Not to be shared

Finally every woman is bodily the same, the sensitive spots can slightly differ, but not much, it's a pleasure to find it, for me, because it's a vicarious pleasure, not a real physical pleasure but an intellectual one, sensing that the other is reacting to what you do, then, nothing looks more like a vagina than another vagina, all with the same characteristics, why being so aroused by that (anticipating the pleasure we, men, can get out of that), legs are legs, lips are lips and breasts are breasts, and, even, some are rather fucking ugly (like my body would be to some women), humans aren't desirable, the chemicals we host push us to lust. That's all!

And then, also, i probably miss some chemicals in my brain, preventing me to be blunt, primal, i desire in another form, because the sexual pleasure i get that way is totally weak and unrelevant, (if only i could take down that barrier to be sure, maybe with a bullet in my head), that's why the intellect is so important to me, what makes the real connection, to choose who i'll be attracted to, that's how i get stimulated and i'm fed up with giving my emotions, my passion, my imagination away, gratuitously, without ever receiving enough stimulating responses, i'm one of a kind, fucking by the brain yeah that would be me then. Fuck it!

I accept the wrath of anyone this text will offend, you can throw it at me, don't hide, come, and see how good i'll treat you.

(i'm not angry or bitter, this is simply a writing, if you want explanations, just ask the questions)

That marginal temper

Coming back from doing errands, on the road with my brother, i had to make a last stop at the bank, and i began recalling that dream, matching words and details, objects, people and feelings, i felt that urge to write, so sudden, i needed to nail that image, that emotion, carve it and give it form, erect a temple for me to be able to soak back up in it, give it a life.
I'm fumbling impatiently inside the glove box, i ask my brother, i turn his bag upside down, and the words bump around in my head, a silent litany, i must not forget, i must not lose track, and i'm panicking, smiling to that ridicule situation, that haunting impulse, and verbally pounding "i need a pen, i need a pen".
My brother releases me in front of the bank and i rush in, it's empty, i say hello quickly with glassy eyes for the clerk, and spot a pen tied to a small chain laid on a small pedestal table, that's it, i'm saved, i take five, ten minutes and scribble several lines over a random pamphlet.
Relieved i'm turning to the clerk, who appears to be a pretty middle aged woman, i ask what i was supposed to, (settling some money business between my brother and i), she starts up with a tirade to sell me some bank stuff, in the middle of her detailled speech i put up my sad look and wave my arms like scissors, saying "i'm sorry i don't understand a thing", she stops, surprised and i read a feeling of rejection on her falling cheeks, a weighty silence grows, so again i'm appologizing and let her finish, growing back comfort in our communication, even asking a practical question that she was happy to know the easy answer.
During that exchange i was thinking, i could have waved my ink filled paper and say "You know i'm more of a (crappy [useless]) poet than a (boring) technician".

That morning was kind of original, i can't supress that need to express, get things out of me and connect through the passion of my temper.

Please, let me in

"Come my minions, Come!" eat my body to the bones

resistance

I had that dream, a nightmare, i'm in a room, several bedside lamps create an intimist atmosphere in orange hues, i've got the consciousness it's a dormitory, i brought back that girl from a nearby party, no, it's more like she insidiously led me and we're isolate up there, but the next door is open and i see another couple hastily starting foreplay.
That girl acts like she wants me, and quick. She presses languidly against me, she reaches under my shirt, she bites my revealed biceps, and if it's not conspicuous enough she says it, again and again, the same line with different words, rapid words, urging me to take her.
She's a thin brunette with mid lenght straight hair and determined brown eyes, she takes her white shirt off, and she's showing pretty little breasts, sligthly pyramid-shaped mounds that don't require a bra, and a beautiful flat belly, with a tiny beauty spot on the side of her navel.
In her energy and body i feel that girl is definitely desirable for me, she continues to rub against me, to lick my face, my desire pushes me to touch her, i run my hands along her skin, and impregnate of every curve and spot, but inside me something is reticent and i keep gently shoving her back, keeping her with my strong stretched arms at a distance where i can see her, look at her, trying to admire her, to read into her, i want to take my time, i want to know her, i want to tell her secrets, i want we really connect, and i'm starting to feel awkward because she's all focused onto the sexual pleasure she wants from me, while i'm thinking "why can't we take time, speak and discover each other, taste all the sweetness of intimacy".
Always demanding, almost begging, she suddenly plunge to untie my belt and unbutton my pants, she's got one thing in mind, and i hear in the next room where the door is still open that the other couple is getting at it, they are grunting heavily and their rale is resonating on the white walls, i feel more and more uneasy, and aroused too, i contain her desire with harder resolution, and she's starting to get annoyed and frustrated, saying "Oh come on, let's go, it's a one minute business!", and i hear "Do me, please, do me", like a voice from beyond the darkness of her mind, i'm tense and soon distraught, i have to get away, i clearly don't want to be a fuck machine, a mere object that will lose its interest once used.

(That unpleasant dream tells me i want to be intimate at all levels with someone, if possible, and take the time to discover the person entirely, body and mind, in details, i need to build that intellectual trust before releasing my passion, and i know that's a contradiction because nature pushes men to be wild in those situations, acting with the sexual drive and not the reasoning mind, i'll be like them if i had enough self confidence, but my passion requires a defined environment to hatch and spread in an incredible craving.)

When i hear the fruity laugh of a frisky girl i feel i want to be part of that lively moment, i'm curious to know what's so funny, i want to feel a bond that i could be the one making another one so happy.

(Despite my heartfelt attempts, that doesn't work on command)

What makes a clumsy oafish?

What makes a clumsy oafish? (reflecting on a recent event)

Joking about a difficult subject, filled with negative and commonly disgusting connotations, by including someone who has different, more delicate and tacit manners, someone who is not so casual with this or that subject, but summarily it's highly a matter of manners and direction of the boorish remark.

Try at an example : "If Aurore walks down that shady alley, she's going to be raped! arf arf!"

(often followed with an overly demonstrative and indecent laugh, in an attempt to rally people over the supposed lightness wanted behind the use of direct and highly connoted words)

That kind of joke will be better accepted if it was abstract and so directed to no one in particular.

Example : "Going down this creepy alley there's a chance to get raped (in the ass)(with gravel)!"

The subject is always rude but because this remark wasn't intended to anyone, it's simply thrown into the air, someone sensitive hearing that will be less shocked than if it was directed at her, and so will be more magnanimous and will judge less severely the one who would have dared joking about such a serious and troubled subject.

(example of subjects not to joke so easily about : coprophilia, pedophilia, rape, necrophilia, hygiene, generally death and sex and filth, and probably more....blah blah blah, subjects people with loose manners will speak aloud remarks about, in the most public places with any person in their vicinity, without considering the delicacy of some of these persons, and the weight of their own degrading words. )
Poor Aurore!

The best can never be real!

The Prince Charming fantasy must be dropped, the faithful servant, the knight in shiny armor, drop it, the Man always looking good at every instant of the day, always at his advantage, on the best angle, under the best light, dominating and mysterious, never smiling frankly, never awkward, sweating adventure, manliness in all its bankable clichés, just drop all this, it's a deceitful commercial, an impossible icon.

(and it exists  a fake tale about the perfect woman, made to delude men, too)