Short But Sweet 2

Hello, lovely readers!
For your enjoyment tonight I have a random selection of short letters from a variety of senders.  I do hope you enjoy, and remember:  You can always write me at or:



Dear Eon,
There have been many times meeting a total stranger that I’ve been overwhelmed by the desire to kiss him passionately, just to see how he would react, just to taste someone new, just to leap past all the polite chitchat and get to the meat and bones of the man before he is buried in layers of useless trivia.  Is it odd that I stare him in the eyes when this feeling overcomes me?  I gaze into his eyes with unabashed forwardness and intensity, trying to make him feel what I am fantasizing.  Sometimes I think I succeed, only to find he is intimidated by me.  Other times, I think I have failed to convey my desire, only to find him focused entirely on me for the rest of the evening.  I have a theory that all of my relationships end quickly because I love nothing so much as that initial rush of connection, that tentative back and forth dance, that dare-to-do-it first leap when I step out of my comfort zone and make plain my intentions.  That moment of reciprocation is the sweetest moment I can imagine.  The triumphant flood of arousal, the certain knowledge that tonight I will have my way with this man… mmm… nothing can compare.
Sensual kisses!

Thanks for sharing, Gia!


Hey Eon,
I was just wondering.  Have you ever had trouble with – well, you know – following through?  Not getting it up, I mean, but like keeping it hard?  Cuz I seem to be uh, falling down on the job, lately, and I’m a bit embarassed about getting help for it, and I don’t know who to talk to anyway.  Do I need Viagra or something?  I’m 35, I would have thought I had a while before this kind of thing started happening to me.  My partner has been really great about it but somehow it’s just more embarassing than ever when she tries to make like it doesn’t matter.  Cuz it does matter, you know?  To me it does.  I want to stay hard, I want to outlast her, I want to make her scream and beg me to finish because she just can’t handle my incredible studliness.  I guess that’s every man’s dream, huh?  Well, what do you think I should do?
Love your blog.  Keep them stories cumming!
Haha, that was terrible!

Hi Jones,
Thanks for your letter.

There’s really nothing to be ashamed of.  Erectile dysfunction can be caused by a huge number of things, and it affects far more men than you’d think.
Here’s a personal story from my own history:
When I was in highschool, I was completely, head over heels in love with a girl from my homeroom.  Let’s call her Jean.  I’ve mentioned her before, in Liam’s First Time.  Jean was pure sexuality, to me.  Her every movement was arousing.  Her body was amazing.  Her eyes were arrestingly blue.  She was independent and capable.  She was softspoken, and I just wanted to lean in close and whisper with her.  In short, I was mesmerized, and for five years (all through highschool, and for a while after) we were incredibly close.  Early on I sort of gave up ever having a chance with her, and settled for becoming a really intimate friend.  As I mentioned previously, we would share a bed, cuddling nearly nude, we were very physically affectionate, but despite nursing some deep feelings for her, the timing was never right and I could never bring myself to cross that line with her.
After highschool, everything changed.  A lot of our crowd moved away, and Jean and I spent less time together as she was frequently away.  When she was in town, our time together had the tone of an extended goodbye.  There was this unspoken acknowledgement between us that if we didn’t explore the possibilities between us soon, we never would.
This led to our first kiss, standing on a bridge over a stream in a nature park, middle of the night, autumn leaves tumbling down around us.
Our first kiss led to more interesting play, when we shared a bed later that night.  She went down on me for the first time, and I put my face between her thighs and licked her creatively until, gasping, she said, “When I’m a middle-aged spinster, I will pay you thousands of dollars to do that like you just did it.  Oh my god that was good!”
Before we could do much more to explore each other, Jean moved away to the big city.  It wasn’t so far that we would never see each other, but it was enough (with finances being what they were at the time) that holidays were really the only time we would see each other.  Besides which, she wasn’t one to withhold her affections.  She had a number of boyfriends in short order, and soon it seemed like she’d all but forgotten me.
Even so, one November a year or two later, I called her up.  I was in the city, and needed a place to crash for the night before heading back home the next morning.  She gave me directions, and once again I found myself sharing a bed with her.
This was it.  This was the moment.  I had brought condoms, and she had some too.  She had left them out on the nightstand as a signal that she would be interested in going all the way if I was.
Of course I was.  I might never be with this girl in a steady relationship, but she was stunning and spectacular fun to be around and I had never felt so in tune with anyone.  For well over five years she had been my deepest fantasy, and I just knew we could complete each other in ways that neither of us had ever experienced before.
So comes the big moment: the condom is on, she is stretched out before me, naked and glorious in her tiny, angelic beauty.  I have spent over an hour kissing and licking her, exploring her body with my hands and fingers.  She has reached the heights of pleasure and now she’s begging me to join her there.  I have never been so hard.  The head of my cock throbs as I position myself and push it inside her.
Problem!  My shaft bends, painfully, and her pussy parts only so far.  The head of my cock simply won’t fit.  She grimaces in pain.  I stammer out an apology, but she quickly shushes me.  It’s her fault, she says.  She was born with a medical condition.  Her vagina is incredibly tiny.  In fact, the opening was once so small that a regular pencil would stretch her uncomfortably.  She’s had some surgery to correct it, enough so that I never noticed when using my fingers, but it isn’t perfect.  She expects it to hurt, she says, but if we’re persistent, it will eventually fit, and we will enjoy ourselves.  Don’t worry if it bleeds a bit, she says.  Tearing is normal, for her.  The opening is really quite small.
Now, I’ve never considered myself monstrously hung, but I do enjoy the occasional compliment, and Jean has made it known that I’m the biggest fellow she’s ever been with.  I’m really not certain this is a good idea anymore.  Here I am, hurting her.  I don’t mean sort of making her uncomfortable, either.  I mean outright inflicting awful, tearing pain, quite literally damaging her vagina in an attempt at intercourse.  I’ve managed to force my way partially inside, but I’m hating every moment of it.  This isn’t just making her uncomfortable, it’s making me feel horrible, like a rapist, despite the fact that she’s urging me on, despite the fact that she wants it.  The looks of pain that pass over her face make it seem as if she’s lying to me.  Who, I ask myself, would really want that kind of torture?  In hindsight I understand that it was the only sort of pleasure she could expect to get, so she had embraced it.  What else could she do?  But at the time, it seemed monstrously cruel.
To make matters worse, she was so incredibly tight that the pleasure has been mounting despite my misgivings.  Without warning, my body gives in to the sensations and I spill myself into the condom.  We haven’t been at it more than a minute or two.  Not long enough to call it sex.  And now I’ve gone limp and no amount of encouragement will get a rise out of me.  After so many years of anticipation, the failure is epic and crushing.  We cuddle for the rest of the night, but something has gone out of our affection.  We know now, without doubt, that this won’t work between us.  I can’t believe, after knowing her so well for so long, that I didn’t know this one vitally important thing.  I can’t help feeling that it’s my fault, that I’ve failed her somehow.  Like I should have known some miracle method by which we could have made it work.

My uncertainty over this entire episode led to a year of intense self-doubt.  Being overly analytical, I went over it and over it in my head, trying to find some course I could have taken to change the outcome.  I did, in fact, require therapy to get over my feelings of sexual inadequacy.  All this in spite of the fact that it was never really anything to do with me.
So Jones, if you’re having troubles with your sense of self, your manliness as it connects to your manhood, please believe me when I say you are not alone, and discussing it with a professional can help a great deal.  Our sexuality is often at the root of our self-image, and when you consider that our self-image is at the root of a great many sexual hangups, it’s easy to see how a recursive and self-destructive loop can be created.  This kind of negative thought habit can be fixed with time and effort.  And if it turns out to be something physically wrong with your equipment, all that will come out in therapy as well.  They’re very good about working hand in hand with your doctor to make sure they suss out the root of the problem.  I urge you, reach out for help.  You’ve already reached out to me.
Now take the next step!
Love and respect,


Hi Eon,
This is pretty weird, but I’m into dwarves.  Not just short people, but those freaky people with big heads and stubby limbs.  I’ve got a ton of dwarf porn and I think if my girlfriend ever found out she’d drop me like a hot rock.
From Ed in Ed.

Well Ed, after seeing this post, chances are good a great many more people will be interested in dwarves who weren’t before.  The lovely lady pictured above can be seen at Suicide Girls, if you’re interested!


How are you?  Just wanted to tell you about the hottest thing that ever happened to me:  I was out with some girlfriends at the club, all three of us dressed to kill, and they announce a wet T-shirt contest.  We hadn’t really planned on it but we’d had a few drinks and we were the sexiest women in the whole place, we knew we could win!  So all three of us agreed to do it so long as the other two did.  And we did it!   We shook our soaking wet tits and asses in front of a huge crowd, everyone was cheering and chanting, and that’s when it happened.  I started stroking and touching my friend Jenny.  I thought it would get a good reaction from the crowd.  Oh wow, you have no idea!  The place went nuts!  She sort of looked at me like What are you doing? but everyone was cheering.  Jenny’s an attention slut, so before long she was loving it.  We got friskier, and Sara joined in, and all three of us were making out in front of everyone while they hosed us down.  I’ve never been so soaked in my life, and I don’t mean from the hose!  Kissing my girlfriends, touching their hot slippery bodies, all while being watched by hundreds of horny guys… there were dudes in the crowd touching themselves through their jeans, oh my god, it was so hot!  Jenny and Sara went home with someone that night, but I’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s away at camp, so when I got home I rode my jack rabbit to the biggest orgasm of my life!  When Brad gets home he’s in for a treat!  I’ve never been so horny!
Love ya!

I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that reunion!  Congratulations Brad!
Thanks for the sexy letter, Kelly.

*All Images from Internet*


A Last Goodbye


A little something from the personal file tonight…
You can share your own last goodbye stories with me
By writing to or sending a letter to


For every goodbye, I hope you find hello.
With love and respect,

It is the witching hour.  You went to bed hours ago.  Our goodnight kiss was brief, perfunctory.  I can feel the love ooze away, trickle out of our hearts bit by bit, day by trying day.  It isn’t your fault.  It isn’t mine.  It simply is.  These circumstances.  The nightshifts I work.  The dance performances you train so hard for.  You have fractured your feet, and still you dance.  We’re both a little crazy.
We occupy the same spaces but so rarely at the same time.  I see you in passing as I come home.  You’re on your way out to a dance class.  You see me in passing as you return home.  I’m on my way out to work.  By the time I come home you will have been gone to your own job for a couple hours.  I will sleep, fitfully, the sunlight too bright around the edges of the blackout curtain that doesn’t quite fit the window, the heat of a summer day sapping my will to move until I hear you come home some time in the late afternoon.
I will pretend to be asleep.  I don’t know why.  We both know I’ve hardly slept over the past year.  We both know it’s slowly killing me.  We both know I don’t have much choice.  There is no other full time work that pays even half so well.  So you will pretend I am sleeping, and I will pretend I am sleeping, because we both know I need my sleep.
But what use is sleep that does nothing to rest me?  And what use is all this money?  I never see you.  I can’t spend outrageously on you, treat you to jewellery store shopping sprees, fancy dinners, tickets to performances we never have the time for.  I heave a sigh.  I will stop pretending to sleep, stumble groggy into the kitchen to say hello.
But you’re already gone again.
I sit and stare at the wall, and wonder where it all went wrong.
Weekends are the hardest.  I’m not needed at work, but I stay awake all night because it’s the only way I can maintain the brutal hours of my schedule.  You come home exhausted after another long day of work and dance, dive into a whirlwind of last minute chores and organization, try to prepare for more of the same tomorrow.  I help where I can but we work in silence.  You don’t have much to say about your day and I only just woke up after a much needed period of total oblivion.  You frown at the empty bottle of rum that delivered me into sleep this morning, but you don’t say anything.  We’ve been down that road.  Your quiet disapproval is more eloquent, anyway.  I can see by the way you don’t even bother to mention it that you’re giving up.
So am I.  I’m so sorry, baby, but so am I.
So I sit here, stare at a computer screen well into the night, mindlessly surf the web, try not to think about it, about us, about you.  Headphones on.  Music cranked loud enough to fill the room around me.  David Usher tells me he understands what I’m going through.  He says he’s been there.  I sigh when he laments,

“The water’s beginning to freeze here…”

You glide up behind me on bare feet, barely a whisper of sound to give you away, your dancer’s grace evident in every beautiful step.
I don’t see it.  I play a mind-numbing computer game, strategically burst bubbles, think to myself this might be a metaphor.
With an air of trepidation you interrupt my reverie.  Your nervousness is somehow more seductive than if you were playing the pouncing cat.  It has been so long since we touched this way.  Your warm breasts press against my neck and shoulders.  You trail your fingers along the length of my right arm, lay your warm palm over the back of my hand.  Together we move the mouse, watch the pointer on the screen hover over to the X in the corner.  You press gently on my finger.  The web browser closes.  When you stand, my swivel chair rotates as you pull on my hand.  I look up at you and see the tears in your eyes, and I begin to understand.
You turn my hand palm up and guide it under the hem of your negligee.  You press my fingers into your wetness and heat.  For what seems the first time, I look at you.  I drink you in.  Your curly red hair tumbles down around your face like sunset clouds.  Your blue eyes, damp with tears, hypnotic, search my face.  What are you looking for?  Recognition?  Some connection?
You bite your lower lip.  Is it because of what you see in my eyes?  Or what you don’t?  Or is it because my fingers press against your arousal, begin to search inside you?
The white lace of your lingerie clings to your pale skin.  The shadowy outlines of your curves are visible beneath.  Your long sleek legs part slightly.  You press yourself into my hand.  My fingers curl, sink between the slick folds of your secret skin.  You lean down, put your mouth next to my ear.
David Gray croons huskily,

“Slowly the truth is loaded:
I’m weighted down with love.
Snow lying deep and even,
Strung out and dreaming of
Night falling on the city
(Quite something to behold).
Don’t it just look so pretty?
This disappearing world…”

His voice fades as you pull my headphones away.
“I was having a sex dream,” you whisper.  As though we need the excuse to touch each other.  How did it come to this?
Your lips brush like feathers against my earlobe.  I feel the gentle waft of your breath.  I smell the green apple scent of your skin, watch the swell of your breasts beneath the sheer fabric of your shift.
I turn my mouth towards yours.  Our lips touch.  Softly, tentatively.  Then with increasing urgency and hunger as we share a kiss every bit as passionate and searching as our very first… but there is an aftertaste, as our tongues touch and slide… a taste of despair.  A taste of hopelessness.
It tastes like goodbye.
I stand and guide you out of the room by the fingers buried deep in the heat of your sex.  Your thighs rub the sides of my hand and wrist as you follow.  Delicious friction, a hint of what’s to come.  You came to me, you offered me this, and I recognize it for what it is.  I will take the opportunity to say one last goodbye before the love drains away completely.  I understand that we must stop pretending.  We’re not a couple, anymore.  We haven’t been for months.
But tonight… tonight we will be lovers.
I carefully think of nothing, pull you by your swollen pussy down the hall and into the bedroom.  In the dim glow of a single lamp, you raise your arms over your head and I lift your nightdress away.  I let it slither to the floor with a quiet hiss.  Your milkwhite breasts fall free, bounce gently.  Your skin prickles with goosebumps.  I watch in fascination as your inverted nipples slowly emerge from their puffy pink areolas.  I’ve always loved the obviousness of your arousal.  I lean down to encourage them, run my tongue in slow circles around your breasts.  I lick their heavy curves, lap along their sides, trace the outline of your nipples.  I flick them with my tongue as they harden, grip them gently in my teeth and draw them fully forth to suck hard, to elicit a gasp of pleasure from you.
Your busy hands fumble at my clothes, strip off my belt, push down my jeans, my boxer shorts.  I step free of them as you pull my shirt over my head.  Naked now, we press against each other, hold each other tight.  There is a moment of desparate calm.  We breathe deep, cling to each other.
But we know it can’t last, so we begin to move our hands, to touch and stroke, to caress and call forth pleasure, and memories of pleasure, and we strive to layer them deep around us, build talls walls to hold out the reality of our world for just this one night.
My warm hands encircle your waist, slide down over smooth pale flanks, up over taut belly.  You are so tall!  Six foot three, statuesque, and there is so much of your strong slim dancer’s body to rediscover tonight.  I want to memorize you by touch.  If this is my last chance to touch you I will touch all of you, I will know you completely before I let you go.
I pull you close.  We kiss, eyes closed, and fall into each other.  Our mouths explore as our hands do.  Your lips draw a line of fire along my jaw, down my neck, over my collar bone.  You kiss my chest, my shoulders, lick the hollow of my throat.  I push you gently down onto the bed.  You fall back and sprawl in languorous abandon.  Your legs part and your fingers slide over the heart-shaped red fur of your mound, spread the wet pinkness there for me to see.  Your fingers delve inside, pull free with a sucking noise.  The slippery slurp and gurgle of you finger fucking yourself makes my cock ache with inner pressure.  I had planned to kiss and lick my way up your legs.  I had planned to circle teasingly around your sweet center and layer affection across your stomach, breasts, and neck.  I had planned to kiss you passionately, run my hands through your flame-red hair, wipe the tears from your ice blue eyes with a gentle thumb.  But seeing you now, wanton and aroused, soaked and shining with the slap and slip of your fingers, I can no longer wait.
You woke up this way, dripping and full of desire.  You don’t need me to take my time.  You need me to dig down to the depths of you, to drill for that fading connection before it slips beyond our reach forever.  You need me to take my pleasure, to lose myself in you, to let myself be carried away by the wave of emotion that threatens us both, to carry you along with me.
You reach for me.  Our fingers intertwine and I climb onto the bed, pin your arms to your sides.  I lower myself between your legs, let my erection push your glistening folds aside.  You buck your hips upwards even as I thrust down, hard.  We slap together, cry out in unison.  I fuck you furiously, punishing your body with mine.  I hammer out my frustration.  I pour it all out, the growing distance between us, the feeling of helplessness as I watch us drift apart, the sense of loss and impotence.  Thrust after thrust I beat my body against yours, hating you for your inaction, hating myself for giving up, letting go.
It isn’t exactly pleasure, but it overwhelms me just the same, and I growl with the release as I drain my agression into the spasming grip of your sex.
Gentler now, I continue in a slower rhythm, long, deep strokes, push hard into you, strain to touch you in what seems the only way we still understand.  The tears stream freely down your face, and I lay my body over yours protectively.  Our mouths meet and we taste each other’s sorrow.  Once again we cling to each other, touch, search, try so hard to remember every moment, every breath, every gasp, every look, every cry, every surge of pleasure, every contraction and release.  We roll in the oceanic grip of our emotions, ride the waves of our release to the safety of a shore of exhaustion.
Sleep reaches from the deeps to take us under.
When I awaken, you are gone again.
A note on your pillow reads,

It might have worked, in another life,
But not in this one.  I hope we can be friends some day.
Love always,

*Image from Internet*

To My Daughter


Good evening, and welcome to Eon’s Erotica.  You should write to me!

I rather enjoyed the following submission, which is another anonymous note titled simply, “To My Daughter.”  I thought that an odd way of addressing a letter to yours truly until I read the content, which comes across very much like advice that an older woman might wish to pass along to the next generation.  Something discovered the hard way, that might save a daughter or granddaughter a great deal of unnecessary pain.
I can understand not being able to write this sort of thing directly to your daughter.  So many people don’t discuss such things in polite company, or even in private.  So if, by chance, this well-meaning advice-giver noticed their daughter enjoyed reading a certain erotica site, it is conceivable she took it upon herself to deliver her message in a less direct fashion.
I probably flatter myself, but even so, I’m honored to be a hypothetical go-between.
I hope my hypothetical readers enjoy!

To my daughter,

I have always loved touching myself.  From an early age the magic of my fingertips has been a key to unlock the doors of pleasure.  My access to breathless realms of sexual satisfaction, requiring no permission but my own, has been powerfully liberating.  I have never required a man to bestow such joys upon me.  Rather, men have been more like sexual accessories; often an enhancement to the act, but never strictly required.

Few men, in my experience, posess the interest or the patience to completely map the pleasurable pathways of even a single woman.   Is it not laughable, then, that men count it a point of pride to have slept with as many women as possible?  This is akin to claiming you are a lover of fine wines simply because you drink a lot.

A true connoisseur enjoys his wine slowly.  He notices in the process all the subtle differences between this particular vintage and the last.  He is blessed to enjoy such a heady brew and he knows it.  This truth is evident in the rapturous transportation he displays when given the opportunity to indulge his palate.  See the way he closes his eyes while inhaling deeply of the wine’s unique bouquet.  See the way he swirls such a small sip over his tongue.  He truly tastes it as if for the first time.  When he does swallow, he does so with immense satisfaction.  His eyes open slowly, and he gazes with fondness upon the bottle, the vessel that contained such a rare delight.  Such a look acknowledges the wine’s perfection.  In that moment, no other wine exists but this one.

A woman could accept her lover having many partners, were he always so attentive to her unique savor, quality, and worth.  What should she care if another was pleased just as much if she herself never failed to be satisfied by him?

Such lovers are a rarity, so it is my advice to you to always be attentive to your own needs.  An orgasm must be pursued.  Lead your lovers by the nose, if you must, until they cannot fail to scent their elusive quarry.  Do not allow them to loose their arrows until you can be sure of the kill.  Le petite mort, as the French call it, is worth un peu de travail.  Lacking a properly responsive partner (what are you wasting your time for, dear?) do not hesitate to chase that golden hind yourself.  Let your man sweat and grunt.  Your fingers will get you there more surely than any of his animal efforts.

A lover should not necessarily be slow but, like any good craftsman, he should take his time to be certain of properly completing his task.  What use is a fence with no gate, a house with no roof, a kitchen without counters?  We wouldn’t accept such shoddy efforts from contractors, so why do we accept half-finished work from lovers?

If I have learned one thing from masturbation, my darling, it is that my evident confidence, my self-satisfaction, my independence, is a powerful aphrodisiac.  Are you putting up with a man who does less than he should to please you?  Heavens!  Whatever for?  Stop it this instant!  Reject him and begin pleasing yourself!  In short order you will have them lining up for a glimpse of your mystique.  You can pick and choose, and hold your lovers to a higher standard, so long as you love yourself.

This is an unassailable truth, but it only applies to those who work to love and accept themselves in every way.  To you I say:  this can begin in bed!  We are naturally inclined to love those who bring us pleasure.  So pleasure yourself, and love yourself for it!  And when you find you adore yourself, flaws and all, your confidence will soar, and so too will your magnetism take flight.

A good lover is not a man who arrives with a briefcase full of orgasms to bestow upon you like so many gifts.  A good lover is a man who joins you in releasing the orgasms already locked within you!  Better yet, he is a man who rejoices to discover a strong woman already in command of her own pleasure, who can release her own orgasms as needed.

After all, there are two of you in that bed — there is no need to rely on him alone!

*Image from Internet*



It is difficult to describe
That moment
The apex
The tipping point
The sudden plummet

Together we strive
Reaching for handholds
On inner pinnacles
Scaling our selves
Muscling towards
The heights of

Take me there
To the cliff’s edge
Where first we fell
And with love in your eyes
Throw me over

I am trying to describe
That instant
The nadir
The surging rush
The sudden flood

Together we dive
Stretching for purchase
On hidden currents
Swimming our souls
Kicking towards
The depths of

Take me there
To the riverbank
Where first we fell
And with love in your eyes
Hold me under


*Image from Internet*

You can reach me in the usual way…

Dreaming Of You


Reach me at:


Throughout my life I have had an interest in dreams.
Even at a very young age, I remembered most of my dreams,
and I was curious to know if they meant anything.
Were my dreams omens of the future?
Were they wish-fulfillment?
Could dreams be used to travel to distance places,
Step outside the body,
Visit others who were asleep,
Deliver messages?
When I discovered lucid dreaming,
Sleep, and dreams, became a second life.
Through the active engagement of my dreams,
The manipulation of time and events within the dreamscape,
I could live two, three, four lifetimes in the space of a single evening.
I would explore past lives,
Indulge in fantasies, sexual or otherwise,
Discover parallel worlds and other dimensions.
I would run through problems, over and over,
Eventually hitting on a workable solution through the wonderful,
Inspiring, creative free-association of ideas
That defines the dreaming space.
These solutions could be applied in the waking world to great effect.
Sadly, the more I dreamed,
The less I rested.
There was a time I spent days in bed, living in my dreams.
The freedom to escape at any time by simply falling asleep,
Combined with depression,
Created a very real risk of sleeping pills
Sending me to dreamland
I have a healthier approach to sleep and dreams, now,
And most nights I simply let them run their course.
Lucid dreaming still aids in problem solving, when needed,
And occasionally allows me to indulge in fantasy scenarios.
Call it curiosity…
Sometimes wondering what it would be like,
Is too strong an urge to deny.

The following letter is from an anonymous sender.  He spends a great deal of time with the same people, so it’s only natural they should appear in his dreams.  But over the last few years, they’ve appeared more and more frequently, and their regular appearance has become increasingly sexual in nature.  Unsure of what to make of these dreams, he shared them with his wife…

Anonymous writes:

My wife listened intently as I described, in vivid detail, all the sexual adventures we had enjoyed up to that point with our close friends, G and M.  She smiled frequently, laughed out loud at points, and clearly enjoyed my recounting of various racy romps the four of us have had in my dreams.
It was always the four of us: my wife and myself, G and his wife M.  No surprise, the four of us spent all our time together.  If it wasn’t barbecues or birthday parties it was holiday dinners and boardgame nights, coffee and conversation, movies, liquor, summertime celebrations of sunshine and warmth.  We were like family, and we all loved each other and looked out for each other.  We could pair up any which way, the conversation was always good.  If one of us was away, the others would step in to fill their role until they returned, making sure their partner was taken care of, watching out for the kids, helping wherever help was needed.
And yes, there was a time or two when there were a few too many drinks consumed, and friendly banter became something else… it probably all began when my wife, quite tipsy, laughing over the foolish antics of another guest at a party, nearly fell over.  G was there to save her, a strong arm around her waist, and she wound up sitting in his lap.  I was at the same table, playing cards with M, and didn’t think anything of it.  I trust my wife completely, and G as well, and clearly M trusted them both or she might have spoken up.  As it was, my wife noticed our card game and loudly declared, “After this, we’ll have a foursome!”
Referring to the cardgame, of course, but those at the party immediately concluded we were swingers, and with the idea in our heads, we began to joke about it regularly.  It was ostensibly meant to amuse and impress coworkers, who we could feed vague innuendo for reliable reactions, which we then joked about together later.
But most boardgames aren’t the sort that normally wind up being played topless, and Truth or Dare soon became a new favorite when our Foursome gathered for dinner and drinks, so it’s safe to say the idea had taken root and the four of us were leaning towards swinger behaviors more and more as time went by.
Funny thing is, we never quite stepped across that line.  We all loved and respected each other, and we flirted with the idea a lot, but we never took the final steps.  Nudity became a regular thing, sexual jokes, touching even, but the four way sex, or the wife swapping, never really happened.  It doesn’t seem as if it ever will, and that’s quite alright for all of us.  We’re all quite content to have the companionship and closeness, and we’re all quite happy with our own partners.  Swapping isn’t really necessary, and as a source for fantasies, it’s quite incredible.
So when the dreams began, it was no surprise, and when they intensified and became very sexual, it was a point of interest worth sharing with my wife.  What I didn’t expect was her reaction:
Apparently she’d been having sex dreams about us with G and M for quite some time, too.  Moreover (women talk, you know!) she was able to say with some confidence that maybe M might have been possibly no promises but quite likely having sex dreams, too, about her and G with my wife and me.  My wife described her own sex dreams, along with some of these hypothetically possible dreams of M… and I thought I was horny!  My goodness, M suddenly seemed so much sexier!
Time passes, my own dreams only become richer and more detailed after hearing what the two women had shared, and eventually, out for lunch with G, I manage to casually raise the subject.
Sure enough, G has been having sex dreams.
Weirdly, mostly of me, though the ladies sometimes played a role.
I’m kidding, that was a joke for G if he ends up reading this!  I love you, buddy!
Truth is, he’s one of the most sexually active guys I know.  Always hungry for it, always ready for it, two, three, four times a day, no problem, G will rock your G spot.  M has always said she didn’t know what sex was until her and G hooked up.
So, final analysis: me, burdened with the knowledge that all four of us frequently have sex dreams about all of us, together.  It made me hard just to think about it… these two wet and willing women, stroking, sucking, fucking, me trading off with my best wingman, the master cocksman himself, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized I would suck him hard myself, just to watch him put it in my wife.  I would lick and tickle M’s pussy while watching my wife swallow G’s thick cock.  I didn’t care how the numbers added up, but if you put the four of us in a room naked, I was sure the math would work out just fine.
And every night, now, the dreams, my god, the dreams!
G and M, pounding away like teenagers on the couch in their living room, and I arrive early for our dinner gathering.  G says, “Put the salad on the counter and come give me a hand with this!  The wicked wench is going to outlast me, and I won’t have it!”  So I dive in there, licking and caressing her breasts, sucking her pert pink nipples, until she demands my cock and begins to suck.  I work a finger into her asshole, swirl her clitoris in circles, the whole time G thrusts manfully, and between the two of us it’s too much for her and she overflows with pleasure.  G can finally let go, releasing his masterful self-control and shooting thick ropes of cum over her belly and breasts.
This leaves me hard as a rock, and I step between her legs to take a turn, when my wife arrives.  Watching me fuck his wife, G gets hard again within minutes.  He’s a standup guy, G.  My wife is wet in an instant, walking in on this scene, and seeing G’s arousal she pushes him back on the couch, next to me and M, and straddles him.   As she rides, she leans over to kiss M, and G and I enjoy the show.  I reach over to smack my wife’s bouncing bottom every now and then, just to remind her I’m there with her and I’m enjoying myself every bit as much as her.
Stroking in and out of M’s soaked cunt, so hot and tight, I tip over the edge.  Pulling out, my jizz joins G’s on her tits and tummy.  My wife bends over to take my wet cock in her mouth, slurping up the last of my semen and tasting M on me.  She bucks and moans and gushes over G, who shouts and shoots his load inside her, a pleasure I’m forced to deny her since I haven’t had myself snipped yet.
M kneels to lap G’s juices from my wife’s saturated center.  Seeing her bottom wiggling around in the air like that, I can’t help but stroke myself.  Everything is so sexy and new, with the added twist of extra partners, I’m growing hard again as I watch.  Her asshole begs to be filled.  G can read my mind, and spits on her anus to get it ready for me.  He works his fingers inside her, and she moans into my wife’s mound as she realizes what’s coming.  G gets his face right in there as I press my cockhead against his wife’s tight little butthole.  He licks my shaft and spits on her ass and rubs with his fingers until I pop inside with a sudden surge.  Continually wetting my wood, G gets us good and gushing until I’m slipping in and out of M’s backdoor with ease.
Then G puts his cock in my wife’s mouth.  He tells her to slobber him up good.  Then he steps around behind me and forces his way into my backdoor!  I’m split by his massive cock while splitting his wife, and she’s eating my wife, and oh my god the pleasure, in every direction, the glistening skin and flushed faces and the sounds of slapping and gasping and moaning like music to my ears!  After dinner, the orgy carries on well into the night, fuelled by alcohol and joy and curiosity and a passionate love for one another.  We all want so much to bring each other pleasure.
And that, my friend, is only one dream.  Over the last few years, I’ve had dozens and dozens of such dreams, every permutation you can think of.  A recent version involved my wife, a shower, a rather large cucumber, and M in a very naughty dress.  Poor G was working up north, and I had to help out while he was away.
In others, I’m just an observer, watching as my wife is pleasured beyond the ability to even think by our two best friends, who know her so well they can play her like maestros on a piano.  In others it’s just sex, my wife and I, tender, loving, enjoying the closeness of our friends who share their own intimate moment nearby.  Seeing the love, feeling the love, it’s reinforced and amplified.
So far, all this has remained within the realm of dreams, and I’m satisfied with that.  I wouldn’t say no, were it to happen for real, but fantasy and reality are two different things, and they don’t always mix well.  I’m comfortable with that.
Still, who knows what the future may bring?

All the best!

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Clearly, We’re Confused


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Good morning, everyone!
I’m not typically a politically active person.  For years I didn’t vote (insert any number of apathetic excuses here) and I rarely got involved with anything outside of my own little life.
This year, however, I’m feeling more and more like I need to lead by example, in the hopes of inspiring others to stand up, speak out, and be the change they want to see in the world.  I’ve not only voted, I’ve been very vocal about the necessity of voting, despite all the roadblocks put in place by the Conservative government.
Now, if you’re not Canadian, that has little to no bearing on you,
so I will set that aside.

The reason I bring it up is to give you an example of the relatively recent changes in me, which leads to why I’m sharing the following article.  Essentially, I’ve always been passionate, but as I grow older I am becoming more vocal about it.
If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you will have noticed an underlying theme:  sexual suppression is the cause of a great many evils in this day and age, our ignorance of our own sexuality is appalling, and our aversion to speaking openly about this topic leads to a great many problems on both a personal and societal level.  If there was one passion driving my continued presence here in the blogosphere, it is the hope that somehow I will touch people, inspire them to take a firmer grasp on their own sexuality, to explore and discover their selves, and armed with the confidence and comfort this knowledge can bring, to go out into the world spreading a philosophy of love wherever there is hate, of joy wherever there is sadness.

The exact extent to which our culture’s concept of sex is broken is too big a topic to go into in just one post, but here is a hint at the scope of it:
The following article says a great deal about the “civilized” western mindset.
It’s not a very long article.  I hope you take a few minutes to read it.
I was left scratching my head afterwards.
Society seems so backwards sometimes.
In any case, I found the point this young lady is trying to make very eloquently stated in the actions her group is taking.  It points out a lot of oddities in our culture, and gun obsession is only a part of it.

If nothing else, I hope it makes you laugh.
Click here:

Grab your dildo, and follow me!

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Soaked In Sin


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When the dam breaks,
Oh, when the dam breaks,
May I drown in the flood,
Lest I see what I’ve done.

Anonymous writes:

i apologize in advance if this comes out in a jumbled mess but sometimes the only way i can write anything is through stream of consciousness gotta turn my mind off and just put pen to page and hope for the best perhaps its my inner critic perhaps its lack of confidence i don’t know but the thing i want to tell you today is a thing i’ve never shared and i need to get it out and get it sent before i think about it and change my mind

not even sure if it really happened all i know is the vividness of it the full engagement of every sense as though i was caught up in something more vibrant than life itself in fact every day since has seemed washed out dull like watercolors but in my mind there is this one bright shining moment full of color and chaos

i was posessed by a demon

there i said it

but the thing i want to tell you is what happened when that demon took my soul for a joy ride the things i did the way i behaved none of these things are me the way i would normally behave i’m a good girl i love jesus i want to serve the lord and i hate hate hate that i’ve been touched by the devil that my soul has been sullied by sin and corruption but i have faith there is a plan for me and that this is something i can overcome if i just believe it’s a trial there is nothing in this beyond my capacity to overcome but i needed you to know i am not a sinner i am not a whore i am not a loose girl i never wanted these things they just happened

it was on my 19th birthday

god i

i can’t tell you this i can’t i can’t this isn’t

no i have to because people need to know the danger is out there and they need to know what can happen if they forget that the devil is waiting for his moment

it was at a birthday party when he caught me i was wearing my prettiest lace dress the one my mother made me powder blue with ruffled sleeves and nicely polished black kitten heels and a ribbon in my hair when i saw myself in the mirror i thought perfect i look just like dorothy from wizard of oz and i blushed because my father once said that movie was sinful and i shouldn’t have watched it because magic is the devil’s tool

still it felt nice to look so pretty and after all it was my special day i was turning 19

there were only girls at my party i am old enough to be with the boys without a chaperone but i prefer the company of other girls and honestly the boys have been very pushy since i turned 17 i’ve

well i’ve grown in ways they like i needn’t tell you exactly what i mean

anyway it was at that party when the doorbell rang and rhonda jumped up to answer the door i couldn’t imagine who it could be because everyone was already there and then i heard a shriek and

ohmygod a MAN a man a big beautiful man was in the room and some of the girls were smirking as though they knew him and others were blushing furiously because the man

he smelled like chocolate his scent filled the room and he wasn’t wearing a shirt his skin was hairless and tanned and i was sweating from the heat that came off him i’m sure he was a messenger of the devil the way he smiled and walked so cocky and comfortable into a room full of women like a lazy predator so certain and then

music awful thumping music so loud i couldn’t hear the other girls at all their mouths kept opening and they were shouting and talking but the man was dancing and i didn’t know where the music was coming from some horrible bass thumping and thumping and his hips moved like

i used to spin hula hoop and i could almost picture the hoop as it traveled up that shining torso wrapping round and round the hard slabs of muscle as he turned and swiveled and my mouth watered with the taste of chocolate that filled my nose as this man filled my eyes like no man has ever filled my eyes

black hair green eyes insolent grin broad shoulders and slim waist and then his jeans were unbuttoned and he stood there in a thong like only the dirtiest perverts wear and i tried but i couldn’t look away i had never seen a man the way god made him and i wanted so badly to see and i knew it was temptation and sin but i couldn’t

i couldn’t stop

i looked

and then he wasn’t wearing anything he stood right in front of me and he spoke to me and i didn’t need to hear him the music said what he was saying what all the girls were saying together they said touch him touch him touch him and i touched him and i lost my mind i was taken the devil took me

i took him in my mouth and i tasted the firm salty length of him and there were hands undressing me pulling down my lacy dress and baring my body to this man this devil this stranger and i swallowed him and choked and my makeup ran with tears but i couldn’t stop i didn’t care i wanted more and he was touching my face and stroking my hair so gently and i was ashamed i was crying i didn’t love this man i wasn’t married to him in the eyes of the lord and i knew there was something wrong but

i didn’t stop

i felt i was burning my shame was in my face like fire in my cheeks but it all seemed to be happening at a distance and i couldn’t think clearly i just ran my hands and my mouth all over his body until he lifted me in his strong arms and settled me with my legs about his hips and oh god oh god

the beauty of it the overwhelming pleasure i felt for a moment i was with the lord i knew what i was doing was not okay but it felt delicious and i lost all sense of restraint and all my fear and embarassment fell away as he pushed himself inside me deeper and deeper until he touched my center he touched my soul

i can still feel him there pushing deep inside me touching me like no one has ever touched me

i fell back away from him and his arms were hot bands of iron about my waist bracing my lower back as i hung from him pierced like jesus on the cross and he spun me slowly in a circle as the girls gathered around stroking and pinching and grabbing and licking and kissing me wherever they could find space to touch me and i felt torn in half as stars flashed in my vision and my muscles clenched and the smell of chocolate twined all around me

i was on the floor he had lowered me down now everywhere there were naked bodies and he took his pleasure in each of us and clothes fell away before his awful power and we fought to be near him to touch him and taste him and girls were crying as they licked each others tears and something a finger a tongue was in my

i don’t want to keep writing this but it’s haunting me nothing else seems to feel alive and i need to understand i need to know what came over me what posessed me why did i not fight it? why did it feel so right when i knew it was wrong? when i knew his fingers shouldn’t

but they were they were in my in my he i can’t the bible says its wrong and i’m going to burn for it but this wasn’t sodom this was my home and still they put their fingers and tongues there and i

god help me i liked it i wanted it i wanted to kiss them and beg them for more and i fought with the rest of them to get closer to him and i fought harder than the others because it was me he finished inside it was me he spread his seed over annointing my belly and breasts as the girls licked me clean licked him clean but inside i was still filthy we were all so filthy filthy filthy

and i’m almost finished i’m almost done but

it didn’t end there

it didn’t end there at all

the night went on

someone brought strong drink and someone brought pornography and someone was wearing a fake

a fake

pretending to be a man putting it inside the other girls taking them like he took them as the music pounded like the blood in my veins like the ringing in my ears like the pain in my head and still i couldn’t stop it was like the gates of hell were inside me and they had opened up and all my evil was pouring out and i rolled in it

just rolled in it

revelled in it

and through it all the smell of chocolate the taste of chocolate and salt on my lips and the slippery sticky sensation of other girls sweating against me rubbing and spilling over with so much sin until finally

finally crushed softly beneath so many bodies i couldn’t breathe and the stars came back and the blackness quickly followed

i woke up alone and heard someone in the kitchen

i struggled to put my mind together i was in pieces my dress was in pieces i clutched it to me and a friend came out of the kitchen with water my oldest dearest friend since girlhood i’ve known her and she was naked too and she knelt with me and gently washed my face with a cloth and she said she never expected me to embrace it like that but it was high time i joined the land of the living and i didn’t understand what she meant and i couldn’t speak i just gasped for air and she held me and kissed me and her tongue licked my tongue and she bit my lower lip touched me like he touched me and my belly tightened and my legs curled and i spilled more sin into her hand and she licked her fingers and smiled and said welcome to the real world and left me there in a daze

praying for forgiveness in a world gone suddenly strange

i feel like i don’t know anything anymore

and my heart pounds when i think of him and the things we did

and i’m suddenly damp when i think about my girlfriends and how can i face them again?

i’m sorry for this scribbled mess i just needed to get it out to let someone know

i am no longer innocent

and i’m not sure

if i like it

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