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David Beckham

My world revolves around men, these fascinating yet simple creatures of simple minds and simple verbiage and the primitive hereditary bond they share with other men. I have no desire to be a man yet I long to consume them. During sex all I want to do is bite and nibble and taste and bite until they wince and scream and grimace from holding themselves back from pulling my hair, trying to decide if they like it or not, wondering who is in control, whether it is me or them – I love this fabulous species with more sexual, passionate, playful desire with a duller ache of a want of a emotional connection. Sex is my weapon and I like it and will always try to be better, always still seeking the perfect partner to giggle between sessions but someone who is willing to study me and my reactions like a teenager studying for a driving test scheduled to occur the following morning. 

Is there only one man who will be my partner in crime or are there several? Is it one for a lifetime or one by one as in succession, each one bobbing their heads into my life to take another’s place on cue. I am never without a man or a love interest and without these, without someone to fantasize about - someone whose tongue I can imagine between my thighs it is hard and I don’t  know how I would cope. 

Along with my impatient disposition it is the man who has stimulated my mind and body which will be my undoing. He will be the kink in my armor, my sweaty palms, my witty banter and disconnected observations about the environment along with badly told boring stories of events long gone which would sound much more interesting and beleivable coming out of another more excited mouth than mine. This man, this mecca, this being would be as powerful a being in my world as Oprah..armed with no affect and the ability to transcend class, culture, breeding, race and religion, this being would be a personification of a key to zip— me— open.

He will be my muse. 

And in his wake I will write no more witty banter but my prose would take on the adoration similar to that expressed by King David in his songs he wrote to his wife in the Bible. A calming, loyal tone…my prose will be an ode to David’s in being an example that prose of praise for the human who has your heart is rendered much more potent in the often misunderstood submissiveness of its tone. 

My man will be the shit.

And I will be the shit for bringing not shit but THE SHIT out of my man. He will talk tall beside me and the clues to our fiery relationship will lay in our dilated pupils and childish pokes, prods and gropes…sneaking off in public places or in good company…we will be each other’s addiction. Our fights will be brutal and our lovemaking just as. We will tire each other out while constantly stimulating each other …our relationship will be an energy barter system…

I love men and I love that I have had the company of some damn good ones, men of few words but trained, telling touch…who have listening skills so well developed it can easily be listed on their resumes. Perhaps it is the company of these good men that has been my blessing and my curse. Blessing in their unknowingly revealing a whole new level of MAN, not redefining but altering the definition of MAN. A curse in the sense of, it takes so long to recover when things do not work out with a good man…especially when you are more concerned with preserving his legacy than listening to the winds of move on that blow in quietly from the east…

I love the men, my man to be and my partner in crime for life…

A man who will love me like Shihan loves his woman

*muah*

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