Passionflower (NSFW)

I am sharing attention with my lover via text as my partner attends to me in the apartment, cooking meals punctuated by cuddles and kisses. I feel spoiled for attention. My heart is singing. And yet I feel the sadness tugging at me. I am disconnected, at the moment, from getting answers from All Unconditional Love, and I can feel it, like the colors of the world fading. So I hold onto images of my recent voyage to Phildelphia, as sustenance and gratitude, to tide me over until the static passes...

Caressing and tugging her spout while I touched myself, bringing us both to orgasm together. Her excitement and arousal as she watched me, pinching my right nipple with her right hand as I lay beside her, sucking her left breast. Her whimpering moans quickening as she approached climax and then came. Her nectar on my body. Her soft, plush bed and luxurious fabrics; her long, thin, black sash that she ties into a bra over her budding breasts by day, tangled about her body like silken bondage. Her mermaid hair coming loose as I pulled it. The way she caressed the tip of my tongue with hers in the way that makes my clit tingle. Union.

We had spent the evening at the Philly's weekly Radical Faerie yoga-heart circle-potluck, flirting and touching each other as we made the rounds, her weekly ritual and my one-night voyeurism. The first thing she said to me as I walked in the room was "I have a plum, two peaches, and a nectarine." Foreplay.

I had brought my faerie big sister with me, to revisit her community of four years. First on her agenda was showing off her new boobs to friends and family. At one point I had gotten up from doing yoga to cross the threshold into the kitchen, and I heard a song lyric floating up from the speakers: "I can show you pleasures no mortal has ever known." I looked up and saw my faerie big sister, 6'3", clad head-to-toe in spunky athleisure, makeup perfect and hair just so, with her Wonder Woman necklace, nuclear-grade boobs and her Inanna-cum-Bionic-Woman forearm tattoo. Yessss bitch. My lover gave her a huge hug then and there, and my heart melted. Oh to be surrounded by femmes until the end of my days.

My lover is a flower. A passionflower. On the morning of our last day in Tennessee, the day after seeing the eclipse, I rolled over and said to her, "Usually, I'm the flower, and the other person is the bee. But you're the flower, and I'm the bee." She looked at me with her permanently coy expression and said, "Uh-huh."

I want to spank her, pull her hair, bite her, make her wail, fuck her with her rose quartz dildo, whisper dirty things in her ear, make her beg and scream and cum wildly, thrashing, and then hold her, caress her, tell her sweet things, like that she's beautiful, and that her ecstasy fills me with pleasure. I want to send her to the caverns of subspace and bring her back again. I want to swaddle her and hear her secrets. I want to hold her as she cries.

On Friday afternoon, after a morning filled with errands and domestic affairs, I took her back to bed and rolled my body on her belly until the scar tissue around her transplanted liver heated up, releasing stagnation. She winced and moaned and belched in pain. Then she became aroused, narrating dirty scenes to me as she imagined me getting fucked and giving head to unknown others as I rolled on her belly. I love her perverted mind and its endless permutations. I love hearing her fantasies about me.

She asked me if I had had much experience with group sex. I looked at the cat, her runt-sized elderly tortoiseshell tabby with arthritic legs, purring away on the edge of the bed as I rolled my body on my lover. The cat had wanted to be on the bed last night as Pashi and I connected, but she had trouble jumping. My lover gauged my feelings about our interloper, and, seeing that I was nonplussed, brought her up. I had bumped into the cat multiple times in the night. Was this group sex? What about the time with my lover and I shared a mango on a rock in an Appalachian river? Was that group sex? Mango-à-trois? What is group sex when you're an ecosexual? When your kink is fruit?

I told her no. Her eyes glinted as her mind worked over.

Chloé Rossetti