You held the razor with confidence.  Confidence borne from muscle memory; the constant grooming ritual you have engaged in since you stood on the doorstep of manhood.

I watched from my seat on the toilet lid, my hair wet from the shower and still wrapped in a towel because my attention was fixed on watching you shave.

My eyes followed the razor’s path across your cheek, from your neckline over the curve of your jaw – a curve my fingers and lips have traced a hundred times.  Your jawbone peeked out from behind the foamy white shaving cream and my fingers longed to touch.

You turned to look at me and I felt the heat of embarrassment engulf me.  A red shame from the fact I got momentarily lost in a memory and you caught me.

I was remembering my father going through the same motions.  Feeling a familiar warmth inside me – only this time absent girlish innocence.  Where in the past I felt the warm safety of my father’s presence, now my skin tingled with liquid honey; the sensual heat that signaled yearning for my lover.

It was both really.  Staring at the lines of your naked body, hearing the scratching of the razor over your neck, I was both sensual woman and little girl.  Lover and baby.  My independent nature disapproving of the way my heart craved the sexually charged security of a daddy figure.  My secret desire peeking out from behind ribbons and bows.

You smiled at me, maybe even asked me what I was staring at.  I don’t remember now.  I just remember looking away, hiding my eyes and all the emotions they contained.  I busied my hands, pulling my hair out of the towel and drying my hair while sneaking furtive glances at you.

I could not hide for long.  My fascination with watching you rake the razor over your face took control of me.  The sheer intimacy of being there with you, of watching you stand naked in front of the mirror and shave your face consumed me.

You did not see the moisture shining in my eyes.  You were focused on your chore, something you likely viewed as a mundane task of manhood.  But to me it was a moment as intimate as any we have shared between the sheets.  It was tender, cozy, arousing and poignant.  It was indelible.  Burned into my memory forever – cleaning up after one of our messy outdoor adventures and stealing a cherished moment with the man I love.

I often wonder how many of those moments we have left.   As the days tick away and the choices, events and opportunities pass us by, I wonder if they will continue.

I hope yet I doubt.  I feel protected in one moment and utterly exposed in another.  I am a proud woman – yet sometimes I feel as though I must beg.  I ask myself why I keep fighting.  What is the reason I stay when you lie – when I feel insignificant and overlooked? Am I just another wet pussy in your bed or is there something about ME that fills you with longing too?

Why do I keep playing the hand when all the cards on the table seem to say I should fold?

And then I think about cherished moments like these.  I think about the times when I could feel your words even when you would not say them.  I try to tell myself it is not all a figment of my imagination.  That somewhere inside of you is an echoing refrain of the feelings inside of me.  I try to hold fast to my faith but it can be a slippery fish sometimes, especially in the cold absence of reassurance.  But that is the true test of faith, isn’t it?

So I hold on to what I can.  I hold on tight to the cherished moments.  I seek big faith in small moments.  Like watching you shave.



Filed under Erotica



I have pushed boundaries for you.

Driven myself like a hostage way beyond my comfort zones to be with you.

Faced down inner demons who would deny my passage to the safe circle of your arms.

I have fought my doubts, wrestled my anxiety, laid siege to my crazy, hyperanalytical brain.

I have accepted circumstances.



Said too much. Not said enough. Played it cool.

Stuffed down my feelings.

Denied the truth in my heart.

I have been wounded.  I have bled tears.

I have walked away only to run back to you.

I have changed my way of being not to please you, but as a result of my experience knowing you.

And you have broken similar ground with me.

You keep your thoughts locked inside that quiet mind.  Your voice is found in action. Or inaction.

Your will stands toe to toe with mine. Unyielding. Both of us wanting something.

Not entirely sure what that something is.  But unable to let go until we find out.

At least, I’m unable to let go.  Are you?

I have stopped hiding. Behind the cool girl facade and ambivalent responses.  I am no longer hiding behind my cynicism, my past or my fears.

I have removed my mask.

Do you have the courage to step out from behind your mask?

Do you have the courage to love me completely? Unabashedly? Fearlessly?

I believe you do. I hope you try.

You will not find a controlling thumb once you let the defenses around your heart down for me.

You will find freedom. Adventure. Sanctuary.  Loyalty that has no rival.

But it takes a tremendous leap of faith.

Does the Lion himself possess the courage to place his hand inside the mouth of the Lioness?

If you do not, then walk away.

If you can not love me as I do, every bit my equal, then you must let go.  Set me free so I can find my pride.

For I have no use for a kitten beside me.

I need a Lion.


Filed under Erotica

Straight Line

I don’t give a damn who knows it.  I don’t care for a second if they disapprove of my words.  They can all go take a flying leap – I didn’t ask for their fucking opinions anyway.

I pay no heed to the consequences.  “To hell with it all!” I cry out, fist in the air, middle finger a straight line of defiance pointing directly up at God himself.  Fuck him too, he takes Himself way too seriously – another garden variety Dominant.

I stand tall and speak because I need you to know without a doubt that no one has ever done to me what you have.  You have breathed life into me, sucked it out, and breathed it back in again.

So screw the cynics.  Tell the nonbelievers to kiss my firm, white ass.  There is always a chance we will go down in fabulous flames.  But there is a better chance that we will rise up, love hard, and be legendary.

I’m not afraid that they will find out.  That someone will read these words and some secret will be revealed.  It doesn’t matter.

I don’t give a goddamn who knows it.

I love you.


Filed under Erotica

A Proximate Beginning


You saw fit to share our origin tale.  Now I sit, bathed in blue glow with fingers to keys, to tell my side of the story.

Your digital cry was too distinct; too familiar.  In your words I felt my own heart, its beat of loneliness echoed in yours.  From your digital form I caught the faint stench of fear and downfall from grace.  And recognized that scent as my own.

The dance began, our steps falling so easily into rhythm it felt as if we had always shared the dance floor.

We kept making rules, and promptly breaking them.  We set boundaries then picked them up and moved them at will because even in our fragile, broken state, we both knew this was too rare and beautiful to squander.

Building up history, peeling away layers.  Facing fears, insecurities, accomplishments, and celebrations together.  We became twin arches supporting the bridge of emotion rapidly growing between us.

Until one of those arches gave way.

Until it vanished, leaving its twin collapsing under the weight.


And then the unthinkable happened.  I heard a different, yet familiar, digital cry.  And once again I answered. How could I not? Not a day had passed since the loss of my twin arch when I didn’t miss you with every part of my soul.

And so the dance began anew.  Tentative, delicate, deliberate.  We stepped gently at first, then more brisk; our tender confidence coaxing more strident rhythms from our feet.

Until you kissed me.

Until the incorrigible conflagration between us consumed us both.

We watered the words with our own salty fluids, nurturing them with skillful allusions until they grew so round and full we could not ignore them.  Like bright daffodils raising their faces to the spring sun, they would not be denied any longer.

I. Love. You.

In those first few months together we found freedom in each other.  Today, we find new freedoms, new moments, perfect, profound subplots in each other.  Our journey has only just started.

I don’t know what lies unwritten in the amazing, unfathomable story of us.  I don’t know how many chapters we can author together or what roles we play in the tale.

But I know this:  each word, paragraph, and chapter with you is a gift.  A gift I am eternally and profoundly grateful for.



Filed under Erotica

The Storm

A wet pussy is like a small, salty ocean trapped inside a woman’s body.  There are tides, there are ebbs and flows, storms and surges.  There are moments when the pounding of that tunnel-shaped sea leaves the rest of you feeling drained, slightly bruised and aching.  There are nights when you fall asleep to the steady cadence, soothed into a deep and restful slumber.

There are times when in turmoil you turn to it, flee to it, throw yourself into it, hoping desperately to be washed free of the pain and tumult in your mind – or at least be granted temporary respite from it.

It is a living breathing thing with a heartbeat all its own.

And you live your life trying to keep the balance between feeding it and controlling it, nurturing it and being nurtured by it.

A delicate, pink micro-ecosystem that has the power to bring you to your knees.

I am on my knees.

On. my. fucking. knees.

The salt is flowing from multiple springs.  The storm is battering me.

And all I can do is wait for the tempest to pass. Wait for this thundering sea to be my sanctuary once again.



Filed under Erotica

Worry Box

I filled the box with my concerns.  Each written carefully on neatly lined paper.  My fears, my anxieties, my worries.  Spelled out before me in black letters.

I put them in the Worry Box and invited you to put yours there too.

Then we closed the Box and ran away together.

We rode 900 miles to escape our Worries.

But mine were never farther than the back pocket of my jeans, a denim cage that stretched taut across my ass as I straddled the seat of your motorcycle.  My Worries followed me – dogged every step of my foot through the mossy, tree-lined paradise we explored together.

I forgot them often – transported as I was by your smile, the sunshine on my face, and the laughter we shared.  The playful exchange of jokes, gentle barbs and tender kisses all provided me respite from those Worries.

But they were never really forgotten.

They would escape their cage and climb upon my shoulder, whispering in my ear as the landscape blurred past.  As the bike leaned through curves, they would dig in – holding fast to me and making sure they did not fall to the roadway as I desperately wished they would.

Fucking tenacious Worries.

You and I shared some beautiful moments over those three days.  Tranquility, companionship, intimacy.  I fearlessly drove my tongue into your most intimate spaces.  I savored your taste and smell, drinking you in and memorizing each moment. The gentle pressure of your hand reaching back to stroke my knee while riding.  The way your face looked bathed in glow from the campfire.  Watching you laugh and try not to choke on a mouthful of molten marshmallow and chocolate.  The sweep of your lips across my forehead as I rested in my snuggle spot.

In the back of my mind the refrain played over and over, “I will miss this.”

I said nothing but the words were there – gushed  across sheets, reflected in my eyes as I gazed up at you from my knees.  Clinging to the fingers that reached over as we walked and wound through yours.  I love you. Of that, there is no doubt.

In the shadow of that love I sense the pain coming at me.  Like a sharp S-curve that will tilt my world.  I don’t know how to avoid it.  I can’t seem to find a way to lessen the sting.  For all the armor I wear, I know it cannot protect me from it.  I am going to feel it.  Deep and hard.

And there is no way a box full of paper is going to save me.


Filed under Erotica

Fourth Wall

I should not have done it.

I should not have put the envelope in the mail.

I broke through the Fourth Wall.

With a sledge hammer made of paper and postage.

You don’t want to hear from me.

You don’t want to know I am still here,

Still breathing and fighting for my life.

Fighting to write my story.

But I am.

Were you angry? Surprised?

Uncomfortable when you found it in your office mail?

Did you know it was from me?

Recognize me in the few words scrawled inside?

Did you guess or did you know?

Deep inside your gut.

Like a visit from beyond the grave.

Did you smile?

Did you understand the meaning of my gesture?

Not to haunt, not to vex.

But simply to acknowledge your success?

I tried to sit on the pride.

I stuffed it into a suitcase and sat upon it.

But it would not be silent.

It screamed to be heard.

It howled for freedom.

How could I keep it locked inside?

Such an accomplishment.

A goal you set finally coming to fruition.

How could I not want to congratulate you?

I tried to keep it to myself.

But that envelope found its way into my grocery bag.

And into that mailbox.

And into your hands.

I know I broke the rules.

I know I was not supposed to cross the Fourth Wall.


I just had to tell you.

How proud I am of you.

Happy for your success.

I’m breaking out the mortar and bricks.

And fixing the hole in that Wall.

This time, I will stay on my side.

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Filed under Erotica

Wine Tasting

He shut the door behind him softly, turning his face to the dim living room.   He squinted, the flickering candlelight brushing soft lines of silhouette near the window at the end of the room.

“Come in and put your things on the table.”  Her silky voice surprised him, and he reflexively gripped the small bag in his hand.  He did as he was told, hand flexing again when her voice sounded.

“Remove your clothing.”  He breathed deep as he reached for his t-shirt.  He was momentarily disappointed she would not see the funny saying on the front of the shirt.  He had worn it thinking it would make her laugh and was looking forward to her response.

His feet worked his sneakers off, the jeans and underwear followed and he put them on the chair before bending and peeling off his socks.  He stood again, the slightly cool air of the room kissed his skin with goosebumps.

He looked again at the shadow of his Mistress, flanks tensed as he waited for her next command.  He didn’t have to wait long.

“Open the wine and pour us each a glass  Then bring them here.”

He quickly complied, smelling the fruity scent of the red wine as he poured a liberal amount into the glasses waiting there.  He picked the glasses up and walked over to her.  As he approached he could see the outline of her legs.  Her curvy, strong legs were covered with black thigh-high stockings.  On her feet were a pair of black pumps.  He nearly groaned as his eyes traveled from her thigh to her toes and back.  He dared not peek further up.

“Kneel.”  One syllable and he was on his knees in front of her, naked and bearing her wine.  His cock was already beginning to swell.

He held up a glass of wine and waited.  She reached forward, her long fingers wrapping around the stem of the glass.  He could imagine those fingers wrapping around him.  The thought made a groan form in his chest.  His teeth bore down on his bottom lip to keep the sound from escaping.

She took a drink of the wine, her red lips parting as her tongue licked the traces off her mouth.  His cock thickened further.

“Would you like to taste your wine?” She asked him, gesturing to the other glass still in his hand.

“Yes, Ma’am, I would.”  He replied.

“You may do so after you take care of that hard cock.”  She uncrossed her legs, leaning forward and holding up a small bottle of lubricant.  She ran a finger along his shaft before gripping him so firmly the wine glass in his hand shook.

“This is unacceptably hard.”  Long fingers ran the length of him, grasping his thickness and squeezing until the head shimmered with precum.  He gasped.

“Yes Ma’am.”  He looked for a table to set the wine glass.  Mistress shook her head.

“No, my Pet, you misunderstand.  You must hold the wine while you stroke your cock for me.”  She smiled at him and took another drink.  “You will not spill a drop.  If you do, I will plug your ass.”

He winced. His ass was still in training and he was fairly sure she would not use the training plugs if she followed through on her threat.

“Yes Ma’am.”

He did not have to work to make it hard.  His cock was throbbing already, begging for touch.  He opened his palm and Mistress poured some lube on it. He spread the lube down over his head and shuddered at his own touch.  He was so swollen with arousal he did not think it would be long before his offering was ready for her.

He worked his hand up and down his shaft slowly, squeezing his fingers over the head of his cock.  His breathing quickened, and a small gasp escaped him as he caressed his head again.

“Look up at me,” She commanded.  He obeyed, raising his eyes to hers.  He could feel his heartbeat racing, his hand working his shaft faster as he allowed his mind to envision her receiving him.  He momentarily closed his eyes as pleasure began to overtake him.

He was not aware of her movement until her fingers caressed his cheek as they traveled to his jaw. She pulled his face to the side abruptly.  “Open your eyes!”  They flew open in surprise.  Her mouth was so close he could have leaned forward and kissed her.  But he did not dare.  His hand continued its increasingly frantic pace on his cock.  It would not be long now.

“Please Mistress,” he gasped, cords in his neck straining as he held back his orgasm.  “May I cum please?”

“Not yet.”  She smiled and moved to his other side, one hand caressing a trail from his shoulder to his nipple.  She grasped it tightly.  He fought back the orgasm, thinking about accounting, baseball, dishwasher repair.  Anything to keep from cumming before his Mistress allowed it.

“Please!” He was beginning to feel a burning sensation in his balls and knew he could not hold back much longer.

“You may cum,” She breathed softly, her mouth caressing his ear.  “In your glass.”

His brain barely registered her words in time, he thrust the glass down to his crotch, as desperate not to spill it as he was to cum.  He groaned loudly as his thick, creamy fluid squirted into the glass.  He stroked the last drops out, shuddering and nearly laughing in disbelief – he had not spilled a drop.

His Mistress was still kneeling behind him, her hands on his skin and her sweet mouth trailing kisses down his neck.

“Very well done,” She said, kissing his neck and allowing him to feel her teeth sinking into his skin.  He felt the burning pleasure of his nipple being twisted in her fingers.  She stood abruptly, the sudden lack of touch making him miss her proximity already.

She returned to her chair and crossed her legs again.  Her wine glass was once again wrapped in her fingers.

“Salute,”  She said, holding up her glass.  He mimicked her gesture and ignored the disbelief he felt at what he was about to do.

“Salute” he echoed back as he tipped the glass and drank it down.


Filed under Erotica

My New Pet

It was the culmination of a dance that began last April.  A man and a woman, who had been spending time as “friends” yet sizing each other up for something much more.

Your interest in me is unclear.  But my intuition says your interest stems from the hope there is a Domina within me.  And you are betting your hand that she can be unleashed.  You want her unleashed so that she can put that leash on you.

You asked to see pictures of the marks you left on my pale skin.  The teeth marks, the bruises where you alternately bit and sucked me until my pitch changed from pleasurable pain to pure pain.  I replied that you would need to earn those pictures with your obedience.

How swiftly you complied!  You were so eager to obey.  It shocked and delighted me.

And so we begin a journey together.

One task.  One picture.  One picture for each mark.  And with each task, you will take me deeper within your mind, within your psyche.  Until I am there in your thoughts whether you want me there or not.

And so we begin the training of my new Pet.

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Filed under bdsm;, bite marks, bruises, domina, lust, male submissive;, pictures, sex, training

Five Men

I was at the market tonight, standing in the alcohol aisle clutching my little basket of chicken breast and whole wheat bread.  I was staring at a bottle of Macallan 12 year.  I wondered…if I bought it and showed up one night on your doorstep with that bottle, an aged olive branch in my hand…would you invite me in? Would you pour us a drink? Would we sit together awkward at first, then rediscovering that easy rhythm we once shared? Would you be glad to see me? Would we talk into the wee hours, sipping our drinks and hoping the night lasted long enough for a conversation that never truly had an end?


I checked my email seven times today.  Hoping to hear from you and being disappointed seven times.  This was not how I pictured this going.  This feels like a recurring nightmare –  it hurts like a pain in my past.   Are you going to be the next in line to try to bring me to my knees? Are you going to say that I brought you to yours?  If I showed up in Ontario, my heart wide open for you to see, would you tell me I was too late? Would you shake your head and tell me to turn around and go home? Would you take me in your arms and kiss me like you’ve always said you would? Was this all just a terrible illusion or was the love we believed in for the last 18 months real?


I reached out to you today about a trivial thing, a mere matter of logistics.  You struck like a viper, injecting your poison straight from your soul and into my heart.  How can it be possible that I knew you intimately for 17 years and never saw what a petty, vindictive little child you can be?  I reacted in anger, my buttons perfectly pushed.  And yet now, in the chill of the night, I see your pain.  I feel the pain you still carry – fresh as it was the day I flayed your heart open by saying yes to your question. But you don’t get to punish me for that any longer.  You don’t get to bully me or control me ever again.  You say I wasted ten grand and gained nothing more than what you were offering two years ago.  But the truth is, I spent what I needed to buy my freedom.  I did what was best for me and my children.  I stood up to you and refused to let you bully me.  I learned to fight and built up the stamina I need to go as many rounds as it takes to keep you in your corner.  This is my life now so…would you please fuck off?


You thought my Christmas present was over the top.  And to some people’s perspectives, I agree it looks that way.  But your gift was as much a present to me as it was to you.  Yes, I gave you the Mancala set.  With 48 stones, lovingly and thoughtfully, purposefully and intentionally picked for you.  Yes, I spent about 10 hours total time compiling a 20 page list detailing each stone and its physical and metaphysical properties.  But that part of the gift was for my benefit, not yours.  It brought me in touch with my hopes and dreams, and made me acknowledge my unnamed fears.  It gave shape, color, texture, and a name for the feeling I have for you.  It helped me reignite my love of the Earth and brought me back to my Mother’s bosom.  That was for MY benefit, Slappy.  While yes, the gesture was absolutely one of the most tender love, it was directed at both of us – not just you.  So don’t get too blown over backwards by it.  It was just a Mancala set.😉


You are the faceless, nameless man of my future. Would you please approach me with a degree of intelligence, a hint of compassion, more than a little patience?  Would you be forgiving when I am socially awkward? Would you be honest with me, give me real human interaction, and drop this Game-Face Bullshit game everyone seems to play? Would you please fuck me hard enough to make me cum from my head to my toes? I hope you and I mesh well.  I hope we treat each other like a gift.  I hope we behave like a couple of conspiratorial partners in crime. Would you be the greatest adventure of my life and please, may I be yours?  I hope so.  I hope we never stop having fun together – even if there are rough times in between.  I don’t know it right now, but some day I will look at this and see your face, maybe even reach across the couch and take your hand.  I will read these words and know I was talking about you.  I just want to say: I love you.


Filed under Tender