Pleasure of the flesh

Oh it couldn't be true. It’s not possible for him to be the age he claims. As she glances over her shoulder she catches sight of him in the mirror, kneeling behind her. His naked body is lean and firm and in better shape than men half his age. She is amazed at the concave area of his right bum cheek. The only fault she could find, which she could barely even consider a fault, was the tiny bit of padding at his belly. But she imagines with a little work he could easily turn that into an impressive set of abs. Her musings are cut short as she feels him hard and erect,  trying to penetrate between her thighs from behind. Hot, wet pleasure shoots through her body, to her feminine core, and radiated to her extremities. She feels the flush all the way into her taught nipples.

She tilts her head as he hungrily feasts on her neck. And each time his teeth graze her skin wave upon wave of delicious joy washes over her. He seems to notice how her body was over flowing with passion and he mumbles into her ear, “oh baby, you’re so wet, you feel amazing”.

God, HE feels amazing, she thinks. She leans forward, onto all fours and tilts her bottom for him. As he pushes his way into her snug, wet  hole she lets out a loud moan of pure pleasure. Overwhelmed with indescribable sensations she is only vaguely aware of how his body shudders as he fights not to lose control. He takes a long, deep breath to calm himself but she can still feel his pulse inside her. Slowly, very slowly, with his hands securely guiding her hips, he loves her gently and deeply. She never believed her body was able to receive such pleasure. Every little movement he made inside her travelled like tendrils of magic smoke through her veins, filling her body with more pleasure than she thought she could hold. So much pleasure it almost hurt, but again an indescribable kind of wonderful pain. The kind of sweet torture that she thought was about to kill her, yet she didn’t care if it did.

On a string plaything

She has your heart on a string
And plays it like a yoyo. 
Up and Down. 
Reel you in and toss you out.
She has you wrapped around her finger
Doing skillful tricks to amuse herself.
Does the spinning make you nauseas?
Console yourself, she does need you. 
She'd be bored without you, poor little play thing. 
How would she know how well she plays
If she didn't have you to bop and drop. 
You're proof of her power.
Compliments my friend, be proud. 
You're her favourite plaything after all. 

Denial isn't just a river in Africa

Few things in life annoy me. Rude people, of course. And deliberately stupid people. I know, you think no one can be deliberately stupid. It doesn’t make sense. But they’re out there. All cozily wrapped up in their denial and plausible deniability. Telling themselves pretty stories and painting themselves as martyrs. I’m talking about intelligent people. As the scriptures say, “There are none as blind as those who don’t want to see.” And what’s girl like me to? Educate them? Oohhh hell no! You know what happens to the bearer of bad news? This messenger would rather not get shot, thank you very much. And then I wonder, does it make me a bad friend, not being honest and saying it like I see it? I don’t think so, cos I know my words will fall on deaf ears. And also, as I said, we’re dealing with intelligent people who do know what’s going on. Yep, denial isn’t just a river in Africa.

Love is for fools

I try to cry but my tears are dry
No doubt the drought 
Is to my core
For I swore
That never shall another person
Poison my heart with "feelings"
And "yearning".
I spit out these words, as vile as bile
And stop myself from rasping my tongue on the tar. 
By far more appealing a thought
Than getting caught in the snare of a love affair. 
Love is for the birds I heard. 
Love is for fools I say. 
And that I am not. 
Any more. 

Stubborn Sheep

I do get tired of being right all the time. Occasionally, being wrong might be a welcome surprise. And it’s exhausting, constantly trying to shepherd people, like stubborn sheep.

I’m the weary shepherd sat on a rock, watching her flock run amuck. Just call me “Little Bow #bleep#”. Oh wait, or would I be Little “Blow Peep”? Sorry, one of those darker shade of grey moments.

Back to the matter at hand. Yes, being right. And then, often I’m as stubborn as those sheep. I know what’s right, I see the facts, yet I too believe, like them,  that the grass is greener on the other side and that the pot of gold waits at the end of the rainbow. Oh and the classic, a leopard can change its spots. So I shouldn’t judge them sheep too harshly hey?  I imagine somewhere higher up a slope, a dejected shepherd is sitting head in hands, “raad op”, cos I refused to do what he advised.

So you wonder what was my point? Didn’t you guess by now that there is none?

Feeling ???

You know that lost feeling? Empty inside but at the same time bursting with emotions that have no word. That can't be expressed in words.

She loved him to tears

She loves him to tears. His wit and wisdom. Though she found his insecurity endearing, she couldn't understand it. He was all things all women wanted in a man. 

His strong hands handled her body with confidence and tenderness. It took self control she didn't know she had to hold herself from ravaging him.

Being with him, in the flesh, was surreal. 

His touch sent electric surges to her core, stirring sensations in places no man had ever before. 

Yes, she adored him. Her heart swelled for him. Her body ached for him. Her mind thought only of him. But she could never have him. He would never be hers. That is why she loved him to tears.