Reader thechesterfield graciously writes:
As promised, I am writing to answer your inquiry of wanting to know a few things about yours truly. To quote you, the fantastic writer, “what turns you on, what stiffens your pearl, what moistens your lips? I don’t even know how you consume my delicate words. In bed, in a bath, in a comfy lounge chair? Nor do I know how such pleasure is delivered. With fingers or toys or amiable boys?”
So how do I tackle this? You’ve basically asked me the quintessential question I least like answering! What turns me on? I don’t think about “what turns me on” in a sexual or pornographic way, it’s more about the other person and whether they are true. I think if someone is true to themselves and their desires, the sexuality and lust is undeniable. It distills into a few very simple things: authenticity, sensuality, and intimacy… You be you, let me be me, let’s use all of our senses to experience and enjoy each other…
My ”pearl” reacts to someone who is intelligent, creative, and has a great sense of humor with just the right amount of devious perversion. My sexual imagination flips like a photographic journal: Him with a drink in his hand, Him as he leans that certain way to shave, Him writing a love letter, Him throwing a map on the table and pointing to all the places he’s been (or wants to go), Him being Him, the intentional or casual expression behind his movement. I can’t explain it any other way, if I have those simple things, the realness of his masculinity meeting the genuineness of who I am, what we do sexually has the potential to be amazing and unique to Us. It’s about the intimacy we create with one another that isn’t and will never be the same with anyone else, and we can make any of our desires possible. To recognize, feel, and experience someone’s potential….rawr. I know, kind of abstact, huh.
Now, how do I consume your words? I’ve tasted them while curled up on my sofa and savored them in the tub. I’ve relished them lazing in bed on a quiet afternoon or while sitting in a crowded NYC subway. Typically I read a story all the way through and no matter how tantalizing your words and how they change the way my body feels, I abstain from anything naughty, I just want to enjoy the words and what you’ve written because as a reader that’s how I honor them.
Then afterward, maybe the next day or a week later, I come back and begin re-reading. I allow my imagination to fill in some of the space; I might see myself in the story and enjoy it as if it’s happening to me, or I might be a voyeur and get a sexy thrill just watching whomever I’ve put into the characters you’ve created. Either way, there always comes that moment when your words must be abandoned and my memory of your story, along with fingers and toys (amiable boys, perhaps someday) takes over.
The best writing allows me as a reader to let everything else go; the common relentless repetition of a day, the stress in my life, the worries over things I can’t control, drift away and the story you’ve created fills the space. When I can read something that can completely envelope me, rearrange the way I move, cause electrical impulses, make my breath heave and sigh, bring forth the erotic changes my body knows, I know I’ll achieve a pleasurable feeling that washes away whatever it was on my mind. Simply, it’s the escape. That’s why one of the most erotic things to me is being read to by a lover. It could be a fairytale, a book I enjoyed as a child, a letter they recite, something erotic or something mundane, His voice can be one of the most soothing and safe places in the world.
I’m not sure if that’s the answer you were looking for or expecting, but it’s the one I had today. Tomorrow, I might answer in the smuttiest way possible explaining in salacious detail the pinching of nipples and spreading of legs. You just caught me on a more thoughtful, in my brain kind of day.
