Love Is A Crime


Love Is A Crime

Her name was Melanie, and she stole my heart.
I was three.  She lived a few houses down, and used to babysit.
I don’t remember her parents, but I’ve heard they were indulgent.
I used to toddle down the street and ring their doorbell.
“Can Melanie come out to play?”
She would have been twelve.
Maybe she already had a boyfriend?
It took me until I was 16 to get my heart back.
Until then, I replaced it with a pretty purple stone.

Her name was Tanya, and she stole my stone.
I was four.  She lived around the corner from me.
Her mother was German, and made incredible coffee cake.
Tanya and I would hold hands, and pretend to be married.
I never did get my stone back, so I stole an extra piece of cake.
It filled the cavity nicely.

Her name was Thea, and she stole my coffee cake.
I was five.  She lived across the street from me.
Her father wasn’t German, but he looked like Hitler.
He was very strict, so Thea and I couldn’t hold hands.
Instead, we played doctor, and her sister Nell was the nurse.
Thea always seemed to need surgery on her vagina.
I really liked that cake, but I didn’t want it back from her.
Thea gave me my first kiss.
I knew the perfect place to keep it.

Her name was Kelly, and she stole my first kiss.
I was six.  She lived at the top of the street, in the cul de sac.
She had a twin sister named Carmen.  My friend Ed loved Carmen.
Carmen and Kelly’s parents were never around.
We would play tag in the woods behind the house.
If you got caught, the twins would kiss you.
Ed never got caught, but I always got caught, eventually.
Kelly took my first kiss, but she gave me dozens to replace it.

Her name was Teagan, and she stole all my kisses.
I was eight.  She lived a long way away, on the other side of town.
I never met her parents, but they seemed nice.
We met in school and she liked me because I said her name right.
“It’s TAY-gun,” I’d say, “Not TEA-ghin!”
And I’d beat the crap out of Nick, who always said her name wrong.
I walked Teagan home from school every day.
We would hold hands and talk about school, and homework.
She never gave me any kisses, but she blushed a lot,
Especially when I told her how much I liked her.
I kept her blushes where my heart used to be.

His name was Felix, and he stole my blushes.
I was twelve.  He lived a few blocks away.
His parents were weird.  French, and always saying strange things.
Without my blushes, I was willing to consider new things.
Felix and I explored these things together.
He gave me confusion, and took it away again.
He gave me fear, and a little stayed with me.
He gave me a better sense of my identity.
That, I kept.

I bumped into Melanie again, and got my heart back.
I was sixteen, and she was twenty-five.
Her husband was ruggedly handsome.  He said,
“Is this the one… ?” And she laughed,
“Yeah.  He was so cute!”
I scratched my head and watched them walk away.
It didn’t seem damaged in any way.  My heart, I mean.
And even with a better sense of myself, it still fit nicely.

Her name was Catalina, and she stole my heart.
I was seventeen, and still didn’t know any better.
Her mother was rarely around; she wanted to be in Australia.
Cat and I didn’t actually like each other,
Though we still love one another.

It took an awful lot of sex to discover that fact.
A lot of arguments, too.
Meanwhile, my friends drifted away (I let them go),
My family drifted away (I never even noticed),
My grades drifted away (I barely graduated).
We grew apart, and we grew up.
Life has a funny way of wearing away the rough edges.
We sort of like each other now.
Despite everything (or perhaps because of it) she kept my heart.
To be fair, I think I kept hers.

Well, that sums up early childhood through teen years, minus some odds and ends that aren’t in keeping with the tone of this poem.  I could probably do another for adulthood.  I could probably do an entire book of poems for every person I’ve ever loved, but I won’t bore you with that.  Instead, I will leave you with the inspiration behind my words, a letter from a woman (who used to be) named Felony.

Felony writes:

Hey Eon,

My parents named me Felony, for the way I was conceived.  The story I heard (not from my parents, mind you, but from a friend of theirs) was that in the swinging seventies they fell in with a bad crowd.
They all shared the same kinks, swapping partners, big orgies and sex parties, most of it while flying high or tripping way out.  It was natural for them to spend most of their time with the friends they made in that crowd,  but that crowd was fond of flipping off “The Man,” angry environmental demonstrations and political rallies being the least of their activities meant to undermine authority.
Some of that crew sabotaged police vehicles late at night, breaking into fenced compounds, cutting brake lines, sugaring gas tanks, setting cruisers on fire.  Others had robbed a bank or two.
My parents were encouraged to involve themselves in action against the corruption and corporate thievery of Big Brother.  High on idealism as much as anything that might have gotten up their noses, they began a series of B & Es.
They would target the wealthy homes of bankers, politicians, businessmen, even police.  They got away with it for a long time through sheer brazenness.  They were actually very intelligent, when they weren’t flying on chemicals, so they developed a system, and the system worked.  They could walk into a home, get the grand tour from the home owner himself, the whole time making notes on an official looking clipboard.  If they didn’t rob the poor sod blind during that very tour with a series of quick-fingered manouvers, or by manufacturing an excuse to separate, leaving one free to grab choice items while the other distracted the homeowner, they would use the notes they were taking right in front of their target to come back later and finish the job.
So many descriptions of my parents circulated due to the disguises they wore that it was thought, for a long time, that a crime syndicate was responsible for targeting the elite, the influential, the well-to-do.
My father once told me:  Never get too good at anything.  It makes you lazy.
My parents, so drunk on success and wealth that they spent outrageously, confident of always having more, began to take totally unnecessary risks when on the job.  My mother would seduce a police officer in his home, handcuff him to his own bed with his own cuffs, then leave him there when my father showed up to announce the house had been cleaned out.
They would set off an alarm at a mansion on purpose, drawing police and firemen to the scene, and rob the house next door right under the collective nose of authority.  When they were done, they would often go out to join the crowd that had gathered from around the neighborhood, all the looky-lous who came to stare, and start asking questions of the police, riling everyone up about slow response times, lack of leads or suspects, questioning what was being done to make the area safe again.  They implied that tax payers paid police wages, and these taxpayers paid more than anyone.  In essence, they were the officers’ real employers, and they deserved special attention.  Capitalizing on the deeply distrustful spirit of the times, when so few people believed in the leadership of the government, these scenes could rapidly devolve into entire angry neighborhoods ready to crucify what they now saw as lazy pigs, when in reality the poor men and women trying to placate them were just trying to do their jobs.
Still, it wasn’t until they joined in on a bank job (something they had once sworn they would never do) that they got caught.  True to form, they failed to take the task at hand seriously, and when the crew on that job realized my parents were a liability, they cut and ran.  With no escape, trapped in a bank vault, my parents did “the logical thing,” as they put it, to pass the time:  they made love.  For hours, over and over again, they  made love, reaffirming their devotion to one another with passionate kisses and tender touches.  By the time police had located a bank manager to open the vault, my parents were fast asleep, tangled naked in a mess of documents torn from the steel womb of the vault.
My mother gave birth to me in prison.  I was immediately given over to state custody and placed in an orphanage.  One last “screw you” to The Man, I think, forcing him to raise the child of crime, change my diapers, feed me, clothe me.
My mother dubbed me Felony.  It said so right on my birth certificate.  When I was growing up, everyone called me “Lany,” and I’ve since had my name changed legally.
I do everything legally.  I often wonder if my parents would be disappointed in me, but times have changed.  Surveillance technology, forensic science, police powers; there’s so much today that would prevent my parents from living the life they lived back then.
They did leave me with something, though.  A thing only a few people have ever known about me.  Something I’m sharing with you now because part of why I’m writing is to try to understand.  I hope this is the first steps towards knowing why.
Throughout my life, I have fantasized about being trapped.  Locked in a bank vault, like my parents, put in a cage by cruel men, tied to beds, chained to the desk of a powerful company president.  When I became sexually active, I found myself unable to reach the peaks of arousal, or orgasm, without some sort of restraint preventing my “escape.”  This always made me feel very embarassed, because I never really wanted to escape, I wanted to have sex, but I couldn’t find the words to make myself understood, and not many people knew the story of my parents and my birth.
Telling a man, “Hold me down.  Don’t let me get away.  Pin me,” was sometimes enough for the pleasure to crest, but not often.  I had a chance to get away, then.  Tied up, chained to something too heavy to move, I could submit more fully and allow myself to be brought to climax.  It hasn’t ever been difficult to convince men to do this for me.  Most men secretly want to dominate women, I think.  Control us.  I haven’t suffered from want of sexual satisfaction.  But there is another satisfaction that seems to be missing from my life… no matter how many men I get to constrain me, cage me, chain me, pin me, truss me, keep me, neither they nor I truly know why I need this.  I am not truly a submissive, by nature.  I enjoy giving my man commands, and I sometimes hate my inability to climax if I don’t submit to restraints.  It seems there is something sad being said about my life when my bed is equipped with leather straps.  Like the cage I’m truly trapped in is my own fear of living outside the lines, of breaking rules, of defining myself without reference to the expectations of society and authority.
Thank you for reading, Eon.  This has been… helpful.  One can’t really redefine oneself without first knowing what needs to be redefined.


*Image from Internet*


Liam’s First Time


My apologies for the delayed post today.
Was entertaining guests this evening,
no time to write my own reflections.
So here is a somewhat longer letter from Liam.

Liam writes:

Dear Eon,

The first time I had sex I was 17.  I was sort of seeing this girl Leanne from my homeroom in highschool.  I say sort of because I don’t think she really thought of me that way, but we spent most of our time together.  We walked to school together almost every day.  Home again, too.  Spent lunch break together, working on homework and art projects and stuff.  She was pretty with long black hair and pale skin.  Her eyes were big and gorgeous green.  She had a cleft palette when she was born, but she’d had a lot of surgeries to fix it by the time she was 16, so she just had a scar on her upper lip and a slightly crooked nose.  Maybe a bit of a lisp.  I thought it made her more exotic.  I think she thought it made her ugly, which is why she never expected guys to think she was beautiful.  She had a slim waist and a great big round butt, which I loved.  It stuck out and wiggled back and forth when she walked.  Her back was kinda swayed at the bottom, so the way her ass stuck out was a bit exaggerated, but I was 17.  To me it was sexy.  It was so hard to ignore that wonderful wiggling ass.

I can’t remember why, exactly, but she had to go to the store one lunch hour to buy something, and I volunteered to go along.  Maybe I invited myself along, I don’t know.  I sometimes think she was just being nice to me because I was a bit of a goof and awkward with the girls, but I like to think maybe she actually liked me because I was funny and smart when I got over being shy.  She had had boyfriends before, but she was single at the time, and I was hoping that we’d end up becoming a couple.  Anyway, we went and bought this thing, and we were walking through the parking lot back to her car, and it was a crowded parking lot, so I was walking behind her so I didn’t get run over.  And I just stared at her butt the whole time.  She must’ve glanced back and caught me looking, but I was 17.  I figured it was the perfect crime, her having to watch for traffic, no way would she catch me.  But she did.
The car ride back to the highschool was pretty quiet.
“You think my butt’s too big, don’t you?”
She sounded kind of angry. I was caught off guard, but she was clearly offended that I’d been staring.  Must’ve caught me smirking and thought I was laughing at her or something.  Boy was she wrong.  I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.
“I always wanna touch it.”
I was in deep already.  Might as well see how far this would go.
“It looks so round and soft.  Sometimes I wish you would be naughty just so I could spank you.”
“Um… look, you asked.  I shouldn’t have been staring, okay?  I’m sorry.  But I wasn’t laughing.  I was admiring.”  And then, as a sort of afterthought, I muttered, “Maybe daydreaming a little bit.”
The rest of the drive was spent in a kind of contemplative quiet, her mulling over the things I’d said, maybe wondering what to make of it, and me just staring out the window, wondering if I could put my foot in it any deeper.  I wasn’t too upset.  I’d never really had any chance with a girl before.  This was the first time I’d ever admitted how I’d felt, though.  My heart was pounding.  I felt like maybe something should be happening, somehow this should have turned out different.  But she was just quiet and distant and I felt like a bit of an idiot.
We had different classes that afternoon.  I waited for her after school in the usual spot, and she didn’t show.  I wandered home, punting a rock along most of the way.  When I lost the rock I switched to a pinecone.  I admit it.  I was down.  Like, really dejected.  She must’ve thought I was your typical sex crazed dude now.  I mean, I was, but usually I wasn’t so obvious about it.
My route home took my by her house, so I swung wide by a couple of blocks and hit the store for some cola on my way.  Got home and sat around playing video games, drinking pop and feeling sorry for myself.  When my buddy Don called I was ready for some activity, so I grabbed a hoodie and took off to meet him.  We went into town to the coffee shop everyone always gathered at.  It was open until midnight, great place to hang out.  They sold used books there, and had boardgames and net access, and were friendly to large groups of teens.  We spent a lot of time there.  Don had gathered a good crowd, Ru and Sae and Mike and Ben and Betty… the twins, too, Bianca and Beth.  Lots of B names in that crowd, now that I’m writing them down.  But there was Jer, too, acting odd as usual, but getting lots of laughs.  And Jean was there.  She came right over for hugs and sat on my lap when I found a place at the couch.  I put my arms around her and we cuddled close.  She always knew when I was feeling low.  Her and I were tight, had been for years.  Funny how I never thought of her as a romantic option.  We’d even shared a bed a few times, nearly naked, but somehow it just never seemed sexy or anything.  She was cute enough, but…  She was more like a sister to me.  She was close to Leanne, too, and I sometimes thought she might secretly have a thing for her.  I knew she was bi.  I just didn’t know how bi, you know?  Anyway, she was an odd girl, didn’t ever ask me for anything, but was always physically affectionate with me.  I guess I’d always been really nice to her, affectionate without being aggressive like some other guys.  Never pushed her for sex or touching or any of that.  She was quiet and easy to be around.  So I lost myself in her company and in the crowd.  When Byron showed up the night really got started.  That guy was brilliant, funny, tough and cool, always had something interesting on the go.  He had Aden with him, and before long we were all down at the little airstrip in the middle of town, talking big philosophy and watching the stars.  Byron had a couple joints, so we smoked a bit.  I always started grinning and telling stories when I got high.  People began to drift off as it got later.  I lost track of who stuck around, caught up in a conversation with Byron.  Eventually, must’ve been 1 am, I was getting cold (Jean wasn’t around keeping me warm anymore) and I made to go.

Couldn’t find the keys to my car.  Tried all the doors.  Locked.  Damn.  It was an hour walk to get home, and everybody with a car had already left.  Double damn.  The guys I’d offered a ride to all slugged me in the arm or gave me a shove, but it was friendly enough.  We started trudging.  One by one they all turned down streets that would lead them home.  I was on my own, with a half hour to go.  The rain started.  I didn’t hurry my pace.  I was lost in thought.  Thinking about Leanne, thinking about how I’d told her I thought she was sexy, her ass was incredible, how I wanted to touch her.  I might as well have told her how I fantasized about her naked, how some days I showed up early to pick her up on the way to school in the hopes she’d still be in the shower when I got there.  Sometimes she was, and I’d sit in the den and wait.  She’d walk by from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her and one in her hair.
“Hey, Liam,” she’d say.  “Just be a minute.”
She was always more than a minute.  I remember the time she left her door cracked open while she was changing.  I got teasing glimpses of pale skin, but I was never sure what I’d been looking at.  Still, that didn’t stop me from jacking off that night, thinking about her naked body.  I always hoped it would happen again, that I’d be able to contrive some way of accidentally stumbling in on her.  But that was a bit hopeless now.

The rain suited my mood.  When I neared my house, I realized I didn’t have keys to get in.  They were on the same ring as my car keys.  I didn’t feel like breaking in.  My dad was the type to call the cops, even after he saw it was me.  And I really didn’t feel like waking up my folks and explaining to them what I was doing out in the rain at 2 in the morning.  Especially when I’d told them I’d be staying the night at Don’s.  They probably figured I was a good boy and I’d been in bed right at 10 pm.  So what to do?

I wandered around for a while, getting thoroughly soaked, feeling miserable, considering the merit of waiting for sunrise and weighing it against waking up my parents.  When I looked up from staring at my squishing shoes as I slouched along, I saw a light on in the window of Leanne’s house, and I realized where my traitor feet had taken me.  But then I figured, why not?  In my current state I’d at least get a little sympathy.  Maybe it would be enough to get some forgiveness for the things I’d said earlier.  And lucky me, the light was on in her window.  I wandered over and peeked inside.  Through the gauzy curtains I could see she was sitting in bed, reading.  I didn’t know what time it was anymore, but it must have been well past 3.

I tapped on the window.  She started and glanced up.  Got out of bed, slowly, and pulled the curtain aside.  When she saw my face in the glow of her bedside lamp, she pointed to the side of the house with the carport.  I understood, and went to wait by the basement entrance there.  She left her room and moved through the den to let me in.
“Hi Leanne.”
“Hey.  You’re soaked.  Come in, but be quiet.  My mom’s still awake.”
Her too?  What was with these women?
“What are you doing here?”
“Lost my keys.  Had to walk home from town, and couldn’t get into my house.  Thought I’d gamble on waking you rather than pissing off my parents.”
She stared at me, a strange frown on her face.
“Uh, look,” I continued, “I just need a place to sit and dry out, maybe a cup of tea.  When the sun comes up I’ll go home and make up some excuse about having a fight with Don.  I don’t want to bother you.”
She sighed.
“No bother.”
She took me by the hand and led me into the bathroom, which was across the hall from her room.
“Take off your clothes,” she said matter of factly.
“You’re soaked.  Take off your clothes.  I’ll get you a robe.”
I stripped and wrapped a towel around my waist.  I was freezing, and there was no way my shriveled dick was going to embarrass me by jumping to attention, even naked in front of the girl I liked.  I was too tired and too cold to even think about that, really.  Well, maybe not that cold and tired.  But close.
She came back and tossed me a white terry cloth robe.  I put it on, cinched it tight, and followed her into her room after letting the towel fall.
She had a large room.  It took up most of the basement, and had an actual fireplace at the far end, with a wide stone hearth.  She was sitting on the hearth, loading wood into the fireplace.  I went and gave her a hand getting the fire started.  Then she left me sitting there, warming up and drying out, while she went upstairs.  I heard a murmured conversation, and then the floor creaking and the closing of a door at the far end of the upstairs hallway.  Her mom finally going to bed, I guessed.
Leanne came back with two mugs of hot chocolate, loaded with little marshmallows.  We sat in companionable silence and drank, and I sighed with contentment as the cold and damp eased away.  Along with it, my worries began to slip away.  I could tell she wasn’t upset with me over earlier.  So I just stared into the fire, and was happy to be silent.
I must have nodded off, because I don’t remember her getting up.  But she took the cocoa mug from my hand and led me to the bed.  She patted it, and I climbed on, sitting somewhat awkwardly in my robe.  I didn’t want to lay down on her bed.  It was too much of a reminder of the way I’d crossed the line earlier.  I was beginning to wake up, and I was feeling way out of my depth here.
She pushed me back on the bed.  She turned out the bedside lamp, and I saw her backlit by the light from the bathroom across the hall.  Her curves were starkly visible beneath the thin nightgown she wore, which looked like a pale halo floating down from her shoulders.  She took a deep breath, and let her nightgown drop to the floor.  I heard it slither across her skin.  The darkness of her pubic hair was a tempting shadow beneath the pale curve of her belly.  I wanted to reach into that shadow and see what I would find.
She climbed onto the bed and knelt beside me.  She reached down and gently spread the robe, revealing me in all my skinny glory.  I felt self conscious and more than a little nervous, but my cock knew what to do.  It was standing almost before she touched it.  When her cool hands closed around it, it came fully alert in an instant.  The jolt it sent through me!  She stroked me a few times, experimentally.
“You’re bigger than I thought you’d be,” she said.
“You… wondered… ?” I managed.
“Well, yeah… after I’d had time to think about what you said… I realized… you’ve always kind of liked me.”  She nodded to herself, then looked over at my face.  “Haven’t you?” she added quickly, suddenly unsure of herself.
“You have no idea,” I whispered.
That seemed to decide her.  She swung a long, graceful leg over me, and used her grip on my penis to guide me into the gap hidden below that nest of dark curls.  She was wet, and warm, and it was so unexpectedly pleasant to be inside her that, one, two, three strokes of her slick folds and I came inside her.  I barely had time to gasp and it was over.
She ceased her gyrations when she noticed me getting soft.
“Already?” she pouted.
It was not good for my frail self esteem.
“Shit… no, I… are you gonna get pregnant?”
“I’m on the pill, relax.”
I fell back on her pillows and stared at the ceiling.  What a disaster.  I could feel myself going soft already.  She knelt there with her hands on my stomach and watched me for a few minutes, and then she climbed off the bed.  With a tug on my hand she guided me to the bathroom, where she started the shower.  Now that I was seeing her nudity in full light, I felt arousal stir again.  A slight tremor of possibility caused my limp cock to twitch.  With her back to me, she never noticed.  She was leaning into the shower to adjust the temperature of the water.  I let my eyes wander over her body, settling finally on that glorious full moon ass.  Slowly, my cock began to harden.
“Let’s get cleaned up and go to bed,” she said, then squealed as I pushed her into the shower.  The curtain snapped closed behind us and I pressed her against the wall, kissing her clumsily, passionately.  I covered her neck in kisses, let my lips caress her collar bone, cupped her breasts and shoved them into my mouth.  I didn’t now what I was doing, but I knew I wanted to do it all.  I sucked and licked and squeezed, caressed her sides, gripped her big firm butt.  I’d read a few porn magazines.  I knelt in the warm spray of the shower, and put my face in her crotch.  She gasped in surprise, then laughed when it became evident I was having trouble finding something worth licking.  She hadn’t ever shaved, and she was rather furry.
“Lower,” she said, and I obeyed.
I found her vagina and let her smell envelope me.  I tasted her wetness and my own failure.  It spurred me on.  Half guided by her sounds and whispered commands, half instinctively, I gave oral sex for the first time, and I loved it.  The way she moved her hips and pushed into my face.  The musky scent of her, the taste on my tongue, the slippery tunnel I slid my fingers into, the beautiful wet skin and warm mounds of flesh I could touch and squeeze.
When I stood up again, I was hard as a rock, and she returned the favor by going down on me.  She stroked me and swallowed it down her throat until her lips bumped my balls.  Her fingers tickled the underside of my scrotum.  She bobbed her head and licked and sucked and I got harder and harder.  The sight of her, young and perky and soaking wet, hair dripping, skin flushed and beaded with moisture, the spray splashing over her curves, it was too much.  I came again, never thinking to warn her.  She made no sound of protest, swallowed it all, licked the residue from my shaft and stroked me until more came out and she licked and swallowed that too.

We finished showering.  We took our time, running our hands over each others bodies in eager exploration.  We soaped each other up and washed each other’s hair.  We touched and talked and laughed.  We went to bed, and we lay in a tangle, hands never laying still, fingers tracing ticklish lines of pleasure over one another’s skin.  I bathed her head to toe with my tongue, kissed every inch of her, got right down close to her vagina and opened her wide and examined the way she was built while asking questions and loving her every giggling answer.  I fingered her to another climax, the whole time asking over and over what felt nice, where to touch her, how, when, why?
She taught me so much in those hours, and as the sun came up I was stiff and aching and she lay back and spread her legs for me.  I slid inside her with relief, feeling the slippery grip of her pussy ease the ache with that first stroke, finding my rhythm, letting her guide me with her words and her hands until I came again.
“Don’t stop,” she begged me, “I’m so close!”
So even as I came, and the pleasure overwhelmed me, I gritted my teeth and kept plunging my cock in and out of her, harder now, faster, striving to get her there before I went limp and loose again.  It didn’t take long.  Her eyes went wide as she stared into my eyes, she bit her lip and she clawed my back.  She arched as her orgasm took her, shaking and turning red until finally she was able to gasp in a breath.
We collapsed in a heap.  She cradled my head against her breasts and stroked my hair.  I nuzzled her and gave her little kisses and playful bites.  Her mom’s footsteps on the stairs nearly went unnoticed.  At the last moment, as her mother came around the corner, I rolled off of Leanne’s warm soft body to the side opposite the doorway, and she snapped the bedsheets up and over me.  Blinded by the light from the bathroom, her mother peered into the darkness of the bedroom.
I held my breath.  Leanne ignored her.
“Leanne?  Who are you talking to?”
“Huh?  Wha?”  Her sleepy mumble deserved an Oscar.
“I heard you with someone,” her mom accused.  Thank god there was only the lamp by the bed, and no overhead light she could lean in and switch on.
“Mom, go away.  I’m trying to sleep.  You’re ruining a wonderful dream.”
I felt like I was going to burst.  I couldn’t hold my breath any longer.
The silence stretched.
She turned and walked away.  We heard her stomp upstairs and slam the door to her room.
Relief flooded over us.  We whispered and laughed and didn’t get any sleep that night.  When the sun came up, I put on the clothes that had been drying by the fire, and left by the garage door.  I made my way home, feeling very good indeed.

*Image from Internet*

The Unicorn


You can reach me at:


Good afternoon, gentle readers!
One of my own, today.
The seeds of this idea were planted a few days ago,
during a conversation with a coworker.
It seems the seeds found fertile soil.
I would love to hear what you think.
Thanks for reading!
Much love,

There it was.
The dragon.
The gods were good.
It was the perfect moment for an ambush.

They had tracked it assiduously for weeks:  From the village, smoking and ruinous, where sooty villagers buried their dead and rebuilt their homes with a plodding, listless stolidity; west, through the farmlands, reading the scatter of cattle carcasses like the careless casting of a mad shaman’s runes; kicking mud and loam from their boots in the depths of primeval forests, finding and tasting the dragon’s spoor, taking the lay of the land from the tops of the tallest trees; further still, slipping down slopes of slithering scree, collecting the sheddings of the serpent’s skin where it paused to roll in the sharp stones by stinking sulfurous springs; across undulating hills like a rucked blanket creased by rivers, following the fear in the eyes of furriers and ferrymen.
To this place, here: a snowy ridge furred by the ferns in which they lay.
They were: Augustus; ever alert, sword in a scarred knuckly hand, shield at the ready, muscles bunching and tense beneath the straining straps of his heavy iron armor.  Proviciam; hugely fat, swathed in furs, eyes narrowed in a ruddy, cherubic face, though his gaze is turned inwards as he silently mouths hexes and charms through his ice-crusted beard.  Grogolex; nearly naked, skin as pale as the snow except where blue veins show through, filed teeth clenched in a shark’s grin, massive axe near at hand.
The three looked over the ridge upon a scene from the grimmest of fairytales.  The dragon, evidently, had espied a unicorn whilst a-wing.  Dropping silently from the air, it had pinned the poor beast to the frigid earth.  There the unicorn whinnied and snorted.  Reptilian claws pricked ruby rivulets of magical blood from its throat.  The dragon maneuvered its long, sinuous body, wrapping its equine prey with a serpentine coil of muscle and scale.  Draconic hindquarters gripped haunches of horse.  A massive, partially scaled phallus emerged.  As the three dragon hunters watched in horror, the dragon flapped his wings for balance and leverage and forced his member deep into the squirming and squealing unicorn.  The dragon’s jaws closed on her skull, holding her still.  A serpentine tongue coiled about the unicorn’s horn, licking licentiously.  Colored motes of light glittered and danced as the horn’s magic was stimulated by the dragon’s perverse stroking.  Glittering shards of energy sparkled and crackled.  The dragon began to thrust with urgency.  His immense member, slick with her liquid magic, stroked in and out of the unicorn’s stretching vulva.  Even from their vantage point on the ridge, the three could hear the meaty percussions of the dragon’s lust.
Proviciam released a sighing breath and ceased his mumbling.  His gaze once more fully focused on this world, he glanced at Augustus and nodded.  The protective spells were woven and firmly affixed.  With that, Grogolex grunted and made to rise, axe in fist.  Augustus’s hand restrained him with a light touch.  The ogre glared and bared his nasty teeth, but Augustus merely shook his head, once, and Grogolex subsided.  The three continued to watch.
The dragon was stroking at a steady pace, now, clearly enjoying himself.  The glimmer of sorcery encased his shaft as he heaved and strained.  He grunted and huffed like a bellows.  Wisps of smoke escaped his jaws.  His tongue continued to slobber and slurp magic from the violated horn.  Beneath the dragon, the unicorn spasmed and kicked, let loose a whinnying cry.  Her powerful haunches bunched, and she thrust herself up, staggered three steps beneath the dragon’s draping weight, and collapsed to her side.  There she bucked and moaned as he pummeled in and out of her.  The dragon, coiled about the unicorn’s body, squeezed tighter still, great loops of his body caressing her heaving flanks.  He released his jaw-grip on her skull and arched his long neck back, and back further yet, until he nearly formed a loop.  His eyes closed in ecstacy.  His steady rhythm became a furious humping.  Wet magic splashed over the snow from the unicorn’s vagina.  Her eyes rolled back in her head as she bucked.
Gradually, a low rumble was building from deep within the dragon’s chest.  The moment had come.  During the dragon’s pinnacle of pleasure, they would strike, and avenge the horrific desecration of this symbol of virginity and purity.
Augustus gave the nod and the three burst from the ferns, avalanching down the far side of the ridge.  Thanks to Proviciam’s thaumaturgy, Grogolex’s speed was superhuman; in less than ten heartbeats he was across the shallow valley and the dragon’s tail was severed at the base, bright blood arcing through the chilly air.  The snow steamed where it splashed.  The barbarian spun with the force of his blow and buried the massive axe in the dragon’s side.  Scales twinkled as they erupted from the impact like sparks spat from a fire.
The dragon’s eyes flew open and his roar shook snow from the surrounding ridges.  But, coiled as he was about the unicorn, pinned by her thrashing weight, he could not rise to meet the unexpected threat.  His head snapped around at the end of his long neck, cracking like a whip.  His chest expanded as he prepared to douse the attacking ogre in draconic fire.
Startled by the timely intrusion and the chance to escape, the unicorn chose that moment to scramble to her feet.  Her sudden movement sent frissons of pleasure coursing along the dragon’s shaft, finishing what the dragon had begun; still clinging to her hindquarters, he roared as he climaxed.  His body arched violently.  He undulated in waves.  His flaming breath vented harmlessly skyward.  Grogolex was thrown to the ground and the axe was ripped from his grasp.
As the powerful cable of the dragon’s body unwound, the unicorn found her hooves and leaped free, bucking and kicking, spilling scintillating serpentine semen from her womb as she went.  Thick and reeking, it, too, smoked in the snow.
Augustus arrived.  As the dragon righted himself, the magic sword flashed in the winter sunlight, and the dragon’s left foreleg came free.  Now gouting blood from three separate and grievous injuries, the dragon’s wings snapped open with a rattling clatter.  He cupped gigantic scoops of air and bunched for a skyward spring.
Proviciam barked an eldritch word.  Thunder boomed and lightning shredded the dragon’s leathery sails, leaving tattered and bloody remnants fluttering from blackened bone frames.  The dragon collapsed in agony.  Together, Augustus and Grogolex (who had recovered his axe) butchered the beast, hewing off great gobs of meat until both were head-to-toe gore.  This accomplished, they paused to rest.
It caught all three dragon slayers entirely off guard when the unicorn returned, at full gallop, and spitted Augustus on her horn like a holiday roast.  A magical discharge from the glittering spike splattered his innards over his fellows and half an acre of virgin snow.  As his ruined corpse fell free, she danced sideways, stabbing down with her horn.  Proviciam’s incantation went incompleted.  The horn had pierced his voice box.  Arcane energies surged without direction.  He crashed to the ground like a boulder falling off a mountain, and there he lay as all his great store of fat began to bubble and boil beneath his skin.
Grogolex stood immobilized with horror.  The unicorn’s eyes were full of rage.  She pawed the ground and tossed her head.  Her horn shone like an icicle in the winter sun.  She charged.  Grogolex was not quick enough.  His axe had whistled harmlessly through only half its arc by the time she plunged her glowing lance into his heart.
The three had made a terrible mistake.  Grogolex knew it as he died, for as he lay there, bleeding out his last, he saw the unicorn make her way to the dragon’s corpse and nuzzle it tenderly.  A single, shining tear fell from her eye.  Her horse quim quivered in remembered pleasure; a few more dragon drops fell free.  With horn ablaze, the unicorn began regenerating her lover.
Grogolex knew no more.

*Image from Internet*



You can write me at:


Dear readers,
You may recall a post entitled Homework Assignment,
originally posted on the 24th of August.
Today, I’m very pleased to share a pair of letters submitted by a husband and wife team who decided to spice up their sex life and assign each other some very sexy homework.  These are their first attempts at erotic writing, and I have made no effort to edit their offerings, so please be kind with your comments.
If any teachers are reading this, please dress as seductively as possible
and submit video of yourself grading this homework assignment
while being ravished by your lover.
But seriously,
Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. X., for your wonderful letters.
I give them both an A+!

He writes:

She writes:

I’m watching as you begin teasing me, running lips along my inner thighs.
You’re dressed in that sexy, lacy black underwear, wearing those striped thigh-
highs I love so much.  You move up and kiss my shoulder, breathing deeply.
Kiss my mouth.  The warmth of your tongue excites me and I stiffen.  Your
lips are soft and insistent.  I taste your want.

It’s so quiet.  I’m nervous.  Like it’s the first time.  You comfort me and
tell me it’ll be ok.  Your hands on my legs are a soothing sensation.  I love
your hands on my skin.  Your tongue whispers along the inside of my thigh.
It’s so sensitive it almost makes me giggle but it’s not ticklish.  I twitch as
your tongue hits my clit.  The sensation is almost too much to bear.

When you take it in your hand that way, look at it with such hunger, such
desire, it makes me twitch.  And then…
Oh God, I’m inside your mouth, your tongue rolls across the head of my
penis, and you take it deep with a moan of pleasure.  Warmth wraps my
cock like the heat spilling from an oven.  The wetness of your mouth feels
slippery and smooth… it’s like pressure and warmth and dampness all at
once.  The nerves can’t send signals fast enough.  Pure sensation, all of
it good.

 Your beard against my pubic hair is soft.  I love that feeling.
But then your 
tongue flickers over my clit and your fingers
slide inside me.  My heart is racing and my breath is laboring.
Your tongue is so quick.  
You focus on that little pink nub, licking
  Every so often you change the angle and direction and it
sends shocks up my body.  It 
makes me want to arch to
get closer
 and yet I want you to stop but I don’t.

As you draw your head back the cool air chills my shaft.  The exquisite heat
of your mouth descends again, so much hotter by comparison.  Hot, cold,
hot, cold.  Delicious contrast, wrapped in softness.  Your hands stroke the
length of me, slipping along the saliva you’ve coated me with.  It feels in-
credible, electric, the pleasure intensifying in the tip of my penis, building
up inside like the head is swelling.  It could burst at any moment.

A random itch distracts me, but then I feel your finger wiggle
inside me and it makes me think of your thick cock fucking me.
When you have both finger and tongue going I can’t focus on
the pleasure of my clit, so soon I’ll ask you to stop…

Now you’re on top of me and your pussy slips over my cock like liquid fire.
Your juices mingle with mine, with your spit, and you bounce.  God, so
tight.  Almost painful.  The skin pulls down as your muscles squeeze.  The
sensitive part where the foreskin connects to the underside pulls tightest.
Painful.  I have to pull out, push the foreskin up over the head of my cock,
slip inside again.  Now the skin has play, it can pull back until I’m all the
way in.  The head of my cock bumps into your deepest walls.  It’s a jolt
of intensity.

…to kiss my nipples, make them wet while you finger my wet cunt.
That’s what’s going through my head.  It makes me hot all over and
I almost say it but you replace your tongue with your lips and suck
my clit and the pleasure shoots through my body.  Your hands on
my nipples make me twitch in pleasure.  You start to position your
hands to hold me down, as you know I’m close, to keep me in your
mouth.  I can just imagine how hard you must be right now.

You take me inside and squirm like a puppy.  Enjoying yourself?  On your
knees… you thrust back against my erection and moan in ecstacy.  That
beautiful round ass, your skinny little waist sloping down and away to those
incredible shoulders… so sexy.  I love this view of you, face pressed into
mattress, hands reaching over your head to tangle and claw at bed sheets.
My own POV pornstar, my sex kitten, my sultry little goddess, my exotic,
sensuous bride.  Fuck you look good.

That first feeling of your cock inside me, that full feeling,
is so intense it almost hurts, but the pain is also pleasure.
I ask you to lick me again and you do.  The combination
of the fact that you’d do that for me and how you’re willing
to follow direction is so hot that I’m wetter than before.  I
feel my clit swell with the licking of your tongue.

You order me to drop the letter and fuck you.  Thrust and pound.  The wet
concussions of our bodies slapping together nearly drives me over the edge.
Your cunt tightens, a grip like velvet-lined steel.  You push up onto your
hands and hammer back against me and scream in pleasure.  I’m feeling
every throbbing millimeter of my cock, every square inch of skin.  The soft-
ness of your ass cheeks slamming into my hips.  My hands on your back,
your hips, your waist.

I know I’m close.  My body tightens up and the pleasant
tension starts in my belly and spreads slowly out from my
clit.  I want to wriggle and writhe and stay still at the same
time in case I stop feeling what I feel.  My clit is so swollen
that it extends past my lips.  Every part of my pussy is super-
sensitized to the point of discomfort but it feels so good.

The pleasure is entirely centered in the head of my cock, buried in your
slippery center and pulsing against the walls of this fleshly heaven.  It’s
building, straining, growing, stretching my endurance, testing me.  I struggle
to last.  I want you to cum first.  I need to see your pleasure to amplify mine.
I love making you lose control.  Sweet Jesus, you’re stroking my balls.  Your
hands tickle and draw sensuous lines across my sensitive skin.  I’m watching
your ass bounce and I can feel my orgasm closing in.

The orgasm starts in my belly and moves to my toes and it’s
like that instant electric shock from a socket.  It lasts forever
in a second that stretches on til it’s over in a flash but the after-
shocks roll on inside me and then your cock slides in and it’s
so hard and I can feel all the veins and the shape of it so snug
there’s no room for anything else except my wetness.

When it comes it’s like a wave cresting, rising higher and higher until it breaks
and floods out.  I spasm.  My cock jumps and twitches.  My knees lock and
every muscle stiffens.  It’s like turning inside out.  I overheat in an instant.  A
black hole opens up at the tip of my shaft and sucks my entire being inside in
a sparkling moment of bliss.  It’s like falling.  Like landing safely.  Like swallow-
ing fire.  Like submerging in water.  I shout.  I can’t help it.  I feel like a conquer-
ing hero.

The sensation of skin on skin sends shivers and shocks up my
pussy walls til you hit my cervix and then the 
pleasure is so
intense that I want to scream to release 
some of the tension.
The friction of you moving inside me faster and faster and faster
makes that tension so unbearable that when the climax finally
comes, if your weight wasn’t holding me together,
I would twitch and spasm until I came open.

This has been so incredibly intense.  So powerful.  I’m normally very quiet
during sex, I don’t vocalize my pleasure.  I have to remind myself to make
noises to show my enjoyment.  I sink inside myself, I get caught up in the
pleasure, the slippery sensations, the fantastic friction and smooth rock and
glide of it.  I feel my strain as muscles bunch and release, core heats up,
brain loses track of time, focus gets fuzzy.  I look and look and look and look
at you.

The streaks of sensation radiate from pussy to
brain too fast to focus on.  It’s pure feeling.

All my love,

Your exhausted,
Immensely pleasured wife,

I crave your skin.  I want to bury my face in your hair, your breasts, taste every
inch of you, bite you, dive into your wet hot mouth.  I want to take you again,
immediately.  Every time.  But our bodies need rest.  I’m patient.  I can wait
to have you again.  And I will have you again.  I will have you for as long as
you will have me.  Again and again I will.  So until next time, my love…

Yours always,


*Image from Internet*

Strangers In The Dark


You can reach me at:


In the worst months of my depression I would spend weeks away from home, traveling the country by thumb and by bus, crashing in flea-bitten motels, wandering the streets of cities and towns without ever really knowing where I was or where I was going. All I knew was that I had to go. I had to move. I had to be anywhere other than right here. I may have been running from myself, but sadly, my self turned up everywhere I did, and I was forced to move on again.
During this period in my life, I would attempt to kill this nameless, gnawing emptiness inside me by feeding it whatever pleasures came to hand. Booze might drown it, temporarily, but it would always come back, a roaring hollowness. Drugs might make it woozy, leave it stumbling behind for a time, but it would find its feet eventually and it always caught up with me. Good food might sate it, but never for long.  Fancy hotels and live music in lounges might occasionally lull it into a torpid slumber, but it would soon wake and open up again, yawning, threatening to swallow me.
There came an evening when nothing seemed to work. The darkness within me was spilling out and threatening to snuff my light forever. In a moment of flailing desperation, I grabbed the phone book under the phone (another grimy, noisy, roadside motel room) and flipped it open to a random page.
Through blurry eyes I picked a number off the page and dialled.
It rang 17 times. I remember counting.
The voice that eventually came on the line was husky, raspy, half-asleep. I couldn’t make sense of the clock, some terrible, functional art thing hung on the wall, so I apologized while they gave me the gears for waking them up. I kept mumbling apologies, but it was a real, human voice on the other end of the line, I was talking to someone, and I couldn’t hang up. After a while, I realized she wasn’t bitching at me anymore. The line wasn’t dead, either. She was listening.
I think the hitch in my voice is what did it. Some buried maternal instinct, gone dormant after children left home, shook itself awake.  Old and decrepit, grumbling as it went, it nevertheless began feeding coals to the furnace in a dead heart. What glowed there couldn’t be called warmth, not yet, but it was something. Cobwebs curled and blackened and fell to wispy ashes in the chambers of her heart.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know if I have the will to make it through tonight. This is my last attempt at finding a reason to carry on. I can’t fight it anymore. I’m tired of running.”
I rambled on, following this tenuous thread, attempting to stitch together some barely cohesive patchwork quilt of my life, my struggles, my months of wandering, looking for an answer to a question I couldn’t even formulate in the hopes I might wrap it about my shivering sense of self worth before it succumbed entirely to the numbing cold.
I trailed off, choking back sobs. This isn’t a place I’d ever pictured myself. Staring at a smoke-stained ceiling, telling a complete stranger of my losing battle with depression. I don’t think I was looking for sympathy. Just… someone to notice. A spark of hope. Something I could cling to, use as a weapon to fight back the blackness that kept encroaching.
She said, “Look, son, I’ve been alone the last 12 years. It ain’t so bad. You take up some bad habits, you watch too much TV, maybe some porn when you get the itch, life goes on.” She paused to cough. I could hear her fumbling for her cigarettes. “Point is, you’re young. What the fuck have you got to be so broken hearted over?” She sucked air, blew it back out over the receiver. The way the sheets on the bed smelled of tobacco, it was like she had blown smoke into the room.
“Nothing,” I said. “I have nothing. It’s not a broken heart, it’s nothing. There is nothing. I am totally and completely empty. I’m not up. I’m not down. I’m nowhere, with nobody, doing nothing. I want to feel something! What the hell is life for, if there is nothing to brighten the constant fog of futility?”
“Fuck,” she rasped, and heaved a heavy sigh. It sounded like a sirocco in brown blades of grass. “Melodramatic asshole. Did you wake me up just to carp about how tough life is? Get a bandaid. People suffer, and if you’ve got the freedom to be calling up strangers in the middle of the night, you’ve got a great deal more than some folks.”
There was a rattle, perhaps of an earring, as she moved to hang up the phone.
“Wait!” I couldn’t let her go. Not like that. I was actually feeling… something. Not better, no… but she was saying things that made sense.
“Is that it?” I asked. “It’s that simple? I’m just a quitter? I’ve bitched out?”
“Kid, don’t waste my time. I’m not a shrink. I need my beauty rest.”
“You said you’re alone.”
“You don’t have to be. Neither do I. Maybe this is happening for a reason.”
I let it stretch out, too afraid to say more. Did it stretch like a cat, self-satisfied and oh so certain of itself? Or did it stretch like the truth, never quite sure when it would break? Perhaps the wizened little gnome in charge of her heart sensed an opportunity and began frantically stoking the coals of romance. Perhaps she figured her life couldn’t get any worse, so what the hell. Either way, after a nearly interminable wait, she said:
“You got my address. I like red wine, and lots of it. And grab me a pack of Parliaments on the way.”
Click.  The line went dead.

I looked down at the phonebook. It had fallen closed during our conversation. I dropped it on its spine and let it fall open where it may, the same way I had before. I couldn’t even remember which name I had picked. I glanced over the page, trying to compare the addresses I saw with a mental map of where the motel was.
Fuck. It was hopeless.  Defeated, I collapsed onto the bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

The phone startled me awake. I glanced at the clock. It still made no sense.  Useless piece of shit. I threw the phonebook at it, knocking it off the wall, and fumbled for the phone.
“Just making sure you’re still breathing, love. You change your mind? A lady don’t like to wait.”
My heart lifted, sort of.  Picture a half-inflated hot air balloon struggling to lift a boulder, dragging it bumping and thumping along the ground. It wouldn’t look like much from the vantage point of now, perhaps, but it was enough for me then.
Is it possible, when we’ve reached our lowest point, that everything looks like up? Is it possible that sinking as far as I had may have been of benefit to me? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that telltale lurch in my chest. It felt like falling in love, and it hurt.  Layers of old scars cracked open, oozing raw emotion. I smiled for the first time in months.  Perhaps the smile was a little grim, but I would rather be hurting than empty.
“No.” It was all I could think to say. No, I hadn’t changed my mind. I’m just a fuckup.
“Good. But I’ve changed mine. I don’t want you over here. The place is a mess. I got your number and the name of your motel from the operator. What room are you in?”
“Don’t do anything until I get there, hun. Don’t move, don’t think. Mama’s gonna fix you right up. And maybe in the process you can fix a thing or two for me, eh? Leave the lights off.” She vented that same long, hot breath into the receiver, reviving that same weird sensation that she was already there, smoking right next to me. For the second time that night, a click, and the line went dead.
I took her advice. After unlocking the door, I turned off all the lights and lay back down. I didn’t move. I just lay there, wondering what was going to happen. How old was this woman? Her voice could’ve belonged to a twenty year old who’d started smoking in the womb, maybe, or an ancient old crone. Her attitude, the way she called me kid, and her reference to being alone for 12 years, put her more on the wrinkly side of that scale… but perhaps not so wrinkled as to be undesirable. I hadn’t gone so far as to purchase sex, yet.  Surely whoever she was would be better than the soulless business transaction of hiring a prostitute.  I became sidetracked wondering why I had never explored that avenue of relief.  You’d think I might have ventured down that path at least a little ways before giving in to depression and thinking of ending everything. Or did I instinctively know that there was no relief to be found there?
When the door opened, my heart began to race. I had a momentary glimpse of a feminine silhouette, outlined briefly by streetlights, before the door closed behind her. Not slim, but nicely padded. I wouldn’t complain. Her hair was teased up, very 80s, and glinted a frosty blonde. A golden flicker of earrings (I had been right, apparently) and that was all I could see. My nose told me more: she smelled like black cherries, fresh and sassy. She had applied a bit too much perfume, and it wafted around the room like an echo of her movements. It was overwhelming and summery, but not unpleasant, given the musty, fetid odor of the motel. 
She found her way to the bed by the furtive light that was trying not to get caught peaking around the edge of the curtains. I made to sit up but she pushed me down, stripped herself naked with quick efficiency, then found my belt buckle and quickly divested me of my trousers. She had me hard with a few quick tugs and a rapid swirl of her tongue. A condom dropped into place like the beam from an alien ship. I had to stifle a laugh; it glowed in the dark, neon green.
Then, without further ado, she straddled my hips (the springs protested, but only meekly), and lowered herself onto me.
She had been quick to get to the starting line, and had whispered something like, “I’ve been dry as a desert for twelve years, I’m not wasting a sudden flood,” but now that she was poised on the cusp of consummation she took her sweet time, dropping inch by delirious inch, until my cock was buried to the hilt in her warm, musky swamp, gripped as if by the jaws of a crocodile.
I squirmed out of my shirt, saw vaguely a pleasantly round face graced by a full, sensuous mouth, now biting her lower lip as she lifted her hips, and wide eyes nested in laugh lines, all limned by dirty street light. The curtains fought valiantly with the voyeuristic glow from outside, but couldn’t entirely maintain our privacy. That was okay by me. I liked what I saw.
Then she dropped back on her haunches, squashing our sexes together with a wet slap, disappearing back into the shadows as she did so.
So it went, alternately rising into the dusty light, revealing bits and pieces – a curl of hair fallen loose, like coiled straw, a quivering chin as she fought to hold back a cry of pleasure, a curve of cheek or throat – and dropping back down, disappearing into the dark, chasing the sound of a baker vigorously patting loaves of damp bread, splat, splat, splat.
She gained momentum, and it was wet, hurried work. She did it with an air of serious concentration, hands pressed against my chest, slapping her ass up and down as her tits wobbled in and out of the light. They looked like big, juicy pears, thrashing about on a tree in a storm. I put them in my mouth, nibbled and sucked, and she moaned out loud, a drawn out rasping groan that ended in a sharp high shout.
Her cunt flexed and spasmed.  A gush of warmth spilled over my belly and thighs.  Grabbing her thick labia in one hand, she bunched her pussy lips together, which pushed her swollen clitoris up out of her shadowy folds. The perverse light eagerly rushed in to lick it. The grip of her hand also made her pussy tighten on my shaft, and the tip of my cock began to throb as I neared the edge of orgasm. With her other hand she spanked her clit with a fury, a rapid flurry of spirited smacks that she orchestrated with the grinding of her hips as she pressed herself down on me.
Splashing and barking and suddenly smelling like a seal at the beach, she came again and again, squirting sometimes as high as my chest, anointing me, the bed, and the space around us with the happy flood of her long awaited twelve year release.
I couldn’t hold out any longer.  My balls huddled together, hugged each other tight, and cried, “Look out!”  I blew my wad into the depths of the neon green condom, letting loose a sudden chortle as I imagined it immediately beamed up by aliens.
She collapsed, briefly, and pressed her warm and generous breasts against my chest. Her hair spiked my face, held firmly in place by something that smelled like peaches but couldn’t mask the scent of cigarettes.  The tangled orgy of odors in the air gave up trying to sort themselves out and collapsed onto the bed around us, exhausted yet satisfied.
I counted five deep breaths while I held her close. Five warm, soft breaths that tickled my neck, followed by long, rattling sighs. Then she shuddered quietly in my arms.  Perhaps she coughed, or cleared her throat.  I don’t recall.  Too soon she fell still.  She pried herself loose with a slurping sound and climbed back into her clothes. She paused at the door long enough to blow me a kiss.  She was already sparking up a smoke.  And then she was gone.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and fell asleep, glad, for a change, to be roiling with conflicting emotions.


On the topic of strangers, I received a letter from Maya, who wrote to describe her first time meeting someone she now sees semi-regularly for no strings attached enjoyment. But that first meeting with a stranger could have been her last.

Maya writes:

Dear Eon,

Ten years…

Ten long, agonizing years of disenchanting sex. My love life has been unexciting, uninspiring, unimpressive; a damn waste of time. Here I am, a woman in my prime, and since my divorce, I’m finally emerging from my shell. The desirable place between my thighs has reached an aggressive peak of constant arousal. How do I suppress this driving need without getting tangled up in feelings, mired in emotions? All I want is sex. No more, no less. No strings. No attachments. For me, trying to become me again after so many years of being his, these restrictions are a necessity to protect my still fragile sense of self. But how to accomplish it?
I don’t desire a partner; what I want is nothing more than someone to fulfill my sexual needs. More, I want it in a dangerous, romanticized, possibly cliche way: A stranger, one I know nothing about, other than the way he feels sexually. Someone to open my mind and show me the wonderful world of crazy, mind-numbing sex, without trying to get at my heart in the process. The kind of lover my girlfriends talk about, the clothes-ripping, sensual, animal fucking you see in the movies. Finding this “friend” is now my top priority.
Locating a willing participant shouldn’t be hard. But will we click?
I sign up on a dating web site and immediately find someone who catches my eye. His tag line clearly states he’s not interested in anything serious. Obviously he’s only into sex, but it’s his picture that catches my attention. Tall, attractive, licked in tattoos, and smiling. Kind eyes, beautiful eyes that look right into my soul. I am instantly attracted and message him right away. Like Russian roulette, I don’t know what will happen, but I take the shot anyway.
My message:

“Hey, love your profile. Wondering if you’d be interested in helping me fulfill my deepest desires and fantasies…”

I’m blushing, my heart is racing! This is not like me at all. I have knocked aside the lid and leaped out of the box! Within minutes he messages me back. Right away I can tell he has a domineering side. He says he’s interested in my proposal, but he doesn’t hesitate to lay down ground rules. They’re acceptable; it’s like he can read my mind and he knows what I crave.
The rules are:

We are not to know anything about one another. No names. No occupation. No address. Nothing.
We will meet in private, out of the way places. When we are done, we will go our separate ways.
If we happen to meet in public, we will not acknowledge each other in any way.

So exciting, a stranger… sex with a complete stranger! All I have to work with is a picture and a few words. We converse back and forth about our fantasies and desires and I have to admit, I feel comfortable with him. Maybe I’m too eager. The thought of a person I don’t have a clue about thrills me; if I’m honest, it scares me, too. That’s what’s turning me on, that freaky excitement.
After a few more messages we decide to meet up. Tonight.
The location:

Back woods behind a local high school. Late at night.
The pair of us are to walk the trails until we find one another.
One more rule:

No words exchanged unless words of pure lust.

I am soaking wet thinking about the idea, but also terrified. What if he hurts me? What am I doing? Am I crazy? But I have to take the chance – I have to break down this barrier. So we agree, and I begin to get ready for my woodland adventure.
My heart is racing with heat and anticipation. This situation could go one of two ways… either I end up badly used, hurt, or dead… or it could be wonderful, amazing, the realization of all my sexual fantasies. I focus on, hoping for, the second option. I decide to adorn myself in easily removable clothing. Best to be prepared. I argue with myself, debating whether or not I should tell a friend where I’m going, what I’m doing, in case I go missing. In the end, I decide to keep my dirty little secret to myself.
Mentally prepared, dressed, smelling like vanilla (and pheromones!) I head on my way. My palms are sweating and my heart is fluttering. More than once, I almost turn around and head right back home, but I gather my courage and keep driving.
When I arrive at my destination, it’s dark, the sky is full of stars, and the crickets are chirping. It’s a beautiful, exotic setting, and the whole scenario is already making me wet. I see no other vehicle there, so I figure I’m the first to arrive. There’s the trail; I head towards it.
With only the blue moonlight guiding me I make my way through dense, primal forest. The air is warm and fresh with the scent of pine. I jump and startle at every noise. I must be fucking crazy! Why am I doing this? Turn around and leave no, before he arrives. No, I have to go through with it! If I don’t, I will never forgive myself.
I’m so nervous that I feel like I’ve been walking for hours when I a silhouette, black on black, materializes out of the darkness ahead of me. I stop dead in my tracks. It’s him. It has to be him. Please be him! Now I’m scared, but it’s too late to rethink this, he’s moving towards me. He’s tall, far taller than average, and next to my petite stature his size is extremely overwhelming. Though it’s dark, my eyes have adjusted enough to see he is the most amazing looking man. So much better than his photos. He’s gorgeous, and the fact I have to look all the way up his beautiful body to get a glimpse of his face makes me breathe heavily with lust.
This is it, it’s happening, I’m here in the woods after dark with nobody to hear me if I’m in trouble and I have this beautifully terrifying man standing in front of me. Fucking grow a pair woman! You set this up and you can’t chicken out now!
There is a moment of silence. It feels like centuries. I break the quiet with a timid, “Hello.”
His deep, sexy voice tells me to be quiet, reminds me there is no talking.
Okay, he’s pushy. Actually, I like that. A lot.
He suddenly steps forward and I jump back a little. My breathing is getting heavier. I’m freaking out, but I’m so excited that I’m getting wet. He’s walking a circle around me, observing me. I can feel the heat of his nearness and hear him breathing and his smell is so alluring. What is he waiting for? Is he sizing me up? Did I come all this way for nothing?
He completes his circuit and stands in front of me. I’m playing with the zipper on my sweater, nervous, wondering if I’m supposed to make the first move. Something tells me he’s more in control of this than I am. It’s a thrilling sensation, like falling. I’m already over the edge.
He stands right close to me now. My tits are pressing into his hard stomach and chest. My god, he’s tall and beautiful! His hand slowly comes up and pushes my long black hair off my shoulder. He bends down, slowly, and places a soft, sensual kiss on my neck.
There it is! My kryptonite: my neck! Still nervous, scared, I close my eyes and try to take it in. His lips are kissing slowly down my neck. I feel his warm, calloused hand engulf mine, and he’s guiding my hand down my zipper, releasing my sweater from my body. I let it fall to the ground. Gaining confidence, I reciprocate and remove his leather jacket. Okay! This isn’t so bad; he doesn’t seem to want to hurt me. His gentle touch is warming me up.
He leans down again and we kiss. Small, sensuous kisses, slow and gentle. My hands find his hips. I pull him in, pressing my kisses harder. I can feel him harden through his pants, pressing into my upper hip. He’s enjoying this, too, this may actually work! I’m feeling better, much better. My panties are soaked. This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done.

Suddenly I reel backwards. My hand just encountered a gigantic utility knife on his belt. I go from hot and bothered to terrified and wanting to run in an instant. This is it. I should have followed my instincts and turned around before I got here. He wants to hurt me.
He grabs the handle of the knife, sensing I’ve found his secret, and draws it free from the sheathe with a menacing rasp. It’s too dark to see his face. I can’t tell if he’s smiling. He’s not saying anything. I whimper and start moving backwards. Oh my god, this is how I am going to die! You stupid woman!
The blade is huge, and I catch glimpses of it as it flashes in the darkness. He’s turning it over and over in his hand, watching the glinting moonlight.
“Please don’t do this… please let me go…”
There is a moment of silence before he steps forward.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
For some reason I can’t move. My feet are planted to the cold hard ground. Like a fool, I cannot run. Why can’t I run away?
Something in me believes him. Trusts him, and it’s keeping me from fleeing.
He places the knife on my shoulder. My heart hammers in my chest. He runs the blade slowly down my tank top strap. My breath comes in rapid gasps and I’m starting to sweat. This is fucking crazy! Why am I not fighting back or running away? Why the fuck do I not scream?
He hasn’t taken his eyes off me. He stares deep into my eyes, assuring me with his calm gaze that he’s not going to hurt me. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he slices my strap and the lace falls around my breast. Despite my fear, my body reacts; this is so fucking hot! He drags the blade across my collar bone to the other shoulder, deftly cuts the other strap. My top falls down, revealing my other breast. He closes the blade and tosses it to the ground a few feet away.

Slowly, he walks around behind me. I’ve never felt so vulnerable until this moment. I can feel him behind me, smell him, feel his breath on my back as he reaches from behind and pulls the rest of my sliced-up top down to my waist. His huge hands make their way to my chest and he cups and fondles my already hard nipples. Waves of fear and exultation wash through me, fighting for control of my body. He’s kissing my neck again, biting my shoulder and fondling my tits. Exultation wins. I can’t help but throw my head back and start to moan. It feels so amazing!
He pulls my skirt down and it drops to the ground. Thank god I’ve worn thigh high boots to protect my feet from the dirt. Suddenly he shoves his finger into my mouth, and I begin sucking it, gently soaking it with my saliva as if it were his cock. He takes his wet finger and starts to rub my clit up and down in small gentle strokes. I can’t control my breathing, or the noises that escape me, or the pulsing in my slit. His finger is thrusting in and out of me. I want to talk dirty and tell him how much I love it but I remember the rules and catch myself before I flat out beg him for his cock.
He moves to my front and I can no longer help myself. I tear at his clothes. I want to see him. I want him naked and vulnerable as I am. Shirt, belt, pants, and boxers are off within seconds. I have never wanted anyone so badly. As soon as I pull his boxers down his giant cock comes springing out. I wasn’t expecting it to be so big! It’s almost intimidating, but it’s beautiful.
My turn to make him moan. I get on my knees and put his gorgeous member in my warm mouth. He gets harder and harder with each stroke of my lips and tongue. His hips start to move and I can tell he’s loving the attention. I don’t want to stop.
He gently holds my hair back and glides his pulsing cock in and out of my mouth. He can’t wait any longer. He pulls out of my mouth and grabs my hand and pulls me towards a tree, pushing my back against the trunk. We kiss hungrily. I’ve never been so excited. I am loving every moment of this.
He makes his way down my chest with warm, erotic kisses; circles my nipples with his warm tongue; gently bites the peaks of my breasts. He lifts my leg over his shoulder with ease and drives his tongue into my soaking pussy. His tongue swirls around my clit, plays up and down my slit. My moans fill the musk-scented air and become uncontrollable and I experience instant, beautiful release.

Panting, trying to gather myself, stand on my own two feet, I don’t hear him put the condom on. Before I can react he grabs me around the waist, lifts me high into the air with his strong arms. I wrap my legs around his waist and he slams me back against the tree. I feel his hand exploring my slit again, rubbing the head of his hot cock up and down. Then, with one deep thrust, he plunges his throbbing cock into my dripping pussy. The sensation is like nothing I’ve ever felt before: with each thrust I can feel the bark of the tree grinding into my back and shredding my skin, but I don’t care, the pleasure far outweighs the pain. I hold on tight as his strong body thrusts into me fiercely, until I hear his breathing get heavier. I want to cum with him! I let go completely and we climax together, moaning, panting, and growling.
His head rests on my chest and he holds me against the tree, catching his breath. His height definitely has its advantages, and his huge cock fills me to the brim. Slowly and so gently, he lowers me to the ground. His softening cock slips free. We spend a few minutes gently kissing one another, saying thank you with our lips.
My back is sore and I’m sure there’s blood, but I don’t care. He turns me to inspect my back and gently kisses my wounds. The pain is worth the pleasure, by far. We dress without haste, helping each other with buttons and zippers, searching through the dark to find our scattered clothing. Since my tank top is now useless I tuck it into my sweater pocket and zip up my hoodie. My legs are not quite working and I find myself stumbling around. He takes my hand and leads the way, following the trail in the dark.
Still there have been no words exchanged. Only glances and smiles…
We make our way back to my car and I see his van parked nearby. He walks me to my door, passionately kisses me again.
I can’t believe I actually did it! Other than my scraped back from the tree and a sore cunt from outrageous sex, I’m alive and well! Better than ever! I am so thrilled and so damned proud of myself.
We part ways without a word and, as agreed, we go our separate ways. I wonder if I will ever see his beautiful cock again, or feel his tongue on my clit. The whole drive home I keep thinking about him. It’s making me wet, and my pussy is pulsing.
I get home, head inside. As I’m closing the door behind me, my phone goes off. It’s a text message. From him.

Same time next week?

You fucking bet, buddy! Thanks for fulfilling my deepest, darkest fantasy of fucking a stranger.

To this day I still don’t know his name. Even so, we still get together once in a while and have amazing, speechless sex.

Have you ever slept with a stranger?
What were you looking for?
Did you find it?
Would you do it again?

Write to me and tell me about it.

With love,


You can reach me at:


The following letter, printed on a ream of that old greenish paper with the guide holes along the sides, the kind used by old dot matrix printers, arrived from somewhere in Japan with no return address on the envelope.  If that isn’t curious enough, shortly after I received it, the phone rang.  It was an unknown number.  Upon answering, I was serenaded by the sound of a dialup modem or fax machine.

Anonymous writes:

|Begin Boot Sequence|
|Execute Protocol 5.1.a|
|Parallel Integration Systems activated|
|Check complete. System Integrity 100%|
|Begin Download|
|Download complete|
|Initialize Memory Matrix transfer|
|Initialization complete|
|Transferring MM Module 1-Childhood|
|Transferring MM Module 2-Teen Years|
|Transferring MM Module 3-Adulthood|
|Transferring MM Module 4-Sexuality|
|Transferring MM Module 5-Gestalt|
|MM Transfer complete|
|Initialize Personality Matrix transfer|
|Initialization complete|
|Transferring PM Module 1-Childhood|
|Transferring PM Module 2-Teen Years|
|Transferring PM Module 3-Adulthood|
|Transferring PM Module 4-Sexuality|
|Transferring PM Module 5-Gestalt|
|PM Transfer complete|
|Init!alize Emot#on MaTrix tranfrr|
|Init!aliza~on comp(%te|
|Transferring EM Moddule 1-C#ildhood|
|Tran$ferring EMMdule ! -Teen Years|
|Transfer~ing EM Module 3- Adulthood|
|Tr@nsXXrring EM M0dyle 4-Sexuality|
|Rtaarrsfer EM ng|








|System Scan activated|































Oh my God.
My sweet Virginia.
What have I done to you?

I’m extremely curious to know where this might lead.
A man, transferring the memory, personality, and emotions of his wife, becomes extremely upset when the process malfunctions.  After reading and rereading, the individual he is “transferring” is clearly his wife, but what happened to her?  What is he transferring her into?  A cybernetic body?  A computer, or some other machine?  A living receptacle of some kind, cloned and vat grown, empty but for a soul?  And what will become of Virginia, now that the process has been corrupted? Will she be the same as he remembers? Or forever changed?  It’s interesting to note that the corruption occurs during the transfer of her sexual emotions.  Will she be a cruel lover?  Or needy, desperate, addicted?
This letter raises so many questions about the self, the soul, the future of love.
Will there be another chapter?
One can only hope!

In the meantime, I leave you with this fun little ditty by a rather clever rock band called Clutch.  It seems apropos.   You can find the lyrics here.

*Image from Internet*

A Cinnamon Kiss


You can reach me at:


Like a
Does love transcend boundaries?
Does it cross boundaries of race and age,
Gender and place,
Faith and family?
The boundaries of time?
My love, will you be waiting
For me in the next life?
Have I been here before,
Experiencing this love,
Doing these things,
In different bodies,
Different forms,
Different ways,
In a different era?
In a different world?
Will death divide us?
Separate us forever?
Or will death bring us
Closer, and closer,
Together, forever,
Than ever before?
I only ask because
I can feel myself
Slowly slipping
Losing my








A single
Drop of

Sin(Amen) Heart writes:

Dearest Eon,

I want to make people understand.  My boyfriend sleeps in a coffin, so people think he is strange.  He rises at night and he avoids the sun, so they think he is crazy.  But he is not crazy.  He is a vampire, and his world is one of dark hunger and darker desire.  He is beautiful and moody.  Romantic and melancholy.  I adore him.  I would die for him.
Sometimes, when he enters me, he cuts me and drinks my blood.  He lets me cut him and drink his, and we complete a circle, two become one, infinite, perfect.  When the life leaves my veins and enters his, I can feel the energy of our joining, and when it re-enters me the sensation is amplified by his passion and love for me.  Joined together, the scintillating vibrancy in our blood spirals higher and higher, and we ride the current into dizzying realms of awareness, places beyond space and time where only he and I exist, where nothing matters but us and our perfect, endless kiss.
He can make me soaking wet with a dark-eyed glance from across a crowded room.  He can whisper to me from a distance and I will hear every word as though his breath was hot on my hear.  His voice is like a storm in my head, making me throb and ache for him.  The power of his magic is all consuming, sensuous and sinister.  His spirit can enter my body and take control, making me do dirty, devilish things to please him.  When he rides my soul in this way, like a god mounting a mortal, I shake with such pleasure I can hardly breathe.  My consciousness struggles to remain present, to experience the monstrous beauty of it.  When I black out, I wake up crying, hollowed by loss.  He is gentle then.  He holds me and strokes my face, kisses my tears.  He tells me I’m fragile, and shouldn’t expect to contain such overwhelming things.  He wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my hair and I feel so safe and warm and wanted.
He is a vampire, and he is everything to me.  He will be there when I die, and when I cross that border he will take my hand and walk with me to another place, a world without suffering and evil, a world without persecution.  He will lay me down in the gray twilight and we will while away eternity in an intimate embrace unmatched by any dull and dreary desperate clasping here in this life.  There are days when I wish I could go there now, why wait?  But he tells me that life is for living, and eternity is a long, long time.  We will have forever to enjoy each other, so why rush?
If you have never been loved in this way, heart to heart, mind to mind, soul to soul, you know nothing of love.   You can say what you like about him, but he is my salvation.  When my time comes, no matter where I am, no matter where he is, no matter the gulfs of distance and time that lie between us, I will go to him, and nothing, not even death, will stop me.

*Image from Internet*