Legible

When I write for you I feel invincible, but that only lasts as long as it takes to finish.  Then comes the apprehension of my finger hovering over the button to click send.

Should I?
Shouldn’t I?

I take a deep breath and hold.
Click.

Now comes the waiting.  My invincibility is gone and I’m surrounded by weakness and inadequacy.  I’m terrible.  I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said I would do that for you.  I didn’t edit it so please take that into account.  The words I wrote for you felt so strong when they leaped from my fingers to the screen and now they are not even close to good enough for you.

Never once did you return a negative word.  I could easily say you were just being nice but then you’d ask for more.  Again and again.  You’d be excited to read what I wrote for you and would edge me on to continue.  I’d considered quitting my job and spending hours a day holed up in a room with a small window for light as I wrote for you.  You drove me into madness and I spilled that insanity onto the screen.  I handed it back to you with my heart and you kissed it every time.

I love you.  It’s the only way I could write like that for anyone, by being in love with them.

I would write for you until the end of time.  I would make your character iconic.  The sexual dynamo that would be the envy of all.  The girl would become synonymous with sexy, smart and silent.  You’d be a pop culture phenomenon.
I want to write tomes dedicated to you.  Books of poetry with your name scrawled across the front.  Series of literature focused on you.  The Dulcinea of my life.  I will sally forth in search of adventure to claim it in your name.

Everything I do is for you because of the way you make me feel while I’m doing it.  I hope some day I can give that feeling to you.  It’s such an incredible high I want you to be able to experience it.

I’m Not A Real Man

Can a real man be poetic?  Is it possible for him to take his lusting wants and arrange them in such an order that it’s not his libido talking from his pelvic thrusts?
All men ever want to do is fuck, right?
A crass man is thought of as edgy.  His poetry like a blunt object smacking you in the face.

Stop thinking of that, pervert.  It’s not what I meant.

His vulgar nature praised for brilliance.  Using four letter words like $10 wine.  He doesn’t care if it’s fancy, it gets the god damn job done.  The buzz of his pen showing through the scribbles and disjointed analogies.  Even the tic marks crow for the cheap libations.
“Women love this shit,” they proclaim.

Is that right?  Do they?
Maybe.  Perhaps.  Some do.  Some even do all of the time.

But can that real man paint with his words and is it even possible?  Or is he simply a sculptor, chiseling away with his hammer?

I’m not a real man, if that’s the definition we’re going with.  I never want to be one either.  Their violence is bubbling under the surface and takes very little bring out.  Everything is about pain and dominance.  Squeezing to show control.  Respect.

I’m soft.  I’m sweet.  I’m a delicate flower petal that entices in the pollinator to take me with it.  You are the bee in search of something and my words are saccharine.

He tells you he wants to feel the way your cunt tightens when he fucks you on a Sunday morning.  I tell you about the magic in your eyes when I watch them open in the morning light.  I can detail the flutter and the following smile.  How I anticipate the kiss that soon comes after.  He wants to make the most of his morning wood.

The night before when we were wrapped in each others limbs and teaching the bed new ways of holding steady, all I could see was your face in the strip of moonlight leaking in through the window.  The transition of your smile from joyous to ecstasy was like that of a setting sun to a vibrant moon.  We moved together and our sounds complimented each other’s as soprano and bass.  Finally collapsing when the curtain fell, the applause was felt in tired lips on tired lips and drifting off towards pretzeled dreams.
He got off too last night, he remembers.  He knows you did too.  The way your screams ripped the paint off of the walls.  Murder scenes never looked so tidy.  Bones realigning after a hot mess of sweat and spit.  Falling next to you he whispers, “you can get a guy addicted to the way only you can make him cum.”

A real man wants you to know you look good and can get him off every time, like its a talent only you possess.  It’s all physical with a mental squeeze you crave.
I’d rather spend time on your nuanced expressions.  Your tiny creaks and moans and what causes them.  I want to see how loud they can get and where the lever is that makes your mouth drop open and your hips jerk into me.  I want to spend time getting to know the intricacies of you.

 

Excerpt From Nothing: Squeeze

Her lips were like velvet on my skin.  They grazed softly along the back of my jaw while making their way to my ear.  She teased better than a fourth grade bully.  Instead of speaking words in a whispered tone she let out a long, slow exhale of her heated breath.  It spiraled down and tickled the hairs on the back of my neck.  I could feel her smile as I shivered.

“You’re gonna get it,” I muttered with my eyes closed and my body weak.
“Am I?”  She responded before suckling my earlobe into her mouth.

I dropped my mouth open and let out an oh-my-god groan.  My hands grasped her ribs, high up under her arms and dug in.  My eyes opened to attention and I turned my head towards her, breaking the suckle on my earlobe and she pulled back to look down at me.

“Something wrong?”  She asked coyly.

I didn’t answer, at least not with words.  I merely stared at her for a few seconds.  Her nearly naked body as she sat on top of me.  Her dark hair having tumbled down to her shoulders.  The way her smile was daring me to do something back to her as if this was all a ruse to push me into action.
She did that a lot.  Fucking with my need to always be right or simply just pressing buttons to see what reaction she’ll get.  I loved it.  I’ve only known her a few weeks but she seems to do everything perfect.  Leaving me questioning her motives but knowing they are only with good intentions.  Pausing with a smile and her smiling back, knowing she’s hooked me again and I don’t even care.
So I fall for it, again.  I take a gaze at her sexuality and spin her in a growling thump onto her back.  Flipping our positions and her head on the pillow and my body between her legs.  My lips find her ear now.  The vibrations in my voice sound like hunger.  They shake down through her ear as I speak.

“Lock your legs around my waist.  Squeeze.  Don’t stop.  Not until I’m begging for mercy.  Use your thighs like a walnut cracker.”

She then turned her head into mine like I did to her moments earlier.  We looked in each others eyes and she smiled her sly grin again as I felt her legs rising.  She mouthed the words, “kiss me,” as her ankles hooked together around my back.  As our lips met in a kiss I felt her thighs tighten firmly and smiled against her mouth.
It was a cute attempt.  I don’t know if she wasn’t going full on by choice or if she thought she was going to get me to break fairly easy.  Either way, when my lips needed a moment to breathe I opened my eyes and smiled against her kiss, not wanting to fully part from the velvet.

“I sure hope that isn’t all you’ve got, blue,” smiling at her because I can’t ever stop and then flowing right into a movie quote in a horrible impersonation of Jack Nicholson.

” Please tell me you have something more, Lieutenant.  These two marines are on trial for their lives.  Please tell me that their lawyer hasn’t pinned their hopes to a phone bill.”

Grinning at her afterwards, wondering if she gets the reference.  Looking into her eyes to see if she’s trying to place it or just fucking with me again.  Waiting a few seconds and then turning my attention to her hands.  Finding each of them and lacing my fingers with hers, pinning them to the bed and giving my hips a thrust into her.

“Excuse Me.  I didn’t dismiss you,” she quickly says as I push against her body.

“I beg your pardon?”  I look back into her face with another smile.

“I’m not finished my examination.  Sit down.”
Upon the last word falling off of her lips and the blue in her eyes tightening on the blue in mine I can feel the force of her thighs squeezing me.  Her fingers tightening their grip on my hands in return.  Her lip being bitten as either a form of enticement for me or concentration and force for herself.  It might be a little bit of both actually.  Then, a thrust upwards of her hips into mine and a slight twist and jerk.  My back caving for half of a second and dropping down into her.  Her movement pulling a groan from my throat and my entire body quaking.

She continues to squeeze.  We keep eye contact.  She’s winning.  My eyes are rolling into the back of my head until a rush of heat burns through my veins.  She adds a grunting moan to her squeeze and twists the other direction.  The movements push everything right into place.  My eyes flare into hers.  My hands squeeze back against hers and press down into the bed.  She squeezes harder but all it does is move me into her with more strength.
She tries.  On and on she tries to regain her edge.  Lifting herself almost right up against me and lighting the muscles from her knees to her stomach on fire.  I watch as her mouth drops open in one last attempt to make me collapse into her.
She’s cutting off my breathing.  Each suck for air being depleted more and more.  Neither of us giving in until the moment where we can’t go any further and she drops to the bed.
The feeling of her legs loosening has me following her.  My body suddenly feeling less comfortable.  In need of those legs tightly around me.  Naked without them.  My lips kissing hers hungrily as she lay there, her legs now like jelly and unable to move without effort.

I kiss her, again and again.  She’s panting along with my kisses.  Our breath cascading along each others skin.  Her face sweating and she looks up at me, eyes barely open and she smiles.  I smile back at her and finish the movie reference.

“What do you want to discuss now, my favorite color?”

A wide smile paints across her face and I dive into it, kissing and rolling next to her on the bed.  Enveloping each other in our arms and carrying on like the day doesn’t have to continue outside of this room.

Excerpt From Nothing: Pencil Skirt

I’d love to lay back and enjoy you. Sit here and watch you come in the room and kind of stand there with your hand on your hip as its cocked. Smiling at you from the bed. Your eye brow raised. Lois Lane eye roll at the ready.

“Hey babe,” I’d say toyingly. That annoying charm I’m infamous for. The kind of thing that makes you want to slap me and kiss me, just always unsure which you want to do first.

“Hey,” you reply. Short and sweet. A twang in your voice but not the usual southern charm that drips from your lips but a stretch of the word because it’s saying more than just what’s on its face. It’s asking what the fuck I’m doing. It’s asking what I want. It’s asking so many questions all while telling me to get that smirk off of my face and do something useful like rub your feet because these heels are fucking killer.

“Traffic?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, no reason. You’re usually home by now. Took your time then?”

Pushing it. I’m always pushing it. Often over the line and making the sirens blare and red lights flash. Not quite enough to release the hounds but your fingers is hovering over the button.

“Didn’t think I had much to rush for, turns out I was right.”

You knew how to smack the smug off of my face with words better than most. You never just took it. Why would you? You were good at giving it yourself. That’s why whenever you gave it back I always smiled wider.

“Take off your panties.”

“Ugh, do you have to use that word?”

“What word?”

“Pa-panties,” you shivered and cringed.

“Yeah. You didn’t show me what you were wearing so I don’t know if they’re a thong, boy shorts, hipsters, whatever. So I have to use the generic term. Panties. Take them off. I want to watch. Be my personal stripper.”

You glared. How dare I ask you for such a thing. You were just at work all day and I’ve been lounging in pajamas for hours. How dare I. But that look on your face danced from skeptical and glowering to a sly grin. You had a long day, yeah. But what better way to end it then with some fun.

You obliged. Your obliged perfectly. Your hips wiggled as your fingers hiked your pencil skirt up your thighs. The exposed skin was enough to draw a grown from my lips and cause me to sit up against the backboard of the bed. Your hands slipped under the fabric of the skirt and tugged at the thin, flimsy fabric covering your ass. The panties pulled down below your skirt and dragging down your thighs. They drop helplessly to the floor and you step out of them and pick them up.

“Thong,” you say as you throw them at me.

The throw only meant to distract me as you follow them in a rush. Crashing into me with a kiss on the bed, the panties a lost distraction in the sheets between us now. Our hands wandering wildly. Our lips greeting each other hungrily. Your blouse another casualty of war. Buttons being pulled and stretched to their limit. Your perfectly done hair this morning now a whipping mess falling down onto me as you make my face disappear in it.

We enjoy each other fully. We take each others body completely. I am deep in you and you are all over me. We don’t stop until we can’t take it anymore. All I need for you to do is walk in the room and I’m yours. I don’t want it any other way.

By The End Of The Night

Two bottles of something sharp hang loosely from one hand while a glass dangles from your fingertips of the other.  The way you walk across the room should be rated NC-17.  Your hips require a parental advisory label.  You’re half dressed and fully charged.  We’ve already been at it for a couple of hours and you thought it’d be a good time to stop for a drink.  Your modest nature amusing as you throw on a t-shirt, the idea of me seeing your naked chest unbearable after what we just did makes me laugh as you slip it over your head.

“Shut up,” you say with a smirk.  I oblige and stare at your ass as it moves out of the room, the thong perfectly in place.

You place the glass on the table and pour a drink, then lift the bottle to your mouth and take a long swig.  The bottle slammed on the table as you finish, the back of your hand dragged across your lips as you lean and stare at me.  All I can sense at that moment is the lust in your eyes, as if you’re an animal stalking its prey.  You’re observing me through the thicket and waiting for the exact moment to sink your teeth into my jugular and your thighs onto my hips.

Animalistic lust isn’t usually your thing, but it can be.  When I touch you the right way and say the perfect set of words you let it out.  This raw display sends shivers through me and electrifies every part of my body.  I want to exhaust us to the point of no return.

“Come here,” is all I say.  I want more, I need more, but the only words that find their way out are those two.

You oblige this time.  The few steps to the edge of the bed before crawling towards me and not stopping until your lips assault mine with a growl and a kiss.  You’re so god damn perfect, it makes me want to fuck you into eternity.

Everything you are excites me.  Everything you do makes me want you more.  Your body is my purpose.  Your moans are my goal.  I want to know you inside and out and explore the range of tone in your voice.  I’ll bring you to such euphoric bliss that you’ll know nothing else but me and by the end of the night you’ll know my name.

In Bed

We’re in bed again.  We always end up bed.  Even if the bed isn’t an actual bed.  Do you remember the time we were camping and the rain started to seep through the tent?  It was an old tent and you warned me that it didn’t look like it would hold.  I said you were crazy.  Well, the tent couldn’t hold and the seams busted.

It was pouring out, a torrential downpour, so we ran for the cover of the trees.  Our campsite waterlogged and looking more like a pool as the seconds passed.

“Fuck!”  I yelled.

“What?!”  You jumped and looked at me in a panic.

“The keys!   The car keys are in there!  I’m going to have to go fucking swimming to find them.”

You just laughed.  It started small and then erupted into this explosive laughter that made you fall on the ground.  I remember the way you could barely breathe as you gasped for air.

The water was held at bay in our cozy spot in the trees as the canopy of branches and leaves kept us as dry as we were going to get.  I looked down at you as you wiped your eyes, finally able to compose yourself after your hysterics.  You looked so fucking beautiful at that moment.  The smile in your eyes was glowing.  It could have just been the tears reflecting the moonlight with a slight addition from the rain, but it was breathtaking.

Your hair was soaked.  I always loved the way your hair looked fresh out of the shower, nearly dripping wet down your back.  This was even better.  You were fully clothed and it was sopping wet.  Rivulets of water streamed chaotically down your face.

“What?”  You said as you looked up at me.  I shook my head because I had no words.  All I could do was lean down to kiss you.

That kiss took over and turned into my hands under the wet fabric of your shirt.  You received my advance and let me take over.  I was an animal in my thirst for you.  The forest floor was our bed that night.  I ripped our clothing off and threw it underneath me.  I pulled you onto me and held you close.  The rain bathed our skin as we gave thanks to the gods with our own dance.

Now you’re sleeping here next to me.  It’s the middle of the night and I woke up.  I never really fell asleep actually, just in and out after we tore at each others bodies for most of the night.  I’m laying here and all I can do is pay homage to you by writing down my thoughts.  Thoughts of the time we’ve traded our deep meanings and intellect for raw surging lust.  Your thighs slathered around my hips while your ankles locked behind me.  You never even took off your heels, and its just one of the reasons I’ll never stop being in love with you.

Crude Love

I want to suck your face off.  The words aren’t poetic or sweet.  They don’t sing.  When you hear them leave my full lips to your delicate ears you aren’t inclined to tell me you love me or think we have a future together.  All you want to do is bite down on those lips and pull them into your mouth.  Suck the fullness right out and make me yelp in pain as you clench too hard.

Lock my head between your thighs and don’t stop ’til morning.  The words are suggestive and crude.  You know what I want.  You can see it in my eyes.  The fire crackling, nearing explosive.  My only purpose in life at this moment is to transfer this explosion from my lips to your hips.  The eye-rolling rhyme only meant for your knees to squeeze tighter along with your fist in my hair and my face given no room to breathe.

Lets make-out.  Lets rip each others clothes off.  Lets mark each others skin with our teeth and nails.  Lets fuck.

Give me the dripping, messy love that people are afraid to experience.  The kind of love that when you slide your hands in it your face screws up because the feeling is so thick and sticky you don’t think you’ll ever get it out.  Get it on my clothes and in my hair.  I want to feel you under my nails and between my teeth.  I want to know what your neck smells like when you sweat.

I don’t want to love you all the time like strawberries and sweet-scented fields of delicate flowers.  Commercial love doesn’t allow for the things I want to do to you.  Public view cannot handle the contortion of our bodies that run through my mind.  You are my raw intensity.  I am your unfiltered passion.  Lets mix our colors together and start painting.

Way Back #4: Art for Arts Sake

I wrote this five and a half years ago.  I was trying to be sly and clever and think I got a little wordy and pretentious.  It kind of holds up though.  I liked it enough to save it all this time.

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Twenty-something girl

She was young.  Too young some would say, but what was too young aside from some subjective number that made their own moral conscience quiet down enough to let them be appreciate beauty and be aroused.  What really is the difference between a mature twenty year old and an immature twenty-eight year old?  The barely twenty-year old working overtime while shes young and single while the late-twenties girl parties and pockets sexual encounters like they are twenty dollar bills.

I have no idea which she is but I do know she has everything empirically possible to make a man weep.  Summer days like today almost make you wish you never got out of bed.  The heat and sun making the excruciating combination of lust and arousal.  The shorts that cut off so high you’re not sure if they’d be considered delicate or casual.

Her tank top low and sheer, covering only what playboy made its billions from.  Lipstick and perfume to enhance her spell.  Does she do it on purpose or just for herself?  She certainly doesn’t flaunt it, simply laughing with friends and smiling as she should always be doing.

She’s incredible.  She’s the personification of sexual lust.  She’s admired and adored and probably knows it.  Respectfully I don’t stare.  I don’t leer or pursue.  Merely catching a fleeting glance of something burning with such vivid allure and then having her float off into the distance like a butterfly, worth it just to know she’s out there in the world.