The Choice You Make – Sensual Sunday

I don’t know if I would undo it if I could. Your shirts are here. And your toothbrush with the fancy nubby side. I actually folded socks today (not my specialty). They weren’t mine. That’s how you know I care.

When you lift your head and put your feet on the cold hard floor, I swoop in and grab your favorite pillow, hook my arm around it and pull it in tight. I watch your naked back bend forward, the valley of your spine is perfect and I reach out and run a finger down.

You wipe the sleep and look over your shoulder, peeking through a mop of messy hair.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me too.”

It doesn’t matter who said which, because we trade off these sentences, depending on what day it is.

I don’t know what force on this earth got to decide what love is or how it manifests, but I know what it is for me. Love is in the Don McLean song that crackles out the same line every morning, “The auctioneer saaaaaaaaid, I’m not through yet…” from your alarm clock. Love is around the edges of your iris, where light brown gives way to hazel. Love is in scrambled eggs and toast next to the window, on a single plate with two forks.

“I like ketchup on mine, do you?”

And now, even after what happened, we’re still here and maybe a little less sorry about it than the two years that followed, because love can also be an opportunity to choose somebody every day. We keep making that choice. I can’t undo it, so I will take solace in this.

 

 

Sensual Sunday – You Are Going Gray

Sensual Sunday is meant to be writing practice.  I’m looking to hone my ability to write about sensual things or even to write sensually about regular things.

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You Are Going Gray

The soft smell of your spice.  Clove and salt tears.

Peachy, with black curls of hair, down, down, down.

Earthy musk, the taste of you…all of you.

Inside of me.  Each space filled.  And a woman has many spaces.

Slip, slide, into place.  Nestle there.  Rested there.  In your hair.

The smell of the top of your head.  Tickle, soft brown and pewter.  Pewter…what a word.  The color describes the soft turning of your fields from ripe wheat to stoney silver.  You’re only more beautiful for it.  But the word itself – pewter – is wrong because I don’t like the feel of it in my mouth.  And everything about you feels so good in my mouth.

In the dark it’s hard to tell what year it is.  Are we new or has it really been so many years?  The smell of the building and your skin and these sheets and my own spent aromas, a perfume I know well.  The sounds of the whirring fans, creaking branches just outside of our bedroom window, and your rhythmic breaths, just shy of a gentle snore, are such a familiar song.  Leaves dance shadows on the wall thrown there by streetlights as they have always done since the first day I slept next to you.  As you sleep, I watch them twist and rest.

Sensual Sunday – Bodice Ripper Train Ride

Sensual Sunday is a weekly sensual micro-story, poem or word association. It’s mostly sexy writing practice. I encourage others to do Sensual Sunday – share your links with me!

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This is a bit longer than a micro-story so we’ll just call it a short story. This is in the erotica category, so it’s NSFW. It is a rough draft. I have not gone through to do edits. I am still working on tense shifting, so I try hard these days not to shift tense in the first draft, but I have yet to manage that feat. I am sure somewhere in this story there are improper tense shifts. I can’t promise that I won’t go through and edit something if I see it later and it bothers the hell out of me. But part of these Sensual Sunday writing exercises is to push outside of my comfort zone. And leaving barely edited work hanging out there is definitely outside of my comfort zone.

Do you have any special writing exercises?  Do you have a blog where you practice?  I’d love to hear from you!

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SStrain

Lindy straightened her hat and stepped onto the train, a dainty gloved hand extended to the conductor. She placed one perfectly heeled white pump onto the first large step and felt her dress catch a draft and fly out behind her. She let out a little yelp and the conductor quickly saved her reputation by swatting the hem back towards her calves.

“Thank you,” she said, demurely. He simply nodded and touched the brim of his hat.

The train was mostly empty and it would be a long ride to Memphis from Sacramento, so once in the back she opened her small suitcase and fished for the bodice ripper her older sister had insisted she take along. She looked around, saw only a couple of passengers at least six rows up, grasped the book like a child thieving from the cookie jar and tucked it behind her back. She snapped the metal clasps closed with two satisfying pops and slunk down into her seat.

Proper young unmarried ladies just didn’t read this sort of thing. But she would be married in a few days’ time and she wanted to be prepared for the wedding night. Her mother never prepared her for the “big night” and her sister did her best to explain things. But Cora said the book would give her more detailed descriptions of what to expect. She crossed her legs, cheated her body towards the window and hunkered over the pulp as she began to read the first pages. It was long before the pirate in the story was popping a maiden’s bodice with his cutlass.

These scenes were full of words that Lindy had never seen before, but she somehow knew exactly what they meant. She devoured each page like a rich, sinful bon-bon. After a solid hour of reading, Lindy began to grow restless. She felt herself swell a number of times throughout the pages. At one point she gasped out loud. She kept shifting in her seat, trying to simultaneously ignore and relieve the ache.

After several hours of reading and the light failing, she left her car to use the lady’s room. She tidied up her dampness, feeling somewhat silly and sexy somehow. She splashed some cold water on the back of her neck and took a few deep breaths. She chided herself for allowing her hormones to get carried away, but she also couldn’t wait to get back to her seat to finish the book. She even took it to the lady’s room, only – of course – because she didn’t want anybody to find it. In all honesty, she couldn’t bear to put it down.

On her return one of the doors popped open and a man, tall and handsome and probably ten years older than she was, emerged. He was wearing a white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. A royal blue tie with green diamonds, loosened and his top button was undone. They almost collided.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said. His voice as rich as molasses. Eyes as green as emeralds. She looked down at his left hand. No ring.

Lindy felt herself start to perspire, even though the car was pleasantly cool for June. She smiled at him and pressed herself against a bit of wall as he started to squeeze by. As he did she put her hand on his torso and said, “It’s a long trip to Memphis.”

His forehead creased and he tilted his head to the side, as if trying to figure her out. He looked down at her and smiled a crooked grin and nodded, “Yes, it is.”

She held up the novel she’d been reading, a pirate on the front with a woman in a chemise draped artistically over his arm, both of them with windswept hair, the title in a lusty shade of red shouted out from the cover, Pirate Plunders Pink Pearls.

“I…I brought this book to read.” She took a deep breath and held is gaze. Her chest rising and falling and the sound of the train beginning to sound muffled the world became a single focal point – his mouth.

His face flushed. His breathing stopped for a moment. She saw his body give an almost imperceptible shiver. He let out a long breath. “Is there something I can help you with?”

She opened his compartment door, which was strewn with books and papers, turned to him and backed into it. “I can’t…you know…I can’t do everything. But I’m…well, you know. I’m getting married in a few days and I just…I want to, well…have, well, I’m kind of restless, on account of reading this book. Do you think you can help me?”

He stepped into the compartment and shut the door behind him. For a moment Lindy felt a trapped, and like she could be murdered and it would serve her right for doing something so sinful. But she was drunk with hormones and want and in a few short days she could never have sex with anybody else again. It was making all her proper pearly buttons pop.

It wasn’t long, though, before her mouth was on his and her hands were inside of his shirt, feeling all of his firm, smooth flesh. They kept their mouths pressed together as he pulled off his shirt. She pulled away to watch him remove his pants and as he took down his shorts his cock sprung forward. She gasped out loud a felt a little faint. It was longer than she thought it would be and bouncing and swaying as it stuck straight out from his body.

“Sit down,” she said. He swiped away papers and books and did as she commanded. He settled onto the cushioned portion of the first class seat.

As he watched, Lindy kicked off her shoes. She put a leg up next to him and unhooked her garter, then the other side. She pulled off the stockings and tossed them behind her, floating down like feathers, resting onto the bench seat behind her. She grinned and locked eyes with him as she reached under her dress and pulled down her panties and stepped out of them. She stepped towards him, pushing him to lean back a little and she straddled him, resting her slit along his erect cock, sandwiching it between them. The length of him was nestled in her cleft. She unbuttoned the top portion of her dress as he pushed it down around her shoulders. He nestled his face into her ample cleavage as he reached around back to remove the significant undergarment. The elastic relaxed after the popping of the fasteners and she tossed the brazier aside, holding her arms up, she let them swing free.

He looked at her, as if in awe at her rosy nipples and the beautiful milky orbs that they decorated. He hefted the glorious weight of them in his hands, cupping and lifting and repeating, as if he could never do it enough times. This made her swell so greatly between her legs she thought she might burst like an overripe berry. Skin splitting. Juices running all over. She was slick with want and began to rub back and forth against the length of his hardness. He cupped and suckled and rubbed and moaned as she pressed her hands hard against the wall behind him. The motion of the train added to the rocking motion of their rhythm.

She could feel the lust rise in her like never before and couldn’t have stopped rubbing if the train derailed. She felt as if a force of nature, as if an animal acting on instinct, her hips compelled to slide her wetness, her soft downy cleft along him. She was attached to him. Tingles ran up her spine, to her nipples, to her mound, train sounds, his hands, his mouth, all a jumble, dizzying as she rocked and rocked until she heard herself yelling and felt her thighs clasp and her spine make an arch over him as she spasmed and she felt silent, even though her mouth was wide to continue her cries.

At this moment she felt his legs tense and his body lean into hers as he thrust his hips upwards. He pushed up her skirt again, and they both watched as his seed erupted over his belly, some making it almost as far as his neck.

They were both panting as she dismounted and sat next to him. He wiped away his semen with a handkerchief and put his arm around her as she nestled into his chest where she fell asleep. He soon was sleeping, too.

Sensual Sunday – Spring Forward

Sensual Sunday is a weekly sensual micro-story, poem or word association. It’s mostly sexy writing practice. I encourage others to do Sensual Sunday – share your links with me!

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Spring Forward

Springing, showing, sliding, slipping, slowly

Budding, blooming, bouncing, bobbing,

Out, obediently, outrageously, obsessed

Popping, pink, purple, passion, persist

Firming, fragile, fractured, forward, facing

Poking, pouncing, pounding, poking, perspire

Dangling, dancing, dappled, delicious, dizzying

Tempting, touching, tearing, turgid, tenacious, temple

Worship, watching, wishing, wincing, warping

Rocking, rolling, rising, reeling

Swelling, spurting, shooting, streaming

Careening, calling, calming, collapsing

Serenely, softly, sleeping, spent, sated

Sensual Sunday – Bloom

SDF_flowers_gb_06

Soft pink petals, parting.  You pluck them.  Pastel hues, gathered into bunches.  An offering that makes me smile.  I say a tiny blessing that I trust this gift.  Once upon a time I used to get flowers from somebody else.   Receiving them never felt as pleasurable as this.  More often I felt the thorns in those offerings.  As though there was an apology in them, for things I didn’t know were happening.  Sad things, behind my back. I blink the unhappy thought away.

I smell the bouquet and and sneeze.  A tiny squeak that always elicits giggles from anybody nearby.  Your face is warm and your energy is open.  You wrap your arms around me and I bury my face in, inhaling your smells and feeling the texture of your cotton shirt against my cheek. I grasp a wrinkle of jersey in my free hand and press hard into you.

I take them to the sink and fill a faded blue glass antique jar with water.  The smell of green as I snip of blades to tidy the ends.  Dropping them into the vessel I parade them to the table, sitting them on the lace tablecloth near the tea cups resting in a puddle of sunshine.

There is beauty in these small things.  These gestures.  And the beauty blooms and grows in new ways inside of me now that so much pain is behind me.  I am not in a constant state of receiving apologies for things I don’t know that have occurred.  It is plain.  You offer a gift that you were thinking of me and I accept the gift with trust.

We lay down together, spooning in our own ray of sun.  Your hand resting in the valley of my hip.   Your breath on the back of my neck.

“Tell me a story,” I say, only slightly childish.

“Once upon a time there was a mermaid…” you begin a tale made from familiar places and happy endings as I drift off to sleep.

SS_bloom

Sensual Sunday – Candy Apple Kisses

Sensual Sunday is a weekly sensual observation or short story.


SS_carnival

He bought me a candy apple.  The kind with the hard glossy coating and I smiled coyly as he presented it to me.  It was fancy, for a carnival apple, wrapped elegantly with a bow closing it at the top.  I stuck my finger inside one of the red and white gingham loops and traced it with my finger.  I twirled one of the loose ends and tugged, popping the ribbon free.  He held his hand out and I dropped it into his palm, as though it were a pair of my panties.  As he watched, I peeled the sticking wrapper away from the treat, enjoying the crinkle of the genuine cellophane.  My smile was toothy and joyful now, as I felt my teasing kitten routine falter for a moment.  As soon as I put tongue to the apple’s sweet coating, I turned my eyes up at him.  He smiled, proud he’d pleased me.  I thought about kneeling right there on the pavement and unzipping his jeans.  Pulling him out and putting candy apple kisses all over it.  My tender knees on the bumpy biting asphalt.  People stopping to stare.  Couples getting turned on and rushing home to fuck each others’ brains out.  I ran my lips across the damp sticky lollipop surface and stepped in to kiss him.  We stood there, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, the lights and whirling sounds and chatter of people all around us.  He pressed against me so hard I thought I would fall over.  I could feel him hard, right through his jeans, and I was aching to touch him there.  We held each other tightly as he licked the sticky cherry flavoring from my lips.  He’s usually a shy boy, so he pulled away when he noticed people stopping, furrowing their brows and giving us disapproving looks.  Not much later that evening we would sneak into my basement rec-room while my parents slept innocently two floors above us.

Sensual Sunday

I love doing themes!  Particularly those with alliteration – like Wonderful Word Wednesday.  It’s motivating and inspires me to push myself a bit.  I want to try Sensual Sunday posts.  Essentially, I’ll post about something sensual– that is to say, anything pleasurable.  Most will likely have an erotic bent to them.

Inaugural SS – enjoy.

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erotic_sensual_coffee

The smell of coffee on a lazy morning.  I watch as he stands naked in the kitchen, making the brew.  Sunlight pours in the large window, highlighting hipbones, collarbones, knees and shoulders.  The soft down on the back of his neck, where it is warm and a good place to kiss, tickles my nose as I nuzzle, eyes closed.  He smells of spicy conditioner and cotton pillowcases.

He sets the heavy mug down, making a soft thud when it connects with the counter.  He turns and I can see he is ready to return to bed, not to sleep.  His hands hold my face as he bends to meet my mouth with his. We breathe each other in for a moment.  Without a word, his hand slides down my arm, clasps my hand and leads me to his bed.