The man cannot be trusted.
I love him to death, so I hate to have to say such a not-fabulous thing about him.
But it’s true.
He cannot be trusted.
WITNESS:
The current Kink of the Week topic is “risky sex” and I’m kinda like… Yeah, AND?
I mean the introduction to the topic sort of defines “risky sex” as being any sexy-type thing that makes you a bit nervy and panicky, or sex that is somehow situation-ally precarious. And while that makes a certain amount of sense, it also leaves me feeling like… I dunno… Isn’t that ALL sex?
Because while the heart-thumpy, adrenaline-rush-y, slightly-scary physical bit isn’t exactly ever-present, the ‘risk’ factor is always there — in some shape or form. Because that’s kinda what sex is about: Risk.
And I don’t mean that sex is always risky in an OhmyGod, Whatifwegetcaught?!?! kind of way (yes, risk-of-discovery sex is often one of the first things that typically comes to mind for people when the topic of “risky sex” comes up; my own viewpoint on that particular flavor of risky sex has changed quite a bit over the years though, particularly in terms of consent, so while it’s something that definitely turns me on, it’s also something I have – for all practical purposes, at least for now – eliminated from my sexual diet), but that everything about sex entails some kind of risk.
Is it a lightning spiral? A slow burn? A tingling waterfall of riverflow sparked heat, dropping off a high ledge behind your belly button, roaring its thundering pulse in a surging froth of arousal?
Is it a prickling flush? A blood-surge sunburn, pinkening from within, giving away your want in red-blush fire?
Does it sear your skin? Sharpen your nerve endings?
Where does it begin?
Is it a dormant star, burning always but bursting sharp in precipitant sparking firefall across your chest? A coiled explosion tightening hot through your abdomen?
Is it lava, surging molten up your spine, overflowing from the top and dripping down your torso in geothermic magma, pooling anthracitic in the turgid ache between your thighs? Or a slow pink-orange sunrise glow, sudden as morning, stroking its slow-warming caress up from your toes?
Is it an ember?
A hearth fire?
A conflagration?
The heat of your arousal… Does it scald?
Sear?
Melt?
What does it feel like?
Tell me.
Or, y’know… Rope kitten.
Same thing, really.
😉