Thursday, January 27, 2011

Words, Lies, and Sighs

"The words you choose, they way they tumble out of your mouth, I can feel them hitting me, and they feel like truth." - a phone sex caller

"Words are what we make up, but those sighs, those are the truth." - another phone sex caller, a few days later


Seriously, I have the best job in the world. Not only do I get paid to masturbate while relishing someone else's sexual energy, usually several times per day, but also, in post-coital pillow talk, sometimes people say the most interesting things. (Physical + Mental + Emotional) * Stimulation = Win

Oh yeah, I just turned something intensely sexy into algebra. Wow. I can't decide whether to feel mortified or victorious.

But back to the topic at hand... Words, and truth, and sighs, and lies.

Last night, I was role playing a "seduction" scene which had an element of blackmail in it. I said a few things, which, if taken out of context, would be horrifying, like "HR would never believe you that you didn't want me" and "I'm paying you right now to bury your face in my pussy, so eat it like the whore that you are." You can probably figure out the scenario.

I would never, ever, even for a moment, in my real life consider finding anything sexy at all about non-consensual sex. In fact, it turns my stomach. And yet, role playing this scenario with him, I was struggling not to rush the scene so I could freaking come already because ohmygod was I turned on.

The words were lies. But the energy hurling the words at him was raw, unadulterated truth.

But that first caller, we'll call him X, the one who said my words hit him... we had gotten to this place of slow, deep sensuality, a luscious, wandering exploration. He would touch me some place new, and I would find myself asking, "X?" and then he would pause, and I could hear his ragged breath, and he would reply, "Galiana?" and I would have to pause to let the shivers of delight run their course at the way he said my name, and then I would ask him for the next thing my body was dying for him to do. Every word was raw, unadulterated truth.

I remember reading CS Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters" in high school. In case you don't know it, the premise is a senior devil who is writing letters to his nephew, a junior demon, coaching him how best to ensnare and corrupt humanity. In one passage, he described captured souls as if they were wines in glass bottles: most people had bland colorless souls, but the best of them, the truly tortured and hateful, they swirled in agony, with tendrils of delicious regret and rage that you could feel churning in your gut after consuming them.

I think about that mental picture often, of the ribbons of someone else's being reaching toward me, and I relish the exquisite satisfaction of intertwining them with my own, and letting mine reach back and feed him. 

I think I just called myself evil. Or at best, vampiric. But no, because the interaction is two-way with me, and mutually energizing, so that makes me merely naughty at worst. Right?

My callers were both wrong, and they were both right. I think the intention is the truth. Call it energy, intention, emotion, passion, whatever, but that is the thing that is true. And that truth, when it's all flowing exactly right, is what I love. /lick lips

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