Image via Pixabay
I never considered myself a person who gave much consideration to sensation on its own, for its own sake. Not until I discovered my sexual side…and kink. Before that, sensation was a thing that happened rather than something to be created.
All I knew is that I was often left disappointed with the world around me without understanding why.
Of course, anything can be a sensation. And if I’m being honest, I really mean painful sensations. So painful sensation is my muse. There, that’s better.
But, also, I don’t mean that.
When I write a story of an erotic dream or a moment of kinky fuckery, I desperately want the reader to feel a little of what I feel. An erotic sensation, if you will.
Get turned on, and touch yourself. Fan your face. Push back from the screen and say, “Damn! That was hot!”
Hot is a sensation. For some a painful one. For others, a welcome one.
The point, though, is that I desperately want you to feel something. Anything. Hopefully a good, welcome, erotic thing. Maybe a dawning realization. I’ll take (happily) a feeling of closeness as you think, “Me too! I can relate!”
What I want is for you to experience a sensation when you read my words. The same? Different? I don’t know, but feel something.
For myself? The painful sensations get my attention more than anything else.
Pulled hair. Smacked ass. The ache of denial and longing between my thighs. A sharp tingle in my nipples after a brutal pinch.
In those moments, caught between pain and pleasure, I feel more alive than at any other time. Possibly the only other time is when I’m in a writing zone – creating sensation with words.
It’s in these too-alive moments when my body burns, aches, throbs, trembles, and quakes that I have moments of real clarity.
I love him.
This is my place.
Why did no one tell me it could feel this good?
I am free; I am light, and I am alive.
It also happens to be when the written word will sneak into my head.
Remember this moment, capture this in your mind, and put it into words later.
That stray thought? It would make a great title.
Can I explain this whirring, dizzying feeling to anyone else?
My desire to feel and to create feelings invites my muse. It could be said that my muse is made entirely of sensations stitched together with desire. I crave sensation as I crave my creativity, and in the world of sex and words and smut and desire, I cannot have one without the other.
What about sensations I haven’t experienced? Wax play comes to mind…The drip, drip, drip of molten liquid. My own imagined hiss as pain quickly turns to something else. Pale flesh combined with striking colors. Purple perhaps?
My imagination runs wild at the possibilities, but imagination is not feeling or doing. Not for me. My muse is interested, but she waits for reality.
Make me feel it, then I will come to you. Give me something to sink my teeth into, and then we can create together. Until then…I wait.
I honor my muse with my desire for sensations which simply means I honor myself. My muse is me, and I am her. Those sensations guide and direct my erotic thoughts.
My fear of the unknown – the heat of the wax, the drip-drip-drip of pain – wars with my desire to feel something new. She waits…
I know who will win because my muse always wins.
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday and Kink of the Week! A two-fer! The two prompts were Muse and Wax Play, respectively and they seem tailor made for each other. At least to my sensation-fueled writer brain. Click on either below to read more about whichever catches your fancy (I vote for both).