a cup a cup a cup a cup a cup

I like coffee.

I also enjoy making it on those mornings when I know that lunch will be delayed, when milky java is there to warm me, to satisfy me, as I am frothing, and as you are reaching around from behind and unbuttoning my jeans. “Don’t get too distracted,” you tell me as the milk nearly boils. Distraction is exactly the point. Is it not?

“How’s that?” I ask, as you take the first sip, my pants now down to my knees.

“Mmm. I like the thong.”

I am not sure quite how you manage to get your own pants down while holding the cup, how you get your cock loosened from your briefs. The effect is nonetheless jolting.

“I have always wanted to do this,” you say, and I think suddenly of all the things you have managed to do to me within minutes of arriving at my house, scenarios you must perfect on the ride here… It is in those few minutes that I know the thoughts that fill your mind when you let them… if you let them. I imagine you fantasizing, and the thought of that is almost more exciting.

You take another sip, the hot coffee now less threatening as you push yet harder into my wetness. I steady myself at the sink, aware of the sheer audacity of it all. I am hot, could easily come this way … But like most parlor tricks, this is more trick than treat, though the treat is substantial. It teases. It tempts. But I know how much more is possible in less restrictive settings. I want more of you, more than we can manage standing half-dressed in my kitchen.

I want you in my bed, my clothes and yours off, our skin only to separate us.

I pull up my jeans and run up the stairs, your footsteps then right behind mine. Round the corner.. I have made the bed, but all for naught, I think, only to give the impression that I am a tidy person. And I am not.

No, nothing is tidy in this life, I know, and I know that it truly does not matter, here, now. I throw my jeans on the floor, my sweater, too, and dive beneath the covers, leave the pale blue panties, the bra, for you to gaze at, then remove. You will, I know you will. You will lie back, and pull me up onto your bare body, your cock full of want, my want, a sigh, at last, at last.

It is all so familiar, this fucking, and yet always so damned gratifying, opening myself in anticipation of your hungry cock, hard, driving me hard, urgently, yes, yes. Yes, I want to grab you, milk the come right from you as you lose yourself, the world, all but what is right here right now, which is all that matters, really, ever. Today.

And still, I may think of this tomorrow. I may think of this desire, once, in my kitchen, on some long, slow day, in my untidy bed, warm and dreamy, cream and hot coffee, on a cold morning.

snow day

I am home, now, home here in the snow, trapped away from possibility, touch, trapped here thinking of sun and warmth, and your tongue tracing my lips, your face buried down between my legs as I arch back, as I grab your head and caress it, then grasp it back close into me as you seem to back away, maybe just for air, maybe just for rest, maybe just to change positions, but maybe to stop, which I most surely most surely do not want you to do right now, oh no.

Snow, come, but not the wait, the want. I want, yes, want you here in my bed, you here, on a complicated cold day, on an uncomplicated warm day, here, not in my mind and my fingertips, but here, your fingers, my legs spread wide exposing my lust for you on a snow white bed, on a grassy field, on another day. Here, my words, not just my words… my words, your words, colliding, intersecting, comprehending, asking, answering, yes, soon, yes.



“Take me in your mouth,” you said.

My hand wrapped around, I lean my head over your lap and taste you. You have been hard now forever it seems as my tongue circles your glans, licking off the pre-come that has beaded up in anticipation. How long have you waited for the moment when my hot mouth envelopes you? Do you think of this often, there in that space that haunts your idle moments?

My hair hangs down like a curtain around this lovely dégustation. I am not teasing you–oh you think it is teasing; it seems an eternity since I unzipped your trousers–though I quickly take you in, sampling every inch of you with the voracity that you have come to expect once the door is closed behind us. Oh no, I am not teasing: I wrap my lips around and let your beautiful cock slide into my warm mouth, deep to the back of my throat.

You know how wet it makes me to hear you gasp as I do this. You know it arouses me to feel you throb in my mouth. I stop, start again and realize that you are tenser still, battling to avoid an imminent climax. Your hands in my hair hold my head tight as I swallow you, as my fingernails tickle your balls, as my throat expands to let you in deeper, my face buried in your musky scent.

I back out a bit, moan a little myself at your growing need–and mine–not wanting to let you come yet, wanting you to wait long enough to feed my hungry cunt with weeks of unrequited lust.

So much more of you to taste. I push your balls up and suck them, nibble on your thighs, and slide you back down my throat again. Shall we fuck? Oh yes! Let’s fuck, until time and space no longer exist.

Fuck me. Push my face off of your sweet cock and roll me over onto my front, pin me down while you tease me back, your fingers deftly tracing the labia you have made so wet, so swollen. Plunge a finger or two in–you know exactly how you excite me.

How long would it take for you to push my legs open? How long before you kneel behind me, my ass high in the air as you spread me and ram your desire into my fire?

I come immediately when you do that, you know: my cunt slick, blazing for you. Fuck me, I say. Fuck me hard, so I feel your balls slap hard against my clit, sending me quickly into oblivion once more. Feast on this, fuck me faster, or slower, however you like. I am beyond human now, existing only for a moment that your fingernails dig into my flesh as you grasp me tighter still, as you shake and slap my ass harder than you think you do, as you continue to screw me not gently, but beyond all reason.

Yes you pull out and flip me over again, you gasping and desperate as you roll to your back and pull me onto you, my greedy cunt still dripping lust as I take my seat. You grab my hips to show me how rough you want this ride to be. Rough. No no, you astound me, holding back through my now countless orgasms. You astound me now, my grinding pelvis, your hands cupping my breasts as I lean over you to change the angle, tighter now as you squeeze my nipples now to gauge my reaction. My eyes widen as I feel myself about to lose control once more; you thrust in as I relax to let you deeper, your cock throbbing hard now as I pinch your nipples, too, shaking now myself, again, your come exploding violently, endlessly, deep inside me.

The room comes back, a sudden realization of the cold day, the need for covers, warmth, sleep… satisfaction.


Twirling quickly, it is difficult to avoid dizziness, dancing late into the night, to the dropping of the ball and the good cheers with friends. So 2011 began. And here, too, a day later in the fogginess of a new day, the mist rising from the melting snow, a rainbow–is it?–I see when the sun peeks out for just a moment. Rainbows must become more common as life progresses–that much I am sure of. But no, just a glimpse of light now: just the mist and the rain, and the trails melting ice upon wet leaves and pine needles, and the cool of the morning, birds chattering, then quiet. And now back in the familiar, the warm floors, the dark rooms made home again as I switch on a lamp and head upstairs with my tea, sleepy suddenly–or perhaps just yearning for my bed, the soft light, the scent of a pillow and a dreaminess that is only truly possible on days when fog can take over, whether twirling or mist or memories themselves, the long-awaited, the faraway.