Book: Sexual magic: erotic stories, wishes

- What about bigots who hate sex in General, we all condemn for the slightest expression of sexuality? Or, on the contrary, there are all sorts of perverts who are not afraid of condemnation, but it is their sex life causes fear and disgust? Or bastards who first seek from your desired sex, and then do you condemn? I here are people around!
- Every hypocrite lives a secret pervert. In every pervert lives a secret prude. In fact, it's the same people who are at first very much suffering, and then, unable to withstand, is no longer able to stop. Still they are driven by fear of sex: how prude afraid of falling into sex, you pervert afraid to fall out of sex, and the bastard is afraid of both. And sometimes just being childish: how children treat matches, and then dump the blame on each other. Sex is an adult thing, and therefore requires an adult intelligence.

All the wonders we have in this world, happening this power - the power hidden inside you. Everything is possible. There are no boundaries. There is the reality goes to sleep and plays with you in your game. It's like death, but if you don't get scared and run back to your elusive scraps of life, it may happen to you is incomprehensible.
But life is not a dream it? Memories of the past indistinguishable from the vision of dreams is hardly more than yesterday tomorrow: both in reality no, but yesterday was, and tomorrow - here and now - only dreams, like a dream. However, some of them come true. Well, isn't that a miracle? Life is wonderful and mysterious thing, if a little deeper at her more closely. And if this is a dream, once you Wake up.

Here if we are to be honest, I almost do not know anything. I don't know who I am and what I am. I don't know what this world and what happened to me and happens to all of us. I don't know what life is and what will happen when I die. How can I know something about death if Pro-life know nothing? And nobody knows all regurgitate the words of others as if these words have some truth. And what is the truth?..
Say that to live well in childhood: care about you, you play, enjoy life. Forgot all about the fact that the child is powerless and suffers the tyranny of parents. Childhood - it's scary actually. You really can't, you can't. And then yelling, then something is not given, then the pants off, then in the ass then anything else.
They say that there is another child. Which is then. Here it is good. Having fun with friends, carefree time. Yes? But look at present-day teenagers and it seems that more violent people than they even look. Children are generally very cruel. Fighting, bullying, frustration, humiliation, tears of resentment everything from there. At that time, just want to quickly grow then all you will be.
Other idealized youth. They remember first, the first CoE. Remember the seconds, minutes and - well! watch his happiness, but do not remember days, months and years of their unhappiness. This is the time when you want to, but you don't. You can mentally go back there, remember everything and understand if you're happy. No, not happy.
And then live, get something out of what I wanted, but that's not as much fun as if it was then. Either you already don't, you want another. Or never get, but that's exactly what is not received, you still want. And this is a race where you're always for something pursue and in which you are always the loser. Always unhappy, always not satisfied. Life teaches you "to live." Until you run out of power.
Here I retire, I'll tell you then, and rest. Old song. The same motive. Over and over again. Endless streams of lives falling into the void. Well, that's you, this song is almost sung. And you sing in the end in that box, for sure. Isn't it? I do not flatter yourself.
And make no mistake, as old as the world itself, tales about life after death. There was a time when you were not? When you will not. This is certainly an ancient truth.
And they say: live in the present and be happy. And here where I live its real, and I don't get: I myself do not understand. It's not that. Or I do not. I go to bed and think: I wish all this was a dream, I'd like to take and Wake up. And Wake up here again. Get up and go to live. As for hard work, which has no end.
I don't know what life is. I don't understand...

Strange - raw, rotten, but the lovely spirit of spring. As mokla earth, nourished melted snow. As a young, defiantly throwing in your face the cool freshness of the wind. As sparkling in the sun the green of the young grass.
As a young woman ready for love. Like crazy-drunk idea, turn the head. As the word "Yes" is exactly the fireworks, dissolve your soul in the endless sea of flowers.

I think of my past life as if it was a boring dream in a long November night: the outside noise endlessly-boring rain, and you with this repeated sound sleep, sleep, sleep... And you have not the scraps of bygone days, not the weird shadows unlived.
It seems to me that somewhere there is a distant worlds in which they live their lives all versions of your fate - what you ever could have lived but not lived. Choosing one path, you clip the others - and their billions in every moment of the life flow, you called "me".

One person said, "I'm not saving myself for anyone - no, no one; with the guy, which is bad and lonely, I drink wine; who feel bored and lonely, will share the bed. I don't feel sorry for yourself or for someone else's sorrow, not for someone else's joy; with a crying - cry with merry - have fun... living it up? Even so. I'm not saving myself. I'm not close yourself from other people's burning".
Actually, Yes, life itself is burning. Combustion. Someone is burned slowly, fearfully, timidly and quietly. Someone resists, they fight with fire, clinging to his flesh, cada acrid smoke, like a heavy, wet logs. Long and painful.
Someone like September a trash fire when the wiring dried grass, fallen leaves, rotting on the wet earth, and ashes left after the summer - he then flashes, then goes out in the wind. And someone burns quickly and brightly: as the wood in the fireplace, crackling merrily and comfortably, look at his face and you pleased, the soul is happy, and if sad, too, as well.

Her posture was like that of a woman who has nothing more to conceal from men, or who just had a baby: widely, openly and endlessly beautiful. I looked at her naked body and hot, before a lump in the throat, loved life.

I remembered my first boyfriend. School love. When it came to sex, he was afraid. Men are ashamed to show their body more than women. Women are probably flirting. Play. Strange game females. He wants and she is not. He is interested, but she doesn't. He is unbearable, and she doesn't care. No, not really anyway. She too was interested, and she wants you to. I just was bursting with curiosity: how does it what. Yeah, that's it. And all looked away. Although I wanted to look and look. And then other guys wanted the same. But I always looked away. It's like wanting to drink, but not to quench the thirst of even a breath.

Love, like music, has no boundaries and it sounds like you want: a quiet melody of a solitary pipes, and a beautiful duet of two voices, noble classics and the stupid pop song, a major chord and a minor in daring notes and mysterious blocks...

Every thought is like a seed. And indeed - as you sow, so shall you reap. And your life is the field in which you work every day, and at night about her dreams. On that field there is nothing of yours, anything you want, at least unconsciously, as in a dream, deep inside of me, or nothing would be. There all yours, one way or another, voluntarily or involuntarily. Because you are your thoughts.

Life is something mysterious, like a dream, fairy tale, magic, and we absolutely don't know who we are and what we do happens. Magic permeates everything, and the mystery has no beginning and no end, a mystery right now, watching your eyes to this world. Just someone who is so used to everything that does not think about it or not want or can not. However, the mystery does not cease to be mystery, and magic magic.

The most difficult thing is to decide. To find the courage and at least once in life just to allow yourself to be what you really want. To say, "Yes, I want this and do not care at all". In the end, so if you come into this world to live, to live, and don't pretend that live.

A person is not free initially. His life defines what he does can not affect. He chooses neither his birth, nor his place. Do not choose a family in which is born. Nobody asks him if he wants to be born at all. All this he takes as granted, as the instruction to the application that specifies the direction and drawn the boundaries of his life. Hardly anyone dares to cross them. Who dare to do it - risking everything: he becomes an outcast, and it may punish gave birth to his flock. But the only way a person is able to gain freedom.

You're not in the world, and you mean the world. What is human life? It's a happy ticket, one chance and one chance in a million. How many sperms sought to the egg, so you could be here? And only one won. It's you. You win. Your victory is absolute and not subject to revision. And now it is small - give him your life as a winner and not a loser. And to begin with do not ever forget about his victory, live with her. And you will very soon see that your life is joyful and happy. Because only such can be winners.