I’ve known it since my childhood. It was a consciousness of a line of thought unrelated to the incidentals of my daily routine. I can remember….
“Grenny, come get your lunch.”, Mom would call out to me. I’d be fixing the top button on my pants with my 4 year old fingers as I came into the kitchen. Ma would look at me with a smile on her face and say, “Ya need a hand with that, little man?”. I nod and smile in appreciation as she leaned over to grab the waistband of my pants to help. I’d be standing there pliantly passive while she grabbed the corners where the brass button at the top and the button-hole on the other side were. At that moment as Mom bent over, I could see down her top and on her breasts. At that moment those feelings and compulsive thoughts would come to me.
“Those are so nice and smooth and round. It would be so nice to feel and rub on them, as it is just looking at them.”, I’d be thinking to myself. I felt the arousing tingling in my crotch which further excited my thinking about Mom’s breasts. I innocently blurted out, “Those are nice things hanging down in your top”. Mom blushed and grinned embarrassingly, looking at me with a look of bemused awareness. Raising up so that I no longer had full view of her mammaries, she said, “Thank you, Gren” with an appreciation that though I was just a very young boy, I had the literal and figurative seed of a man welling up in me.
There were other times I got that view, but I just took the view in without commenting to Ma about it. She sort of knew as she’d look up and see where my eyes were looking. At times, she’d sharply ask, “YES? What do you want Grenny?”. At those times I’d either give her some lame excuse to which I’d be dismissed to go and do something, or ask her a valid question for the moment.
Perhaps seeing Ma’s breasts were the tangible reference point to the more suggestive, clothed pictures of women I’d seen on the covers and pages of magazines, such as Kim Novak or
Eartha Kitt. Their pics, as well as others, stirred that being inside that had no relevance or correlation to what I had been raised and taught to feel for women who had such an appearance.
Getting to grammar school and kindergarten opened up a greater quantity of comely aesthetics for me. As I look back retrospectively on it, the society was acculturated to make most of the girls and women conscious of their attractiveness to each other, if not directly to men. Though many of my grade school teachers dressed as matrons, there were a few whose unadorned features were provocative. My favorite teacher was one whose affection and tenderness equalled her Kim Novak body contours. The stimulating heights my ambient mood reached came crashing down when she left and was replaced by someone I equated with the ‘Wicked Witch of the West’.
Before and after my ‘favorite’ there was no more than the magazine-titillations of recognized, unfeasible fantasies. A girl who went to parochial school, who happened to live on the street behind mine became a fetished source that fed ‘the Thing’ of carnal desire in me. The girl's proximity of availability to me made her that relative point of more intense feeling. I was clueless beyond some thoughts of kissing and later desires of feeling her. What I wanted to do was irrelevant and tangent to the intensity of my cognitive processes. Even when she came out screaming at me that my cat “...f’cked her pussy..”, I was dormantly clueless, as far as being aware of the figurative opening neighbor-girl was giving me.
Consciously I was interpreting those visceral urges in terms of conventional, romantic memes than the awakening of ‘IT’ being agitated from its dormancy to a hunger for the more proximally feasible encounters. It continued that way until the Spring semester of my high school senior year. I was hanging with my crew at an associate’s place, and a gal from my senior class was visiting there. She gave me a look that could’ve done an X-ray through my clothing. In some way I started a conversation with her and made plans for the coming Friday.
Unlike what happened two-and-a-half years earlier when the arousal of anticipation had made me physically sick, I was emotionally and physically ready that night. I could feel the ‘animal’ urge building throughout my flesh. I wanted to devour her. When we got to the rear part of my side lawn, we lay in the thicket. I could smell the breath of desire coming from her mouth as I’m sure she sensed the same pungent desire coming from mine. Though she was no more than eighteen her breasts were full, round, and magnificently soft. I scooped them out to feel them and to suck on her erect, hard nipples. I fed and nourished the animal of my soul by touching and feeling her in all her genitals-feeling with my two-to-three fingers then insides of her pussy. She bucked her hips and moved her crotch up and down as she let out moans of arousal.
I feasted so intensely with her, that the next morning I was drained and weak. I wasn’t as disturb as I was now knowledgeably satiated to what was that beastly sense of satisfaction I found as vitalizing pleasure..
College came with its random and infrequent teases for ‘my beast’, until my junior year. Whether coincidence or Me being the prey of others, I was given the opportunity to engage the available to the willing. There was some subconscious, if not contrived, role played by these ‘availables’. One engaged me as some nice guy thing-with me not knowing that I was her ticket for the vanity of esteem from her peers. It was not important to *the beast* in me, since she’d part those thick, still young, ebony thighs so my johnson could receive those tingling signals from her contorting snatch against my flesh that would arouse *the beast* within me to have its moment of manifestation on her nice pyramid breasts, those erect nipples rising like bits of a chocolate pyramid from her dark chocolate areolas foundations that I could nibble upon them with my teeth; as well as my two-to-four fingers doing their foreplay inside her pussy and around her clit. In rubbing and massaging her clit, I’d bring out that look of desire of her beast seeking its own satiation from me as her arms and hands became more proactive as claws on my shoulders as she clawed her fingers into the flesh of my back.
Because the scope of these encounters was for the sensual excitement, it eventually became routine. There were limited common interests between that sensual excitement, in it being as intense as our physical, rabid-like fucking. With less and less to talk about, I grew less interested in her and she felt less appreciated, as a person, by me.
It was true and standard for many of the women I’d encounter over the next 30-some years. There were still those moments of ecstasy, like Ms Big-Tits (relative to her size), or Ms. ‘Ho, whose being fucked was as good as “..being treated like a Queen!”, or MILF-Littleton who raved about “having her brains fucked-out..!”, or the ‘linda puta dama’ of Pueblo: each hit the wall of having similar conceptualizing interests as me. It was my clueless thinking more than it was any objective short-cumming on their parts, primarily.
There was something that was incongruous about what I was seeking and what I was doing. What was driving me was the thrill of the vitality of the act. I thought it was because of the particular person. It was really the conditions the person enabled as a catalyst that triggered those reactions in me.
I was clueless about this until recently, when I saw that a person in question was an avatar for those conditions that brought on that triggering. If they were and could be an avatar, abstract ideas, then I could generate my own abstractions to be avatars for my unique utility for those ends. At those ends was the heightened energy and its ambient effects which I sought. Those ambient effects portrayed capabilities of being and existence unrelated to the daily ‘cause d’etre’ of everyday life. Quite often they were prescient and foretold things.
These were conditions in which the beast no longer needed to be a scavenging predator in this social realm, but more the satisfied soul, with hardly any desires beyond my imperative duties . It was as if this dimension of satisfied sensation and cognitive interaction was 'a home’ rather than the physical reality that was more a logistical base camp.
‘IT’ was the natural and intended fit for my ‘beast’. Prior to that, I had been in the delusion of the temporal. I was not a widget to be fungibly used and discarded by the secular ways of the times. I was part and component of a more profound and intangible reality, which was its own self-composing architect of this entire reality.
The physical reality was just the staging place for the communing portals of the mind’s extensions with that greater holism. It was from there that the extensional parables and allegories signaled to me the things to be; plus there was the collateral emotional compensation for me, concurrently, in the characteristics of those signals. The ‘frequent flyer’ personas were both the symbolic messengers of the scenarios in which they played, but they were also those alt-associations for what was lacking in my own contemporaneous temporal realm.
There was something other than this dimension and its social mazes that was meant for that inner-being of mine. It’s connected to the network of serendipities and synchronicities, which have proven to be more rewarding and reliable than what the promises of the solicitations and other ‘secular opportunities’ have provided. Only the transactions of ‘the-very discreetly determined-availability’, which in their serendipitous way appear to come to me; have saved my ass. They being more as a ‘Savior’ and ‘Redeemer’ than any of the aforementioned temporal affectations of reductionist and objectivist paradigms have done for me. In the interlude between those advents of holographic dreams or their carnal manifestations, I serve the ‘temple-of-this-consciousness’ as past sacred texts have declared.
Surely, ‘the word’ is my mistress and consort, as well as thy rod and thy staff which leads me to those green pastures of grace.
And I will celebrate my being’s communion with them as my redemption and liberation
in a ‘joyful noise’!
========================
Your donations of $0.85 to $1.55 in appreciation for this work will be graciously accepted at this link http://paypal.me/j2e595 w/email address or text# left at paypal, if not notice direct to me at junyabee@gmail.com
I’ve known it since my childhood. It was a consciousness of a line of thought unrelated to the incidentals of my daily routine. I can remember….
“Grenny, come get your lunch.”, Mom would call out to me. I’d be fixing the top button on my pants with my 4 year old fingers as I came into the kitchen. Ma would look at me with a smile on her face and say, “Ya need a hand with that, little man?”. I nod and smile in appreciation as she leaned over to grab the waistband of my pants to help. I’d be standing there pliantly passive while she grabbed the corners where the brass button at the top and the button-hole on the other side were. At that moment as Mom bent over, I could see down her top and on her breasts. At that moment those feelings and compulsive thoughts would come to me.
“Those are so nice and smooth and round. It would be so nice to feel and rub on them, as it is just looking at them.”, I’d be thinking to myself. I felt the arousing tingling in my crotch which further excited my thinking about Mom’s breasts. I innocently blurted out, “Those are nice things hanging down in your top”. Mom blushed and grinned embarrassingly, looking at me with a look of bemused awareness. Raising up so that I no longer had full view of her mammaries, she said, “Thank you, Gren” with an appreciation that though I was just a very young boy, I had the literal and figurative seed of a man welling up in me.
There were other times I got that view, but I just took the view in without commenting to Ma about it. She sort of knew as she’d look up and see where my eyes were looking. At times, she’d sharply ask, “YES? What do you want Grenny?”. At those times I’d either give her some lame excuse to which I’d be dismissed to go and do something, or ask her a valid question for the moment.
Perhaps seeing Ma’s breasts were the tangible reference point to the more suggestive, clothed pictures of women I’d seen on the covers and pages of magazines, such as Kim Novak or
Eartha Kitt. Their pics, as well as others, stirred that being inside that had no relevance or correlation to what I had been raised and taught to feel for women who had such an appearance.
Getting to grammar school and kindergarten opened up a greater quantity of comely aesthetics for me. As I look back retrospectively on it, the society was acculturated to make most of the girls and women conscious of their attractiveness to each other, if not directly to men. Though many of my grade school teachers dressed as matrons, there were a few whose unadorned features were provocative. My favorite teacher was one whose affection and tenderness equalled her Kim Novak body contours. The stimulating heights my ambient mood reached came crashing down when she left and was replaced by someone I equated with the ‘Wicked Witch of the West’.
Before and after my ‘favorite’ there was no more than the magazine-titillations of recognized, unfeasible fantasies. A girl who went to parochial school, who happened to live on the street behind mine became a fetished source that fed ‘the Thing’ of carnal desire in me. The girl's proximity of availability to me made her that relative point of more intense feeling. I was clueless beyond some thoughts of kissing and later desires of feeling her. What I wanted to do was irrelevant and tangent to the intensity of my cognitive processes. Even when she came out screaming at me that my cat “...f’cked her pussy..”, I was dormantly clueless, as far as being aware of the figurative opening neighbor-girl was giving me.
Consciously I was interpreting those visceral urges in terms of conventional, romantic memes than the awakening of ‘IT’ being agitated from its dormancy to a hunger for the more proximally feasible encounters. It continued that way until the Spring semester of my high school senior year. I was hanging with my crew at an associate’s place, and a gal from my senior class was visiting there. She gave me a look that could’ve done an X-ray through my clothing. In some way I started a conversation with her and made plans for the coming Friday.
Unlike what happened two-and-a-half years earlier when the arousal of anticipation had made me physically sick, I was emotionally and physically ready that night. I could feel the ‘animal’ urge building throughout my flesh. I wanted to devour her. When we got to the rear part of my side lawn, we lay in the thicket. I could smell the breath of desire coming from her mouth as I’m sure she sensed the same pungent desire coming from mine. Though she was no more than eighteen her breasts were full, round, and magnificently soft. I scooped them out to feel them and to suck on her erect, hard nipples. I fed and nourished the animal of my soul by touching and feeling her in all her genitals-feeling with my two-to-three fingers then insides of her pussy. She bucked her hips and moved her crotch up and down as she let out moans of arousal.
I feasted so intensely with her, that the next morning I was drained and weak. I wasn’t as disturb as I was now knowledgeably satiated to what was that beastly sense of satisfaction I found as vitalizing pleasure..
College came with its random and infrequent teases for ‘my beast’, until my junior year. Whether coincidence or Me being the prey of others, I was given the opportunity to engage the available to the willing. There was some subconscious, if not contrived, role played by these ‘availables’. One engaged me as some nice guy thing-with me not knowing that I was her ticket for the vanity of esteem from her peers. It was not important to *the beast* in me, since she’d part those thick, still young, ebony thighs so my johnson could receive those tingling signals from her contorting snatch against my flesh that would arouse *the beast* within me to have its moment of manifestation on her nice pyramid breasts, those erect nipples rising like bits of a chocolate pyramid from her dark chocolate areolas foundations that I could nibble upon them with my teeth; as well as my two-to-four fingers doing their foreplay inside her pussy and around her clit. In rubbing and massaging her clit, I’d bring out that look of desire of her beast seeking its own satiation from me as her arms and hands became more proactive as claws on my shoulders as she clawed her fingers into the flesh of my back.
Because the scope of these encounters was for the sensual excitement, it eventually became routine. There were limited common interests between that sensual excitement, in it being as intense as our physical, rabid-like fucking. With less and less to talk about, I grew less interested in her and she felt less appreciated, as a person, by me.
It was true and standard for many of the women I’d encounter over the next 30-some years. There were still those moments of ecstasy, like Ms Big-Tits (relative to her size), or Ms. ‘Ho, whose being fucked was as good as “..being treated like a Queen!”, or MILF-Littleton who raved about “having her brains fucked-out..!”, or the ‘linda puta dama’ of Pueblo: each hit the wall of having similar conceptualizing interests as me. It was my clueless thinking more than it was any objective short-cumming on their parts, primarily.
There was something that was incongruous about what I was seeking and what I was doing. What was driving me was the thrill of the vitality of the act. I thought it was because of the particular person. It was really the conditions the person enabled as a catalyst that triggered those reactions in me.
I was clueless about this until recently, when I saw that a person in question was an avatar for those conditions that brought on that triggering. If they were and could be an avatar, abstract ideas, then I could generate my own abstractions to be avatars for my unique utility for those ends. At those ends was the heightened energy and its ambient effects which I sought. Those ambient effects portrayed capabilities of being and existence unrelated to the daily ‘cause d’etre’ of everyday life. Quite often they were prescient and foretold things.
These were conditions in which the beast no longer needed to be a scavenging predator in this social realm, but more the satisfied soul, with hardly any desires beyond my imperative duties . It was as if this dimension of satisfied sensation and cognitive interaction was 'a home’ rather than the physical reality that was more a logistical base camp.
‘IT’ was the natural and intended fit for my ‘beast’. Prior to that, I had been in the delusion of the temporal. I was not a widget to be fungibly used and discarded by the secular ways of the times. I was part and component of a more profound and intangible reality, which was its own self-composing architect of this entire reality.
The physical reality was just the staging place for the communing portals of the mind’s extensions with that greater holism. It was from there that the extensional parables and allegories signaled to me the things to be; plus there was the collateral emotional compensation for me, concurrently, in the characteristics of those signals. The ‘frequent flyer’ personas were both the symbolic messengers of the scenarios in which they played, but they were also those alt-associations for what was lacking in my own contemporaneous temporal realm.
There was something other than this dimension and its social mazes that was meant for that inner-being of mine. It’s connected to the network of serendipities and synchronicities, which have proven to be more rewarding and reliable than what the promises of the solicitations and other ‘secular opportunities’ have provided. Only the transactions of ‘the-very discreetly determined-availability’, which in their serendipitous way appear to come to me; have saved my ass. They being more as a ‘Savior’ and ‘Redeemer’ than any of the aforementioned temporal affectations of reductionist and objectivist paradigms have done for me. In the interlude between those advents of holographic dreams or their carnal manifestations, I serve the ‘temple-of-this-consciousness’ as past sacred texts have declared.
Surely, ‘the word’ is my mistress and consort, as well as thy rod and thy staff which leads me to those green pastures of grace.
And I will celebrate my being’s communion with them as my redemption and liberation
in a ‘joyful noise’!
========================
Your donations of $0.45 to $1.25 in appreciation for this work will be graciously accepted at this link http://paypal.me/j2e595 w/email address or text# left at paypal, if not notice direct to me at junyabee@gmail.com
No comments:
Post a Comment