Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
It made my night. Its as if noone has ever called me that before. He told me I was going somewhere with my singing and songwriting. He said he has so much respect for me because I am able to write down the way I feel and express it through music. He was really fascinated. He basically kept saying he had so much respect for me and that I’m cute. Hearing that a guy respects me for my work is honestly one of the nicest things. He asked if I had written a song about him and I smiled because I have. He looked at me and said ” Oh my god, that is the sweetest thing”. We kept on driving and he began talking about how I’m getting somewhere in life and hes not. And I said ” you are such a great guy, you’re funny, and smart, and you have this way about you. Your eyes, they’re so gorgeous, I love them and you’re smile is so amazing”. I told him his eyes are “magnetizing. “ He said ” wow. I can’t stop smiling that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said. Thank you”.
He tried kissing me goodnight. Like a good girl, I resisted.
So then he kissed me on my cheek like a good guy. =D
“It really troubles me when people use academic achievement as a means of measuring intelligence. You’re basically saying that somebody who is able to successfully jump through hoops and be submissive to authority is the height of intelligence, rather than looking at somebody’s capacity to think independently and creatively. I think that you can tell a lot more about somebody’s level of intelligence by sitting down with them and having a five minute conversation rather than looking at some letters on a piece of paper which, essentially, are meaningless.”—Source (via allisonleighxo)
I JUST FIGURED OUT THAT FERGALICIOUS BY FERGIE IS ABOUT HER VAGINA SHE MADE A SONG ABOUT HOW TASTY HER VAGINA I USE TO SING THIS SONG WHEN I WAS LITTLE I WENT AROUND SCHOOL SINGING A SONG ABOUT THIS WOMENS PUSSY
“If you can’t laugh together in bed, the chances are you are incompatible, anyway. I’d rather hear a girl laugh well than try to turn me on with long, silent, soulful, secret looks. If you can laugh with a woman, everything else falls into place.”—Richard Burton (via femmeandrogyne)