Hep hep...
Get hep and follow through...
Lord, I love Cab Calloway. I'm sitting in my seat at work, listening to Jumpin Jive, Minnie the Moocher, Hi De Ho Man... all my favorites. Before that on my playlist was Sir Mix a Lot. Square Dance rap and Jump on It are two of the best songs in the world to dance to. They grab your hips, pull them in tight, and rotate them like a record player, will you won't you. They really do, I promise. Just try keeping your pelvis stationary while listening to this music! Stress injuries will occur. I'm sitting here hoping nobody is still in the office, because my hips are riding my rolling chair like a pony. My belly muscles hurt from chair dancing. Good times.
Some of my favorite mental images? Fire dancing to this music. In my day dreams, I'm fluid in a way I'm just not in real life. My body turns into the flames it's manipulating, flowing from one form to the next in time to this primal rhythm. I can do it when I dance. I willingly lose control of my reflexes and just let the music take over. It starts in my head, but quickly flows into my blood, making its way throughout my body, pooling in my hips like liquid mercury, sheer centrifugal force sending my pelvis rotating in rhythm to the beat.
I haven't gotten to that point with fire dancing yet. I'm still stiff. I think a big part of it is these tools I'm using. If I could just light my fingertips on fire, I'd be good. But no, that's not very realistic. So, I have to work with these tools of kevlar rope and chain. And they're not mine yet. They haven't become extensions of my limbs. I should probably just practice more. I've always been prone to believe that if I'm not an instant master it's not meant to be. Silly.
Oh lord. MC Chris just popped up in my playlist. Fetts Vett. This shit is hilarious. And doesn't make me want to dance. Maybe kind of bop in place, but not dance. The words make me feel too cerebral, break up the physical patterns. And now it's Lady Gaga. I should be ashamed of that, but I'm not. I like her drum and bass background. I can dance to this. At a gay club, lights flashing and flickering, hands waving high over head, surrounded by gay boys and a sexuality that's got nothing to do with my cunt. It's refreshing.
Some of my favorite memories involve dancing in gay clubs, generally CCs. I brought a boy there once, Piper. He was pretty, and skinny, and had the energy of a fucking yappy puppy. We weren't really that into each other. Till we danced together. I don't remember what song it was, but we started swaying, our hips slapped into each other like we were oppositely charged magnets, and we started grinding in perfect rhythm. He pushed us harder, faster, till we were both panting and sweating. I remember looking into his eyes, my own full of challenge and the knowledge that I would win no matter how hard he pushed, and he looked so arrested. He also, foolishly, said "You might actually be able to keep up with me". I kept up with him, all right. And left the next morning in my cab, energized and happy, replete with his energy.
Sometimes I feel like a succubus. I'm sure I've said it before, but it freaks me out a little bit, how much energy I gain from others pleasure. That moment of anothers orgasm... I've cum just from that energy alone, dragged along screaming behind their pleasure. When the sex is good, when I'm connected to them and their connected to me, my energy is boundless. I can go for forever, each orgasm like a burst of energy feeding the next one. Mmm. Love it.
Lord, I love Cab Calloway. I'm sitting in my seat at work, listening to Jumpin Jive, Minnie the Moocher, Hi De Ho Man... all my favorites. Before that on my playlist was Sir Mix a Lot. Square Dance rap and Jump on It are two of the best songs in the world to dance to. They grab your hips, pull them in tight, and rotate them like a record player, will you won't you. They really do, I promise. Just try keeping your pelvis stationary while listening to this music! Stress injuries will occur. I'm sitting here hoping nobody is still in the office, because my hips are riding my rolling chair like a pony. My belly muscles hurt from chair dancing. Good times.
Some of my favorite mental images? Fire dancing to this music. In my day dreams, I'm fluid in a way I'm just not in real life. My body turns into the flames it's manipulating, flowing from one form to the next in time to this primal rhythm. I can do it when I dance. I willingly lose control of my reflexes and just let the music take over. It starts in my head, but quickly flows into my blood, making its way throughout my body, pooling in my hips like liquid mercury, sheer centrifugal force sending my pelvis rotating in rhythm to the beat.
I haven't gotten to that point with fire dancing yet. I'm still stiff. I think a big part of it is these tools I'm using. If I could just light my fingertips on fire, I'd be good. But no, that's not very realistic. So, I have to work with these tools of kevlar rope and chain. And they're not mine yet. They haven't become extensions of my limbs. I should probably just practice more. I've always been prone to believe that if I'm not an instant master it's not meant to be. Silly.
Oh lord. MC Chris just popped up in my playlist. Fetts Vett. This shit is hilarious. And doesn't make me want to dance. Maybe kind of bop in place, but not dance. The words make me feel too cerebral, break up the physical patterns. And now it's Lady Gaga. I should be ashamed of that, but I'm not. I like her drum and bass background. I can dance to this. At a gay club, lights flashing and flickering, hands waving high over head, surrounded by gay boys and a sexuality that's got nothing to do with my cunt. It's refreshing.
Some of my favorite memories involve dancing in gay clubs, generally CCs. I brought a boy there once, Piper. He was pretty, and skinny, and had the energy of a fucking yappy puppy. We weren't really that into each other. Till we danced together. I don't remember what song it was, but we started swaying, our hips slapped into each other like we were oppositely charged magnets, and we started grinding in perfect rhythm. He pushed us harder, faster, till we were both panting and sweating. I remember looking into his eyes, my own full of challenge and the knowledge that I would win no matter how hard he pushed, and he looked so arrested. He also, foolishly, said "You might actually be able to keep up with me". I kept up with him, all right. And left the next morning in my cab, energized and happy, replete with his energy.
Sometimes I feel like a succubus. I'm sure I've said it before, but it freaks me out a little bit, how much energy I gain from others pleasure. That moment of anothers orgasm... I've cum just from that energy alone, dragged along screaming behind their pleasure. When the sex is good, when I'm connected to them and their connected to me, my energy is boundless. I can go for forever, each orgasm like a burst of energy feeding the next one. Mmm. Love it.
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