Isn't she lovely?

I believe there are some things that cannot be seen with the lens of a video camera or the snapshot of a high-quality photo. I often think of moments in my past I wish I could watch from the perspective of a third person, relive that instant in time to remember why and how it shaped my future. Do I channel my life energy through the eyes of others, or is it that I view my milestones in self evolution in the way I delight the women in my life? I simply cannot say for certain, but I do know that some of the richest moments I can recollect involve such special individuals.

I remember my first insatiable kiss with the girl up the street from where I lived; this was the first time I felt the desire to connect with a woman in ways I didn’t quite understand at the time. I felt at that moment, if she asked me for anything in the world I would have gladly given it to her. This was my first and only moment of absolute surrender I can remember. This was also the first time I could read the thought of a young lady by her physical gestures and not having to say a word. I looked into her eyes that suddenly seemed deeper and more vivid then the sky at night. I have never had this happen to me again, it was the first and only time in my life.

Then there was my first seduction of a young woman; a time that I knew what to do and when to do it because everything just seemed so right. This was a succession of events that could never be planned by anyone unless destiny decreed it by supernatural means. The way her waist fit perfectly in my grasp, the arch of her back, the angle our eyes happened to meet; as if were two pieces of a puzzle where being put together. This was a moment when things I wanted to say came to me effortlessly, and a kiss from me to her was preordained to occur on equal terms, 50/50; speaking of the very same girl whom wouldn’t give me the time of day just a few days ago.

It’s moments like the first time I felt a girl melt in my arms when I held her close to me. The very same moment I decided I wanted to protect her from any and everything that would cause her harm; the moment I truly felt like a man. There was even the time I felt soft at heart when the girl who adored me came running and jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist; a moment I felt needed, loved and appreciated. I can remember more vividly the time I saw her eyes light up when I stepped into the room when we had been apart form a short time. These are things I think about every-so-often, days I wish I could relive in some way.

Most of all I miss the first time I heard the soft panting and eager moaning of one young girl when her soft behind touched my groin, and the aroused and thoughtless grinding motion she engaged in for reason I can’t explain; the thought of her disregarding her skirt gradually lifting up and the blatant fact that there was an audience watching her every action. I can remember with clarity the things she said to me that I had only thought existed in theater; the surreal motions her body moved that felt as if she wanted to connect with me in ways that where not humanly possible. I had never felt so needed or desired in such a way. This is truly an instance in time that stands alone.

I will also never forget the first time my girlfriend reached an orgasm of likes I had never seen before. All I wanted to do was let her know I was there for her, a secure handle for her to grasp to as her body took her on a ride I still do not fully understand. The look she gave, as her high began coming down, the smile of eternal satisfaction, the look she had as if a great thirst had been quenched are all instances of a meta-reality I truly believe can never be captured or contained. It saddens me to know that these are just moments; moments I can only remember and never get back. Could it be, I can never get them back because they never truly belonged to me? I can’t say for certain.

For now, all I can do is wonder. Even though the women in my life where beautiful in many ways, these moments I shared with them were simply lovely; in those still moments in time that I can remember their faces were even lovelier.

-Shaum

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Just a Taste.

Yeah, you know what I mean. It’s that sticky situation you get yourself into when you think you’re strong enough to take a little and leave the rest alone. We’ve all been there once or twice, maybe even three times. I’ve been in this situation too many times to count, and I’m not proud of it, but I can’t say I regret it either.

Why do I get tangled into this crazily weaved web time and time again? I’ll tell you why; it’s because I remember all-too-well the times I walked away from a good thing and slapped myself for it later. I guess I figured, “why not slap yourself for consequences now rather then for the not knowing later?” It’s a flawed philosophy, I know, but I can’t really say I missed out on much anymore.

This evil temptation seems to be a two-way door; you can even tempt others, rather then being the tempted. Sly little invitations like “just one time” or “just a little bit” can seem so innocent when you know the deed is wrong already, but somehow the implication of a brief encounter or small morsel of tribute can seduce even the most righteous individual; and in that “little bit” or that “just once” can span an extended encounter of grief and guilt sure to follow.

Oh, but it is the tempter who already understood this from the beginning. They savor the entire “dessert” when requesting only the cherry on top. In principle, they become “the beggar who only wanted a nickel who in the end received a fortune”. The person who let their guard down pretty much knew what was going to happen; they secretly just hoped they could escape the consequences that came afterward. However, there are those strange instances where there is no guilt, and both the tempter and the tempted are both left grinning.

It is these rare occasion that I dwell in, not because they are few, but because they are invigorating. It’s the idea of two individuals doing a very wrong and immoral thing, enjoying it, getting away with it and not feeling guilty about it. My oh my, things can really get messy when a taste-test becomes a binge, and it’s even better when it tastes so good you suck your fingers and lick the plate.

But, when it makes your mouth water… to the point you want to share what you taste with the other person, as if they couldn’t possibly understand any other way, that’s the point of no return. Expect life to throw a lot of sour lemons at you for a very long time. I guess you make lemonade after that, right? Good luck! [Laughing]  -streetPoet007

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Cookin’ witcha’ boy.

There was a lot that needed to be done that day, I was on a roll, shakin’ this, bakin’ dat; it was like clockwork. There’s no tellin’ what I might do when I’m in the kitchen, but I hookz it up er’y once in a while, just ask around. On one occasion I was told how good my cooking smells by a cute young thing, a bit taller then me by a couple inches; supreme in stature. I particularly liked her because she was straight forward, honest, and an all-around good girl. I promised er’ I’d let her share the kitchen with me one day, and I did.

Most people might not know this, but cookin’ is a very sensuous act of recreation, if not done properly in both initiation and completion, some things just might seem a little off. You see, me, I put love in ma’ cookin; I take ma’ time, let things marinate, season ever so lightly and allow the food to take a life of its own. The smell that comes from what I’m cookin’ is created by the constant state of one ingredient try’n ta absorb the other, even ‘hough they’re two different things.

That day, the smell was like an aphrodisiac, I could see er’ sweatin from the heat of the stovetop, and rollin’ er’ neck around like she was feelin dizzy. I swear every time she did that, I wanted to just go over to her and rub ma finger over it. I wanted to ask her the universal question “er’thing alright?”, but I was feeling the effects too, and when I rolled ma neck around, I saw er’ look at me in a way that made the kitchen seem warmer then it already was. She bit down on her lip and tuned away from me to grab the colander.

I couldn’t help myself, I felt ma’ body glide’n over to where she was at, and I just scooped her up in ma arms; I could feel her fall into me like she belonged der’. When she showed her neck to me again, I just had to bite it, so I did, but just a little. It was like she was makin’ a special sauce of ‘er own, I could taste it off ‘er throat; it was mild but yummy; a flavor I had never come across before. I could feel er’ tremble with starvation for something more heavy on her stomach and when she push’d her backside into me, I pretty much knew what it was.

Have you ever tried to entertain a lady an’ stir marinara sauce at the same time? If you haven’t, you should.

-Shaum

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Victoria’s Secret.

When I found out what it was, it hit me like a Mac Truck, better yet, it hit me like a punch from Kimbo Slice. I mean damn, “Is it like that?” I thought. You see, there was a time when I thought things in life where pretty simple, either you where doin’ your thing or you weren’t; it was supposed to be that easy. Come to find out there where more levels to it. You could also be doin’ your thing or doin’ it big as well. Since I wasn’t even doin’ my thing, how would I know doing it “big” ever existed?

As a 'decided' master of destiny, I made a choice to start doing ma’ thing; even though it took me a while to catch on to how the game was played, I did rather well for a guy with no role models to teach me. All the things I ever learned where from my momz and the company of women, so the advice I got was pretty useless. There was no real-world environment where the techniques they showed me would work, and I only ended up losing out on good things.

So what am I talkin’ bout? I’m speakin’ on premium grade, I’m discussin’ diamond status, I’m talkin’ jewelry report, and I’m professing the highlife to all who are listenin’. I’m talkin’ bout Victoria’s Secret. Now mind you, this was new to me, and I’m sure there are many of you reading this who already knew the secret and have already moved on to the next thing, but me, no no no, I wanted to stick around for a while and enjoy the splendor it had to offer.

In the world of vanity, everything tastes so damn good; unfortunately it all has a price, and boy is that price f**kin’ high. It’ll cost you an arm, a leg, and a kidney. Can’t speak for no one else but myself, but I must say I have had a taste from time to time for no money down. I mean, I’m not the most elaborate creation God made, but I sure can max-out every-so-often. Damn can I ever play the cards I was dealt when it counts, and sometimes the suit I was stitched in looks impressive to even myself.

I think my expectations have taken a turn for the worse when I was introduce to grade-A honey pots, but don’t think I’m not working on myself with introspective endeavors. It’s just that when you taste ambrosia, apples and oranges seem so-so. I guess I really do have to adjust my goggles and see things for what they are, but I have put forth effort in vain; could just be something I’m doing wrong though. You just never know with things like this, life gets confusing on this level.

So the moment of truth comes when I have to decided if I want to Blackmail Lady V. and play the game to win, or do I retain my integrity and keep strikin’ out hopin’ to hit a homerun like I’ve been doing. It’s tempting to just take the cake, eat it, and then have ice cream afterward, but I don’t know if I could look in the mirror after I did such a thing; skipping steps is what hurt me the most, I went from not doin’ a damn thing, to doin’ it big, from crawling to f**kin’ flyin’.

It’s not like Victoria made it easy for me, she was actually quite mean at times. I’ve never been the type to hold a grudge though, so I guess I’ll just wait on it for a bit; my patience is wearing thin though.

-Shaum

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I'm in love with a stripper.

No not really, but I must say that these kinds of girls seem to gravitate toward me. I don’t get it; all I ever wanted was a nice classy girl who is as crazy about me as I am about her. All I seem to run into are heartless, shameless women who only want one thing. It’s so common now that I don’t even bother trying to hook up with a classy girl anymore; it always turns out the same way. I mean, I have good conversational skills, I compliment in the best ways, and I’m a good listener. Where the hell did I go wrong?

I really miss middle school and high school, those where some of my most bittersweet years. I admit, school did suck, a lot, but the girls where pretty awesome at that time. I always ended up hooking up with a girl from a different school then me, but it was still a great time for me. Unfortunately I never had the best luck, so something horrible would always happen before I could enjoy the rewards of a good relationship, but the fact that the girls where so much more aggressive back then was great. I mean, I really hate feeling as if I’m making some random girl miserable by trying to get to know her when she just wants to be left alone, but I mean, it’s not like she’d come to me yourself right?

I guess I’m just not selfish enough to be with a classy woman, and maybe I want certain ingredients to mix that just won’t in real life. Strippers are aggressive, they move in ways that make me snake hiss, and they just know what to say, when to say it and how to say it. They tend to be the most gorgeous creatures alive, but their hearts are practically made of stone. You can forget about getting them to open up their hearts to you; that shit just won’t happen.

I can’t really say I’ve been hurt by a stripper girl, but I do tend to get attached and have to remind myself that there is nothing there but a good time for as long as it lasts. I want more then that, and these sexy divas from exotic dancers to runway models are just too coarse. Does this mean that all the girls who have the smallest ounce of interest in me are only the ones who are beyond loving? Do I only attract the heartless harpies of the earth or what?

I just want to feel free to be crazy about a girl and know it’s not a feeling that is misplaced. Any girl who might actually be wife material doesn’t seem to want to have the least amount to do with me. So what do I do? I can’t make someone love me. I guess as a Jersey boy, I take some getting used to, but I don’t want to be an acquired taste. This is bullshit, and my heart is just lying in my chest being unused. It would be cool to have a nice girl who is just crazy about me, and I can be crazy about her and have it grow to something amazing.

Until then, I’m just some guy who certain types of girls want to f**k and we go our separate ways, be someone’s cougar bait, or just be some poor girls rebound. “I want to be the guy”, is that too much to ask for? Until then it’s strippers, models and fast @$$ girls for me, until I somehow get better pheromones workin’ in my favor; such a sad existence for a guy who just wants to love someone, but simply isn't allowed to.

So I guess I’ll just have to settle for something more exotic, and not in a good way either.

-Shaum