Thoughts

My fetish

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It occurs to me that I’ve never stated my fetish. Yes, I’ve said I’m a BDSM Switch weighted towards Top. But to me that’s like saying I’m Pansexual. It’s just a fact, a part of who I am on a fundamental level. Now, most kinky things, they are just part of the landscape. Albeit a more interesting one than vanilla values. Tying up or being tied up is just interesting if you get me. The more complex the better to my way of thinking in general.

My fetish however? It’s simple. I get off on the pleasure of my partner. Not in a ‘let’s everyone have a good time’ way, but in that I require their pleasure for my own. I like going down on women for that reason alone, along with the shear physicality of it. I study anatomy and psychology to further my options. I have spent many times with partners going down for a few hours. I recommend strapons with me because I’m nearly guaranteed to orgasm multiple times while going down and I want my partner to have more pleasure than I can physically provide. As fetish’s go, I think its a good thing for all parties.

Switchy thoughts in the Afternoon

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I’ll tell you my innermost thoughts but you’ll see only filthy desires.

I hear you say “Come over here.” An innocent phrase, but it makes me want to crawl to you. To say, “Yes, Mistress,” and wait for your next command.
Gazing up in adoration. Waiting to be beaten, punished, taken, humiliated and fucked. Waiting to hear the order to pleasure you. For most I’m a Master, for you I’d trade in my paddle for a collar, at least for a while.

Thoughts that spill tears

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I haven’t been to sleep in 24 hours
And I can feel the sluggish nature of my thoughts, but I think I’d be OK if I never slept again. Because when I sleep I dream and I remember my dreams. I’m aware in them. And often I’m with someone who loves me. It’s not Morgan anymore. I don’t know who they are. I just know that they wait for me beyond the veil of sleep. They accept and love me for all of me, my flaws, everything that I am. And that’s great but I leave them. I wake and I’m torn away from them over and over. I don’t know how long I can endure that. So not sleeping seems the better course, but I feel like I could be betraying them by staying away. What if they are as real as I am and they wait for me? What if we’re both just searching and this is what we’ve found. It’s both insane and sad when I write it out, but that’s who I am right now. A sad, lonely writer, dreaming of something he had, that it seems he’ll never have again. Madness seams a refuge in that case.

Missing my miss

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One of the things I miss about not being in a relationship is the lack of sexual banter. Since I’m a erotica writer there is generally some level of ongoing fantasy play via text or email(or maybe that’s just my personality). There are many different things I miss but a steamy message full of promise in the middle of the afternoon is in the top 5.

Growing up

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Be like a plant not an animal. Don’t move on, outgrow the place that was painful. This takes time but allows for the retaining of the past as a foundation for the future. You can never leave something behind that haunts you. It begins to manifest in ways you cannot anticipate. So while running can be a good thing, to keep yourself from further trauma,do not assume that by doing so you somehow have left the self behind. You’ll still need to deal with the effects, don’t keep running. You can never run so fast that what was cannot catch up.

Cowardice?

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I wish I had the courage to say to all those that I love, “I love you.” I wish I had the courage to say to all those who I think I could love, “I could love you, given time and half a chance.” I wish I could say, “There is something about you that is so compelling.” I wish I could share what I see. I would wish that I was not so fearful of the consequences. If I say those things, what would the fallout be? Would I be believed? And if I am believed, would I be dismissed, disregarded? Or worse, met with silence. As if I never were. This is what consumes me. And all the lust, all the fire of the physical. Is a mask worn to conceal these thoughts, these needs. But like all thoughts, when worn long enough, they have become a part of me. Inextricably linked to how I view love. It is not enough to love someone emotionally. I need to touch them. For some just a few fingers against their arm, or a hug. For others they consume me and I need to consume them. To feel comfortable, complete.

I love many people. Each uniquely, each for different reasons. But I love them. I wish I was free or fool enough to declare it.

A chair like no other

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This is a chair incomparable.  It has lived through dark times. It served honorably in the great ottoman uprising of 2012 and was instrumental to the Fabulous New year’s eve party of 2014 that resulted in that riot everyone’s heard about.  In the last few days it has fallen on hard times.  A bleak depression overcame it and during a horrendous dust storm that covered the land from mountain to valley it was hurtled through the air and now sits damaged and desolate. In order to raise the funds necessary to see to it’s rehabilitation a gofundme has been created. Please give whatever you can.  Won’t someone please think of the children of future generations that will get to experience this wonder?

 

https://www.gofundme.com/mydearpatiochair

(this is a friends gofundme)

 

Who are these people?

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Every story I hear about how awful or boring or lackluster a sexual encounter is, I’m floored. I just can’t seem to grasp how someone could want to be less than good. How someone can be so focused on their own gratification that they don’t see to the desires of their partner. Even if it’s a one time deal.

Now, admittedly, I’m not great at vanilla aspects of love making. In a vanilla situation, what do I do with my hands? It causes me anxiety not knowing. Non vanilla and I’ll be pinching and squeezing. Hand at your throat, controlling your breathing. But vanilla? I’m lost.

Explicitly, you should always have other sensations occurring other than just my dick inside you. In vanilla that’s what? Hands running across your body? In my head, hands exploring is a sensual prelude not a main course.

With kink, there is a wide range of possibilities from light bondage, to discipline, to spanking, to pinwheels, to a wide range of toys, and on and on.

Vanilla just narrows the scope. There are likely people that excel at this narrow scope. Who provide an excellent experience. It’s not me. I’m not practiced at it. So, while I’ll be enthusiastic and attentive, I wouldn’t consider myself good.

But, I would do everything in my power to make sure you, my partner, have a good time. Just because I don’t consider myself good doesn’t mean that you will. You will probably see that some aspects weren’t great. But after two or three orgasms that leave you boneless, I hope you will at least remember me fondly.

Hot to the touch

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And it seems, like all but a few in my past, seventy-five days was all you could stand. Perhaps, I am only attractive in small doses or as an idea rather than a man. Perhaps, I am the last to know that I was on the shelf. Fed scraps, until a better prospect cemented itself. Then discarded.
Perhaps, I was a toy, shiny and new but easily put aside. How can I know when the most popular method of leaving me is to say nothing, to not engage, to never answer direct or indirect. Apparently, I’m not worth a word. Not worth the time.
But fuck that. I am a fire. Perhaps we merely consumed all of the oxygen in the room. Leaving you Gasping, never quite achieving nuclear threshold.

VNV Nation: New favorite

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I’ve been listening to VNV Nation for more than a week. Various Albums, but I know when I start singing entire songs that we have a new favorite. I’ve listened to them before but not this extensively.