McKenzie Free

One woman's quest for greater understanding through freedom of self expression.

Archive for the month “February, 2012”

What’s Missing?

She’s missing some essential human element. She doesn’t know what it is; it’s something ethereal. It is that “thing” that makes a man fall in love with you. It is that “thing” that makes another person feel connected to you. Whatever it is that makes a man want to be with you, to protect and take care of you, to miss you when you’re gone, to put you first and think of your needs. She can’t figure out what it is that’s missing in her. What other women have that she does not.
She feels things deeply, she finds joy in others, she has wants and needs and desires like everyone else. She is smart, she is funny, she is even wise upon occasion. What is missing? What is the crucial component of humanity that she lacks?
Even if she were to figure it out, it is most likely too late now. Half her life is gone before her. Surely she should have experienced this love by now. But over and over she attempts the connection; she gives herself freely and they feel nothing in return.
Men crave her body. They want to lie naked with her and feel her soft caresses. They will say whatever it is they think she wants to hear to spend time in her bed until they meet another woman, a woman they can fall in love with, and then they are gone.
What is it that makes her, not unlikable but, so unlovable? Do you know? Do you have the answer? Can you share it please?



We go to bed each evening craving another human’s touch
Each longing to be held through the night and awakened by desire
So many honest bodies lying alone and wanting
Never to meet, or if to meet, to not recognize the kindred spirits inside us
For we shamefully hide our desires from the world
Believing our hunger, if perceived, will make us appear weak and less alluring
Running our hands over our strained flesh finding what private release we can
Rising to meet another day with unfulfilled desires
Pushed out of our minds and buried as we go about our day
Until the moon rises and reminds us once again of our vulnerability

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Are there any men in the world who don’t have a Madonna-Whore complex? Many men and women alike seem to buy into the old-fashioned idea that only bad girls enjoy sex. The mother of your children? She’s not suppose to enjoy it. She just does it to make you happy, right?

If we could all give up the idea that sex is dirty and only bad girls are good at it, so many more people would be happy. God, the Higher Powers, the Universe, whoever you believe in didn’t create men and women’s bodies and then the evil Devil came along and slapped on our genitals as an afterthought. I believe that intimacy is one of the great joys of being human. We should enjoy it, explore it and revel in it. You can do this and still remain loving, caring, and wonderfully monogamous.

In fact, if society were able to see all women as whole persons, intelligent, competent, loving, nurturing AND sexual, there would be less reason for anyone to roam. No need to leave your loving wife at home to pursue the high-heeled, corseted hottie of your fantasies. Buy your wife or sweetie some sexy lingerie for Valentine’s Day and fulfill your fantasies at home together!

The Dance

It began one night with a simple dance. His movements were slow, lingering, and sensual. He was not leading, she was not following, yet they heard the same beat and moved together as one swaying to the gentle rhythm.

Later that evening he sent her a text: “You can come sit on my face any time.”

“What kind of text is that for a poet to send to a woman?” she responded.

And then the real dance began…he said…she said…he said…she said.

They met again and she told him stories of those who had loved her and those who had brought her pain: the rapes of her past, her mother’s laughter, her brother’s insanity, her beautiful and strong women friends. He shared stories of past lovers, his relationship with God and belief in the reality of the Holy Spirit, his drive to create music and poetry, and how his muse visited him. They shared thoughts and they shared meals and she felt there was beauty in their dance each step bringing them closer to knowledge of each other.

For days he ran his fingers slowly down her body stopping here and there to take pleasure in the firm mounds of flesh and soft valleys making her shiver with contentment. She gave herself to him freely and gloried in his touch. When he was hard she climbed on top and rode the waves of sensation without fear or shame until all of her orifices exploded in delight. When he was soft she fondled his body kissing the curve of his neck and stroking his long, thin legs that led to that beautiful ass that she couldn’t keep her hands off in bed or on the dance floor.

At times she was completely filled with lust for him and at others joyful in his gentleness. He fed her strawberries in bed and she tenderly licked their sticky juice off his fingers in the same way she had licked her own sweet juices from them earlier at his request. And, finally, she fulfilled his original entreaty and sat on his face as he licked and sucked until she came, filling his mouth with the sweet taste he craved, offering up a bit of her soul to him believing it could never diminish her.

And they danced. Oh how they danced. Onlookers awed by their chemistry and jealous of the connection they perceived between them.

Then one night, as quickly as their dance began, he no longer heard the music and he turned and abruptly walked away.

McKenzie James

June 17, 2011

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