The Trade of the Hole and The Metaphor of the Pussy


I had a conversation on DorisDawn.com about my “hole.” Coarse, eh? I usually call it my pussy and, yes, it’s a hole! Up on the emotional scale, and few years back in time, I had the hole conversation with my hubby. It wasn’t polished with pleasantries then because it belonged to one of those moments when we wash our laundry in the family. We both learned more than a couple of things out of this hole/pussy topic: should I pose with my legs wide-spread and my pussy opened to the public view or should I casually conceal my pussy between my legs?

My mother taught me to be shy, to keep my knees together and sit with my legs crossed all the time. I followed her advice until I fell in love with my (then) future hubby. I stubbornly put his patience at lengthy testing periods. Which he endured to slowly melt my resistance with plenty of prose, poetry and fine crafted words. He believes in the power of the Chinese drop which cracks inroads through blocks of granite. I definitely wasn’t a cold rock of granite, even if I did my best to look that way, and my soft pussy needed his hard dick more than I could hide my feelings behind my maiden looks. He chose a French name for his Chinese dripping drop method: “petit à petit” or little by little, one step at a time.

On a New Year’s Day (or was it a night?) in the 80s he asked me to marry him. By Easter we were officially engaged and me allowed to spend the night down in his den. The unofficial few nights before (not known to my dad) I just stayed topless to play with his dick — applying in practice what I have studied in theory. Always keeping the jeans, or some pantyhose, on me in order to avoid any unexpected “intrusion.” But I knew that the time will come when my panties had to go off so he can wash his eyes staring at what he expressly desired most: my pink pussy.

And the time came: THIS was the night after our engagement party. It made me very — but very! — nervous. Mind you, I was never attracted by nudity, never had a boyfriend before and never got naked in front of a man. He caressed me, kissing my entire body and speaking lovely words about what he sees and dreams of me. He tasted and sensed me while touching my skin. I kept sitting in that state of mesmerized shock (I can’t describe it otherwise), kind of out of myself.

On one hand, my soul radiated of joy and exuberance, hours earlier he put the ring on my finger in front of our reunited families, he adored me like nothing else, with a complete and restless love. On the other hand, my consciousness nagged me with a host of reasonable, non-emotional, questions like, for instance: what if you give in and he gets you pregnant before you can finish college?; this will affect your career plans, don’t you think?; can’t you see how crazy this man is?; why do you call him by the nickname “Cave Man” and why did he call the basement where he lives a “den?”

Lost away within the maze of my thoughts, I suddenly woke up to reality when his tongue dared to dive through my untrimmed natural bush and softly slapped my pussy. I didn’t expect that his body kissing will arrive at this point. Silly me, I had no idea that this could have been his initial plan, after all. Not to look stupid, or rude, I allowed him some space — yes!, by spreading my legs a bit wider for the first time in the presence of a man. But after a short while his lips were digging for my shy and scared clit. Not finding it, he tried to tongue me between my labia. Well, dear reader, more than 24 years earlier I used to be a virgin with a very frigid (non)understanding for tongue-f*cking. So I pressed his head harder in between my inner thighs and, at the same time, asking him to cut it off and return to the pillow. He didn’t. I repeated my request, a bit upset this time. Nothing! His tongue kept knocking at my sealed pussy. I then grabbed his head with my hand and thus I also released his ears from the pressure of my legs. “Yes, bunny? Tell me, what’s wrong?” He was, again, all ears!

But for me it was a big surprise: he couldn’t hear me because his ears were not just covered but tightly pressed between my inner thighs. I was talking to the walls and expecting him to obey my desperate commands. It took him yet another magnetophone tape and lots of spoken prose to have me relaxed after this inaugural moment of oral sex — with me being on the receiving side 😉 , of course.

Over three months later he finally took my virginity, couple days before our wedding — read about this episode here because this is not exactly the theme of my post today.

As a woman, I don’t feel appreciated, caressed, complimented and loved when my man avidly lusts for my hole. But ladies, why do I keep calling it by the not so reverential name of “hole?” Why not calling it a pussy? I addressed these questions to hubby and he answered them in his own way: “Holes were like doors, or gates, for the primeval men. They needed to explore caves and hollows so they can survive the elements. Instinct drove them, like it drives us, to this particular hole of their women so they can perpetuate their kin beyond times. But a pussy is the metaphor that goes beyond a biological vagina (the mere hole). To me, your pussy is the poetry that I’ve loved to learn by heart. And your scent is the music that makes me dance in your footsteps. There’s a harmony of light between your silhouette and your smile that blinds my thinking and enslaves my spirit to your gracious soul.”

I think that he’s still in love with me, possibly even more madly now than he was back then in the ’80s. And I can testify that his way of elevating my pussy to a metaphor had some weight in my decision to open my personal adult site.

Being primeval is a given for every man. Being a Gentleman is a cultivated talent.

I write about romance and erotica because they are related, they derive one from another, both ways: if a sweet word of his will make me wet and ready to give him head, then an orgasmic wave blowing up my brains will have us cuddle and fantasize about romantic moments of either past or future. At our age, oral sex and mutual masturbation are more important than the classical decent intercourse. When we were younger it was almost the same situation, but for different reasons.

Our secret for an outstanding and such a romantic marriage resides in a very intimate trade that we made: he learned to think like a woman and I followed up (with colossal efforts) to think like a man — hey!, I’m not talking about sophistication here (that was his part to grasp) but about simple things that they can imagine about doing to our holes.

Understanding each other at the mental level is the secret. In one word: COMMUNICATION.

Final yet nonetheless important note for younger brides: “Cave Man” goes as a code-word for “Hole Man.” Don’t let his poetry fool yourself too much, eventually he will drill deep in that hole of yours. What you’ve got, and no one can take it from you, is the candid charms and your truthful grace capable to rescue him up from your hole. To make him think in romantic terms about your pussy. Prince Charming and the “schreckening” Cave Man are one and the same.

Shortly after we shot this picture, hubby showed it in private to a good friend of ours. And his first remark was “Wow, Look how she’s covering her cave with the wedding ring!”

2 thoughts on “The Trade of the Hole and The Metaphor of the Pussy

  1. Very good article I can see your point very clearly.I can clearly enjoy your beauty without being in love with you!
    Your beauty comes not just from your” hole” but your eyes and your smile too ! It’s the complete package wrapped up in a great body!

    Like

    1. Aww… you’re overwhelming me with your most gentle comments and compliments.
      As you saying, I guess that any woman has much more to show and express in her own beautiful ways.
      Thank you!

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s