y o u r m o m .
she's the sexiest thing in the whole world and no one can convince me otherwise.
I’d like to say
it was her mind, first,
but you told me that lies
are slips into sin.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot
(a lot a lot),
and I think it might even be better
if I could say
it was her hair, or her lips,
or her curves (please
pardon me Father Johnson),
because beauty is good,
from the hand of God,
and is admiring art sin?
But the truth is, Father…
this is very hard…
but the truth is, Father,
mind was third and body second,
because as she stood next
to me at the party in that
tight red sweater,
the first thing that got me was
the perfect knot she tied into that
cherry stem with her tongue.
His hands felt rough
like alligator hide
against my skin
they lifted me
to the sky
in a frenzy
as they touched
that aroused me most
and brought me
again and again
His animal passion
stroked my soul
and bared its teeth
my very center.
dream of me, gentle heart
dream of me, gentle heart
gentle man wild soul burst to flames
press your flavor into me
give me you, undone, gentle heart
set yours to mine
stoke your fire between my lips
and melting man
drip from my skin
Bring on the grog and chattels,
Let your codpiece fall away,
Shall I undo my corset
So my Bristol bits will sway?
Hoist the sails and petticoats,
Raise anchor with due haste,
You’ll soon be free to plunder
All that is most chaste.
Sail on! Oh mighty Bluebeard
Far from land and shores,
Shiver my timbers, flutter my sheets,
This lusty lass implores.
Your nether work is almost done,
I am down the Glory Road,
Feel free to call my name out
As your cannon doth explode,
Cradle me as off we go,
Beyond the setting sun,
There are seven seas to pleasure me
And we’ve done only one.
jean to jean
We were walking in on time through the dark haze of the lower level dinner/comedy club on prime rib Friday. The visual of rare meat and the thought of meeting my husband’s work buddies and wives for the first time triggered my fake cough. Coughing always works to draw attention away from the twitch I get in my shoulders when I’m anxious.
It was light enough in there to distinguish a face from a plate; still, darker than my comfort level for eating beef. Nothing about my desire for flesh ever included a penchant for blood and when I say I want my meat medium rare, should there be a need for a flashlight? I just don’t want to see liquid on my plate unless it is from gravy, the brown kind. On the other hand, the dim lights should have put the kibosh on my social jitters; they didn’t. Something about the place was dungeon-esque, and it had a “What are they trying to hide Vegas vibe.”
We were a table of eight, my husband and I the third couple to arrive. We took our seats, did the whole introduction thing and then started to make small talk over our first round of drinks. They all seemed to like me, and
none of them mentioned the fourth couple’s absence; the two empty seats were next to me. We ordered our second drink, and I was feeling more relaxed and didn’t have to pretend cough when the waiter came around asking, “How would you like your meat cooked?”
“What about them?” I asked, pointing to the two empty seats, wondering if I was the only one in the group that noticed their absence. “Oh that’s typical for Jamie and Mona. They are always late. They’ll be here. Make their meat medium. Tough luck if they don’t like it,” Said my husband to our waiter, already horsing around.
And then my eyes saw what we had been waiting for and the dim lights dipped sexy, slapping my flushed face sideways. A stormtrooper of heat rushed through me starting in my loins; moistening me everywhere, tightening my bra straps as the heat rose from down below all the way up to my cheeks.
I like men. So I thought. I couldn’t decide which one of them awakened my beast. I thought about telling my husband I was sick and needed to go home because one of the two of them was going to sit right next to me and I had absolutely no idea how I was going to control myself. What if I left a puddle on my seat? Already on his third drink he would have just ignored me anyway, so I decided to yield to my animal, so much so, I might have enjoyed blood on my plate.
They both had shiney long black hair, hers longer. Picture a younger, prettier Elvira, same type of dress; huge tits that said “see me” and I did. But it was Jamie that sat next to me. Tight black denim jeans Jamie, with teeth too white for teeth, and a face, as far as I could see that needed to be studied and painted, better than Apollo, muscular, not too muscular, just the right amount I could see by his naked arms. How do people like these two walk around without getting objectified? As inappropriate as that sounds, I couldn’t help but wonder about the constant chaos they perpetrate against humanity.
Jamie and Mona ordered their drinks and then the lights got a shade darker signaling the start of the show. Hell if I can tell you anything about it, although I did fake laugh along with the group, only so I could bounce myself up and down to relieve some of the groin stress, landing a tiny bit closer to him with each rebound, until I was able to press my right leg hard right up against his left, as if I had no alternative and he seemed to respond to it, pressing back, no words, no eye contact, just jean to jean rubbing during the entire show. It is only as I write this now decades later that I realize he could have been trying to push me away, but if you ask me, he and I had a thing that night, slow and electric, subtle and unacknowledged, a sexy tango under the table, out of view from the rest of the world.
I never saw them again, because my husband got laid off shortly after that night and we had to move back east. It did occur to me on the drive home that I had just committed a misdemeanor act of infidelity, but I’d rather think of what happened, that one and only time as a fantasy dance, one that took place in a darkened room, that no one has to know about, and doesn’t count because maybe my first impulse, my Vegas vibe, was kismet.
I made the bed this morning. Fresh sheets.
I put chicken in the crockpot for dinner.
I went to work. My boss really tore into us. I kept my mouth shut.
When I got home I helped Mae with her homework. Common Core math. Yikes.
Then I set the table for dinner. Afterward I washed the dishes. And put them away.
After dishes I made lunches for tomorrow while you watched your show.
I brought you tea and a few of those double-stuff oreos you like.
I put the kids to bed, after I read them each a story and made them brush their teeth.
I paid a quick bill, walked the dog, threw in a load of laundry, and turned my phone off.
I've been sexy all day long.
If the sex wouldn't have been there at all,
the world won't move forwards.
But if the same thing flies beyond limit,
there is no avoidance of catastrophy
The sexist thing you can do is accept your body and learn to love yourself. Confidence is always key.
The empty spot upon my rumpled bed
matches the aching place within my heart.
my pillow bears the imprint of your head;
I hate this dreadful time that we’re apart.
I’m sitting here alone and incomplete
while dreaming of your fingers in my hair;
the taste of your lips on mine remains sweet.
your scent still lingers on the morning air.
My fingers trace the outlines of your touch;
inside my core a fiery heat begins.
Pulse racing, I can feel my face go flush,
remembering your breath upon my skin.
This unquenched passion now will slowly burn,
until we reach the hour of your return.
I wait upon the hour of your return,
so while you’re gone, I let my mind run free.
the tender parts of me I’ll help you learn,
and secret things I’ll let you do to me.
Imagine us, entwined within these sheets;
a smile upon my lips begins to show.
Within my breast, my heart rapidly beats
and moisture, deep inside me, starts to grow.
I settle in this nest of satin thin,
and let my fingers travel where they will.
They quickly find a spot of hungry skin
and waves of intense pleasure start to spill
across my soul -- my passion now has fed
the empty spot upon my rumpled bed.