I thought it was a sweet idea at first, a way to reduce the thousands of miles that separated us, a way to bring us closer. You wanted me to promise not to touch myself until you said so, and I did. At first I thought you would just make me wait until the end of that day or maybe into the next, but you really liked the power, enjoyed the feel of my burning desire.
It was a full week before I first begged. You giggled as you shook your head, aroused by how my longing grew stronger each day, thrilled by how easily you could get me erect. You teased me mercilessly, taunting me with pictures of you wearing nearly nothing and calling me day and night, moaning and panting into the mouthpiece, telling me what you were doing to yourself, letting me hear you come, knowing exactly how wild you were driving me and loving every tantalising second of it.
Eventually you told me how long you intended to keep me waiting, saying something about a birthday treat. I grinned from ear to ear, my birthday was only days away. “Not your birthday, silly,” you giggled wickedly, “mine.”
She sat in the tub with him. He wrapped his arms around her. Made her feel safe. Made her feel wanted. She grabbed the camera. Took a photo. Of this moment. Their moment. Their time together. They knew it was fleeting. That they couldn’t stay. That real life waited for them outside of that tub. That cocoon. That warmth. They held each other. Whispered sweet, dirty things as the steam rose up from the water and their warm skin. She leaned harder into his chest. He held her tighter. Kissed her neck. She whispered she loved him. Loved this. This moment. He put his hands in her hair. She caressed his legs. Felt their safety. Felt his longing for her in her back. She turned around. The water moved with her. Splashed everywhere. She didn’t care. She looked into his eyes. Told him she wasn’t leaving him. That she was…
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facebook goes bleep
my heart skips
i look up
my finger clicks
my trousers twitch
i hold your hand
you hold my cock
i kiss your lips
you kiss me back
i hold you close
you hold me fast
i kiss your clit
you kiss my shaft
i hold your heart
and you hold mine
into each others eyes
tasting our love
like a winter rose
We have become good friends since you moved in next door. You come round after long days at work and I massage your feet and we watch crap on the TV. You find my foot rubs a real turn on, and are developing quite a crush on me. You don’t realise that I am getting one on you too.
You tell me your back hurts and I offer to give it a rub. You smile shyly in agreement, and I sit back on the couch and beckon you to sit between my legs. You take off your top and I unfasten your bra and slip the straps off your shoulders. I pour lotion onto my hands and work it gently and slowly into your back and shoulders.
You relax and melt slightly under my touch and I tell you that you are beautiful and you giggle and tell me to stop it, that you used to be when you were young, and I say that I’ve seen pictures and think you are far more beautiful now, that you have a real woman’s body with shapes and curves and that your body has character, not like these young girls who all look like they’ve been pressed from exactly the same plastic mould, that you are gorgeous.
I slide my fingers up your neck and caress the base of your skull and you tell me that it turns you on and I say that its doing the same for me. You don’t believe me and just think I’m being nice, so I pull you back so you are resting against me. I am only wearing a long t-shirt and you shiver with excitement as you feel my erection pressing into your back.
I kiss the back of your neck and the sweet rose tattoo on your shoulder and dribble the thick white lotion over your belly, and you purr with pleasure as slowly rub it in to your soft flesh. Then I slip my thumb under your bra and gently remove it completely, your breath deepening as I pour lotion over your breasts and work it in with the tips of my fingers, teasing your erect nipples smothering your breast with wet, gentle strokes, drinking in your sighs of pleasure.
I pop open the button on your skirt and unzip it, and tell you to stand for a moment. Your skirt falls to the floor and I place a line of little kisses down your spine and run my hands up and and over your thighs and slowly remove your silken panties. As you sit back down, you see my t-shirt on the floor and realise that I too am naked, and you press yourself back into me thrilling at the feel and heat of my cock against your skin.
I run my hands and more lotion all over your body, teasing you by stopping each time I get close to your glowing pussy, your body rocking slightly with anticipation of what is to come. My hands roll up the insides of your thighs and stop again only a hair’s breadth from your dark inferno. You want to grab one of my hands and pull it onto you but you restrain yourself and wait.
You gasp when I finally run a finger down over your clit and lips and wet it inside you, and you moan as I moisten and stroke your clit, causing you to thrust your hips, gasp and grip the couch tightly. You get hotter and faster, your breathing deepens, you murmur and writhe feeling my pleasure rising with yours as my fingers flick and rub your , bringing you slowly to the boil, kissing your neck as your orgasm rises up through you setting you ablaze with great shudders and screams.
Afterwards, you slide off me and sit next to me and we kiss and hold each other, you still shaking, like an autumn tree in a light breeze. You smile at my twitching member as it bounces on my belly, throbbing with desire for you. Part of you wants to grab it and make me come and part of you just wants to savour how much I want you.
I’ll love you like
Or curry or
I’ll kiss you like
Or sugar or
I’ll fuck you like
And come on
“Ok,” you say, out of the blue, “I’ll undress for you.”
“Really?!” I grin, with embarrassing enthusiasm.
“On one condition though.”
“Sure. Anything. What?”
“That you get naked first and that you wear something for me.” I feel like pointing out that that is two conditions and that I can’t be naked if I’m wearing something but I don’t, I just nod and grin like a retarded puppy.
I take off my clothes, as slowly as I can, because I want her to do the same, and I’m already well on the way to being fully erect by the time I slip off my boxers. You smile at it and it bounces merrily in response. The you reach into a drawer and pull out a crimson silk scarf and hand it too me. I look puzzled, “How do I-” I start to ask.
“As a blindfold.” you giggle. I love you too much to be angry, but I know I’ve been duped and look more crestfallen than I actually am and call you a name. You giggle more and undo a button on your top and gesture, with a nod, for me to blindfold myself.
You check that the scarf is secure, give me a little kiss and whisper in my ear. “On your knees, my love.” I kneel down, trembling slightly from excitement, as I listen to your clothes fall softly, one by one, to the floor. I hear the unfastening of your black-trimmed, blue bra and the brush of satin against the flesh as you slip out of your panties. This makes me so incredibly hard that I become light-headed and nearly lose my balance.
I feel you approach me and stand, just inches from me. I can feel the heat of your beauty on my face and can almost taste you, as you put a hand on my head to stop me leaning forward and tell me to blow, and as I do, I can feel your whole body shudder with little ripples of delight. “Again,” you moan, “harder, longer.” I blow, drawing tiny gasps of pleasure from you with each breath. You slip a finger inside yourself and use it to moisten your throbbing rosebud and tell me to blow again. Your moans deepen and your gasps become cries and your whole body is shaking with a heated carnal rumbling when you stop and tell me to stand up.
You stand so close to me that our bodies touch, I can feel the caress of your rock hard nipples against my chest and my erection brushing against you soft, quivering flesh. You kiss me and I taste you as you push your self up against me, and feel me pulsate between our bellies. Then you step back again, and I wait, trembling and throbbing for what seems like an age before I feel your lips kiss my tip. You place your hands on my hips and hold me still as you kiss it again, this time opening you mouth a little more, tickling me with your tongue, taking me deeper into your mouth with each gentle rock on your head. I can hear the gentle lapping of you touching yourself, my imagination almost as overwhelmed as my body.
When you feel me close to erupting, you stop and slowly run the tip of your tongue up my length enjoying how I throb with desire for release and climax. Then you stop, push be back so I fall onto the bed and straddle me. I feel your hand take me and guide me so I am almost inside you and then you pull down my blindfold stare into my eyes and say “Right, now fuck me!”
Long distance love can be difficult but it has its upsides too, one being that it doesn’t matter if your farts stink.
“I call her Black Beauty.”
“Awww, that’s sweet.”
“Not really, she looks like a fucking horse.”
if we kissed a million times
at the rate of one kiss a second
or doing anything else
it would take
and 39 seconds
you just work that out?
you nerdy cunt, i’m never kissing you again, as long as i live
Part two, Halle.
Halle pedalled energetically up the drive to Chestnut Lodge, enjoying how the dancing gravel stung her thighs under her skirt. Chic sat at the top of the slope smoking a woodbine, beaming; she was the nearest thing he had to a friend. She beamed back. She thought Chic was great, he told amazing stories.
She’d ask often to hear the tale of that night in Lapland, when they’d been surrounded by the SS and how he’d fought off an entire platoon, thanks to the alien belt he’d put on and the power it had given him.
“Bowled them over like skittles,” he’d told her grimly. She enjoyed especially the bit where he’d punched one soldier “thirty feet into the air and left him dangling from the branches of a tree like a forgotten kite, his life spilling onto the fresh snow in a long red tail.” He had such an imagination. She liked the war stories better than the masked crime fighter ones, they were a bit silly. She’d tried to get him to write it all down once, but he’d told her that there was an act of parliament banning him from writing an autobiography. Old people were so funny.
She’d wanted to join the army, the year before, when she’d left school, but her boyfriend, Bailey, had pointed to Afghanistan and Iraq, he’d said there were no honest wars any more, and she’d seen his point. Still, she thought, the opportunities for heroism were poor in the bum wiping industry, and she wished that Chic’s stories were true.
After the war, their unit was dissolved, peacetime Britain had no place for their brand of .38 calibre diplomacy. Like a lot of ex servicemen, they had both joined the police.
Ruby Catarrattis was the detective inspector directly over them. She hated having ex squaddies in her team. She’d believed that modern policing was about brains, not brawn, and DC Champion was about the brawniest creature she had ever met. He had been like an overgrown, untrained, puppy. There had been times when she’d honestly thought that he was going to jump on her and lick her.
Quite the opposite of his friend, Alexander, who had been sophisticated and respectful, and handsome. No one could ever say that of Chic. But she’d never met a more genuine man, or one more passionate, and he had adored her, from the word go. She’d been like a ruby herself he thought, bright and sharp and precious.
The two men had joined the police at a time when London’s criminals were evolving into something nastier than their pre war ascendants. More organised and more dangerous, the new gangland bosses threw out the rulebooks of the old order. Chic and Ruby saw the death and misery the guns and drugs had brought, and had fought back against the rising tide.
Gourko, on the other hand, had admired this new breed of celebrity gangster. He’d respected their ruthlessness and envied their lifestyles, and he transferred to the flying squad, to put himself in a position where he could become a part of this new felonious royalty.
Halle been told to have a word with Chic about his behaviour, he’d been shouting at poor old Albert again. He was confusing him with someone from one of his stories, called Gorky, or something. If it hadn’t been so sad it would have been funny, a great big bloke like Chic, afraid of a puny little man like that.
The conversation wasn’t going they way she’d hoped.
“I am not going to snoop around another resident’s room for you Chic,” she insisted again, “and that’s that!”
“Just see if its there,” he carried on, “I’m not asking you to do anything, just look. Please?” Most of the residents that had dementia, arrived at the home like that. She had only known them as shells and remnants of their old selves.
She’d never seen it actually happening to someone, it was dreadful.
The odd thing was, that there actually was a military looking attaché case, just like the one Chic described, in Albert’s wardrobe, but old people always had odd stuff like that in their wardrobes, didn’t they?
Chic knew the belt was there though, he’d have to find another way.
Ruby read the headline again, ‘Masked Hero Rescues Orphans from Inferno.‘ There had been a spate, in America, of people dressing up in undignified costumes and fighting crime. The last thing she needed was some clown pulling the same stunt on her patch. The desk sergeant chucked another paper onto the pile. This one read, ‘Costumed Avenger Makes Streets Safe Again.‘
“God almighty!” She sighed.
“They’re saying he can fly in the Mail,” he told her, grinning widely but mirthlessly. “To be honest Ma’am, most of the boys think he’s pretty neat.”
Well, she didn’t. She thought the Bulldog, as he called himself, was a dangerous lunatic.
“We’re supposed to be putting men in prison not hospital,” she pointed out, “remember those little things we used to have, called trials?”
“Gets them off the streets,” said the sergeant, chewing something that hadn’t been in his mouth a moment before. “I had two last week just begging to be banged up: that scared of him they were.”
Several of the residents were due to attend the local hospital. Chic watched as one by one they were parked, to wait for the transport, in a neat row at the top of the gravel slope that led down to the busy main road. Finally New Girl wheeled out the man he was waiting for. What’s more, she only applied one of his brakes.
‘Should be fired,’ smiled Chic to himself as he flipped the brake off and, with a gentle elbow, nudged his foe onto a traffic bound trajectory. ‘Let’s see him keep up the act with a number thirty-seven bearing down on him,’ he thought.
After a cautious start, the chair began to pick up speed quickly, and within a few feet it was going at a slow jog, its occupant oblivious to his chair’s sudden bid for freedom.
First to notice was New Girl. She let out a squeak of horror and set off in hot, chubby pursuit, wheezing inaudible pleas for assistance as she went, clutching at herself to keep her phone and change from springing from her inadequate pockets and her jewellery from slapping her around the face. Her large breasts, taken by surprise, bounced angrily in opposition to her momentum, fighting her and each other. She fought back, bravely.
The path steepened slightly and the chair, as though aware of its pursuer, picked up the pace and broke into a trot. Its wheels were small and thick, not designed for speed and it began to bounce and rock, playfully almost, over the white gravel.
‘Let’s see who’s helpless now,’ thought Chic, lighting a cigarette. Arms could be seen either side of the cantering metal chair, flailing lifelessly like a rag doll in a tumble dryer. ‘Any second now,’ thought Chic. Two other girls joined in the chase, but with little hope. Any. Second. Now.
“What good is a confession from a man who’s had his hand plunged into a chip pan and been scared half to death by some deranged nut case in pantomime costume?” Ruby had complained to Chic over supper. It tore him up.
“He’s on your side love.”
“Without rules, he’s no better than they are Chic, you should know that.” He ached to tell her that it was him.
Whatever happened to those simple times?
When he’d been a child he’d stood in a ring and punched another boy in the face until he couldn’t stand up any more.
Everyone had cheered and he’d been given a big silver cup.
His dad had tussled his red hair and said “Champion by name; Champion by nature!” Whatever happened?
“Sorry darling, I’m not cross with you,” his wife was saying, “its just that costumed prick makes me so angry. God! What kind of childhood must he have had?”
The chair lurched, continuing down the drive like a drunken robot antelope, balancing skilfully on two wheels for a moment, hurtling towards the busy road.
‘He’s cutting it mighty fine,’ thought Chic with reluctant respect, fully expecting the man to leap from the chair at any second.
And then the macabre spectacle reached its gruesome climax.
A wheel hit a particularly large piece of gravel, and the chair sprung several feet into the air, and toppled forwards, crashing down, with a skidding crunch that ended at the feet of a woman who had been walking her dog and who then ran around in little circles calling for an ambulance as though there were one within earshot. Bloodied and broken, mouth and nose full of driveway, the man under the wheelchair closed his eyes.
The dog, eager to share in the excitement, ran around, barking enthusiastically. First at the man lying in the reddening gravel, and then at the three panting women in blue uniforms, holding in their heaving chests, bent double, hands on knees. This was great, thought the dog, relieving himself on the man.
Gourko had known all along who the masked man was, he’d encouraged him. He’d hoped to manipulate the great lump to his own ends. The fear that the Bulldog had created amongst the underworld had been very useful to the scheming cop. Chic, though had proved too principled, and too dumb.
“I don’t care about ‘the grander scheme’ Alexander,” he’d told him, “a heroin dealer is a heroin dealer.” They looked down, the floor of the public toilet was awash with blood, a panicked gurgling emanated from behind a cubicle door, “He needed teaching a lesson,” Chic explained. He had flushed the brown powder down the pan, no idea that his friend had bankrolled the deal, then he’d angrily smashed the toilet bowl to pieces with the dealer’s face. He would have to go, thought Gourko. He’d become a liability.
It took just a single phone call.
Chic looked up at Halle’s disappointed face. He was defeated, he knew that. It was over and he’d lost. His eyes stung with failure.
“Its a bit late to be sorry now,” she said coldly but hating seeing him so distraught. “They’re gonna move you to another home Chic.”
“I know,” he said, not looking at her, “The CO told me,” he meant the matron.
“It won’t be a nice home Chic, it’ll be a home-” she was going to say ‘for people like you.’ The thought of him in a psycho-geriatric ward filled her with sadness “I’ll come and see you.” she said quietly.
“He’ll come for me now,” he told her, “tonight probably.” What was he on about? “Apotoxin.” he explained.
“Apotoxin 4869,” it was Gourko’s favourite poison, untraceable and irreversible. It attacked the brain’s fear centres. The victim died in terror, the expression frozen on their face forever. She’d never seen Chic look so scared before, it unsettled her.
Ruby found it, just as the call had told her, in a military attaché case under the floorboards in their flat. The Bulldog’s costume, and some daft looking belt. It could’ve been a plant of course, but then there were the photos. There was no mistaking her husband’s brick wall features. She sat down. She didn’t move for a long time.
Halle hadn’t wanted to take the buckle, but he’d almost begged her. It was encouraging his fantasies, she realised, but he’d been close to tears. She’d made things worse though, hadn’t she? He’d wanted her to throw it in the river or bury it somewhere, anything to stop him getting hold of it. She wouldn’t, she decided, she would give it back, say sorry, explain, in the morning.
But she didn’t, because in the morning, Chic Champion was dead.
My mouth presses against yours, our lips hot and wet, our tongues tasting each other’s longing.
I move down, slowly, kissing your chin, gently tickling your neck with the tip of my tongue, making you giggle a little. I nibble on your shoulder and then kiss your achingly beautiful breasts thirstily, your nipples hard and sweet. I take them in my mouth and caress them with my tongue, then blow on them making you shiver a little. I bite one, the left one, ever so gently, and drink in the sound of your little gasps.
I move down and start to kiss your soft, warm belly, showering it with tiny raindrops of my love my hands running up and down your sides as I do.
I move down and you moan in anticipation of what is to come. You spread your arms wide, your fingers grasping the soft cotton sheets as my mouth moves around your beckoning pussy, breathing in your heady odours, hovering over your dark delights.
I plant a tiny kiss on your clit and feel a little shimmer run up your body and your breath quicken. I plant another, slightly longer one and softly tickle you with the tip of my tongue. Your moans thrill me, and I run my tongue down your glorious length pushing it thickly into you as your hands clasp the bed beneath you, your fingers digging deep. I lick faster and then take your clit into my mouth, sucking on it gently. Your hand grasps the back of my head and you pull me into you, wanting more. I take your legs and hold them high, pushing your knees towards your shoulders as I love your glistening pussy harder and faster with my mouth. Waves of deep pleasure sweep through you and your breath bursts from your lungs in hot fast gasps, and your moans become screams as I fill myself with your intoxicating flavour, dedicated to your pleasure. I stop briefly and blow on your wetness making you scriggle, which is a word I have just for you, to describe that half-scream, half-giggle of yours.
I move down and lick harder and faster and deeper and wetter as I feel your orgasm rise up in you, your hips rocking to the rhythm of your deepest desires, your body writhing with carnal delight. My mouth around you, I make a gentle humming sound, vibrating your clit and you punch the bed again and again, screaming “Fuck!” and “YES!” and “You beautiful cunt!” Your orgasm ravishes your body like a wild animal bursting free from a cage and your eyes mist over from sheer joy. I revel in your pleasure and drink it in deep, loving the shuddering of your body, the way the bed shakes and rattles with your visceral release.
You collapse on the bed, our fingers still clasping each other, panting and satisfied. Between your smiled panting, you manage to utter a single word.
Following on from yesterdays ‘Top 10 reasons to have an internet boyfriend‘, lets try the shoe on the other foot and see what’s in it for him if he dumps his girlfriend and signs up for some cyber-love instead.
Here are 10 reasons why you should trade your real girlfriend for a virtual one.
- She can be from anywhere in the world.
- You can switch her off when he gets on your nerves.
- You get to spend a lot of time masturbating.
- You’ll never catch an STD
- You don’t have to wash your feet.
- You finally have a legitimate reason for sending someone pictures of your dick.
- You don’t have to go clothes shopping with her.
- You never have to buy her flowers.
- You can have several at once.
- You don’t have to watch football with her.
I felt so happy that I’d found her.
I feel so stupid now I’ve lost her.
I felt so clever when she laughed at my jokes.
I feel so stupid now she won’t pick up the phone.
I felt so light, now I feel so heavy.
I felt so full, now I feel so empty.
I felt so fulfilled,
Now I just feel horny.
Thanks to Jane for the idea.
We kiss for ever by the breakwater, our mouths and eyes locked in a deep salty embrace, the waves licking our flesh, washing over our passion. We have wanted each other for so long and are not going to rush this, and back on the beach our foreplay lasts an age. Our mouths and fingers explore each other slowly and gently, gradually building our passion, our heat rising with the morning sun. Our lips and tongues travel over each other’s naked, vulnerable bodies, covering every inch. Our hands caress and stroke and grasp, and we hold each other tight as we kiss, oblivious to the cold sharpness of our pebbly bed. I kiss your breasts and your belly and blow softly on your glowing pussy, feeling you quiver with delight and wanting. You tease my cock with the tip of your tongue delighting in how it dances for you. You run a single finger lightly and slowly up and down its length, enjoying how it pulsates with desire for you, and then, wrapping your fingers around it, you plant a single, long, wet kiss on the tip, feeling it throb against the soft wetness of your lips and tongue.
Pushing me back onto the pebbles, you straddle and stroke my hardness against your burning, welcoming pussy, moaning as you rub my length up and down your clit. Then you push my tip gently into you and slide down onto me, filling yourself, smiling. We both groan and gasp as you slowly rise and fall like the waves behind you. Months of longing take over our bodies and and we lose ourselves in our love making, our rhythm becomes fast and fierce, my hips thrusting and your body pumping in perfect, animal unison. You throw you head back, filthy little words bursting from your throat in between your gasps of deep, red pleasure as I drive deep into you, over and over. Our eyes meet as we both begin to come, and we both shout each other’s names at the same moment. Our orgasms crash, like the waves we just swan in, over us and through us, consuming us and shaking our bodies and hearts to their cores.
We collapse into a trembling, smiling heap and lie there just kissing and stroking each others hair and faces, smiling into each others eyes. You raise you eyebrows, as if to say ‘ that’s impressive’ when you realise how quickly I am getting erect again, but I have wanted you so badly and for so long that I that I think I could stay stiff for a week. Rolling over onto your back, you open your legs and beckon me in with your eyes. This time our love making is long and slow and deep, until our orgasms rack us and shake us like a great earthquake, the sea rolling up onto the pebbles a symphony to our love. We lie their again, side by side looking up at the skittering little clouds, holding hands and making plans. A man walking his dog shouts at us angrily, but we barely hear him.
We have worked together for a few months and we have both felt the attraction, seen how we look at each other, felt our gazes stroke each other’s souls, understood the growing connection. I want to taste your lips so badly, feel your gentle curves, press myself against you, into you. I feel like there is a rubber band being stretched ever tighter in my heart, like something is going to snap.
They send us together to this poky little seaside town on yet another pointless project. Our rooms in the bed and breakfast are adjacent and the walls are thin. I can hear you brushing your teeth, the tinkle of your peeing, your light snore, you sound like a kitten purring. I hope you can’t hear me masturbating, hope that I do not talk about you in my sleep.
There is nothing to do here of an evening and when the little pub shuts, we walk along the seafront talking, laughing, sharing our pasts, sometimes until it gets light. Tonight has been a night like that, and we sit on the beach, aimlessly flicking pebbles into the morning sea. I do that man thing and try to show off by showing you how I can skim little flat stones across the surface, making them bounce and dance. You shake your head and smile, looking at me like I was some kind of idiot. The early sun tickles the tips of the waves, turning them into gold and gulls circle and cry overhead waiting for the returning fishing boats.
“Fancy a swim?” I grin. You look at me almost startled but smiling.
“We don’t have bathing suits.”
“So what? There’s no-one here but us.”
“You first, then.” you say, your smile growing a little wider. I strip, my back to you and hobble across the pebbles comically, hearing your laugh against the lapping of the waves. The water is not cold but chilly and I wade in up to my waist and turn round to face you.
“Come on in, its lovely.” I beam, only lying slightly.
“Turn round then.” you beam back . I turn and wait for you to undress, hear you feet on the pebbles, hear you enter the water, hear the splash of your naked body diving into the waves, and I watch excitedly as you emerge a few feet ahead of me, shaking the water from your hair and grinning wildly, the water level just above your nipples but with the gentle rise and fall of the waves tantalisingly exposing more of you. You enjoy the way my eyes probe you and and the water is clear enough for you to see my rising erection. “Ha ha!” you giggle, pointing, “I can see a little fishy.” I make a grab for you but you are fast and slip under the waves and dart away from me. We chase each other and play and try to duck each other’s heads under the water.
We come to rest by a breakwater and I push you gently back onto it and press myself against you. I can feel your softness, your panting breasts, I can feel your heart beat, feel how it races. You can feel what you are doing to me. “Not such a little fishy now?” I snigger and you shake your head again, but you smile and I kiss you, knowing with every fibre of my being that it is what you want.
I want to touch you
all the time
and hold you and squeeze you.
I could spend all day,
all night too,
just stroking you
and looking at you.
I love to watch you come,
the way you quiver
I want to rub exotic oils
all over you
and spend hours
teasing you to climax.
I love you more than anything
or anyone I’ve ever known.
I so wish I could kiss you,
but you are not big enough
and my head wont
bend down that far.
Maybe if I took up yoga?
i am a puddle and you are the rain
fill my dripping soul with your tears
i welcome the pain
i am a leaf and you are the tree
shake me and blow me away
ever set me free
i am the match but you are the flame
burn me and devour me
how i long
for that flickering pain
i am the paper and you are the pen
scrawl on me, tear me to shreds
and let me beg
for you to do it again
i am a bird and you are the sky
you engulf me and shatter my wings
it matters not
because you saw me fly
i am the tear and you are the eye
you wipe me away
but just to have been there
i’m happy to die
i am a puddle and you are the rain
fill me until i overflow
but remember me
and how i loved the pain
i nip down stairs in my bathrobe and buy two ice cream cones from the truck outside and come back up to the bedroom. i pretend not to let you have yours and we play wrestle for it. the ice cream, falls from the cone and lands in a big cold dollop between your breasts. you shriek and i laugh. i pin you to the bed and lick at the ice cream, feeling you wriggle under me “stop it you bastard!” you half laugh half scream. its all over my face and we kiss. i bury my head between your thighs and run my icy tongue up and down your heat, loving your giggles and pleas for me to stop. i look up and get the other cone shoved delightfully in my face. you laugh and laugh and we roll around covering ourselves in strawberry and vanilla and chillines. we laugh so much that we can barely kiss and when i slip my self into you we are still giggling and smirking, staring into each others eyes.
We have never met,
Never held hands,
Never walked along the beach
And pressed our toes in the sand.
We have only words
And occasionally skype,
But I feel your love
In every word you type.
I love you to death,
And I love you to bits.
It would be so sweet though
To come on your tits.
I want you right now,
I’m fed up with waiting,
Because internet love
Is just masturbating.