Saturday, 25 March 2017

Stripes








She knew she was often bad,
knew too that he would
never harm her, so sometimes
she would kneel in the sun and
imagine what his
stripes would feel like across
her bare back.

 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Sunday, 19 March 2017

As he left her







We met awkwardly in the
narrow hallway between the
bedrooms, two naked men unsure
how to greet, his dick still dripping, mine
ringed with the red lipstick
reapplied by his wife to
wake me up.

“Breakfast! Half an hour?”
“Great!” With a nod we parted to
reclaim our wives, and
pushing open our bedroom door,
pushing through the scent of recent sex,
I found her as he left her,
replete and wet.

 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Thursday, 2 February 2017

The Importance of Good Furniture


The tallboy caught a shaft of
sunlight in the shop and I
knew immediately it would be
perfect placed between the
two bright windows of my bedroom
and I had just the mirror to
put above it in which we
both could see your face
purpling in passion, the
height just right so that
without your heels you were
forced onto tiptoe to get the
depth you desired, your
breath misting the image, your
flailing hair sweeping it clear.

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

Down


 
You bit your lip whilst I
carefully shaved your pubis,
your eyes dancing between
fear and lust, wanting to be
bare for me but
unaware how the
slanting sunshine
lit with fire the
fine down that
everywhere adorned your
beautiful body.

 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)




Saturday, 19 November 2016

Pulled







Though she had her own strength,
tensile, febrile, demanding,
nevertheless she was
pulled to him,
pliant, willing.


 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Tuesday, 18 October 2016

Two Women


They had met for sex, in a
complicated choreography that let
two wives explore their mutual
curiosity before surprising one
very lucky husband.

They chose somewhere discreet
with a large bathroom where they could
pamper and primp and
drink wine and just maybe
chicken out.

But like turned to lust via the
kisses they remembered practising in
pink bedrooms and smelly cars, the
touches wonderfully strange and
wholly different.

After, they had to bathe,
enjoying their womanliness,
laughing over lingerie,
primped and pampered and
perhaps ready.

A ting-ting told them their
beau was imminent and they
planned arousing poses, one
sat astride the other
erotically entwined.

But breast to breast,
heart to heart, both
beating madly, they
simply embraced and
held each other tight.


 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Thursday, 6 October 2016

Anticipation


Anticipation made her antsy all day, kept
drawing her back to the window from which
she would see whether her husband was
alone or had company.

She caught herself playing with her hair, something
her mother had warned her against—“It’s a
signal, dear, that you’re interested”—but she
was interested, was curious, was scared.

She knew she should get dressed though she
often greeted her husband naked, but with
someone else it would give the
wrong impression, wouldn’t it?

If she saw him/them arrive there
wouldn’t be time to dress, but
watching was so hypnotic and
waiting was such a powerful aphrodisiac.


 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)