I love you, I love you not

Sometimes when I look at you I fancy myself in love with you.
With the way your smile makes me feel. That not so little flutter in my stomach.
Especially when I am sitting next to you,  and all I can see are the light creases on your cheek and the crinkle in your eyes.
Or when you look directly at me. And it seems as if I was all you see. All you wanted.
Because you are all I wanted.  Still want;
Sometimes so deeply,  so fiercely my chest hurts
I reckon its the weight of my heart beating so wildly it feels like it wants to jump right out of my chest into your arms.
In those moments I think I love you for you let me take you as deeply and as fiercely as I need you.
Hard. Fast. Frantic. Furiously and oh so desperately it also hurts.
It hurts because when I feel you fall apart around me I think you feel my heart beat so hard against my chest trying to get out.
Those moments when I promise,  every time that I will be gentle.
That your neck deserves more attention than your soft wetness between your legs that you rub all over me.
Those moments I remind myself that you bruise like a peach so why do I end up clawing and pawing at you.
Trying to get under your skin. In every sense of the word.
Those times I try to convince myself that you like it when I pepper you with kisses and declarations of love and adoration.
But your whimpering and your sobbing gets under MY skin.  Which is funny because its your skin I am trying to get under.
And you almost always end up on your knees pert bits in the air covered in bites and spit, hands tangled in the sheets, a giant quivering mess of breathy moans and hoarse cries as I fuck the breath of you

And then there are times I KNOW I love you.
When I wake up in the middle of the night to your hands in my hair and every inch of your oh so warm body plastered to mine.
And I am scared because I am driven mad with lust.
And no matter what a stern talking to I give my hands they can't seem to stop roaming your curves and mapping out your softness.  Traitors.
Because I feel like a dirty pervert.
But you feel so fucking good I want to consume you and everything you are.
I want to say its because I am human that I wake up so hot and bothered. After all you are fucking sexy. And you have wrapped yourself around me so tightly I can't tell where you begin and where I end.
If it wasn't for the fact that your sleep pout makes me want to stick all manner of things down your throat. I would believe it.
Hot things.
Hard things.
Preferably things only attached to my body.
And then you whimper and shift as you feel said hard things poking at you.
Such a dirty little slut.
Mine.
And you would think that this is the time I would hold you down and fuck you into the mattress. Because its probably 2a.m and who has time for a slow fuck?
And then I feel your breath on my neck and suddenly the need has changed.
Its a slow burning inferno that consumes me and my chest also hurts and I want to cry because you are the most beautiful woman I know.
You wake up slowly and stretch sinously against me. So pliant and soft.
Sometimes I wonder if you are playing me.
Because you open up so easily.
And you fit so perfectly.
And we are touching hip to hip
And your moans are broken sighs and light nail pressure on my shoulders as I attempt to entice YOUR heart out into my arms.
And I want to plead with you to only take what you need.
And beg you to pretend if it happens that you don't love me.
Because I know you do.
But I don't say it because it's probably 2a.m and who has time for possibly lust driven declarations. Even though we would both know it's not.
But if you wouldn't take what you need then I will.
Because I don't know if you will be here when I wake up.
And I just need you.

Cock-loving Feminist

They teach us as we grow up that it is a woman's right to know what they want to do with their body.
They tell us, if you don't like it, don't do it. Don't let that boy stick his willy in if you don't like him.
They encourage us to explore our bodies, and I must confess that twelve year old me approved so much of this message. Especially at bath times. When I was old enough to be left in the tub alone. With a shower hose. After hiding behind my mum's desk reading grown up people books.
I need to quit with this digressing habit.

As I grew up, this information was in every magazine I read. and the message was all the same:
Empowerment comes with sexual liberation.
In my quest to be the most empowered powerful woman I could think of, I decided to take this task at heart. Sex. Sex.and more Sex.

They were not lying. There is something to be said about oozing the kind of sex appeal I feel I have. When you walk into a room with a floor length black dress that covers you in such a dreadful manner, yet you see the men stop, and the women cling to said men, then you will know what I am talking about. I take a little too much pleasure in the discomfort of other women the minute I walked into a room. I like to think that I look like a Queen. A debauched Queen you want to see shackled at your feet swallowing your cock.
I am a staunch feminist. Other feminists will disagree. Because they are of the opinion, so I have heard, that by wantonly wanting, no..needing to fuck and get fucked, I enforce the theory that women are tools for sexual pleasures. I would laugh in your face if you were even an iota of the woman you claim to be and said this to my face. But we both know you can not look at my face without picturing your husband's load dripping off it. I forgive you.

But see, its because of these women. These girls, who refuse to accept that with sexual liberation comes with empowerment. Its a rush that sticks to you that you can piss on someone and they would lose their shit. Its excites me when women tremble with lust disguised as rage when I look into their eyes.
They want me. They want to fuck me. They want me to fuck them.
They want to be me. To fuck like me. To be fucked like me.

It never occurred to me that in my quest to sexual liberation, I would meet an obstacle in the form of...it embarrass me to say this...but yes...emotion. Especially after I was so unfamiliar to it.
The only emotions I can remember feeling was lust, contempt, rage and smug satisfaction every time I was accosted for seconds.

I don't do seconds, simply because there is just so much to learn, to experience. Of course not everyone was amendable to that opinion...as I surely found out seeking liberation between the soft thighs of The Green Eyed girl.............................................TO BE CONTINUED

MUHAHA

You can't have your (cup)cake and eat it too

Cupcake read my last post.
Yes. We are still together.
Yes. we are still annoyingly cute together.
No. we do not take couple selfies.

So lady and I have this unspoken agreement where she does not read my blog. actually, she told me she would probably never  read my blog because my posts are too long. But she does. She never wants to dissect my posts and find a deeper intense meaning behind my words. and thank fuck that. But she knows when a post is up for discussion and when its not. basically if its up for discussion, she won't really say that she read it, like "oh I read your post today." no...random statements and comments will creep up on me during conversations that are suspiciously familiar. sometimes she yells them at me...at times she sneers them...but mostly she cackles. like a witch. A very sexy enchanting witch. and when its not up for discussion she so sweetly gets me a bottle of wine because I probably do need it.

Last week's post was hilarious for me...writing it was the most fun I have had in the advocate's library in like forever. but I was a bit embarrassed because I am a nice girl who should not talk about another girl's tits. No matter how imaginary said girl is. if you didn't read my last post... http://soshesa.blogspot.com/2014/03/sapphic-tinga-majigas.html

Anyway, we were sitting out with cupcake and the bff when the bff told me that her boy toy (forgive me, but you two refuse to define this thing so you get to be called boy toy) had read my new post, and was asking if it really did happen. The number of people who asked me that is insane!! i refuse to comment on it. So cupcake turns to look at me..as her eyes grow wider and wider at the hints of me writing smut.
"I swear the sex scene is like two sentences long!" and I do swear it seemed like two sentences long. Apparently it wasnt. oooops.

so this is Cupcake's reaction to my post.


1- The fuck are almond shaped eyes?
2- I do not want to see you talking to any skinny girls! (she talks like she weighs a tonne this one. )
infact, I do not want your eyes to wander to skinny arms. Twigs?? no. If a skinny girl is infront of you, close your eyes
3- we will cut down every tree in Mombasa.
4- I should not see you standing under a tree, or anywhere near a tree.
5- talk to a skinny girl under a tree and its over!
6-Do not smoke under trees!
7- do not share your cigarette with a skinny girl. especially not under a tree!!
8- any tree that stands in your way will be pulverized.

she jokes.
I think.

Namaste bitches.

Sapphic tinga majigas

Eh hehe...hahahaaa.... *hangs head in shame* here is some smut in form of apologies...who doesn't like barely legal lesbian sex???

Lets pretend that I am telling you about one of my high school Sapphic escaped. Because, really, who went to an all girl's boarding school in the middle of nowhere and did not hear those whispers, the vile rumors about what went on in the sports locker rooms late in the evening when we were all meant to be studying for that physics paper?

I wasn't what you would call a good girl if I am going to be perfectly honest. bare my soul and tits sort of. I was constantly in trouble for talking back, not wearing my shirt right, for coping fags from the school cook for a little graze of my teenage boobs. yeah, come on..i know you did it too, or would have if the only way to get a good smoke was to let the good old man cope a feel now and then. it wasn't really that bad really, sometimes I would be lucky to get a blunt now and again.

I had a lot of friends. I will call them friends now because I will sound too self absorbed if I called them followers. I don't want you to hate me. so I will call them friends. who followed me around, and made sure I had water under my bed for when the taps ran out.
I had this particular.....friend..no..i cant call her that either because we hardly interacted, but she was a frequent participant in my debauched daydreams featuring her almond shaped eyes and soft thighs..so we shall stick with friends..

I hope that's enough back story, because I am losing interest in my story already.

It was Sunday afternoon, after mass. Everyone was rushing to get lunch but I can't eat that slush if its not the munchies driving me insane. how did our parents let us eat all that crap? how am I still alive after four years of food doused in paraffin anyways?? it doesn't work by the way. libido was and still is a raging storm, sometimes the storm is so strong I can't leave my house because I am humping anything that comes in my path. In your face. So I go to the football grounds and light a bud under this tree who's name would make my story a bit poetic but I wasn't bothered to know the name then, and I am not bothered now. Man I gotta change my attitude though. It was a good bud. you know the one that unfurls in your throat and burns a little. slow burning and heavy. I like Sunday sessions because I can think of home and sleeping in my soft bed and not worry about being caught out. i cannot take another suspension. i would be kicked out for good and I doubt the old man would be willing to pay for a third school.

I am about halfway through my bud when my...friend...lets call her Sloane cause her real name is equally pretentious, shows up. See, she is one of those lithe slim girls with arms the size of twigs and a bikini bridge on her school skirt. Tall, almost as tall as I am, and dark skinned. I don't mind her being here because we smoke up a couple of times together. so I smile and pass her my beautiful bud that is making me feel too generous. she smiles back and sits down next to me and we smoke in companionable silence. you know the rules..puff puff pass.
In the spirit of baring my soul as I had earlier mentioned, I should come clean and say that I was not new to what happened next.
I don't remember any dialogue. i don't think there was any. but I remember her face as she knelt in front of me and pulled her sweater off. Its nothing out of the ordinary, taking a sweater off. its the most normal thing in the world to take your sweater off when it feels hot. so normal I had to take mine off too. she smirks a slow knowing smirk with her eyes half closed as a result of being too high but i will say it was the passion to make myself feel better.
That silly smirk i will never forget that seemed to say " i know what you are thinking"
which would be odd because even I didn't know what I was thinking about. the glorious weather, the smell of lingering marijuana, the taste of her lips..wait what? I crack an eye open and sure enough, I see her mouth attached to my mouth and her lashes fluttering on her cheeks. Look, one of the rudest things in this world is kissing someone and have them lying there like a dead fish. Dead fish I am not! and I really dont want to be rude...no sir. i am never rude. so I kiss her back with so much enthusiasm our teeth clash. but who cares? because one of my daydreams is happening right now and numb teeth will not get in the way of our tongues.
Its messy, its wet, its earth shattering good, absolutely fantastic the way she whimpers when my tongue grazes the side of her cheek. Incredibly divine when her hands tug on my shirt and slip on my waist. see the thing with being with a girl is the contrast between her vulnerability and her strength. here she is on one hand whimpering into my mouth and trembling as i lightly touch her shoulder and on the other she is pulling and grabbing my clothes as if she absolutely hates them. I hate them too. they offend her, then for sure they offend me. how dare they??

she groans and pulls away, and I really try not to weep because then this might never ever happen again. and that thought is worse than global warming. she says something and I can't hear a thing because I am really really trying hard not to get depressed. over a kiss for that matter. a mind shattering kiss, but still just a kiss. she stands up to walk away and i just cannot take it. my hands shoot up and grab her by her ass. I swear to the gods I meant to go for the waist. but since my hands are there already, I am hard pressed to take them away. she turns and quirks her eye brow and smirks. really, this girl smirks way too much and I am tired of feeling like the brunt of a cute joke she doesn't want to share. really really tired. and horny. so horny I could get off on my panties touching my clit. but where is the fun in that?
I tug at her hand and she almost stumbles on to me, which would be a fine position for some good old humping, but my munchies are kicking in. so I hold her steady at her hips and tell her to hold on to the tree. she does! such a good girl isn't she?
I want to be nice, make it nice for her so she can want to make it with a girl again in case this is her first time, but she looks so ready like that. legs spread tits to trunk with her skirt riding up her slim thighs. I run my palms up her inner legs. not softly, not roughly, just so I can see if her thighs really are that soft. They are by the way. so soft i cant stop running them all over her. but there is this stupid vile underwear that is obnoxiously in my way. so I tug it down. what is it with these clothes today??
 You know that soft skin on her thighs...its even softer on her cute butt. so soft i want to take a big bite of it...but its too far, so I settle for biting her leg. she shivers and sags a little. so i bite higher up, a little harder, and she whimpers (gods the whimpers) and slumps again. this new game of our goes on for a bit until she is breathing so heavily and I am biting at the juncture of her thigh and panty less butt.
I am clearly having the time of my life but apparently she isnt cause she reaches down and grabs my head in place and brings down her little hot wet self on my mouth. I love buds of all kinds but this little dark bud is probably my favorite. I should crown it. but now I am so fucking hungry. and Sloane is so kind to feed me, I really cannot be rude! so I lick her up, so fucking wet this one, and hot...really, she is so hot her fuck juice is hot. its like eggnog or some shit, only better. I am trying to be a lady here and eat her out slowly, make it good for her, but she is having none of it, and oh thank gods she starts grinding herself into my mouth, and I am lucky she is baby soft or I would have whisker burns for a month with her enthusiasm. her whimpers are moans now, and i want to tell her to keep down, but my mouth is otherwise happily occupied as I try to eat her heart out. oh did I not mention this? maybe...perhaps, i have this bothersome crush on her...and what better way to show her than to enthusiastically let her fuck your face? like really? she feels heavier, and my tongue is starting to tire out, all those letters of the alphabets i have been spelling to show her my prowess are starting to wear on me. so really the best thing to do is grab her...which i am doing. her legs are well over my shoulder now, my nose right on her crotch, and my tongue on that bud i wanna suck on. so I do...being polite and all. she comes too quickly after that. thighs and butt trembling with the strain, back arched and nub throbbing so hard on my tongue, cum dripping down my chin.

she lets out this deep slow sigh and unhooks her legs from my now sore shoulders, she bends down and gives me those kisses..you know, slow and soft with lazy strokes of her tongue. and really if the reward for giving her an orgasm on a tree was that, I really hope she is up to it again. soon. now perhaps cause i am still so horny my legs are numb...that happens. I swear it does!

she stands up and pulls her panties up and adjusts her bra and top.

my heart sinks. cause this is definitely it! she is going to walk away and leave me high and dry..

she smirks..again, i want to roll my eyes at her, I do...and they get stuck to the back of my head as I feel her hand between my thighs, under my underwear...and just as quickly, they are out. I snap my eyes open to see her lick the fingers and smile.

"next time"

I raise an eyebrow. i am really trying so hard not to pout
" who says there will be a next time?"

"oh there will be."

she saunters off.

I light a fag.

of course she is right.

Head in the sand, Apoligies warranted

I could apologize for my absence,
the upcoming post must hint at the fact that I only use this blog when I am a bit troubled, you will be wrong, because the last three months or so have been the toughest months I have ever had to live. more on that later.

lets talk about black pits and life sucking holes.

The new bio for my twitter handle is : sometimes I want to kill myself.

Anyone who knows me, and i am actually sad to say very few of the people who think they know me, actually do so, but the one or two who do, are probably not alarmed at my change of my bio, and my random re appearance on this blog, if they actually read it those fucking twats.

I have been reminded severally that burying my head in the sand and kicking up my legs, spread in manner of those head stands we do in yoga gets suffocating after a time, well yes, it is sand after all innit? But you know, its a good way of keeping your morbid and doomed reality at bay because the sun can't scorch me if my head is in a warm moist bed of salty beach sand and the breeze between my thighs sort of gets me off. oh come on, you know that was coming, that's why you read it, slut.

on and on, I must stop with going off the course, i am trying to explain why my life is doomed.

a friend of mine is in a dark hole, it seems I cannot make normal friends, for fuck sake. like why the fuck do we all have to have daddy issues, abandonment issues and a penchant for substance and self abuse?
But on and on, the only comfort I could give her was, eat pineapples, it will help with the happy juices that make your other happy juices taste better than artichokes and asparagus. bleurgh.

I could apologize for that, but I won't, and here is why;

it does not get better.
to anyone i have ever told that it gets better,

i could apologize for that too, but I actually believed it.

to anyone who told me it does get better. screw your logic and false hope.

no, the voices in your head telling you you are not smart enough, pretty enough, exciting enough will never go away.

you can however bury your head in the sand and throw open your legs and let the beach breeze waft between your legs,

but either a horrendously mutated sea creature will pay homage to your probably moist orifices

or you will suffocate.

either way, you pull your head out, let the sun scorch you, listen to the voices in your head rejoice at a chance to feast at your already diminishing soul, and then you go right back to burying it in the sand.

This cycle is tedious,

Sometimes darlings, I wanna kill myself.

ta-ta

These Clouds and Those Castles

I can't seem to stop floating around on this cloud. Wherever it goes, I go with it. Only I wish it was sunny enough for it to disappear. Land on the ground, on my own feet and look up at the skies and it won't matter if the sky is such a colour that it would blind me. That kind of blue that reminds you of magnolias and the smell of honeysuckle.
But this cloud takes me further and further away from what I know and what I should remember. It takes me to sites I should be awed to see, but instead it scares me, and it leaves me grasping at those gossamer strands, not being really able to hang on to anything because its only wisps and smoke.
This cloud floats over to the Tibetian plateau, and its just miles and miles of pure white. It stops and I cannot tell from which side we flew in, I cannot tell how far left, or right, north or left I am from home. I want to cry when I realise I can't tell where home is. I don't think, in my years of wandering I have ever felt so lost. Here I am, taking in the most pure of all sites, with the cold seeping into my skin, into my bones and it is not home I miss, because I don't know what that word means anymore. They (the whispers of the wind) tell me that home is where your heart is. But in this cold and lonesome place, I can't quite seem to remember where that is either.
I'm crying now, but you wouldn't be able to tell because the tears freeze on my chaffed cheeks. I feel them though, solidifying, laying claim, and then cracking ever so lightly.
I wonder why the cloud brought me here today. To remind me just how lonesome I am? I doubt it, it knows even when its floating over a warm sea and I can dip my toes into the deeper blue pond, unlike the blue I crave, that I am always alone.
So why?
So I sit here, and try to conjure images that would warm me.
The smell of my mothers perfume as she leans over me to look at the scrapes on my knees only makes me sob now. So I sob, because I can do nothing else.
The sound of early morning traffic only makes me panic now, because I know as I am floating somewhere, the world is passing me by, and no..no..I can't.
The sound that fills the air is my sobs now. and it echoes even though it shouldn't and as if it reads my mind, a gust of wind blows and takes away the sound of it. I am glad. It is ever so pitiful and resonates with my anguish even more. So I sob, until I cannot breathe anymore. I sob until my lungs fight over each other for air. And the cloud grows warm and I cannot help crying some more because I know it is merciful.
The cloud grows warmer and warmer still until it burns. and suddenly I am on my feet in a field thick with the smell of jasmines and the sun on my face.
That is what mercy smells like.

Princess Rants.

Bitches,
So I left the internet because you all annoyed me. yes. i left blogger for longer because my anger and resentment towards you all blocked my brain. fuck you.
I came back on twitter and reclaimed my throne. I'm a princess now, deal with it.
This is the biggest rant i may ever make online, and I can rant. and this will be my last non-narrative post on this blog. follow Invasion of Art and Confuzzled Lawyer.
Here is a list of things that irk me. not necessarily in that order.

1- ONLINE CRUSADERS
So facebook has done the society disfavor by allowing people to post more than one five hundred and something words as status update. worst still, it allows people to SHARE these status.
Cue in people who have not discovered blogs, or the 'Notes' bar on their page, and decide to write these long ass posts filled with self righteous posts about their thoughts on particular leaders, artists, and the society in general. NO. just no! this princess will unfriend, and block any twat who dares 'share' this 'wisdom' on my page. like i say, I cannot tell you what to post on your facebook/twitter (but Daddy is working on getting me those rights) but I can control what i want to read on MY homepage.
One particular peasant who shot to fame with a piece on an irrelevant little man has even started a SOCIETY OF SMALL MINDED LITTLE CUNTS. they even have a name for themselves, if it wasn't for this human rights crap, i would have you all lynched.
 Riddle me this, who died and made you the face/voice of moral code??

2- TWITTER FOLLOWERS
 Now y'all know this princess loves her twitter. BUT WHY WOULD YOU FOLLOW ME, NOT TWEET ME, and then unacatch feelings juu I haven't followed you back???
OOOR
You follow, me, I follow you, you unfollow me, I unfollow you, you follow me, i follow you, you unfollow me, and i block your leper ass??? and then you inbox me, some crap??

hoooneeeeyyy aint nobody got time for dat

3- INBOX ME PLEASE OMG
 I have one facebook rule, i will like your status, LOL at all the relevant places, and share silly things you share. THAT IS NOT AN INVITE TO INBOX ME. sometimes, i feel nice enough to reply to your inboxes, because well, i like community services. WE ARE NOT BFFS. do not comment on my status like you know what my deal is. i will cut you. or blog about you.

4-NEON TREES AND BOOTS
I love this band, Neon Trees, I like Neon Colours, I do not like random bitches acting like they are all fashionistas because they wear neon orange pants and a gold top. I am very passionate about fashion, i believe in expressions of ones self  BUT there is nothing as horrible as a trend that is atleast five DECADES out of time. and then, you post instagram pictures acting like you are model, self esteem is good honey, but no.

5-MCDONALD HOES
yeah, this is long, i have received a couple of messages over my blog posts, and tweets. someone said i glamourised eating disorders. and i hate fat people.
here is what i have to say to that

i will not justify my posts, but not once have i told anyone to starve. i just tell people to drop the donut and give me twenty. i believe I create awareness for something that is very rampant in our society, without naming names, and for those people who came forward with their stories, I am glad you felt like you were not alone.
I don't hate fat people, how can I? its not like am skinny, but i do have a problem with people who piss and moan about their weight and do nothing about it. I love personalities, weight is never an issue for me as far as the people in my life are concerned. Own your curves, love yourself, blah blah blah.
people make fun of skinny people all the time. Our society is all about 'thick women' 'thick curves' 'thick arteries' whats wrong about being all about 'skinny margaritas' 'skinny dipping' and soups over KFC????
 NO APOLOGIES.
If you love yourself, you wouldn't be in a tiff over my posts. maybe you should look deep deep deep deep (over the layers of extra fat padding) deep deep into yourself and ask yourself why you are bothered.

i think she is gorgeous.


6- TRANNIES, BLONDIES AND THE LIKES.

this bit is for all the wannabe chips funga hanging off the Lady.acting like you and my cupcake are bffs,

posting on her TL, calling her pet names and making innuendos....the person below is you

and this is her

yes, a tad bit jealous because there is a tranny with a killer bod all over her business, but only because her body doesn't match her face. i pray to the god every day that you wake up fat. no apologies.
cupcake can hold her own, and yes, we are not a public couple, we don't make eyes at each other online,  and yes, y'all know she's seeing someone, so sit down. don't try to make friends with me. I don't like you. simple as.

ME ME ITS ALL ABOUT ME

I'm obnoxious, I'm loud, I'm condescending, although I don't agree with that, I'm just smarter than you and you can't take it.
I know they say imitation is the best form of flattery, but omg, no. do not copy everything I do.
i have a couple of friends I adore, for who they are, they are gorgeous and funny, but please please please, this is not Mean Girls, I won't hate you for not wearing Pink on Wednesday or for only wearing sweats cause your size two's don't fit. i am mean enough to ask you though...

because it is unflattering that you dye your hair cause I do, or roll your eyes just how I do it, or steal my tweets, and posts, and OMG use my words..like soooo many of you just steal my quotes and it actually breaks my heart because i THOUGHT of them.
I accept adoration as the only form of flattery.

bye peasants