Category Archives: Lust

Gluttonous Woman


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Oh look at you!
You’re not an enigma so much anymore
But a Sunday crossword

Let him take a look at you
You know he’s a shark bobbing in water
Waiting for first blood

It’s no longer an imagination
You’re at the pinnacle of a tiny death
How easy the gain is when your body breathes and blazes

There’s no longer a battle when your hands are down by the waist
His kisses depressurize your face
Your God can’t save you from the orgasm of your gluttonous demeanor

The tides climb higher and higher
Hands rub: a special seasoning; you’re at the brink of the moon
A candle light flicks on a seed furiously

And a seven inch fishes out in the sea
You burst the milk out of white

-Pennington

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Unnecessary Selfishness


abstract-woman-femile-girl-art--fall-amy-giacomelli I speak the only way I know how – from the heart.

I’ll never forget how you left me solid cold at one of the hardest times of my life.  I’ll never forget how you made everything about you when I was the one suffering from a broken ankle with no income and wondering where I was going to live.  I’ll never forget how all those rare moments you sat by my side like when my mother died and you were just a body, never really there – on your phone all day disrespecting us at her wake.  You were just a body, and so was I.  I was your masturbation device for years, but we did start with love once upon a time – and this is still up for debate.

I’ll never forget the time when life brought to my attention how heartless you were – waiting at the clinic with me to have an abortion.  And all you complained about was lack of sleep, yet I was faced with the decision of having a gargantuan life force taken out of me.  And when we went back to my house, there was no mention of how I felt from what I had to do for the second time in my life.  The truth is:  You went right to sleep as if nothing happened because it didn’t happen to you.  I’ll never forget about the first abortion either because you weren’t there when you could have taken the day off work to be with me.  The truth again:  You didn’t want to be there, and this was evident by the second experience.  I’ll never forget how you made all my problems into something that was never yours to support or deal with.

Thank you for showing me how love was never meant to feel.  Thank you for never being my rock and for never taking on anything you didn’t want to handle – at least this last part you were honest about.  Thank you for letting me know that sex was the thing that kept you going and that you didn’t mind taking over and over again.  Thank you for never protecting me in the ways I should have been.  Thank you for never treating me like royalty.  Thank you for your unnecessary amounts of selfishness.  Thank you for showing me when it was time to walk out.  Without this – I would’ve kept thinking this kind of love was normal, but it wasn’t love, and this behavior wasn’t normal in itself.  Thank you.  I’m at a better place now and in the care of a profound love.

-Pennington

Mutuality


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The night was full of curiosity and mutuality and winds and whispers that soothed exact.  Daylight blared through the tasteless windows with all its promising newness; sharpening beauty in a welcoming space of two bodies interlacing as one glorious flame.  Lying in bed, there was an earnest sense of giving and receiving sensuality, in addition to an urge of freedom between the pair.  There was diversity in both worlds – yet beneath the façade there joined parallel natures which compelled the two to pierce the moment at hand as one.

Without formed and repetitive guarded guises, she came to him baring a part of her soul, free as a bird as did he.  During when words became spells and words encircled the situation like conjuring smoke in a séance, she stroked his luxurious charcoal hair over and over again until his brain registered what was occurring – instantaneous magic!  He penetrated her eyes with all the fire in his core and resembling a potent magnet pulled her into an earth-shattering kiss.  The energy and explosion melted their suckling lips and delicate tongues.  Every open mouth kiss was pain released, joy embraced and passion undiscovered.

-Pennington

Fool’s Paradise


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I desired him with bursting lust.  I let it rain on my aura and let the mist find its way into my dreams repeatedly like an oath, like a séance.

I watched as others adored him for how beautiful he was on the surface; a body resembling a superhero, pectoral muscles like Captain America, abdominals ribbed for everyone’s pleasure and quads like a Greek God; the way they announced themselves during lunges with striated lightning to the eyes.

From the beginning, I appreciated the fire in his pupils and air of confidence.  I not only asked, but I heard stories of his party promoting abilities, cocaine habits, Spanish women and elephant dick.  I’d lean on in to the world of guaranteed chemistry, where I felt his transference licorice wave fuzzily on mine, in which, the commotion became mutual.

And when the time came, full square mirror on the ceiling, cloud-blue walls, golden sparkly headboard and splitting the hotel bill; he stripped his clothes with no big deal and half-sat and lay on the bed naked as a tree bark.  I zeroed in on his member, awaiting the hyped monster dick, but to no avail.

The shyness I owned dissolved like both his lack of girth and lack of length.  My thoughts flew back to the joys of Jefferson Valley where the love of my life has never failed to dissatisfy with his package of a body; the plump heart of his flank I suddenly yearned for.  It’s the one that fits my vulva perfectly.

-Pennington

Nymphomaniac


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It’s wonderful, in my opinion, to see how much of myself I could relate to in the character of the film Nymphomaniac throughout both volumes, from growing up and taking charge of every decision, single-handedly based on her terms, her rebellious nature, her moments of aloofness, her philosophy of lust and her avoidance of love, her emotions being thrown like a whirlwind into the act of sex, her destructions of interpersonal relationships, her views on society and how humanity can be summed up in one word:  Hypocrisy.

So much of me, belong to this character and it astonishes me that a director has taken the time to put together the story of this woman who I look at as a heroine.  I never once pitied or judged her although she managed to critique herself harshly and understandably so.  But what I do take away from the film itself is, in society, I think people are given two choices.  The first is you could play the game based on the terms and conditions of society as long as you’re faking happy to keep the image of conformity intact.  Or the second:  You can be an outcast.

I think her struggles are very real and of course society doesn’t let up on the notions of how she should behave, for instance when one of her bosses demanded she get help for her sexual addiction.  Its constant questioning, steady debating on what’s right, what’s wrong and according to whom?  The beauty is in how she stands up for herself in her ball of strong integrity despite the gnawing loneliness she possesses or those in the path looking to disgrace her light whether done subtle or forwardly.

She fights for herself because to put it simply it’s about survival.

-Pennington

Fanboy


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I feel kind of bad when I push compliments off to the side by men who love women who body sculpt, bodybuild or weight-lift.  Sometimes it feels like a defense mechanism to my strong hatred towards men.  But it is what it is and it goes something like this.

It usually starts the same way, with an inbox message and a quotation mark smile, “You look great” and goes on to say “I always loved your arms, pec and back.  You’ve been getting leaner without losing size and that’s great!”  This should all be a good thing, right?  It’s awesome to hear!  It’s nice that there are people (actual strangers!) who have been following my training journey and I’m forever grateful.  But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t have a problem with certain underlying issues.  I guess I have trouble accepting the type of person and not so much the male gender in this case?

On one hand this guy we’ll call Han could stare at my photos all day for some reasons known but more reasons unknown yet rarely asks me questions about my life and when he does ask me, it shows he’s not interested in me per say.  He’s another person who’s more into the fantasy of who he believes I am than who I am in reality.  And generally I don’t respect people who don’t respect to learn anything about my life.

The second thing about this guy is just how he thinks lifting and gaining muscle comes easy for me.  He boasts about me and my body as if he couldn’t be doing the same or more.  When I ask him, “Why do you think it’s difficult to gain muscle?”  He says, “Well, it requires a lot of work, lifting heavy day in and day out and eating right.”  So he admits to the truth and I appreciate it and he has courage, but I bet he doesn’t realize how poorly he appears to someone like me.

He asks, “Do you think it’s easy to gain muscle?”  I said, “At first I didn’t think it was easy to gain muscle.  But now I know what it takes, so no, I believe anyone could do it and gain muscle.  It’s like you said it takes a lot of dedication and discipline.”  He goes on to say, “Yeah, I think that’s the difference.  Some people can do the hard work and be dedicated but for some it’s too much.  It’s one of the main reasons why I’m such a big fan of yours because you make it all look easy.”

Now don’t get me wrong, I adore anyone who adores me and would worship me at the drop of a dime.  But what I’m saying is it’s hard to respect someone like this as a person, probably because I’m judgmental or an asshole?  And I’m aware it’s my problem and not theirs.  As a result, I guess it comes easy to shoo away the compliment than hold it to a higher regard because I like someone who gives a shit about my life and believes in working out hard “physically-speaking” as oppose to being a bystander and idling watching, being fine and dandy settling just to be a fan.

-Pennington

Nymphomaniac Vol 1


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“Perhaps the only difference between me and other people is that I’ve always demanded more from the sunset.  More spectacular colors when the sun hit the horizon.  That’s perhaps my only sin.”

-Nymphomaniac Vol 1

There


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And perhaps I was calling you on every single day of the year subconsciously.  There was an unrelenting chime in the air, a love attraction frequency of high desire on the balloon of my aura and on the ointment I placed on the nude of my wrists with your presence on it.  You changed over night with a hunger that consumed your own calmness and forced out your desperation at the temple of my being where I looked down on you for once my sweet giant.

But I remember being with this other guy, my temporary high in the backseat of a car and there a moonlit sky shining through the glass and the police and the skunks of the night patrolled both making their own rounds.  I was with an obsessive mature man posing his green werewolf eyes on the unclothed parts of my skin where he seared it with established longing for my youth.  We made out heavy covering the light of the moon with fog; our faces were flushed, our jaws wide open and our tongues jolting of wild electricity.

And he had this magical way of knowing how to bring me closer to him with just his fingertips on the ends of my hair.  Oh how he caressed my hair like a woman with softness like strolling with minimal clothing through a garden of delicate flower petals to feel the sensations of nature.  He was finding his way down, my shirt in custody by the mass of my breasts and he nibbled the entire space of my stomach grabbing onto the sides of my curves.  And I shook and shook in pleasure similar to the first time I received foreplay when I was twelve but I watched his own saliva strings at the corner of his mouth being overran by happiness.

Perhaps I was calling you on every single day of the year subconsciously as I do even now.  It’s why I feel you bother and visit me in my dreams on most nights.  Bet it’s why you called me at 4am, your maniacal self because just as I do, you feel me there.

-Pennington

Perspective inside a Perspective


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I’m tired of masturbating to him.

I wonder if it’s true, what he vaguely alleged, if I’d be able to overlook his emotional debuts and tiny manic moods if we actually had frequent sex?  And the fact remains that this shocked me because I paused more to myself than to him.  This could be a half-truth and this made me feel troubled and by troubled I mean my perspective on this matter had zero perspective on this matter (which calls for this entry).

Where would I be mentally or emotionally say if we had sex continuously for 3 months in the time we decided to get involved?  Where would he be? It’s been brought to my attention time and time again how sex is important to me.  I could live in part-time denial but I’ve been in the process of accepting myself for who I am a lot lately.  So where would my mindset be if we had continuous sex?  See, we only engaged in sex once for 3 pleasant hours:  One month and 12 days ago.  It’s going to be longer because he’s in California now.  (I’m not sure why I’m counting besides the obvious?  This is highly unlike me.  Plus I’m getting sex mighty well from elsewhere as is.) 🙂

It’s easy to memorize when I decided the next morning after our breaking night, how he said he loved me in the back of an Arab store drinking his sorrows to Sapporo beers as we made out like rebellious teenagers in public with his one hand scaring me as it clenched to my ponytail in a minor dominating matter as he vomited his feelings into the windows of my unready soul.  It’s easy to memorize how I took this time to conclude that through his mourning there’s a form of strong aphrodisiac from both ends, how I’ve been prepared to give my body to him since a year ago.  But the sealing of the deal was on his mother’s birthday, the first anniversary where she’s to represent a higher plane outside of this physical world.

I believe it’s true I’m in this (mostly?) for the physical aspect. But who’s to say I don’t like him deeply from the bottom of my heart.  That I like the way he manages his voluminous lips with Chapstick.  I like the way he takes care of me and massages my hip flexors and stretches me out like a considerate lover in the middle of a training session.  Or how I like the way he mentions his achy childhood stories with freedom and just how stimulated he becomes (like me) with a forty-minute conversation.

Still this relationship is a square of four total people involved.  We’re each affected by what one does or doesn’t do and by what the other person says and doesn’t say.  We’re each living a separate life and out of the four that make the line only three know while one has some idea.  Still this relationship is odd and dysfunctional.  It’s testing me in ways I’ve never been and it makes me feel things I haven’t felt.  I’m connected even when I try to look the other way.  Still this is part of the beauty:  No true reassurance of anything.  (Perhaps I like it this way?  It keeps the illusion of mystery alive.)  It’s following, weaving and it’s swerving.  It’s make a hard left and its turn a soft right.  And all in all it’s partially misleading.

I like that he reminds me of me.  When he pushes away is when I should be coming forward, when he says no he really means yes.  He creates distance when he doesn’t want to relinquish power.  Above all he tests my water, questions my abilities of patience, romance, positivity, fullness, training, learning to let go, being adventurous, swimming out with the other extroverts of life, nature, flowing, not questioning every single thing (because you can), the six senses and human connection.  Within experiencing somebody you experience yourself.

So where was I about masturbating? 😉

-Pennington

A Gym Rat’s Dream: Bench Make-out!


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When two people have been fancying and aching for identical obsessions with one another for an extended period of time, fantasizing without end, dreaming superior dreams and witlessly idolizing to only approach together becomes a mixture of strong release, beautiful liberation and a relishing of everything feeling right within moments shared.

I was flat on my back on a blue stretching mat; I had just plopped down from wincing at the unbelievable pain of foamrolling and holding the spot on my super tight hamstring from a training session I underwent angrily abusing my body a few nights ago.  Dark Knight came on over to give me more pointers and how to triple the pressure onto these spots.  I did as told for a few minutes and off he went to continue his Chest and Back Training.

Staring at the ceiling, at first creating faces of pain like I misplaced a long lost love when my ears perked up and I listened out for his grunts and how he grinded out every set of every rep with continuous vigorous craze.  It seemed as if my subconscious took over for a flash and I squeezed my legs together tightly as an orgasm contraction and closed my eyes tenderly and started to pant allowing my breathings to turn erratic.

He came around the corner with his gorgeous radiant smile and asked me how my hamstrings was doing while removing the foamroll from underneath me and placing a big bright yellow stability ball under my legs for cute support.  Among the questions, he asked if I had anything else on my mind.  I shot him the infamous zoom eye to the top left corner look with my hands plastered on my forehead running through my hair frenzied and responded with, “I’m turning myself on listening to your groans as you workout.”

On one knee he lunged to the floor (and I’m not sure what he was talking about anymore once he hovered) and tapped kissed me with his voluminous lips.  I kept my eyes open to gaze at him and he did the same.  A few more beautiful tap kisses and I placed my hands on both sides of his face to drag him in as we suckled in bliss and endorphins.

I crunched upwards towards him and eventually had to hold my neck up but as an attentive lover does, he took his own arm once he noticed and filled his arm in place.  Gleefully my hands slid around his big muscular veiny forearms and against the sweat of his layered shirts that stuck onto his football player traps.  His hands lingered on the back of my neck and then he started to lower down to fondle my breast where he felt for a nipple and pinched it with slight effort as my back arched like a cat in freakish heat.

I’m unsure how I got up from the stretching mat, unsure of how we even strolled into the main shadowy weight room.  All I knew is he sat on the bench with the barbell loaded with two 45lb plates on each side and he pulled me to sit with him, our legs on either side of the bench where he innocently kissed my hair, face and neck right to my lips.  We locked in our mouths and I started to listen and feel what was going on:  Pure chemistry.

The noise of suckling lips, hands sliding the world of bodies.  The moans of desire cascaded on each other’s faces, the eye contact of fury and eyes closed in sensational delight.  The teasing of his kisses where he would open his mouth but not dart his tongue directly into mine all led me to flow with him like a moral story.

What I enjoyed the most was how we both had on sweat and damp clothing from our workouts: I had set out for my many rounds of heavy bag kicks, knees and core work while he gave his body away to monstrous giant sets.  But our funks didn’t matter.  I believe it’s what gave us another beautiful edge.

And I allowed him freely to massage my breasts together from above fabric while he rubbed my fiery nipples.  Then every now and again he would pull me in by the waist as my hands rubbed on his towering chest pinching his nipples from both over and under his shirt.  Then our hands made its way below the waist where he placed my hand on his member and his hands went under my sweat pants above my panty where he played with my clitoris and soothe me by cupping half my face along with words and making “mmming” sounds when he enjoyed my reactions.

Continuing the heat of the moment I unleashed my breasts from the bottom side of the bra as he said he wanted me to cum for him.  But I was scared and paranoid after hours at the gym where I work when his head dropped quickly to lick my nipple in wonderful fashion.  I held onto his bald head for a moment and squirmed for the next.

And in the beauty of this kissing session on the bench, in the dark weight room with one office light on in the corner for slight moonlighting I couldn’t finish what I started and than somehow I got up and went to spot him on the same bench.  I continued to watch him work his ass off while whispering to myself how I need to be on his elite training level.

We broke night, walked many blocks around the chilly city, stared at architectural designs and eventually enjoyed each other’s company and laughter from the heart at a diner eating breakfast.

But that bench, those kisses and him, felt eternal just like the power of the present.

-Pennington