Archive for the 'romance' Category

she is your flower child

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

miss mar

“I’m sending you away for a while. I don’t know what else to do.”

You’d heard Miss Margaret’s car pulling into the driveway, even as your mother started to cry. Sitting here now in the spare bedroom of her summer house, you’re waiting for Miss Margaret, wondering what she is going to do. She won’t break me, you think to yourself.

When the door finally opens, Miss Margaret is not alone. Two teenage girls, beautiful teenage girls, and some bulked-up guy–probably one of those weightlifters, you think– enter the room behind her.

“So this is the naughty boy,” the blonde says, “He doesn’t exactly look tough to me. What do you think, Barry?” She looks at the guy expectantly. He doesn’t answer her, but looks at you grinning. You don’t like that grin; there’s something menacing about it. And for the first time, you start getting a little nervous. Miss Margaret sits beside you on the bed. Miss Margaret’s voice hisses at your ear as she suddenly grabs your balls through your jeans.

“Do you know what Miss Margaret does with smart-ass college boys who don’t know how to behave?”

Before you can react, the redhead in the purple dress has pulled out a cord of rope from somewhere and you’re feeling a sharp pinch in your right shoulder muscle. You try to say something, but your words come out thick and slurred. Then everything goes dark.


You are swimming. No, it only feels like you are swimming, lead weight against your waking slumber, pushing you back. Forcing your eyelids against the heaviness you try to think, try to remember. Blurry shapes, movement. Something in front of your face.

“Open your mouth.”

The voice is deep, a man’s voice. Somebody is giggling. Something fleshy, bulbous is pushing against your dry lips. You want to lick them, moisten them, but don’t dare, because somewhere deep inside of you, you know what that something is.

“Rachael, why don’t you tell my nephew exactly what is expected of him.”

Miss Margaret’s throaty voice. The giggling again. One, no–two girls. You remember them, the blonde and the redhead. I need to get the hell out of here, you think. You try to move, feel the tight restraints across your chest and arms, your hips, your spread legs. Something cold, cold metal between your legs. The blonde is looming above you, sneering wickedly. “You feel this,” she asks, reaching between your legs, and you feel the the smooth, cool band of metal tightening around your testicles. She smiles as you moan in pain.

“Now here’s the deal, college boy,” Rachael purrs, pushing your bangs back with her free hand, then cupping your face. The redhead is there now, reaching for your cock and beginning to stroke it as Rachael wraps her free hand around the dick bobbing against your cheek. “You are going to suck my boyfriend’s big, fat dick and you are going to swallow his load.” She moves the head of the cock, a slick bubble of precum teetering from its slit, down the bridge of your nose, across your upper lip. You try to turn your head, but her fingers tighten around your chin as she smears the precum across your tightly pressed lips.

“Either you open up and take it like a good boy, or I’ll tighten this so quick you just might lose these balls.”

She gives the metal device a quick turn. “I’m not kidding.”

Your mouth opens in a groan as Rachael slides the head of Barry’s cock onto your tongue.

“Does our college boy dick-eater have a stiffie, Marla?”

As Rachael forces the prick into the back of your mouth, you hear the blonde and Miss Margaret laughing.

“He’s as hard as a fucking rock.”

And you know she’s right, because despite the shame, despite everything, you are hotter than you’ve ever been.

“That’s a good boy,” you hear Miss Margaret say as you start sucking the dick in earnest.” Now swallow that big load. And when you do, Marla will let you cum. Won’t you dear?”

And you do.

when i look at you

when i look at you
mostly, i know you love me
and mostly, that’s enough.

but i can’t see you now
and i’m not so sure anymore


am i forgotten
do i
in your dreams
does your cheek
my soft breasts
do the
cobwebs of me
to your heart
can you
me on your pillow
does my
upon your lips
does my
your distant eyes
can i
do you
were we

Never Tell

You must never tell her, my beloved Katerina.

I caress your cheek, looking into your emerald eyes. You nod, your hair moving across the pillow like a liquid, golden halo. My beloved Katerina, if you only knew the depth of my passions, how every breath I breathe is a sacred prayer to you.

I move the sheet below your small breasts to see them one more time. The nipples are going soft now, their color fading from the flaming coral of a few moments ago. Although the seed of my loins is still hot inside your belly, my softened member quivers a bit. You are perfection. How can this hot coal of my desire ever grow cold?

I must take my leave, although my wish is that we were never parted. The dew upon your lashes tells me that you know our time, once again, grows short. In the distance we hear the cock crow, breaking the silence that has kept our secret. I must go now.

Never tell. And I will always love you. Here in the night.


I ask myself the same question. No doubt, others wonder, too.

While you’re tall, it’s in a gangly, almost akward way.

You’re quiet–except when we’re alone. I think it’s because you know I am safe for you. At least that’s what I want to believe.

You do read. And I like that. You even read the books I give to you. I like that even more.You bring me coffee in the morning and think I’m cute, even desirable, with bedroom hair.

You like to surprise me with silly, inexpensive presents. Like the frog that measures rainfall. And the set of butterfly magnets. Of course, there’s the love notes and cards I find here and there.

You’re not afraid to cry with me, although sometimes I find it more contrived than honest. I guess you could be more introspective. But perhaps you’re working on that?

Sometimes we are passionate about the same movies. Other times not. Either way, they give us plenty to talk about.

You teach me things. And don’t think it unmanly to learn from me.

And you don’t try to get me to eat lobster or lamb.

I think that, as far as couples go, we are doing okay.

Don’t you?

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