Extra Stuff

Thursday, January 26, 2012


20 years with the same lover renders words unnecessary during the tangling, twisting, touching, tasting, and taking that happens in private moments. Our kisses, bites, sighs, grunts, wiggles of hips, and the grasping, pushing, and pulling say all that we need to say. Really, it's a well choreographed dance once we agree on the music and the stage.

At first I was too young, too timid to say the words. Bold in action only. And to hear the gentle, erotic words that he tried on for size in a tentative manner made me blush. They just didn't work for me. So I assumed the words ineffective.

Then a long, long time passed when the words were silenced. No more words. Just actions. Perfunctory, mostly pleasurable, stolen in the middle of the night, not quite often enough actions.

Then the actions disappeared as well.

Now. Now? Now... I am not so young. My boldness knows no bounds. The words are erotic, demanding, directing, degrading, dirty, dirty words. Now I think I make him blush. Now the words work for me. Those dirty words have a welcome place of comfort on my lips and in my ears.

My dirty words match my dirty deeds and my dirty thoughts.

It's been cleverly pointed out to me that I say cunt instead of pussy when I get close to orgasm. The higher the lust, the filthier the mouth, I suppose.

I remember clearly the night  I goaded him to confess in his own words that he enjoyed fucking my face. Strange delight I took in that.

Then there was the incident in which I admonished him while laying into his ass with flogger, crop, and wooden spoon. The filth flowed.

I tease him with my words. I like seeing a flicker of shock, or a gleam of lust in his eyes.

Dirty words are no empty promise from this dirty girl. I have every intent, and every ability to back them up.

I've even heard in my own head a chorus of filth being spoken to me as he is too busy, too concentrated on his task to offer them himself. I find the need for him to speak them again. In the moment, the zone (all ladies know the zone), I grasp for the thing to push me over the edge. Sometimes it is an image of a memory - real or fantasized - but sometimes.....I've discovered that I need the words that were once spoken and dismissed. With the return of our actions, I'm ready to hear the words again.