Have you ever had one of those self-induced orgasms that, to go completely cliche for a moment, make you literally cry from pure, unadulterated, unashamed, longing?
I've had a few.
Just had one, actually.
I put on some of my fast-paced modern classical and a sort of fake silky sheet, got naked, and hopped on the phone with my man who's up in the northwest somewhere, and proceeded to use an electric cord to... well, do things that I'd really rather him do. And then I was allowed to get off, and even though it took longer than normal because I was tired, and had a stressful day, it was nice.
All the bottled up sadness from being separated washed down out of my skull, down my throat, poured into my breast, and dripped from my nipples down between my legs and swelled there, on my stinging, whipped sore labia. It finally rushed back up in a straight line up my spine, and hurtled back into my throat, demanding the due payment of a sob or two, but I bit down on it, and forced it to stay there, until I was off the phone. When he went to sleep, I curled around the watery afterglow, and allowed my inside self one short sob, and one tear only, then closed my soul's hands around it, strangled it, and shoved it back in my chest.
Most of the time, when I climax, --cum, for the male audience, --I just giggle like a retard, and try to reboot the braincells I killed for a moment, and force them to remember how to sit up and have a cigarette. But once in a while, I have this profound bittersweet experience, and have to write about it, or I'll forget.
I am taking only one silly girly moment. Then I'm going back to the trashy desk slave.
My whole entire soul cried out in agony and pleasure for a man tonight, and tried to escape from my body. That's gotta be a good thing.
El oh El.
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