Shadow Lover in Garden

Zinnia, poinsettia, hibiscus, English breakfast tea and scones with jam, finger sandwiches on a silver platter, candelabra of sterling silver, long, tapered flames, and thou.

Succulent filet mignon, butterflied lobster tail, drawn butter, shrimp cocktail, Dom Perignon, Moët & Chandon, raspberry velvet, drizzling down, baked alaska, gingerbread latte, black and red lace teddy, fishnets, high heels with mirrors in the interior of the heel cut outs, red lush lips, tousled hair, gussied up, but easily taken down by his hands.

She sets a scene for him, of everything he wants, and has hungered for. Her mission is to fulfill his red room fantasy, in so many ways, and he likes to reveal things in pieces, not all at once. She is a student of his many desires. And she matches him in ardor, but also exquisite patience. She is studying him, to make herself irresistible to him, no matter her flaws. She lives and breathes for him, wishing to make this so.

She will have him. It is inevitable. Like a spider, she is crafting her lair for him, and when he sees what is coming, he will devour her. With abandon not seen on screen nor in cinemas. But in the flesh. And when he has this, he is hooked, because she is a master of her emotions and knows that they were meant to be, from yon far forest, known recently as Hyde Park.

The world is her playground, and the only thing is he has to say the word. She will spin her web and they will scream in ecstatic relief. G strings, stilettos, lace and tutus, cut out bras, edibles, syrup and whipped cream on body parts, name it. She is a voyeur and an exhibitionist, so the combinations are infinite. Shades up or down, dark or light, eyes open, and all other orifices as well, for him, her shadow lover, of which he is real, but who knows who he is?

One thing’s certain, her hairdresser probably knows. Because she’s the female bartender. Yay, to be single, free and in NYC! It is an interesting tale to tell, of which the book is threatened, but we aren’t free to disclose. The mouth is however open in other ways.

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50 Shades of Submission, Male

Ok, setting a scene here: I need a submissive man to come to me. Someone who likes to be dominated, a la studs and black leather, stilettos and fishnet stockings, with props. He should wear only a pair of Speedos, and be prepared to be bound and walked like the dog he is, to me. I will castigate him, pet him, let him lick me if he does well in his role, that he has requested that I fulfill, for him, because he is a very important businessman, who if the truth came out, would be thrown out of the corporate boardroom, and summarily dismissed with his Golden Parachute. He wants to be humiliated. This gets his rocks off. I like to accommodate men. Give them their most secret fantasies. Tell no one, because the silence is intoxicating, that only he and I know. He knows of what I speak, and in his mind’s eye, there is cashmere, silk sheets, pillows piled high, to get certain rewards, after the scene. My breasts are always a source of arousal for him, he loves them boundlessly…And even though I am plus size, that really doesn’t matter, because we are on the same wavelength, and I give him what he dares not voice to anyone else. I have him by the balls, you see, in a sex toy store, he likes to be bound, but then released, and when release comes, it is beyond sweet. We do a dance before meeting too, which is also calculated to increase susceptibility to orgasm. In fact, it’s all I can do to him to keep him in check, but I have my moves too, and am a grand master of this game.

 

Yes, we are well matched. Even if the outward lady here is sickly sweet, demure, proper, but in the arena of love, quite the Panther. He will become my slave, happily aroused, sated, in a lather of froth, going on and on, over the years…because no one who tastes this sundae ever forgets, or is able to put it in the past. I am addictive. You have been warned.

Oh, you thought this was real life scenario? Don’t you guys know that I am a writer, and my blog is my therapy? It works too, to drain the swamp of desire. But a few readers know of what I speak here, their names die on my lips. “Perchance to dream…”- W. Shakespeare, Hamlet. Have at it, boys and girls: dreams can come true, with the right person.

Cruising Lover

At 47th-50th St, up against a pillar on the platform, my lover presses me, obliviously

to the multitudes of commuters all round. He knows I like the pressure and the PDA,

though this goes further than that. His hands are in my long hair, luxurious blonde locks,

as he kisses me, yes, even tongue kissing, with his hips against mine, so we are shrouded in a raincoat, but I feel him, and it’s hot, really hot, because I know people are watching us, and thinking how disgusting, because we are in our 50’s now, not 20 somethings that people would just walk away, and think crazy horny kids…

Because I was that girl on the platform that you saw, aged 25, doing the same thing, but then it was almost acceptable, or even ignored, because people know 20 somethings are just very hot for sex, and that’s kind of universal, unless you have had a major trauma.

But it’s even better now, because mid 50’s, it’s definitely NOT acceptable. You should know better, that people can’t stand the concept of their parents doing the nasty. But we do, and we do it way better, because it’s a rarity, to find someone on your wavelength

And we have had lots of practice, and we know what we like, and we’re better listeners, and we aim to please our lover, because he’s liking the forbidden aspect too. You have to catch them in the availability window: between spouses, or else you are verboten, whorish, vixen, who dangles concert tickets between lusciously heavy breasts, upthrusted in half laced blue midnight bra, showing nipples proudly, for his hungry gaze and more….

And his wildest dreams are laid out, planned, plotted, both in secret and in public, because now unencumbered by marital ties, he is free, and so am I, happily free, and drinking wine or whisky, choose your poison, dancing, living, loving, endlessly, screaming when the time comes, both of us, YES!!!! For we were made to be one, and so we are, finally…

And he throws me in the suite in the bed, on the European cruise, and we are so well suited, so hungry, so endlessly creative, that there isn’t enough time left in this life to do all I want to do with him, there, in the bed, in the soaking tub, jacuzzi jets, naked, almond oil, bubbles, thick towels, not needed for long, continued in the king bed, kisses, oh thousands of kisses, on his lips, his mounds, his very body, hunting around the needle point, where his desire is concentrated, and I know more, of erogenous zones, than he even imagines, but he can lead me too, if he wants, if he likes what he sees and hears, my moans, involuntary…

Because my mouth is not the only thing that expresses love. You can hear it if you listen carefully, in the closed compartment aboard the cruise ship, at sea, just him and me, and ecstasy….never ending, but for breaks of food, because we know after orgasm, we are in fact hungry, like a wolf. And I will give him everything he has ever wanted, but no former lover would dare. for I am woman, and you can hear me ROAR! Yes, quite loudly.

He will die from me, but happily. There is no turning back, once we get on that ship, beginning at Rockefeller Center, NYC. And I won’t kill him with kindness, but instead lust, fulfilled a thousand ways to Sunday!

Red Hot Lava Desire

O Pleasure, where is thy sting? For thou art lovely and sought after, but cumbersome!

We crave it, incessantly; seek it in other forms easily purchased: tickets, chocolate, food, sex toys, hands, massage, beastly art, leather, catacombs filled with skeletons and dragons…writing phantasmagorical nightmares, a fiendish pleasure, whoops!

We seek mates, knowing at some point, the pleasure wears off in the mists of commonplace rituals…and then we go elsewhere in thought, in body, in bordellos, in any place that is unfamiliar, and therefore pleasurable again.

See a beautiful woman or a worked out 6 pack abs fireman, pose on the Las Vegas Strip,

take a pic, as if they are yours, but only for a price, a pic and a dream…but of course there are whorehouses for women’s desires too, though plainly fewer, due to social conditioning…lace, red roses, desire dripping, a cornucopia of flesh, everywhere, taking off clothes with our eyes, secretly…tutus with tulle, g strings, upthrusted breasts in beautiful lingerie, I can conjure up a thousand goodies for you with my words, but that’s not the object of our desire.

We WANT the real thing, and when we deliver, it will be like Mount Kilauea going wild, with the lava red hot, flowing, like vaginal juices, endlessly, with steam and beautiful red fire…flying over and in, sipping up and drowning in the saliva and juice that you know you want, in ever increasing quantity, with new bodies, new organs, new screams!

Be careful what you wish for. You may get burnt. Those of you with your legs tightened up by virtue of matrimony and social convention. You gave up your freedom for companionship. Hope it worked out to your liking. No goodies anymore for you.

The Bucket List Hero

Air as mellifluous flowing honey gliding between fingers

Sweetens the mood and the partners’ cartilaginous appendages.

Masseuse relaxes his muscles, lights the candle, applies cinnamon butter oil

on spa table for two. Couples massage suite with shower,

Jacuzzi and two and a half hours reserved time

Because it was on her bucket list: Couples massage (sex after?)

Ardently desired wishes take on a life of their own, he has found.

The Bucket List is Top Secret, known to few, but of supreme importance,

because the time is short. Murderous supremacists, Nazis, collaborators in government and NGO’s all conspire to annihilate us, one by one.

Platitudes in the media, an endless litany of funerals, of those taken too soon, of good people, innocent, biking, listening to a concert, going to school, church services, Walmart, movie theaters.

Literally everyplace is a soft target with the barrel of an AR 15 staring us down….

 

So this soul writes poetry as an act of rebellion against the inevitable.

I will not live, but my words will.

And in the meantime, hell yeah, there’s going to be some hollering going on, beneath the covers!

They will wonder what it feels like to be held by such a fragrant, long stemmed red rose blooming in the right conditions for him, who deserves to be The Bucket List Hero.

And the two shall never be the same, anon…

For the Woman is the Sphinx, with a riddle

And he is Oedipus, successful in his answer.

As such, he regains his life and lost love

Because to be without her was in fact death to him.

The two were one soul and united, they flew into the ethereal skies,

Entwined as lovers.

 

 

Forbidden Desire

Married he is, but his looks beckon me come hither. I can smell his desire

as he radiates pheromones and his eyes glint. Body language never lies; only lips do.

Awareness that the fruit is very sweet and dripping wet, ready to pounce.

 

The dance has begun and is eternal. He notes my choice of revealing swimwear.

Picture posing without bottoms, only a tankini. Penile tumescence involuntarily stirring…He pictures me naked in his mind’s eye, being pulled into the vortex

Of his powerful arms, running hands through my luxuriant hair,

Claiming me with a scintillating kiss and a caress of my ample buns.

 

But I desire him too. The flirtation has reached the fever pitch and I throw caution as if into hurricane force winds. I know it’s wrong, but the knowledge no longer stops me.

I SHALL HAVE HIM AND MARK HIS SOUL WITH MY MOUTH! For the oral fixation is dominant and he will not soon forget what I am about to do, as he has dreamt of this scene and woken up with wet sheets. Many times, or closed his eyes, imagining me there, hot and panting, nipples hard, poo poo soaked and all he has to do is insert a finger…as the involuntary writhing and screams mount loudly in intensity. 

Anything more and she is a feral cat possessed….

 

They have been circling each other a bit too long. Desire denied, suppressed for the sake of propriety, societal norms be damned! It has only built up a raging lava pit volcano.

Both he and she erupt gloriously!!!

 

And she knows it is wrong but is powerless to stop the flow of the river of magma that comes from both of them. This is going to be infinite intensity as you cannot stop a hurricane. Nor her perversity in putting this out there. She is flashing purple neon, guys…

 

But be advised she marks your soul with her mouth. It is very hard to deny the force of nature.

 

Another Phantasmagorical Valentine

Annual musings of imagination, of being in my beloved’s arms, of knowing a true molten lava kiss and more…so much more.

This lady is red hot, and pictures extraordinary wishes fulfilled, as much as he wants

And she desires, for the two are in sync in mind and body.

Snow accumulating with harsh winds outside, very cold, but we are naked inside, under covers, warm, dipping s’mores, on soon to be laundered sheets, all wet with lovemaking.

No interruptions, just a day of languid wish fulfillment, phones silent, just the two, in privacy, and joy of love fulfilled. No need to be present for anyone else, for a few hours of pleasure…and a plan of transformation, of 50 Shades Darker, on the road to soul mates in bliss, on the same page, in the blessing of knowing the two are better off together, and life giving too, as the reality of life is distinctly different from this idyll…

The reality is one person only has a phantasm, a fantasy, a dream, of being united

And that person may in fact have the sand run out of the hourglass

Before the dream turns to reality. It is dependent on what God wants

Ultimately. Such love ought to be in real life, because it is from God

And that is what sustains me in these very cold, lonely nights

Crying out for union, from deep within my soul.

 

In the meantime, I do everything possible to show the real me to do good for others.

Because my soul is ultimately good, and deserves its life recompense.

So is his. Can we have our cake now though, please??

Because love denied is deadly, in the end, if it lasts too long.