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Tuesday, 20 November 2012

Freak on a Leash


Raquel was late in returning from her outride, the soft sticky Noordhoek air still clinging to her body as she slowed Triton down to a trot, and then a reprieving stride. Each day her rides with Triton had grown a little longer, and stretched a little later into the orange dusk that so delicately rested along the Cape horizon. She liked to tell Gerard it was the coming of night air that required her absence in his house, the quiet rhythm of hooves against sand that brought her back to neutral and ultimately to him. The lies unfolded with uncomfortable ease, their only tell being the rose hue that spread across her chest and the slight surrender in her emerald eyes, that she consciously cast to the floor in her delivery. But tonight there would be no need for this pretence.

The light from the stable was already on, and she could see his silhouette now, lifting fork-fulls of hay into Tritons feed. In the growing darkness, her mind filled in the blanks… imagining the smell of the horses, the sweat in his hairline and the musk of his aftershave. She wondered if he would help her off her horse again tonight and go back to work, or if, in Gerard’s absence, he would finally satiate the building hunger she could no longer hide from him. She handed Phillip her crop and helmet, and felt her fingers digging into the grooves of his hard shoulders as he lifted her off the stallion and into his arms. She thanked him and allowed the strap of her top to fall as she walked towards the homestead, her anticipation finally interrupted by his worn working hands, wrapped around her wrist. “Wait, Raquel” he said; his eyes unable to take themselves off of her robust curves and cascading auburn locks. He loved how they danced along her collarbone, inviting his lips to taste what they had for so many years, yearned for. With all the words she knew waiting to explode out of her mouth and in between the two moonlit figures, Raquel was speechless. His hands fled from her hands to her waist and then down to her riding boots. He unzipped them gently, and removed her socks, her feet now absorbed into the cold wet grass. With dangerous confidence, he rubbed the soles of her feet and began embracing her ankles, planting kisses along her calves as if he’d dreamed of it every day he’d worked, in the last 3 years, as her stable master. Raquel had never had another man’s lips wrapped around her toes, his tongue hinting mischievously at his intentions for her - but then… Raquel had never had another man.

And that’s where I’m going to leave you… in the stables, with Raquel’s toe in Phillips mouth? Yes. Yes I am going to do just that.
For some of us, the idea of having someone’s foot in our mouth or vice versa is about as erotic as sorting through garbage for the spoon you accidentally threw away with your leftover goulash. It’s a little… icky. But who are we to judge what the next person thinks is sexy, after all aren’t we all harbouring some kinky tendencies when it comes to what really turns us on? Show me someone who blatantly disagrees and I’ll show you a liar.
While getting ready to attend Jacks sailor themed birthday party, Mimi, Dax and I (appropriately inappropriately dressed in Sailor costumes) were talking about the idea that everyone has a degree of freak inside them.
Dax: “You know girl, something I’ve learnt is that most guys are not born with a natural freak in them. It takes a while to bring it out. I’ve even walked out on a guy, who just.couldn’”
Mimi: “She’s not kidding, she literally left him stark naked in bed.”
Me: “That’s so rock star.”
Dax: “I know. But here’s the thing, some people have a freak inside waiting to come out. Some people are brave enough not to ever hold it back. And some people….”
Me: “Are happy with two pokes in the missionary position.”
Mimi: “You two are freaks!”
Dax and I: “And proud of it!”
With a room full of Seamen (pun intended), including mine, I looked around wondering what sexual secrets hid behind that curtain we draw quietly across all our inner most desires, so no one can see. Perhaps Jake and Josh are swingers, maybe all that the girl in the bikini wants - is to be called a dirty slut, maybe Dan likes his orgasms in public… who knows, maybe I do too. And then there are those fetishes that I can’t wrap my head around – the guy who likes drinking breast milk from the source, for example. I guess there must be some sort of scale of freaky-deakiness that we allow ourselves to slide up and down on, fast, slow and sometimes a little rough.
That night I lay awake in bed, thinking about my inner freak and how much of it I am prepared to let run free off of its leash. My motto has always been, “I’ll try anything once” but in retrospect, perhaps it’s not always that easy. What happens when you allow new things or extra people into your bedroom? Can we allow ourselves to still be ladies on the street and freaks in the bed when our hearts are so intricately entwined in our panties? How do we play nice when it comes to raising the freak flag on our sexuality?
The answer, or maybe the start of it, came to me the next day as we lay on my couch, about to drift away.
Me: “There’s this spot on my arm, the inner part of my elbow. It’s so sensitive to any kind of touch – I’d love it if you kissed me there. I think it’d really turn me on…”
With a smile and peaking curiosity, he kissed me.
Me: “There’s a few other spots I like too…”
My Guy: “Show me - you don’t ask, you don’t get”
Me: “Well, in that case….”

“Stop!” she said, catching him quite off guard. Phillip shrunk into himself, mortified by his premature lusting for her and the milky smooth foot that slid softly away from his cheek. He stood up, his engorgement no longer discretion, and began to walk away with dampened spirits, a mere mortal in her shadow. He turned back for one more gaze; he never wanted to forget this night, the night he was almost brought to ecstasy by a red headed whisperer.  She stood against the light of the stable, now completely naked with eyes that begged for him to come back to her. Her hand wrung around the leather crop he’d let fall to the floor. “Come inside”, she said. “I want you at least twice before I see the sun.” Before he could hesitate, she thrust the crop down into the hay, sending tendrils into the air and about her thighs. “Is that going to be a problem?” she asked. He smiled, his blood rushing back to his cheeks, “No, mam” he replied.

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