Tag Archives: passion

Maybe She Wants

I watched her fidget on the seat
Her thighs exposed
And her lips moist with seduction
And her eyes craving for below-belt adventures
She’s a girl who’ll be remembered
For her breasts; younger than dawn
She raises her bust exposing that cleavage
She’s savage
Biting her lower lip eliciting
Sensuous pleasures
Maybe she wants, maybe she doesn’t

The night was young,
The breasts were firm
And her mons wet and inviting
She shakes her thighs
Opening and closing
Ying yang
Ying yang
Maybe she wants, maybe she doesn’t

But I can’t wait anymore
Things are stiffening down here
The stiffest part of me is nodding in salute
So I’ve gotta indulge in this
Illicit pleasures
No guilt
I just wanna get some satisfaction
And calm my hormones
But,
Maybe be she wants, maybe she doesn’t

I pull her to my bed and she obeys
Clothes peeling
And hearts thumping
Up in here, shoot that deeper
Skin ravaging skin
And lip feasting on lip
The grip tightens
As dick bulges
And she scratches and uproots my locks
Suddenly she’s lost
In sexual euphoria
She trembles and takes breaths in fits
Silence…
Still, up in here, shoot that deeper
Moments later
“Thank you”, she said
So glad
That my erection lived long enough
To write the eulogy of her orgasm
On her lips…

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Hearts Ripped In Throes of Passion

Charlie listened to her plans and knew he was in trouble. The pursuit had ended sooner than he expected. His was a cautious heart, still harboring bandages and stitches from a relationship he knew was destined to earthly heavens. It was now that he realized that he didn’t need a woman and all the pursuit he had waged was just under the illusion that she needed a nurse to dress the wounds that were causing him sleepless nights, but wounds of the heart need no dressing. They are to be left to heal on their own for even the hands of angels aren’t soft enough not to leave a bruise on delicate wounds. He was learning that if there was a concoction for healing a wounded heart then a woman wasn’t a part of it. The concoction would be made of three recipes; time, time and time.

“Babe, are you even listening?” Annett prodded.

“Yeah, we’ll have children, we’ll wed and we’ll travel the world on love’s back. What more have you talked about?”

“Babe, don’t be cynical about love, why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like this”, she twitched her lips. She was pissed off.

Here she was, trying to please a man who was too mean to pay her the least attention she needed. Why does it always have to be like this? Finally Charlie was proving to be worse in conversation than Kev she was ditching, but he had it all; all he sought in a man. He was well endowed, got looks to die for and was stable financially. Even if he was incompetent in other aspects, he would be worth the risk.

To Charlie, love was a grand illusion. It was a huge chess board, every player reading the opponent’s mind and hiding their next moves under their sleeves and aha! Their true intentions surface, too late for any defense. Good intentions floored as illicit passions take toll. And then ravens would perch on nearby trees, waiting for the opportune time to come down and feed on the vestiges of hearts spread on rugged earth, hearts ripped in throes of passion.