Archive for the sex Category


Posted in erotic fiction, love, musings, romance, sex, writing with tags , on May 10, 2009 by kimmy

I must stop thinking about him or I shall go mad.  It’s best not to dwell on things that are unreal.  Even a child knows when to stop pretending.

But I cannot help myself.  I don’t believe he knows just how badly I want him.  Or, how I lie awake at night aching with desire.  He’s never asked me how I feel or what I want.  Instead he keeps me suspended and I wonder how long this purgatory will last.

It’s enough to drive me out of my mind.  I don’t want to play the politely interested friend anymore.  Friends don’t torment each other with sighs and vague promises of heated coupling in the dark.  Yet he shows no inclination to make good on his word, and I’m beginning to despair that it shall never be realized.

This is a torture that no one should experience.  It’s a demanding and fretful creature that if not appeased soon, shall rip me apart.  I can feel it now, tearing at my flesh and goading me into arousal so acute that it’s almost unbearable.

I can do nothing to stop it; even my own body betrays me.  Never have I so intensely loved and desired another.  I didn’t think I was capable of passion this furious and deep, but yet I am.  It’s wild and without logic and I don’t care if it dashes me to pieces on the rocks.  I’d rather be fractured and bloodied than to have never known this bliss.



Posted in erotic fiction, romance, sex with tags , on February 13, 2009 by kimmy

Throw me down.  I don’t care if the grass is cold and wet.  None of that will matter once you lay your body over mine.   The dampness will begin to steam, enveloping us in a fog, and I will forget the line that divides me from you.

Can’t you hear the hum that surrounds us?  The nighttime is full of creatures that have come to witness.  Drawn by the heat we generate, they wait in the shadows and attest to the irresistible cycle that binds us to each other and the earth.

I feel it reaching now, loamy tentacles that skim over my skin and pull me down.  Its sweetness is on your lips and in your hair, burying me deep below the black surface.  There is nothing inconceivable in this place, this matrix of form and formlessness.   Let’s stay within it, suspending ourselves in the dark until we finally push up out of the ground like crocus in the spring.

But the moon won’t let us hide.  She will assume her rightful place as mistress of this gathering and call us before her, pale light shining like a beacon over your shoulder and into my eyes.   Who are we to deny her?  She cares neither for the laws of men, nor the self-imposed restraints that hinder the dream she sows.   She beckons and we answer, writhing as one beneath her silver eye.


Posted in erotic fiction, love, romance, sex, writing with tags , , on January 18, 2009 by kimmy

It was hard to discern where she was.  The last thing she remembered was turning off the light and falling asleep.  But here he was, dark eyes looming and lips hovering  over hers.  She couldn’t get away from him, even in sleep.

It was bad enough that thoughts of him tormented her during the day.  At the oddest moments, she was consumed by them, suddenly finding herself suspended in mental pictures so real that they seemed more tangible than the task at hand.  How was it possible that she could feel him stroke her skin when he lived so many miles away?  Nobody’s reach is that long.

She was wrong.  He managed to infiltrate both her waking and nighttime reverie, pressing his cause in absentia.  It was like being quarried by an invisible predator, one who could strike without warning and leave her aching with desire.  It was so ruthless, she had to ask herself if his forays were a violent presumption, or if she actually welcomed them.

She knew the answer.  It reverberated the moment he opened her legs and pressed into her.  She could not withhold what was already his.   There was no point arguing or analyzing a connection that had no logical explanation.  It was a conundrum carefully devised to baffle her mind.   It forced her to rely upon her feeling nature, an aspect she had carefully hidden years ago.   

Those initial steps were wobbly, crammed full of awkward mistakes.  It was like learning to ride without training wheels again.   There was no way to fake her way through this time, no opportunity to finesse herself out of tight spots.   She was a gangly teenager again, every nerve raw and exposed.

But at night, in the hothouse of her dreams, he was a different creature altogether.  He did not plague her for pasteurized answers to stock questions, nor evade the avalanche of feeling that threatened to derail him.  Instead he made love to her with a slow deliberateness that challenged her sense of location.  Where was she after all?  In the never-ending expansion of the future or the desert of the real? 




Posted in erotic fiction, love, romance, sex, writing with tags , , , , , on January 1, 2009 by kimmy

“Don’t move.”

The words slid into her ear, molasses-sweet and sticky.  Even if she had wanted to run, it was too late; they held her like flypaper.  The explosion of neighborhood fireworks outside the bedroom window was slowly muffled, replaced by the drumming inside her chest.  There was something dangerous within that sought release.  It beat against her, hammering at the bars which caged it, but she wasn’t certain whether to loose it upon him.  There was no way of knowing what it might do.

She had never intended to be drawn in so deeply.  Friends and colleagues had warned her, telling her to beware the charm that had waylaid others, but she dismissed them.  She was immune to entrapments.  What possible hazard could he pose to something dormant?  In fact, she was so confidently numb that she believed herself incapable of feeling.

Of course all that hubris evaporated one afternoon when he took her by surprise, effectively rendering her defenseless.  It was both terrifying and exhilarating, and despite the well-meaning cautions, she found herself shedding self-restraint one hobble at a time.  It was difficult to recall why she had them at all.  When he was near, she operated in a zone of moral ambiguity that seemed particular to them.  Established boundaries were curiously suspended, as if their peculiar connection took precedence.  That she never disputed it was proof of collusion, although she couldn’t explain why.

It was easier to understand as a function of her brainstem than that of conscious reasoning.  She recognized him with the same fervor and singlemindedness as a reptile knows its mate.  And when he growled at her that night, she responded in kind.

He pressed her into the wall, reaching beneath her dress to pull away her panties and the last vestiges of reserve.  She acted without thought, wrapping her legs around his waist, surrendering not to him but to herself.