Photo by Rick Legal
It’s not what you do or how you do it. It’s not a move or even a technique. Forget the physical part of sex because in the root programming of your male mind, you think this is what we women want.
It’s what you say or write and so much more. It’s the words that come from your mind that stir our insides and arouse. We start with the mind and end with the mind. What happens in between is the physical ramp to the end result you men desire.
“Fuck my mind”, if that sounds foreign or silly it’s because you not rehearsed in the female psyche and this goes for women who feel they are frigid and blocked from achieving an orgasm, get your mind fucked.
The problem is not the lacking of words, it’s the skill of doing such an act. Saying you are going to “cum” in me is a horrible choice of words. “Cum is a noun not a verb” as @RemittanceGirl will scream from the top of her caps lock.
Mindfucking is an art. Not everyone was meant to do it. There’s a subtlety and deep knowledge to the process. It’s a mental flirtation that leads to the female’s physical response. When I read something that gets to me, I always take in a breath as if that sentence stole it away from me. There is so much behind the personality of the mindfucker. You have already won me over in one way or another with public writings or even tweets or how you react to others. One man telling me he wants to fuck me versus a man I want telling me he wants to fuck me is like night and day. There’s a physical reaction without even laying one finger on flesh. My skin starts to burn, my heart rate increases and my breathing interrupted. There’s a very physical response to a mental stimulation. Women are heady (if you are punning the word “heady” stop because you’re already in the wrong direction) and need a mental seduction. It takes some homework as well. Luckily for most men I interact with, they simply read through my blog to get this sense of me to work with. He knows what makes me tick and wet. This exchange grows and to the point just seeing their name or email address sitting in bold in my inbox is enough to steal my breath. The anticipation of reading and savoring every word and punctuation. The burning images that rest between my legs. That is when filthy words are verbal rubs against my g-spot and small growls and grunts are wet panties.
The mindfuck doesn’t stop at written or spoken words for me. A song can mindfuck with lyrics or the voice or the rhythm of the music. A smell can mindfuck with the scent of a neck or when a person is in proximity. Sight can be a mindfuck with a body part or almost hidden tattoos or even dark eyes. It’s a process for me and starts with how you expose yourself to the world. How you walk, how you talk and how creative your mind is. There’s no real formula to this seduction of the mind because everyone is different. Just like there’s no real formula to a blow job. It takes experience, awareness and communication.
The best thing I can offer is a very personal example. The very beginnings of how this man owned me with his words:
I’m sure I could have waited and taken my nap and then leapt-up to write you an email (of which, the only reason I do like [redacted] is because of what happened this afternoon, with you: I could see when you read what I wrote and I can’t tell you how hot that made me; how tormented I was with anticipation; secretly aroused behind my work desk). But alas, I am here – madly, hotly, wildly aching, throbbing and yearning. It is a strange and wonderful kind of torture to know that we are a thousand miles apart – with me only knowing that you are somewhere, anywhere, in California.
I have now been reading your words, on your WordPress page(s), off and on all afternoon – becoming breathy and lightheaded in this intellectualized hyper-sexuality that you have spun me into (is this your web?). All afternoon, I have been stroking my cock in my pants at work (hardly getting to the sending of the first email to you because of my enchantment) and the whole car ride home; and finally, now: I’m naked and on my bed with a camera in-hand; clean-shaven all the way down to my ass with my new favorite neoprene cock ring on…
I am shuddering and pulsing with a colorful erotic energy in my gallop through your mind.
And while some of your current interests differ wildly from mine – yours are the first that I have really been able to read for quite some time; and I’m lapping them-up as fast as I can. It’s your pace and diction and sense of articulation and passion and how-bad-you-need-it.
Even from here, in [redacted], I can taste you.
So, thank you. Well done.
But the most intriguing component is that I feel some transferability in all that you write about your robust sexuality; some analogy about the rest of your life and how you move through this fluid continuum, with vibrance.
For me, anything less is unacceptable.
The truth? I want to molest you with my hands and cock and mouth and fingers and squeeze everything gorgeous from you with my body as your vice-grip and press – I want to hear the words come from your mouth and lick and suck on your lips after every intoxicating sentence – as though juices were dripping from your mouth, instead of syllables.
Honestly, in a space where I could typically feel as though I am moving too fast and I have no idea what’s going on right now… That’s precisely it: I am stricken in some fantastic way by you and your words and your style – as though your poison has already set-in. And now I only want to come out of my mouth – from the back of my mind, instead of from my throbbing cock. And I can only think of you, taking my come – in your mouth, and having it spank the back of your mind like you are being choked until you are hot in the eyes and tears streaming down your cheeks.
I want everything to spill-out before you: my passions, heat, intensity, needs, desires, theories, experiences, loves, lust, secrets (oh I have a ton). I don’t know why. I just know that I want to.
There are a million things to say here…
I want to see you. Hear you: moan, laugh, cry, wail, whimper, sigh, speak, talk, shout, love, lick, suck, fuck, groan, come. I want to know you. More. Now. Please.
You are slaying me.
As always, for more deviant, follow Gracie’s Playground