day 4: one hand on the clit, one hand on the pen

One hand on the clit, the other on the pen. I read We Can Come Home & felt prompted. Noticing how my clit hand wiggles cursive as I write.

1. Desk writing, reading & touching me
2. Suck

So Jen writes about a fantasy of doing to, clicking the fantasy into place & boom -- to the climax. I really enjoy fantasizing about sucking cock. Sometimes, when I’ve gotten eaten out, I notice I open my mouth & throat my throat open, swallow. Those times, the climax is a huge metal pot of hot fudge or caramel tipping just enough for all to flow over with the momentum.

The lady with floppy hands (TLWFH) wrote in her book about going to a place in giving head & cock where the opening of the throat contracts like the walls of the pussy. To imagine my throat as pussy. H-o-t. ...This opening for TLWFH being meditative, transcendent.

Meanwhile, I’ve put Buddhism away in a decorations bag in the closet, pinned my Magic Bus poster up. Am fiercely with strong impulse shaving out residue of others’ personalities printed into this new studio, onto my space. This auto erotic.

Sexed Words & I have talked about wanting to eat writing. We say, “I wan to eat that.” & TLWFH (can I get off her? Goddamn you, San Francisco, smirking at me from across the bay. Preening. As if I am touching my me for you. Ugh. Anyway.) TLWFH talks about a ~hunger~. I see mine, the hunger, in the lungs chest womb feet ears nose orifices toe-spaces undersides of joints... The hunger that is what -- the absence of an orgasmic state? The hunger that is my animal, my aliveness?

I just want to eat sex.
Swallow it full
Be held open by it.

Surest way to go over the edge.

Now, I set down the pen & oh wish it could go on for hours. I know as soon as I bring my focus, can feel my skin waking...

--
And I stick 3 fingers in my mouth, to my pussy. I feel all the bands of muscle, I clench & I pull in fingers, pull fingers out. There’s not enough hands, enough coordination. Then it occurs to me, “vibrator?”

I pull out my hand & my cream is -- brown.
Instead of sexy white.
I go to the kitchen to paper towel this brown cream off because (because?), and I want to be an ally to this body. I feel glow orange hate for doctors, nurse practitioners shoving their fingers in, telling me this or that about my defects, my faults, how I feel about ___, sending me out w/antibiotics, ultrasounds, sheets of paper, ridonculous bills that change nothing. Answer nothing. Then I embrace my scent, which seems normal.

I buzz on, hear TLWFH. Then push her out. Then contractions around my fingers that I’m pushing into my me. I start to pant, moan sigh it out. I feel brave. I cum up & over. The colors are lavender.