intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: Drunken Thought #2
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2011/10/everyones-so-quick-to-diagnose.html
Everyone's so quick to diagnose. Everyone's so quick to prescribe a treatment. I'm waiting for an opportunity to tell my story. Before the scab. Before the scar tissue. Before the blemish. No one has ever asked me what happened in the first place. Before the broken skin. Before the spilled blood. Before the ambulance ride. It's been a very difficult story to keep to myself. But, no one asks, "How did you get that x-long gash from here-to-there? I've been longing to say 'yes' for so long. "YES! Probably&#...
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: 52 Pick-Up: 3 of Clubs
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2011/12/52-pick-up-3-of-clubs.html
52 Pick-Up: 3 of Clubs. It’s natural for relationships to change. Times. Circumstances. Needs. There are so many factors that’ll cause the shape of love to bend and twist. “Are you sure? 8221; Looking into her eyes, I can see that she’s serious. We have certainly reached a turning point. Her eyes read honest, as she answered,. 8220;Yes. I think it’s a good idea.”. Getting on her nerves, I squeal, "For real? Is it even possible? 3 of Clubs" by Boistrous. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Pervert. He...
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: March 2013
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2013_03_01_archive.html
At this time, his plane is probably taking off for Lima. Not having the heart to look at the specifics of his itinerary, all I can feel is my heart stretching too far, too fast. I worry if I’m elastic enough. I imagine snapping being fatal. I imagine possibilities that he’d never return, leaving me torn. My imagination is being very unkind to me in this moment. Left alone in a hotel suite, in this spacious king-sized bed, my only company are these tingling sensations. My ass, my thighs, my belly…. Dmytro...
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: October 2011
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2011_10_01_archive.html
Everyone's so quick to diagnose. Everyone's so quick to prescribe a treatment. I'm waiting for an opportunity to tell my story. Before the scab. Before the scar tissue. Before the blemish. No one has ever asked me what happened in the first place. Before the broken skin. Before the spilled blood. Before the ambulance ride. It's been a very difficult story to keep to myself. But, no one asks, "How did you get that x-long gash from here-to-there? I've been longing to say 'yes' for so long. "YES! Probably&#...
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: Souvenir Soreness II
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2013/03/souvenir-soreness-ii.html
At this time, his plane is probably taking off for Lima. Not having the heart to look at the specifics of his itinerary, all I can feel is my heart stretching too far, too fast. I worry if I’m elastic enough. I imagine snapping being fatal. I imagine possibilities that he’d never return, leaving me torn. My imagination is being very unkind to me in this moment. Left alone in a hotel suite, in this spacious king-sized bed, my only company are these tingling sensations. My ass, my thighs, my belly…. Issue ...
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: August 2011
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2011_08_01_archive.html
Exploring the gulf between nearness and arrival. Hairs stand on end. Juices flow. Almost touching, his body jumps at the mere anticipation of contact. Erections swell. Breaths thicken. He can't stay quiet. Its something about closing the space between my fingertips and his skin. His instincts sets his skin on fire as phantom caresses crawl across his flesh. The same way light too dim for my eyes to register. Can be just as blinding as staring into The Sun. A touch so soft it's barely felt,. Her hips spir...
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: Drunken Thought #15
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2011/11/drunken-thought-15.html
I've been tucking it into my pocket. Nice. Neat. In a cute envelope. Each and every time something stupid comes out of your mouth, I've been gently filing it into the abyss behind my left lapel. My thoughts and emotional impulses are folded two or three times to fit perfectly. To fit nicely. To fit neatly. Aren't I a saint? Aren't I an alchemist? For converting bullshit into pretty packages. Sealing bullshit filled envelopes with a decorative closure. It even matches my outfit. Aren't I nice? In retrospe...
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: September 2011
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2011_09_01_archive.html
Folsom Street Fair 2011: Chord (Part I). Folsom is more than a street this weekend. What typically is driven on, somehow drives everything in a ten-mile radius and beyond. Inspiring. Intoxicating. Influencing. The Spirit of Folsom fills me with an infectious excitement. We’re all excited. I think we fell in love immediately. Already intrigued by his intense need to serve. We didn’t expect him to be so handsome. That’s just nasty! I loved every moment. Folsom Street Fair 2011. Although, its already over.
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: December 2011
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2011_12_01_archive.html
52 Pick-Up: 3 of Clubs. It’s natural for relationships to change. Times. Circumstances. Needs. There are so many factors that’ll cause the shape of love to bend and twist. “Are you sure? 8221; Looking into her eyes, I can see that she’s serious. We have certainly reached a turning point. Her eyes read honest, as she answered,. 8220;Yes. I think it’s a good idea.”. Getting on her nerves, I squeal, "For real? Is it even possible? 3 of Clubs" by Boistrous. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Pervert. Heretic...
intelsexualism.blogspot.com
Journals of an Intelsexual: July 2011
http://intelsexualism.blogspot.com/2011_07_01_archive.html
Love is marinating in citrus. Love is bathing in hot water, seasoned with rosemary and mint. Love is throwing salt over your shoulders, liberally sprinkling some sugar and spice. Love is coating your body olive oil. Love is pre-setting the oven. Love is being cooked, burned even. Love is stewing in your juices. Love is keeping your tenderness. Love is being raised and fed for this moment. Love is the flavor blossoming from your bones. Love is the fragrance announcing to his neighbors, you are ready.
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