Our Lives As Genitalia

Our Lives As Genitalia

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Our Lives as Genitalia: A novel with an intense beating erotic main theme.It is subtitled: Signatures from between our legs, aroused by sex, penetrated by memory, yet screwed by the mind to always confront life in the present. The narrative begins as a series of erotic driven encounters but they all ripple back through later relationships in time, place and memory. It seems in the coupling moment that pleasure ignited by pleasures ignition remains uncomplex pleasure for two. However, memory tattoos even seemingly casual sex under our skin. It will meander back through association. The central crux of the story is reflective in its sensual unfolding: we are left with lingering consensual sexual memory. To sum up; the story is best described as thinking erotica unfolding a deep romantic core and the better side of our human nature; though in the heat of racy randy coupling and later separation; this is the last thing on our mind and that’s okay and the story lingers repeatedly in those intense pleasurable memorable moments of life and asks the reader to do the same...our lives as genitalia. The insight devoid of ego may come eventually. An erotic romance novel in forty chapters

Summary

Our Lives as Genitalia: A novel with an intense beating erotic main theme.It is subtitled: Signatures from between our legs, aroused by sex, penetrated by memory, yet screwed by the mind to always confront life in the present.

The narrative begins as a series of erotic driven encounters but they all ripple back through later relationships in time, place and memory. It seems in the coupling moment that pleasure ignited by pleasures ignition remains uncomplex pleasure for two. However, memory tattoos even seemingly casual sex under our skin. It will meander back through association.

The central crux of the story is reflective in its sensual unfolding: we are left with lingering consensual sexual memory.

To sum up; the story is best described as thinking erotica unfolding a deep romantic core and the better side of our human nature; though in the heat of racy randy coupling and later separation; this is the last thing on our mind and that’s okay and the story lingers repeatedly in those intense pleasurable memorable moments of life and asks the reader to do the same...our lives as genitalia.

The insight devoid of ego may come eventually.

An erotic romance novel in forty chapters

Chapter10 (v.1) - Fabric

Author Chapter Note

Kisses that lead to rauchy sex

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 23, 2015

Reads: 280

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 23, 2015

A A A

A A A

Chapter Ten: FABRIC

Jenny and I were not yet the masters of our own desires, knowing for certain what each other wanted and how to give it. We were not the mutual servants of craving or lust. We had not buried our search for sexuality in each other, as in Edvard Munch’s The Kiss.

Munch’s original sketch has the stark intensity of a full sexual kiss, the two lovers subsumed in each other’s being. In fact, there is no line to separate the faces or even a blurring; they are merged as one. Two bodies but one Siamese face, their eyes and mouths are buried, unseen in each other. They have no need to see their passion, they are their passion. Arms hold, wrap and define each other as one; their nakedness is unashamedly shared with each other as private, but boldly to the world too. An open curtained window frames their liberated, consuming sexuality and invites the world to look in from behind, as the spectator is invited to look forward into the room. This is love as we all want to love or passion exploding through another’s passion. It is the moment of ‘the fucking kiss’. It is Munch’s artistic representation of a kiss as genitalia; this is a breathtaking kiss, a kiss leading to intense shared coupling.

Jenny and I would experience in time the spiralled flow of energy in a kiss as the fluid precursor to embracing, an all senses alerted and carnal union. We were both fully naked. I drew her close to me, I cradled the back of her head, feeling the length of her long, dark hair, my other hand under her chin, her jawline very defined like her sharp nose; leading and shaping her face into mine. Features blurred, my eyes closed, I saw Jenny’s close too. Tongues and lips hungry for each other like they had been long separated, but surely we had kissed maybe a few hours ago. Caverns of mutual moisture, explored and re-explored, no crevice left denied. Taste and touch were equally dominating, lips mirroring genitals in their wet eagerness. Then my hand left her chin where it had controlled the pressing urgency of sweet tongue tips and the quivering embrace seized by parted lips. This warm synchronised invasion of mouths continued as my right hand covered her stunning fully natural expanse of pubic growth.

My fingers found her cleft of moisture. It was soaking and my fingers eased gently up and down between parted lips to the point of her clit with the friction of her own female wetness guiding my fingers, gliding on silky skin. Jenny reciprocated by grasping with her whole hand and holding my erect maleness. Two young bodies aware of their dominating intimate presence; touch was now the master of all the senses; mouths rousing each other’s sexuality, hands building sensation. Stimulation reaching the peak, where a kiss can do no more and hands on privates are no substitute for venturing genitals, combined harvest. Jenny and I were leading each other to my bed.

There are kisses which are fully sexually laden, their guarantee is a known outcome as nakedly realised as the exposed bodies generating the foreplay with the kiss—Munch’s kiss. There are kisses which tantalise, are a dream like fantasy, still they equally show all is assured, the true toe curlers, the world of Klimt’s kiss.

A kiss near Jenny’s parked car sealed the immediate and foreseeable direction of my life, and not for the last time. I knew what I wanted, and Jenny thought so too. I thought the next time I would see Jenny would be Sunday night or Monday at the earliest. It was the immediate Saturday night. I was reading: Robert Jordan would die, it was clear; you can pack a lot of action into three days in a novel, both Hemingway’s and Donne’s bell was tolling. Jenny’s swift return, though unexpected, was easily welcomed. She was effusive and sure. She wanted to be with me.

I was happy because both my fellow flatmates were out. We were alone. Verity, as usual with her boyfriend, and Oscar was off surfing the coast for the weekend. Jenny and I had moved, quickly into enthusiastic personal sharing of mouths and intertwined limbs on a beanbag. This was chic dry humping; jeans to jeans. Genitals never appreciate any item of clothing blocking their access or view, but it was fine. It was more than fine, but ‘fine’ is the word summing where we were now, the journey had nearly not gotten underway.

Jenny had looked up a split pathway, considered the road not yet travelled but now had rejoined me on the same one; fine, nothing more. No mulberries on this track though. In part I’m getting ahead of myself, but bodies lead and minds follow. Jenny told me after a series of fulsome, prolonged and sustained kisses she had been to see another man. I wasn’t taken aback or as stunned as I suppose I should have been. Jenny had set her steerage firmly and I was on board. My unknown and unnamed rival and the potential assignation were in place even before we first danced. Who was in whose space through time now? Saved by a French kiss, so subtle, so concise, yet so undulating, and rippling through Jenny’s mind as well as mine. It ripped the fabric of opportunity from the nameless contender and wove the first bonding strand between Jenny and myself. Life held by a thread.

The substance of her confession was: the mood wasn’t there, a kiss, one kiss, had intervened. Whether this male had pleasured her before and how far back in time they had known each other as friends or potential lovers or intimately know each other, none was revealed. Jenny had left his hopes dashed early on a Saturday evening and driven over two hours back to me. Strangely, she supplied unprompted the unnamed man had agreed with her, hadn’t blocked the decision of her heart in the moment. Braver than me, manful and open, I don’t know how his libido didn’t bend into usual male ego selfishness and divert Jenny from me. One kiss may have contained all the possibilities of longing, yet been denied. Jenny, I knew I held you, for the current moment you were with me, but getting you to safe anchorage in the swirl of opposing tides, against the pull of emotions in two directions within yourself, an equation of male versus male, only you could and would sort it out.

Confidence lies with the beholder. Jenny was in my arms; we kept kissing fervently, arching and relaxing in time, pelvis to pelvis crushing together. Here was a woman with an assignment now and straightforward male need, looked and took what was being offered, and the world of penis contenders for Jenny’s affections were immaterial shadows of my present substance. My physical presence was closer to hers than any other being on the planet. Oh, the blithe confidence of self when its goal is at hand. Jenny and I lay side by side in a beanbag, exhausted but fresh; this was all new for both of us. A moment of twofold innocence, a pre carnal baptism, where all our previous sexual and genital encounters were if not erased, stolen away by memory; hidden but not without an X marking their spot—memory is not so kind as to bury unmarked. We were however, under an intense chemical surge beyond even memories control as it over powered both of our bodies briefly.

Memory archived our past sexual selves. We were both allowed to flee genital knowledge into a genital regeneration. Fresh, novel and new; what presumptuous privates like, and where others have been recently or with whom is unrequired knowledge, surplus to the  dominating moment. Jenny and I together. Of course everything else was superfluous.


© Copyright 2018 Janus. All rights reserved.

Chapters

Add Your Comments:

Other Content by Janus

More Great Reading

Popular Tags