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How I do intimacy.

I want you kneeling facing away from the door. I come in and kneel behind you, my blouse undone, I bite your neck, my arm around your chest, I hold you closer to me. Feeling round the front of your body I start to touch your tummy and genitals, I stroke you. Like a cold vampire I want to steal warmth and love from your soft skin.

Making you lay on the bed, I stroke you, massage you; pushing and pulling your skin deeply to get to your muscles, to the blood in your muscles. I slide my arm under your waist and pull you backwards with a jolt. I cane your bottom and backs of legs. Your face buried into a pillow, I hear you whimper and moan and it makes me happy, so so happy.

I kiss the cane marks and plant a 1000 tiny kisses on your legs, bottom and lower back. Taking your penis into my mouth, you feel the heat of my mouth, my hard painful suck; it feels as if I will consume you. Then pulling your penis backwards, I squeeze your legs shut firmly, I rub you and grip you hard….really hard.

Laying you back down on your front, I run my hands over your bottom, feeling your goose bumps under my fingers. I leave you. The sound of the thwack of me putting on my gloves, me spitting onto my hand, then gentle encouragement you will know that I have not really left you. I will never leave you. I push a finger into your bottom and search for your prostate.

This is my way of being intimate…true heart felt, gut wrenching intimacy.

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About Prim Quim

I am an artist and therapist. I work within the themes of sexuality, repression, guilt, greed, contradiction, objectification, compulsion, itches that need to be scratched and bruises that need to be pressed. I am a consentual bruise presser, a boundary straddler and limit pusher. I interview people and witness their lives, I write about what I see, how I feel and all the beautiful fragments that make up my reality. I am the sum of all my parts - some bits move and other parts are static, some bits need oiling and other bits just run and run. I am both subject and object to myself. I am slave to my Art and so are the others who come into my sphere. I objectify and use, interrogate and examine - I need their reality and reasoning to lay alongside my own to compare, contrast, season and gorge upon. Exponent of automatic writing, compulsive self realisation and daring myself to go further.

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