Category Archives: Love is For Sharing

Sexual Intellect Shines in The Afterglow of Orgasm

Sexual Intellect Shines in The Afterglow of Orgasm

Sexual Afterglow: That deliciously-exposed, lingering mood that separates the men from the boys, the women from the girls. Afterglow brings out the pure essence of human sexual bonding. The artistry of sharing togetherness after both lovers have reached the peak, la petite morte, the little death, the ecstasy that joins body, mind and spirit: Both Lovers.

Foreplay is great but afterglow is better. Read More

The Death of Originality

The Death of Originality

The death of originality is the slow death: The original death of the mind that needs the time to stop and think: “My world is mine”.

Courtship of our potential mind is much like the mating courtship. We can become mind lovers or mental masturbators. We can watch porno or find poetry in making love; we can seek casual affairs without intellect or seek to feel and understand the mind of our lovers.Read More

The Hard and Soft of Sexual Dysfunction  Part Four: Erectile Dysfunction Finds Compassion in Menopause

The Hard and Soft of Sexual Dysfunction Part Four: Erectile Dysfunction Finds Compassion in Menopause

As with art, so with sex. We can read and listen, learn techniques of lovemaking, we can define our own morality but only when we discover the personal lover inside our being can we become sexual artisans. You will never become the lover you were meant to be by copying the expressions of others.Read More

Part 8: Myths, Clones & Stereotypes

DREAM DOCTORS
The pleasure becomes ours, the three of us dancing as one to the singular tune that gives us reason to live beyond the mundane confines of mere existence and the needs required for survival. Marsha holds Woodstock in a little hand and kisses me as if it’s me Rod’s cock is attached to, and I cup her genitals and let my fingers wander deep inside as my tongue plays in circles with hers. Rod’s hands fondle four breasts as he holds the little lady’s backside tucked tight against his tummy and he puts his arms around me and holds Marsha and I together as if she is the weld that holds Rod and I together. And the waltzing partners change positions in a reflex-like motion as rehearsed by immediate desire. A desire of free spirits dancing to the tune of hundreds of thousands of years of human evolution; a song with the notes of spring flowers and melting snow, of a baby feeding at mother’s breast, the song of the mating of life with our added tune, a joining of three bodies on the trip to the soul’s song of orgasm. It’s now that my Catholic sexual teachings Read More

Part 7: Beyond The Guilded Myths

MORRIS AND LACEY: Her voice so sweet. So unexpected, so filthy sweet. Woodstock parks under her chin faster than that speeding bike on that highway to hell. Several licks and kisses and he’s prepared for entombment in rubber for the chance at cremation inside her perfect body. Little hands fit Woodstock with a gentleness that makes his head swell with vanity over such loving attention. Morris kisses his lady, expresses his true love and scurries back to his seat so as not to miss the main event. His chair is three feet from the end of the bed and my ass is soon two feet from the center of the bed and Lacey’s thighs are open and I touch my penis against the lips of her cleft and bend forward onto my elbows and kiss the lips her husband just kissed. …Our experience as surrogate-lovers has dispelled many of the stereotyped myths we carried into the business from over fifty years of accepting and observing. If anyone had suggested to Rod that a healthy, attractive, well-educated, very successful businessman would pay to watch him make love to the man’s beautiful wife, Rod and I would have said that will only happen in Rod’s dreams. Morris and Lacey and many others have expanded our beliefs.Read More

Part 6: Wise is the Man Who Laughs and Who Sings

The quintessential English gentleman is a Pervert-in-waiting. …Much too soon to suit Roxy and I, there is trouble in paradise. Angelina grew to loath working with Yuki. “I’ll come no more unless SHE stays away.” Jealousy, that bitter-sweet anguish that in its glory can melt the macho skin off the back of a redneck’s neck, finds its victims in the most unlikely zones of star-tossed sex. …Our patron, now invested with much time and money, strips the rubber off his, to our amazement, still erect member, slips on another and just as quickly slips into FL’s pussy. Passively, she accepts his assault and those distinctive nipples flop about her chest like tiny wave-tossed fish on a barren beach as Winston vents his frustration on her pelvis. Not so much as Read More

Part 5: A Misdirected Indiscretion

Curiosity does expose fools. Two months later and Roxy and I are stretched out naked on our bed. I’m on top of her as we kiss. Three cameramen line up behind us with our asses as their focus. Their asses are fighting for space with a wall of bookshelf, a wall of mirrored closet doors and a wall of draped window. A boom man records our sexual sounds with a microphone held over our slurping mouths. The director lounges on a toilet seat to direct the scenes with a monitor set up in our private bathroom. The guest bathroom has become our dressing-undressing room and Roxy’s lingerie closet. Seated in the next bedroom without monitor or view of our bed-turned-to-stage is an obese baseball-capped man who apparently mixes his sounds of music with our sounds of sexRead More

Part 4: Closure

SEX-TRADE WINDS: A HAWAIIAN EULOGY
Shall I close my eyes to the naked beauty weaving on a bed of thick black hair? Close my eyes and fantasize when this jewel of fantasy lies beneath me? With closed eyes the potent sound of her name sends me searching through our trips to the islands. Kona: a wind that blows contrary to the Trade Winds, a gale that pounds the protected side of paradise, a storm that gives the lee-side of Hawaii a chance to face a storm. A tempest lies beneath me. I open my eyes, just a squint to let the beauty in—A gaze that does not stare. Water pools around my burning pupils; eyelashes add texture and haze to wonder. My mind drifts away from insecurity into a surreal pool of splendor. I bend slowly into the wind until my face is buried in black waves. The gale pounds the senses of my skin with the gentlest of touch as I’m wrapped in arms and thighs and breasts and hair. I’m helpless and drowning. Kona is not. Her back lifts up from its bed of silk waves and a strongRead More

Part 3: Child Abuse Begins At Home

For some, pain is the key to open the door to sexual gratification, and though much has been fictionalized about men who need humiliation to release them from the great responsibility of their power over others, we have found no such distinction. If there is a common thread within the masochists we’ve met, it is guilt. With subservience playing an important role after their decision, as children, that they are “good-for-nothing.” Obviously the wealthy can indulge more frequently in that which wives are rarely asked to perform, and that may account for the conception that masochism is a game for the powerful. But I have spanked many a bottom that can barely afford the underwear they remove prior to whipping, and they have hoarded dollars for months for the experience of humiliation at the hands of a mature woman. It is the one time when I truly recognize my age as a plus. I doubt that many men go to young prostitutes for Read More

Part 2: Relief From The Same

March 6, 1987. Four fire trucks, ambulances, police cars and to convince us that Roderick was in real trouble a helicopter circled overhead. I don’t remember parking or walking through the maze of onlookers, police and reporters. A cameraman hid behind a tree with his camera on his shoulder; he targeted us in his lens. It was raining, not heavy, the drizzle we often get on the coast in the spring—more like thick fog than rain. It was cold. And we shivered on that mountaintop for two hours before the police sent us away to Emergency at Royal Colombian Hospital. Two hours later another cop, older, red-faced and gentled-down for such occasions told us Roderick was dead. And we are sucked into a vacuum of accelerated space where life is counted in painful seconds as it spins us into an alien void…
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