Time – as the oft used cliché goes – flies.  Never more so than when recalling the thrills and ecstasy of an intense past love affair.  For receptiveness and sanity’s sake we usually train our minds to, over time, reduce the frequency with which they wander back to the details of past lovers.  Pining for the past is a folly neither useful nor attractive and as the grown adults we are… well, we set the folly aside and move on to new phases of our lives.

exquisite lovers

Some memories remain as vivid as the moment.

Yet still there will be those people, perhaps just one person, and experiences such that when we do remember them – allowed memory or not – the details and sense of them remains as vivid and intense as they were at the time of knowing.

I feel similarly about writing.  I have never been remotely prolific, but in this most recent phase of life writing creatively has become an activity as sporadic as the emergence of Mayfly, though less regularly timed.  So in remembering this certain woman and events about this time of year, remembering a particular birthday, this connection to writing seems appropriate.  You see much of my writing on this blog, I would say the best of it, was written for her and about her.  So today I’m writing again, remembering her, with a glint in my eye, a spring in my step and a gently wicked smile on my lips.

 

About This Time Of Year

About this time of year there are these thoughts, these images, scents and textures vividly re-conjured:  a silk soft, copper bright, vivacious red ringlet feathered across my skin; a flash of jade-green glinting wickedly at me as I press from above; a kiss, supple and sweet and laden with intent.

Lillies

A door was opened to see a treat of fantasy on that evening.  Nerves untold, perhaps shown, but none the less overcome with gusto, filled the room.  Flowers expected, but bold and beautiful enough to flicker a heartbeat or two, lay upon the large tautly made bed, cream and crimson.  Scents began to mingle.  Sharing in a champagne moment perhaps I glanced upon a furtive kiss and touch of exhibitionism.  As fingers played through hair and across skin, a dress unclasped and dropped to the floor, I sat captive in delight.  A touch and moan commanded from the bed, “Watch.”

While fingertips played and eyes tormented with immodest glee I yearned to be unclasped.  But more play was to be had.  With rising girth my eyes demanded the taste of where fingers travelled and caresses lay.  Two pairs of hands, two pairs of lips, nipples, necks, stomachs, thighs all attentively and knowingly teased.  The show was for me, but she imagine more than I could see, that flagrant daydream flooding her mind to peak.

“So cruel.” My lover signalled my release.  But first a straddled kiss to ensure I was ready.

For a moment my nerve faltered at the realisation of the dream.  With giggling lust she returned it to me, arms and legs grasping to a frolic.  Vibrant curls spread out across soft sheets her eyes an smile betrayed the potency of her excitement at my touch.  I would devour her.  Having learnt just a few of the secrets to her pleasure, with fingers, lips and tongue I danced and delved, not settling until her finger clawing cries at my shoulders, neck and head, subsided.

Then came our secret partner’s turn.  Blonde and slight with grace and beauty, we both enjoyed the forbidden unfamiliarity of her.  But my most carnal joy could not help but come from glazing upon my better known lover in her revelling.  Playfully precaution was rolled onto me.  Riding, rolling, turning from one’s dominance of excitement to the other’s.  The time in my mind is mingled, it’s length almost unfathomable to me now.  What stays vibrantly in memory are the looks, sounds, tastes, the grasping of thighs.  Most all of these images remain of her, my once upon a time redhead lover who played this fantasy for me on my birthday.

So about this time of year I forgive myself the indulgence of this ecstatic, perhaps dangerous memory.  For all that’s in my future, the knowledge of such experience might bring a little more ecstasy to lovers new.

 

The heiress I cannot forget - I'll always care for you Miss Laine.

Not quite her, incidentally.

beautiful woman in halloween makeup

Love And Lust On Hallow’s Eve

Love & lust in the darkness, 
Here where the fears of hauntings pale, 
Drawn in deep, 
So lifted beyond, 
The scares of our pasts, 
To new and ever present pleasures.
*** *** ***

Worn With Grace

May 27, 2013

Worn With Grace

A wanton smile,

A simple covering of lace,

A veil behind which,

Potent passions may be chased.

Barely covering,

All bared on face.

An intimate touch,

Salacious smile worn with grace.

intimate_touch

Today’s is a poem about feelings surrounding loss and the frustration at not being able to let go.  I first wrote this as a kind of sketch of thoughts I was wrestling with almost a year ago – a kind of exercise in exorcism  – and having given voice to the frustrations I left it at that.  Like so many things done in a moment of raw emotion it is only when returning to them later that you begin to see something more in the work.  So I’ve given it a little edit just try and improve the cadence.

Lost Love Is A Duplicitous Thing

I am so tired of thinking of you,

In that way that colours,

Every possibility,

With anybody else. Read the rest of this entry »

After plenty of time away I feel compelled to return to writing some poetry again.  It is hard to say what has prevented me from exploring this personal outlet for so long.  Perhaps it is just a reflection of a person’s changing needs and desires.  But some things, some people, experiences, moments, will always mark in a way that pulls one back to them.

Simply put this poem is an expression of such desire, a person, moments that created such a mark on me.

This Perfect Madness

When the brightest eyes of crystal hues,

And that wanton smile of mischief haunts my dreams,

Only then this fullest present passion awakens,

To raise the morning’s fire. Read the rest of this entry »

Pulling Close

August 29, 2012

Man pulling woman close in ecstasy

This is simple yet highly charged erotic piece today which in form falls somewhere between poetry and prose. I say this because I’ve allowed the rhythm and cadence of the writing to change throughout as I focused on descriptions of the sight and sensations experienced. It is essentially autobiographical, in that it describes one of my own sexual experiences that began with frustration on both sides, but through a combination fast acting on desire and an expression of strength and tenderness turned into an incredibly potent erotic event.

Please be aware that the material posted here is intended for an ADULT Readership and contains some graphic depictions of sexual acts between consenting adult characters as well as some strong language. By continuing to read you are stating that you are over the legal age of consent to read explicit material in the state you are viewing this page from. If you are under 18 (or 21 in some States/Countries) or are easily offended by strong language and scenes of a sexual nature then you should EXIT this page.

Read the rest of this entry »

This short piece of romantic poetry came from a pretty familiar place – lingering desires and care for a past lover. For me I think the title also offers up another interpretation – that of the fantasy we can create around a person. In the simplest terms possible the ‘once upon a time’ motif… oh jeez you’re not idiots. I think you get the idea…

The heiress I cannot forget - I'll always care for you Miss Laine.
Read the rest of this entry »

Morning Heat

August 21, 2012

Hot couple waking in bed

Hi there, I’m having a little flurry of writing and recent creative inspiration at the moment. Continuing on from my new erotic poem ‘Brook’ posted earlier today this short story is a reworking of a previous work which I am able to post here for the first time. This is a highly erotically charged scene that revels in what can be one of the most delicious of intimate sexual experience – waking up to hot morning sex! I’ve tried to convey both tenderness and lascivious passion in a story that hinges around wonderfully sleepy closeness that comes from spooning sex. Sweet and hot!😉

Please be aware that the material posted here is intended for an ADULT Readership and contains some graphic depictions of sexual acts between consenting adult characters as well as some strong language. By continuing to read you are stating that you are over the legal age of consent to read explicit material in the state you are viewing this page from. If you are under 18 (or 21 in some States/Countries) or are easily offended by strong language and scenes of a sexual nature then you should EXIT this page.

Morning After

The bedroom had a hot clammy sticky air as I hazily opened my eyes. The heating had come on early that morning & the frosty February chill of the night before had clearly eased during the passage of night.  With bed sheets kicked down so far as to barely cover knees I twisted onto my side, my arm falling across the upturned hip of the soft, petite, naked woman’s body stretched out in front of me.

Talia – one of the most lively, bright, cheeky and libidinous girls I’ve ever met.  Her skin was radiating heat, soft and ever so slightly slicked with the perspiration of earlier exertions.  The scent of sex was in the air, a sweet musky remnant of our night before.   Read the rest of this entry »

Brook

August 21, 2012

A new piece of erotic poetry today. My aim with this piece was to convey desire and passion for a dark seductive femme fatale through the imagery of a meandering brook using the natural features as metaphors for the eroticism. Hope you all enjoy it. Read the rest of this entry »

Saying Too Much

June 19, 2012

As erotica writers it is incumbent upon us to present ourselves and our work with the highest professional quality – as I relearned by crossing the line last weekend.

As a person who gains such gratification in writing it may (or may not) come as some surprise for you to know that I can be a man of few words. No, that effortless charm that may come from knowing precisely what to say and when to say it is not one that comes to me with any consistency. For most part I am more minded to keep schtum – observing, listening, trying to maintain good eye contact – until I have something I think is of genuine worth to say. In the absence of any gift of the gab this can take some time, but this is a facet of my personality with which I have grown more and more confident over time. Smiles and laughter of genuine warmth or careful flirtation, thoughtful eyes and paying attention are the skills I’ve learned to develop by way of compensation. Yet I am, as much as any one, fallible and on occasions prone to over exuberant bursts of verbal hubris. Read the rest of this entry »