Appealingly Pleasant Flirtations, Photo by BradensEye

Affable actions and words can dismantle most any malevolent moment. We all rotate cycles of needy disruption. Racing at life butts up against the comforts we require when our tides rush in. You have the same amount of time to be nice or grumpy. Diverting through pleasantries has won hearts, engagements, and friends. Taking the advocate role repays you by missing out on the penalties of pushed buttons. Even merchandise mania has backed the brilliance to pass such witty messages around. “Feed me cupcakes and tell me I’m pretty” or “Feed me, Beer me”. A personalized certification of my own is “Feed me massage and give me compliments”. There are centuries of simple slick tricks to coax any of your meanies into submission. Stocked with plenty of ‘pleasing protocols’ and armed with knowing their power will get you through any active perturbation.

Any prolonged season of whack we weather calls for considerate champs cheering us on. At this stage of age (at least when my inner clockwork is playing along), every three weeks I’m smack inside this phase where personable procedures are necessary. Here is where feeding me period (pun intended) and saying anything pleasurable about me works wonders. This timeframe is commonly called PMS (which puzzled males can start to learn about by reading or asking please), followed by the full menstrual release of a lot of blood from my operating system. When I have a partner, I’m all about enacting this conversation as a daily reminder. Where my desires are scavenger dogs fighting for a decaying bone in the alleys of India. I’m ravenous for mind-reading, yet dutiful to communicate my personalized love list. I’ve got to have gratifying distractions of delight in order that I don’t let myself wither into depression, snap at others, or exhibit any more cutthroat behaviors. Mind you, it’s rarely intentional during these bouts. All of the blood meant for my brain ends up rushing out of my coochie. I will text or call to tell you I need to hear good things about myself from you. If you bend over backward for me in satisfying excess you are a God among men.

The acceptance that everyone welcomes, much more so deserves, uncanny sympathy is central to our nervous systems. The world leaps between the likes of bull or butterfly wrangling. Nevermind the courage or charisma of either, it takes a cooperation beyond ones’ singular body parts to prosper. Charming alliances are the parties or coalitions you should be rooting and rallying around. Turn up the volume to what turns you on. If you’re bent out of shape, quite likely there’s a bend that will switch your twists into wistful waves of consolation. Movies make me weep with emotionally romantic gushiness of desire every single time. Within the wake of moving pictures tales, I succumb to the fantasy of being the leading lady who lands the loving man living a happily imperishable after. Add a willing girlfriend or a date next to me for a winning combination of synchronous snug time. My sappy adoration tastes plow through my fuzzy brain thirsting attentiveness connection.

Stored in the house of human are many rooms. Any of these spaces include optimistic electrical grids. Tap into those supplies and you’ll find yourself flying without the need of wings. I know I’m not the only one to get by with a little help from my friends. These buddies come in all sorts of packages too. Take my friend ‘music’ for example. Music is an audio massage oil. Skillfully and liberally rubbing it in is the major key. Sing to yourself or have someone sing to you ~ live or any old listening means. I’m grateful for a lot of musicians in my earthly menagerie. Merrily many of them are men. Out of the blue and packed with intention, I often receive glorious sounds. They give definition to my feelings when I simply cannot craft the correct words. Scorching sentiments are invoked: “She has a hard time sleeping swiftly after dalliances with your voice. She keeps thinking of how your words would fit right next to her live, or how they’d feel exiting your mouth as breath wafting across her skin ever so lightly.” Musical movies always seem to me on par of the worthy burst of whomever first added pepperoni to a cheese pizza. The gargantuan brilliance of melting two sublime tastes into one easily swallowed package! Yesterday the movie is just such a supreme treat to me. The perfect blend of mishaps, musical genius, creative writing, united with romance in all its blunder and beauty. Equally, a trial in the execution of people’s rosy effects on one another.

A woman wrapped in thunderstorms and pouring rain only beckons a large comfy bed and miles of corresponding sheets with matching melt-upon pillows to indulge in with a fine man watching endless streaming excellence, sipping hot tea with lots of lemon, taking baths for breaks, and dining on sumptuous delicacies between stages of laughter, spooning, and other sensual cuddles. Sometimes, all I want to do is wallow in the sleep linens, be touched, achieve tons of sudsy time, receive in extra doses, and rest. But I booked a conference I paid for or the consulting gig goes a tad awry, she fondly shares to a friend. At any cost, you can still make out or ‘make out’! I’ve been working overtime with some dedicated affirmation junkies like myself on ways to enforce that loving human touch no matter if you’re single or tied down, hundreds of meters from a real human or not. If you’ve got internet get to a video call, bake your famous family recipe to sense the familiar touch of home cooking filling your belly with bliss, or attempt the devoted explosion from your own mortal caress of self. Spoiling oneself to stave calamity is merely decorum.

Playful proceedings for those who please you is a paramount pact to make.

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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