I mentioned once the mirror as source of visual pleasure in sex...
But now I'll mention what I see without a mirror. Not the image, but the anticipation. The tension. The first touch. The breath... in my ear, on my neck... humid lips... the restrained passion, eager to erupt. The eye contact, heart-breaking. The first caress a teasing game...
I like to undress both her and him. I like the soft, tender lights, les lumières tamisées. Half-shadows leaving to sight only half-lights that contour a body... a black & white photo for my private pleasure... the guess, the hint, the "go-on" feeling the skin, its fragrance, its texture, the bouquet of her silky breasts, the vague musk of his muscular chest...
Either... I open his shirt, with my hands and mouth altogether, outlining with my finger pecs and abs, listening to his soft groans, moans... I cannot resist the image of a great male body, powerful and noble, transposition of a Hellenistic statue into pure human muscle. Zeus himself has succumbed to his infatuation with Ganymede ; I'll turn his godly feebleness in an attribute of mine... Or, let him undress, with forceful gestures, I'll be the pray he'll feast on, first watching him taking off his shirt or his T-shirt... his hands' movements making his muscles flex, move and cast their spell on me... his pants... no, you can keep your socks if you want, makes you damn sexier and masculine...
As for her... I'll undress her... I'll drink her, I'll breath her like a noble elixir, like pure air, like a serum, to follow with my fingers the shape, the lines of her voluptuous body.
Let me tell you a secret : tourists (as ever lacking imagination and spontaneity) regard the statue of Venus (from Milo) and take pictures of it in the Louvre only when in front of her : her face and the imaginable gesture of holding her falling peplos are a must, it seems. Veeery few had the idea to go back and watch the statue from behind, where its eroticism is at its indisputable fullest : fine and rounded shoulders, a narrow waist continuing in sensual, tantalising, inviting hips while her falling peplos disrobes the upper half of her buttocks : a perfect revelation of a perfect erotica, full of taste and refinement.
That is what I like in women : grace, elegance, charm. You don't have to be a sparkling beauty to make me mad about you : let me establish the canons of beauty. The secret of a woman's attractiveness is that unique, secret and deep combination of (once more) grace, elegance, charm with style, class, with the delicate seduction of an enchantress, and - above all - with distinction. This is what French like to call "allure", which is more than charisma.
My Men - force and virility.
My Women - pleasurable illusions and luxurious fantasy.
Oh, and that voice of my ever-conscious conscience who whispers : Go on, live your life, there are only 7 cardinal sins and none of them is yours, no human managed to invent the 8th, you're free, taste, relish, savour, delight in !
... what do you like more & most ?... any other insights... ?...
Raal, as ever
But now I'll mention what I see without a mirror. Not the image, but the anticipation. The tension. The first touch. The breath... in my ear, on my neck... humid lips... the restrained passion, eager to erupt. The eye contact, heart-breaking. The first caress a teasing game...
I like to undress both her and him. I like the soft, tender lights, les lumières tamisées. Half-shadows leaving to sight only half-lights that contour a body... a black & white photo for my private pleasure... the guess, the hint, the "go-on" feeling the skin, its fragrance, its texture, the bouquet of her silky breasts, the vague musk of his muscular chest...
Either... I open his shirt, with my hands and mouth altogether, outlining with my finger pecs and abs, listening to his soft groans, moans... I cannot resist the image of a great male body, powerful and noble, transposition of a Hellenistic statue into pure human muscle. Zeus himself has succumbed to his infatuation with Ganymede ; I'll turn his godly feebleness in an attribute of mine... Or, let him undress, with forceful gestures, I'll be the pray he'll feast on, first watching him taking off his shirt or his T-shirt... his hands' movements making his muscles flex, move and cast their spell on me... his pants... no, you can keep your socks if you want, makes you damn sexier and masculine...
As for her... I'll undress her... I'll drink her, I'll breath her like a noble elixir, like pure air, like a serum, to follow with my fingers the shape, the lines of her voluptuous body.
Let me tell you a secret : tourists (as ever lacking imagination and spontaneity) regard the statue of Venus (from Milo) and take pictures of it in the Louvre only when in front of her : her face and the imaginable gesture of holding her falling peplos are a must, it seems. Veeery few had the idea to go back and watch the statue from behind, where its eroticism is at its indisputable fullest : fine and rounded shoulders, a narrow waist continuing in sensual, tantalising, inviting hips while her falling peplos disrobes the upper half of her buttocks : a perfect revelation of a perfect erotica, full of taste and refinement.
That is what I like in women : grace, elegance, charm. You don't have to be a sparkling beauty to make me mad about you : let me establish the canons of beauty. The secret of a woman's attractiveness is that unique, secret and deep combination of (once more) grace, elegance, charm with style, class, with the delicate seduction of an enchantress, and - above all - with distinction. This is what French like to call "allure", which is more than charisma.
My Men - force and virility.
My Women - pleasurable illusions and luxurious fantasy.
Oh, and that voice of my ever-conscious conscience who whispers : Go on, live your life, there are only 7 cardinal sins and none of them is yours, no human managed to invent the 8th, you're free, taste, relish, savour, delight in !
... what do you like more & most ?... any other insights... ?...
Raal, as ever
