June 2, 2019

The maiden hies off to the woods:
On a moon-pale steed she rides,
Decked out in doublet, hose of black,
A sword all by her side.

She goes to meet her own true love
With lips pursed in a frown,
And rides beneath the greenwood boughs
Until the sun goes down.

Dismounting in the chosen glade,
She sits upon a stone.
With sword laid flat across her knees,
She waits for him to come.

Brush crackles, and her head snaps up.
Her eyes suss out the sound —
Then narrow as he greets the grove
With smile broad as her frown.

“Ah, love,” he grins, then sidles close,
His arms outspread, his hands
Prepared to smooth her knitted brow;
She hefts the sword and stands.

“Love?” she says, her voice quite low,
“Is that what you name this ill
That makes you think you have the right
To bend me to your will?”

His smile falls off; he backs a step,
Tramples its shattered joy,
Mouth gaping in bewilderment —
“You thought it just a ploy?

“I love you, and I thought that you — ”
“Speak not that word to me!”
Her eyes flash in the dusky woods;
Her voice shakes bitterly.

“A virgin I walked out with you,
A virgin I’d remain —
You said you understood and wouldn’t
Challenge my domain,

“You plotted to seduce me — you
Believed I had no mind
To give that gift of my free will,
And in my own good time!”

His brow is creased beneath fair hair;
His chin trembles with grief.
“I made you want me, didn’t I,
Till you must have some relief?”

She spits at him and hefts the sword
Till he backs off again.
Her eyes dart wild with the distress
Of thus confronting him.

“That’s just the point! I trusted you
To help uphold my vow;
I didn’t want to want you then,
And I don’t want to now!

“You sought for your own pleasure, so
You played games with my mind!
You made me false to that most dear —
That was the most unkind!”

Now he draws out his dagger, his
Blue eyes gone wide with fear —
She lifts the sword to mark his chest,
Scowl marred by silent tears.

“Ah, love,” he begs, “don’t do this, you’ll
Regret it all your life!”
He holds her eyes. He ducks the sword
And strikes out with his knife.

“Traitor!” she screams at silver flash,
“You’d steal my life now, too?”
“You’ve mine!” he cries as blades swing down,
Too late to halt for rue.

He stabs her right below the heart;
Her sword cuts through his chest.
Two loves who share one pool of blood —
Diana’s case can rest.

Adele Gardner

Thesis: I’ve lost my virginity seven times and still haven’t managed to lose my vagina.
1: The Breaking of the Hymen
• I didn’t even bleed. The dryer ate a sock.
2: Lesson on ‘Romance’
• Strawberry Shortcake underwear near my ankles, he pulled out.
3: One-Night- Repeated Stands
• He lived with his parents, we fucked to Bill Withers’ ‘Use Me.’
4: Soul Mates
• Two pumps. Two months. That lasted long.
5: First Time Initiating
• Freshman in college. He still loved his ex. His dick didn’t work.
6: Older Man
• 25, told me to ‘suck it.’ It was unreciprocated. He says he still loves me.
7: Ex-Boyfriend
• ‘No one will ever make you feel like that again.’
Conclusion: If I lost my virginity, each man must have found it, in their own special way.

Alex Brandow

Morning Glory by Vicente Romero

The female incarnates sexuality, which is probably why there is no English word meaning woman that has not at some time had sexual connotations. Female figures who are remembered in history or literature are defined by their sexual natures. Those who are associated with the masculine principle are praised for their denial of sex, their virginity. The Queen of Sheba, Cleopatra, and Dido are not remembered for their political power or administrative ability. Boadicea, who was a great warrior but has no sexual legend, is remembered by London tour guides for shrewishness. Penthesilea, Zenobia, and Deborah, who were great figures but have no sexual legend, are forgotten. Esther, Delilah, and Susanna, all of whom have a sexual dimension, are remembered for that alone. Women = sex = nature. Control over nature means control of sex and control of women.

Marilyn French
Shakespeare’s Division of Experience


October 22, 2017

I’d like to think that I took my own virginity
One tired night in my closet with my vibrating toothbrush
I told Marques that he was my first
Along with Caleb
and Alex
and Francisco
and Ashlyn
Even when I was 13 and I discovered the wonder that was (and is)
my vagina, I figured that my virginity should be mine.
My vagina is special to me.
It grants me the delicious explosion if I talk to it just right
I fall in love with myself a little more each time I caress it.
The bond that I have with my vagina will never be broken.
My virginity is in fact

Olive Waverly

Good day sexy Sunday…

September 18, 2016


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…

1. Have a vagina
2. That’s it
3. You win
4. Congratulations


And pleasant is the fairy land,
But, an eerie tale to tell,
Ay at the end of seven years,
We pay a tiend to hell,
I am sae fair and fu o flesh,
I’m feard it be mysel.

The Ballad of Tam Lin

(Ah, one can only feel the deepest sympathy for poor Tam, haunting those wild places where he must wait for a fair maiden, all unsuspecting, to pass by. The maiden must give him a gift, of course, usually her virginity!)

New helpline…

August 12, 2015


Killed virginity….

January 30, 2015


To hell with the cat. Curiosity killed your virginity.