The many textures of desire

There is a question about sex that I've never really understood: What's your type?

Really? My type? When? Today? Last week? In the morning? At night in a happy, chatty pub? Could you possibly be more specific?

Having a "type" seems like a cop-out, an assignation to expectation and convention. A careless slotting into a box that helps those around us feel they "know" us. But I think committing to a "type" is the equivalent of saying there is only one painting you admire. It's limiting and reductive.

Today, for example, my head keeps turning at the sight of pale-skinned, brown-eyed women who look like some throwback to a more more ancient aesthetic. The modern greek goddess with a slight curl to her locks and a cool confidence and a look of seriousness about her eyes. I'm in a worshiping mood today.

Take the woman who just left. Tall and slim (but with some hip and some curve), with the pale skin and dark hair of a carefully tended deity. A milk and honey girl. A woman like that makes me want to immediately drop to my knees and drink her in.

There you have it. I love to give... yes, full lips and tongue buried in the warm, moist folds of your cunt. And not just a cursory licking. That's criminal. I crave long, deep massages with lips and tongue, arms and hands holding you firmly as I feel you swell and spread and flow under my tongue. Gorgeous.

And for some reason, it's the goddess-girls who bring that out the most in me. Today's girl brought on an immediate wave of tongue lust. I wanted to push her forward over the coffee bar counter and bury my mouth between her cheeks. Licking and pressing deeper, running my tongue along her cunt and ass, drinking her in.

It's funny, that. How a simple look or demeanor can bring out completely different desires in me. Bright,cheery, chatty girls, for example. I usually have an instant vision of yanking their workout stretch pants down past their ankles, pushing them back over a library table and banging them for all they're worth.

It's not too surprising, I guess, that the way we perceive someone would bring out specific desires and reactions in us.

The tiny pale girl at the cash now. Pony tail, looking chilly, but with full, sensual lips and a long, gently upturned nose brings out a completely different reaction. I want to gently push her to her knees, and press my hardening cock between those full, sensuous lips. I want to video tape it all, slick hard cock plunging in and out between those softly pillowed lips. And I want to cover her face in cum. I know. Cliche. But I don't crave that in every case. There is just something about her gorgeous skin and delicate cheeks...

So next time you see that man who smiles and says hello but gives you a lingering assessment, a slight glaze in his eyes, he might just be dreaming of you on your knees, your face covered in hot, dripping pleasure...

Intro: Welcome, come inside

Hi there, and welcome to the other side of the looking glass.

You've just crossed the threshold, moving from the surface world of polite smiles and handshakes, schedules and responsibilities to the world below the surface. You've entered the mind of your polite, fit and attractive next door neighbour -- the great dad and good husband who smiles and waves at you when you drive by on your way home to your own domestic cocoon. You've crossed into the private thought stream of that guy you've seen across the cafe, working away on his computer, reading the paper, stopping to chat with the staff and say hello to acquaintances and friends. You've stepped from the world of polite conversation and civility into something... darker, moister, more fundamental.

You've crossed into my private thoughts and, if you're female, you're going to discover what's behind the smile and the slightly too-long stare. You're going to read about private thoughts and reflections -- the thoughts and reflections that seldom find voice.

You see, I DO want to fuck you. You've been right all along. But, truly, it's not that simple. That's too boring, too banal. That's the stuff of drastic oversimplification and reductivism. The real truth is I MIGHT want to fuck you. But mostly I want to explore you. I want to savour your uniqueness. I want to understand better why you caught my attention and meditate on the unique desires you bring out in me.

Take the young woman sitting up at the coffee bar right now. It's a busy morning in my local coffee joint. There are a lot of people here, 80 per cent of them women. But it's YOU that has caught my attention. What is it exactly? Hmmm, It's the way you're fluffing your hair with your fingers, letting your short, all-business cut breathe. It's the tight, trim thighs, the legs of a runner. It's the glasses, fun but serious. You're definitely studying. That's attractive, too. Big brains are very sexy. They add texture to your landscape. It's also the way the sun keeps catching the downy hair on the back of your upper arm, blonde hair highlighted against honey skin. It's also the top you've chosen: High-waisted, soft cotton tunic. And it's definitely the way it dips down your chest revealing the rising slope of your breasts. They look spectacular. And YES, I want to see them. Of course I do! But we are not in a simple-minded frat-boy movie. It's just not that simple.

Yes, I want to see the gorgeous curve of your breasts. Who wouldn't? Your body is living art. I want to see it, but not right away. Not just like that. I want to discover it, slowly... I want to discover YOU. Your breasts are simply an access point to your sexual side. I want to see what you look like once the veneer of civility has been dropped and you are acting on your needs and desires. You are polished and perfected. You wear your public persona like a shield over your intimacies and contradictions. It is those things that I want to see, to drink in, to savour.

So there you go. Do I want to fuck you? Sure. Probably. But more than anything, bar-girl, I want to back you into a wall, look into your eyes and slide my hand up under your top,circling the tip of your breast with my fingers, listening to your breath become more rapid as my fingers close around your nipple and being to squeeze...

Welcome to the other side of the looking glass...