Arrival

On the other side of the coin ...

I'm pinned down, he's on top of me, grinding and growling. I'm tensing, whimpering, clawing, writhing. He likes to grab me by the ass and crush me, hips to hips, when he's close. I love every minute of it and wrap him in arms, legs, teeth.


At the same time, when I'm telling him I want you inside me, I'm not talking strictly about his dick. In fact any part of his anatomy is only incidental; a vehicle for something else -- the expression of something both primal and transcendental. I want you inside me.

I pull you in closer because I want you so far inside me that I see stars. Paint constellations on the back of my eyelids: I'm coming. Not just achieving orgasmic release; arriving.

This plane of existence is greater than one person, a shared mythology that spans the depth and breadth of communication itself. It's artistic collaboration at its finest.

And you don't have to hurt me to make me cry. At least not in the traditional sense.