Influences (or Why I Write the Way I Do)

Natalie Goldberg (free-flowing writing)
Clarissa Pinkola Estes (wild woman writing)
Jane Hutchison (direct-to-the-point writing)
Ernest Hemingway (simple words writing)

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Making Love with a Jesuit

i had reservations. how could lovemaking be with someone with such a religious background? someone prim and proper and could only muster an awkward laugh when teased online.  but it's true. the best surprises do not come in a flashy box wrapped with ribbons. it comes from those laid simple and bare. those that say, 'you may not like this, but this is all i have.' like the chalice of jesus christ, not embellished in gold. but polished plain, a carpenter's cup. sim-ple, pero WOW!

this is what i feel when we make love. that i am kissing a real man, who kisses back not only as if i'm the only woman in the world, but in all the world, i am the only woman he loves. the first time we kissed, i almost drowned. his is not the kiss of an amateur. not the kiss of someone who has spent his youth as a religious. i really wondered --- am i being had? and had to ask him directly --- are you sure you haven't kissed anyone this torrid, this ravenous before? his hands reached for the right places, grasped them almost as if my body was his entirely. i was melting under his power.

yes, his power. you will never know the extent of how much you can succumb to a man until you've made love to the right man. 'right' not in the sense of being perfect in body and endowed with energy like a stallion. but 'right' because his desires are intertwined with yours, and sex becomes just one expression of a multitude by which you can express love for each other. his power over me comes from the willingness in which i give expression to that love. we are there to enjoy each other, but not to the point of showing off. not to the point of overpowering.  and while i led the discovery, now, we are both exploring new terrain. the man has found his own expression, his own rhythm.

now the awkward laugh is no more. he is almost as crude and savage in the dark as he is decent and collected to the core. he is complete. he is really the man. and no one can beat him. to the honey and hunger in his kisses. to the depth and the peaks which his thrusts can lead. to the energy and passion in which such true love swells. he is the supreme, the prime, ever.

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