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Dispatches From Dystopia

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Dispatches From Dystopia

Tag Archives: #Fado

Free Range Passion

13 Monday Jan 2020

Posted by David in Uncategorized

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Tags

#Fado

For Jade.

Fado.

As if Fado were just a word. We who love this music know it puts into notes what the heart cannot say. We know God’s tongue is Portuguese.

J: David!

Me: Yes.

J: Could you turn that down a little? (Why am I not surprised?)

Me: Yes.

Somewhere in these songs are the cries of ecstasy that all too often hide the breaking hearts.

Suddenly I am not white, I have no prick. But I listen and of these losses I care not a whit.

It’s what happens when music pours into an emptied heart.

Fado Amidst The Passion

03 Thursday Oct 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

#Fado

Strong Erotic Content. Dedicated to everyone who has felt great passion. And great loss.

I had not listened to Fado for quite a while. Why? Was I afraid of passion in crescendoes and refrain, the Portuguese guitar work, so much like the Blues, piercing into my heart, coursing through my veins like the very blood itself?

Maybe because I thought about whenever I listened, of the time when we were together. How when we were alone, she would quickly reach for the buckle of my belt, undo it, then unbutton my jeans, letting them bunch around my ankles, pull down my boxers, grab my balls in her fist to draw my penis to her mouth, then lick and suck the head until I was breathing heavy. And crazy from the scene.

I would bring her from her knees to her feet, spin her around so she could feel my prick against her butt. Then I would raise the hem of her dress, pull it over her shoulders. I was pleased when she wore neither brassiere or knickers.

A slight push was all it took to send her toppling onto the mattress. And the fadista continued her songs on the record, happy now as the fado continued, like the happiness that only being with one’s lover can bring.

She had turned around facing me so we could begin the wet deep kisses we both thrived on. She would guide my penis inside her and I would grasp her buttocks and we would kiss as our pelvises rocked and thrust and pushed back. We were caught in that world, where we yearned for time to freeze, one slow millisecond away from our release.

Love, I guess, is like that sometimes, the songs a translation of passion and kisses, and sweat.

It sure didn’t feel like risk.

Tattoo Fantasy.

30 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by David in Art, Tattoo

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

#Fado

Every once in a while, I think about getting a tattoo. On the back of this CD of Portuguese Fado music is

is this lovely picture of a bluebird. The tattoo artist would need to be skilled enough to render a complete image of this little bird. I think it would look great on my left pectoral.

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