Born To Ch. 06

Penning's note:

Pouring through the journal notes she left me, I was a little confused for months about one particularly anachronistic, haunting set of notes. Though they were in her "Born To" box of notes, they were not quite her writing – but then again parts of it were her writing. Perhaps her writing, but not her voice I should say.

I set these particular notes before me and spent a long afternoon and evening trying to match font and typeset and determine an order to them.

The originals from fading handwritten notes (which I had initially assumed were hers) had been committed to manuscript, typed on a typewriter, typed meticulously within manuscript standards, and it appears they were all transcribed at once given that the dates run together seamlessly on the pages, though they obviously show a progression over time – was it an earlier journal Born To typed? Perhaps not hers?

If not hers, whose journal?

My breath caught in my throat when I finally uncovered the note I am posting now among those stuffed in random order into the Born To box.

My reading-weary brain exploded with the immense implications of what I discovered as I read this note and in anticipation of what the other notes in this stack will reveal – especially the light they may shed on where I might search next, and why she runs as she runs.

So whose journal is this?! Why is it so familiar, yet, not...quite...Her?

Whose journal?

HER MOTHER'S JOURNAL!

Thank God, my first coherent insight into the life of the one I seek!

* * * * *

S. B.s Journal

(undated)

NOTES TO MYSELF

Those who imagine that the sperm of their special man begets only physical children have not yet opened the sweet portal. His sperm has engendered not only my physical children, but children within me who are every bit as playful, precocious, precious, and part of my life as are my flesh and blood children.

And I am suspecting more every day that my youngest daughter...(ellipsis mine – Penning)...will one day know these internal spiritual children by name and by delicious dark deed like no other girl child has ever known the sweet beings in the sexual imagination – those in her own imagination, of course - but something tells me it is to [her](I, Penning, again omit the name) that I must bequeath these notes about the sexual children in my own imagination.

I cannot bear for these sexual friends in my head to be lost if these notes are burned or discreetly discarded when I die. [She] must have them...ah, but when and how? I must find a way to pass them to [her] when she is of age.

But Dear Diary, I digress with a mother's concerns when my attention is decidedly centered in my cunt this morning. My early thought this morning after engaging my husband and lover in our favorite way moistened me even beyond the act I performed:

There is that one time when suddenly the supposed difficulty of ingesting sperm dissolves into a deeper appreciation of human union. I have sat countless times facing him with my naked thighs wrapped around his waist, holding him in my mouth or hands, or both, and coaxing him to release his sperm to me.

I have come to love every nuance of his cum. I can now tell by its taste and smell when it is turning from the sweet clear lubricating moisture to the salty, more powerful ejaculation with which he finishes. I sit with his dick thickening and engorging in my hands, testing his taste to see how near he is.

I hold him close to my mouth. I inhale the heady smell of arousing hormones. I help him expand his size and fullness by touching my tongue to different places on his dick.

We are timeless now and there is no hurry. Even though this act itself is a fantasy moment, a million fantasies are compressed into this moment! Dozens of images of semen cascading into my mouth and the dozens of ways I have reached to embrace it and revel in it.

My friends would be appalled to hear me say this; my parents and those of my brothers and sisters who have not yet done so for having conceived my child before wedlock would disown me for such filth – but it is specifically the filth that I crave! The raw delicious taste and smell of human life that is mine to indulge at will with one who devours mine! How can this be sin?

I grew into a new dimension of woman and lover in one such eruption of his cock.

That special time he was totally open and safe in my hands. I had come once already to his tongue and was hovering in an ecstatic high. My senses were jaggedly clear. The only excitement in my body, the only sensation in my entire being was sex. It happened in a timeless, slow movement. I could see us as though from a distance even though I was completely affixed to his cock.

So many times I had felt him stiffen as he started to come, yet this time was different.

When he stiffened before, I would naturally stiffen with him and prepare myself for the heat of his sperm. This time as his involuntary pulsing started, I felt a different response in his muscles. While he did tighten up, he also let go.

As he let go and gave himself over to the instant, I also let go into the instant.

I felt it more like the release of a deep breath. I felt his certainty, his knowing my heated desire for him, his intense passion arising from completely understanding that I wanted - not simply tolerated - his sperm deep in my mouth.

And he let his liquid surge freely! I felt his release pour over me like a deep exhalation when he came. My mouth was dreamily filling with his delicious thick sperm. Having given himself over to letting himself flow freely, his involuntary convulsions were more powerful than when, before, he had been the most tense!

I can best describe it as a kaleidoscope of all senses at once. I could smell his deepest essence as it grew steadily from a thin clear sweetness to an intoxicating thick potency. I felt surges of power race through my blood as this thick life substance encircled my tongue and flooded my mouth. I swallowed over and over again and felt the passion of generations of women beat in my chest.

The raw taste and texture of my lover poured into me.

Swallowing is such a weak summary of mouth pleasures. It is like describing in intricate detail a phenomenal meal, and then capping it by saying: we ate it.

Of course we ate it.

Of course I swallowed it.

I turned my face toward him so he could watch as he filled my mouth. So far beyond swallowing, I was wearing him on my lips and my cheek and chin.

Edible body perfume existing nowhere else and belonging to no other pours onto and into my body. I savor it completely afresh because it is never the same twice. His sperm is always the product of his life at the moment.

Orgasm is so precious and powerful because we feel the intimacy of exposure and vulnerability as we pour our richest essence, in liquid form, into the hands and mouth - hence deep into the very body cavity - of another.

It is sharing this liquid life essence that is more than anything the mystique of sex.

Some use protective covers for their sex. Unfortunately, these private covers protect people from much more than diseases - they block the very essence of human merger! I am certainly not arguing against either preventing the birth of children in difficult times or circumstances, or against protecting ourselves from deadly diseases - I am only saying that the power of a committed and trusting relationship is the one true magical event in life: total sharing of bodies with no barriers for body or soul.

No times evoke more heated passion and fond memory than those moments when he filled my cunt with cum and we sat mouth to mouth. Even this morning I tasted my cunt on his lips where I smeared myself as he ate me out moments ago.

I involuntarily now reach down and finger deep inside me to catch his sperm and taste it. I mixed it with our kisses. I rubbed it into his lips and then tenderly licked it off. Creating little strings that I lengthened by drawing back, then shortened again as I sucked it back.

Oh, yes. We have learned to share our liquid love. I often hold all his thickness in my mouth the best I can and then very slowly, looking deep in his eyes, bring that thickness to him with my mouth held wide for him to see.

Nothing reaches the erotic power of feeling your lover's warm body on your skin, holding his sperm thick in your mouth, smelling your own cunt perfume on his face, and mixing your tongue with his as you explore the texture of his cum together. Breathless delirium.

Sometimes I must even extend this moment further by letting his thickness run out of my mouth into my cupped hands. I lean back with him and hold my hands to our mouths and we kiss in this pool of cum.

I dip my tongue into the pool and savor the salty power, coating my tongue with it. I probe into his mouth with it. I paint it onto our lips from my cupped palm with my free fingers.

We have taken long moments and together licked my hands clean. Recently, I lay back in his arms with his sperm cupped in my hands. He spread my legs and worked one finger into my bottom and the other into my cunt.

This brought me to a boil and by the time we had licked him up, he was hard again. We have found that the normal period of decline and lessened interest is sometimes a matter of simply stopping the play too soon.

Bodies will certainly relax to rebuild energy and restore liquids, but the sexual experience has much greater capacity to extend into hours than people imagine - unless they love One person infinitely, and are brave enough to explore.

And now I am going to masturbate as I read back through this morning's writings.

As I write now, I am naked. I pulled off my panties several moments ago as I felt the delicious arousal creep once again into my nether parts. That special hormonal aroma is wafting up and feeding each breath.

I am wet and I only barely refrained from keeping my fingers inside while I wrote a few more sentences. I am sure I am not the first woman to keep napkins next to me for these moments.

But I am also certain I am one of few to dare put it into words that others may find - or am I? God, that I could believe all my sisters write their love, their sex, their passion! Oh to know that my daughter will!

Well, I am probing my pussy now, exploring her gently, taking my time.

Enough for now.

Dear journal, and to all eyes and souls who may one day appreciate my most intimate thoughts...

Thank you for listening.

* * * *

I find myself astonished at the timelessness of her words and the themes that continue to be explored and articulated by the daughter of the woman who bravely wrote these words in a time that wasn't quite ready, in a place that still would condemn her sexual openness!

It is absolutely no surprise she would bear and rear a daughter who saw sex and writing as pursuits the embodiment of which she was certainly Born To.

- Penning Freer