The Red Curtain

As I stand here, my desire pulsing, throbbing slick between my legs, as I stand here imagining the warmth of your dark gaze in place of the cold, hard stare of the lens, as I stand here breathlessly aching, a sheen of lust and impatience prickling my fair skin, I wonder, I wonder, I wonder if you realise what you do to me, if you know your true effect.

Do you know I want and crave and need you in more ways than words can ever dare express? Do you know how I yearn to trail my soft lips over and about you, to devour every pulsing vein, every smooth hollow and wiry curl, every inch of your glistening skin and flesh? Do you know how I long to draw the scarlet drapes and cosset our naked bodies away, to fuck you and make love to you in this secluded and timeless cocoon, far from the world we know, far from the personas we assume, to fuck you with the passionate intensity running hot and oily through these veins, to arch myself over your imposing form, to come with a scorching rush over your greedy cock, to milk the seed my velvet heat covets, to feel your body tremble and shudder as you possess me as yours, as I scream your name? Do you know how I hunger to take you, expose and bare you in the full glare of the light, the curtains drawn back, this room our stage, the prying eyes on the street, the curious gazes watching raptly, consuming our entwined bodies, the sight of the carnal beast who lurks within you impaling my sweet little cunt from behind, the pounding of flesh, your fingers digging into my hips, your shaft emerging gleaming and bright, my moans, your groans ringing out through the hush and their silence, your fist in my curls, your mouth finally seeking my kiss as you drive into my soul, into my molten depths as no other man has done before this moment of bliss?

The Silence

In the silence
These lips form
Whispers
Kisses

In the silence
This touch is
Lightness
Being

In the silence
The body glows
Passion
Hope
Memory

Beginnings and Endings

The days, the weeks have faded away and yet the visions that rush past my eyes, the sensations that assault then course through my body take me back as if it was only yesterday.

So overwhelmed, so seized by this torrent, I can barely form an utterance with either lips or pen. And even in this rare moment when the words have chosen to grace me with their presence, I am at a loss; I am dumbstruck, unable to fix upon a point, a look, a stroke, a caress, a thrust, a soft swell, a detail, a beginning.

Where do I begin? Where do I begin?

Do I begin with that night, with the morning after, with the season and the oppressive heat that boiled mercury, blistered bitumen, melted bricks and mortar, with the heat that radiated through the day and long after the sunset, the heat that prickled my newly bathed and perfumed skin, my once fair flesh golden and gleaming as I impatiently waited for you to weave your way through the peak-hour traffic?

With your knock on my door, with the moment you crossed the threshold, with your grin, my smile, our momentary shyness, with our first kiss, deep, devouring, urgent, with the way our hungry lips and tongues immediately erased the miles that had kept us apart for an aeon, with the change in erotic tempo as I stopped to recover my sight, my reach, my breath, this gaze meeting yours, wandering tenderly over your face, these fingers sensually sliding up the curve of your neck, finding their home in your nape, my lips softly brushing the peaks of your mouth, this silken tongue tracing its shape, your hands possessing my hips, urging me into the pulsation of your thickening and hardening flesh?

With your fingers teasing the zip of my dress, the metal teeth groaning in synch with the dirty sax oozing out of the speakers, the straps somehow gliding off my shoulders of their own will and accord, with the aching slowness you edged the bodice over the pert breasts sheathed in diaphanous lace, your tips burning a trail on the ebony silk, on my shivering body, your hands drawing the fabric down, down, down over the taunt line of my belly, easing it over my rocking hips, over the filigree bound tight around me, past the lean, silky legs raised up stiletto high?

With my own hands teasing and tugging at your constricting clothing, with my naked breasts pressed into the smoothness of your chest, my lips gently suckling your nipple, your knees buckling violently in response, the lightest of kisses, the daintiest of licks finding the glistening pearl nestling in your cockhead, my body bowed in worship, in benediction, my wet mouth enveloping your glans as your hands travel the length of my spine, as your questing fingers prise apart the luscious curves at the end of my feminine line?

With the moment I break away, leaving you lonely and yearning again, walking the path to the bedroom glowing in the lamp light beyond, with the way I meet your gaze over my shoulder, with my lingering form in the doorway as I register your desiring expression, the catch of your breath, the groan from low in your throat, with my position in front of the mirrored wall as I stand waiting for you once more?

With the reflection of our naked bodies, the contrast of your scarlet shaft pressed into my creamy thigh, your arm about my waist, the gentle strength of your hand as you slip in one digit then two then more, as you finger me, as you finger my hot velvet cunt, as my own knees weaken, the wetness dripping, flowing, my sweetness cupped in your palm, the sweat on your brow, the lone bead gliding between my breasts, my head on your shoulder, my body given over, abandoned to your touch, my body intoxicated with pleasure, the first orgasm screaming up through my bones, my gasp, my moan, these lips begging, pleading to be taken, to be fucked, to have you, to have you fuck me, to have you inside me? 

With the hour, the minute, the second you finally, finally lay me down, spread me wide, cleave open the pouting lips of my cunt, your glans gleaming with the honey you will indulgently lap later that night, your shaft nudging then plunging to the hilt, to the hilt, to the clutching hilt, no warning, no ceremony only desire, desire, a desire quickly morphed into need, the need to fill me, to feel me, embracing and milking, devouring, devouring you, from the inside, from the inside, my back arching off the now sodden and rumpled cotton sheeting, these arms grasping for earth, your pounding thrusts delivering your force, your weight, your possession, your cock emerging slick and triumphant, your cock buried in so deep neither one of us can think or speak, your cock, your thrusts, my screams ringing into the summer night’s silence, your cock, your thrusts, my screams, your dominance, your passion, your command speaking with precision to my trembling submission?

Where do I begin? Is this where I begin? Do I begin with you? Or do I begin at another beginning?

Do I begin with him?

Do I begin with the other you, with the one, with the man who has haunted this woman, this desire, these pages for what feels like an age? Do I begin with the revelations that should be locked and hidden away?

Do I begin with the fact he invaded me long before you arrived, with the ache in my heart, with the longing in my flesh, with the pain inflicted by his silence and disappearance, the pain I selfishly needed you to comfort and erase?

Do I begin with his spectre, looming, lurking in the corner, the voyeur deliberately conjured to bare witness, to taste the sour bile rising up in his throat, to feel the raw desire and bitter jealousy twisting his guts in a knot as you experience and savour and take me in every way he has always wanted and more, as you slide into me with a groan, as you possess me like a beast, as the walls absorb the sound of your flesh slapping hard from behind, as your sweat pools in my back, your hands a vice on this flesh, fucking me with a passionate brutality that will surely drive him from my soul, from this room at long last?

Do I begin with my hands clasped over my mouth in fear of releasing his name, my lids shut tight, shrouding everything but the visions within me, wanting you, wanting him, wanting him to be you, each deep thrust a hope, each angry plunge an exorcism, a purging of guilt, of jealousy, of obsessive desire running oily-hot through these veins, each blinding high, each resting low, each shuddering orgasm somehow bringing me closer to you both?

Do I begin with your tenderness, the complexity of your caress, with our lovemaking deep in the dark dead of night, with the way my body opened itself to you as I thought of him, as I needed and imagined him beneath my slight form, with the way I straddled your thighs, my delicate fingers wound around his uncut cock, my cunt hovering, my hips descending, this intimate flesh engulfing your heat, taking you to the place where you rightly belong, our bodies distilled to shadows, to sensate silhouettes, my heart reduced to a beating, adoring ache, our sensual rhythm, our mutual pleasure, our sensual rhythm transporting me across the ether, across the air and the lands and the seas vast between us, our sensual rhythm finally delivering me to you and you to me? 

Do I begin with this deluge, with this confusion, with this seemingly incoherent muddle of words, with the salty tears, with the sobs now breaking as I sit here and type, as I sit here confessing it all?

Where do I begin? Where do I begin?

Where do I begin when so much of this feels like the end?

Gold Dust

You
Unearth me
Bare me
Heartlessly reduce me
To gold dust
Shimmering lonely
In the darkness of the night

Gossamer Caress

Although soft and indulgent against my skin, there’s little comfort in this gossamer caress for it merely fuels the yearning deep within, the yearning for your touch sensual and tender, for the kiss that speaks to me of boundless passions, for your body pressed in tight, for the flesh pressed in so close we no longer care where each of us begins and ends, for the lover aching to enfold me, for the man craving this embrace, for the one waiting, for the one needing this perfecting union.

In the Pink

In bed and in the pink and missing you, aching, aching for you, for you to reach out to me, to trace this shy and veiled cleft, to glide your hands between the softness of my thighs, to have your fingers ease away the drenched cotton, to have you part the plump lips of my sex, to have you slide your thick hard glans deep inside me, to have you lose yourself, submerge yourself, to have you drown in my heat, to have you know me and the slick and pulsing epicentre of my desire.

In the Palm of His Hand

The gesture is simple, the touch so complex that the slumbering little muscle slams instantly against her breast, the roar of blood in her ears draining away all sound as he takes one small step, filling the hollow, reclaiming his place, his hand reaching up to tenderly welcome her face, his palm at rest on her cheek now healing the breach, strong fingers drawing quiet circles on the softness of her nape, his caress, his caress, his caress finally speaking the words he cannot say, betraying the desire, his failure to forget, his inability to neglect the yearning, the need to have her once again with a completeness that leaves him on the verge, running to the edge, plunging into the breath and the life and the pleasure sensual and decadent which stirs his body, which hardens his cock, which murmurs sweetly, screams savagely to the truth of his soul in the long dark dead of night.

But it is only once she dares to meet his gaze that her heart truly breaks and her body shatters with it, revealing all she had attempted to shield and hide away, releasing the flood of her passion, the fine cotton around her hips sodden in barely a moment, the scorched glisten breaking the barrier, dripping, clinging to the creamy skin between her thighs, marking her body as his, etching his name on the smoothness, on her mound, on the scarlet lips plump and shining with the craving for his mouth and his tongue and his flesh, his flesh, his flesh, the thick uncut shaft that has her longing, yearning, that has her body arching and hurtling to the light, that has her now spreading her legs for him the glare of the day, that has him sliding two fingers into her needy sex, that has them crooked to find that little honeyed spot, his thumb brushing with an aching lightness over her clitoris, that has him fingering her cunt until the muscles in his arm are ready to tear themselves to shreds, until she grasps his shoulders, her tongue rasping his lobe, her voice reduced to a sultry whisper, his name on her lips again a moan, her cunt clutching at his fingers, her orgasm taking her to breath’s end, her come, her come, her come hot and sweetly pungent in the palm of his hand, in the palm, in the hand holding her tight, holding her close, holding her in the hopes she never lets him go.

Summertime

Day breaks and with it another season and the light and the heat pierce with a force that has me rising up to meet them, to join with them my own ignited flesh, the skin prickled with the fine sheen that has me gleaming, the body shivering with the intensity that once easily drew you in, the body insistent on its yearning even as the mind vows to thwart and forget, the hands that reach for you in the spaces now vacant beside me, the arms that clutch, that hold, that touch the woman in your absence, your name a whisper on her lips, in the ether a roar.

Hope's Return

Even though we have never met, even though my kiss has never lingered upon your mouth, even though my fingers have never caressed your naked flesh, I greet the dawn aching for you, aching to find you, aching to press my body into yours, aching for the softness and the violence born of this passionate need, aching to give myself completely, to indulge you absolutely, to be the woman you long to hold, the woman whose complexities you will eagerly embrace, the light and shade, my push and pull, the urgency, impatience, the imperfections that have driven others away.

But more than this, I ache today for hope’s return, for the faith, for the belief that you are out there, somewhere, waiting for me.

L'Amour Fou

You’ve marked my mind, my body with insanity, this heart, this desire with uncertainty, the night once my comfort now the enemy, the shadows taking on your spectral form to haunt me, your phantom a reminder of revelations urged from deep within me, the myopic passion you inspire so easily, the moments I laid bare my simplicity, complexity, this woman adrift in the sensory deep.

Envy

I envy her. I envy them all.

All of the women lucky enough to encounter you, to chance upon you on the street, in the underground, out in the world as you pass them by, the ones able to catch the briefest glimpse, the ones who can treat themselves to the lingering gaze, the ones who please your eye and arouse your passions, the ones able to brush against your imposing frame or have you press your body into them in the peak hour rush on the crowded train. 

I envy them, I do. All of the women fortunate enough to have you, to know you, to truly know you, to be with you, each and every day, privileged enough to bring you into their lives, to bring you in tight, to bring you in close, into their bodies, into their ache, into the velvet heat craving your thick, hard perfecting flesh. I covet the moments they share with you, the moments and minutes and hours they are able to reach out and touch you, to caress your mouth oh so sensually with their lips, the mouth always longing for one more kiss, to trace its peaks with their soft and slippery tongues, to glide their hands along the finely cut Italian suiting to feel, to register, to memorise the blistering heat, your rapid heartbeat.

And as I sit here on this cold and lonely night, I wonder if they indulge you completely, if they spoil you as I would do, if they selfishly take their own pleasure, if you sate their overwhelming desires and needs, the ones you so easily inspire in me, if they satiate your hunger with their skin and their cunts and their feminine suppleness, if you satisfy their greed with your hands and your cock and your mouth and your mind and the masculinity that invariably leaves me in a daze.

Revelation

 

Tell me the truth. What is it you want from me? Really want? Just say whatever is inside you…

I want to know you. All of you. Your body, your desires, your mind. Your heart. Your soul. The man.

I want to fuck you and make love to you. I want to indulge you in every way you can imagine, in all the ways my own passion can conceive.

I want to kiss you; I want to kiss your mouth, the strong line of your neck, the deep, smooth hollow of your hip. I want to kiss your cock; I want to worship it, taste you, savour your entire body with my lips and my tongue.

I want to caress your body in the dark, my hands touching, tracing, discovering each muscle and tendon and wiry curl, these fingers skimming, teasing the softness of your skin.

I want to drift off into my dreaming with your nakedness wound into mine, your breath on my neck, the beat of your heart on my back, your cock nestled between my cheeks.

I want to wake in the night and find you there beside me, in the place I always long for you to be. I want to rouse you from your slumber with my breasts pressed into your chest, my sex sliding along your thick, hard heat.

I want to wake with you, watch the sun rise with you, kiss the points where the sunlight meets your golden skin. I want to inhale your scent, committing it all to memory so I can recall you an instant when you're not here.

I want to talk and dance and walk with you; I want to laugh and sing and eat. I want to listen to your voice, the accented rumble that leaves me weak.

I want to be still with you, hushed and quiet, allowing my body to speak, allowing this body to tell you of the passion that has been taunting me for the past two years.

I want to hold your hand; I want to press myself in close, your fingers travelling their instinctive path, your palms finding their home in every curve of my slight frame.

I want to possess you in the open, for all eyes to see; I want you to take me, fuck me until I cry out your name, until my cunt releases the flood, until you fill me with your searing cream, until this body divides and just as quickly unites, until I can no longer count the time I have spent at the edge, in the rays of your blinding light.

I want to have these walls drip with our sweat; I want them to absorb our heated libations. I want to them to soak up our scent, the sweet musk of our come, the passion consumed and yet forever consuming.

I want to be free, I want to be bound to you; I want to touch you with my warmth and affection. I want to be free; I want us both to be free, unafraid to open ourselves to this feeling.

I want to submerge myself in you; I want to explore with you.

With you, I want it all.

Vintage

It feels as old as time itself tonight; a burden, a weight, an affliction I simply can not escape.

And yet, it is just as alive, enticing, maddening as it was in our beginning, in that first moment my gaze fell upon your flesh, in the instant your deep voice washed over me, your desire whispered hotly into my skin, in the moment of profound and passionate recognition, of eyes locked, hearts thundering, of the breath of life through our kiss.

These Walls

I would scale these walls to find you, I would blind myself in the light, I would walk in the shadows, through the depths of the dark, I would drive my body through these bricks, this mortar, I would tear down this fortress with my bare, delicate hands if I knew you yearn for my touch, if I knew you long for the kiss of my skin, if I knew you reach out for my lips in the night, if I knew you desire without restraint or reserve, if I knew you were near or afar, if I knew you were ardent and free.

Winter’s Yearning

Lover… 

Are you out there? Are you waiting for me? Are you in a different city by a vastly different sea? Are you bathing in the balmy glow of the moon as I warm my skin in the soft rays of the winter sun? Are you greeting a brand new day while I slide this nakedness into my feathery nest? Are you longing for me, for the intensity, the passion, the intimacy a true union can bring? Are you gazing out at this very moment wondering about the woman, the girl, the temptress you are yet to meet?

Blue Note and Neon

First, the reflection of light; splashes of lolly pink and cobalt and blinding white, neon on darkened glass, on mirrored artificial spaces locked up and abandoned for the night. Then, footsteps; my own and those of others, the clack of heels on concrete and blacktop, suited men and women, bodies separately together, the weekday crowd heaving, weaving its way to home and solace, places near and afar, the honk of horns impatient and angry, the wind whipping, chilling, the glowing crowns of taxi cabs speeding down the hill, away from the gardens and the park, towards bridges over water, towards the inky black harbour and its maze of side streets and alleys, towards the sandstone structures with their stories of love and lust and heartache to tell.

And through it all, there’s a man on the corner, a metal piece pressed to his lips. And through it all, there’s a man on the corner, his fingers woven around gleaming brass. And through it all, there’s a man on the corner, his blue note slicing the clamour, the commotion, his blue note arresting my feet and my gaze, my attention, winding its way through my body, coursing, surging, etching itself into this shivering flesh, this blue note inspiring the ache, rousing the longing, the yearning, the vision of his hands upon me, his hands tracing these contours and curves, his mouth silencing my whispers, these words, his sensual kiss drowning, killing me softly, his rough kiss bringing me back to this cold, hard life, his body teasing me, mocking me, his hips grinding, taunting me with the flesh most desired, with the cock thick, hard and glistening, with the cock unlike any other within memory, his cock sliding through the slickness of my folds, his head circling, flickering my plump and throbbing clitoris, his cockhead nudging at the portal, at the point of delicious resistance, filling me with the taste that sets me moaning, with the taste that has me begging, with the taste of flesh, with the kiss of skin, with the second, the instant, the moment where he can truly take me, where his eyes can sink into me, where his sexual soul can see clear, can know me, where his hands can possess this softness, where his shaft can plunge to the sodden limit, to the clutching hilt, where he can fuck me with deep, seductive perfection, where his man can be at one with my woman, where our fucking, our love making, our union leaves us alive, addicted and breathless, shattering time and space, renewing the passion that flows without effort between us, the passion that runs through our lifeblood, through our days and our nights and each season that passes, the passion now called by that blue note, by this lone note suspending our desire in the ether.

Second Skin

When our bodies kiss, when they at long last meet, my skin is no longer hers, yours no longer his.

When we come together, when we are lost to the world but found to each other, when our passion is as one, this second skin of sweat and of fire and of glistening libations, this second skin of man and of woman, of limbs entwined, of uncontrolled pulsation, this second skin conceived of the fever, the hunger, our erotic abandon, this second skin born of the night devoured, the flesh for the taking, this second skin hard and fixed, silken and yielding, this second skin delivers the sweetest possession, the cruellest of freedoms.

Because

Because

The thought of you

This passion for you

Still tear this woman to shreds

Autumn’s Chill

The night is cold
Its darkness lonely
The warm softness of this body
Too great to bear

The Darkness in the Light

Each time we walk away, each time we part, I am lost, lost to myself, to the heat and heart of my desire, bare and adrift in the sensory deep, this body longing, yearning for your landfall, this mind myopic, these lips unable to articulate, this woman finding only darkness in the light.