|
Friday, Aug. 23, 2002 / 6:22 p.m. ~Close to Happy - This One is Sexual~ **Bonus 2nd Entry** It's like this. As I'm walking back there my hands touch everything on the way. One dangles and brushes up against the long leaves of the spathyphyllum always in my way, the other drags along the textured wallpaper on the corner where two walls meet. There's a filing cabinet, it's cool, metallic, the water fountain is boring, a quick touch and I'm in there. Alone. It's an odd time of day, it's late afternoon, everyone has eaten lunch, snacks, they're back to work, plodding along, watching the clock. I repeat. I am alone. No one, but me. I don't know why it occurs to me, but it does. I could, you know, I could. This is a moment wherein I could, if only I wanted to. I wonder, in that moment. It feels like there is a window of opportunity, and I can enter through that window. Close a door behind me, I empty my bladder, not sure if I even had to, not sure why I am there, it just seemed the thing to do at the end of my break. And I decide to touch me, to feel if my vulva is wet, to try, to make a little effort, because no one is there, I am alone, and I can. Touching a breast beneath my shirt, pulling a nipple, imagining someone else doing as I am doing, not me at all, and I am quickly lubricated, juices are flowing, it's happening all so fast, and I know anyone could walk in at any time, change the dynamic, change the vibe, the ambiance, the room, but in that knowing, any time, any one, I move quickly, and I hardly have to touch at all, hardly have to move a finger faster at all, I lean back, only half of me even touching the seat, one leg, one thigh, legs spread, wanting to spread wider, but knowing that's too obvious, if anyone enters� It's fast, because it has to be, and my finger moves farther up, rubbing across my clitoris, wet with excitement, wet with spontaneity, wet with imagination, and I have my orgasm, I emit a tiny moan in spite of myself, catch myself, just a little grunt, an "oh", or an "mmm", and it's gone, but I'm holding on, I'm making it last, I'm still rubbing up and down, and I finish quickly, if it were timed it would have been a minute, maybe two, maybe the fastest ever, quickness an asset for a woman, I think, or maybe just for me, a challenge to get there as fast as possible. It can be done again so quickly if needed. Repeat as needed. There was no need. It was pure spontaneity. I still have trouble believing I've done it. Three times in 4 � years? Recently. Why? Because why not. Why not? It's too inviting. It's too exciting. It makes me feel wicked. Like I have a secret no one can possibly find out on her own. When I left the room I felt I'd not be able to walk. I'm still throbbing, the blood all rushed to swell my 'organ'. Hah! My 'member'. Why are penises called 'members', but clitorises are called� what are they called? Clitorises? Clits? Do you know the clitoris is the only organ of the body whose sole purpose for existence is to provide pleasure? And in some cultures the clitoris is removed? Horrible, yes? Yes. Brrrrr� I shudder at the thought. That a woman in Saudi Arabia or, oh, I don't know where else, lots of places I can't think of right now, cannot go into her workplace's 'ladies room' for a quickie because her clitoris is gone. Horrible. Circumcision is one thing, at least men can still ejaculate, still have orgasms, but clitoridectomy? Yikes. Perhaps then we see there really are two wholly different types of female orgasm, the vaginal and clitoral. Vaginal only though? It's not right. The clitoris is an amazing thing. I know I love mine� Content. Close to happy even. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |