v u l v a l i c i o u s
To Be Fucked
Today I saw a phallic shadow, and thought of being fucked very well by a boi with a strap-on. I let my thoughts dance around rough sex, spread legs, hair pulling, and nibbling until I had walked to the main road and was forced to turn my thoughts to the mundane things of the day: meetings, readings, et cetera, ad nauseum.
This brought me back, quickly, into my earlier thoughts of sex and desire.
And it comes and goes, that feeling of Wanting, Very Badly. It strides through my life a few days out of each week, or sometimes only once or twice a month; it wears leather and nice shoes, and when it touches me, I feel the sensation through my entire body. My cunt awakens. I am heat, intensity, fire. I am passion. Fuck. And fuck me.
We exchange glances filled with contextual meaning. Imagination thrusts me up, out, and I am there. We are there.
And ideally, I can feel it for days. I walk to class with my cunt singing, calling out, singing rebellious songs of elation; I sit in meetings, legs crossed, listening intently, and then I smile just a bit knowing, feeling, pulsing.
Come. Fuck. Me.
Cunt, Alive, Necessity. These are the things that dwell in my mind.