LGBT For Ip: On Writing Sex

Discussion in 'Lifestyle' started by CoCo, Jun 6, 2008.

  1. CoCo

    CoCo a Queer Don!! OT Supporter

    Jan 14, 2004
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    Maryland ; the land of Mary's...
    Just an excerpt to show how some sex scenes can push the envelope, but in a good way. Like I stated earlier, you have to have character development to ensure that you aren't writing porn..unless that is what you are going for. ;)

    Note: formatting didn't carry over.

    Her orgasm was violent and gorgeous, her yoni becoming fire in my hand, her back arching as the tidal wave of pleasure that she was riding became a tsunami. A beautiful tsunami.
    She came as if doing things taboo magnified her orgasm.
    She came as if wrongness magnified her pleasure.
    Kimmy Sunshine came, and I smiled. It didn’t matter why she came the way she came, with such power and absoluteness.
    I’d made a woman reach the ultimate pleasure. I’d dances with her spirits. I had made Kimmy Sunshine experience nirvana. I’d made her experience a release to recon with. My first experience with a woman, and I’d given her a clitoral orgasm, made her vagina tremble and cry tears of joy.
    I stopped vibrator-loving her, put her toy to the side.
    Her long red hair was disheveled. The gaze in her eyes said that she was extremely satisfied. Extremely. She kissed my yoni. Then she kissed my cheek, Touched my face, She touched my face and stared at me like I was an old lover that she couldn’t shake. I held her. I held her because I knew the good feelings that came after sex, held her and breathed with her. Held her and cooled down.
    This was different. This passion after the passion. When it was done with a man, in the end, he might hold you, but he always gave you that slight budge that said enough was enough, yielded a go-to-your-corner-until-the-next-round, or a go-make-me-a-sandwich look.
    I held her and felt as if I was holding myself, as if Kimmy Sunshine was my mirror, my truth, as if holding her was enabling me to understand myself on other levels. Physically, mentally, spiritually, and sexually. I had experienced something wonderful and new. I had achieved a new freedom. Even if I never did it again, that freedom would remain with me. Only with me. No one would understand me in this moment, not as I understood myself. They wouldn’t be able to see the beauty, the bonding, they would blind themselves on the erotic part, to the learning of self, would only see the act of a whore.
    A few minutes passes with us lounging in that glorious afterglow, then we pulled our bodies apart, stayed close to each other holding hands, then fingers, then we separated.
    The jazz music playing in the background of her apartment seemed louder now. As loud as reality.
    I looked at my pile of running clothes discarded on the floor. Felt so naked. Felt exposed. Felt too vulnerable.
    I didn’t want to wake up naked with a woman and experience the first light of a new morning. This was just something to add to my Rolodex of clandestine experiences. I wanted to hold her forever, but didn’t want to hold her for another second.
    I undid my hair, then redid my ponytail.
    That done, I kissed her on her lips, touched her face, and gave her a thank-you smile.
    Her thank-you smile was broader, owned more brilliance than a movie star’s smile.
    Kimmy Sunshine pulled a sheet up over her body.
    I gathered my shorts. My panties. My sports bra. My T-shirt. Socks. Running shoes.
    As I dressed, I imagined this was how a man felt when he had sexed and was leaving a woman.
    We exchanged sororal expressions. I had crossed the burning sands into a secret world. At the door, I adjusted my sports bra and finger-waved at Kimmy Sunshine.
    She grinned. Her grin sending a message, saying that if I ever wanted to return to explore more curiosities, that her door would be open to me.
    I grinned too.
    My heart whispered thank you and goodbye.
    I opened the door in degrees, made sure that no one was out there. Went on the other side, the light seeming much brighter now. Heart racing, my smile nervous, I closed the door on that sensual and fulfilling fantasy.

    Like Dorothy on her quest down the Yellow Brick Road, I was picking up new companions at every turn, new experiences between the rising and setting of the sun.
    And so I ran, a jog really, picking up my pace slowly.
    As I pounded the sidewalk, I smelled Kimmy Sunshine on my skin. Her mango and jasmine fragrance blended with my sweat. It was almost as if she were running with me, leading me, chasing me, touching me.
    At least four miles were behind me when I started thinking about how I had done so much in the name of pleasure. So much in the last few days. I ran with my thoughts, feeling like I had deceived Karl—who was still waiting on my return from my run. Then I felt like I had betrayed Mark, who now knew that I was alone with Karl.
    That was when I saw him, first a dot in the distance, coming toward me at an amazing pace. It was déjà vu, just as it had been the first time that I had seem them running toward me at Stone Mountain. In black shorts and black running shoes. It was Karl, sweat dripping from his skin.
    He ran to me, then turned around and ran with me, cut his pace in half, matched mine.
    He asked, “You okay?”
    “Yeah. What are you doing here?”
    “Miss you.”
    “Missed you too.”
    “Thought you’d be almost back by now.”
    I waited for him to ask questions, wondered if he knew, wondered if Kimmy Sunshine has betrayed me and called him, and that call was the reason that he had come searching for me.
    I waited for him to show anger.
    Karl was shirtless. His eight-pack on display, body so nice it looked pornographic. Skin glistening like it was covered with the tears of the many lovers he had left behind.
    We ran side by side, and then I followed him through an area where a lot of roadwork was being done, the city of Greensboro keeping the roads in this area smooth. Karl’s pace was challenging, could tell he was running much slower to work out with me, and I did my best to keep it moving, sped up to make his run decent, so much of my energy had been released back with Kimmy Sunshine, and I felt that missing energy as we paced.
    I raised my hand to wipe sweat from my face and smelled Kimmy Sunshine on my fingers. I licked my fingers. Tasted Kimmy Sunshine’s orgasm on my hands, and I was tasting desire.
    A couple of miles later, I slowed down so that I could catch my breath, Karl jogged on awhile before looked back and saw that I was breaking down, was walking with my hands on my hips.
    Karl came back in my direction, but before he made it to me, my ego had me back to running. This time, he ran behind me, let me set the pace.
    I was dehydrated, muscles burning about to die, but I couldn’t stop running; knew that if I did, I wouldn’t start back. I pushed.
    Karl asked, “What you got left?”
    I saw the corner ahead as our finishing line, went inside myself, dug in as deep as I could, took it in fast and strong. Breathing hard, sweat dripping from every pore, muscles screaming, I made it to our stopping point, my right hand crosses over to my watch, making the timer stop on instinct. Karl jogged by me like it was no big deal, like he could keep running for at least another week. I kept it moving, breather hard, salty sweat in my eyes, the world roaring all around me, everything aching.
    I checked the time on the watch. Ninety-three minutes.
    I’d run ninety-three minutes.
    It had been ninety-three minutes since I had completed that wonderful experience with Kimmy Sunshine. It felt surreal. As if I had dreamed it all, her aroma rising from me and telling me it wasn’t a dream, could feel her tongue and fingers in that place that men desired.
    I felt like a sexual warrior. A dehydrated, starving sexual warrior who was about to pass out.
    I said, “Karl, what are we eating for dinner?”
    He looked at me and frowned.
    I looked down at my clothing. A strand of long red hair was stuck to my skin. I pulled that hair away, flicked it to the ground. He was watching me. My skin glowed, guilt radioactive.
    He knew. He knew about Kimmy Sunshine.
    Rage, jealousy, all of that was in his eyes. A man’s insecurities could be volatile.
    I liked my salty lips, took a breath, as asked, “Karl, everything okay?”
    His frown deepened. Fear rose up inside me. That volatile expression reminded me of past pains. Fight or flight came alive. But I was too spent to run another yard. My mind roared, became defensive, and I prepared what I was going to say:
    Yes, I had cheated on you, in some ways. What I did was wrong. But listen. I cheated in order to gain knowledge of self, a knowledge no man could’ve given me. I betrayed you. I cheated. And it was inevitable. As I know, if we continued, one day, if you haven’t already, you would betray me too.
    My mind churned at a thousand miles per hour as I prepared my case for the court.
    In the end we betrayed each other to satisfy ourselves, we had secret experiences because we were following our own desires. We were all cut from the same cloth. The cloth of animals. Animals that started wars. Animals who sought revenge. Animals that needed pleasure. The only difference was this—deception. Dogs don’t lie, male or female. Only people lied, so, in some ways, calling men dogs, calling women bitches, that was an insult to the honesty and integrity of the true dogs and bitches.
    None of that made any sense. That was going to be my opening argument, a foolish rambling that made no sense.
    But I didn’t get to say any of that; his wall of anger was too great.
    He snapped as he pointed at his face, “Do I look like that ugly bastard?”
    “Do I look like Karl to you?”
    Not until then did I realize that he didn’t have any tattoos.
    Not until then did I see the weeding ring on his left hand.

    In a confused and surprised tone, I stammered, “M-Mark?”
    “How in the hell are you going to confuse me with that ugly-ass Karl?”
    “I’m sorry, baby.”
    I ran to him, put my arms around him, hugged him tight, and pacified his bruised ego over his identical twin of a brother, with whom he shared me. “I’m sorry.”
    “I leave my job…had more meetings with investors…all because of the call he made you make to me…of him inside of you…alone with you…”
    “I’m so, so sorry.”
    “I rush to the airport, get on the first plane, fly here to see you…”
    “I’m really sorry. The run. I wasn’t really paying attention.”
    “This is the love that I get??”
    The man who was cheating on his wife to be with me was here, mad at me.
    I let him go, my smile so wide. “How did…how did you know where to find me?”
    “I went by the hotel. Karl told me the route you were running. I took his running clothes, and reversed the course.”
    He told me that he missed me so much that he had come to find me. Had crossed states, and run miles to meet me. We walked toward the hotel, sweating and cooling down from the run and jealous rages. We slowed our stroll.
    He asked, “How was the drive up with Karl?”
    “We talked a lot.”
    “Different things.”
    “He told me about Frankie.”
    “Cancun. The girl you guys met in Cancun. She was from LA. Double penetration.”
    “Oh. Frankie.”
    Again, I imagined the three of them, but my mind focused on Frankie, imagined her sensations overwhelming her to the point of sensual madness, a madness that I longed to feel.
    “What else did he tell you?”
    “What else was he supposed to tell me?”
    He paused, now serious. “We were in the islands more than once.”
    “So there was more than one Frankie?”
    He took a deep breath, my married lover now irritated by my curiosity. “Ask Karl.”
    “You angry about something?”
    He shook his head. “Not angry.”
    “Well, what’s on your mind?”
    He frowned. I sensed that I was asking too much, that now I was treading where I should not go. I understood. There were things about me that I didn’t want to be pressured into answering.
    Karl and I could talk about most things, person things, laugh about being with others.
    Mark and I were different, and I felt that. There was a connection between us that didn’t exist between me and Karl. Something logical. Something emotional. Something that I didn’t want. A connection that I didn’t need. But it existed. Made me want him to be more open with me, wanted him to do more than give me physical pleasure. Then part of me shifted. Part of me wanted to pull away. Red lights were flashing. I didn’t need to get caught up. Needed to make sure it stayed at the physical level.. Needed it to be with Mark the way that it was with Karl. They could compete with each other, but I didn’t need to compete with Mark’s wife. Once again, I reminded myself that Mark was supposed to be the safe one, because being married, he could only invest so much. Could only ask for so much.
    He said, “That call… hearing you sound like that… hearing him inside you… it messed me up.”
    “He made me do it. He teased my yoni on the drive here, and then I needed release. He pulled over, put it in me, dialed your number, and put the phone to my face.”
    “Did you enjoy torturing me?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Did you enjoy letting him be with you alone? Did you enjoy making me listen?”
    “He made me! He pulled over and made me.”
    “But did you enjoy it?”
    “Sounded like you did.”
    “It sounded like I did because I imagined he was you.”
    Mark was sensitive, an endearing and appreciated quality that had eluded Karl’s DNA.
    “Did Karl make you come?”
    “Ask Karl.”
    “Did he?”
    They were off the same egg, of the same father. I wondered if their rivalry was like that of Venus and Serena Williams, or closer to be that of Cain and Abel.
    “Don’t make it more than it is. We’re having fun. I’m just another girl for Karl, and a distraction for you.”
    “I want you to be more than a distraction.”
    “You know that I can’t be more than that.”
    “Why not?”
    “I saw your wife today…”
    My words stopped him from talking. He understood what I was saying. He nodded.
    When a man went deep inside a woman, it was inevitable, someone would become emotionally trussed, feelings would ascend and someone was destined to want it all.
    He said, “It’s like I have this unmanageable, overpowering urge to be with you.”
    “Only because you can’t have me.”
    I wondered why it was so easy for a married man to experience somebody else and not about the consequences. Wondered why we became so sensitive, why we were affected differently by the same act rooted in nature. They had been inside my body, but now they were inside my head as well. And I was inside Mark’s head, deep enough to cause him to travel across three states.
    Mark asked, “What do you want?”
    That was a simple question that was too hard to answer. I wanted the attention that they both gave me, I wanted the pleasure that they gave me, I wanted the infatuation that I saw in Mark’s eyes, and the lust that I felt when I was with Karl. I wanted them to ravage me. I wanted intellectual stimulation. And I wanted the challenge of pleasing two men at once.
    I wanted this to go on forever.
    “Mark, I want you and Karl. In different ways. I can’t be with just one of you. Not in my mind. Not in my head. Not with my body. I know there are two of you, but to me there’s only one of you. Two sides of a whole. That’s my position.”
    “But which one of us, if you had to chose, would you chose?”
    “It’s all or none. That’s the only way that this can work for any of us. All or none.”
    Jealousy was flattering. For now. But I knew perpetual jealously would become irritating. It was a long way from being irritating today, though. Today was a long way from being confining, a long way from threatening my autonomy.
    He has abandoned his wife, had left her to come find me. The king had left his castle with a swiftness, had travelled to rescue me from the evil dragon. It was wrong. That wrongness made me feel special. It was a Pyrrhic victory, but I was happy.
    Mark said, “So that ugly motherfucker told you about Cancun.”
    “Your bother told me about Frankie. Three days with her. Double penetration.”
    Mark kissed me. The scent of his sweat was so arousing. When the kiss was done, my smile was as gigantic as my imagination.
    He whispered, “Double penetration.”
    A chill went down my spine.
    He said, “Let’s go find Karl.”

    I was not the same woman that I had been a few days ago. I was not the same woman that I was just a few hours ago. I had been enlightened. I had eaten the apple, gained knowledge from of the forbidden tree.
    I had grown. And yet I was still famished.
    Today I craved things new.
    Today I desired abnormal pleasures.

    Karl wasn’t in the room. But his cologne tantalized the air. He had left smelling sensual.
    Mark and I showered together, light touches and a few kisses, foreplay that I didn’t allow to go too far. We sat on the bed, waited for Karl, assuming that he had gone to get something to eat. Mark made a few phone calls, at least one being to his wife. His tone was not happy, as if in a heated debate. I went into the bathroom, gave him space. I made calls too. Another hour went by. No sign of Karl. No message. His jeep was in the parking lot, viewable from the hotel window. He hadn’t gone far. Wearing babydoll lingerie, I moved by the double beds, stood in the window. Mark was behind me, naked, holding my breasts, kissing my neck, his erection firm against my ass, my nipples hard, my clit swelling between my legs, waiting on Karl, Kimmy Sunshine on my mind as I gazed toward her building.
    Mark needed to do what his brother had done. He wanted me now, wanted me to himself. He was jealous. I was jealous as well, waiting on Karl, imagining where he might be, jaw tight, jealousy rising while hormones raged.
    He hadn’t left a message at the front desk. He had vanished.
    Darkness covered Greensboro. The winds were picking up.
    I moved to the bed. Mark took my foot in his hand, licked my feet, sucked my toes, and asked, “You ever switch up?”
    I moaned, fire moving up my spine. “What do you mean switch up?”
    “You and your girl, on a double date or something, and you and your date start to having sex, then she and her date start having sex, then while it’s going down you switch partners.”
    “No.” I squirmed, my toes in his mouth, him sucking as it he was giving me oral. “You?”
    “Once. College days.”
    Another moan slipped free. “You’re just as wild as Karl.”
    “Not nearly.”
    “Sounds like.”
    I took my foot away from him, the tingles too strong. “How did the switch-up happen?”
    “The other girl was prettier than my date. She was more attracted to me than she was to her date.”
    “What happened to that girl?”
    “We married.”
    Thunder boomed and the skies lit up.
    Room service arrives, and twenty minutes later we finished eating, everything was gathered and thrown away.
    We laughed and talked, kissed and touched. The rain fell steadily. Karl hadn’t returned. Once again I went to the window, the repetitive action broadcasting my obsession.
    When I turned around, Mark was watching me, waiting for me.
    I smiled an exposed smile. Felt foolish for waiting on a man like Karl.
    Mark whispered, “Want me to call and see where he is?”
    “No.” I shook my head, my gut telling me that he was out, trying to seduce some new girl. One he hadn’t already had. One he didn’t have to share.
    Thunder and darkness echoed and rose inside of me. A different kind of blackness. The kind fueled by a barbaric emotion I despised in others. Mark had ordered two bottles of Riesling. I opened one, poured drinks. Kissed him. Rubbed his body. I danced, made a show for Mark’s eyes only. I wanted to this to take forever. I wanted to torture Mark the way the passage of time was torturing me now.
    My wish, my desire was for Karl to walk in and see us having a good time.
    I wanted him to feel superfluous.
    Mark said, “You’re getting tipsy.”
    “Would hope so.”
    He laughed. “I want you so bad it’s killing me.”
    “I can see.”
    I ran my fingers up and down his bare leg, my fingers moving across his anatomical blessing.
    He smiled like he knew he had me. Glasses of Riesling in hand, we sipped awhile, let the spirits take us higher. The phone never rang. The tattooed half of my fantasy remained MIA.
    Disappointment festered.
    I called downstairs again, asked them if they could send up tea and honey. By the time that arrived, Mark was at the end of his second drink.
    I asked Mark, “Have you ever heard of the velvet tongue?”
    “Nope. What’s that?”
    I took some of the tea, made sure I had plenty of honey, held it inside my mouth for a moment, allowed my mouth to become hot and sticky, then brought Mark’s erection to my concoction, gave him the heat, let him feel the hot tea and melting honey as it smoothed across his hardness, a hardness that I suckled until all of the honey was gone. He moaned a thousand times. When the honey was gone, I looked up at him. He was in ecstasy. So far gone from here. His erotic smile told me he understood.
    I raised the cup, sipped more tea, added more honey, gave him another velvet tongue.
    Mark moaned so loud.
    I took control of Mark, took that part of him in my hand, took him in my mouth, began a kind of suckling, stroking with my right hand —my good hand— the one I could control the best, once again doing my technique, moving my hand in circular motions, feeling him inside my mouth, feeling him grow, moving up and down until I felt him rigid at the back of my throat, breathing through my nose and relaxing.
    I stopped, moved on him, climbing him, mounted him, descended, began riding nice and slow.
    I looked toward the door, wishing it would open, wanting Karl to walk in and see this.
    Mark said, “Count to fifty.”
    “Maybe that ugly sonofabitch will be back by the time you count to fifty.”
    “I don’t care if he ever comes back.”
    Mark moved me, put my ankles around his neck, pinned me down. He entered me, not all at once went inside slowly, staring in my eyes, watching my expression.
    I looked away.
    He began stroking me hard, stroking me fast, going deep inside of me.
    He growled. “Am I not good enough for you?”
    “Yes, baby, yes, yes, yes, baby.”
    “You want me to stop?”
    I shuddered. “You’re going sooo deep.”
    “I can stop and we can talk literature, if that’s what you want to do with me.”
    “No. Don’t. Stop.”
    “We can talk Toni Morrison. Gustave Flaubert. Theodore Dreiser.”
    “You. Are. So. Fucking. Deep.”
    “Do you need me to read you some goddamn Nietzsche while I fuck you?”
    “Damn… Mark… Damn…”
    “Will that keep you here? Will that keep you damn mind here with me?”
    “Mark… Oh, Mark…”
    “What the fuck do I have to do to keep your attention?”
    “I’m here… Mark… God… Oh God… Mark, I’m here…”
    “Look at me. Look at me dammit.
    My eyes went to his, to his passion, to his intense stare, to a level of emotion that I could not match. Embarrassed, I closed my eyes. He kissed my face over and over, his kissed patient and telling of a need deeper than sex itself. He made me joyously, drunkenly, serenely, and divinely aware that his need was deeper than sex.
    He was that part of me that I kept well hidden, that part of me that had been damaged.
    “I feel you.” His baritone voice was so sensual. “You’re coming.”
    “Uh-huh of God uh-huh.”
    He stopped, pulled away from me, left me panting, tingling, sweating, his desire so taut.
    Tears were in my eyes. So many tears. He was teasing me. Controlling me. Forcing me to forget about his brother. Forcing me to focus on him. He kissed my face, licked away my tears.
    This was poetry.
    He whispered, “Tell me what you want. Tell me how to make you happy.”
    I moaned, told him I wanted to see him touch himself. Wanted to sit and watch him handle himself. Wanted to watch and learn more about that part of a man, about that part of him, the part that created orgasm inside me. He held himself with his right hand, started with slow strokes, moaned, closed his eyes, growing in his hand. I licked my lips. My breathing became disturbed. His strokes became intense, deaths trying to run up and down his spine. I looked up at his lingam, his dick, his penis, his prick, his instrument of pleasure; whatever he wanted it to be called, I would call it that, would whisper it, would moan it, would scream it.
    Mark reached for my head, grabbed my hair, begged me as he led my mouth to his fountain. He trembled and cried and shuddered like he was having an aneurism.
    When he started to come, I pulled away, watching the fluids flow from his erection. He collapsed, came down on his knees, then used one hand to prop himself up, posed like Atlas holding up the world, his muscles glistening with sweat, his chest rising and falling, his breathing choppy. I watched his orgasm spew, saw his desire weaken him, saw his come, the hue of cinnamon frosting. He coughed on his own saliva. Coughed like he was overwhelmed.
    He frowned and cursed, released a thousand vulgarities.
    As he coughed and came, again I went to the window, gazed in the direction of Kimmy Sunshine. I glanced back at Mark. He was still disabled, panting, eyes glazed over, trembling.
    He was calling God, talking to God, praying, his orgasm taking him closer to a spiritual realm.
    I went back to bed, put my back again the headboard. Mark crawled to me and I kissed him.
    I whispered, “I prefer you to Karl.”
    His face looked like he was having another orgasm, conceding to his jealousy the height of erotic appeal for him. Mark’s kisses flowed from my mouth, to my neck, to my earlobes, to my breasts, kissed me and took his tongue to my yoni, his licks slow, his intent at wooing me, disturbing me, owning me unhidden, his tongue moving in circles, flicking inside me, doing to me what Kimmy Sunshine had done not too long ago.

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