You look at me, both guilty and defiant.
I hold your gaze. I wait.
You are hurt and angry. You lift your chin. I know that look. You are considering your options. They are running through your mind like quicksilver, fast and light and slippery.
I don’t look away. I just wait while you run through the possible reactions in your head.
Your breathing is shallow while you fight for composure.
I can feel your flight response just below the surface. Your muscles tensing, ready to turn away from me and stride out of the room. I don’t have to … Continue Reading
My first love was a woman, well, a girl really.
I was 17, she was a year ahead of me at school. She was fun and hilarious and street-smart in a way I wasn’t. An athlete, with that long-limbed lithe body that young athletes have. Full of that kind of careless body confidence that comes from knowing what those limbs and muscles are capable of, and a self awareness that results in a loping casual stride that says ‘don’t give a fuck’.
She was beautiful. Stunning. Perfect.
I can’t remember how or why it happened, really, but she started to … Continue Reading
I hover with my face just above his, I can’t trust myself to touch him in the moment because I want to crash into and through him with teeth and bone and blood and the hardness of clashing steel. And even though I am soft, really, all tender and smooth flesh that gives and bends, I am afraid that I will really hurt him.
I feel like I am snarling at him, breathing into his open mouth, watching his tongue tentatively reach out to survey the damage already done to him. I’m not sure if I make any sound, but … Continue Reading
It is gentle, this image I have of kissing you, soft and exploratory.
Maybe because you are so naively greedy, offering yourself with no real clue what you are putting on the table. You think you can give it because you don’t know any better.
It would be tender… a slow approach, watching your reaction, seeing the longing, the yearning, the guileless reaching. It is heartbreaking, really, the innocence of it, the trust. And oh my god, the shy hesitance, accentuated by the bottomless eagerness, the wide-eyed artless desire.
I know you would sink quickly under the onslaught I ache … Continue Reading
I love to kiss him when he is endorphined up and blissed, when everything in him is made soft and his eyes are glazed. He would be happy to lie there with me and float away, but when I touch his cheek he turns to face me, not really looking, not really, he is elsewhere, but I know he feels the feather-like touch through the haze.
His mouth is made so gentle when he is like this, his lips cushiony-soft and relaxed, and sometimes his tongue slips out to touch the tender skin there, abused and sore. In this state, … Continue Reading
I rubbed myself raw on him.
We have a word here: pashing. Do you know it? It’s snogging, making out. It’s origin is ‘passionate’, which of course makes it a word I love, even though it is an old term from my adolescence and rather out of favour. “Pash rash” is the irritation you get around your mouth if you have done a lot of pashing, most common on women because men may have rough skin or stubble.
In this case, I got more of a gravel rash, even though I had him shaving twice a day. The skin … Continue Reading
We are sitting at the table, chat over… He gets up, heads to the kitchen to get us drinks. I lean back in my chair, watch him go, wait until he is across the room.
“Come back here.”
He turns, his expression a question, a slight frown, concerned that he has forgotten something. He comes back to me.
“Give me a kiss first.”
He smiles at me, “Yes, Ma’am!”
He leans down to me, I slip a hand around his neck and pull his mouth against mine, a warm, soft, sweet kiss. I release him and push him gently away. … Continue Reading