as i picked up my laptop and laid on my bed preparatory to writing this post something happened. i had, in my head, a lovely post about a fall afternoon that mr. big and i passed together recently and by the time i opened the writing window here at wordpress something entirely different had come to mind.
never fear, you will hear about our fall afternoon very soon but not today.
you see, as i brought myself to a comfortable lying position with a computer on my lap i noticed my sheets. my burgundy flannel sheets in fact, and what i noticed were the places that were not burgundy.
i noticed the wear on my favourite sheets of course. i mean you have to expect them to begin dying when you wash and reuse them constantly rather than in fact using one of the four other sheets you have available to you.
i noticed the places where the mattress was beginning to show through and the places where little tears were starting and even the spots that my cats use as scratching posts… not to mention the drift of hair where one of my cats prefers to sleep.
but more i saw my trophies.
i saw the little patches scattered about this sheet that i changed less than a week ago. little patches of white droplets telling the story of his welcome to me upon my return from a few days away. further such droplets recounting my leave taking a few days earlier and still more little white patches of droplets enumerating pleasure that he has given me in the times before and after.
these then are my trophies. the marks in telltale white that recount our sexual escapades in dna splattered sheets.
the moments, if you will, where my body surrendered to him it’s most secret of fluids. those which can only be found in pleasure most intimate and almost but not quite only by a partner.
yes, of course, i can make myself gush but not nearly as well as someone else can and nearly always i don’t bother. a little clitoral orgasm is enough to scratch the itch, my g-spot is not required for such things.
even with a toy my ministrations toward mine own self are somehow faster and less drawn out and most definetely have fewer small peaks on the road to the cliff we must all fall over.
thus the trophies.
the marks on my lovely sheets which only ever see the light of day with someone else. the marks which force me to wash my sheets when really i would nearly almost rather bronze them.
unfortunately it is time to start sharing the load of the trophy making with my dark green sheets now since my poor flannel ones are wearing thin… and are of course now at their most comfortable.
is it strange that i am somehow tempted to take photos of these remnants of my most secret fluids before i wash them once more from this earth to flow down and mix with human waste of all sorts in the sewers of my fair city?
is it odd that i wish almost to make a collage of such images if only to see if anyone realizes what they are?
i treasure these displays of my most secret releases in a way that i consider most unusual and yet i know them for what they are. the signs of my body’s willing surrender to the tender ministrations of another.
if that isn’t treasure then really, what is?
November 6, 2007 at 5:05 pm
This is incredibly well-written! I love the visual, and almost tactile, imagery of the fabric and the fluids on the sheets.
I have a fluids fetish, for which I am known. I have always thought of it as bodily excess: without my fluids, I am dead. The fluids produced by sex are so hot to me, and the use of other fluids during sex are so hot, because they signal a very living, corporeal interaction between two people. In a way, it reduces us to our bodies; but in a way, it is perhaps the very definition of intimacy itself.
November 6, 2007 at 8:10 pm
You write so beautifully. The imagery is so perfect, just enough to describe, but still my imagination fills in the blanks.
You should keep your treasures/trophies some how. In picture form maybe, but sometimes nothing is better than one’s mind.
Can’t wait for your fall afternoon with Mr. Big. I always look forward to your posts.
November 7, 2007 at 12:31 am
Ahhh Ms. BIG….you even manage to make sleeping in the wet spot blissful. And I just know you reached out and fondly touched those marks, wistfully, and with a grin ;)
XX
November 7, 2007 at 8:26 am
Beatufully written, so evocative.
Why not take a picture and post it for us or at least save it for yourself? Those that can enjoy that sharing will, anyone else, the heck with them.
I don’t find it strange at all.
E
November 7, 2007 at 12:31 pm
I love this….so well written.
Wondering what my favorite guy’s sheet looks like now. His sheets that night were burgundy as well.
November 7, 2007 at 8:13 pm
Good Wednesday afternoon to you, Bad Influence Girl.
Memories are powerful, and so is the evidence of them :)
Loving Annie
November 8, 2007 at 3:13 am
I read this late last night before falling asleep, and I swear I saw these sheets in my dream… haha weird. I love that blissful reminiscing that comes from looking at the evidence of your hot night together… where you relive the most delicious moments but never quite remember exactly how it felt, just the ghost of it…
it seems like it is time to break in another set of sheets… I know you’ll have fun making the next ones your new favorite :)
November 12, 2007 at 10:33 pm
marcelle: thank you! and welcome also. it’s funny how hard it was for me to change this particular set of sheets, i left them on the bed way too long to enjoy the visuals. i hadn’t even noticed his handprints in my juices on what would have been either side of my head when i wrote this either.
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Rae: stop it you’re making me blush! (okay don’t stop :)
i took pictures actually and i’m seriously considering posting them… i mean HAND PRINTS in girl juice…
and fall is now posted :)
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A. Secret i do love the wet spot, i consider it a sign of victory!
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Edward i did in fact take the pictures… now to see if i post them…
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Electrolyte i’m guessing they look at LEAST as messy as mine if not messier…
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Annie: too true miss
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badlittlegoodgirl: you know mr. big keeps thinking you’re me in the comments ;>
yeah that’s exactly it, i can’t put any details into how my sheets got like that but i can most certainly tell you the moods and the feelings…
i need new flannel ones, they’re far superior…
January 4, 2008 at 1:31 pm
[...] it was fast and it was hard and it was glorious and we shuddered and cried out together as our bodies finally achieved some relief before we collapsed, panting, to lie naked and not spent at all on my once more sex spattered sheets. [...]