Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Diana in the Woods, an Unclassical Tale of Metamorphosis

Part I of this story was written by a woman, and I responded with Part II, which plays with the classial myth of Diana and Actaeon as given, for instance, in Ovid's Metamorphosis.

Writers always advise that should write about what you know. I did not do this in this story. I've never been to this part of the United States--the Great Smokies--and I had never made love in nature when I wrote this story. But waterfalls are certainly very erotic--and provocative. For good reason, Niagara Falls in the northeast part of the United States was the #1 honeymoon spot in the 19th century.

Part I

This is not my first time hiking the Appalachian Trail, but it is my first hike to Bridal Veil Falls. Until now, I've only driven through Roaring Fork. It's hard to believe that this piece of untouched pristine forest exists so close to Gatlinburg. The rains have been heavy this year and the falls should be spectacular. I'm sitting in a booth at Waldo Pepper's enjoying my coffee, when I hear someone say "Hello, I was wondering what happened to you."

I turn, and see that it's Neil. I saw him a couple of times on the trail, it's his first time here. "Hi Neil" I say with a smile, "would you like to join me?" And with that he does, he orders coffee and we do the normal "trail" talk.

It seems he loves mountains, and there's plenty of them along the trail. I ask him if he's going to finish the trail and he say's he's not sure, and inquires as to what I'm doing. I tell him of my love for waterfalls and how I have always fantasized about showering under one, and I'm going to. He stretches his long frame, brushing his legs against mine under the table and says that he would like to see that.

I inquire as to whether or not he is alone and he says, "Are you interested?" I say no, not wanting to let on that I find him arousing. I tell him that I only wanted to show him around, seeing as I have spent lots of time here and this is his first visit.

Neil agrees and I ask him to accompany me to the Dixie Stampede in Pigeon Forge. I tell him what's it about, it's a dinner theater, with horses and trick riders, and an audience participation reenactment of the civil war. There are no utensils for eating the food, you have to use your hands, and it's not too messy, just a lot of fun. Seeing as how I am a true southern belle, I ask for us to be seated in that section.

We are both laughing, enjoying the show and each others company, he loved the pig race. The drive back to our rooms in Gatlinburg only takes a few minutes, Neil and I are both staying at the Leconte, he walks me to my door. "I really enjoyed your company." he says. He kisses me on the cheek and turns to go. Neil looks back and asks if I'm sure I don't want him to accompany me to the falls, laughing he says he would gladly pay for the privilege of watching me shower. I smile and say "Good night, Neil."

It's 5am, time to go. By the time I get to the falls it will be almost noon. It's supposed to be 90 degrees today, perfect for skinny dipping. As I pull my car into the parking lot, I see I am the only one here. In a way I'm disappointed, I was hoping for some sort of audience, the thought of being watched during such an intimate moment arouses me. Maybe I should have brought Neil.

The trail is well worn from continuous use. It's not a hard trail, just long. Eight miles, from the parking lot. I love the sounds of the forest. The singing of the birds, deer scurrying away, the air so clean and clear. The unmistakable fragrance of men's cologne hangs in the air, so, I'm not alone. Once again the thought of being watched warms my loins. My heart quickens as I imagine the scene.

Almost there now, I can smell the water. Breaking through the trees, I see it, Bridal Veil Falls. It does look like a veil, coming down in a single stream, then hitting the rocks and spreading, falling over the outcropping. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I walk closer, bending down I dip my fingers in the water, cool, but not enough to keep me from taking a dip.

I am aware that I am being watched, the cologne drifting in on the breeze. Taking my time, desiring to put on a good show for my audience, I begin to undress. Boots first, then socks, I unzip my shorts and wiggle out of them, bending over slowly to pick them up as I step out of them. I take both hands and place them on my butt, caressing my cheeks, I slide my thong panties down to my knees and repeat the process, bending over slowly, and rising again, I turn my back to the falls, so my watcher can get a good look at me unbuttoning my blouse. Still moving slowly, intending to cause great arousal to the person watching, I let my shirt fall to the ground and place my hands on my flat abdomen, sliding them slowly up my body and over my breasts. Reaching behind me, I unhook my bra and let it fall. I cup my breasts in my hands and turning I step into the cool water. It is chilly, I catch my breath and wade further, heading for the falls.

The water isn't deep, and soon my body adjusts to the temperature. I look down at two very erect nipples, is it because of the cool water or because I'm being watched? Now, finally I am under the falls, the water feels so good streaming down my body. I am alone in thinking that this is the most erotic experience in the world. I lift my hands to catch the water, touching my face, letting one hand fondle my breast as the other slides down, down to my mound, seeking my sweetness, teasing my petals, lost in the feel of the water. I open my eyes to see Neil standing beside my pile of clothes, without speaking he undresses and steps into the water, walking toward me, his arousal evident, his manhood standing hard and erect against his body, I reach my hand out to him inviting him to join me.......

Part II

I accept the invitation, approaching you boldly, assuredly, with manifest desire. You retreat a bit, and playfully splash some water down low, dousing my desire, and then you scoop up a handful and sprinkle it over my face, in my hair. Taken aback, I stop. The birds scatter in the trees above. You scoop up another handful, again sprinkling my face, wetting my hair, my neck.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Just trying to remove the scent," you reply. "I smelled your cologne from a distance. I like my men natural, very natural."

Taking my cue, I dunk my head in the pool, covering it, washing out all the smell in the cool water, then surfacing and shaking myself off like a dog, spraying you with the drops. We laugh, and I resume my approach, my hunt.

Again, you retreat, this time all the way back into the plume of the falls: the water cascades against your neck, over your shoulders, sending up spray and hiding from sight the taut nipples that had stood out like a beacon guiding me into your arms. It almost seems now as if you are blushing. Coyly, you cover your bosoms with an arm and your little patch of venus fur with a hand, holding me off, making me all the more desirous. I'm not a man to be teased.

"Where are your hounds, Neil? Did you leave them behind?"

"Yes, of course, I only take them out when I am hunting. Why do
you ask?"

"Just curious."

The coolness of the water, your reserve, your questions, have had its effect, and my ardor begins to subside. I must look forlorn. I've been sprouting horns for you forever it seems. I have always loved tomboys, the Annie Oakleys, and you, Diane, I thought to myself, were always the best: you knew the woods better than the guys, you were faster on the track than any woman and most of the men, and you knew how to shoot better than sew.

For years, I had been consumed with desire, sparked by your athletic body and ignited by your intelligence, your creativity. You had given the best paper and oral report on Faulkner's As I Lay Dying in high school dazzling not just the students but Mr. Hicks and Mr. Morgan with your passion, your poise, your poetry. Even your teachers had crushes on you.

Now, as if reliving a nighttime teenage fantasy, you are before me, nude, au naturel in body as well as spirit. You notice my look of dismay, and your face breaks into a grin, your eyes lighten up and then they smolder with fire, drawing a bead, the huntress Diana. Your arms unfold, and you beckon me forward.

As I approach, your hands dip into the water, deep, not to come up splashing this time, but to find the quarry. You grasp and cradle my balls, tightly, with meaning. I harden again instantly. You draw me towards you, as if seizing a javelin, a spear to hunt some wild boar you've spotted crashing through the woods. I look back, over my shoulder, checking to make sure no one has spotted us, that we are alone, in peace. "Now tell me," you ask, blushing slightly, "exactly what were you thinking as I stripped off my clothes?"

"Oh, my God," I replied, "What wasn't I thinking? When you wiggled out of your shorts, I was thinking about all the times in literature class when I dreamed that you would use your muse of fire to write me love poetry, an erotic story. When you unhooked your bra, I remembered all the times I stripped you naked in my mind as you ran around in your warm up suit and track outfit. When I saw the thong and when it came off, I remembered all the times I had lain awake in bed, torn apart by the hounds of adolescent lust, fantasizing about making love to you by streams, in caves, on cliffs, in meadows, amidst wild flowers. I've wanted you for so long. I swear I've been hard ever since our legs brushed together at the restaurant."

"You know how much I love the mountains, this trail. You love it too. You know it as well as I do, maybe better. I wanted you to come with me so bad. I'm a little shy, sometimes. But not out here. Come now and know me. Come explore me. Come hunt for whatever you want, whatever you desire. Take me, mountain man, take me."

Quickly, wordlessly, we lock together in a tight embrace, a mix of affection and lust, and you make it more intense, the strength of your arms crushing us together. I reply with the passion of my lips, the desire of my tongue, skipping the soft stuff, going straight up into overdrive, pressing you back against the outcropping, prodding your inner thighs with my cock, informing you of my strength, my desire, my passion, trapping your bosoms in my grasp, then manhandling your nipples, your loins, your butt, everything.

Maybe I'm too rough at first. You free yourself from my grasp and lean back on the rocks, catching your breath, giving me a little time out signal with your hands. You make me want to tear my hair off, tear my skin off and unleash the Satyr of sex within me, pouncing on you from behind, a hound in heat, fucking you doggie style, hard and deep, driving you wild, unleashing you from the lace of Southern bellehood, turning you into a black leather dress woman, a leopard-skin pantied woman, a tigress of sex. In my lust, however, I am metamorphosed: the surging passion of my cock spreads its heat, like a backfire forming inside me, and its flames lick up to my heart, and I become, in the instant, it seems, a changed man, no longer a beast, a satyr, but your lover.

You can smell my true scent now, and you can see it in my eyes. I whisper, "I love you." Your legs part open for me, and I feel again like an animal in heat, a stag ready to rut, but now I am also half-god, a man possessed with a "Song of Solomon" love. For a moment, you appear to me like a queen, a goddess, on some ancient throne, expecting me to kneel down, to worship your diadem. But you have made me strong, cockstrong, and I want you to feel my power. You want my tender tongue, and I want to be thrusting deep inside you. I stride up to you, my cock in my hand, wiggling it for you up and down, strutting my stuff, displaying my self-evident size, air fucking. But you turn away, jumping off the rock and into the water, back to the falls, the stream.

I follow you, my quarry. I plunge after you, catching you by your legs. I pull you towards me, as if you are caught in a net, and I lift you up and turn you upside down, like some cheerleader routine, flopping your legs over my shoulders, cunt now in my face, your head falling down me behind me, backwards, almost touching the water. I tongue you hard, fast, relentlessly, until you tense for a moment and then relent. Your body becomes limp, soft, and I take you up in my arms, cradling your body, a groom taking his bride over the transom, a man taking his captured prey into Bridal Veil Falls. In our rutting we have become too hot and sweaty, and we sink down into the water, still embracing, and then we arise in its flow, its cascade: the water hitting our heads, our chests, our shoulders, soothing us and invigorating us, nature's own jacuzzi, and then I, stand behind you, doubling the pleasure: the power of the falls is matched by the power of my hands, an X-rated Swedish massage.

I enwrap you in my arms and feel you up all over: hands rubbing up and down your sides...hands circling you flat, hard stomach...hands caressing your boobs, enjoying every contour and curve...hands and fingers strumming your nipples, keeping them taut, making them sing and dance....a hand going down and grasping your pussy tighter than any thong, a finger sliding up and down its length, pressing just inside, entering furtively. I then lift you off the ground, arms under your legs, holding you open, calling upon the forces of nature to take you, to pleasure you, as if you are sneaking in a bath in the middle of the dog days of August, letting the spigot of water do all the work as you cool yourself down, giving yourself the little hidden pleasure you deserve and need, the chance to romance yourself, escaping in your fantasies to waterfalls all around the world, escaping into the arms of a hidden admirer, a stranger on an elevator, or a man who knows the woods, a man who knows how to pleasure a woman as if he were a woman, a man with rough, calloused hand but soft enough and slow enough to enter you after the flute finishes on "Bolero" and not come until the end, with you, in full orchestral accompaniment.

The eroticism of the waterfall arouses us fully, readying us for our own plunging fury. I turn you around, and as I lift, you hop a bit into my arms, your legs wrapping around me, tight, your hands clasping behind my neck, your pussy brushing up against my cock, and then you wiggle yourself onto me, provoking from both of us a little gasp, and then you suck me in and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, making me groan in pure joy, loud and louder and loudest. You have the tightest love muscles I have ever felt, the love muscles of a goddess, of a huntress who can catch her quarry and never let go. I want to hold you there forever, almost still and almost silent, the wetness of Bridal Veil Falls circling around us, covering us in its mist and spray, and the wetness of your pussy circling around my cock, surrounding me in its moistness, in its honey-thick nectar, the inner ambrosia of the goddess Diana, each squeeze another arrow from her quiver sent into my heart.

Instinctively, the ancient rhythm begins, the rhythm of lovemaking: rocking slightly together, then steadily together, and then our cock and cunt become one: pumping together faster and faster, as my hands grasp your butt, pulling you tight against me, and then playing with your butt like a helium balloon, keeping it bouncing in the air, letting it fall a bit and then striking it back up, generating a rhythm of play and passion, and as you climb near the top, ready to fall, I swing us both back towards the plunging water. plunge inside you, again and again, harder than the falls, with quick, fast strokes, until you rise high, and stop, arching back in ecstasy, as you spasm and shudder, and I keep shaking you up until every little shiver is over, until your are wrung out of pleasure, like a beautiful natural sponge squeezed dry, like bread dough kneaded and stretched and left to rise.

We collapse, sinking back into the water, ready, to drown out the world and every sound but our own beating hearts and the rushing water of Bridal Veil Falls. But then the huntress discovers that the hunt is not over: you reach for my manhood, and find it, still hard. You raise me up and encircle me from behind, grasping my cock, pumping it hard, as your bosoms push into my back, impelling me forward, back into the stream of the falls, its spumes of water falling on my cock as you pump it and pump it, its length straining like a salmon fighting its way up stream, until you make it a fountain, a falls, in its own right.

We linger together, in the water, only our heads showing above the surface so we can focus on our eyes. We trade kisses and then thoughts. We talk about our favorite places on the trail, wondering if there is any special place, a secret spot, the other does not know about, a hidden erogenous zone, like a male nipple that has never been played with before by a woman who knows the favorite trails, the spots, the secrets of a man's body. We each make a suggestion.

Silk Scarves, Part I and II

Part I of this story was written by a woman who invited a man to continue the story. I took up the challenge in Part II.

Part I

You are resting on your back in our bed that has the faint musky scent of our love-making the night before. I am watching you as you doze. The sheet is covering your hips and ass. I smile, admiring your body and remembering.

I reach across your chest…my breasts lightly touching your bare chest. I slide over you reaching into the basket that is beside the bed. There are colorful scarves of silk in the basket and I take two. As I pull the scarves toward me, they trail on your chest and you softly moan at the touch of the silk against your skin.

You start to touch my breasts but I pull back and than whisper in your ear “Don’t move”. You close your eyes and wait for my touch. I take the scarves and start to caress your body. Drawing the silk over your face, lightly touching your chest with the delicate fabric. You take a deep breath, smiling as your body undulates under the touch of the silk. I pull the sheet off your hips and softly glide the silk over your cock and between your legs. Caressing you and than softly kissing your warm cock. Your response is immediate, your cock grows hard as you moan softly.

I take the two scarves, stretching your arms upward and tie your wrists to the headboard of our bed. Not to hurt you but to let you know that you are mine. I whisper “Don’t move”. You moan and close your eyes.

I straddle you…not touching your growing hardness. I take the fragrant oil from the table and after warming it in my hands, I begin to massage your chest. Moving my hands upward as I lean forward, I caress your chest, your arms and up to your hands. Stoking you. Sliding my hands on your body. I lean over more so I can slide in the oil…covering my breasts in the warmth of oil and the heat that is growing inside you.

You want to touch me…you beg me to untie your hands. I slide up your body and whisper once more: “Don’t move”. I lift my body up and I can feel the moisture that has gathered between my legs. The thought of being able to take you excites me. The thought of you being mine is so erotic. I hover over your cock. Still not touching it. Your hips move up…your cock hard and throbbing…searching for my warm, tight opening.

I take your cock in my warm, oily hand and caress it, stroke it…sliding my hand up and down the shaft. My clit feels like it is on fire…I take your cock and place the tip against my clit…rubbing them together, feeling the throbbing. We both gasp in pleasure at the contact…it is electric. I rub your cock between my legs. My juices cover your hardness as I rub you back and forth.

I slowly lower my body on yours. Feeling you as your cock enters my tightness and warmth. Sliding slowly…wanting those first feelings of total bliss to last forever. This is what I want…to have you, to take you. I continue to slide on you…deeper and deeper I take you into my body. And than I stop with you filling me with your hardness.. I want to feel your throbbing and I want you to feel mine. I slide upward…our bodies still slick with oils. Breasts to chest…skin to skin. I kiss you deeply. Our tongues tasting each other. Your cock inside me. My clit throbbing.

I untie your hands…..

Silk Scarves, Part II

My arms free, I grasp you to me with them, curving your spine down for us to kiss.

The silk scarves slip to the wayside

Freed from bondage, my hands feel like sailors released in a port: Liberty becomes license, license becomes licentiousness.

My hands must rove….betwixt, between, below. They must explore and experiment. Kept too long confined on board, they must sack the city, plunder its treasure.

They long to travel from inside the knee to inside your loins, preparing a spot, a little garden spot, to plant the seeds of my kisses.

My hands just delight in their freedom, gliding over and around your back, grasping your ass and pulling you down harder on my cock, grinding pussy to groin.

You gasp at this first sign of feeling my power, my freedom, my desire, and clench my cock tighter in your pussy.

My hands slide up back and forth up the sides of your body, caressing you. I give my fingers freedom to swirl about you, tracing lines all over you, each line a little invisible rope to tie you closer to me.

My hands have sculpted clay. They have kneaded bread. They have fingered the sax, making it wail and bleat.

I touch you softly, but with strength, with each hand. You feel to me as clay on the potter’s wheel, as dough before the baker, as the sax to Coltrane, and I let you know it.

I pull you to me and kiss you, my hands mussing up into your hair. My tongue penetrates into your mouth from below, as I thrust up inside to the hilt.

I am feeling so cockstrong tonight, convinced beyond doubt that my cock can withstand any challenge you can give it without faltering. I feel like an A student, a top athlete, who loves to be tested.

As you take me gently on top, like a surfer far out into the ocean awaiting the perfect wave, just bobbing up and down with the little swells, I feel my cock wagging in my brain, flaunting itself, taunting you back for the torture you gave it when my hands were tied.

My mind whispers to itself: Try, my lover, just try to pleasure me tonight beyond the pale. Make my night: Give me the look that you want to fuck my brains out.

I end our kiss by tugging your hair back. Our eyes fasten onto each other. You see revenge in my eyes. Your cunt quivers. Your body shakes.

Yes, you sense what game is being played now, and you don’t want to give up your advantage. You love taking your turns on top, long turns. I love it too.

You straighten up, arch your back, and steady yourself, hands on my chest. You start fucking me, swiveling your hips, thrusting into me, quickening the pace.

Your hips feel like they are all ball bearings. Your pussy is so moist, so wet, you slide easily up and down my cock. Too easily.
Too much give, not enough take. And you want to take me tonight, trumping my cock with cunt. So you know you need to tighten up your yoni.

Smiling at me, your eyes inches away from mine, your tongue almost touching my lips, you begin your Kegels, squeezing my lingam again and again, brushing the tip of your tongue along my lips at the end of each squeeze.

My desire to parry and thrust into you is almost overwhelming. I want to remind you that your Kegeling is no match for my penetration. But I let you persist.

You’ve squeezed exuberant, exquisite orgasms out of me before this way: Your pussy almost still, your voice silent, letting me focus all my attention on my cock’s pleasure, my own orgasm. When I come this way, I feel you and I are gods alone in the universe, creating the Milky Way.

Tonight, however, Venus is in the ascendant, and Mars is in her thrall (or so you desire...and believe)

You rise up on your haunches, looking intent. I feel the challenge. I smile. You curse. Under your breath, you mouth the words to me, “You fucker. I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

“Try me,” I whisper back, silently.

You take me the way you know I love to be taken when you are on top: slowly….deliberately….purposefully. You rise up high, my cock just dangling inside of you by a thread. And then you short stroke it, bouncing a bit up and down, letting your labial lips French kiss my bulb, you barely moving, each move a message, your pussy its sweet envelope.

I close my eyes and concentrate, focusing on the intensity of the pleasure, feeling your cunt milk exquisite joy from me, each move….each little squeeze…its own act of torture. You are merciless tonight, but I resist.

I open my eyes. My face betrays me, crying out, “Bloody hell,” “Jesus Christ,” “OMG.” But I remain silent, except for another smile, this time more of a grin. I stick my tongue out. You snake yours out, and vibrate its tip, shivering me up. I know so well how you tease, how you conquer. Many a time the tip of your tongue has taken me by darting against the underside of my cock, flaggelating its frenulum.

You sense me weakening, so vulnerable to your vulva in its wickedess, so you lengthen your strokes, rocking back and forth no faster than honey flowing. Time and again you give me your longest, silkiest stroke.

I hold out. Your face turns expectant, then quizzical. You are waiting for me to announce my surrender, the castle taken by your siege. But my cannon remains in my possession, though you have it surrounded.

I look into your eyes, and I see the winds of war shifting. You look ready to negotiate, to sue for peace....or to renounce this world. Your eyes close, and you slip into some unknown space to man, sliding up and down now to your own rhythm, everything forgotten about me, my cock now belonging to you. You are in 5th or 6th heaven, feeling the line that will take you to 7. Tethered to the world only by my cock, you need to administer for yourself the coup de grace.

You slide all the way down on me and steady yourself again, at the still point of the world. You lean your head back, and arch, needing to feel my cock as a ramrod of steel, straining to enter the womb of your heart.

I whisper, “Look at me.” You open your eyes. You are fully now in your beauty. I want you back connected to me, taking a step back to earth to bring me high up to scale the heavens with you.

I reach out to your bosom, cupping each, caressing them, then a finger circling your nipple. It tightens. I take each nipple between thumb and forefinger, and squeeze, then tweak.

You see the look in the eyes, my intent. It’s primal. Behind the eyes is the red glare of an animal. I begin twisting your nipples. A little whip of pain twinges through them. A charge of pleasure shoots down the hot wire that goes from nipple to clit, then another.

As you descend, you join me on my ground; you become like me: an animal in heat. The heat flames through your loins, almost a wildfire. You need to quench the heat. Back up on your haunches , your start fucking me as if you had the cock, pegging into me, impaling yourself.

As the crescendo builds, your whole self lifts into a higher octave, moaning, panting. I curl my body up to you and kiss you passionately, then pull your head back, sweeping your hair aside, and I take you at the base of the neck and enter your ear with whispers, hot words, “I love fucking you.”

I fall back on the bed, grabbing you down with me, pulling you against my chest. My hands fasten on your hips, buckling them to me, steadying your ass that just wants to writhe all over me. I thrust up and in, with all deliberate speed, again and again.

You begin whimpering. My nails scratch down your back. You whimper louder. I love it. I scratch down your back one more time with all my nails, then one more time with just the edge of one nail on my middle finger, all along the spine, this time letting my finger go lower, down the crease of your ass, threatening another penetration.

You squiggle around on me, beseeching me to thrust. I spank your ass once and tell you not to move. As you look down at me, I wet my middle finger in my mouth, then give it to you to suck on. I bring it back down your spine, down the crease of your ass, and I pull your cheeks apart. I threaten again to enter, but I don’t. Instead I play your back now with my fingers and nails like a harpist plucking strings and doing glissandos. Strung tight at first, as if stretched between poles, your body softens with each stroke, each glissando.

My cock is flush with excitement, humming and buzzing, but still a minute or two or three away from the top of its climb. I need to catch up to you.

I start stroking into you more firmly, and I whisper to you “I love you.” You echo back the same words. We continue our call-and-response, each stroke of “I love you” at the end of a thrust echoed back by you. Our movements are symphonic, but then we go flamenco guitar. You whirl yourself into me, spiraling around my cock, as you let yourself go wild. No words are spoken now. Just fucking.

My cock feels like a stallion in the backstretch of a race it knows it will win.

As we round into the homestretch, I spank you from behind, five six times, each one harder, needing that ass of yours to move faster, fuck me harder

Nearing the finish line, I mold you into my favorite position. Your body straddling mine, upraised some, my hands on the hollow of your hips, now holding you still. I start pumping into you from deep down below, tapping my cock into the molten fire in the center of the earth, holding your ass up into the air, braced by my hands, as I try to send you to the moon with each thrust.

But you break out of my grasp. You start rocketing back and forth over me, trying to give me a nipple to suck and bite as they graze over head. I catch a nipple in my mouth, the one over your heart, and torment it with my tongue, flicking hard, and you press your breast into me even more.

It’s all instinctual now, our atavistic dance. I feel your ecstasy coming on, your spirit leaving your body, taking off, soaring, your womanhood running with the wolves, your mind nowhere to be found.

No thoughts now, just sensation, overwhelming sensation, wave upon wave of synaethesia, blotting out everything but bliss, yourself taken by a pacific swell as you feel me cresting with you, riding in the curl of the same perfect wave, my hands no longer battening down your ass, but shaking you back and forth, using your pussy to explode me.

Then we just lock hands together, binding them up again, fingers interlocked, the two of us tighter together than scarves, or ropes, could bond us. But our cunt and my cock are free and wild, gyrating crazily together.

The quivering begins, rippling through your body, giving way to trembling, shaking, the crying out of bodies, as my spasms join yours, sending shards and spurts of liquid heat coursing through us.

Minutes later, breathing restored, minds back beginning to function a little, you find one of the silk scaves in the bed. You pick it up and wave it at me. A flag of surrender. I accept it.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Talk Dirty to Me? No. Talk Cleansing, Refreshing Bliss to Me!

I'm sure Freud and his colleagues can give us all sorts of reasons for the association of sex with dirt. When someone says, "Talk dirty to me," we know what is meant, and too often we don't think twice about it. I like thinking twice about words, or three or four or five times about words and our choice of words and metaphors.

For me, sex is anything but dirty. It’s beautiful and sublime, refreshing and regenerating, magical and mystical--a source of joy and bliss. So instead of talking dirty, I say: Let us wash and bathe and shower ourselves with freshets of erotic words....with crystal streams of heightened erotic consciousness....with white water flows and rushes of sensual writing.....with swelling tides and cresting waves of poems that toss us about and turn us upside down…or stories that take us to the verge….and a plunging waterfalls of ecstatic, erotic expression. (There's a good reason why Niagara Falls became a honeymoon spot.)

My Plea sure

like a wire,
strung between
poles of myself

Take me
with a