• Poetry

    Sex at Dawn

    One sliver of newborn sunlight stretches across the sleep-wrinkled sheet that covers our slowly waking forms. It dances, the rhythm of an ocean wave, as the ceiling fan sways the curtains. Your palm finds the curve of my breast, dreamily continuing to explore, elsewhere. As we draw closer to wakefulness, our hands entwine and our eyes open. Morning sings its subtle alarm, as we cometogether, wrap ourselves in arms and legs… …writhing with the dawn. This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  The prompt this week was – “Writhe”.  Check out the site to see who else is playing. In keeping with my poetry challenge to write all of the forms found on…

  • Fiction

    Undone

    Fastening the garter to the top of the black stocking–she could only do the front…the back always eluded her–she called out in the general direction of the bedroom door, “Honey?” “What?” the response came from somewhere close, probably the hallway. “I need you to help me with my garters; I can’t get the damn things to clasp in the back.” He walked in, shirtless and “just-woke-up” disheveled.  She stood up, turned around, and looked back at him expectantly. His lip curled up into a half smile, devious…and his eyes fixed her where she stood.  He went down on one knee and put his hands up to the back of her…

  • Experience,  Photography,  Poetry

    Inappropriate places for orgasms…& a little HNT for good measure.

    While in a meeting, your naked form invadesmy wandering mind.  I try to persuademy brain to focus, but its decision has been made.I can think of nothing but getting laid.I text you to say I’m horny as hell.Thoughts of addressing my own needs, to yellout my release to an unnerving level, pervade my daydreams causing me to meltbetween the pressure of my own thighs.With the sudden rush, imagine my surprise…my face crimson-flushed, my eyes open wide. While driving home, I slip my fingers in.Feeling the desire course through swollen skin,I glance at the driver beside me…and grin. Another poetry experiment from the Poet’s Garret – The Arabian Sonnet (aaaa, bbbb,…

  • Experience,  Poetry

    In the Back Seat of the Bus

    Boarding the bus, we claimed the back seat, seeking the cover of night’s inky cloak —  So no one would see your hand slip into my jeans, fingers searching out my heat. Palming a small vibrator, you slowly stroked me to wetness, and only the streetlights knew. You guided my hand between your thighs, where your warm, exposed penis occupied my attention.  The lust built up, so sweet and thick ’til we came closer to our stop. We zipped our desire back in the discrete shell of acceptable appearance, and hopped down the stairs onto the glittering, black street, watching the red taillights become tiny dots. Continuing on with my…

  • Experience

    TMI – Fill in the blanks

    1.  I’m the type of person that likes to be dominated in bed. 2.  If the sexiest person I know propositioned me for sex, I would be completely surprised, make sure it was cool with his/her significant other, and then head for the bedroom – sexiest person in tow.3.  The worst part about sleeping alone when I’m naked is that I get cold…and lonely…and inevitably – horny.4.  I regret my first… nothing.5.  The last sexual/kinky thing I expected to like was fucking someone else’s wife.6.  Recently, I masturbated for someone. Bonus Question:  You have been kidnapped by lesbians and dragged into a lesbian orgy.  What are you going to do? What the hell…

  • Experience

    Guilt, Jealousy, and Submission

    Guilt (click link to visit “Dear Sir”) I’ve been a bit remiss in my “Dear Sir” posts…but, I’m falling back into line. I saw an email that Mr. LL wrote to a potential submissive partner…and not only was I intrigued by his ability to take charge of a complete stranger, but I was also a bit jealous. I turned a bit green with envy, wishing it were me that he was directing with such authority. He definitely does “dominate” me from time to time…and he really is the only one I allow it from…but when he does, it’s a complete turn on. And somehow, stupidly I suppose, I was envious of…

  • Poetry

    Beneath Beautiful

    “Beneath Beautiful” The hard beauty of a perfect mistakehums a slow lullabyin the back of anegligent mind.Getting it to stop takes more thanshallow acceptance. History, we’ve been told, has a way of repeatingitself…crashing backdown to destroy the alreadydevastated structures, compromisingeverything until it becomes nothing, andNothing becomes our claimed history. Aberrantly, this song of the pastreflects a distorted version meant toengineer mistrust and fear. Under rubble, though, there is alwaysnew growth – tender green shootsconscious only of the sun and theirorders:  to stretch upward,venture outward untilevery bud has the chance to berelevant, simply because it wouldn’tdie, refusing to stay in shadow… pulsing, mouth to the sky, inhaling andexhaling the freedom of…

  • Photography

    Ice Cream and Tits…two of my favorite things…

    I eat strawberry ice cream directly from the container – without guilt – clothed in nothing but light pink undergarments, containing rose-colored nipples and a glistening, ruby slit.  I set them free, letting the breeze in the air and the cold, sweetness sliding down my throat summon their attention.  I wrap a shimmering scarf – the color of ripe, juicy watermelon –  around my neck, which blooms from light to deepening shades of blush as the ghost of your kiss ignites a firework of unfulfilled desire.  My cherry lips silently pout their want for the salt of your skin.  And since I can’t touch you or taste you across the distance, I will…

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