Delicious fantasies 


I forgot how delicious it feels to wanna devour someone. The teasing. The wanting. The craving. Positioning yourself under the covers, sliding in and out and imagining how good it would be to feel them right now. Early mornings always seem to be the time the yearnings are insatiable. Wanting to feel hands roaming freely, fingers playfully tracing the panty line and just lying there silently begging to feel them. Soft kisses on the nape of the neck as the heart beats fasten at the height the excitement. “Tease me” I wanna whisper. It’s such a forgotten skill. I wanna beg. I wanna be merciless at the tips of your fingers. I want dams to break as you drive me insane. Bring me to the edge. Demand my thighs to part and kiss me. Kiss me softly, kiss me slowly but kiss me to the point my back is arching. And then, stop. Just stop. Make her cry a little and then taste it once more. 
All day at work this is all I could think of. This morning I used both hands trying to find a cure for this fever. Nipples poking through my shirt and I just kept mouthing your name. I wanted you so bad this morning. There was an aching for your pressure. I had to take care of it the best way I could. So I made myself cum 2x before work. But even that couldn’t stop the fantasies. 

Hands intertwined in hair and the sounds of lips smacking filled my ears. Soft movements of tongue and fingers carefully finding their way around, I wanna scream and tell you to take me. I want it all. All of it daddy. I wanna feel the thickness. Fill me tonight. I can give you kisses from within. I’ll moan my appreciation in your ear. Just take me. 

Mornings are meant for cumming. 
So when you coming over?

Strawberry kisses. 


It was raining that evening. 
I remember the sky turning gray. 
The clouds were full and ready to nourish the grounds below. 
I left the window open. 
The softness of raindrops echoing through the apartment. 
It’s a game of cat and mouse we played. 
Taunting and teasing until the water began to overflow. Any idea how soft the flesh becomes under stress? It’s reminiscent of a flower blooming underneath the sunshine. The flesh is warm and tender. It yearns for the attention of fingertips. 
Hesitation met first with thoughts of secrets becoming exposed. The excitement lies in our escapes. 
I knew how tainted this could all be. 
But we’re all so very selfish in what the bare flesh wants. 
Consequences mean nothing under the haze of passion. The sky faded to a richer shade of gray. Few stars appeared but were hiding in between the clouds. 
I smiled as my heart began to pound. 
The sensation of new is mesmerizing. Euphoric in nature. Exploring new land. 
Exciting to the touch. 
Soft, succulent breast waiting for the fullness of your lips to enjoy them.  Fingers ready to be submerged. 
I wanted him so bad. 
All the teasing was wearing me down. 
Even the breath against skin was causing waters to rise. I normally can keep it together but there was something…. 
Something too big to ignore. 
So we made our way… 
It’s always so smooth the first time undressing. 
The mouth slightly parted moist with desire. It was like in the blink of an eye I was exposed and ready to be taken. 
I laid there ready to receive.  
Ready to feel. Ready to gasp at the intensity between us. 
I was ready for him… 
I felt his fingers reaching inside. 
Warming me up. 
Stretching me. Expanding me. Prepping me for all of him.  I want him so bad 
I’m begging silently for this man 
“Please” I whisper. Grabbing my thighs, 
Trail of wet kisses he’s leaving down my back. He’s driving me insane. Legs trembling with anticipation
He wraps his lips around me 
And begins to say all the things to make me smile…

I want you. 


I got tired of upping the ante. Needing more vibrations. Deeper vibrations. Different vibrations. Different wavelengths. I wanted to feel dizzy and euphoric. The body needed to be twisted and tested. There was a necessary sense of pain that was required to convince that the mind was not creating another fantasy not within reach. Each new level brought less and less satisfaction. Rolling around in an empty bed with my hands between my legs. It just wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t fun. There were tears of frustration that formed even when the body climaxed. A few seconds of intensity and no warm kisses to prolong this feeling. My body was no longer reacting to the thought of self love. My body was tired of itself. Tired of the ins and out of AA batteries in the middle of the night. What a bore. What a sad tired bore when thoughts of masturbation just don’t do it. Did I stop loving myself the right way? Did I love myself too much? Too often? I know the love wasn’t intense. It was temporary. For the moment, you know? Just to take the edge off of not having a warm, muscular, sweaty hard body next to me. Did it really take the edge off though? Did it? Mornings would come and I, still in the heat of my own thoughts, would rise angrily. Annoyed. Irritated because I can not do the one thing my body needed. What the body needed was out of my reach. So the decision came in the middle of another exhausted session of dissatisfaction. I grabbed my phone, forgetting my chain analysis bullshit, I needed to feel something… something strong. Solid. Thick. And I needed something, well actually someone, to feel me. To explore me. To kiss and devour, to make a meal out of me. I wanted to serve. Offer my body to a very hungry mouth. My body wanted more than another night of AA batteries and a quick cheap way to achieve a subpar orgasm. I was tired and growing very restless. Phone in hand, the decision was made and 3 words contributed to my body becoming your favorite meal …. 

Behind closed doors. 


 The act itself is an art and with art, it’s open to any interpretations and understandings. It’s not one dimensional and this is your only option or this is the only way you can see it. It doesn’t work like that. The creation is meant to inspire. To stir. Bodies were made to explore. How does it make you feel? And then we build off that. And we explore. Dig deep. We converse. We begin to create. And I think that’s where we begin. The mistake is thinking that love making comes naturally. That’s not true nor is it fair, for yourself or your partner.  It’s never about the love. It’s not about that. We need to become better readers. Better listeners. The root of the problem lies in the communication between lovers. The openness. The body’s ability to perform is based off the communication process. Pay attention to what’s said and how it’s said. You have to be able to understand your partner sexually and emotionally. Validation is necessary. A person’s sexuality is to be treasured and respected. There’s so much beauty in the art of sex, love making. So it’s not about love, it’s about, can you reach each other. It’s about what is behind those closed doors. Does it make you feel more than just an empty vessel for your partner to achieve their goal? Is there an effort being given from your partner even though the day was long and stressful? Or is this just a dead body hoping within 5 minutes the act will be over? Is there a connection? You can create a connection. It’s not a far fetched ideology when it comes to sexual chemistry.

I’m learning. I promise.


Sometimes there’s a certain water pressure in the shower that hits your neck and reminds you of the night you first felt his tongue. Reminiscent on the first time he took his journey. The heat created between bodies. The wetness of your body underneath the shower head intertwined with music playing, moving hands slowly across your lips. Warm water has a funny way of making you forget your surroundings. I remember the softness, the smooth flavorful taste of his lips as his hands carefully found their way under my shirt. How arousing as I heard his breath begin to quicken. There was an urgency to feel to his warmth, I wanted nothing more than to feel him. Feel him devouring me. Feel him turning me over and repositioning my body for his pleasure…… To be continued…

Written December 1,2015

It’s almost the end of February. 


It’s not anger or resentment or sadness that transpires after the story ended, no, it was more of an openness that emerged with unfulfilled fantasies. To have and to hold a body so unguarded, so desperate in the desire to feel submerged beneath a wave of emotional balance. Swimming together in a limitless pool of possibilities of allowing the love to grow. There is no frustration behind words, but the feeling of loss, Knowing that bodies within fingertips slipped slowly from grip because of timing. What is the concept of time when loving someone feels like an eternity of never endings? I’ll always wonder what it would’ve been like to make love to/with you. To create against the flesh of a wounded warrior and follow the guided path to emotional liberation. To feel depths explored and kisses between apologies. To hold hands in the midst of an overwhelming flood between energies. It’s not sadness that is creating these words, it’s not a mind trying to erase. There’s a void that yearns to be filled, completely, with just you. This is not to express the hearts of the damned nor to shun the validity of fear in love. This is just a missed connection in the ability to bring life forward in you. The connection, that if given, could have changed the negative connotations attached to the mental perception what a woman could bring forth in the man she wanted to love, wholly. 
I would have loved to have been the one for you.

You’ll never know have good it is to have all of my affection.

And I’ll never get a chance to experience your love.