An Open Letter to All WomenbyTheCyberPoet©
An Open Letter
I'm sure you've heard it all before, of how men would just love to thrust their cocks deep into your chasm, to look down and watch you take their raging huge cocks deep in your mouth, your pussy, up your arse. How it seems that this is their perception of sex and power and self-esteem. How their view of sex revolves around the pure worship of their pricks when it's at full mast. Today, I am going to set the record straight and reveal the rest of the story, the one that isn't often mentioned or spoken or even whispered in private.
But such full masting worship isn't how it all starts. It starts so much simpler. We are walking past each other, or perhaps we are talking, or if I am graced with your company for a meal, we are sharing intimate conversation. And as we come close, to share a secret, a joke, a bite of food, I can smell your skin, the scent of your hair, and this is where it starts. My eyes wander to the soft skin at the nape of your neck, or shoulder or whatever happens to be exposed... and I start to envision what it will taste like, smell like, to place my lips against your skin, warm, soft, tempting, to feel that which is unique to you overwhelming my olfactory senses. My eyes bore in on what appears to be the tastiest of delights -- and inevitably it's not lying on one of our plates as we eat and speak. I may become momentarily distracted as I concentrate on the sensation in my mind, of trying to isolate your wonderful smell, the one hiding beneath the perfume and the odors about us, not the stink of sweat, but the smell of warm skin in sunlight on a not-to-hot day.
My tongue softly touches my lips, just barely peeking out to wet them, but I can already barely stand the temptation, the desire to nibble, to take your skin and enjoy how succulent it is. It tempts me, pushes me deep inside. I don't want to rape you, fuck you, make you mine; I just want to taste you and enjoy one little spot for this instant or all eternity (it is the same right now). My eyes return to yours, and now they burn with an intensity, one that you may take as flattering or perhaps you will feel a bit of fear because you misunderstand what their intensity represents. I am not staring at, nor thinking of your nipples, your pussy, your arse, but you as an unique individual, and I am peering into your eyes deeply, because I want to know if you can feel this desire burning within me and whether you want to entertain it. The conversation resumes, but now I am partially preoccupied in my mind, my hands pulling you to me, my mouth seeking out your skin, feeling the overwhelming sensations of being close to you, of enjoying you in a way far more delicate than just some mindless thrusting. I long to kiss you and to nibble your lip lightly, to hold you tight to me as I suckle your earlobe and graze my mouth over your neck. I want this closeness, this tenderness, this heat and sensation to revel in.
Perhaps I shall never get the chance to, by circumstance, by events, by my own fear that you will not welcome this form of attention from me, to go any further, and this shall be all that I get to enjoy -- the entertaining of thoughts from a distance. Or perhaps, something deep inside shall spur me on, and at some point, hopefully when the moment is just right, I shall place my mouth to your neck, tasting you as my nose inhales the scent at your nape. It is now that my mind first wanders on, thinks of what it would be like to taste and feel more of you, but I am in no rush, for this one little piece is delightful (for if it wasn't, I would have smelled, known in advance and stopped before I got this far).
The nose is a most amazing organ, capable of picking up nuances of scent that suddenly trigger an instant flashback to events so far gone that you could not consciously remember them otherwise. It is primeval, in that which we smell is rarely analyzed logically, but rather, is handled as pure emotion, desire, craving and sense without the misconceptions or clouding of the training the rest of our senses have received throughout the years. A magic trick can fool the eyes, a good stereo can fool the ears, a combination of heat and cold can easily fool the skin, but the scents we breath are purely animalistic in perception.
The moment has come. It is now, or perhaps never. I look into your eyes as I take your face in my hands, and kiss you, softly, pleadingly, gauging your reactions to see if this is welcome, wanted, shared. As with all men, there is some certainty to my belief that this must be wanted by you, but there is also the slight misgivings of doubt. I am waiting for a sign that will quench any misgivings. For you, it might mean analyzing a large variety of factors to decide if it is acceptable to kiss me, to want me, from a myriad of possible futures to my earning potential, from the social significance of being seen with me to the level of your own desires, but for me it is so much simpler at this instant -- I only want to know that you want that which I can offer you for this shared extended instant. I am not looking for you to promise me the rest of your life, or even the rest of the afternoon, but simply the knowledge that I do not trespass and that you welcome my simplest of desires.
Your eyes close and you give yourself to the kiss; a certain relaxation of some muscles, the way your eyes moved and smiled at their corners told me that you welcomed (or at least resigned yourself to) this. My kiss increases in intensity, and I am consuming you with it. I feel as if time freezes as I concentrate on this single kiss, extending it, drawing it out. If I am not careful, I shall make you weak and shaky with it, for it is so very powerful, so very intense, and I must realize that you must be given the chance to breathe even as I long not to stop, for inevitably, your blood does not retain quite as much oxygen as mine and you will pass out before I need to breathe again. I pull back, desiring nothing more than not to stop. I can feel you, unstable, gasp, your eyes flutter open and, if I have timed it right and the feelings are mutual, your eyes have a new sparkle, a certain radiance. That is the sign that I have been waiting for, praying that it shall come, the one that tells me that I can set aside any petty fears and not concern myself with worries about invitation, about limitations, about acceptance -- for this moment you are mine. And though the moment may pass, right now, right here, you and I encompass an entire universe unto ourselves.
I pull you close, to lend support, to feel you against me, woman borne by man, and now, finally, my mouth seeks out your neck, my nose inhales your scent truly, and my mind begins to imagine how the sensations of pressure against me from your body will taste, feel to my mouth as I make your skin my playground. Amazing from a woman's point of view, I have not yet thought of my cock or our unison though our genitalia, but rather, of transporting myself over your skin, millimeter by millimeter, exploring, caressing, tasting, kissing, smelling, discovering, knowing. If the time and place are right, perhaps this shall come to pass now, or perhaps I shall have to whisk you away from where we are to permit it to happen, or maybe, just maybe, that was all there was to it and the opportunity to go any further shall never appear again, but some cruel twist of fate or passion. But I have enjoyed what I have had, cherished it more than you will ever expect.
I kiss you again, this time holding your face in my hands, trying to give you a message of romance and security, that this is a safe temptation, that you will never regret this kiss, nor any other. And, if all things are wonderful, this kiss leads to another and yet to another, and to more yet again, all wonderful, each slightly different than the last. And for each of us, our fires are being fueled, our breathing a bit more ragged, our skin a bit flushed, our eyes sparkling. I shall lay you down, so that I can remove a piece of clothing and permit myself the time to delve into your skin, move across it slowly, deliberately. I can tell that you crave, and if you are patient, you shall have everything that you wish for... My hands wander and my lips follow, and I enjoy every second of it. The soft skin underneath your areola are particularly tempting, but you are going crazy, hoping that I will take your nipples and give them the same attention. I have the time to luxuriate in it all, I am in no rush, and my craving for you is building second by second. I remove your pants (skirt? dress?), and kiss your thighs, your ankles, the back of your knees. You know what is coming and the anticipation is pushing you to new heights, and your hips flex to try to capture a feeling where it burns most. Finally, I touch your warm mound, blowing a hot breath over it, and then kissing it softly, the most tender kisses. You want more, and you shall have more, but all in due time. All things which are worth having are worth waiting for. You want to scream, but it comes out as a muted, whispered plea...
As I start to suck your labia and caress everything, only now has my mind wandered to my cock, as it starts to truly unfurl and come to attention. I know that it's hardness is in direct proportion to your own level of desire (or at least my perception of it), although in this position, you can not see it. I relish in learning your intricate folds, your taste, in what is too little, too much, and just right, as I seek to raise you up to a peak and hold you there before trying to bring you to a higher peak. Perhaps you are easily orgasmic, and you are cumming regularly. Or perhaps you aren't, and the build up has made this all the more pleasurable for you, knowing that your release is coming. Everyone is unique and it is that uniqueness that makes you, and makes the exploring and discovery so wonderful for me. Now I want you to cum. I want to turn your body inside out and make the universe melt, to feel your pleasure and my power at making it happen. Right now, I will do anything to make you pop; I will say anything, do anything, try anything, if it brings you to that mind-shattering orgasm that I so want you to have. My fingers, my tongue, my lips, my hair against your thigh, my breathe hot against you, my words and actions, anything, for a I desire to complete this circle from first kiss to first orgasm, to feel myself bathed with your joy and pleasure. My cock is straining and perhaps a few drops of precum are leaking from the tip, and it is now that I feel the real power -- not in my cock, but in my ability to push you to pleasure. It is now that the whole picture reference revolves about an odd axis and with your orgasm, I want to thrust, to match your intensities, to make you feel as if the whole world consists of my hardness filling you in that indescribable way. It is now that I want to be a god for a while, the god of your sexual realm, and feel your insides cling to me as your skin, hot and sweet, clings to me. I want to kiss you and take you and make you mine, to mark you with the memory of what it means to be with me this way. Now it has become about pure carnal lust and cock worship and power and sex. I want to hear you scream and whimper, feel you shudder about my shaft, and know that you crave every instant of what is happening in a most rudimentary way. To push you and feel you and have you and take you. I want to feel you orgasm again, this time on my cock, feel your muscles as they spasm about me, whether it is strictly from the feelings you have within you, or whether your clit needs some manual stimulation is irrelevant, for it is us/now/here...
And yet... I know that when my own orgasm comes to me, it will almost assuredly have come because again I am concentrating on some single facet of you, such as the taste of that one bit of skin on your neck where this all started...
by TheCyberPoet(tm) Copyright 2002, all rights reserved under US and international copyright law. No reusage without written permission of the original author. Permission is hereby granted to Literotica to publish this story provided there is no charge to access it by the public.
Blipvert: if you find yourself in the Tampa Bay area and might enjoy being the object of my desires, please, drop me a line... Of course, correspondence is welcome from all who enjoyed this writing, and please remember to vote frequently and regularly!
Best Wishes, =-= CyberPoet