I am sleepy, foggily finding my way into a hot bath, then bed, then you, thinking of you here, you there in some unfamiliar bed somewhere else, you dreaming, faded into exhaustion and heat and memory and dreams, until you wake, confused early in the morning by the surroundings. Are you here? or anywhere? or reaching in the night, reaching for stars, for dreams, for the warmly familiar, for the quickening pulse?


“One day to come together
To release the pressure.
We need a holiday.”

“Honey, do you know where my g-spot it?”


A g-spot is not a clitoris. It is not the perineum, nor is it labia. It is certainly not a nipple, and it is not that area just inside–oh my–the entrance to my pussy, although, I do admit that once you are there I am nearly gone, gushing, grinding into your hand in some vain effort to show you just exactly where that sacred spot is.

Oh mercy.. you found it. Oh sweet heaven in my bed, you found it, and I can barely stand it, pushed over the edge as you show me that despite your own drained state after the blow job I just gave you, despite your prior feigned ignorance about such matters, you know exactly where I want you to touch me now, exactly what will happen if you press on it just… like… that. Oh yes.

It makes me think a little of the evening before, when we were not alone here just the two of us, when I had my fingers curved back inside a nice warm cunt, my tongue on her accommodating clit. Ah yes, I had always wanted to do that–friends must be for this sort of thing. But you know. You were there, kneading nipples, fingering with admirable dexterity, exploring and satiating your female audience: both of us.

Amazing. Simply amazing.

I am exhausted now, nearly a day after sharing so much. Moments come back to me, in kaleidoscope-like glimpses as I catch variations on the movements: one moment you, one moment me, one moment her, at all moments all three, joined in an intimate space. So warm, so hot.

And still, in the night, more. Much more.

To be continued…

someone’s in the kitchen

Onions caramelize in the pan, now past the raw, the clear, into that magical sweetness that simmering over low heat for a long, long time is bound to bring out. I have been cooking today, all day, covered in flour, braised in wine, brown stock reduced, the steam lingering, settling in my sweater and my hair.

I feel my best in some ways here, in this forgotten realm of wizardry–what might I concoct? I never know quite, only wish for the inspiration, the wonder, the creation. Something exquisite… we can wish for that.

The process is what moves me… the rice that crackles when it cooks, quenched for a short time by the wine, the hot stock, until it soaks it in, ever richer, wants more.. creamy, creamy, hot with the mushrooms and the cheese, and time.

Yes, this. This. Kale, dark and leafy–healthy to be sure–but who cares? Lemon, a bit, olive oil. I want it, want the sinewy meat that seemed inedible, now tender, melting. Melting chocolate, cream, whipped.. can we find our desire in this?



I cannot help but wonder as I wander through the streets and alleys of my mind what lies around the next corner. These days, it seems the smallest thought turns into a real being, living, breathing… and in reality always there before, but now transformed into figments of my desire, of your desire, of our collective lustful imaginations.

So it shall be. A jug of lube, a bundle of rope and thou, beside me singing in the wilderness… perhaps? Or in the sweetly familiar love nest where we explore bodies and minds, discovering paradise, redefining it in a balance of pain and pleasure?

I crave your skin, skin hot, crackling as you roll over and let me whip you into submission.. would you? Would you release your will, if only for a few precious moments, let me drive you beyond debauchery, beyond pain, beyond pleasure?

I crave your skin, your hot skin, your sizzling skin as I dowse about the surface, as I crawl beneath it, tapping the pleasure within you, you your bountiful well.

I release you. Yes, if I were to release you, let you ravish me, let you scoop me up, let you wash me out, would you be satisfied? Or would you come back for more, craving more?

way to treat a lady

Is this the way you treat me when you haven’t seen me in such a long time?

Apparently it is. I am still covered in you, yes, all over my legs and belly, my breasts. And I want to sleep, sleep, here exhausted and satiated as I am here now, still lying in my bed, luxuriously free for a few hours before the world comes back to me.

Eventually I will get up, I know, and see the state in which you have left my house from your visit: the rope still tied to the bed, the massage oil on the nightstand, the dildos lying out still to be cleaned and put away… My muscles relax, still stretched in ways I had nearly forgotten, and the sight of all this will remind me all the more of what we did here. I may never leave my bed…

Well fucked. Yes, your cock already sore just anticipating me, wanting me. I can be gentle, though I do not want to be. But I love that cock of yours, so hard and useful it is.. Yes, I drop to my knees to pray at the altar of your lovely rock hard cock–I bow my head and lick, then peer upward to see you close your eyes and bless me as my hot mouth envelops you for the first time this time–it has been such a long time.

You want me, want me still I know, though your asshole must feel the transgressions–mine still feels the effects of your pounding cock. I want you to ram me again hard, now, moving me from moan to scream as you continue, as you quiver and lose control inside of me, your come thrashing inside me, your balls slapping hard against my labia. You want me, though your cock is spent, and you, too are exhausted, I know. You want me, as you know you want to be my best fuck, and not just my now fuck, and I want to fuck you again and again, I want you to watch me fuck, watch me watch you fuck, multiplying desire, want, need. More.

tomorrow morning

Your voice changes when I turn you on. Sometimes a growl, sometimes a lovely hum, it tells me immediately when you want me.

You want me.

It has been so long now.

I want you.

I remember the smooth freckled skin covering your taut body, your strength–my weakness to resist you. I like to resist you, though, and I like it when you win. I like to let you have me for whatever you like–and then to watch you surrender yourself, you lying back and urging me to climb on top of you, urging me to tell you all the filthy things I have been thinking and doing while you fuck me harder, still harder.

I remember, maintaining abstraction now in your absence so that my sanity remains intact. I remember, and still my imagination soars, to the infinite possibilities for experimenting still more, for expanding desire.