The following is a sexy musing that combine two essential life functions, namely sex and eating. I don’t mean that in a kinky sort of way, though. Again, I prefer to save those kinds of kinks for my sexy short stories. In this case, I want to ponder the unspoken, but unavoidable link between a good meal and great lovemaking.
That link is certainly there. Nobody couple has ever had consistently great sex on an empty stomach. It’s simple physics. Sex and love require energy. We get our energy from food. To have great sex and make beautiful love, we need food. Moreover, we need good food. It shouldn’t take much convincing, but maybe this musing will help. Enjoy!
We sit across from each other, breathless and restless. We haven’t even touched, but we feel the energy surging through us. In our stomachs, a world of tastes and treats converge within us, providing a potent blend of sustenance and contentment. The appetizers, the main course, and the desert all linger in our mouths. We can still taste it, but we’re hungry for more.
We look at each other. One critical need has been filled. Our hunger has been satiated, the precious nutrients delivered into our bodies. It didn’t have to be elaborate, but it was. We put out candles, played music, and dressed formally. We choose meals not based on how much they fill our stomachs, but on how much they satisfy.
That needlessly elaborate process still succeeded in one critical way. It filled a need. By filling that need, we have the energy and strength to fill enough. That much energy cannot just remain in our stomachs. Survival for another day cannot be the only goal. After all, what good is surviving if we don’t live?
To live, we must act.
To act, we must connect.
To connect, we must make the effort.
That feeling of fullness pleases our stomachs, but leaves other parts of the body wanting. Our hearts ache, like dry valley tapping into a fresh reservoir. Our brain tells us we’re safe from hunger, but deficient in desire. Our genitals tell us the energy is there. We need only tap it.
We are content, but not satisfied.
We are fulfilled, but not elated.
As we digest our meal, we come to an inescapable realization. We are not content with mere contentment. We seek something greater. Comfort, alone, is not enough. We seek ecstasy.
It’s on both our minds. We can taste it as much as we can still taste our last bite. The meal is done. It is a good meal, giving us the energy for greater endeavors. As we look at one another, we feel that energy drawing us towards one unique effort. A good meal is no longer the precursor. It is the catalyst to something greater.
We reach across the table. Our hands touch and the signal is sent. Need gives way to want. From want, we grow bolder. We leave the table and rush to the nearest bed. Tonight, we dare go beyond survival. Alone, we can see the next sunrise. Together, we can make it meaningful.
The following is a sexy short story I wrote about the last days of summer. For some, it’s a bittersweet time of year. For others, it’s a necessary evolution of seasons. This story tries to capture both in a loving, sexy sort of way. Enjoy!
Summer Reya wasn’t used to warm weather going away. She’d grown up a tropical climate where a “chilly day” was anything under 60 degrees or made wearing flip-flops uncomfortable. Then, three critical events changed her life.
First, she got a scholarship to a major university up north. That was a big deal for her and her family. Neither of her parents had gone to college and she was the first of three siblings to attend. The move was supposed to be temporary. Then, the second critical event happened.
She got an internship that turned into a career. While in school, she started working for an up-and-coming biotech company. That company grew quickly and before she graduated, they offered her a full-time position, complete with benefits and a fat salary. Summer still remembered gasping in disbelief when she saw her first paycheck.
That kept her up north a little longer. Eventually, she still wanted to move back home. Then, the final – and, by every measure, the most critical – event happened. She fell in love. That effectively changed her plans for good.
“I can already feel it,” Summer said distantly as she admired the setting sun in the distance. “The extra chill in the air…the lack of humidity at this time of day…even the smell of the wind.”
“Are you telling me you can actually smell winter?” said a humored, but loving voice. “For some people, that counts as a super-power.”
“There’s nothing powerful about it. It’s just one part of my life reminding me of another…the past affecting me in the present.”
“Does it make you feel homesick?”
“It used to,” she conceded, “but then I met you.”
With a smile that could’ve warmed any climate, she turned towards the figure who had done so much to keep her warm. Unlike her, Christopher Bennet was used to the cold weather. He’d spent most of his life up north, enduring harsh winters and never using sub-zero temperatures as excuses. Bearing a thick beard, a rugged complexion, and broad muscles that he’d forged working at rock quarries, he looked like a man who could handle harsh conditions.
That was just one of the many things that had attracted her to him. She’d met Chris in college. In fact, during the first major snowstorm she’d endured, he came by and shoved the driveway of the crowded townhouse she’d shared with three other women. Seeing him brave that storm in nothing but a sweat-shirt while she wore three layers to stay warm impressed her. That one impression led to so much more.
“You don’t have to worry, Summer. You know I’ll keep you warm this winter,” Chris told her as he tightened his embrace on her.
“You always do,” she said as she ran her hands through that thick beard of his, “even though I don’t make it easy for you.”
“I don’t mind the challenge. You help keep me on my toes. I need that in my line of work.”
“A guy who works in a quarry needs a woman who works in a climate-controlled office…there’s just something so fitting about that.”
“I know. You know how to endure the heat. I know how to handle the cold. But together…we find a way.”
He smiled back at her before kissing her softly. Summer gladly returned the gesture. At the same time, a sharp gust of wind blew over them. It was the coldest gust she’d felt since March. It was as though nature itself was warning her that she was going to need her husband’s ability to keep her warm for the next several months. It was one of those warnings that she didn’t mind heeding.
Sitting in his lap, straddling his waist atop a picnic blanket, Chris imparted plenty of warmth and not just in terms of body heat. They had taken a trip to the top of an isolated hill that overlooked the small pond at the north end of their neighborhood. It was one of those places that most people didn’t know was there, which made it even more special to them. From it, they could see the sunset, the trees, and the lights from the downtown area in the distance.
She and Chris had discovered it on their third date. Since then, they’d made it a point to visit their secret hilltop, as they called it, on the last weekend of summer. It signaled the end of days where they could just lounge around in swimsuits and shorts. In the weeks to come, she would have to break out the sweaters, sweatshirts, and jackets that she never had to wear back home. It was bittersweet, but Chris made it worthwhile.
In addition, their little end-of-summer picnic had another important tradition that she was eager to get to. Based on the way Chris felt her up as he kissed her, he shared in that eagerness. Wearing only flip-flops, jean shorts, and an under-sized T-shirt – her preferred attire for hot, muggy weather – it didn’t take long before a different kind of heat consumed them.
“Speaking of finding a way,” Summer said, their lips parting while they remained in a tight embrace, “I think we’ve got one more heat wave to enjoy before I pack away my bikinis.”
“I love the way you think, Summer,” Chris said with a grin.
“It’s going to get cold tomorrow…the first of many,” she said.
“I saw the weather forecast too. I know how it works in these parts. We’re in for a long winter.”
“Which is why we should make this the hottest night of the year,” she said seductively, already trailing her fingers through his messy hair. “If it’s going to be the last one, I want to make it count!”
“And we will,” he replied, matching her seductive undertone. “That’s why before that sun sets, I’m going to make love to you in a way that’ll keep us warm until next spring!”
“Is that a promise, my love?”
“I don’t make promises, Summer. I just tell the woman I love what I’m going to do. Then, I do it!”
There was such certainty and intent in his words. Chris was not the kind of man to make bold promises that he didn’t meet. He said what he meant and meant what he said. No matter the weather, he didn’t let it change his intent, even when it came to making love to her.
Like a man on a mission, he began doing as he said he would. He kissed her passionately, his tongue quickly becoming entwined with hers in an outburst of passion. As he tasted her lips, he laid her down on the oversized picnic blanket, shoving aside the cooler and lunch bags. Summer, her arms and legs still wrapped around his imposing form, soaked up the warmth of his love. With the sun setting fast and the summer warmth already fading, there was a growing sense of urgency.
With the energy of two horny teenagers on prom night, she and Chris made out atop the picnic blanket. They kissed and touched with such intensity, his hands roaming freely up her womanly curves while hers slipped under that dirty T-shirt of his to feel those masculine sinews. With that intensity came heat and before long, clothing became a burden.
“Off!” Summer gasped as her love kissed down her neck. “Please, Chris…get these clothes off!”
Without saying a word, her husband stripped her naked on the spot. He wasn’t playful about it, either. He swiftly pulled her shirt off over her head, undid her bra with ease, and pulled her shorts down her legs, panties and all. The feeling of the cool, evening air grazing over her naked skin sent shivers throughout her body, contrasting with the heat they’d created. Those shivers didn’t last long, though.
As soon as he tossed her shorts and underwear aside, Chris shed his clothes rapidly. He didn’t even care that he threw his shirt into a patch of mud near the blanket. Nothing was going to keep him from capturing the last bit of summer heat.
“Feeling chilly?” he teased.
“A little,” Summer quipped coyly.
“I can tell,” he said, giving her hardened nipples a slight pinch. “Don’t worry. Things are about to get hot…very, very hot.”
He laid down on top of her, naked skin pressing against naked skin. He kissed down her neck as well, evoking a light gasp as intimate touch triggered intimate sensations of all kinds. Again, Summer embraced him with her arms and legs. Without the burden of clothes, her breasts pressed up against his chest, her nailed raked along his bare back, and his growing manhood rubbed up against the heat building between her inner thighs.
From there, their outdoor make-out session evolved into full-blown foreplay. Chris rubbed her breasts, squeezed her butt, and slithered his tongue around her face and lips. Summer returned the favor, running her fingers through his hair and whispering words of lurid passion into his ear.
“I want you, Chris,” she told him in her most seductive voice. “I want you inside me…that big, hard cock inside my hot, wet pussy. I want you to fill me with your sex…and your love.”
Summer felt his manhood stiffen faster. Chris had always been fond of dirty talk. She just what to say and how to say it get his blood flowing in the right direction. As he neared full arousal, he stepped up their foreplay, working his hands over her exposed flesh and allowing the weight of his body to press against her.
It was like wearing a blanket of warm, manly flesh. Even with a chill in the air, it still felt like a muggy day at the beach, especially between her legs. It was a powerful feeling, her husband making out with her in a naked heap. Something about it – being outside in the elements, feeling the shifting winds of the season, and warming one another with their passions – triggered an arousal within her hotter than any approaching winter.
“Are you ready to really heat things up?” Chris whispered, his member now fully erect and pressing against her inner thighs.
“Yes!” Summer said without hesitation. “I’m ready, Chris. Please…make me feel hot.”
Already covered in a light sweat, she braced for more heat as her lover ignited the final proverbial spark.
Shifting his grip to her thighs, he rose up slightly and positioned himself between her legs. Then, with his masculine body glowing in the light of the sunset, he entered her. Almost immediately, Summer felt a surge of hot sensations.
“Hot enough, yet?” Chris said in a husky tone.
“Ooh, yes!” she moaned.
“Good,” he said, “but I’m not convinced.”
Spoken like a dedicated worker/lover, he began making love to her at a fervent pace. He dug his knees and feet into the ground, giving himself extra leverage as he worked his hips with power and passion. In and out, his manhood slithered inside her, hot flesh embracing hot flesh. The end result was equally hot sensations that mirrored their shared desire for one last heat wave before winter.
She moaned in delight as those desires were realized. She did not mute herself in the slightest, her cries of passion echoing into the twilight. She knew how much Chris loved to hear her moan during sex. They motivated him even more, inspiring the kind of determined grunts that radiated with strength and vigor.
“Chris…ohhh Chris!” Summer exclaimed. “I feel it…so hard… so hot!”
“That’s…what I want,” he gasped in between grunts. “I want…to make you…hot.”
“You are! You make me…so hot!”
That heated proclamation took on a literal and figurative sense. She could already feel the sweat from his body mixing with hers, the results of their heated lovemaking taking a very tangible form. She could also feel an orgasm coming strong.
When it hit, there was no warning. Summer rarely had to tell her lover when she was on the brink of orgasm. She made it exceedingly obvious in other ways.
“Oohhh fuck yes!” she cried out.
In an instant, that warm feeling she and Chris had created with their love became a burning ecstasy that shot through her body like a wave on a tropical beach. For Summer, having spent much of her life on those beaches, it was extra satisfying. Beyond the raw pleasure, though, there was more to the feeling. Between the picturesque setting and the prospect of limited heat over the winter, the moment was extra meaningful.
“Yeah…I’d say that’s hot enough,” Chris said.
Had she not been immersed in pure euphoria, Summer would’ve laughed. For a brief moment, the winds, the birds, and the bugs were all temporarily muted as she soaked in the feeling. Her eyes closed, her back arched, and she squeezed her bouncing breasts, creating the kind of spectacle that always gave Chris pause, even in the midst of passion.
Even in her blissful daze, he leaned in and kissed her. His naked, sweaty body now on top of her once more, the flesh kept that passionate heat going. The air around them felt as warm and muggy as a sunny day in July. In that moment, it felt like summer again.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Chris told her. “No matter how hot or cold it is…you never cease to astound me, Summer.”
“Speak for yourself, my darling,” she replied. “I swear you can make the coldest winter feel like a trip to the beach.”
“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents,” he teased.
“And I’m a woman who loves to nurture that talent,” she quipped, “and in case you haven’t noticed…the sun hasn’t fully set.”
“Believe me, I noticed!”
Grinning playfully, they kissed again and the lovemaking resumed. If that evening was going to be their last taste of summer heat – literally, to a large extent – then they might as well enjoy every last second of it.
Since her husband had been so dedicated to warming her body and spirit, Summer decided to return the favor. His rigid member still inside her throbbing folds, she grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him over so that she was on top of him. From there, she began riding his cock, quickly re-establishing the same vigorous rhythm he’d so passionately demonstrated with her.
“From now…until the sun disappears,” she said, “we keep making love!”
“That a…challenge?” said Chris, already panting heavily.
“No, my love…a promise!”
She sealed that promise with another kiss. He sealed it too by wrapping her in his arms again, holding their naked bodies close as they danced the lover’s dance together in the diminishing twilight.
From there, a fresh round of heat surrounded them. More hot sensations followed, supplemented by a steady progression of moans and gasps that echoed throughout the surrounding woods. There was nothing fancy or theatric about their lovemaking. It was just the kind of raw, directed passion that could shelter any lovers from the approaching cold.
If the goal was to just keep the fire going and work up more sweat, then they definitely succeeded. Guided by love and a shared desire to sustain the heat, they pushed the limits of their stamina, sexual and otherwise.
After riding his cock for a good long while, they just rolled around atop the blanket, going at it from various positions. They didn’t get too elaborate. Summer didn’t have to test any of her old gymnastic skills. There was a common theme to it, though. Every position was one that maximized body contact, ensuring naked skin rubbed against naked skin. Friction made heat. Heat made more sweat. Together, it made for hotter sex.
It led to more orgasms along the way, complete with more proclamations of ecstasy that stirred the surrounding wildlife. Summer swore the trees trembled as she and Chris rocked the area with their lovemaking. It was as though their passions were fueled by the last gasp of the summer season, the energy flowing into their naked bodies and guiding them through one last round of heat.
“Chris…my warmth…my love,” Summer gasped through the intimate daze.
“Summer…my favorite time of the year!” Chris replied with a beaming smile.
She smiled back and kissed him again, pushing her physical limits to keep the passion going. Chris stayed with her every step of the way, showing off the stamina that had made for so many hot nights. It was a testament to his dedication, doing what he had to do to keep the heat flowing and deliver to her what he promised.
Keeping that promise soon took on a greater sense of urgency. Summer could see the sun was just about to set over the horizon. The final light of the season was about to disappear. That gave them a small window with which to make that moment count. She was on the brink of another orgasm. For the final push, though, she wanted her lover to share it.
“Chris, I…I’m close again,” Summer told him.
“Me too, Summer,” Chris said through labored grunts. “I…I’m so close!”
“Please…come with me. In one more taste of summer…let’s come together.”
As she said those desperate words, he caressed her face while she clung to his neck, holding on for one last rush of summer heat. Their eyes locked, the glimmer of the sun fading fast, they pushed their bodies and souls to that special threshold. It was like the end of a journey, but one they could only finish together.
When they finally crossed that line, she and Chris let out a shared cry of ecstasy. A wave of warm, unabated pleasure consumed their sweat-covered bodies in harmonious release of passion. She threw her head back while he buried his face in her neck, the sounds of their love mixing with the gusts.
For a brief moment, time stood still. It was like the entire season of summer had stopped just to tell her and Chris goodbye. From her position, Summer could see the sun disappear over the horizon one last time. With her lover in her arms, his embrace keeping her so warm, she smiled at the fading twilight. As much as she loved the warm weather, she had no doubt she and Chris could endure any winter.
With the sun now set, she and Chris collapsed atop the blanket. Their bodies parted, but they remained in each other’s embrace, lying side-by-side and absorbing the lingering warmth of their passion. Together, they had forged a special warmth through the rhythm of love and sex. It felt like a fitting celebration for the final days of summer.
“I love you, Chris,” she said to him.
“I love you too, Summer,” he told her.
“Thank you for keeping me warm. Thank you for making every day feel like summer!”
It’s a simple note. Can we all just take a moment to admire how awesome the Captain Marvel trailer is? That is all.
What happens when you die? This question and how people go about answering it is the basis for nearly every major religion in existence. Whether there’s a promise of Heaven, Hell, or reincarnation, it’s fundamental to many religious doctrines. This is especially true of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, which make up a sizable portion of the global population.
Given these doctrines and their emphasis on life after death, why do adherents of those faiths wear seat belts? That may sound like an inane question, but it has profound implications.
I ask that question because I grew up in an area where there were a lot of churches, a couple mosques, and even a few synagogues. It wasn’t uncommon to see traffic jams around those places, especially during holidays. From what I could tell, though, the people leaving those places were wearing seat belts. That, in and of itself, sends mixed messages.
While Judaism is somewhat vague about the afterlife, it does frequently reference a soul that exists beyond the body. Christianity and Islam are a lot more overt, having many references to Heaven for the holy and Hell for the wicked. I’ve noted before how this concept falls apart when you apply human perspectives to the mix, but these are still critical tenants in the eyes of adherents.
Why then, under those beliefs, would they fear or avoid death? Why would they even mourn loved ones who die? Under the tenants of their religion, their bodies are just gone. Their souls still live on. They’re either lying in wait for the end-times or on their way to Heaven, Hell, or some other version of the afterlife.
It’s a strange disconnect that doesn’t mesh with the emotions we feel when someone we love dies. I’ve come to know those emotions painfully well this past year. I’ve had to attend two funerals, one of which was for my grandmother and I was very close to her. When she passed, I felt that loss on a deeply personal level.
At the same time, there were others in my own family who experienced that same loss, but still maintained a deep devotion to their faith. There were even times when we were encouraged to celebrate their passing because they had ascended to a better place and were reunited with other loved ones.
This is supposed to provide comfort to those still in pain. I can attest to just how powerful comfort can be to someone who has just lost somebody they loved. Even with that comfort, though, I can vividly recall many family members still mourning. Even if they believed that someone they loved was in a better place, they still felt sad.
On a fundamental level, this seems contradictory. You’re feeling sad because someone you love is gone, but at the same time, you’re being told they’re not gone. On top of that, they’ve moved onto a better place that is free of suffering. For someone like my grandmother, who endured plenty of that at the end of her life, this should be a good thing.
It doesn’t stop the sadness, though. We still feel the pain of loss, even when a deeply-held religious doctrine tells us otherwise. There’s a lot to like about the idea that someone we love is no longer suffering and is now enjoying eternal bliss in a heavenly paradise. Even so, it still hurts and we still mourn.
This brings me back to seat belts and why religious adherents wear them. It’s objectively true that not wearing a seat belt is dangerous. If you don’t wear one and get in an accident, then your chances of suffering a fatal injury are much higher. If you’re a devout believer, though, why is that a bad thing?
I’m not being cynical here. It’s an honest question. Why make a concerted effort to survive in a world that can kill you in so many ways? Why go to a doctor whenever you get sick? Why seek treatment when you’re diagnosed with an illness that has the potential to kill you? Ideally, wouldn’t you just seek to alleviate the discomfort, but not whatever ailment is killing you?
If this life is just a precursor to another life, then efforts to prolong it don’t make sense. In fact, efforts to save innocent people don’t even make sense in that context because saving them means keeping them in a world that will make them suffer at some point. Whether it’s a stubbed toe or crippling poverty, preserving life is just increasing their opportunities for suffering.
The messages get even more mixed when major religious leaders go to such lengths to protect themselves. Why did Osama Bin Laden bother hiding for so long if he was that confident he’d go to paradise when he died? Why does the Pope have such intense security wherever he goes? People with this level of faith should be the most confident that they’re going somewhere better when they die.
To some extent, we can attribute this to our built-in survival instinct. One of the most fundamental drives of any living thing, be it a human or an amoeba, is to survive. Much like our sex drive, which religion also attempts to subvert, this is difficult to turn off. More than a few preachers, rabbis, and mullahs have encouraged people to fight this instinct with every fiber of their being.
However, they rarely encourage those same people to avoid wearing seat belts. You probably won’t find many holy men who urge their adherents to never go to the doctor or go out of their way to eat expired meat. Even if our survival instinct is naturally stronger than our sex drive, the implications are unavoidable. They’re asking people to put off escaping a flawed, pain-filled world.
Some of those people, whose sincerity I don’t doubt for a second, will claim that they have family and loved ones to take care of. This is especially powerful with parents, who will do anything and everything to protect their children. Despite that, their efforts still convey incompatible ideas.
A believer wants to stay alive in this chaotic world for the sake of their loved ones, but also believes that those same loved ones move onto a better place after they die, assuming they’ve lived a virtuous life. That assumption gets harder over time, though, because the longer someone lives, the more opportunities they’ll have to descend into sin and depravity.
Most reasonable people consider the death of innocent children to be a truly awful tragedy. The parents of those children are likely to feel immense pain on a level that few can comprehend. At the same time, the likelihood that a child is innocent is far greater than that of someone who has lived much longer. By default, they would be the most likely to get into Heaven.
Even so, people still mourn. They still cry, lament, and suffer the loss of innocent life. Does this mean that they know on some level that there is no afterlife? I wouldn’t go that far. It’s impossible to know what goes through the mind of a believer, especially after they’ve endured the death of a loved one.
For most adherents of religion, which include many members of my family, I doubt these sorts of implications have much impact. Most peoples’ faith is fairly moderate in terms of how they contextualize it with their existence. They can draw clear lines between the real world and the spiritual world.
It’s the minority of zealots, though, for which the issue of life, death, and seat belts becomes a logistical and theological problem. If a particular religion is going to be built around life after death, then how can it justify encouraging adherents to wear seat belts and avoid mortal danger?
In the grand scheme of things, they’re gambling with their immortal souls. The longer they live, the more likely they’ll be to deviate from the prescribed holy path. In that context, why would suicide be discouraged? Even if suicide is considered a mortal sin, why would avoiding accidents or fatal diseases be immoral? Why would anyone that devout feel any ounce of sorrow when someone they love dies?
I don’t expect these questions and their various implications to undercut anyone’s faith. I suspect most will take the Rick Sanchez approach to this issue, which is to not think about it. Regardless of what people may or may not believe, we still mourn the loved ones we lose. We still live our lives with the intention of surviving another day.
In that effort, it makes perfect sense for us to wear a seat belt. The fact that the doctrines of several major religions fundamentally complicate that inherently logical recourse is both telling and distressing. They can shame us for feeling horny, but they cannot stop us from feeling sorrow or hesitation in the face of death. Even the power of faith has its limits and, in this context, that’s not a bad thing.
I consider myself a fairly passionate person, by nature. A big part of what we do and why we do it is driven by passion. I just consider the passion that fuels me to be extra potent. It shows in the way I talk about comic books, gender politics, and beautiful women in bikinis.
I’ve shared many of my passions on this website, but there’s on in particular I don’t think I’ve emphasized enough. That’s my passion for all things flavored with buffalo wing sauce. I get it. That sounds like an odd thing for anyone who lives outside of Buffalo to be passionate about, but it’s no joke to me.
I truly love all things flavored with buffalo wing sauce and I’m not just referring to chicken wings. I put it on my pizza, my eggs, my vegetables, my burgers, my steaks, and pretty much anything else I can put sauce on. If I found a woman who enjoyed having buffalo wing sauce licked off her boobs, I would probably fall in love with her on the spot.
This being football season, which is associated with a sizable increase in consumption of all things buffalo flavored, my passion for this wondrous condiment has never been greater. That’s why I proudly dedicate this week’s edition of my Sexy Sunday Thoughts to buffalo wing sauce. If it makes you both horny and hungry, I’ll have done my job.
“It’s only when you appreciate how closely smell is linked to memory that you understand why some men love sniffing women’s panties.”
“When you think about it, the line between foreplay and tickling has to be blurred for either to work.”
“Morning sex will either make you tired or wake you up, which makes it inherently more useful than coffee.”
“Wanting a lover who can be everything to you is like wanting everything they do to give you an orgasm.”
“The fact that making love makes both happiness and life means its the most basic form of multi-tasking.”
“The power of love can only ever be a mitigating factor when negotiating the prospects of anal sex.”
“Given the similar consistency between mayonnaise and semen, you can’t help but wonder if the person who created it had some weird kinks.”
I hope that helped everybody work up an appetite, among other things. Between the weather getting colder and the start of football season, my stomach is ready and eager to ingest all things coated in buffalo wing sauce. If my genitals wish to join the party, then that’s just a nice bonus.
The following is a round of sexy musings inspired by men in uniform. Specifically, it was inspired by a story that a woman told me years ago about how she had the hottest, sexiest night of her life thanks to a police officer. I wish I could share the details of that story, but I prefer to save it for one of my sexy short stories.
It’s no secret that many women find a man in uniform to be sexy. Why else would it be such a popular theme at male strip clubs? Many say power is an aphrodisiac and there’s even some science to support that. Someone who wields authority can both dominate and protect us. On some levels, we’re going to feel some level of intimacy from it. Some of it will be sexual and that’s what this musing celebrates.
We’re all born naked, equally vulnerable and universally weak. We all grow, pursuing many paths and following many passions. For a select few, there’s a special path with numerous obstacles. The work, the rigor, and the sweat impart special skills, weeding out weakness and expanding strength.
Finally, at the end of that path, those elite souls are affirmed. Over their naked, weak bodies they put on a uniform. They display to the world that they defied the odds. They became more than what their flesh alone can convey. They became soldiers, officers, and influencers. It was not given. It was earned.
A man who earns is a man willing to fight.
A man willing to fight is a man who can protect.
A man who can protect is a man with power.
Under the veil of that power, we feel safe. At the same time, we feel afraid. We look up at them. They look down at us. They can dominate, control, and overwhelm us. That fear can be confusing. The line between being afraid and being aroused blurs. Only through the uniform can we see the man behind the power.
Men with such power have to be strong. Men with such power have to be responsible. From their attire, alone, they tell us what they can do for us. If we respect their authority, we contemplate what they can do to us. Any man can exercise power. Only a select few can exercise true authority.
Men with authority don’t subdue. They dominate.
Men that dominate don’t make promises. They just act.
Men that act don’t just protect. They deliver.
We need only submit to their authority. We need only see that uniform and respect the power it conveys. They’ve earned that power. They’ve worked, trained, and toiled. Underneath, there can be no weakness or sloth. There can only be muscle and sinew. From there comes their strength. From their strength, they take us.
We need not resist. We need not desire otherwise. When they shed that uniform, they reveal they’re still men. Even without it, when they stand exposed as any other, the power remains. The strength that earned them that uniform doesn’t wane. It cannot be contained. It can only be channeled.
In that uniform, they are symbols of authority. Out of that uniform, they are conduits of it and we are the spark. They don’t ask. They demand . We don’t just comply. We submit. From their power and our respect, we create the most intimate of harmony.