I want to fuck
the way we did when we believed
we were invincible
when we thought ourselves unbreakable
when we knew nothing of hearts shattering
or bones fracturing under the weight of unrealized dreams

I want to promise the impossible/again

I want to unlearn this hesitation
that colours my steps/measured
slow/trudge that I am now
I want the urge
to move erratic/irrational
fall helplessly in lust with someone
who was promised to someone else

I want to know that we were meant for each other

without proof I want to know
we were divined
by God or fate or fortune
I want my actions
to belie the fact of these brutal years
that have shuttered me
passions held taut beneath this loose gut

I want my body back

the one that could wrap itself careless
round the idea of forever/without fear
I want to leap off some idiotic ledge/I want to
hedge less
I want to erase these lines drawn definitive
round the edges of what I can do
i want to ignore the blotted lines running decisive
through the list of things I decided not to do

I want to do everything
you ask
ask you anything/without knowing
how you will answer

I want to shake this inertia

move you to tears/with the things
I am too afraid to say to you
late at night/early morning sex
unexpected

I want to fuck like we did
when we were doing it/for love
foolhardy/with hardly any fear of the future

I want to believe in love/like I did
before I had a kid/before we knew how to stop
mid-orgasm
before these impermeable cracks
hammered steel beams through the fragile flesh of my heart

before my art started making money
before balancing my emotional budget became a thing
I needed to do
before our wings broke
before the yoke of collected experience
dragged us away from our best selves

I want to do more than just fuck

I want more days of feeling/foolish
and full/and flustered/and flushed

I want more
of myself/more of you
more of us
wanting more out of today
and tomorrow
and all the days
we aren’t even sure will ever come

Staceyann Chin

She handed me the hitachi

December 24, 2017

sunday lesbian

The last time we fucked I just wanted to please her. I was focused on her mouth and her moans, my hands between her legs pulling a string of sounds from her lips, a serenade. I was focused and determined. When she shook with orgasm I collapsed on the bed next to her, smiling and satisfied.

I should have known from that look on her face that she had other plans. Anyone who knows Ms. O has seen that wicked grin, persuasive and so sure she’s about to have exactly what she wants.

“I want to be your pillow,” she said, biting her lip a little and looking up at me. She was lying on her back, her curves calling me closer. I blushed as she handed me the hitachi.

I might have confessed to her that when I’m all by myself I sit on top of it and grind against it. I could feel myself complying before I’d even thought it through. She has that affect you know. I followed her gentle instructions and climbed on top of her.

As I straddled her hips, my cheeks pink and warm to the touch, she turned on the hitachi and encouraged me. Her voice was like honey, warm and sweet as she told me just what to do.

She looked up at me as I humped against her tummy, the vibrations making waves through me as I rocked my hips against her. “Such a good girl,” she cooed, her eyes all over my naked body as I squirmed, perched on top of her.

My wet little cunt dripped against her soft belly, my head was dizzy. I was close. “Show me just how you do it, pretty girl,” she said as I gasped and begged and bounced against her.

I did just as I was told.

Heart
My Dirty Little Heart

It took some time for me to realise that your mind was actually the scene of the crime…

All of us play with fire. But are we careful enough to keep warm, or simply careless enough to get burned…?

We fucked until she was just a breathless tremor in my arms…

“Now wait a second…” Kenneth butted in.

“Yeah, we haven’t asked you the questions yet,” Brandon finished for Kenneth.

“Yeah, like what are your intentions toward our little Ryan,” Patrick added, smirking.

“What do you do for a living?” Brandon added.

“Can you support Ryan’s shoe fetish?” Kenneth threw his question in too.

“Hmm, okay, here are my answers. I plan on feeding him, dancing with him and God willing fucking him until he can’t walk straight. I help infertile chickens have baby chickens, and I think so. I’m hoping his feet are about my size. We can share shoes and everything,” Phillip answered.

Crystal Rose
I’ll Be Your Drill, Soldier

when I say I wanna have sex I don’t mean I wanna get fucked and cum I mean I wanna makeout with someone for half an hour on my couch with grabby hands all over my body and our teeth clashing because we get so into it that we can’t stop kissing, I mean slow desperate, needy grinding on each other before we take it to the bed, bumping our heads, giggling as we take our clothes off, trying to adjust and get into the right position, I mean having someone on top of me and looking up at them to see that blissful little grin on their face before they scrunch it up a lil and moan because it feels sooooo good and I mean making each other cum so good we end up all out of breath, a sweaty, happy mess, fingers still intertwined, my legs still around their waist, making out again, that’s what I want and it would be kinda cool if I could have it now

Mia
Fawnbabe

Good day sexy Sunday…

September 18, 2016

juarez-machado

Diary 17th / 18th September

Just a fistful of fast, challenging, hot-wired mind-bites!

Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves.
(T S Elliot, The Hollow Men)

I love being inside her. Slow, deep thrusts are best. Then buried to the hilt and grinding, roughly. Her hands become fists in the sheets, and as she tips over the edge, she bites the pillowcase, while making snorting noises through her nose. I love that momentary loss of control she experiences; that savage cum-face she shows.

#

Sunday is a day designed for sex…

#

We used to masturbate to Radiohead
or slide in some Nine Inch Nails and hook
our thumbs around the jutting hip bones
of some skinny messy boy.
The world was ours enough at least to piss
and puke and fuck on.
(Mindy Nettifee, When the Economy Was Booming)

#

When I took your virginity,
I did it carelessly, like a dog
left alone in a butcher shop.
I taught you the way adults love
(quick, dry, no eye contact.)
A year later, in the back of your car,
you showed me what you had learned,
what kind of man I had trained you to be.
(Sierra DeMulder, Come. Sit. Heel. Stay)

#

And yet one arrives somehow,
finds himself loosening the hooks of
her dress
in a strange bedroom –
feels the autumn
dropping its silk and linen leaves
about her ankles.
(William Carlos Williams, Arrival)

#

Making love is like the sound of rain drops on crisp fallen leaves in the Autumn. It is condensation on bedroom windows and a beautiful kind of agony – like claw marks on your soul. It is the sound of animals fighting to the death, of racing heartbeats and the unleashing of the most primal part of your being.

It is a taste of heaven.

And of hell…

#
HOW TO WIN AN ARGUMENT
1. Have a vagina
2. That’s it
3. You win
4. Congratulations

A woman

evahbody wanna do da horizontal bop”

What would i say in them?
that i keep making typos at work becuz i can’t stop
thinkin about you

that i’m coming down with a cold becuz
i’ve spent too much time sleepin in the buff
after we’ve made love

that i’m broke out in a rash because all this sudden
attention from you racks my nerves

what do i say/

i don’t write many of em
that word has been terribly abused
i don’t want to contribute

plus i’ve been in love so many times with terrible results
i’m beginning to question my judgement

what kind of monster are you!

“beware—anything cums between open legs”
a friend once said

i’m on society’s bottom
all things shift down here sooner or later

i know the expertise with which Amerikkka destroys my
kind
black male & female alike, to seek a mate
outside my people-culture, one of the alternatives to
abstention & loneliness
lesbianism
the church
asexualily
intimacy with pets opium
suicide

or staying wed to my
present monster

and you. all over me. so fast so total
have you lost your mind? do you know what price will be
extrakkkted from you for taking on a black woman
& her three children???

plus you’re unemployed

and i don’t want the world in my biz-in-ness
lessin’ i allow it in

i don’t want to beyourpoem stuff
cuz you’s a poet too

love between us seems impossible
but here it is

for now

the black princess has a love jones
for a jewish frog with arts
and don’t care

even if

worse come worse

he’s some kind of monster in disguise
may eat her up as a midnight snack
or
she contracts warts, becomes covered with them &
all her kisses
can’t transform him into a prince
even if it fails and months from now
she’s penning pain messages & making juju
to ward off this possession

of me by you

Wanda Coleman

embrace

Diary 21st April

Marie Claire said it was finished. And just like that, it was. As if it were as simple as finishing a novel, or taking the last sip of wine. Or the last slice of cream sponge cake. No last embrace; no last kiss. Nothing like that. Often, it strikes me, with these things, they start only to end during the best part? And abruptly, too: as if there’d never been anything to begin with – anything of substance, that is. So then it’s suddenly over, and we’ll never know what would have come next…absolutely nothing of “our” tomorrows together; which makes our future plans seem totally foolish now. Child-like. It was all illusion, and yet the best kind of illusion…Those perfect, dream-like Sunday mornings, when holding each other was the only thing that mattered to us both. But all in vain. We were fooling ourselves. Our tomorrows were destined to be apart…

#

It is easy to confuse sacrifice for cowardice. I often confuse love with madness. But then love is often little more than a sharp longing and endless waits…and those waits are enough to drive anyone insane.

#

There are so many properties for sale in and around the village. I don’t know exactly how many, but in Fore Street alone there were seven houses for sale. Yesterday, I noticed five of the FOR SALE boards had been replaced with TO LET signs. Property is just not selling, it seems. And yet the local authority is granting planning permission for a hundred or more new houses locally.

Who, I wonder, is going to buy them?

#

She said to me last night: ‘I’d like to make love with you for days on end without stopping…’

So I said: ‘Let’s start now…’

#

Every living creature dies alone. Death is the one debt we’re all born with. It can be put off, but it can’t be defeated…

#

We don’t love someone because they’re polite, or because they dress well, or because they happened to love M&Ms. Of course we don’t. One falls in love with their scent, their mystery, the peace they give to us…or the torment they cause us. Love is in the voice, the way the eyelids flutter, the fragility revealed when least expected…

#

Never say I love you if you don’t mean it. Never talk about feelings if they don’t exist. Never touch a life if you don’t intend breaking a heart. Never look into someone’s eyes if you do not want to see them fill with tears because of you. The cruelest thing you can do is allow someone to fall in love with you when you don’t intend to do the same –
Mario Quintana
Trans. Peedeel.

Lado Gudiachvili

There was a time I found myself increasingly thinking about a particular passage from the book “Old Wine and New” by Warwick Deeping. The book had been published back in the thirties, and I’d picked up a copy at a local carboot. In it a police woman is attacked in London on Armistice Night, 1918. A crowd of street walkers, sick and tired of police interference in their lives, strip her stark naked in the street for the amusement of all the men and women out celebrating war’s end.

‘Go it girls. Leave nothing on,’ yells a male onlooker, enthusiastically.

‘What’s happening?’ asks his female companion.

‘The totties are scragging one of the women police.’

The female companion’s “scream of laughter” at this and the “exultant expression” on her face stimulated my overheated imagination. Seeing this poor woman, this ‘officer of the law’, her bush and breasts fully exposed, her uniform roughly torn from her, tearfully spread-eagled on the wet cobbles…spread open for the delectation of strangers.

A sight for sore eyes, indeed.

I spoke to AB about this when she mentioned her big birthday wish. She wanted to arrange a little scenario wherein she is used and abused sexually. She is a total masochist, you see.

‘I could be that police woman,’ she said.

Arrangements were quickly made, and a venue organised. Others from our local BDSM group would attend the “event” as participants or audience. A suitable uniform was obtained, with some difficulty, and “period” underwear purchased for AB to wear on “the night”. And come “the night” she really did look the part.

AB was initially “assaulted” by four women. They were enthusiastically supported by six horney males. There was much yelling and cheering as AB’s clothes were literally ripped from her plump body. She, of course, struggled. Memorably, at one point, a solitary breast tugged free of her top, was roughly kneaded by WR, like a nipple crowned lump of dough.

Finally stripped naked, I caught a glimpse of her gaping vagina as she went down on the floor (carpet not cobbles). There was a wild cacophony of voices set in counterpoint to AB’s shrieking. She kicked and bit, waving her legs in the air. I could only watch, fascinated, by the heaving mass of flesh on the floor…

So it came to pass that poor AB was unceremoniously “raped” by this eager crowd. Each male in turn took his place between her yawning thighs. There they thrusted into her with great vigour, but after a minute or so of brisk friction they would groan their gratification in violent, creamy spasms. A condom covered truncheon went into AB while the men rested. Mr AB proved the most violent, most persistent of his wife’s abusers that night. He left a snailtrack of thick cum across her bum. Others seized her trembling body in an almost hallucinatory frenzy…

Again and again she was taken. On her back, then on her belly. Her face and tits were slapped; her cunt fingered. Like a crazed bacchante AB took it all. She became this fleshy extinction beyond time or place…

Later, in the calm following sexual frenzy, she said to me, ‘I can’t wait for my next birthday.’

‘You don’t have to,’ I replied. ‘There’s another scenario I feel haunted by…’

But that one’s for another time.