Doubt

Small sharp knives sink into soft flesh

Delete key worn and covered in dirt

Lost in hesitation

Check the mirror time and again each time finding flaw

I look down at the dull red organ in my hands

Flattened, misshapen, missing bits given away

It beats in weak rhythm

Strength ebbing like low tide

There is no line waiting to receive

No picking

No choosing

I thought, for a moment

Something beautiful whispered in my ear

I must be mistaken

There is nothing here.

Painting without Brushes

Describe what sex feels like.  These five words have been floating about in my head making me mull over a topic which is uniquely personal in many regards to each person.  I enjoy sex.  But when accosted with those words I found myself stilled.  I read what other people shared, the bit of crassness and the over the top poetical comparison which no true poet would dare make.  I feel it is safe to say that no one has survived a supernova and lived to tell about it.  This brings me back to those five words.

Emotional and visceral.  Real terms.  Ground rules.

I have to rule out sexual encounters which add elements such that bring artifice and other mental machinations into play so toys, cosplay and things involving b&d or s&m cannot be considered when describing how sex feels.  Toys are not part of the intimate human experience and the control and pain aspect of other role play may arouse the desire to have sex but they are not part of sex.  So I exclude them these things from my answer.

In the end I have distilled an image of sex from its basic form and function.  I have taken the challenge a bit personally as a writer.  How to describe the complexity of a basic function to another so that it coveys the experience in its extremes in such a way that it bridges the gap between knowledge and experience.

A glance engages.

Flicker of understanding sets fire burning.

Heat builds within.

Heart races and breathing quickens.

Eyelids lower in anticipation

Lips part.

Skin tightens.

The elemental instinctual fight or flight response is triggered.

You move, sometimes away, but more often toward.

Touch.

Skin against skin.

Hands moving in deliberate fashion.

A light trace of fingertip along jaw.

Hands seeking balance, fingers press hard into shoulders.

Hard lips meet soft sometimes gently, often rough.

Fingers glide over arms, down bellies, up thighs over buttocks.

Sensations consume and perpetuate.

Breath across skin burns and teases.

Scents of perfume being washed away by sweat, the pheromones of desire engulf.

As the heat increases fingers seek to torment and tempt.

Lips and tongues feather wet kisses and lick.

Teeth bite.

Gasps escape and moans ensue.

All these sounds from the other side of a closed door for an unschooled ear might sound like dying.

La petite mort is on its way.

Sweat slick skin moves against the same teasing hard nipples as the dance of sex moves from a waltz to the tango.

The heat from within drives the rhythm.

More often fast and furious than pleasantly paced.

Taste on tongues.

Salty sweaty the slight taste of stale piss or soap.

Escalate the driving need to consume the other.

To fill or be filled, that is the question.

The hot slick space between thighs salivates in anticipation.

It craves being filled.

It wants to be stroked, rubbed, stretched, pounded,

And in this penetrating repetitive motion comes the crescendo.

The knees bend and pull higher.

Shallow breathing increases.

Nipples tighten.

Heels dig.

Toes curl.

Nerve endings flicker.

All sensation moves to this pit of pleasure deep within.

And  Ooh happens.

The explosion of tension.

Like a firework.

You hear the pop of explosion.

The whistle as it pierces the sky.

The boom as it explodes.

The sizzle as it gently spreads outward filling the sky.

The press of weight pushing and crushing.

As breaths are dragged in.

Pounding hearts return to a less fevered pace.

Laying languid.

Sated.

Soft smiling

Contentment before hands push gently away.

“Shove off, I need to go shower.”

 

As for the emotional response that is for me something which must take place before intimacy.  Building trust and and affection  through conversation through touch.  By knowing who I am and respecting my limits.  On some levels sex is the physical out let of tension.  there have only been a few instances where I can say that sex was not just sex but an act of love.