The Butch Mystique

You say you have a need to understand the entity that is me; to explore the canals of my sexuality in an attempt to proof me like a calculable thing. Logically, we can start with the known which will systematically lead to conditional truths. I know that I am in desperate need of you and the love we make, and if this is true, and it is, you can find my identity there.

I know that: I need to be in control but more definitively I need to be masculinized, empowered. Not masochistically but genuinely. Always, I understand that you have a need to know that inherently, deeply buried, still exists bleak femininity. Always, I need to cater to your needs. Sometimes, I need to cater to this particular thing. Accordingly, impulsively I feel the need to invite you behind the harness that is necessary to establish myself in our love space. That is sometimes. On birthdays, blue moons, when you ask. But on all the days that lie in between, I need you to see the ruggedness in my eyes, to recognize the swag in my walk, to feel the dick in my pants and trust that I can, and will, fuck you thoroughly, royally. My biochemical composition controls me like this. I am powerless to this desire. I do not understand it completely but I know intricately the details of its workings.

I feel that I am an entity discrete from my defining physical form and I need you to acknowledge me in this way; to let the carnality of my quasi-manhood caress you, and then ravish you; to let it kiss your neck while intensely breathing in your ear, dipping inside and then sliding down to your lobe, hanging there long enough for you to feel a gentle bite; running itself down to the nape of your neck, over your shoulders inside the spaces that give definition to your collarbone, and then encircling your breasts the way a harsh cold wind would through the weaving of your favorite summertime night shirt. I need to make your nipples erect like this; be synonymous with their throbbing.

I need for the three-dimensional space between your nipples and your navel to shiver in the anticipation of my touch. I need to be like this with you, close but not touching, until the space between us trembles. I need the space inside of you to quake upon the meeting of our flesh. I need to hear your wetness release and begin its rushing descent to your fleshy dam. I am blind in these moments. The sound of your flooding desire is my only guide. I need your hands on the hard parts of my flesh: my jaw line, my back, my neck, my dick. I need you to know that my desire for you transcends cyberskin silicone forms, and that I feel every lick, every thrust, and every drop of your longing that bathes this part of me. This is always. Sometimes, I need you to capriciously cater to the part of me that only you can complete.

Put your mouth on me. Take me in, not like soul food but like the first meal youíve ever had after all your years on this earth. Suck me down and then swallow any uncertainties I may have about the validity of my machoism, washing me down your throat. I need a woman who loves God as much as I do but who understands my vulgarity at this moment, and is accepting of my profane and vain attempt to censor my maledictions. Now I need to be deeper inside of you than this. I need to fill you, outside in, from every orifice. Tell me hungrily, closely, intensely, where you want me. Not only inside of you but from which side of you. My blindness now requisites my obedience. I go where you say and execute all commands. Iím your soldier, day in and lights out. Take me into you. This is all the proof that I need of who I am, of the machismo warrior spirit that God gave me.

If you need it deeper, I can go there. Harder? I can give you that. Faster? I can run this dick like the Kentucky derby. (Iím a country boy, ya know?) Keep it there? I will freeze this stroke in time. For your climax, my boundaries are asymptotic and my capabilities: limitless. In your soaking influx, I find my victory. But like every man, my ego needs to be stroked in the same way my dick hard pressed inside of your thighs does. Talk to me. Right now, in the aftermath of our love. Because this is where it is: the evidence of everything as I know it. Tell me how it was, how I was. This is my defining moment. I need to know that my dick reigns supreme; that I am undoubtedly all the man you will ever need.

Copyright © 2008. Used with author's permission.

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