Lavendar and Ether.
If I could somehow mix the 2 together I believe I could create an amazing new scent for women.
Something heady.
Any chemist types out there want to help me out in the lab?
We could be naked under our lab coats.
I'd roll up the long dark hair in a bun, have my glasses on, my goggles too.
We could be very serious, rolling up our sleeves.
Nude beneath the lab coats and goggles.
Black slingback medium kitten heel with a closed toe (no open toed shoes in the lab of course).
Lightheaded and giddy from ether and lavendar.

Slipping hands to skin underneath pristine sterile lab coats.
Fogging up the goggles.

- Are the doors locked? You ask.

I can't answer because my mouth is in use.

Lack of oxygen to my brain forcing me to focus on my task at hand.
Yes, my hand. And my mouth.
Black eyes looking up at you.

Women looking up to men -- a common turn-on.
You like that don't you?
When I watch, your face contorting with pleasure.
And I take your cues, your encouragement, click Apply.

And I shift technique to serve your pleasure, new sensations.
My whole world circling around your shaft.
Texture smooth and wet. You help me to set the rhythm.
Concentrated on your pleasure center.

The glasses come off, yes, the hair comes down.
The lab coats get unbuttoned but not abandoned altogether.
Slingback heels slipping off.

I've gotten to the point where talking with Hugo to "make weekend plans" is a slight chore.
I want to spend time with him, but he never seems that excited to see me.
And never excited in the way he used to be with me.

When I would open the front door and he'd kiss me immediately.
And wouldn't talk to me, just pushing me and pushing me, backing
me into my bedroom, onto the bed, all the time stripping me down,
stripping himself down.

All fired up, firing me up.

And what is it now?
Barely a hug at the door, sometimes none at all, not after even a week apart.
Sometimes he goes straight to my room to change, sometimes he goes straight to my room to fall asleep.
When he wants me lately it is when I am near unconscious with sleep.
When he wants me now he is childish about it, about jumping onto me like an unschooled 14 year old,
humping away at me, wanting to bone.

The voracious kitty is not alive with him.
She is not inspired. She will not wake up.
He won't even kiss her on the mouth.

So lickety split, sir.
Away to a refuge for the kitty.
Away to shower thick passion on a more inspiring individual.
Of whom I am growing dangerously and increasingly fond.
Who loves to feed greedy kitties.

Yes it is possible to separate love from desire.
I believe. Anais believes. Joseph Campbell believes.
Eros, agape, amor.
Amor, amor is what I suppose I have with Hugo,
strictly in the sense of the agony and the suffering.
The suffering unilateral though.

Yes - wouldn't it be nice to have it all wrapped up in a neat package?
Yes - I have a desire, a passion, a lust for knowledge, self-awareness and experience that propels me forward into action.
I sweat the consequences according to the local custom, along the physical layer.
But I'll sweat out that toxin in the heat of another's passionate embrace.

Speaking of sweat, finally a night at Osento in the Mission.
To get naked and hot and wet with other women.
Meditate and chill the fuck out.
Lord knows I need it.
And I will close my eyes, breathing in steam, wishing for a pair of
Big
Warm
Strong
Hands
to work out the tension in my body.
Leaving me prone and limp as a noodle.