Talk Messy When You Write

Call her Jill.

Jill says to me, "Talk messy when you write. Evoke the adventure. Use words that don't screw up what turns you on. Say fuck, suck, pussy, cunt, dick, cock. Write only what overwhelms you - nothing less."

Jill thereby accepted the job of muse but let me know, "I know this is only because you think this will get you fucked."

For perhaps the first time in my life, I was brave enough then, and smart enough then, to just say, "Yes. I know."

She laughed out loud and said, "With me as your muse, rest assured you won't be selling any goddamn books! Professional self-help shit, porn, or otherwise. But, yes. I'll read your books."

"Talk messy when you write. I'm serious. I don't think you should ever write a word unless you are trying to capture what you want to feel, or maybe what you want to have happened, or what you want to happen to you, or even maybe, what you...want to do with someone else."

So, now, a few months later, Jill crosses the room to where I sit at her heirloom oaken desk, fingers tapping wood instead of keys.

Jill has no panties on, only the gown she woke up in. She straddles me and settles her vagin..., her pussy, onto my lap, feeling for my dick through my jeans. "Don't ever write that word unless you are trying to capture something real you feel. Do you need to be reminded?"

She moves her face toward me and opens her mouth. I accept. We kiss through the whole theme song from Titanic cheesing away on the patio radio. The aftermath is that I give up on wearing these jeans in public today.

Jill trails off the kiss onto the corner of my mouth. Not my cheek - the corner of my mouth. Think about that a minute.

Her tongue moves in and out of the corner of my mouth, leaving a wet streak that is just noticeable.

"You know that will never dry," she says in a seductive, child-like voice perfected over years for moments like this.

She talks into the corner of my moistened mouth. "Now write what you want. Not what you want to write, but what you want."

She sits there while I think about that.

"Do, you, Pen, do you...know what you want?" she asks, her forehead plastered on mine, her eyes squinting directly into mine so close she is blurry.

Suddenly the truth strikes me. Why yes, actually. I do. I do know exactly what I want. I want to fuck her forever to orgasm in every bodily orifice, and marry the hell out of her - all at once. Right here in this room, right now. I want my peni...my cock out of my pants now so that I don't waste a drop of it into my shorts because I want to see it on her lips. I want to bang the babies out of her.

"So what do you want, Pen?" she repeats.

I sigh and try my best to be genuine and say it. "I want to fuck you forever Jill, to come in your every bodily orifice. That would include your cunt, your mouth, your ass, and all, and...um...marry the hell out of you all at once. Right here in this room, right now. I want my dick out of these goddamn jeans now so that I don't waste a drop of pre-cum into my shorts because I want to see it on your lips. I want to bang the babies out of you."

Jill beams at me, "That is beautiful. That is so romantic, Pen! Nice. Yes. Do you want me to reinforce this, or leave you alone for now to write?"

"Reinforce would be good I think."

"Okay. I can do that."

She squirms her bottom to comfort in my hopelessly moistening lap and starts back at the corner of my mouth and licks her way into it again, dragging, not darting, her tongue across my lips and into my mouth. Not my cheek, notice, the very corner of my mouth. Put your tongue at the very corner of your mouth and feel how it never feels dry again. How does she know this stuff?

Christ, I am so fucked.

She talks into my mouth again, "I am thinking I am not going to have to tell you that you don't want to sit in front of me and confuse kissing with mouth fucking, hmmm?

"You would be fully aware, I trust, that kissing is what we do when we are running off to that day thing we do -- fucking, on the other hand, is what your book is about.

"Fucking with cunts and cocks," she grinds into me, "involves mouth fucking - not kissing."

She looks at me with genuine consternation to make sure I'm hip. "You think?"

"I think."

"I'm thinking," I go on now with a little more confidence, "that I want out of these jeans now."

We simultaneously and silently grope for the zipper and that button thing at the top and do the minimum work we must do to free my cock. Sure enough it is leaking onto my nice clean, thirty-minutes worn briefs, bigger than Dallas.

"Yummy."

Four inflections of our illustrious Deep South in the word yummy. Jill slides down my body and her gown rides up as it catches on my jeans. She arches her tits into my enormous, yes enormous, dick. Yes, I say enormous dick.

"What is happening, Pen? Say it."

"I am losing it here, Jill. No, wait! Don't you...do not get off of me! I can do this!" I desperately promise her.

"Here's what's happening: You are sliding down my body and your gown is riding up to show your tits as the silky material catches on my jeans. You are arching your tits into my dick."

My throat clenches suddenly and I can't breathe for a second. "Oh, ahhh, yes. Yes. You have my dick in your mouth. You are sucking me slowly. Jesus. Yes. You would be sucking my enormous manhood slowly."

"What now, Pen?"

She slides her lips over the head of my cock and catches the knob tightly for an instant to suck hard on it, then plops it out and lets it fall hard across my lap. She licks the seeped spillage onto my recently clean shorts. Her eyebrows stay arched and business like.

"I'm losing the ability to think, Jill. Let alone say any words. I think you just sucked the head of my dick, my enormous dick, hard then dropped me."

"Thank you so much for not saying pre-cum again, Pen. Oh, God, thank you. What is seeping out of you is what happens when we fuck. It's fuck liquid, or clear cum, or...hell, I don't know, be creative. But pre-cum is neither cum, nor pre anything - it's what it is when it is. Never trust anything with a dash inside it. What am I trying to lick out of your underwear?"

"Clear cum, I think, for now."

"Good, thank you." she rewards me a little more.

I slip off the chair and push Jill, not so gently, to the ground, scrambling to get the welcome mat under her and fumble out of my jeans and out of my strategically moistened shorts. She, of course, has no such obstructions.

My dick (enormous) is inside her cunt now. It is pocketed as far inside her as I can get it. I am looking in her soul window eyes and trying to figure out how to capture this infinite moment in words without turning it into pornography, or worse far, without crucifying it with clean words.

I keep telling myself what I know she will say: Come on Pen. What do you say? You can do this. Write to me, Baby.

So I say it first, out loud, mimicking her southern accent, "Come on Penning, how do you say this without turning it into porn or butchering it with nice words? You can do this! Write it to me, Baby!"

This amuses even my Jill Muse Meister. She likes to hear me working. I can see it in that crooked little smile she does when she's really happy as opposed to that one she uses when she is really, deeply troubled.

And you know, she really does seem content for now. She is right here fucking me. She seems to be liking it. There seems nowhere else in the world she wants to be - for the first time in her often tortured life.

My God. This. Yes.

She squeezes my cock with her cunt and trails her fingernails lightly down my side, meaning every tickle.

Her tone slips to a softer sound, "This may take all morning. But, I...am...here...to...do...my...duty. This is my job."

Her voice pulses with the thrusting of her pelvis into my enormous, rock hard cock.

"I have to tell the whole world what it feels like to do this to...to fuck you, Jill. Because fucking you is the rightest thing in the whole damn wide world and it symbolizes everything which all good people and citizens know to be good and perfect and right and righteous and - and all."

My muse punishes my impudence with crushing muscle and grinds her bottom all over me to slide me deeper inside her cunt by alternately arching and then lengthening her back.

"That will never sell books, Penning. But it's getting right. For me, it's getting right." Her voice is quieter still.

"That's what matters buddy boy."

"Jill, your voice is sort of breathy. You are loving this, aren't you, baby?" I search her face.

"I am loving it, Pen, and loving your fucking dick inside me, packed tight inside my cunt. I am loving it so much that I am having a really hard time talking or helping you out with fucking words right now. Can we just not talk now?"

I groan a real heavy man groan. I flex my enormous dick and feel her respond with a long hard squeeze.

Always the idiot, I break the silence. "Do we always need to do talk homework while we are doing this -- to keep feeling us this way, I mean?"

Silence for seconds. I think I've blown it.

"I'm afraid," she says, and hesitates a little, squeezing me all the while, "that...that the answer is both talk some and shut the hell up some. For right now, anyway.

"We are not good enough, or far enough along in this, this, fuck - call it a fuck for now - to dare stop talking - or shutting up as the case may require. By the way, the word 'relationship' is out."

"Granted. Oh, yeah. Of course. Totally agree. I'll never use that one," I nod.

"Better even to say, like, marriage, or married, or marriageable, or something like that than relationship. Good, yeah?" I search her silenting face.

Doubt shadows in her eye for a second but she recovers quickly to say, "Okay. Totally. Better."

Her smile is here but it is now sloping into that smile I see in her that accompanied the first silent dusk eons ago, signaling an unknown and unknowable darkness that I want to beat back from her and us in the worst way.

"But that doesn't mean fucking requires talking - as though the sensations themselves don't do their own talking - you know I'm not saying that...?"

She furrows her brow, back from the abyss, back to work again.

"Of course. I think I know exactly what you mean, Jill. But I don't have a clue how to say it with words. And far be it from me to try right now."

Jill says, "Maybe...maybe, we can just talk messy when we talk. Maybe. We don't necessarily have to act as though we're talking it to each other, or to anybody really. Just say messy words as they come up, hmmm?

"We maybe just use messy words to wrap our potty mouths around while you are fucking me into island vacation heaven deliciousville chocolate factory snow angel place?"

"Better let me do the writing, Jill."

Silence everything now. Listen to the nerves. Silence everything. Listen to the nerves. Listen to the nerves. Listen. Listen. Listen.

I said shut the hell up and listen to the nerves.

Silence.

Only fucking.

Fucking and Jill's breath, so light I barely hear it.

An occasional wet noise as I push into her a little harder, a little deeper, and feel that magic slip.

"Penning?"

"Yes, Jill?"

"I love you."

Silence. Big, huge, gigantic, fucking magnitudinous silence. Enormous silence.

"Jill."

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"Damn right you do."

Silence to the end of the chapter.