zaftigg

well, here it is. I'm a taurus through and through right now. Focusing on flesh, on pleasure, on material. Some kind of hibernation has sprung loose and now I'm in the realm of the physical. Which is just fine by me for now.

Something different.
This past fall a dude rubbed up on me during rush hour and got all hard against me and what not on the Blue Line. But what bugged me more was how he kept trying to grab my fuckin hand. The entire experience really bothered me. My inaction bothered me. It's not the first time I've stood by and watch myself from the third person, only able to watch without controlling.

But I was thinking, right? About how I would have responded had I been attracted to him. And I think I would have rubbed right back. Maybe even turned to face him, not making eye contact, still playing a game of bumping into each other, my hip and thigh rubbing against him. I wonder if the woman sitting down would notice that I'd slipped my panties down around my ankles and slid them away from me.

Or if the business man over my perpetrator's shoulder is clearing his throat as a warning, a sign of appreciation, or too much mucous. The liberation of pressing my pussy his bulge, my juices on his pants now, marking him, is so incredible, I almost lose my footing and fall into him, pressing his cloth covered cock inside, the texture so maddening against my blood engorged thickened flesh. My mouth right by his ear, I whisper a moan, that could pass for a small cry of surprise for losing my footing.

Pelvic Vaso-Congestion. That's you and me right now. All I can think as I feel you hands fumble with your zipper, still not making eye contact, moving as though you're brushing something off your shirt (clever monkey) is this time when I was a kid and I asked my mom what an orgasm felt like. "A Sneeze." Genius. I wonder if he knows that the same basic mechanism that goes into making you sneeze is that which goes into making you explode. I always get so fuckin frustrated when I can't sneeze. Vaso-Congestion.

Raw now. raw pussy from your trousers, against your raw cock, raw fucking, the new taboo. Relying on the train to rock us in it's unsteady rhythm. I can't think about what will happen when we get to Clark and Division. When the doors open. When I tilt my head back to look at the neon lights, urging a sneeze. Nothing. Frustration.

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But seriously. I'm ready to go beyond masturbation. I've been in hibernation long enough.






So like. Chicago. I'll miss you and shit. But I have a feeling I'll be back at some point. Again.
PS- Can I take Sultan's Market with me? That cool? Thanks Chicago. I knew you'd understand.