blistered lips

Mary’s queer, the kids said. She’s fat and queer and stupid and ugly.

They made fun of her crush on Michelle, the class princess. Teased her, taunted her, harassed her. Called her Pussy Breath and Muff Diver. Michelle laughed it off, even was kind to Mary — at least when no one was around to see.

So long ago and far away, yet the scars linger, fading and blooming as childhood wounds forever do.

This is Manhattan. This is today. Now see Mary:

Tall and blonde, successful and happy. Loved by Elizabeth who kisses the scars on those rare occasions when they make an appearance. Mary is making love to Elizabeth in the bed of a thousand roses. That’s what they call it, after the rose petals, Elizabeth’s romantic gesture on their first anniversary.

Mary is touching the quiet slope of her lover’s breast, watching the goose flesh quiver in response. She runs her thumbnail across the raspberry nipple, watching it spring from under the enamel edge. Elizabeth moans, whispers, I love you. Mary knows this is true, yet it still fills her with wonder, with awe, that love runs this deep, this true for her.

I love you, too, she whispers back, spreading Elizabeth’s legs. Let me show you how much. I am going to make you cum with my mouth, darling.

She lowers her face to the moist labia before her. Ever so slowly, just so she can savor the scent of her lover’s arousal.

Somewhere far away a woman named Michelle — whose story is of sadness and betrayal, and not to be told here — would give all to be loved like Mary for just one day.

pretty things
the things that make us dream
and pray and sing and dance

this is you

my prettiest thing of all

i shall drape you ’round my neck
or wind you through the tresses of my hair
or smooth you like lotion into my skin

you will be the blush that tints
the sovereign scent
the sun-hued tan
the one true smile line
the pink scar that fades not ever
the birth bruise that stays forever

and i will be a pretty thing
your pretty thing
the pretty thing we made together

curl here against me.

it’s grey today,
cold outside the covers
colder still
outside in the land of bricks and mortar

so stay here with me
slip my panties down
and fit the length of your prick
up the crack of my ass

while I pull our arms together
around my ribs, up under my breasts
where they belong

when the day is cold
and the world is grey
stay with me

“I’m not so sure about this.”

You smile, looking into her eyes as you continue to gently wind the nylon cord around her slender wrists. She looks so vulnerable, so frail, so perfect. Her hesitation quickens your hunger; you feel it, a rapid flair deep in your belly.

“Sweetheart, just relax.”

Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. You watch the lift and fall of her naked breasts as she breathes, petite sighs of trust and tremor mixed together. You raise her wrists to the headboard.

“Oh.”

It’s barely a word, more of a shuddered gasp or nervouse moan, that escapes her lips as you tie her wrists, there above the carmel tresses of her upswept hair. You tighten the knot you’ve made and she whimpers. It rushes through you again. A roiling quake of lust and desire. You swallow. You want to take her now.  No, not yet.  You swallow again.

“Does that hurt?”

“No. It’s okay.”

“Spread your legs, Amy. Put your feet out to the edges of the bed,” you say, moving down to the footboard and unfurling a new piece of rope. You watch her legs slowly widen. The flesh at the top of her inner thighs quivers. The lips of her cunt part slightly, and you can see its inner moistness.

“You look so beautiful.”

She doesn’t smile, doesn’t say anything, just looks at you from under her thick lashes. Tenderly cupping the heel of her right foot, you begin coiling the white cord around her ankle. The flesh there is pink and taut, hot and dry against your knuckles. As you secure the cord, her calf raises slightly from the bedspread. She is your captive. Knowing this, seeing this, takes your breath away, but you quickly reach for the other foot.

Finally she is stretched before you. White cord binding her porcelain-smooth ankles and wrists, she is a sacrificial goddess, your goddess, your beloved.

“Fuck me.”

“What?”

“I said fuck me. Now that you have me tied up like this, fuck me.”

You hesitate.

“I mean it. Do it.”

This comes out in a rush of words, a sob, as she arches her back and pushes against the cords.

And so you mount your bound goddess.

kiss me here
with your mouth
your soft wet mouth

your tongue:
put it here
then here
now here

i need your fingers
your body
your skin

on me, over me, around me

don’t ever forget to touch me
please don’t ever forget

“You wouldn’t dare!”

I hoped I sounded cocky, my usual smart-ass self. But, from the look on her face, Samantha wasn’t buying it. Mindy was laughing, watching Samantha as she taunted and teased me. And since I was tied up, there wasn’t much I could do about any of it. Samantha smiled, leaning over my torso, stretching to adjust the leather straps holding my wrists to the bed post.

“You think so, huh?” Then, looking back at Mindy, “Tell him what I was doing this afternoon.”

Because of her petite frame, girlish titties and wispy yellow hair, everybody assumed Mindy was innocent. And she played it for all it was worth. Always wearing tiny tank tops so you could see the hard little buds of her nips through the cotton. And then those wafer-thin sandals, ankle bracelets and toe rings. A lot of the time she even wore her hair in those little-girl braids or pony tails. And the guys ate it up. But I knew better. She was a wicked little thing and dangerous as hell. Now she was looking at me, and I didn’t like that smirk on her face.

“Samantha and I were drinking beer.”

So what, I was thinking and probably would have figured out what Mindy meant pretty quickly if right then she hadn’t distracted me, suddenly pulling up that swatch of pink cloth that went for her skirt and smiling at me.

“Uh, Samantha, honey? Your girlfriend forgot her panties.”

I couldn’t believe what came next. Samantha walked right over to Mindy and knelt in front of her, pulling those small pouty lips apart and putting her tongue right in the open slit. But my cock believed it. Oh boy did it believe it! It was pushing against the zipper of my jeans in no time flat. Of course little Miss Mindy noticed right away.

“Lover boy’s getting a hard-on.”

Samantha was so wrapped up in Mindy’s snatch, I’m not even sure she even heard me. I was starting to get a little peeved. I mean what was the point of all of this? But then Mindy moaned and grabbed Samantha’s head, her fingers pushing through the brunette curls, and started pumping her hips. I wanted loose. Mindy or no Mindy, I wanted some of that action. And Samantha knew it. I’d been begging since we’d moved in together to try a three-way with me. I knew she’d been with girls before we got together, yet she always brushed me off, said she was done with “all of that.” So what was she up to?

“Samantha, come on. Untie me.”

She turned, her hands splayed across Mindy’s pelvis, looking across at me from down on her knees. I thought I was going to cum in my pants, right then and there. Her beautiful, naturally pink lips were smeared with Mindy’s juices. I couldn’t help it. I moaned.

And that is when they knew they had me. Next thing I know they were on the bed crawling all over me, rearranging this, untying that, pushing me here, retying there. I was helpless. And, I’ll admit it, I really didn’t mind. Both girls rubbing up against me as they got me where they wanted me.

Anyway, next think I know, while my left hand is still tied to the headboard, my right hand is now tied to my cock and Samantha is squatting over my cock. Mindy is perched above my head, that smooth open pussy almost dripping on me. I swear her clit was the size of a grape. And I wanted it. I wanted it bad.

“Stroke your cock and I’ll let you get a taste of that,” Samantha said as she lowered her hips down a little. I could see her spread right over my crotch and instinctively squeezed my buttocks and thrust my hips up. She pulled back quickly.

“No, no, no….”

“Please, Samantha, just untie me. Let’s play. Come on, honey.”

“Oh, we’re going to play. We are just going to play my way–not yours. Got it?”

“You heard her. Samantha’s way. That’s the only way you get to cum,” Mindy said, lowering those swollen, moist lips to the very tip of my nose, barely grazing it. I inhaled deeply. I felt my cock flinch in my tied up fist.

“Stroke it.”

Samantha’s voice was stern. She meant business, and I was so hot I didn’t care any more. I started jacking off my meat, feeling the nylon rope tugging at my knuckles and wrist with each stroke. I started moaning and groaning–I couldn’t help it–as Mindy finally lowered that slick, wet, throbbing cunt onto my face. Her slender, hard thighs were pressing in against my cheeks. I felt trapped. But I didn’t want to be anywhere else and began licking furiously, swallowing every bit of juice that ran onto my tongue.

I felt myself riding that wave, could feel my balls drawing up and tightening, when Samantha grabbed my wrist. She didn’t stop me, but slowed my pumping down just enough that I couldn’t cum. I was losing my mind.

“I said my way, baby, and I mean it. So what’s it gonna be? Huh? My way or no cummy for cocky? You tell me.”

“Answer her,” Mindy said, lifting up. She shoved those slender fingers into her pussy and rotated her hips. “You want more of this? Do you? Do you want to jerk that dick of yours?  Then tell Samantha you’ll do what your told.”

“Yes.  Fuck it. Yes. Just let me cum. Let go of my arm. Just tell me what you want.  I’ll do it, damn it, I’ll do it.”

“Good boy! That’s just what I needed to hear.”

Samantha finally let go of my wrist, then slid up between my legs.  She reached under my knees and started pushing my legs up.  I was so out of it, I didn’t really get what was going on, but then Mindy was wrapping her sticky fingers around my neck, cupping my jaw, me still looking up into that beautiful slit.  I think I was whimpering at that point, watching my pelvis moving closer to my face, seeing my fist-wrapped, dripping prick right there.  Right there in front of my fucking face and I didn’t even care now, because I would do anything to cum.  And the girls knew it.

“Open your mouth and jerk,” Mindy said as her thumbs slid into the corners of my mouth.”

Samantha giggled.  “Go ahead.”  That stern voice again.  “You got your threesome, now you’re going to show your appreciation.”  I could feel Mindy wedging her thumbs, forcing my mouth open.

I started jerking, moaning, bucking my hips, grunting.

“You gonna cum, Jerky Boy?  You gonna swallow your load?” Mindy taunted.

And then there it was, gushing into my mouth, all over my face, down my chin.

I was cumming so hard,  I could feel my curved tailbone bouncing off the mattress, the muscles in my thighs clenching and un-clenching as I humped my own hand.

And I swallowed and I swallowed and I swallowed.

i remember your mouth
its full swell of lip
almost a girl’s

and oh those kisses
those whole grain kisses
lacing
my blue, blue ruin.

and oh the rythms
the casual rhythms of your tongue
sharpening, sharpening my body

and later the white whispers
that
unraveled
a brittle, brittle silence

i remember your mouth
pressed soft
pressed cool
pressed mute
against my neck
when the poetry was gone

You know she knows.

She’s been winking at you, licking her lips, eyeing your crotch, leering wickedly. You think she can smell your guilt, smell it on you, smell it oozing from your pores. You look out the window, feigning calmness. She can’t know. This is crazy thinking. It’s impossible. You think this to yourself, yet you don’t believe it.

The door opens. Kelly is back from her break. Watching her walk to her desk in those killer heels, you see her catch Marie’s eye. Are they both smirking? Do they both know? You need to get out of this office, take a walk, get some fresh air to clear your head. With a sigh of what you hope comes across as casual indifference, you push your chair back. You clear your throat.

“I guess I’m going to go out and grab some lunch,” you say, starting to rise.

“Not so fast, buster boy.”

You feel yourself turning red even as you sit back down. Flustered, embarrassed, you hear Kelly giggle at—what? What Marie said? What they know? The way you sat down so fast, like a well-trained puppy?

“Now that we’re all three alone…”

Marie is walking toward you, arms behind her back. She’s wearing black silk stockings again. You try not to look at her legs, try to think of something clever to say, try to tell yourself that nothing is wrong.

“I have something of yours, or I should say Kelly’s.”

Kelly giggles again, that beautiful girlish music, now a torment. You can’t even look at her. Worse, behind your desk you feel yourself becoming hard. Oh God, they found them. Fuck! What do I do now? How do I get out of this? I need to get out of here.

But it’s too late. Marie has brought her arms out in front of her. You don’t want to look at her outstretched hands, what she’s showing you. You try to look past the clutch of white satiny fabric to her face. You watch the cruel snarl of her red lips, moving as if in slow motion.

“You’re a fucking pervert, a dirty little dog, a crotch-sniffing panty thief.”

Kelly is crossing the carpet, one hand tugging at the hem of her skirt, the other dangling a key. Glimpsing a pink garter, you realize the key looks familiar. Your eyes darting back and forth, you start fumbling around your desk. Surely they are here somewhere.

“Looking for these?”

You hear the metallic clattering, even as Marie is pulling them from her ample cleavage. She smiles, leaning in close and jingling them in front of your face.

“What’s that,” Kelly says, sliding onto the corner of the desk, looking pointedly at your crotch, “a stiffy?” Her skirt is all the way up now. Seeing the pink lace of her panties, you feel your cock flex. You can’t help it. A moan escapes your constricted throat. Marie laughs as Kelly presses the key into your sweaty palm.

“Now let’s unlock that bottom drawer and see how many pairs you have in there,” Marie says.

And you know Marie knows and you know that you are fucked.

Thus we’ve moved to this.

All those moments we dared to test our chaste vows: You knowing my hunger by the quickening of my breath, the beating of my heart against your chest, the fire of my cunt against the thigh you shoved into the folds of my skirt. Desperate to keep your secret, even in those heated moments, you never dared press full against me.

A twofold agony for you: Wanting me just as much. Needing to fuck me the way a real man fucks a real woman. Aching for the tight clench of hot cunt around a fully formed cock. Yet always knowing that this would be experience forever denied you. And thus….me. Always knowing you could never fuck the woman you love, lying wantonly and wickedly beneath you.

Dreading—even as you respond in your very small way to the feminine scent of my arousal that is so upon you, filling your nostrils, inflaming your need—that I might in frenzied abandon forcefully shove against you. Skirt to trousers, pelvis to pelvis, crotch to crotch. Hastening the disaster that looms in our future: My pending discovery of your own sad inadequacy.

And here we are in this encapsulated instant.

You watch my face: Idolizing the hunger, the desire you see there, as your fumble with the zipper of your fly. No backward movement here……no escape. And you know it.

You watch my face. Cherishing my ignorance of that forever-held breath, that angel of disappointment that hovers about us ready to pounce. You see her. Your first love. She who can only be your true love. And you know it.

The dark angel who has taunted you in the lone dark as you cupped your incompleteness. After all, only a few brief strokes needed for such paucity. Did you hear her laughter? . Did you hear her whispered taunts as you squirted your scant bit of goo in a brief spasm of nasty relief?

Did she warn you? Did she tell you what you already knew? That revelation would steal away this countenance of desire before you.

I lick my lips. You see the brush of perspiration above them, knowing the hunger that causes it is about to be replaced with disgust, perhaps pity.

Your clammy fingers, slipping, sliding.

I blink my eyes.

Impatiently I whisper, “Hurry. Show me, darling.”

“Show me!”

Exasperated, I reach out to help.

“Now, darling. Now!”

I hurriedly pull down the zipper and grab inside.

I look up at you.

“Oh….”

You hear the dark angel snicker.

she is your flower child

your woman-girl

an unwritten sonnet, yet every word in place

the melodia always at the back of your throat

a slip of memory

tucked forever into a corner of your soon-weathered heart

there to unfold

again and again and again.

and you will remember this vixen-child:

her flowing hair, her open flesh

the rose promise of her pink-hued nipples

the tangled flourish of her saporous cunt

you will remember:

her generous desire, her unfettered need, her transparent flame

all of this offered to you

all of this gathered for you

from the chagrined pleats

of your mothers’ ferrous skirts

of your fathers’ flannel suits.

before too long the years will shift

clumsy and dumb, they will take you with them

you don’t even know it

you shouldn’t even know it

she won’t let you know it, at least not yet

so be with her now, in this moment of this night

in this moment of this night that will last forever

because it is all that matters

because it will always matter

mount her, take her, fuck her, love her

forget yourself in her soap-scented yearning

remember yourself in her wide-open giving

save yourself in the clasp of her legs, the press of her breasts

she is your flower child

and you will remember

because she is writing herself onto your heart