trick-or-treat

the treat that i long for tonight
isn't coated in chocolate,
doesn't come wrapped
in plastic.

i'm longing for one more
drink of you,
pouring down my throat
as fast as i can swallow.

while i circle your clit
with my tongue,
reaching back to strum
your nipples.

i crave the salty tangy rush
of you--your essence
to light me from inside
as i make my way back home.

confidence

confidence.  it's so sexy.  i long to have that sexy kind of confidence-- the kind that knows it's wanted, knows it's got what it takes to be desired.  me?  i've got-- a humble sense of competence at best.  how many times have i been called "cocky", and turned to see who's being discussed?

i'm not cocky.  i'm earnest, and willing to listen and learn your body.  i am capable of turning off my critical mind and just listen-- with my hands, with my mouth.  to close my eyes and see the inside of you; then do my very best to find the rhythms and force--or gentleness-- that it desires.  this comes not from feeling confident, but from having something to express; from wanting to be heard, and known, and wanting you to know that i see you, too.

not just see you, though.  i yearn to meet you in those unspoken places, long to bring light to our hidden corners so that we're both illuminated in the blazing glow of our Fuck.  our own original, often-imitated-but-never-duplicated Fuck that leaves us crying, laughing, amazed that our bodies remain intact after all the exploding that was going on.

i suppose there is a sort of confidence in here somewhere, at least a belief in my ability to show up and connect.  but i'm not likely to ever be sure that another wants that with me, or will long to learn the secrets of my body that are waiting for the light of a lover's attention.  as sure as i am of what i'm willing to give, i'm still waiting for the moment i'm sure i'm wanted.

lit

you are the one i am lit for.  you, with your assertive want, your demand that removes any thought of resistance in me.  i am lit by your strength and your vulnerability.  you blend passion so fierce that i am momentarily terrified, with excruciating tenderness that my heart has never before received.

i am lit in my very core.  the glow that radiates throughout my body and my mind, causing me to thrum with anticipation of our next encounter, burns with more intensity each time we meet.

our first kiss, in that doorway, is emblazoned in my mind.  i'm still amazed that i showed up when you summoned, but some part of me must have known this was an experience i didn't dare pass up.  your lips, so exquisitely soft at first contact, pulled me immediately into your vortex of fire.  your teeth, taking my lip between them, clamping down to the point just before blood would be drawn, stamped me as yours that night.

my hands sought your skin, sliding your slip up over your hip so that i could feel more of you as you pressed your breasts, your belly into me. your breath-stealing passion lit me then and there.

that night, as we caught our breath between bouts of kissing, fucking, sucking...before the bruises began to show as evidence of our hunger for one another, i knew.  the realization of what had just happened to me dawned with startling clarity.  i was lit for you, and this is a blaze i don't want to extinguish.

pierce

17 pieces of metal in my body
touch them, and bring back
the pleasure/pain of each time
the needle pierced my skin,
my submission bringing
fierce intensity and exquisite release

Wood working

We both loved projects.  She was a woodworker, and she loved using exotic hardwoods in her work.  She'd call and say she was in the neighborhood when she was at the store that carried the woods she loved.  Truth be told, that store wasn't in my neighborhood at all, but I wasn't about to point that out.  See, a call from her meant a visit, and she was always so full of light and energy after she'd been browsing the ebony, the rosewood, caressing the curly maple.  I loved seeing her in that mood.

So I'd broken my bed some time back--showing off to a past love, trying to impress her with my incredible strength by carrying her into my bedroom and throwing her onto the bed.  Crack!  Oh, shit-- this was my grandparents' antique bed, and I'd broken it queering off.

My lovely woodworker friend offered to fix it for me.  She brought over her wood glue and clamps and settled into my bedroom to tackle the project at hand.  Did she do it on purpose?  I can't tell you for sure, but what I remember is that wood glue looked so suggestive, smeared over her fingers as she spread it down the cracked frame of the bed.  My breath drew in, and I couldn't let it out.

Those strong, capable fingers coated in that glue had every ounce of my attention.  She stroked, spread, smeared... and I was gone.  It took all I had to keep myself from licking that glue off her hands and replacing it with my own wet.  When I dared to pull my gaze from her fingers and up to her face, she was staring right at me, a devilish gleam in her eye.  She knew what I was thinking!

My breath still captive in my lungs, I somehow managed to ask if I could help.  She offered the glue and our hands moved together over the wood, carefully filling in the cracks between the broken pieces and sealing our agreement that this was about to get messy in a very good way.

We kissed, and to be honest, I don't think anyone washed their hands.  The best we might have done is to wipe the excess glue on our jeans as we rushed to remove one another from our clothing.  Finally, her fingers were soothing the ache they'd created, and mine were seeking the wet I craved.  We fucked right there on the floor, right there in the midst of the bed frame and clamps and glue, the scent of our sex co-mingling with the smell of the glue and the wood. 

To this day, I can't look at a tube of wood glue without having a smile creep across my face.  Wood glue, or the cutting board she made for me from some of her exotic woods.  The smell of fresh-cut lumber can make me blush, and I'm always up for a good project.  There's always the possibility of something delicious when tools are involved... 

what i learned/what i didn't learn

Sex Ed.  What was that?  5th grade?   I remember is was such a big deal... boys and girls were separated, permission slips were required in order to participate.  There was a hushed feeling beforehand, the sense that we were going to be given Important Information that would change our lives.  We were going to learn the mysteries of S-E-X.

So what did they teach me?  I remember posters of women's sex organs...the uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries.  Maybe there was a poster of a male's sexual parts, too.  I remember Kotex pads and omg, the belt.  (Yes, I'm that old.)   I remember thinking that I never wanted to menstruate if I had to wear one of those!

Thing is, I didn't learn about sex.  Didn't learn that there is actual pleasure involved.  Didn't learn that it could feel so. damned. GOOD.   Better than good, that it could make me want to promise anything for just one. more. time.

I certainly didn't learn that girls could love girls; long to kiss them, long to taste them, smell them, reach inside to explore the depths of passion buried there.  Didn't learn about the clitoris, or female ejaculation, or Wet, and what it's for.


They forgot to mention that some girls are boys, and that some boys are girls, and that some, like me, were all rolled into one.  Sex Ed, it seems to me, was intended to sterilize the whole affair in order to prevent us from wanting to explore the amazing power and adventure that sex can offer.  Fortunately for me, they didn't manage to turn me off of the idea completely, and I started on the path to learning what sex can truly be.

tattoo/you

He touches the needle to my chest, and I am gone.  Not escaping the pain, but going into it through another channel.

I close my eyes, and the torching pain of the tattoo gun becomes my fist thrusting into your cunt.  You, on your hands and knees, rock forward slightly as the needle bears down onto my clavicle.  You scream out for me to fuck you harder, begging me to give you my pain as your ejaculate cools the burn.

He moves across my sternum, and I move over you.  Grasping your hair, grazing your neck with my teeth; the whimper that escapes you flutters across my skin as I take your wet, fill your cunt with the fire that scorches my chest. Your voice crying out for me, calling my name, drowns out the hum of the tattoo gun.

His face is right in front of mine, his body leans into me, but I'm feeling the weight of your belly pressed into mine, savoring the musky essence of your nipple between my teeth, anticipating your next delicious move.

The hum drones on, the s-c-r-a-t-c-h of the needle across my skin transmutes into the softness of your lips, your sweet tongue as they take my erect clit/cock into your mouth and you offer your dripping cunt to my needy hand.

"Almost done", he says.  Okay, then, let's finish this.  We move together, you moaning as you suck me off, screaming into my cunt as I fuck you into your own abandon.  We come together, erupting in a chorus of "YES!!" as he pulls the needle away.

He and my buddy look at me.  My pal is amazed that I didn't complain once.  "Did it hurt?"  Well, yeah, but...I liked it.