She is a woman with a resilient heart and she wants a man to make her roar in the inside like the lioness she is at heart. She craves those thousand frolicking nerve impulses racing at once.  She wants cold hands that can make shivers run down her spine irrespective of the positions. She doesn’t want to be touched; she wants to be intimate, consumed and be reduced to ashes by its flames. She doesn’t want fake machismo; she wants dynamic panache, not a six inch hard on but a man who used his grey matter to think.  She doesn’t ramify sexiness into abs and Vs; intellect, a passion to delve more into something, the hunger for life turns her on. She doesn’t want a  nonchalant kiss, she wants her man to bite her hard and also listen to every fucking word that she speaks of; for she was the universe’s mouthpiece and not every man can be an astronaut. The scar on her nape is not just another hickey; it means for her to be the lioness breaking bed with her lion, basking in blazing passion. She wants to be kissed harder yet slower, the way she uses her words like wildfire in water. Fondling is trivial, she wants to be groped like he could hear her chest screaming his name and feel her heartbeat thrust on her skin. She wants her ribs to be felt, rubbed, caressed because he should have the idea of the cage that held her wild heart. As he feels her up, tears her VS lingerie apart, she is obtained even if shit costs her a month’s savings because she wants him to fall in love with the scars on her skin, the radiance of her complexion and the goosebumps that he is giving her. What she wants more than anything is for him to open up his soul to her as he unbuttons his jeans. In that moment, she’d know that he is not her one moment of catharsis, but they were intimate.  As he went lower, every square inch of her body ached to be kissed like she was lying naked in a meteor shower. She wants him to love every atom of her body.  The strong hold of his arms on her Plexiglas waistline wants him to be her spare spine. When his finger goes inside of her she wants him to gague the depth of her Gypsy soul. She prayed his eyes to indulge in pyrochemical romance with hers.  She can’t settle for anything less than being grinded, but in that instant the girth doesn’t count nor does the way he gyrates his pillar inside the cave… She counted the panting breaths like counting stars. With every thrust, she craved him to know more and every moan laid a new stone to the soul-meltingly passion they were building, that’s how she knows she can trust him with every long breath drawn in. She wants every nerve in her body to be shredded with impulses like those like there is no tomorrow. She likes things wet for she likes to believe in the idea of it not being merely chemical but alchemical. She doesn’t want to be fucked, even an inanimate dildo can do that, but be savagely seduced.  The spooing made her wander if he could telepathically decode her thoughts. That long last kiss would either mean a billboard sign affair or seal the night of fireworks. She is a woman she is the alpha and the omega, mercury and Neptune all at once. She is medusa disguised as virgin Mary.  She is the atom and she gets intimate, she has the whip to your monkey. She is the intimate to what you call intimacy, the goddess in sexgoddess and infinity.

 

 

Swarnali Patra.