Corridors of Abstract

Subject: Corridors of Abstract Fri Jan 23, 2009 2:20 pm

Corridors of Abstract

___Disclaimer: This work is raw and emotionally true. It hides nothing and tells everything it feels should be told to explain each event in its fullest. There is no plot, except that of exploration, and no moral but reflection itself. Expect neither literary value nor reasonable censorship. You have been warned. It is also filled with contemplations about the meaning of certain behaviours and other distractions that may prove tedious to the small-minded reader. Do not attempt to enjoy this work intellectually, though perhaps some might enjoy it lustily. Again I contemplate, as evidence to this point. Oh, and it is written in present tense for no reason that I can explain; it simply came out like that, perhaps because it allows better expression of my feelings rather than some emotions later recalled.

___A dark corridor stretches into the darkness before me, passages winding off at irregular spacing and angles. Occasionally a doorway presents itself in the grey walls of this magnificent matrix, each with its own particular design; each individual in size, shape and colour, and each with a label of its own. Some doors remain unlabelled; others, unoccupied.
___I am utterly naked in this place, and the flagstones below my feet are cold to the touch. I am unsure as to where my cloths have ender up, or perhaps always I am totally exposed when exploring these dark recessed. I am unsure, but moving in my own self-image I feel strong and at ease, but, to the contrary, I feel at the moment that I lack a little confidence, perhaps as a result of this absence of surety. In fact, I realise that it is my lack of surety that causes doubt in my confidence; of that, I am sure- this, I know.
___In the reflection of a nearby mirror- oddly placed, I note, and labelled “Vanity” - I see my face. My hair now verges on light brown, but in stronger light it seems very blond, and in certain intensities its colour hints at auburn. I feel glad to have such unique hair, though I feel it could do with a trim. My face, I see, is masculine, for the most part, except that my eyes have a softness to them that breaks from that maleness as they sit calmly beneath a fringed mane. I inspect my eyes closer to see two bright ovals, in the centre of each is a black-cored ring of colour; turquoise and filled with asymmetrical patterns that are emotionally rousing to see. I am happy with the way I look, as I turn now away from my self-inspection to continue with my journey. My stride is strong and confident
___As I traverse the corridors, I find that the only light to play feebly amongst the stonework is my own. Albeit this is my own doing, for I recall that many months ago I extinguished every other light that lined the corridors in hope that I could hide from myself in the darkness. Alas I failed, and now I find myself stopping a while at each wall-bound torch I find to let its oil-soaked head sing warm and bright in the touch of my candle’s tender flame.
___Eventually I come to a door that particularly interests me- a door that, though shut, hands unsteady on its hinges. The door is heavy and ironbound- reinforced with extra strength- yet simultaneously, and almost paradoxically, it seems to have taken heavy damage not from without, but within. My light gleams through cracks in the door and the sight is too varied and colourful to describe. I look again to the door itself: its label reads “Emotion” and the bolt is shut, yet the faint odour of melancholy drifts like thick, grey smoke from a splintered crack. I remember now from whence those breaches came: many months ago, before I’d locked that door, anger and rage made haste to break out in response to the meddlings of confusion and doubt. Aided by impatience, they hacked away at the door and broke loose to wreak havoc on my world. Though I now have those emotions under control, I have not yet bothered to make repairs to the door. I wonder if, perhaps, I could do with some help, though I realise that, in the end, none will be willing to do what is only my duty.
___I have no will to open that door for now and embrace the good and the bad, so I pass on. Down a short side passage not far from Emotion, I come to a set of doors that interest me. The first is beautifully lacquered in a deep, glossy red, and inside I can hear obviously the feminine moans of earthly delight. The label reads “Desire”. Yet to the right I see another door, glossy and black, and through this I can swear to hear the same sounds as from the first, though muffled and hushed. Curious at this, I open the door and step in, taking note that only the red door is locked, but not this one. I glance briefly at the label as I enter, written in an elaborate script: “Temptation”, it reads.
___Inside, I come across a curious room much like the others I have seen before on my travels. Here I find a series of doors leading off, I assume, into other rooms. I do not take note of their labels, for one door has already taken my interest: it is a red door identical to one I had seen outside for Desire, and the label itself matches. Through here I hear those lustful sounds as audibly as I had when listening at the red door outside, and I hastily move to close the door behind me and then to open that second door.
___Inside is a sight for sore eyes. As I step through the door, I find a room whose walls and carpet are as deep a red as the door, whose dim, white light is moody and whose entertainment is truly desirable. In the far corner, I find the source of that heavenly sound. On a soft, large, crimson bed lays a sight of utter beauty. I approach quickly, my heart craving. She is a small girl in every respect, but not so short to make her undeserving of admiration. Quite to the contrary, her size makes her something unique to be desired. In every discernable way, she is beautiful, to which her size and manner add to make her cute. Her waist, hips, and stomach are all proportionate to a woman, yet in the same meaning are as petite as the rest of her. She looks over and seems pleased to see me, removing her hand from where it had pleasured her. Her beautiful, pear-shaped breasts are large enough to be womanly without being cumbersome, and yield softly to my gentle caress as I move across the bed to her and cup them in my hands. I move over her, and her lithe, slender legs wrap around my waist and then move their gentle, petite embrace along my legs to stroke the back of my shins with her feet. Even her feet are small, and I notice that she moves one of them more tenderly than the other.
___Now I look down upon her face, as one tender hand strokes my own with a loving caress; the other clings to my muscular shoulders on an exotically slim arm, then moves to stroke the rest of my own toned body. All this I enjoy, but as I look down upon her face, in which I can see the lust she has for me, I see the true aspect of her beauty. Her deep, almond eyes meet mine in a lustful stare, then dart away to inspect the rest of my body. She seems satisfied with her catch and kisses me with soft, red lips that are gentler than a mountain stream. All her face is sharp and shapely- womanly- yet has a softness to it that in its unattainable beauty makes her seem in need of further persuasion, even as she pours all over me; she seems now much less the temptress that I first thought her and much more the girl that I could spend eternity with. It is odd how a single feature of her can inspire such strong ideas; somehow, every aspect of her look and manner holds a great depth of meaning. I distract myself by looking at her hair. It is, beautifully, a very dark brown, almost black in places and with enough variety in the colour to make it not plain. It is straightened, though slightly ruffled now, and her fringed locks are perhaps too short for some women- her hair cuts off midway down her neck- yet she seems to pull it off in a way that suggests long hair would make her less sexy. I wonder if, perhaps, sexual convenience is a subconscious reasoning behind the length of her hair.
___I quit examining her now and close my eyes to better experience the physical aspect of her slender body; her lithe limbs, slim waist and tender hands. I kiss her dainty neck in several places, the frantic return of my kisses showing that this she enjoys. I stroke her ivory skin; in every place, it is smooth to the touch. It is like alabaster; soft and white. I feel her firm breasts again; they are small- the perfect size to be cupped in each hand and stroked tenderly. I run my fingers over her soft nipples and they perk up- as does she, with her chest lifting off the bed and pushing longingly against me. I caress her slim waist and put my hands around her delicate hips to bring her closer to me, then I run my hands along the smooth and supple legs that she has intertwined with mine.
___I roll her over on top of me and kiss her, perhaps a little too roughly, to which she complains, in a voice so sweet that it all but compels me to treat her more delicately. I kiss her softly as my recompense and take to caressing the back of the beautiful girl that writhes above and atop me. My hands fall once again on the soft swells of her breasts, which I rub gently under a tender touch. One hand slides down her soft belly and between her legs, to settle where her own hand had been as I was arriving. With just one stroke of my finger upon that soft place- softer even than her lovely breasts- she quivers and falls to my side. She kisses me forcefully with yielding lips and scratches at my back with yearning fingers, as I softly stroke her where her groin swells. She does this until suddenly she moans in pleasure, and her kisses come between panting sighs and with shivering lips. Her high voice is shaky as she groans with delight and her hands tremble as they grab at my sturdy shoulders. Then she takes my hand from off her groin and pulls me bodily atop her and between her legs. She wraps those skinny limbs with mine and pulls our hips together with her hands about my waist, so that my now erect penis enters the warm, moist passage between her legs. We grind against each other and my penis moves back and forth within her; a sensation pleasurable to use both. She meets my eyes with a curled smile as she pulls me deeper inside her with her hands about the backs of my thighs. She lifts her waist off of the bed and rides her groin against mine, at which point a feeble cry escapes her trembling lips. With hands upon my shoulders, she draws me in and kisses me again. I push my groin against hers and move the shaft of my penis in and out of her soft, pink lips. I drop down with one bent arm under her writhing, supple neck and move the other hand to finger where I had touched before. I massage her soft, smooth clitoris gently and feel her shaven groin move under my touch, making her whole vagina slide along my shaft. Then I go in deep and she groans again, this time louder and more freely then before. I have found the spot to make her orgasm, and rub my hard penis against it, moving so gradually back and forth that I never leave contact with that pleasurable spot. Then I thrust in and out along with her lustful movements, each time returning to that spot to make her moan again in my ear. She tries to kiss me, but opens her mouth wide and groans as she pushed her whole body against mine. I feel the soft swell of her breasts against my muscular chest, her slim stomach against mine. Her silky legs move lustfully down mine and her shaven groin pushes against my grinding crotch and stroking hand. My fingers stroking her soft clitoris and my penis rubbing her from within, she writhed and twists beneath me, her hands and arms clutching randomly; running down my back or through my hair, thrown about my neck or across my shoulders, or clawing at my powerful arms. I feel the pleasure climax in my own body as my penis pulses and fluid surges into the beautiful girl beneath me. I keep grinding; her pleasurable cries increase in frequency and her breaths become sharper until all culminates into one long groan, higher pitched than the rest, in which she exhales all the air in her lungs, and her body moves against mine, trembling with her arms about my neck. She lies beneath me, breathless and gasping as I kiss her soft, quivering lips.
___I withdraw, and for some time we lay beside each other; exhausted, limbs intertwined, and she proclaiming her undying love for me; her gratitude for gratification. She is entirely worn out, but she kisses me occasionally as I stroke her beautiful, petite curves- warm and naked- beneath the covers of that luxurious, crimson bed. In these blissful conditions, we both drift off to sleep.

Subject: Re: Corridors of Abstract Fri Jan 23, 2009 2:21 pm

___I awake to find my girl stirring beneath my arms. I kiss her briefly on one tender cheek, but she shows only disinterest. I watch as she lithely leaves the bed and begins to put on the cloths she has scattered about the room. She does so clumsily, but with purpose, and seems now almost indifferent to my presence. Yet still I look upon her and admire what she is, even though she pays little heed to me. I see her body in full during the brief moment before she finds her first item of clothing and puts it on; a scanty black thong with frilly edges and small pink bows at each side of her waist. I appraise her true beauty and remind myself of the things that make her beautiful: she is womanly, yet petite in a way that makes her stand out as gorgeous among other women, who in her presence look considerably plainer. She embodies a perfect balance between cute and beautiful that can only be described as pretty. Indeed, I realise, she is pretty.
___At this point, I also begin contemplating why it is that we crave thin women. I wonder if, perhaps, it is a human instinct that we should want to protect women who look weak and unable to fend for themselves. Of course, in most modern societies, this aspect is negligible, as physical fitness does not necessarily imply survival, and yet the instinct remains well into the modern era. Either way, she is beautiful.
After logically concluding my contemplation, it is then that I turn to look at my girl. She has finished donning clothing and finally decides to look at me. I am given a quick smile before she turns away to leave. I call to her and ask that she stay, and she approaches me once again. I reach forwards and stroke her small waist, but she steps away after a few moments and I am left wondering at the strange inconsistency in her actions. I ask that she join me in bed, but she simply remarks that she feels insecure about her naked body and looks away. While I contemplate how someone with such beauty cannot recognise it herself, she turns and leaves through a door to my left. I quickly get out of bed and follow, stepping through a doorway whose sign I do not care to read. I feel far colder in this room, and the polished flags are again like ice beneath my feet. On a raised platform above me at the far end of the room, I see my girl enter from a side passage to meet with some male companion.
___I see her as a woman now, and less the girl. She holds herself with both the passion and the indecision of a woman- that I can see in her stride- and I find myself remarking how odd it is how women can so passionately pursue things that they are never really sure they want at all, and speak philosophies they have never learnt to understand or considered to doubt.
___I look at her, both with curiosity and longing. Although I have little interest for the boy with which she speaks, I am entirely perplexed by her actions and curious to know her reasoning. I am yet unclothed and she looks at me with admiration, winking, then turns back to ignore my gaze.
Eventually, she seems to become annoyed at my presence and points me in the direction of a door labelled “Regrets”. Her companion looks from me to the door, then the woman bends closer and whispers something in his ear. The companion laughs. She turns again to check whether I am still there, and with eyes meeting mine, she nods her head towards the door of Regret. She keeps her eye on me until I have my hand on the door, then I look back to see that she has turned away.
___I turn the handle and look in, and instantly I close the door. Inside are things I had hoped could be forgotten, yet here they were preserved for all to see: mistakes made, lapses in reasoning- all things that never should have happened and never will be repeated; all things done by a me that was not me, and not the man that I am now. Inside lay mistakes that would never be made again; the results of actions not thoroughly thought through, whose outcomes were wholly ignored or overlooked. I open the door again to face my problems.
___I look back to see my woman pointing mockingly over my shoulder, her companion laughing at my less-than-secret mistakes as she so freely points them out. I indicate a door behind her labelled “Secrets Told”, and she gives me an angry scowl that might have said in itself, “You wouldn’t.” I smile and make a suggestive glance at the door, then realise that the door behind me is still open and slam it shut. As if in response, I hear a few hefty blows being dealt a door in a distant hallway and remember to calm my mood. I then see my woman leave hand-in-hand with her companion through the doorless passage from which she had entered, and I, unable to scale the smooth sides of that platform- or stage, perhaps- rush into the nearest other door after her. To ensure that the room is not like the last, I check its label before entering: it reads, “Nostalgia”.