Tagged: H.I.


The winds they howl; screaming, crying, lashing the cold, hard rain against the glass, uprooting earth and flowers and trees, destroying the material world once so solid beneath my feet.

The winds they howl; wailing, moaning, breathing life into this torment, this longing that tears mercilessly at this woman wanton, that whispers cruelly into the long, deep dead of night, that caresses me with the sweet gruffness of his voice, the sound of my name on his lips, the weight of his body bearing down, his thick hard beguiling flesh, the hands possessing me tight, the touch, the kiss, the fire setting me free.

The winds they howl; groaning, yelling, words of dissonance, of resonance, remainders, reminders of the feelings that make perfect yet little sense, that flood my mind with its complexity, that knot my stomach, that seize my heart, that capture my skin and flesh and cunt and soul, racing, pulsing, pounding with its simplicity, that have me crazed and yearning, that have me wanting him, wanting us, needing you in every way, in every way I have imagined, in every way this passion has yet to conceive.

The winds they howl; the winds they howl. My love for you, the winds they howl.


If you only knew what I’d give right now to have you hold me, to have you want to hold me, to hold me tight, to hold me close, to hold me like you’ll never let me go, to hold me until day becomes our velvet night, to hold me until the first rays of the morning light, to hold me until our heat turns into fire, our fire into ash, this ash into earth and flesh and blood and sweat and come, to hold me until our breath and kiss and delirious passion become one.


It’s almost late; it’s almost ten, the quiet of the night finally setting in. And the only thing I want right now is you in my bed.

On this night, I need its softness, your hardness, its crisp clean whiteness, your naked body spread out before me on the pristine purity I long to soil with our sweat, our slick, our come. On this night, I want to take you slowly, sensually, my impatience this once contained as I kiss you lightly, deeply, my lips and tongue tasting, devouring, my nose inhaling, drowning in your scent, my gaze tracing, my hands mapping, these fingers brushing, possessing, my cunt enveloping, acquiescing, my hips gliding, riding, your cock, your heat caressing, overtaking, our passion climbing, cresting, your deep voice groaning, your deep voice calling, your hot seed splashing, my fiery glisten coating, our spent bodies curling, entwining, our spent bodies even then ever yearning, my senses committing, memorising your power, your desire, your flesh, my senses drinking, drifting, falling, dreaming of the body magnetic, of the man by my side whose sweet, mellifluous breath leaves me in a daze.

The Absence of Measure

I can’t be measured. I can’t be measured with you. Not with you.

I try, I do try, but I fail miserably, each and every time. In the face of you, my carnality, my sensuality rises up, forcing its way through my skin, tearing at my flesh, dizzying my mind, shredding the seams of my impatience, my rationality, my experience of time. In the face of you and your body and your passions and your words, I am aflame.

In the end, it is this flame, this fire, my fury, my fervour that has burnt us right up for the very last time. And in its wake there is nothing but the need to guard and shield and hide this flesh, this heart, this vulnerability away, to paper over the fissure of desire you cruelly and tenderly tore open wide, to find my way through the tears and this pain to the love and the lust and the home of man I hunger and crave.

Love’s Cartography

If I coaxed your body down with my sweet words, with this sultry voice, if I ran my clear blue gaze along your naked craving flesh, if I confessed my need with desire and honesty, with the blinding ache you so easily inspire, would you allow me to chart your flesh, to trace and map, to feel you, to fuck you, to make love to you, to grasp the ins and outs of you, to know you with lightness and precision, with soft lips and trembling fingers, with the warmth of this fair skin, with the deep, hot kiss of my velvet cunt?

Would you indulge me, darling lover, this sensual quest, this erotic exploration, would you offer up this of man passion I yearn for as no other?

In The Crowd

I see you everywhere.

I see you in the city crowd, around each bustling corner, in the sea of men dressed in their finery, moving swiftly, sauntering languidly, meeting in cafes, waiting at lights, recognising your eyes, your mouth, your gait, your frame, the heady mix of your cologne and your freshly showered skin.

I see you in flashes and grabs in these strangers before me, I hear your voice somehow through theirs, your voice deep and accented, your voice hoarse with desire, your voice erotically soft, your voice drifting through the wintry breeze, taunting me, calling me, summoning my body, impelling me to follow it, to follow you through the suited throng to a quiet little place, a quiet modest room, a room with a bed and a window and an unassuming view, a room to christen with the libations of our frenzied coupling, a room to fill with the sounds of our sensual union, a room for just us two.

I see you. I see you everywhere in the crowd, on the street, in this bright, shiny city of mine.


This body, this relentlessly craving, whimpering body, it calls to you, calls for you, night and day, day and night, through the light of the sun and the beam of the moon and the soft tick and the deafening tock, it calls and begs and pleads for you, for you and your hands and your touch, it whispers, it howls, it calls to savour your lips, it calls for a taste of your kiss, it calls and recalls in a dizzying and ruthless act of remembrance your face, your eyes, your mouth, the sweet rumble that brings me to my knees, your body, your body, you, you, you there and here, you then and now and soon after, facing me, beside me, pressed sensually, firmly into me, hovering above, spread out for our unbounded pleasure beneath.

This flesh, this skin, this feminine suppleness, this subtle warmth turned blazing fire, this breathy, sultry song, this cunt, my cunt, your cunt, the cunt belonging, the cunt longing, the cunt pulsing, swelling, blooming, shining bright, it weeps its want, it drips its desire, it instinctively pours its honeyed pungency fusing silk and satin and lace to this ache, it calls, it overwhelms this space, this place, this room, hoping to find you, hoping to steal you away, to lead you back to me, instinctively leading you by this imperceptible thread, guiding your hunger awakened and unsated, bringing you to my fair, lean legs spread wide, hips pushed deep into the bed, the crisp cotton already listless under the damp heat of my lust, my breasts heaving, nipples hard and darkened peaks, one arm stretched taut grasping, grasping, reaching for the blood and muscle and bone and hard, urgent fleshly throb of your seductive force, stroking the slick, stroking your thick uncut cock, the other nestled along the curve of my arching form, its hand, its fingers parting my folds, circling my nub, two fingers familiar sinking right in, two fingers transformed under the darkness of your gaze, two fingers fucking, two fingers crooked, fingering, fucking the streaming depths of this sex, fingering, fucking with vigour and strength, fingering, fucking, my body on the brink, my body shivering and frayed and torn open, released to you, exposed, bared, in screaming shreds.

This woman, this woman of appetites primal, of sensual yearning, this woman in the glass, this woman that is me, she calls to you, she calls for you, though her language deficient and incomplete, she calls for you, I call for you, for your mouth to feed and mine to swallow, for the tangle of limbs and lips and tongues, for the body of man, for his flesh, for the flesh, oh God, your flesh, for the hard and muscular, highlighted with shadows of curls wiry, for the masculine in scent and line and tone, for the infinite possibilities you inspire, for the possibilities decimating all rational thought, for your love making on a rainy, winter’s afternoon, for our clothes tugged aside as we fuck against the cool of a wall, for the alleyway and movie theatre, for the car speeding down the straight, smooth, glowing highway, for the insatiable hunger that thrusts, that binds us together, for my slight body astride, my thighs tight around your torso, your pulsating shaft parting the lips, nudging the portal of life, your meat stretching and perfecting the velvet so willing and tender, for the moan, for the groan as you fill me to the brim, for the bodies in sync, in rhythm, in dance, for the sounds of my rising and falling, rising and falling and slipping under your spell, for your dominance to sweep and assault, for your hands to force and grind this cunt ever nearer, for your hips to slam and pound the climax clear and blinding right out of us, for my hands around your head bringing you closer, closer, ever closer to the want and the need, to these sweet, whispering lips, to the mewl and the breath and the pure, base affirmations as I come, as you come, as we come, as your seed and my glisten, as your man and my woman become one.


Be the warmth, be the breath, be the kiss on my soft lips, be the mouth swallowing my rapture, feeding from this shiny bliss.

Be the touch, be the hands, be the fingers weaving through these tresses, be the body I reach out for, the flesh pressed against my suppleness.

Be the smoke, the flame, the fire, be possession and surrender, be the one who gives and takes with softness, lightness, with hard, deep, growling intent.

Be the brave, the unafraid, the being you yearn and need to be, the easy and the intricate, the erotic and the carnal, be that man with me.

Be my junk, be my jones, be my everlasting addiction, the obsession that shatters, slays, destroys me, the passion that revives, refines, perfects.

Be the throb, the ache, the pain, be the cure, the panacea, be my relief, be my remedy, be my medicine.

And I’ll be yours.

Ignorance’s Bliss

In the hours and days and weeks that slide imperceptibly away, in the grip of his fire, in the face of his presence, in the space of his absence, in the past tense of his desire, she realises with an almost painful clarity that this is no longer a game. She realises that he is unlike any other, that he is the man of flesh and blood and word and passion, the man ideal, the man flawed that she has always longed to meet. He is the man, he is that man, the one who inspires thoughts profound and profane, who speaks to her erotic and carnal longings, who pierces a place deep inside her she can barely acknowledge, let alone articulate.

She knows this now; knows it her bones, in her cunt and her heart and her soul.

She knows this just as she knows she will soon be forgotten, replaced, leaving the barest whisper of a trace. She knows this just as she knows she will never be that woman for him, he will never want her as she wants him, he will never want in the inquisitive, complex and complete ways that overtake her as the sun shines bright, that taunt her in the darkness, in her dreaming even as she prays to forget, that sweep over her petite form as she splays her legs wide, as she grinds her hips, her palm into her throbbing sex, as she nudges the flimsy cotton aside and spreads her bright lips to circle the nub of her purest pleasure, as she pushes in one digit, then two, then three, as she fingers, as she fucks with animal abandon, with feminine sensuality, her moans, her raged breath bringing him back to life once again, her moans, her murmurs placing him right before her eyes, by her side, her moans, her murmurs, her call to him flooding her ears with his voice, her mouth with his kiss, her senses with his skin and weight and burning need, her moans, her murmurs, her call, her cry binding, enslaving, plunging her headlong into the abyss shadowed and blinding.

As the sheen on her bare, shivering body glistens in the low, winter light, she knows this; she knows all of this. And how she wishes instead for ignorance’s bliss.


With each utterance, with each exhaled breath and lingering look, with each touch aching, light, caress bruising, possessing, with each brush of your lips, each languid, searching kiss, with every inch of your body pressed into my nakedness, with every plunge, every thrust, every stroke of your thick aroused flesh, with every whisper, every groan, every pulse, every beat of the muscle in your broad, heaving chest, you draw me in, you hold me tight, you drown me in your danger, you seduce me anew.