i wait for him to finish his shower, steam escaping into our bedroom like tropical mist, reminding me how cold it is. i am calm and breathing deeply. i feel self conscious in my jammie pants and sweat shirt, maybe i should change into lingerie. the water stops and large droplets fall from the faucet, announcing the end of his shower. several steps and he is there. using the towel to ruffle dry his short chop of hair, he dresses, even though i plan to undress him several minutes later.

throwing the heavy comforter aside, he cozies in beside me. kiss of lips, kisses on neck, sucking of breath, escaped sighs, touches of tongue; the dance has begun. clothes disappear and damp flesh presses to flesh. from foreplay to hard and fast. loving long, greedy and hard. i cry out and melt. he collapses. we linger.


Sex Positive!

i’m not here to tell you what to do with your saucyparts or your goods, but we all need to finally realize that being SEXY and SEXUAL is for everyone- no matter what body type, shape, gender, sexual preference or part of the rainbow! boy parts, girl parts, dirtybits, trans, no-no spots, special purposes, whatever!

because we all need a little boost now and again- here are some AMAZING sex positive tumblrs!
i guarantee you’ll find something to make you smile! (among other things.) ENJOY!

oh- and these are SERIOUSLY nsfw- so wait until you get home where you can (ahem) view these with more privacy *coughs*… because you will!

love your body! love yourself! be sexy! be pervy!
(didnt i just say i wasnt going to tell you what to do? but these are good things- and you should do them!)


Reflections of Sin

by Dean Mcmanus

They like to experiment.
New things are common in their bedroom these days. James has always been more favorable to the vanilla, but Thomas likes to spice things up. Nothing as of yet has made them regret it. Though he’d been more than vocal in his appreciation for the idea of a mirror – a huge one, at that – at the foot of their bed.
Thomas had put a stop to his idea of it on the ceiling. There’s kinky and there’s tacky.
He’s likin’ this too though. His lover on his knees at the edge of the bed, back straight and pressed to James’ front. Whereas Thomas’ bare, James is still wearing his belt and jeans, and it gives a surreal sort of awareness when Tom remembers that fact. James’ got an arm around his waist, helping to keep him upright, and his lover’s got one arm lifted and wrapped around James’ neck, the hand on the opposite arm braced on one of the denim-clad hips behind him. Their eyes meet and hold in the mirror across from them as he mouths at the curve of a pale shoulder. Fingers are slick and sure as they grip and pull, up and down and back again. No tricks, just the bare basics to get his lover going.
Slowly, as the minutes pass, the bare chest in full view begins to heave, a thin sheen of sweat dusting his collarbone and a drop of it traveling in the hollow behind Thomas’ ear. James catches it on his tongue, feeling the vibration of the moan his lover releases as he does so.
Still he doesn’t speed up, he doesn’t move things further, he doesn’t allow Tom to do so either. He brings him to the edge and then stops, over and over again until Thomas has forgotten that English is in his repertoire, until he’s cursing and begging in every language he knows.
They progress when James nudges those hips with his own, and releases the hold he has on him. Quick on the uptake, Thomas moves and braces his hands on the dresser that holds the mirror up, precariously balanced between the space of flooring that separates their bed and the other furniture.
The drag of the zipper is almost deafening, but the moan Thomas gives when James finally gives what he’s been asking for is the best sound by far. Needy and frantic, hips have little to no rhythm. Their eyes are still held in the reflective surface only inches from them, and they only close when the long awaited release is nearly ripped from each of them.
Later, soaking in the afterglow and catching their breath, James stops the trail of kisses he’d been leaving over a spine that still occasionally shivers to murmur: “We’re totally keeping the mirror.”
Thomas’ laughter is just as sated as his own, so he’s okay with it.

About the author- “I’m twenty-three and I live in a small town in Texas. I started writing erotica at a young age, mostly through online roleplaying until I could gather my footing and confidence to do it on my own. I was an English Major during my time in college and hope to be going back to that soon. I have a family of my own, including a four year old stepson that keeps me busy.
I love to write in my free time, and I just hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do.”

When I Used to Love

by Mr. Wolf

I used to love…
When he would hold and kiss me
When times were better
When we didn’t care who saw
When we just discovered our feelings
When I found him again on Facebook
When he told me he loved me
When we held hands
When we held each other
When we slept in each other’s arms
When I was 17 and he was 20
When we were a grade apart
When we were in the JROTC
When we made love for the first time
When we cuddled in the backseat
When time knew no bounds for us
When we were two kids in love
When our hearts were synchronized
When our souls were one

Then…the heartbreak
When I found out he wasn’t the one
When he left me for someone else
When I used to love


“Mr. Wolf,” was born and raised in Detroit, MI. He graduated from Cass Technical High, but still hangs around with his younger friends from time to time. He’s 18, and has his share of hustles to get by. He loves to write and debate. He is also a Liberal Republican, defending both the NRA and gay marriage. He’s bisexual, and looking for his love once again. This poem is based on his relationship with a former schoolmate, and the first time he was in a relationship with another guy.

night out.

by *Miss Theresa*lips

“pure evil,” she said. “pure evil. i dont even know what i am going to do with you.”

she had me pinned up against the wall, so i had some ideas. i had one hand in her hair, guiding her, helping her in any way that i could, and the other on the bookshelf next to me. it was like some demented version of Twister- only instead of “Right foot- red, ” it was “Right hand-wall. Left hand- lover’s head.”

she had her mouth on my pussy and was hellbent on making me cum. obviously, this wasnt a problem. i just wasnt sure how this little mid-dinner fuck happened. the evening started off innocently. a little dinner, a little schmoozing, a lot of wine, you know, apretty standard friday night in pittsburgh. and then she walked in. the air was smoky but soon became electrified. now, i’m not talking romance novel-electric. or cheesy porn- wannabe-electric. i mean, ELECTRIC-ELECTRIC. all smoldering and hot in my pants- electric.

was it her? was it the wine? was it my constantly overreacting libido? who knew? it didnt much matter, because i wanted her. and i wanted her badly. more than that- i wanted her mouth on my pussy. not a bad way to start a night, right?

and then another SHE walked in.
and my night got even more interesting….


by *Miss Theresa*

It is also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that’s sitting right here right now…
with its aches and its pleasures…
is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive.
-Pema Chodron

they sat on the porch together, in silence, leaves rustling all around.
she focused on a leaf that fell from one of the tallest trees in front of them, and watched as it fell slowly, gracefully to the ground.

the trees were the richest of reds and the color of juicy pears. she took her then, right there in the daylight. sun streamed through her hair making her squint as she focused on a place on her luscious neck. freckles and fine blonde hair. wispy winds blew across their ears as a delicious warm patch of saliva and sweat appeared at the base of her lover’s neck. her breasts were quickly freed with a jerk of her shirt over her head. the sun played across those breasts as more winds gusted about, dimpling and puckering her playfully soft and supple skin.

leaves gusted about, crackling and whooshing about their feet, trying to get a glimpse of their lovemaking, trying to become part of their delicious autumn memories. she wished then for an apple, moist and crunchy, to feed to the one she cherished. to tempt her, to tease her aching lips, to lure her to close her eyes, offering a bite but then kissing her mouth instead. but with no apple, her lips, soft as the sunshine beating down on their necks, would be her temptation, her treat; a delicious reward for the something they shared.

“it has never been like this with anyone before. i know this sounds cliche, whatever. think what you want, but i mean it. this is new.”

i did not think that i could ever be satisfied by just one.
all of the girls that i had been with until her- always left me wanting more. feeling forever still unsatisfied… wanting more than anything to come with someone; it just never was there. with other lovers i might as well have just gotten myself off for as nothing as our lovemaking was.

my first impression of her as she went down on me was that she indeed knew what she was doing and i would have done anything for her not to stop. ever.
she was not out to impress me, or get me off as quickly as possible, or do anything more than what she was doing… she definitely enjoyed it and seemed content lapping my cunt all night.

the first time we screwed was actually our first night together and it was veryvery hot because we were strangers and we were drunk and we were horny from dancing…..
we were making out fabulously, her always trying to control me through my mouth- taking control with her tongue, with her lips always just slightly more forceful than mine- always an erotic struggle- a dangerous but easily fun-filling game to play.

there was not as much kissing of my breasts or neck or throat like i was used to.. but to be honest, i was more focused on getting her tongue in my pussy. she touched my crotch and started manipulating me skillfully and effortlessly- seeming to enjoy her vantage point from down below as i squirmed and moaned. i was already close to coming and i started to grow disappointed that our first time would be her just fingerfucking me. i was getting closer to coming when she just stopped….

just stopped…. and i let out a whimper of disappointment… and she said mercilessly, “sucks, dont it” and laughed. i agreed, but it was obvious that she had an agenda- one that i was willing to accomodate. i would have done anything at that moment for her to tongue my slit. i felt what she could do with her fingers and knew her tongue would have much more to say to my shuddering body. i came twice and i remember her resting her mouth on my thigh- highly erotic- pornstar type stuff- looking up at me, kissing me still, flicking her tongue over my moist wet folds. and in the most fucking seductive voice i have ever heard, “You want more?”

i was riding the ripples of coming down and i did not want to ruin it. i fell blissfully asleep- but only after she kissed me hard on the mouth- slightly sucking the breath from me.

Ten Seconds

by *Miss Theresa*

Ten seconds to the point of contact. Electric stares; the kind that turn your stomach to jello… Eye contact connecting, breaking. Wanting to look into his eyes, but not brave enough to do so for more than a second. Quick upturned glances; looking just long enough to see him smirk, making blood boil then freeze. An arm’s length away, yet a universe-sized distance apart. Lips too far away to kiss, but smoldering eyes fasten me into his personal space.

I fuss with a paper scrap and dare to look again. His held is tilted with a quirky confidence, making me wonder if it is all just an act of false bravado.

He stares. He smirks. He waits. He teases. He waits some more. He makes me weak in the knees and turns me upside down. I feel like every clichéd love song and every sappy movie enjoyed by giggling lovelorn ladies. I feel impossibly goofy.

Nine seconds to contact. Just several breaths away.

Eight… seven…

He looks at her, wanting nothing but to touch his lips to her petalsoftness. It is imprinted in his eyes. He doesn’t want to make love to her. Not just yet. He just wants to taste her breath. He wants to feel the lifeblood of her lips. He wants to touch the tip of his tongue to the fragrance of her neck and fuse their separateness. He wants to melt into her.

Six… unconsciously we move closer together. I can smell his cologne, and open myself to it, to the glorious deep deliciousness of it, and knowing distance between us is decreasing.

Five… four… three… we move closer still, somehow. And closer still, as if gravity was pushing them together. And closer.

Two… he stares and I stare. The awkwardness is deathly sexy, which only makes things feel like guilt. We both smirk and snicker and feel like schoolchildren. Our eyes lock and release, and I welcome all of the background distractions. I enjoy the intensity of the unfulfilled passion, but wish it to end.

One… somehow we are “right there.” So very “right there.” Our eyes lock and release again, and he reaches to me for the first time. We have reached the point of contact. We are solely in the moment. And I expect him to touch my face, my neck, my cheek, but instead, his fingertips play through the ends of my hair. He half strokes, half sweeps the wispy ends of the heavy fullness. This simple unexpected act dizzies me, emptying my lungs of breath, my bones of marrow, and my heart of blood. Time stops.

I look down to witness his strong hands playing through the straightwave of curls which are the color of blackcherry soda. He caresses just the ends, fearing to move up further, not wanting to break this entrancing moment. Tangible shockwaves of restraint keep his fingers from following the tresses to the source. It is maddening. My lips pulse. My heart thumps. I watch his fingers lace and coil through the ends, just the ends of my hair, through the texture of melted chocolate.

His self control is overwhelming. His confidence is deadly. His smirky smile is sex. He plays these cards without thinking and I flounder, fully lost in this moment. He is content to just be in my personal space and touch my hair as if this act is desire-come-to-reality.

His full hand is in my hair, and softly tugging, as if plucking a juicy apple from a treebranch. Not quite a pull, not quite a grasp, my brain short circuits and I struggle not to crumple to the floor. I can feel him playing there as if my tresses are nerve endings. Testing me, touching, trusting, trying, forever registering my reaction; waiting for acknowledgement. Confirmation, permission or even a possible hint of discomfort. My legs are incapable of holding me steady as his hand continues to relish this luxury.

I look at him, his face crackly silver sparks all aimed at me, and with a now-or-never attitude I say, “any more of that and I wont say ‘no’ to anything you want of me.”

A half-raised eyebrow and he breathes out, “that’s the idea” and grabs a handful of hair from the nape of my neck and pulls me into his intimate space placing his mouth just inches from mine. I was breathless upon breathless. No air but his flowing into me. I swallow his desire for me in that instant.

Our lips weren’t touching, but I could feel him on me. His hand stayed in my hair, now a tangle of fingers and flounce. He whispered out and into my mouth “does this make you nervous?”
“Of course not,” I lie, I fake.
“What about this?” He scrums his fingers on the flesh of my scalp, neck and nape, all the while holding me, still, controlled, his.
“Not really.” I muster.
“This?” He pulls me closer still, and with a handful of my hair, he tilts my head and smiles deliciously. Daring me.

My lips twitch. My lips want. My eyes wander. We smile dangerously. This is the instantkill. This is-.

We reach the point of no return as his other hand goes to the small of my back and guides me the last inch to him. I exhaleinhalexhaleinhale… Warmcreamy mouth on mine. His hand pulls and stretches my hair pushing me, pulling me to the place where his mouth can explore my soul.

I feel him exhaleinhalexhaleinhale as if he is pleased that this was all planned.

Our tongues move and our lips twitch, and heat is exchanged in our kiss. The bright room is now black ink and I can see nothing as my eyes want to cheat me of his face. Although it is full daylight, the city behind us twinkles and shimmers as day has turned to night upon the initial moment that our lips touched.

Our passion is a mushroom cloud bellowing out from our locked embrace. An out of control brushfire sucked into a vacuum of our intimate space. The force of a rainforest downpour. The perfection of a fanning peacock on full display. The joy of a favorite song playing JUST when you need it. The pinnacled bliss of every “happily ever after.” And this was only from lips touching and clothed bodies pressed to the other’s. But his was THE ultimate kiss. The simultaneous “ah” from a crowd immersed in the grand finale of fireworks when the sky is exploding purple and goldflame and silver shimmer and tinkling, falling, sizzling sparks. The moment was ours. And in that moment we wrote sonnets, and swam oceans. In mere seconds we traveled beyond any place on a map, and learned things no person could teach us. But in ten seconds more, his hands were no longer in my hair, his mouth, not on mine, and no sonnets were written. We were back to what we were moments before. We were just two people afraid to lose themselves in each other, too afraid to take that leap. Two people that had no idea what they were missing in those ten seconds, never reaching that point of contact, the ten seconds to an opportunity that they would never get back.