Sex at Dawn

One sliver of newborn sunlight stretches across

the sleep-wrinkled sheet that covers our slowly waking forms.

It dances, the rhythm of an ocean wave,

as the ceiling fan sways the curtains.

Your palm finds the curve of my breast,

dreamily continuing to explore, elsewhere.

As we draw closer to wakefulness,

our hands entwine and our eyes open.

Morning sings its subtle alarm, as we come
together, wrap ourselves in arms and legs...

...writhing with the dawn.

This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  The prompt this week was - "Writhe".  Check out the site to see who else is playing.

In keeping with my poetry challenge to write all of the forms found on The Poet's Garret, this is an aubade - a poem or song that greets the morning.

Adventures in Blogging

1.  Do you write/manage another blog?

Yes...yes, I do...I have one for work and one for my personal life (vanilla style...yah know - for friends and family).  I don't spend near as much time on either of them as I do on this one.  And my vanilla blog is pretty much on the rocks because of the time I spend here.  I also have a new side project blog (Dear Sir) which is a series of erotic letters and vintage photos and art.  Seriously, this whole blogging thing - it's become my TV replacement.  I should read more - get outside - get a life.  But, who am I kidding - blogging is way cheaper than therapy - and I'm not about to pay a stranger to listen to me talk about this stuff when you'll read it for free...and comment back with something more helpful than "that's interesting" or "and how does that make you feel?"

2.  Pick 3 random blogs from your blog roll and tell us why they are there.

Absinthe Passion
I find this couple's relationship dynamics intriguing.  They are very honest and humble and forthright about their experiences and share them in an engaging and informative way.  I've always been interested in fully bi couples and how they manage to make that work in a 3 or 4 way relationship.  It's good to see someone has the balls to be candid about it.

CARNALIS
I just added this one because I saw it mentioned/reviewed on someone else's blog (I can't remember whose it was now...).  This blogger said that they never failed to find amusement in this gal's posts - even when they were short.  I'm nothing if not good at taking suggestions to heart, so I followed up on it.  So far I am, indeed, enjoying it.

The Erotic Writer
This one has been around since the beginning of my blogging days.  Not only have these writers been an inspiration to me, but they were one of the first to request permission to link to my site (warm fuzzies).  I like the site because of the variety it offers.  Having 4 different voices with differing styles, subjects, and interpretations makes for some interesting reading.

3. Look around your blog and tell us about 2 links or pages you'd like us to visit.

Well, I'm assuming this is supposed to be in reference to our own content...so I'd say check out my Original Stories and Original Poetry.

4.  What's your current obsession?

Hmmm....depends on what aspect of my life you're examining.  I'm an obsessive person (really...they don't have an acronym for all my neurosis), so I don't tend to stick with only one.  My ADD encourages me to obsess about lots of things but never for long or singularly.  I suppose I'm currently obsessed with helping Mr. LL find a suitable discreet daytime "collar"for me.  He's taken quite a shine to his new role and we are both beginning to find our way in this whole D/s dynamic.  It isn't much of a power shift...we were already pretty traditional in our roles and expectations...but, all the fun stuff that comes with it - the games, the responsibilities, the fact that no one else knows what is going on - is quite intoxicating. In fact, Mr. LL and I have both learned that spanking me (maybe it's the punishment aspect) really turns him on - gets hard every time his hand leaves a print on my ass.  Of course...neither one of us are into pain, so these "spankings" are really more about the solidification of the roles/power.  So, in a very round-about way, this is my current obsessive focus (in the area of my personal life).  I have others, but they are mundane and work-related, so I won't be talking about them here.

Bonus:  Has blogging helped or hurt your sex life?

Well...considering that when I started this site, Mr. LL were pretty new at "swinging" and had only just had a few experiences, this blog has been an outlet and an inspiration to try new things.  Since I'm always considering what to write about, I have sex on the brain most of the time - even if it is just as a writing topic.  Plus, it has encouraged me to start a separate, more personal blog (Dear Sir) where I can explore that dynamic of my sex life, rather than trying to entertain or inform.  It's much more experimental and is intended to help me express what I cannot say in life.  I have a hard time getting my thoughts out until I mull them over, throw them on the page, and then process/revise them until I get them right.  Blogging lets me do that.  The bonus is, it also entails a bit of human interaction.  A way to connect with others who have similar interests or can teach me something, too.  That has also helped my sex life.  Partially through the process of blogging, I have explored my sexual questions, interests, and experiments.  If I hadn't been writing about it, who knows if I'd be the sexual entity that I am today.

This has been a TMI Tuesday post.  Visit the site to find out who else is sharing too much information.

FFF--Undone

Fastening the garter to the top of the black stocking--she could only do the front...the back always eluded her--she called out in the general direction of the bedroom door, "Honey?"

"What?" the response came from somewhere close, probably the hallway.

"I need you to help me with my garters; I can't get the damn things to clasp in the back."

He walked in, shirtless and "just-woke-up" disheveled.  She stood up, turned around, and looked back at him expectantly.

His lip curled up into a half smile, devious...and his eyes fixed her where she stood.  He went down on one knee and put his hands up to the back of her thigh.  She could feel his breath on her ass, and goosebumps rose all the way down to her knees
He attached first one side, and then the other, but when she attempted to turn, he placed his hands on her wide, soft hips and held her in place.

Wordlessly, she obeyed his silent request that she not move.  He ran his finger under the edge of her lace panties, from the outside of her thigh to the inside, tracing the crescent shape of her sex.

He leaned in closer, his hot breath condensing between her legs.

She had, indeed, been securely fastened.  And he was about to undo it all.

Flash Fiction Friday - Click the link for more information or to play along.  (This is my first attempt at Flash Fiction...so bare with me.)

In the Back Seat of the Bus

Boarding the bus, we claimed the back seat,
seeking the cover of night's inky cloak -- 
So no one would see your hand slip into
my jeans, fingers searching out my heat.
Palming a small vibrator, you slowly stroked
me to wetness, and only the streetlights knew.
You guided my hand between your thighs,
where your warm, exposed penis occupied
my attention.  The lust built up, so sweet
and thick 'til we came closer to our stop.
We zipped our desire back in the discrete
shell of acceptable appearance and hopped
down the stairs onto the glittering, black street.
I watched the red taillights become tiny dots.

Continuing on with my poetry challenge...to try each of the types listed on the Poet's Garret website...Today was:
The Alfred Dorn Sonnet
a. b. c. a. b. c. ... d. d. ... a. e. a. e. a. e.

This is also a Wicked Wednesday post.  The prompt was Valentine's Day, but as nothing very exciting happened that day...we both had to work...we went out over the weekend instead...just out for some music and friends.  We drank a bit and chose to take the bus home.  And...well...you know what happened now, don't you?  This was just the beginning of a great night.  A bit of D/s play seems to be popping its head up here and there.  This was one of those nights.  After a previous post exposing my jealousy over Mr. LL's dominant demands of a potential "person of interest", he decided that I was asking for it...and told me to be careful about what I wished for...I just might get what I deserved.  

We certainly have all the makings of a D/s relationship.  For now...it's an experiment...a trial - for both of us.  Will I like it?  Do I want it all the time or just on occasion?  How could it change the dynamic of our marriage?  Will it affect areas of our life outside of the bedroom?

I suppose, as with anything, we make of it what we want.  We take an idea and morph and mold it until it works for us.

I guess that is what we are doing.  I can say, I like the "I'll take what I want when I want" attitude he's been showing.  Today, on his way out the door for work, he cornered me in the laundry room, pulled down the front of my pants, fingered me for a few seconds...turned me around and bent me over the washer...and continued to probe...just enough to wind me up - and then kissed me goodbye and left.  On his way out, he said, "Write me something good and dirty."

Your wish is my command, love.

Visit Wicked Wednesday to see who else is being wicked.

Beneath Beautiful

"Beneath Beautiful"

The hard beauty of a perfect mistake
hums a slow lullaby
in the back of a
negligent mind.
Getting it to stop takes more than
shallow acceptance.

History, we've been told, has a way of repeating
itself...crashing back
down to destroy the already
devastated structures, compromising
everything until it becomes nothing, and
Nothing becomes our claimed history.

Aberrantly, this song of the past
reflects a distorted version meant to
engineer mistrust and fear.

Under rubble, though, there is always
new growth - tender green shoots
conscious only of the sun and their
orders:  to stretch upward,
venture outward until
every bud has the chance to be
relevant, simply because it wouldn't
die, refusing to stay in shadow...

pulsing, mouth to the sky, inhaling and
exhaling the freedom of letting go.
Reflexes trigger more slowly as we
find that we are capable of
enormous leaps of faith that
counter all of the lies we have told ourselves--
this is how we know it is love.

Poetic form:  Acrostic - using The Poet's Garrett list of poetry forms as a starting point for experimentation...trying to write in all the forms.  I've done this before, but I used the Poets.org list, which is much shorter.

http://www.redbubble.com/people/pjmorley
Artist credit:  PJ Morley

This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  Click HERE to see who else is playing.

I follow the poets...

I follow your words across the page,
jumping greedily ahead,
losing my place in the rush to know the ending,
and going back, guiltily,
to read what I've skipped in haste.

Phrases painstakingly crafted
to elicit a particular emotion -
such a quiet, unassuming figure...
who would guess you hold such
power over others?

Ideas.  Stories.  Questions.
Complaints and fierce wonderings --
This is how we share
the human condition...
which may well be the meaning of life.

I hold the book in my hands,
my body heat warming the cover,
bring it towards my face,
smell the paper and ink,
inhale the perfume of poetry.

I follow your words,
and in that simple, dedicated act,
I'm really following you.

-Brigit Delaney



It's been a few weeks since I shared my love of a particular "sexy" writer.  So, today...I have two...two, whom, for some reason rose to the level of my consciousness.

The first is Claude McKay...a writer well-known for his respected involvement in the Harlem Renaissance.  Many years ago, I think maybe even in high-school or early in college, I was working on an assignment that required me to research a poet from a provided list.  I was familiar with most of the names, so, intentionally, I chose one of the few I had never heard.  Through the course of my study, I came across the following poem - which instantly earned a place in my mental book of favorite poems:

THE HARLEM DANCER
by: Claude McKay (1890-1948)

PPLAUDING youths laughed with young prostitutes

And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway;

Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes

Blown by black players upon a picnic day.

She sang and danced on gracefully and calm,

The light gauze hanging loose about her form;

To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm

Grown lovelier for passing through a storm.

Upon her swarthy neck black, shiny curls

Profusely fell; and, tossing coins in praise,

The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,

Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze;

But, looking at her falsely-smiling face

I knew her self was not in that strange place.












And another favorite, mainly because his complete, and intentional, disregard for the rules of written English confound me.  Some of e.e. cummings' poems confuse the hell out of me - make no sense whatsoever...but others...oh, yes, others make me dizzy with admiration - here are a few of my favorites:




"l(a"




l(a

le

af

fa

ll

s)

one

l

iness

The unbelievably perfect simplicity of this poem - and the ingenious, innovative way that the message is presented...make my geeky thighs a little sweaty.





somewhere i have never travelled 

by e. e. cummings




somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

any experience, your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and

my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility: whose texture

compels me with the colour of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens; only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands











This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  To see who else is "wicked" this Wednesday...please click 





HERE.