Here’s a shameless plug while I continue to consider what to write for Wicked Wednesday (it’s such a timely subject for me, so I’m trying to figure out just how to handle it)…
My connected site…”Dear Sir,” has a post entitled “La Petite Mort” today, based on an actual occurrence during my lunch break. I’m not sure what set it off, and I surely wasn’t thinking about sex at the time, which is probably why I found it so jarring.
Do you ever find yourself overcome by sexual thoughts, inexplicably, at times when it just doesn’t make sense?
Do those thoughts ever take on a tangible quality, almost becoming real…at least as far as the effects on your body are concerned?
It seems almost surreal, I suppose…a dream-like visceral experience where thought mimics reality but the flesh doesn’t realize it’s not real, so it goes along and feels everything as if something is really being done to it.
Weird. I could almost feel his hands supporting my neck, his cum spilling out of me…my pussy pulsed and twitched in response. And the warmth of the afterglow of orgasm…that moment just after it occurs…washed over me, starting at my head, ending at my toes. I swear I must’ve increased my body temperature a few degrees in just seconds…and my heart beat increased rapidly enough to make me a bit light-headed. Honestly, it lasted all of a second or two…but some much happened to my body in the space of that infinitesimal increment of time that I found myself consumed by my need to dissect it all day…hell, it’s 10 o-clock at night, and I’m still fascinated and obsessed. It’s not so much that I had a sexual thought. Duh…I have those all the time. And it isn’t that my body heated up and reacted to my sexual thoughts. Once again…duh… It’s more that I was actually back in the moment…with the smells, the tastes, every sense being replicated as if my… well, you get the point – I don’t want to beat a dead horse.
- My Favorite Barista
- The Dance