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"what can I give that is all for you?"
It’s late afternoon. Early evening. Whatever. I’ve held numerous bodies in the past three days, my sweat wasn’t my sweat until I bathed it off with bubbles and a whiskey and a chapter of a novel I’m not sure about reading.
My nipples are learning a lot about how much stimulation they enjoy (a great deal). My cunt is surrendered, tired. All orgasmed out and felt up beyond measure.
Sometimes I come to the city like a wild free woman on fire, like a woman on holiday. I walk around buying shit, smiling at the traffic. Making plans. Feeling big.
Then I take a flood-load of ridiculous texts and emails, wading and sifting through what is legit and what is preposterous. My tits and cunt being the main subject of everything, of course: “do u squirt?” Heaven help humanity.
Then I take a number of selected men into my sanctuary, and love them for a moment or hopefully a few more. (I enjoy longer sessions best.)
Each soul is a universal beloved for a time, I am a lover of all and any. I honour the person - their need, their urge, usually their loneliness. I meet their desire, completely turned on and ready to make love.
I love to be loved and felt, I love to love and feel. This is why I do this work. I love to smile and bring joy.
I breathe and float and forget all of myself in these long, sweet moments. There’s nothing but flesh & spirit, really. It’s a kind of music. A trans-personal connection, very slow and utterly patient. I give myself to the hour or two or three of meeting, however it ends up feeling. Almost always incredibly satisfying. Sometimes weird, sometimes fine. Hopefully, always - with me - sweet.
Today after my day was done, I found myself wandering around my room and down to the street smoking, my eyes watering. I had a whiskey. My eyes watered more. I had a few smokes. I didn’t know what to do.
Restless, I came back up to my room and let my eyes well up, fuck.
I cried for awhile then - the energy of the people I’ve received this week, all of it pouring out my face in a wild, untamed, unknowable fashion. What can I do, but surrender. The things I’ve seen and held just in my skin and my eyes. My eyes, my heart, and my fucking pussy. I have so much love in me, so much to give.
I’m a lover of the whole complicated world and all its many layers, I can’t help it.
Everything had to come out through tears, all the connections and feelings. (I had this epiphany that love must be just saltwater - which is true, in its own primordial way).
The energy I’ve held in the past three days, the concentration. The old and young and the mixed up; the untouched, unsatisfied, hungry people of the world. The desirous. The strong, the weak, the shy, the nervous.
I’m here to love them all, it’s the only thing I can do for the world sometimes. It’s the only way I can meet the broken heart of the world - with the life of my body, with the work of my spirit.
I am not on holiday. I’m a rescuer of the lonely, and sometimes it costs me something, for sure. I do get tired. Like tonight.
And like everyone, I also have loneliness. Right now, I’m listening to sad songs reminding me of what it feels like to be chosen by a special someone. Thinking about the passing of time in life, counting my losses a bit.
I’ve spent my day offering connection, and now I’m sitting in the lamplight looking out at the horizon. Wondering what to do with my heart and my hands.
I’m in a big city, separated from my home, restless, wondering when I can be held just as me, for a minute? When I can relax and be cared for? When the hours will stretch out like on a Saturday when there’s nothing, nothing, nothing but a blue sky and some laughs with a good sweet lover.
And tomorrow, I’ll be a virgin again. Soft and smooth, dressed for one she loves, the one who takes such good care of her.
I’ll take a morning swim in the pool, a hot tub, stretching my beautiful body that everyone loves to love, for a moment, for a price, sometimes for long years of sensual friendship.
I belong to myself each morning - my body visits each of the cardinal directions in a prayer. A salute to the sun. And then, most days, this body offers itself on the altar of Love.
But not tomorrow - tomorrow, I’m only for him.
I’m twenty-four floors up, here. On top of the world, in the throb of my self, offering something I believe is healing. (And this is what it feels like.)
I’m going to sleep now. Melting into the sheets of this white king-sized bed. Dreaming of how my limbs will be held by his hands - I mean not just my limbs, but my heart too. How we’ll melt into each other’s need in that simpatico way. And how I’ll settle into his body, safe.
A little spent, but safe.
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