beauty, love, poetry, sex, women


Icebergs melt

Faster than the

Gentle press of my lips

Against yours

Stood together

Each time your tongue

Steals into my mouth

I lose my mind a little

And the smell of you

Sweet and wild

Is in my veins like a drug

Urgent with it

My fingers wrap around your

Wrists like cuffs

Tense and tender with the slow

Draw of lips and tongue

As my hands discover the truth

Of you

Firm and mine



I take the edge from the day

Nothing hurts you

But me and when I do

It’s because you ask me to

Playful requests studded by sighs

Of languid pleasure

As we whisper anticipation

Into one another’s skin

love, men, poetry


The plants

Are winning

And the part of me

Which fought,

Lost and retreated

Wants to roll up

My sleeves and fix it all

The scrapes and cuts

Studded along my arms

But it’s not my war to fight

And the only fallen comrade

Is in the mirror

But the guilt

Wraps itself

Snaking across the trellis

Of my bones

And it squeezes with

The strength of regret

Even as I know, had I stayed,

I would have hung

Dessicated from the vines

But there were flowers there


But not mine to tend to

I’d tell you this

How I’ve learned from

The wreckage I caused

That the man I am

Started here but has

Found fresh soil

In which to bloom

And if I’m sometimes

Too much action

Then you’d understand

How I lived and fought

Before, that inaction

Builds like plaque

And with you

I’m not that man any longer

And yet I still look

To show the depth of feeling

Within me without

Turning you away

So, to hearts garden

Where the plants grow

Trimmed and cultivated

And there I sit

Waiting for you.

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Test my strength

In the dark

Handling you with firm, direct care

Moving against me,

Guided by the voices of my lust,

Howling through my bones

Damp with sweat

Pinned to the bed

And used until you are full

This is how I love,

A pearlescent bullet

Fired from the depths of me

A primitive place

Decorated with twisted garlands of reason

Manners and decorum to hide

The glint of fangs in the moonlight

Send me away,

I will return to you

And in the meantime

Here as I plunge into you

My fingers in your mouth

Tracing the outlines of your face

Lost to my authority

With a skill which has you screaming

Buck against me

I can handle you just fine.


beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women


Subtle balance

Between need and want

The slow dive of awakening skin

Sunrises and sunsets between us

In the dark, teasing pleasure

With the brush of fingers

A collaboration and a surrender

Familiar enough to allow

For a depth of contact

A transfer of chemicals

Hormones swallowed by flesh

Shipped by thought

And as I empty

I refuel, revive

And all the next day

The mundane studded with

Precious recollections of






love, poetry, women

all of it

I’m dogged

Having learned

You only fail if you quit

Pull the pebbles from my

Shoe and keep going

So here I am

And I view this

As with my writing

That it’s something I can develop

As a craft

Like chords on a piano

Clumsy at first

I’ve played melodies

Before but you

You’re symphonic

And sometimes I’ll play bass

Here for the silences

Themselves parts of the whole

The ten second kisses

And the way I’ll listen to you

Without waiting for my turn

To speak

I’m the rough parts

Burnished by pressures

Within and without

But how my hands tremble

When I think

Moments and minutes



Private jokes

All of it

Fucking all of it.

beauty, erotic writing, love, lust, sex, women

when you were naughty

My fingers close on your jaw, firm but gentle as you try to look away. The space between us seethes with unspoken tension and my voice, when it comes, is a bass growl. The sight of you calls out a playful dominance in me.


‘You’re mine, baby girl.’


You quiver, but my arm around your waist holds you firm as your legs shake.


‘Yes, Daddy.’


A finger brushes over your lips. An intense curiosity comes over me. My mouth moves to your ear, the soft brush of my beard is reassuring against your cheek and my voice travels through you.


‘Have you been a good girl?’


You nod. My fingers slide down either side of your neck where they squeeze. Your pulse is fast and hard against my grip. You whimper as I squeeze, whilst I stare into your eyes.


‘Are you sure?’


You shake your head and I growl, drawing close.


‘I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ve tried to be good.’


You confess you’ve been touching yourself without permission. My mouth is dry with lust, controlled but ragged by how aroused I am.


My right hand unbuttons the front of your jeans. You try to pull back but my hand on your throat holds you in place. The heat comes off you in waves, and I stroke the soft, warm skin of your stomach then let my fingertips graze over the silk of your panties. The dichotomy of dominance and the gentle, playful way I touch you inform each moment. Here, flushed with arousal, we slip off the yoke of responsibility and obligation in favour of playing with one another.


I slip my fingers inside your panties and graze them over the warm curve of your pussy.


No, my pussy. You shiver as I massage you in slow, careful circles and enjoy the damp heat which gathers at my touch.


‘Whose pussy is this?’


You gasp and push your hips towards me. Desire glazes your eyes, and each stroke of my fingers draws out thunderclouds of a want across the sky of your eyes.


‘Yours, Daddy.’


You whimper and my fingers find your clit, throbbing and erect as you shudder and lean back, liquefying by degrees. You give a small, wry smile.


‘I know what you’re doing, Daddy.’


Without losing my rhythm, I let go of your throat and bring my hand to the hair on the back of your head and twist it between my fingers. You make a small cry from the back of your throat and I continue to stroke you as you look at me.


‘You do?’


You clutch at me, whimpering as my fingers move against your tender, sopping flesh. Your thighs open and your head goes back.


‘Remember to ask permission.’


A choked cry escapes between your gritted teeth and my grip on your hair tightens as I growl at you to look at me.


‘Please Daddy.’


The world has reduced to sensation and attention. Beneath my fingers, you’re soaking wet and the electric glide of flesh makes me careful and inventive. I use the ball of my thumb against your clit whilst I hook a finger up and massage the rough pad of flesh at the top of my pussy. You moan, sweet and low, as you ask permission to come.




You buck against me but I laugh it off as I lean forwards.


‘This happens when you disobey me.’


My brooding eyes lock with yours as flashes of savage pleasure twist through you as the blood rushes to your skin.


You tell me you’re sorry, over and over.


Flushed and quivering with abandon, you ask and I refuse. You are lost to the power of my touch, and what it evokes within you. It focuses every inch of you on my fingers, between your legs and at the back of your head. Here, you are safe to take flight within yourself, despite my prohibition.


I deny you for a third time. Something forces you to let go. Your nails dig into the meat of my shoulders as you cry out, flooding my fingers with a gushing, deep warmth.


I watch your face, tears beading in the corners of your eyes and press my palm against my pussy, grounding you to the moment as you hold on sobbing with relief.


‘Thank you, Daddy.’


I stroke your hair. I’m silent, letting my touch speak to the tenderness you inspire. I keep you close, feeling your heart thumping in your chest as you squeeze against me. You fit into me, a heated, tearful complement and penitent enough I forgive your transgression. You whisper into my ear.


‘Daddy, I want you inside me.’


You unbuckle my belt, and I slide my jeans off my legs as you wrap your fingers around the shaft of my cock as we kiss. Your lips close around my tongue and you suckle it, moaning at the surprising joy as I tug down your underwear and jeans until they’re in a tangle around your ankles. Pure need has you turned around, with your firm, pale buttocks offered. I take the head of my cock and guide it between your thighs. The contact makes me sigh and you lift your hips to take me inside you. The taut, molten river of my pussy welcomes me. There are tentative strokes, adjustments made like an unconscious list of demands, drives given control and made urgent by the need for release.


I chase the oblivion in hard, fierce strokes pushing you against the counter as I make it hurt in the ways we both need. Lost in the wonder of your flesh, I pull your hair and thrust into you with a rapid, muscular violence as we lock into a tight, fierce knot of slapping bodies and whatever noises escape the inexorable gravity of our desire.


‘I‘m going to come, baby girl.’


She reaches back for me, urging me deeper.


‘Please, Daddy.’


There is no finesse but there is grace in how the orgasm breaks me over its knee, spurting and spilling inside you with a force which makes my eyes roll back in my head. You push back against me, keeping every drop of me inside you with a junkie’s need. This chemical connection made flesh brings out something animal. Free of shame and awkwardness. I lean forwards, bringing my arms around you, breathing you in like smoke as you chuckle with delight.


‘You’re such a bad Daddy.’


Your voice is a low, smoky rasp as I kiss you on the cheek and tell you I know.

beauty, love, poetry, sex, women

playing the game

Dust doesn’t have time

To settle on the board

Pieces moved too often

To allow for this to ossify

You are mine.

An object, a vessel of my desire

Yet you do not sit on a shelf,

Out of reach and almost out of sight

Stared at until the attention

Causes hairline cracks in the subtle play

Of your spirit

No, you sit in my hands,

Used and given meaning in the use,

Taken with such slow grace

Ravished as the want makes me rapacious,

You, ache and push towards each stab

Of my warm, soft lips

My attention is subject to my own approval

Purpose given room to develop

A will reinforced by circumstance and decision

But I sit at the board,

Pay attention at the moves we make

With one another

We will play

Dance to break down hierarchies

Rebuild them in the loving heat

Of our invention