they cannot put the brakes on in the plateau.
When a non-sufferer has a natural high, such as a sensual coming together with a partner for instance, they recognise the fact that they have had this mind-blowing experience but that it would be unsustainable to constantly be on that high.
Climaxes, orgasms, cumming is more wonderful by the very fact that it is a pinnacle, a peak and a moment of perfect wonderment at one’s sexuality.
We all know that we cannot climax perpetually and even if we think it would be rather brilliant to be in a permanent state of arousal, eventually even the most “manic” of us would get a little fed up of the constant erection of our cocks or cunts.
So we relax after our orgasms. If we are sensible, we allow that sensation to ripple over us and envelop us, even preparing us for the normality of the day ahead. We know that at some point immediately after climax, we have to get out of bed, or drop off to sleep in order to be fresh for the morning in front of us. If we are very fortunate, we might actually have one, two or even multiple orgasms after the initial one but it cannot go on without a break, and we all know that it is going to stop for a short while whilst we get on with other important parts of our lives.
It will plateau.
Those with bi-polar tendencies though, probably arrive at the plateau and forget within an instance the mania of the orgasm. They don’t stop on the level playing field and get on with the day, anticipating more loveliness later in the day or the week. They just race into a decline, rushing beyond the plateau into the depths of the valley beyond, and it is not a good place to be.
They cannot see the peaks from where they are. They cannot ever envisage having that sexual wonderment. They feel doomed to ceaseless abstinence and inertia usurps with defiant arrogance.
Bi-polarism, in itself, can have serious sexual repercussions with the obvious extremes of manic and sometimes inappropriate sexual behaviour and the contrasting behaviour of dysfunction and inability to be aroused.
When you consider the debilitating effects of either of those extremes, of any extreme behaviour, then you can imagine how difficult it is to be suffering from bi-polarism, and hopefully the analogy with sex makes that explicit.
I do not have bi-polarism thankfully. It seems rather bloody scary to me, and I would quite like to steer clear of this challenging and daunting illness. However, it is present and I am now beginning to think that there are bi-polar tendencies in my life.
Please note in making such a statement and what is to follow is not meant to belittle this illness. Far from it; I hope that it is some way demonstrates the disability that such an illness can bring.
You see, my life is bi-polar. It swings from one extreme to the other. I hope that my highs are not manic as such for mania suggests a lack of control in the altitudes and at the other extreme depression is an unpleasant thought. However, I have to admit and contend that bi-polarism is a good analogy for my life.
Here is an example of a bi-polar day for me.
I get out of bed, get dressed, sort the children out and get into the car. I drive for some time and arrive at my lover’s house. I get undressed and back into bed. I have earth shattering, mind-blowing, sex that orbits me into a different world. I hold my lover and he looks into my eyes and tells me the most amazing things, about myself, about our world, about his thoughts, about our lives. We lie together for ages; lying interspersed with penetration, or penetration interspersed with lying if you want a more positive and realistic view of what happens.
We each reach those heights of orgasm that may appear manic, yet are more controlled than that; erratic in the instance of extreme, taking us out of ourselves for a moment but not leaving us in a stupefied state unable to reach back down to reality. (Well, actually, as I write this, I think I do enjoy mania in my sex life and maybe I do have moments where the wonderment does take me uncontrollably to a different plane but I know how and when to come back.)
After orgasms galore, we get up, we do things together for the rest of the day. We might take a walk that somehow prolongs the brilliance of what we have been up to in the morning, and then we steadily make our way to the plateau of day-to-day tasks.
Standing on the plateau, I walk to my car, set off on a journey away from my lover and return to the family home where I cook the meal, talk to my children, sit and read the paper and then do nothing.
For in the coming home, I am entering into the darker side of bi-polarism. Inertia sets in. I am disabled, sitting or lying with a book, unable or indifferent about talking to anyone else in the household.
I have forgotten about the fact that I have spent the morning having the most incredible love-making because I am stuck with shackles anchoring me down to an existence that I do not think is mine, yet I know all too well that it is.
It’s depressing.
Of course, there is a possibility that I am exaggerating to make a point but the point for me is quite explicit.
I make no excuses for the life I lead. I made the choice to have this secret life but the more I think about it, the more I realise that this is not just a secret life. It is a bi-polar existence.
If I wanted to give it a positive spin, perhaps I could just say it is yin and yang; polar opposites but that somehow doesn’t portray the extremes of either end of these spectrums.
Obviously there are some positives in the return to base. My children ground me but they also lead me upwards away from the plateau but they are less dependent on me these days and therefore less influential on my moods and desires. Ten years ago, whatever they felt, whatever they needed was my raison d’etre. Maturity breeds independence. Independence breeds a widening plateau though the peaks of parenthood, as well as the troughs, will always be there.
So let’s just take away the parenting. We know that exists. It is (hate the phrase) a no-brainer in my bi-polarist world. It does not come into the equation, although it clearly does come into the equation because it defines my choices (a sub section of bi-polarism then?).
Let’s return to my plateaus and my mountains, my valleys and my extremes.
The mountain analogy doesn’t really work for me though because I don’t want to walk mountains daily and yet if the mountains offer what I experience in climax and in wandering over to my lover’s house, then I’m happy to breathe in the Alpine air.
As I said right at the beginning, I know that I may not be able to sustain the ‘mania’ of the positives, and it may not even be helpful to try. Perhaps to even think that it is possible creates a downfall. Perhaps if my life was reversed the mountains and valleys may reverse too but I doubt it.
The purpose of this writing is not to say that I dislike the highs and lows or that I want to perpetuate the highs to the extent that by frequency they lose their peak. The point I am making is that my life appears to have taken on some aspects of bi-polarism. I do have extreme highs and I do have extreme lows. I can barely move with the tedium and nothingness that I receive in the evening with no conversation, no interaction, no passion. That is debilitating and pointless.
I can barely contain my excitement with all the opposites that I get when I am with my lover.
Would I be human to not feel excitement and delight at such a different extreme?
And whilst bi-polarism is difficult, with the help of some lithium, it is manageable.
So what is my lithium and am I taking enough?
Will there be a time when the medication is not required, when the balancing is more natural, when I can appreciate the highs for the brilliance they are without falling below the plateau?
Time may tell or it may not.
Life is not something that can be tracked and put in a perfect place. Even when it appears perfection is present, one should always be mindful of the yin that accompanies the yang.
But as I sit in the lower end of my bi-polarism, the illness sometimes seems inescapable. The next few days seem unaccountably long and my natural high (not a bi-polar mania) seems an irredeemably long way off.
Today, I have slightly taken this theme tongue in cheek but there is also quite an uneasy undertone that conveys the truth.
My world, the world that I have chosen, the world that I enjoy and the world that I live in, the world of my lover and the world of my family, they have polar tendencies.
My head aches sometimes because of the inertia. It is no coincidence that they malaise disappears as I cross over to the other side, so to speak.
I have a bi-polarism and I know enough about the subject to be mindful of its problems.
And like any good bi-polar person, I’m just not sure if I want to take the lithium at all for if I do, I might knock out the highs as well as the lows and that is something that I am not prepared to do.
So, after all of that writing, maybe the conclusion should be that I am not indeed suffering from bi-polarism at all but a healthy dose of yin and yang, living favourable dichotemies and contradictions and I should merely glorify the diversity of my existence.
As I said, these are merely thoughts.
Saturday 25 September 2010
Monday 20 September 2010
Let's Do It
Synchronicity is a wonderful joy in life. I often seem to be caught in some bizarre state of synchronicity where there is no logical reason for the connections that occur.
On the weekend, I realised that I hadn’t been very consistent with my writing on this blog recently, and therefore was going to do some writing about having sex in different places. Nothing major, nothing out of the ordinary, just a comment or two about having sex out of the bedroom.
I was, within the course of this writing, going to mention the urgency of sex, which is why sometimes there isn’t enough time or opportunity to get to bed to have a fuck, and then as I was thinking these thoughts, I switched on the television.
There was a programme on celebrating the life and works of Victoria Wood. Don’t panic! She hasn’t passed away and I am not sure why there was this tribute on but it was quite interesting. Clearly she is an extremely well-respected woman by her peers, both actors and comedians.
Of course, there were plenty of clips from the most famous of her shows and characters, including the sublime Mrs. Overall, superbly played by Julie Walters. Sadly there wasn’t the clip of Victoria doing the child birth sketch which is one of the funniest parodies of the subject I have ever seen television. But what they did have was show the song “Let’s DO it – the Ballad of Barry and Freda”.
This is the moment of synchronicity Part One because this song seemed to fit quite clearly with my theme of having sex all over the place and when it is desperately needed.
Then by chance my beautiful lover wrote me a text to say that it was a shame that we hadn’t made it into the bedroom today. I responded to say that there was nothing quite like having sex in the bedroom but quite frankly, I would indeed have been happy to be “bent over backwards on me hostess trolley”. I would have been happy to have sex anywhere such was the pressure that was built up in my nether regions.
More synchronicity.
So it is now up to me to write the writing that I was going to but I have to return to that song first.
People often comment that the very best comedy is the comedy that not only makes us laugh but hits that raw nerve when the parody is so intense and acutely real. In the very same show, there were people commenting on another of Victoria Wood’s sketches where she becomes Chrissie, the girl who swims the channel.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2poRHmFvLI
It is brilliant pathos, which is something that Ms. Wood has fine-tuned as well as any of her contemporaries.
Now most people who listen and watch the “Let’s Do It” clip, just enjoy the humour of this poor desperate Freda who just wants a bang, no matter where, compared with her partner Barry who is dreading the thought of sex and coming up with all sorts of outlandish excuses.
It’s funny.
There are some classic lines such as the “hostess trolley” or “The only girl I’m mad about is Judith Chalmers” but the main humour comes in the hidden reality of the song.
I suspect that Victoria Wood hit onto something with this song and all those people who originally laughed at this song did not realise that they were secretly weeping for their own lack of sex and their inability to be as assertive as Freda in demanding sex from her partner.
Once more, as a society we can laugh at such a song without realising the hypocrisy of doing so because in many ways, there are plenty of us who are laughing at this and simultaneously all being “Barry”.
The observational humour of this song, therefore, is not lost on me. It is sheer brilliance that she could capture the tragedy of the situation whilst simultaneously making it hilarious whilst also spelling it out to the asexual what a travesty they are inflicting on their alleged loved ones.
Clever eh?
So, just for Victoria, I am going to say that I can laugh at the song for a slightly different reason now.
Sometimes, I worry that I am too demanding sexually because quite frankly, I would be happy to have sex anywhere, anytime but this song reminds me that I am merely expressing what others would be and certainly should be given the chance and opportunity to be honest about their sexuality and their need as well as desire for frequent sex.
I love sex. If I am honest, there is nothing that beats sex in bed with a person that you care about. It takes on a different level, a realm that I have tried to explain in recent posts. However, there is a time (sadly all too infrequently) for such sex and there is time for some raunchy, needy sex that could happen anywhere.
My lover was telling me about how he once had an argument with a lover and during that argument she insisted in him finger fucking her throughout her home. Interestingly, I have always had a little fantasy about him fucking me in every room in his house; firstly in every room and secondly, fucking me in every room on the same day. I’m currently missing two rooms so maybe I ought to have a full-on session and get those two rooms done with one stone!
So whilst the bedroom is my first choice, I adore being fucked senseless in the kitchen, with my panties down at my ankles, leaning on the door to prevent an unnecessary intrusion. I love being in the dining room, dangerously near the patio doors with the world outside being able to observe our passion. I am passionate about lying on the rug and being fucked senseless until my cum threatens to extinguish the flames of the adjacent fire. I remember fondly the times when I have lain on the stairs and tossed off as well as turned around for a penetration from behind. I get massively turned on by the urgency of a ride in the lounge, unable to get upstairs because a cock simply needs pussy and the intervening stairs are an obstacle too far. And I adore holding onto the bath or watching myself in the mirror as I see and feel the glorious intensity of my lover deep inside me.
But above and beyond all else I love being in bed, looking into my lover’s eyes, sharing the intimacy of bonding togetherness, sharing passion.
However, returning to the song, I rather fancy doing it till “our hearts go boom....... in gay abandon on the tufted Wilton” because “I don’t believe in too much sex .......... and I’ve really got the appetite” and I want you to “dangle from the wardrobe in your balaclava....... (whilst) ......... wear(ing) your baggy Y-fronts with the loose elastic” and I you to “smear an avocado on me lower portions” whilst you “come and melt the buttons on me flameproof nightie!”
Of course you need to “beat me on the bottom with a Woman’s Weekly” whilst “I’ll just wear stilettos heels and an oven glove”.
But most importantly, “Let’s do it, let’s do it tonight!”
In fact, let’s not wait until tonight or let’s pretend that tonight’s are in the middle of the day.
On the weekend, I realised that I hadn’t been very consistent with my writing on this blog recently, and therefore was going to do some writing about having sex in different places. Nothing major, nothing out of the ordinary, just a comment or two about having sex out of the bedroom.
I was, within the course of this writing, going to mention the urgency of sex, which is why sometimes there isn’t enough time or opportunity to get to bed to have a fuck, and then as I was thinking these thoughts, I switched on the television.
There was a programme on celebrating the life and works of Victoria Wood. Don’t panic! She hasn’t passed away and I am not sure why there was this tribute on but it was quite interesting. Clearly she is an extremely well-respected woman by her peers, both actors and comedians.
Of course, there were plenty of clips from the most famous of her shows and characters, including the sublime Mrs. Overall, superbly played by Julie Walters. Sadly there wasn’t the clip of Victoria doing the child birth sketch which is one of the funniest parodies of the subject I have ever seen television. But what they did have was show the song “Let’s DO it – the Ballad of Barry and Freda”.
This is the moment of synchronicity Part One because this song seemed to fit quite clearly with my theme of having sex all over the place and when it is desperately needed.
Freda and Barry sat one night.
The sky was clear. The stars were bright.
The wind was soft. The moon was up.
Freda drained her cocoa cup
She licked her lips. She felt sublime.
She switched off Gardeners' Question Time.
Barry cringed in fear and dread
As Freda grabbed his tie, and said:
Let's do it!
Let's do it,
Do it while the mood is right!
I'm feeling
Appealing.
I've really got an appetite.
I'm on fire
With desire.
I could handle half the tenors in a male voice choir.
Let's do it!
Let's do it tonight!
But he said:
I can't do it.
I can't do it.
I don't believe in too much sex.
This fashion
For passion
Turns us into nervous wrecks.
No derision!
My decision”
I'd rather watch The Spinners on the television.
I can't do it.
I can't do it tonight.
So she said:
Let's do it!
Let's do it,
Do it till our hearts go boom!
Go native,
Creative
Living in the living room.
This folly
Is jolly.
Bend me over backwards on me Hostess trolley.
Let's do it!
Let's do it tonight!
But he said:
I can't do it.
I can't do it.
Me 'eavy breathing days have gone.
I'm older,
Feel colder.
It's other things that turn me on.
I'm imploring:
I'm boring.
Let me read this catalogue on vinyl flooring.
I can't do it.
I can't do it tonight.
So she said:
Let's do it!
Let's do it,
Have a crazy night of love!
I'll strip bare.
I'll just wear
Stilettos and an oven glove.
Don't starve a
Girl of a palaver.
Dangle from the wardrobe in your Balaclava.
Let's do it!
Let's do it tonight!
But he said:
I can't do it.
I can't do it.
I know I'd only get it wrong.
Don't angle
For me to dangle.
Me arms 'ave never been that strong.
Stop pouting.
Stop shouting.
You know I pulled a muscle when I did that grouting.
I can't do it.
I can't do it tonight.
Let's do it!
Let's do it,
Share a night of wild romance,
Frenetic,
Poetic!
This could be your last big chance
To quote Milton,
To eat Stilton,
To roll in gay abandon on the tufted Wilton.
Let's do it!
Let's do it tonight!
I can't do it.
I can't do it.
I've got other little jobs on hand.
Don't grouse
Around the house.
I've got a busy evening planned.
Stop nagging.
I'm flagging.
You know as well as I do that the pipes want lagging.
I can't do it.
I can't do it tonight.
Let's do it!
Let's do it
While I'm really in the mood!
Three cheers!
It's years
Since I caught you even semi-nude.
Be drastic
Gymnastic.
Wear your baggy Y-fronts with the loose elastic.
Let's do it!
Let's do it tonight!
I can't do it.
I can't do it.
I must refuse to get undressed.
I feel silly.
It's too chilly
To go without me thermal vest.
Don't choose me.
Don't use me.
Me mother sent a note to say you must excuse me.
I can't do it.
I can't do it tonight.
Let's do it!
Let's do it!
I feel I absolutely must.
I won't exempt you,
Want to tempt you,
Want to drive you mad with lust.
No cautions,
Just contortions!
Smear an avocado on me lower portions.
Let's do it!
Let's do it tonight!
I can't do it.
I can't do it.
It's really not my cup of tea.
I'm harassed,
Embarrassed.
I wish you hadn't picked on me.
No dramas!
Give me me pyjamas.
The only girl I'm mad about is Judith Chalmers.
I can't do it.
I can't do it tonight.
Let's do it!
Let's do it!
I really want to run amok.
Let's wiggle.
Let's jiggle.
Let's really make the rafters rock.
Be mighty.
Be flighty.
Come and melt the buttons on me flameproof nightie.
Let's do it!
Let's do it tonight!
Let's do it!
Let's do it!
I really want to rant and rave.
Let's go,
'Cause I know
Just how I want you to behave:
Not bleakly,
Not meekly.
Beat me on the bottom with a Woman's Weekly.
Let's do it!
Let's do it tonight!
Then by chance my beautiful lover wrote me a text to say that it was a shame that we hadn’t made it into the bedroom today. I responded to say that there was nothing quite like having sex in the bedroom but quite frankly, I would indeed have been happy to be “bent over backwards on me hostess trolley”. I would have been happy to have sex anywhere such was the pressure that was built up in my nether regions.
More synchronicity.
So it is now up to me to write the writing that I was going to but I have to return to that song first.
People often comment that the very best comedy is the comedy that not only makes us laugh but hits that raw nerve when the parody is so intense and acutely real. In the very same show, there were people commenting on another of Victoria Wood’s sketches where she becomes Chrissie, the girl who swims the channel.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2poRHmFvLI
It is brilliant pathos, which is something that Ms. Wood has fine-tuned as well as any of her contemporaries.
Now most people who listen and watch the “Let’s Do It” clip, just enjoy the humour of this poor desperate Freda who just wants a bang, no matter where, compared with her partner Barry who is dreading the thought of sex and coming up with all sorts of outlandish excuses.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZCIKjYDf1g&feature=related
It’s funny.
There are some classic lines such as the “hostess trolley” or “The only girl I’m mad about is Judith Chalmers” but the main humour comes in the hidden reality of the song.
I suspect that Victoria Wood hit onto something with this song and all those people who originally laughed at this song did not realise that they were secretly weeping for their own lack of sex and their inability to be as assertive as Freda in demanding sex from her partner.
Once more, as a society we can laugh at such a song without realising the hypocrisy of doing so because in many ways, there are plenty of us who are laughing at this and simultaneously all being “Barry”.
The observational humour of this song, therefore, is not lost on me. It is sheer brilliance that she could capture the tragedy of the situation whilst simultaneously making it hilarious whilst also spelling it out to the asexual what a travesty they are inflicting on their alleged loved ones.
Clever eh?
So, just for Victoria, I am going to say that I can laugh at the song for a slightly different reason now.
Sometimes, I worry that I am too demanding sexually because quite frankly, I would be happy to have sex anywhere, anytime but this song reminds me that I am merely expressing what others would be and certainly should be given the chance and opportunity to be honest about their sexuality and their need as well as desire for frequent sex.
I love sex. If I am honest, there is nothing that beats sex in bed with a person that you care about. It takes on a different level, a realm that I have tried to explain in recent posts. However, there is a time (sadly all too infrequently) for such sex and there is time for some raunchy, needy sex that could happen anywhere.
My lover was telling me about how he once had an argument with a lover and during that argument she insisted in him finger fucking her throughout her home. Interestingly, I have always had a little fantasy about him fucking me in every room in his house; firstly in every room and secondly, fucking me in every room on the same day. I’m currently missing two rooms so maybe I ought to have a full-on session and get those two rooms done with one stone!
So whilst the bedroom is my first choice, I adore being fucked senseless in the kitchen, with my panties down at my ankles, leaning on the door to prevent an unnecessary intrusion. I love being in the dining room, dangerously near the patio doors with the world outside being able to observe our passion. I am passionate about lying on the rug and being fucked senseless until my cum threatens to extinguish the flames of the adjacent fire. I remember fondly the times when I have lain on the stairs and tossed off as well as turned around for a penetration from behind. I get massively turned on by the urgency of a ride in the lounge, unable to get upstairs because a cock simply needs pussy and the intervening stairs are an obstacle too far. And I adore holding onto the bath or watching myself in the mirror as I see and feel the glorious intensity of my lover deep inside me.
But above and beyond all else I love being in bed, looking into my lover’s eyes, sharing the intimacy of bonding togetherness, sharing passion.
However, returning to the song, I rather fancy doing it till “our hearts go boom....... in gay abandon on the tufted Wilton” because “I don’t believe in too much sex .......... and I’ve really got the appetite” and I want you to “dangle from the wardrobe in your balaclava....... (whilst) ......... wear(ing) your baggy Y-fronts with the loose elastic” and I you to “smear an avocado on me lower portions” whilst you “come and melt the buttons on me flameproof nightie!”
Of course you need to “beat me on the bottom with a Woman’s Weekly” whilst “I’ll just wear stilettos heels and an oven glove”.
But most importantly, “Let’s do it, let’s do it tonight!”
In fact, let’s not wait until tonight or let’s pretend that tonight’s are in the middle of the day.
Sunday 12 September 2010
The Night Virgin
The Night Virgin
She clasps her virginity close to her thighs
As she restlessly sleeps through the night.
Foetally lying
No purpose in trying
She waits for the morning to break.
Her fingers are placed where others might be
As she lingers on dreams of the day.
The company lies
And our virgin, she sighs
For the night time that lovers should keep.
She longs for arousal at quarter to three
To replace the awakening she suffers.
It’s not that she’s frigid
Her pussy’s quite rigid
But the distance between them remains.
She’s in the wrong bed for most of the time
Which continues her unblemished status.
The barren remains
Night virginity claims
A victim so needlessly punished.
She’s never alone, surprisingly so
As she sleeps accompanied nightly.
With him on one side
Together they lied.
And their flesh without contact, unbroken.
So what would you say to the woman who lives
With the hopelessly miserable nights?
Pursue the delight
Of spunk induced light
As the darkness makes way for the morning?
She’s had that before. She’s tasted the flavour
Of fingers galore in her slumber.
She’s fucked till she’s sore
The mid-nightly whore
The Night Virgin wants to remember.
But more than a hope and a vision or two
She yearns for a moment to savour
She needs that love-making
To prevent the harsh aching
Of a soul and a mind that’s untouched.
Forgive her delusion, she’s right to expect
For bodies are meant to be shared.
Night should bring solace
And love and some jollies
And a peacefulness equally needed.
The Night Virgin cries with the emptiness there
And the fullness of what’s gone before
The joyous of states
From her lover; her mate
When the darkness gives way to the light.
Penelope Tration
............................................................................................................................
Poor fucking sod! I know how she feels. Nobody should have to endure that crap night after night!
To be continued........
She clasps her virginity close to her thighs
As she restlessly sleeps through the night.
Foetally lying
No purpose in trying
She waits for the morning to break.
Her fingers are placed where others might be
As she lingers on dreams of the day.
The company lies
And our virgin, she sighs
For the night time that lovers should keep.
She longs for arousal at quarter to three
To replace the awakening she suffers.
It’s not that she’s frigid
Her pussy’s quite rigid
But the distance between them remains.
She’s in the wrong bed for most of the time
Which continues her unblemished status.
The barren remains
Night virginity claims
A victim so needlessly punished.
She’s never alone, surprisingly so
As she sleeps accompanied nightly.
With him on one side
Together they lied.
And their flesh without contact, unbroken.
So what would you say to the woman who lives
With the hopelessly miserable nights?
Pursue the delight
Of spunk induced light
As the darkness makes way for the morning?
She’s had that before. She’s tasted the flavour
Of fingers galore in her slumber.
She’s fucked till she’s sore
The mid-nightly whore
The Night Virgin wants to remember.
But more than a hope and a vision or two
She yearns for a moment to savour
She needs that love-making
To prevent the harsh aching
Of a soul and a mind that’s untouched.
Forgive her delusion, she’s right to expect
For bodies are meant to be shared.
Night should bring solace
And love and some jollies
And a peacefulness equally needed.
The Night Virgin cries with the emptiness there
And the fullness of what’s gone before
The joyous of states
From her lover; her mate
When the darkness gives way to the light.
Penelope Tration
............................................................................................................................
Poor fucking sod! I know how she feels. Nobody should have to endure that crap night after night!
To be continued........
Saturday 11 September 2010
Giving and Receiving
The givers keep giving and the recipients continue to receive. And so the world lives contentedly with this sort of reciprocal arrangement.
Or so it should. And if it did the world would probably be a happier place.
The givers give and the recipients receive but we are only talking about two people here with equal measures of provision and receipt, not that there is any counting involved, not that there is any scoring.
Isn’t this what all relationships should have; an equal amount of giving and receiving without being contrived, without trying too hard. Doesn’t the receipt of something make you more eager to give, even if the desire to give was already there?
Yesterday, I had another almost perfect day. If I am honest, I probably received more than I gave but I’m not counting and neither is he. And maybe I gave in different ways that I haven’t yet accounted for, not that we need any accountancy involved, thank you very much.
Once more, though, there is a misinterpretation about giving and receiving where people fall into the trap of looking at it in a materialistic way. I give you a present worth £500 and because of the vastness of the sum that directly equates to the love and affection I hold for you?
It’s rubbish. We know that really and yet we hold onto this as an unnatural measurement of love, forgetting the most priceless gifts of loving kindness and affection that money cannot buy; the look between lovers when they know that nothing and nobody else is important in a single moment, the shared bodily contact that says something a thousand words from the best poet in the world could not, the intimacy of body, mind and soul that would take an eternity of gold and jewels to match. Some things cannot be bought.
So what was the giving yesterday that was so special that it made me want to write? What was it that I received that has kept me restless all night trying to think of the words to say that would give this the credit and appreciation it deserves? How could I explain this without people judging me unfavourably? What had I given in return even though a quid pro quo is not required?
Let’s get the practicalities out of the way. There was some giving in the traditional sense of the word. I gave my lover a book with an accompanying card. I had seen the card in a shop on the weekend and immediately thought about previous conversations we had had about trying to define our partnership, our relationship. It had made me laugh and I wanted to capture that by buying the card and giving it to him.
Our relationship still defies definition.
He gave me something practical by cooking a sensationally tasty meal, something hearty and needed after all the fucking we had been doing all day. It complemented the warmth of the moment perfectly.
And what about the fucking? Surely there is giving and receiving in that?
Indeed there is, and as I said, I probably received more than I gave but that in itself is a ridiculous statement because in the giving we receive too.
Every single time, without exception, that I crawl down the bed to get his sizeable cock in my mouth, I am thinking far more intently about what it is doing for him than the excessive amount of pleasure that I am receiving from this “giving”. The fact that it turns me on beyond belief, the fact that I can feel my insides churning up and becoming erect is not exactly and added extra because that has equal significance but it is his arousal and excitement that is paramount in my mind, or if not paramount then as important as my own arousal.
And whilst he is fucking me to orgasm after orgasm, even if he hasn’t reached a climactic point, he is still receiving in the very fact that I am soaking his balls with my cum. Although an onlooker would suggest that I was getting more than my fair share from the giver, he is also receiving in my sexual climax for in that orgasm he gains the joy of knowing what he does for me and to me, the pleasure of seeing the joy it gives to me and the delight of feeling precisely what I am feeling, even if his arousal comes later.
As he gives, he simultaneously receives with my response to the gift of love making.
We had quite a lot of sex yesterday, for quite a number of hours, and once we had finished, we started all over again, with a very needy desire to thrust my hands down my trousers whilst he continuously searched for his cock to hold as we viewed a juicy DVD together.
Sharing is another important factor of a decent relationship. Sharing porn is just a horny version of that sharing, and although there is clearly an element of sharing in giving and receiving, it is slightly different, for the components of giving and receiving add up to far more than mere sharing. Does that make sense? I think it does because I’m not a great fan of pure mathematics. In my opinion, 2+2 could easily make 5.
He climbed on top of me and thrust himself inside of me, knowing when to push hard, intuiting when to be gentle and hold my gaze and to kiss my lips tenderly as we continued to lie together with him deeply imbedded into my skin. He knew when I wanted a finger fuck, even before I had uttered the words or the request. I knew when to turn over so that he could fuck me from behind as we continued to watch the video.
He didn’t even attempt to get a towel down for my ejaculations that we somewhat copious yesterday. Despite me giving his sheets and duvet a good soaking, he knows that I worry about this and to stop in search for a towel would have broken the moment, and taken my mind from the sheer brilliance of my wet orgasm.
He knew that.
So yes, yesterday there was good sex and considerable giving and receiving within that, for actually, I am not sure that sex can be good if the elements of provision and reciprocation are not healthily balanced.
But in a way, these things are givens. After many years of building up a relationship and enjoying an exciting and stimulating sexual togetherness, I expect this, and please be assured that this does not mean I am complacent about it.
Far from it!
It is the lack of complacency on both parts that keeps the sex and the relationship as vibrant as it is. What I mean by saying this is a given is that I think we have both subconsciously worked this into our subconscious. We both want to give and receive sexually and both get a shared pleasure in the balance of our love making and our fucking.
So what was the giving that kept me awake last night? What was the reciprocation that I could not get out of my head?
The gifts were well received, the dinner was delightfully consumed, the sex was as sensational as ever but the real giving was the giving of one another without the recipient owning or possessing, and therefore without the giver feeling as though they had forsaken a part of themselves.
If people could realise that this is what a healthy relationship is all about, then this world of ours would have greater cohesion for we would all be trying to replicate the essential positives of our greatest relationship with the colleagues, friends and family in our lives. I’m not talking about sexual relationships. I am talking about the knowledge we receive from our most intimate relationships in the effects of balance, of giving, of receiving, of mutual understanding and respect.
Yesterday my lover gave more of himself to me without losing an ounce of himself. I would hope that, on the contrary, by giving something of himself to me, he gained more than he shared.
The generosity of honesty and truthfulness far outweighs any present that could be handed over to me. In talking and being open about his feelings, about his past, about his present, he gives and gives and gives. I like to think that in giving to me, he somehow liberates himself in the knowledge that he can trust another human being as much as he trusts me. This, for me, is unbelievably humbling.
And then there is a final giving that is harder to explain to any reader who may not have an open mind.
Yesterday, he shared with me something from his past. It wasn’t the first time he has shared something from his past. It wasn’t even the first time he had shared something like this but there was something essentially different about it this time, that I felt last time as well, only this time it overwhelmed me sexually, spiritually, mentally.
In the past, my lover has shown me the magazines that he wanks off to. I love the fact that he can turn to a page after we have had sex and explain to me what it was about this or that woman’s pussy that had particularly appealed to him. In giving, he also receives because every single time he does this my cunt jumps into action and demands some fingers to see another cascade through to fruition. He likes finger fucking me and seeing my arousal often instigates and arousal of his own.
Months ago, he showed me some photos that he had taken of previous lovers, some that I had met, and others I had only heard about. They were stunningly beautiful photos, with some stunningly beautiful women. Whilst my natural insecurities were marginally inflamed by seeing the delights of his sexual history in front of me, this was completely overwhelmed and pushed aside by the fact that it was me he trusted to share this with. The fact that he might have shared this with others was irrelevant and still is because what he had with other people is not important to me any longer other than the fact that it pleases me immeasurably to know that he had extremely positive elements of his previous relationships.
Yesterday, I suppose, we went a step further, and watched some home movies, where I could see the photos coming to life, where his lovers undressed and fondled themselves the way I know he likes me to, where they slid their hands into their pussies and pleasured themselves, ready and waiting for his off –camera cock to dive in. Yesterday, I watched him fuck another woman for only the second time in our relationship and as was the case before, there was no feeling of jealously for he was fucking me as we watched and even if he hadn’t been fucking me, I would still have enjoyed the aesthetics of this without even getting to the sexual excitement that I was feeling.
These women were and are beautiful women. Each and every one of his previous lovers that I have met has an essence of beauty about them both in looks and in their person. They are warm and generous people. They should be proud and delighted that they have had this man in their lives and that during that time, they have been captured at the pinnacle of their beauty on camera so that he can look back at these times with the affectionate reminiscence that they deserve.
Now, I can feel some readers retracting in horror. Is it right that this man can share such intimacy with me without the permission of these women?
Well, he can hardly ask them all for that permission, and they knew that he had these photographs and videos of them. They didn’t ask for them back once the relationships were over, and if they had, I am sure my lover would have handed them over.
But quite frankly, they should be pleased. If they loved him as much as I am sure that they did, they would remember the giving and the receiving in making these videos and photographs. If they knew him as they should have done, they would know the ongoing pleasure this would give him, and the joy he could receive from sharing them with another woman that he feels such an intimate connection with.
If they posed in the first place, then they should acknowledge that this might be seen by others. I have posed for photos and I have lain down and had the living daylights fucked out of me, and that has been captured on video. If his next lover happens to get some stimulation out of watching my orgasms then that is my happy gift to impart. In doing the posing, I always knew there was a possibility that it would be shared, and I told him that this was fine. I was happy for him to share it with friends and I am happy for him to rock off to these photos in years to come. If that is deemed as weird, then that has to be. If the reader feels disgust at this then I can make no apology because the actual videos and photographs are not really the issue of importance here.
What is actually significant is the desire to give, the openness and willingness to share, not to gloat or to entice some sort of destructive emotion.
This man wanted me to see these videos partly because he thought they might be a turn on, not because they were videos of his ex-partner but because they were visually and sexually stimulating. But in sharing these videos, he was giving me a little more of himself and his past. In watching the videos, he recalled his loves with the majesty and the less contented parts of their relationship. Without comparison on my part or his, we then discussed our relationship too. In doing that he gave me more and continues to give me more whilst I sit and devour such intimacy and such passion.
In giving he receives an openness in which he finds comfort, trust and honesty.
Just when you feel the relationship has no more room for growth (and that is not meant to sound as negative as it does), another door opens, the strength of the feeling exacerbates, the intimacy broadens, more is given and received. Because the simple fact is that right now, without falseness, without contriving it to be so, our relationship does grow – and one of the reasons that it does, on a daily basis is that we have this ability to give and receive in equal measures, and that it itself, provides an honesty and a level of intimacy that keeps the growth going.
It was ever thus. Even in our earliest moments together, there was the surprise of finding without searching. Neither of us was looking but there we were, together in a room full of people with only two present, giving and receiving without even realising we were doing so.
So yes, that is why I have been up all night, and I don’t suppose I have explained this as well as I might but I hope the reader can reflect on this giving and receiving and see the value and importance of such intimacy.
When my lover lies with me, when he climbs into me, when our two bodies come together, joined at the middle of both, there is far more than a cock and a cunt connected. I really do believe that it is like a recharging of the batteries. Both of us need that connection and both of us receive far more than sexual satisfaction when we come together.
It is my role, I think, as Zenpuss, to explain these sorts of days because they are days that others should have, others should feel. It is my role to explain or to reiterate that in giving oneself to another you do not have to lose yourself in doing so and that the gifts of reciprocation are there if you enable the liberty of honest togetherness.
You see this is the sort of loving kindness that should be part of every intimate relationship; or is it more a loving togetherness?
And perhaps as much as we should try to give loving kindness to all, we should try and gain a loving togetherness with our partner – without trying too hard that it becomes a falsehood.
As Zenpuss, I cannot bring enlightenment through sex alone. I fundamentally believe that we have a deceitful relationship with sex both as a society and all too frequently as individuals. If I can try and make people see the joy of sex as a recreation in itself, as something one can do with yourself as well as with others, then that is good. I am doing my job.
But I also have to show the nature of positive relationships because for me, sex, however lovely it is, can never be the sum of a number of parts without the level of intimacy that I hope I have described here today, in the giving and receiving on one’s hearts, minds and souls.
And to conclude, I hope this small anecdote explains it.
I cannot decide whether to jump for joy or sit in a bereft state of loneliness. I want to be with my lover but I cannot, so I tell him that I am missing him, that I should be with him. He agrees and explains once more that this is what he is feeling too. He says again how special I am. Without needing words, I know what he is saying, though I selfishly reiterate that I love the words too, especially as when they are written down I can return to them when he is not with me.
He says he had given up believing he would find a woman with my qualities; a fucking great huge statement in itself but in the context of what we had been doing all day, talking about and seeing his previous partners as well as meeting one of them, that statement, intentional or otherwise, carries a little more in its giving.
I am blown away by him and I am blown away by the giving and receiving that he is prepared and willing to do which in itself means I am blown away by the intimacy of our companionship. Add to that a sexual intimacy that appears to have no boundaries and you have a pretty healthy relationship and it is one that I would be doing an injustice to if I did not sit and write it down so others can see what is feasible in life with a little giving and receiving that eventually becomes so natural it is hard to differentiate between the two.
Giving is not losing and receiving is not gaining if the sum of both is preserved in the receipt and provision.
Or so it should. And if it did the world would probably be a happier place.
The givers give and the recipients receive but we are only talking about two people here with equal measures of provision and receipt, not that there is any counting involved, not that there is any scoring.
Isn’t this what all relationships should have; an equal amount of giving and receiving without being contrived, without trying too hard. Doesn’t the receipt of something make you more eager to give, even if the desire to give was already there?
Yesterday, I had another almost perfect day. If I am honest, I probably received more than I gave but I’m not counting and neither is he. And maybe I gave in different ways that I haven’t yet accounted for, not that we need any accountancy involved, thank you very much.
Once more, though, there is a misinterpretation about giving and receiving where people fall into the trap of looking at it in a materialistic way. I give you a present worth £500 and because of the vastness of the sum that directly equates to the love and affection I hold for you?
It’s rubbish. We know that really and yet we hold onto this as an unnatural measurement of love, forgetting the most priceless gifts of loving kindness and affection that money cannot buy; the look between lovers when they know that nothing and nobody else is important in a single moment, the shared bodily contact that says something a thousand words from the best poet in the world could not, the intimacy of body, mind and soul that would take an eternity of gold and jewels to match. Some things cannot be bought.
So what was the giving yesterday that was so special that it made me want to write? What was it that I received that has kept me restless all night trying to think of the words to say that would give this the credit and appreciation it deserves? How could I explain this without people judging me unfavourably? What had I given in return even though a quid pro quo is not required?
Let’s get the practicalities out of the way. There was some giving in the traditional sense of the word. I gave my lover a book with an accompanying card. I had seen the card in a shop on the weekend and immediately thought about previous conversations we had had about trying to define our partnership, our relationship. It had made me laugh and I wanted to capture that by buying the card and giving it to him.
Our relationship still defies definition.
He gave me something practical by cooking a sensationally tasty meal, something hearty and needed after all the fucking we had been doing all day. It complemented the warmth of the moment perfectly.
And what about the fucking? Surely there is giving and receiving in that?
Indeed there is, and as I said, I probably received more than I gave but that in itself is a ridiculous statement because in the giving we receive too.
Every single time, without exception, that I crawl down the bed to get his sizeable cock in my mouth, I am thinking far more intently about what it is doing for him than the excessive amount of pleasure that I am receiving from this “giving”. The fact that it turns me on beyond belief, the fact that I can feel my insides churning up and becoming erect is not exactly and added extra because that has equal significance but it is his arousal and excitement that is paramount in my mind, or if not paramount then as important as my own arousal.
And whilst he is fucking me to orgasm after orgasm, even if he hasn’t reached a climactic point, he is still receiving in the very fact that I am soaking his balls with my cum. Although an onlooker would suggest that I was getting more than my fair share from the giver, he is also receiving in my sexual climax for in that orgasm he gains the joy of knowing what he does for me and to me, the pleasure of seeing the joy it gives to me and the delight of feeling precisely what I am feeling, even if his arousal comes later.
As he gives, he simultaneously receives with my response to the gift of love making.
We had quite a lot of sex yesterday, for quite a number of hours, and once we had finished, we started all over again, with a very needy desire to thrust my hands down my trousers whilst he continuously searched for his cock to hold as we viewed a juicy DVD together.
Sharing is another important factor of a decent relationship. Sharing porn is just a horny version of that sharing, and although there is clearly an element of sharing in giving and receiving, it is slightly different, for the components of giving and receiving add up to far more than mere sharing. Does that make sense? I think it does because I’m not a great fan of pure mathematics. In my opinion, 2+2 could easily make 5.
He climbed on top of me and thrust himself inside of me, knowing when to push hard, intuiting when to be gentle and hold my gaze and to kiss my lips tenderly as we continued to lie together with him deeply imbedded into my skin. He knew when I wanted a finger fuck, even before I had uttered the words or the request. I knew when to turn over so that he could fuck me from behind as we continued to watch the video.
He didn’t even attempt to get a towel down for my ejaculations that we somewhat copious yesterday. Despite me giving his sheets and duvet a good soaking, he knows that I worry about this and to stop in search for a towel would have broken the moment, and taken my mind from the sheer brilliance of my wet orgasm.
He knew that.
So yes, yesterday there was good sex and considerable giving and receiving within that, for actually, I am not sure that sex can be good if the elements of provision and reciprocation are not healthily balanced.
But in a way, these things are givens. After many years of building up a relationship and enjoying an exciting and stimulating sexual togetherness, I expect this, and please be assured that this does not mean I am complacent about it.
Far from it!
It is the lack of complacency on both parts that keeps the sex and the relationship as vibrant as it is. What I mean by saying this is a given is that I think we have both subconsciously worked this into our subconscious. We both want to give and receive sexually and both get a shared pleasure in the balance of our love making and our fucking.
So what was the giving that kept me awake last night? What was the reciprocation that I could not get out of my head?
The gifts were well received, the dinner was delightfully consumed, the sex was as sensational as ever but the real giving was the giving of one another without the recipient owning or possessing, and therefore without the giver feeling as though they had forsaken a part of themselves.
If people could realise that this is what a healthy relationship is all about, then this world of ours would have greater cohesion for we would all be trying to replicate the essential positives of our greatest relationship with the colleagues, friends and family in our lives. I’m not talking about sexual relationships. I am talking about the knowledge we receive from our most intimate relationships in the effects of balance, of giving, of receiving, of mutual understanding and respect.
Yesterday my lover gave more of himself to me without losing an ounce of himself. I would hope that, on the contrary, by giving something of himself to me, he gained more than he shared.
The generosity of honesty and truthfulness far outweighs any present that could be handed over to me. In talking and being open about his feelings, about his past, about his present, he gives and gives and gives. I like to think that in giving to me, he somehow liberates himself in the knowledge that he can trust another human being as much as he trusts me. This, for me, is unbelievably humbling.
And then there is a final giving that is harder to explain to any reader who may not have an open mind.
Yesterday, he shared with me something from his past. It wasn’t the first time he has shared something from his past. It wasn’t even the first time he had shared something like this but there was something essentially different about it this time, that I felt last time as well, only this time it overwhelmed me sexually, spiritually, mentally.
In the past, my lover has shown me the magazines that he wanks off to. I love the fact that he can turn to a page after we have had sex and explain to me what it was about this or that woman’s pussy that had particularly appealed to him. In giving, he also receives because every single time he does this my cunt jumps into action and demands some fingers to see another cascade through to fruition. He likes finger fucking me and seeing my arousal often instigates and arousal of his own.
Months ago, he showed me some photos that he had taken of previous lovers, some that I had met, and others I had only heard about. They were stunningly beautiful photos, with some stunningly beautiful women. Whilst my natural insecurities were marginally inflamed by seeing the delights of his sexual history in front of me, this was completely overwhelmed and pushed aside by the fact that it was me he trusted to share this with. The fact that he might have shared this with others was irrelevant and still is because what he had with other people is not important to me any longer other than the fact that it pleases me immeasurably to know that he had extremely positive elements of his previous relationships.
Yesterday, I suppose, we went a step further, and watched some home movies, where I could see the photos coming to life, where his lovers undressed and fondled themselves the way I know he likes me to, where they slid their hands into their pussies and pleasured themselves, ready and waiting for his off –camera cock to dive in. Yesterday, I watched him fuck another woman for only the second time in our relationship and as was the case before, there was no feeling of jealously for he was fucking me as we watched and even if he hadn’t been fucking me, I would still have enjoyed the aesthetics of this without even getting to the sexual excitement that I was feeling.
These women were and are beautiful women. Each and every one of his previous lovers that I have met has an essence of beauty about them both in looks and in their person. They are warm and generous people. They should be proud and delighted that they have had this man in their lives and that during that time, they have been captured at the pinnacle of their beauty on camera so that he can look back at these times with the affectionate reminiscence that they deserve.
Now, I can feel some readers retracting in horror. Is it right that this man can share such intimacy with me without the permission of these women?
Well, he can hardly ask them all for that permission, and they knew that he had these photographs and videos of them. They didn’t ask for them back once the relationships were over, and if they had, I am sure my lover would have handed them over.
But quite frankly, they should be pleased. If they loved him as much as I am sure that they did, they would remember the giving and the receiving in making these videos and photographs. If they knew him as they should have done, they would know the ongoing pleasure this would give him, and the joy he could receive from sharing them with another woman that he feels such an intimate connection with.
If they posed in the first place, then they should acknowledge that this might be seen by others. I have posed for photos and I have lain down and had the living daylights fucked out of me, and that has been captured on video. If his next lover happens to get some stimulation out of watching my orgasms then that is my happy gift to impart. In doing the posing, I always knew there was a possibility that it would be shared, and I told him that this was fine. I was happy for him to share it with friends and I am happy for him to rock off to these photos in years to come. If that is deemed as weird, then that has to be. If the reader feels disgust at this then I can make no apology because the actual videos and photographs are not really the issue of importance here.
What is actually significant is the desire to give, the openness and willingness to share, not to gloat or to entice some sort of destructive emotion.
This man wanted me to see these videos partly because he thought they might be a turn on, not because they were videos of his ex-partner but because they were visually and sexually stimulating. But in sharing these videos, he was giving me a little more of himself and his past. In watching the videos, he recalled his loves with the majesty and the less contented parts of their relationship. Without comparison on my part or his, we then discussed our relationship too. In doing that he gave me more and continues to give me more whilst I sit and devour such intimacy and such passion.
In giving he receives an openness in which he finds comfort, trust and honesty.
Just when you feel the relationship has no more room for growth (and that is not meant to sound as negative as it does), another door opens, the strength of the feeling exacerbates, the intimacy broadens, more is given and received. Because the simple fact is that right now, without falseness, without contriving it to be so, our relationship does grow – and one of the reasons that it does, on a daily basis is that we have this ability to give and receive in equal measures, and that it itself, provides an honesty and a level of intimacy that keeps the growth going.
It was ever thus. Even in our earliest moments together, there was the surprise of finding without searching. Neither of us was looking but there we were, together in a room full of people with only two present, giving and receiving without even realising we were doing so.
So yes, that is why I have been up all night, and I don’t suppose I have explained this as well as I might but I hope the reader can reflect on this giving and receiving and see the value and importance of such intimacy.
When my lover lies with me, when he climbs into me, when our two bodies come together, joined at the middle of both, there is far more than a cock and a cunt connected. I really do believe that it is like a recharging of the batteries. Both of us need that connection and both of us receive far more than sexual satisfaction when we come together.
It is my role, I think, as Zenpuss, to explain these sorts of days because they are days that others should have, others should feel. It is my role to explain or to reiterate that in giving oneself to another you do not have to lose yourself in doing so and that the gifts of reciprocation are there if you enable the liberty of honest togetherness.
You see this is the sort of loving kindness that should be part of every intimate relationship; or is it more a loving togetherness?
And perhaps as much as we should try to give loving kindness to all, we should try and gain a loving togetherness with our partner – without trying too hard that it becomes a falsehood.
As Zenpuss, I cannot bring enlightenment through sex alone. I fundamentally believe that we have a deceitful relationship with sex both as a society and all too frequently as individuals. If I can try and make people see the joy of sex as a recreation in itself, as something one can do with yourself as well as with others, then that is good. I am doing my job.
But I also have to show the nature of positive relationships because for me, sex, however lovely it is, can never be the sum of a number of parts without the level of intimacy that I hope I have described here today, in the giving and receiving on one’s hearts, minds and souls.
And to conclude, I hope this small anecdote explains it.
I cannot decide whether to jump for joy or sit in a bereft state of loneliness. I want to be with my lover but I cannot, so I tell him that I am missing him, that I should be with him. He agrees and explains once more that this is what he is feeling too. He says again how special I am. Without needing words, I know what he is saying, though I selfishly reiterate that I love the words too, especially as when they are written down I can return to them when he is not with me.
He says he had given up believing he would find a woman with my qualities; a fucking great huge statement in itself but in the context of what we had been doing all day, talking about and seeing his previous partners as well as meeting one of them, that statement, intentional or otherwise, carries a little more in its giving.
I am blown away by him and I am blown away by the giving and receiving that he is prepared and willing to do which in itself means I am blown away by the intimacy of our companionship. Add to that a sexual intimacy that appears to have no boundaries and you have a pretty healthy relationship and it is one that I would be doing an injustice to if I did not sit and write it down so others can see what is feasible in life with a little giving and receiving that eventually becomes so natural it is hard to differentiate between the two.
Giving is not losing and receiving is not gaining if the sum of both is preserved in the receipt and provision.
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