A Change of Season

The leaves were green and shedding their Waxy exterior When our eyes last met. Now yellowing, some have begun Their descent Into the ground they’ll go, a new cycle to begin. I feel the warmth of your memory Growing as the days get colder; Perhaps because my hope has not died That I will see you sooner than expected. I keep the feeling on my lips burning, And the shivers left from your fingertips On my thighs Remain like the ardent etchings of a tattoo. You are a rare Creature, one who Takes flight For a momentary and unnatural hibernation, Where you disappear for moons And ignore the change of seasons. While you are gone, I cannot guarantee Not to fall, Or freeze with the coming snow, Nor grow along the daisies in the Spring. I await the fear of growth that...

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This may be the end of us…

I haven’t written about Sir Dre in months because there hasn’t been anything to write. We saw each other in April for a session at our favorite hotel. Work picked up generously for him and throughout the spring and summer, he spent it traveling and working. We would speak about once a week, sometimes the days between our phones calls would be longer, not exceeding two weeks. By August, when Henri went on a weekend ‘fishing trip’ (which ended up being a lie, but that’s another story entirely), I invited Sir to my home so that we can spend some time together. However, on that day he also had a job lined up and so we had only 5 hours to spend together. We did have sex, but it was nothing like our meetings at the hotel. We did one...

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TMI Tuesday: What’s in your car?

Something to break up the non-sex that’s been going on around here… 1. What CD is in your Cd player? No cd player, we use our iPods a lot and we have Sirius XM radio. 2. Turn on your car radio, what station is it tuned to? Sirius XM radio channel Octane 3. What is in your glove box? The car manual, insurance card, napkins, and a tiny bottle of perfume for me. 4. Are there any stickers on your bumper? What? (You can post photos too). Nope.  5. What stickers or car magnets are on your car? (You can post photos too). None. The car is six months old, but we don’t want to defile it yet with stickers. 6. When you drive do you have a favorite beverage? What? I don’t know how to drive yet, but Henri loves coffee and I’m a sucker for iced...

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A nomination plea

I don’t write for the intake of visitors or traffic on my site. I mean, it would be great, but that’s not my reason for writing. In my life I have been neglected, hurt, depressed, happy, intense, mean, jealous, gay, straight, curvy, upside down and inside out. Most of that happened in this year alone. As normal as these emotions are, I have realized that finding someone who writes about it for free online isn’t as typical as one would believe. I write about sex and all the other things in between: from lust to heartache to anal and titty fucking, but sex rarely is just about sex. There is more involved in having sex then just the act itself. Well, apparently in my life it is. I write about life before, during, and after sex. If you enjoy what I...

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They Don’t Know You

The memories, these feelings I can no longer abate As I jot these words down with a flourish of hate. People sing your praises, honesty far-flung You are selfish and borderline cruel; should I go on? Deceitful, you have twisted lies and lives To ensure that only your breed survives. Your love is a plague that darkens the hope, Feeds the ravenous flames and chokes the smoke. A kindness is to leave before you’ve left, Yet niceties are unnatural, you require deathly effect Blinded, we fell into the pit you laid Of gilded roses, with our love we paid To enter the recesses of your heart and mind, Only to conclude there are things in this life we will never find. Release me from your clutches, set me free! I want no more attachment of you to me. I no longer wish...

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Squishy Boobday

Squishy Boobday

People do the oddest things when they are restless, alone or lost in thought. Some nibble on their fingernails, twirl their hair, doodle on a scrap of paper. I touch my boobs. They are really soft, and I’ll find myself idly petting them on top, the cleavage part occasionally exposed at the top of a v-neck t-shirt. There are lines etched into them, marks of growth throughout the years, and my fingers glide over them like braille. When I’m in the middle of writing, there are times that I’m at a lost for inspiration or for the right words to type out. I’ll grab each side, and squeeze my breasts together, squashing and kneading them like fresh dough. I scratch them gently just to see the red lines appear on my skin. Sometimes, I slap them...

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Come Round Soon

I haven’t met someone like you in what seems like a very long time. We followed each other on social media for almost two years, merely existing between posts and clicking ‘like’ under photos. I knew you were in my city; so close to me in fact we may have crossed paths many times and not have known it. But I said nothing, mostly because I thought I’m not his type. He’s not my type; not what I’m looking for. I had this image of what I wanted a fuck buddy to be, and I’m sorry but it wasn’t you. Still, I was drawn to you and I thought the reason was the close proximity; maybe we could be good friends. He seems like a really cool guy. In retrospect, perhaps my subconscious was telling me something I couldn’t see...

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