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| Coherent thoughts. I know, I know, unrealistic. But sometimes you just have to reach into that black abyss and grasp at the impossible. It can happen, people! It can! All you have to do is reach out and grab onto the dream.
I’ve discovered over the years that I am quite opinionated and overly picky when choosing a woman I might wish to spend time with. Not going to change, by the way. I actually prefer to be picky, finding it leaves little smiley faces on the canvas of my psyche.
I am a voracious reader (currently over 1100 books on amazon kindle) and love intelligent conversation/debate. Being physically active is a pleasure, enjoying hiking and time at the gym as well as various other activities; I can also just as easily relax in a sauna or watch a movie. I love getting a massage and yes, I am modestly skilled at giving them. It has always been something of an addiction for me, the pleasure of exploring the female body with my hands. Finding the erogenous zones on the her skin and tormenting her with touch; Mixing pleasure and pain to find the razors edge where upon I play to my games. Bringing the sounds pouring from her lips, a gasp, a scream, a moan or sigh mixed perhaps with a tear trailing across her cheek.
I’m a thinker and a dreamer, a poet and a hunter of pleasure. I prefer the cool breezes of a summer’s night over the glare of the summer’s sun; enjoying the wooded trails of the mountains over the sands at the ocean’s edge.
To match me, I’ve sought a woman of balance; Mind, heart and body. Eyes filled with intelligence and warmth of spirit, a nose tipped up to draw in the scents of the world around her instead of in arrogance and condescension. Her Skin would be soft to the touch; ready to embrace a fingers caress or the kiss of a leather strap with equal rapture as she kneels before me. Hair of soft silk whether long or short, whispering through my fingers in falling waves or grasped in my fists tight control. Her breasts full and ready, to be offered up in supplication as much for the brush of lips as the sharp pain of teeth and lash. The moist cleft between her thighs always bare and ready for use as nature intended; its lips swollen with desire and softly parted while thoughts of service float through her mind.
Picky, picky, picky.
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