I love the way that happens.

Half-conscious in the soft glow of the morning light with the remnant of a pleasant dream.

Experiencing the pervasive hot surge deep inside me; the pulse of energy as the ephemeral essence of the thought translates itself from my brain to transmit a shock of electricity that centres in the most sensitive part of the flesh between my legs.

Kick-starting a shivering chain reaction of activity coursing through me as my nipples stand to attention and the blood engorges the soft folds, until my entire being is focused in that one place....

What do you want, baby? You can have anything, take everything. I’m here to please you, fulfill your every desire. I just want to make you happy. I offer myself to you willingly, breathlessly, because it makes us both feel sooooo good.

I love your hunger for me. It melts me, makes me want to surrender to your lust. It gets me so hot to please you.

Do you like the outfit I’ve put together for you? It’s sort of a retro thing - sexy high heels, the thigh-high stockings with the seams up the back and the flirty bows at the garters. Sheer, lacy panties that stretch across my ass, hugging my curves, leaving the bottom of my cheeks exposed. The demure black slip that molds my breast so enticingly…see, my nipples are already hard, wanting your touch.

Mmmmm, yes…look all you want, my darling, I’ll bend over for you so you can peek up my skirt, feel my ass and legs. I love how delicately your strong fingers explore the textures of flesh and fabric. I love the appreciative little sounds you make – almost worshipful – as you inspect your prize.

Because it’s all for you, baby. Every inch of my flesh, inside and out, is yours to play with, to touch and kiss and lick and enjoy however you want. Let your imagination run wild, knowing that there’s nothing I’d deny you. I’m your Bad Girl, and I’ll do whatever you want....

Mary had a little skirt
with splits right up the sides
and everywhere that Mary went
the boys could see her thighs.
Mary had another skirt
'twas split right up the front
...But she didn't wear that one often

Jack and Jill went up the hill
so Jack could lick Jill's fanny.
Jack got a shock
and a mouthful of cock
cos Jill's a fuckin' tranny.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the bed
Little Bo Peep was giving him head
As he came, she started to weep
She could tell by the taste he'd been shagging her sheep.

Dear Guy Mentally Undressing Me At The Mall,

Did you think I wouldn’t notice you staring at me while I ate my dinner? Did you think I couldn’t feel your eyes gliding up my legs, lingering on the deep cleavage my tight tank top creates while I sucked on the straw of my soda with red-glazed lips?

I can tell you’re the shy type, cursed by just enough insecurity to keep you from approaching me. You’re a cute guy, but instead of talking to the sexy brunette in front of you, you sit at your table, fantasizing.

Are you thinking about how I look without a shirt? Bent over in front of you with my thong pulled between my swollen lips? Or maybe you’re running through a scenario in your mind where you manage to find the confidence and approach me. What would you say to me? What would I say to you? Surely a woman wearing such revealing clothes would have sex on her mind, right? Her pussy would be wet and ready to fuck, right?

Then again, maybe she just wants to be left alone. Maybe she’s waiting for her boyfriend or husband. Maybe you’re not her type. So many maybes.

“Do you want to go get some coffee?” That’s all you have to say. Just get up from your table, walk over to mine, and ask me if I want to go get coffee. I wish I could ask you, but that would be against the rules. Hell, I’d even settle for you meeting my eyes. I could at least give you a come-hither smile.

Because I do have sex on my mind. My pussy is wet and ready to fuck....

I want you to get on your knees, pull my stiff cock from my pants. Before you insert it in your hot mouth, I'm gonna slap you with it. Feel the warm throbbing dick against your cheek. light cock slaps across your face.

now suck me.

my hand won't leave the back of your head so don't ask. gag on this dick. when i'm ready to cum, i'll slide it from your warm throat. i'm sure it will only take a few fast strokes from your hand, before I explode all over your sweaty face. feel the sticky warm spurts on your face. Now rub it around for me and taste it off your fingers. that's a good little slut....

now grab the lube and bend over

i said grab the lube cockslut!


hand it to me and bend that ass over....

not there!

over the desk.

mmmm I like the way that looks, you're so sexy.

close your eyes as I tie my silk tie over them. feel my hands slide your skirt up over your beautiful round ass.

spread your legs wider....

Feeling brave that afternoon, I entered the crawlspace and sat a few feet from the tightly closed door. After a few heart-pounding minutes in the arid space, I turned on the light (which could never shine through to the other side as the door fit tightly and it was daytime anyway) and looked for something to occupy myself. I poked in the box closest to the door. That's where I found the then-current porn magazines.

I flipped through them, saw all the photos. Mostly women with their come-hither stares, big and wild hair (both on their heads and covering their genitals), and glossy lips. I didn't feel much of anything at first. Certainly not uncomfortable, for I continued to flip through the pages of first one magazine, then another and another. Until I hit an illustration.

I think it was an advertisement for a bondage swing, but I can't really recall... This paper-white woman with ink-black hair was set against a vivid purple square. Her fascinating red lips were pursed around a ridiculously large black circle, its black lines drawn against that white-white skin, holding the ball in place in her mouth. Her body was also bound in the leather strips, providing more black lines against white skin -- lines to read between. This woman was bound, apparently suspended from what I could only imagine was a ceiling painted as grape as the walls, and naked she sat, or swung, on display in a position similar to my sit-squat against the wall. Splayed. Bound. Gagged.

Instead of being disgusted, or even confused, I was mesmerized.

Something pulled me. Not just commanding me to look at it, or even demanding me to like it; but something, somewhere, pulled at me, within me.

I know that pulling ache now. It's name is arousal. But at that age I had no idea what the funny feeling was. I had nothing to compare it to, nothing to relate it to. I liked staring at the image, even if I didn't understand it; but eventually that funny feeling was more than I knew what to do with... I began to panic....

If you simply wanted to get a guy off as quickly as possible, all you need to do is lock your lips at the base of his cock and suction them up and down the bottom ¾ of his shaft at a quick, steady pace while pressing your flattened tongue against the underside of his dick. Make sure you are applying pressure with both your lips AND tongue. Keeping your tongue engaged at all times is key. I try to keep mine moving at all times. This is how you get 90% of guys off. It helps me keep from gagging to hold his cock steady at the base and bring my lips down to meet my fingers. You can do this very slowly for a more intense feeling, but make sure you move at a steady rhythm. Some guys like it faster or slower; you may have to ask, or more likely, he’ll tell you.

This is your power move, the one that is actually going to bring him to orgasm. A true hooker blowjob needs only this one move; if scientists were to create a blowjob machine, this is what it would do. The other moves I’m going to teach you are artistic flourishes; you use them to add flair and style to your blowjob or to slow down the action a little...

Unconditional love: I know I’ve been able to give it once, maybe twice in my life. And my momma gave it to me.

Some of us spend our lives in a passionless affair with the quotidian and television. Merely marking time, days punctuated at best with light amusement. Others feverishly, fretfully, maybe fatally itch for more.

It has been called the search for the Absolute. But I’d like to cast off the highfalutin detritus encumbering that term even if I’m about to invoke it.

Religious mystics sought it. Sometimes using means very familiar to masochists and erotically slavish people. You know I’m going to mention them don’t you: the flagellants whipping themselves. But let us not forget invoking discomfort with hair shirts (now why haven’t I ever read of those being used in BDSM - the tack bras worn by some masochistic women are their kin I guess). The mystics fasted: we talk of food deprivation.

Certain pagans used liquor. Native Americans peyote. Aldous Huxley, Timothy Leary and others found - or felt they did - access to this sort of special consciousness in psychedelic drugs.

Exaltation, self-annihilation, merging with the other,, apprehension of the divine, etc. Where does it all come from? Maybe after the human genome and brain chemistry have been mapped and several decades have passed we’ll know...

The characters in Second Life are all quite beautiful, but she was exquisite, well-crafted, and dressed in a scanty beaded outfit that rustled as she walked and left nothing to the imagination. He was not planning on any more conversations but something made him stop and acknowledge her presence, so he typed in a compliment on her dress. For once, he didn't even right-click on her Profile to learn what he could about her reason for spending time in Second Life; he expected her to breeze by him.

To his surprise, she stopped and answered him, thanking him for the compliment. He commented that she must be going dancing in such attire, and she said no, but it was a nice thought. She told him a little about how she had come by the extraordinary dress. They compared stories about the people who had introduced them to Second Life. Her friend had taken her shopping at the Second Life malls and had given her a 'makeover', to make sure she didn't look like a newbie. He felt embarrassed about his appearance by contrast.

Earlier that evening he had finally figured out how to join the dancers in one of the many discos in Second Life, by right-clicking the ball above the dance floor and agreeing to be 'animated', taken over. He was amazed at the quality of the dance steps, and how they were synchronized to the music playing over the local 'radio' station, and with the moves of the other dancers.

So despite his fatigue, and mesmerized by the lovely creature standing before him, he invited her to go dancing with him. She said yes, immediately. He teleported to the disco he knew best, on a wide pier overlooking the water, and by invitation invited her to teleport to where he was.

When she arrived she had changed into a lovely billowing white skirt and matching crop top, her dancing outfit he guessed. They danced for awhile, enjoying the music, the feeling of movement together. He talked about his earlier conversations that evening, and how they had filled him with enthusiasm for Second Life as a venue for genuine communication and friendship. She replied that his comments showed how much he cared about other people, unselfishly, and that that was refreshing. And then they laughed, and flirted a little, and danced without speaking...

She joined him in his office and he was distracted by her shoes. They were black, patent leather heels. His first thought was that they would look good behind his ears. He could imagine her spread on a bed as he pushed her down and she wrapped her feet around his neck. She was much smaller than he was, maybe 35, and married. She had soft, slender hands and a pretty smile. Somewhat sexy, but he'd never really thought about her much before. She might be a wildcat with some wine in her. He wondered about that. She started talking about the problem that brought them together, and he tried to focus.

It wasn't happening. She was wearing black slacks. They contrasted with her pale skin. She would bruise easily. He liked to play rough with a woman. He liked to see where he had held her. Would she like it that way? She might be wild with a little wine, but he didn't think that she'd ever played rough, she didn't know how, didn't know how damn good it could feel. He wanted to show her. It didn't look like she wore anything under the slacks. He didn't know for sure, but as she walked around the room, he couldn't see any lines. God, His balls were starting to tingle. He shook his head and she looked at him. She seemed to look right through him. He mumbled something vaguely coherent. At the moment, she seemed content just to tell him the problem.

He was married too. It wasn't safe to fuck a woman from work. Dangerous, and that appealed to him. Everything about her was real. She was stimulating all his senses now. He could smell her soft perfume. He thought about his hand in her blond hair. He wanted to pull it, and force her to her knees in front of him just to see the look of surprise on her face. He just knew that she probably had soft, fuzzy, blond hair on her cunt too. Lots of it, soft and natural. She'd be too naïve to have ever thought of shaving it. He could shove his fingers into that cunt of hers. Hard. Almost hard enough to lift this sweet little woman up to him. Maybe he would. He wanted to teach her what she probably had never experienced. He wanted to fuck her, and he wanted it badly. He was rock hard now, glad to be behind his desk.

She reached up to brush away some hair from her neck and it was like an electric jolt to his system. The sight of her bare neck set him on fire. He wanted to bite her there. As she moved away he realized that she wasn't wearing a bra either. He wanted her breasts in his mouth. He wanted to nibble, to bite, and to hear her moan. He wanted to make her scream. He couldn't do that here though...

If you're going to pull at my tits, tweak and pinch my nipples, do it firmly, with conviction, down low where nipple meets breast, maybe even just a little too hard, hard enough that I feel the wire that runs chest to cunt go taut and hot. You can always kiss them better after.

1. Bare foot in the Caribbean Sea
1a Bare foot in freshly fallen snow

2. Spring rain on water
2a The fall of a pebble into an ancient well.

3. Dewdrops on rosebuds
3a Ladybirds on rosebuds

4. Dancing naked to the warmth of the summer rain
4a Sex sublimely played on a dock. Lake water lapping caressingly, beneath an August moon...

You have many different moans and i've come to learn, know and love them. there's the early in the meeting moan, after the first kiss or two, it's a soft intake of breath, barely audible, an awareness and acceptance that (finally) we going somewhere, leaving the commonplace as we know it, somewhere where we can be ourselves...alone. it's a combination of relaxation and want, and it's nearly breathless. there's a fuller moan soon after as we explore our mouths, tongues and necks with greater zest, as my hand slides to your breast, teases your nipple, my other hand reminding itself of the perfect shape of your luscious ass. it's a quicker moan and has a tad more sound to it, often a mmmm, mmmm, ohhh sound.

There's another moan, this one far more vocal after i've lain you on your back and kissed my way down across your breasts, your nipples, your lovely belly, my hands doing magical meanderings across and around your body, legs, arms (the whole package as you put it) and by this time i've removed your engagingly tempting undergarments. my tongue now takes a taste of you, teasing you up and down. the result of this is a moan that is near fully heated and very hungry.

Much as we like to bandy the word around with regard to sexual preferences, a true fetish is considered one without which it is impossible to achieve sexual satisfaction. According to my friend C, my weirdest, most outlandish, kink is my fetish for intelligent men. She considers this irredeemably strange. She can't understand why I need to have my mind fucked before I'm willing to let my body be fucked; why I need words as foreplay before the thought of any other foreplay can be entertained, or how a man who can express an interesting thought in a coherent manner can make me wet - and let's not even get into the way I'm aroused by an extended vocabulary.

The vain other side of the coin is also true, of course: the quickest way into my pants is an admiring comment about my intellect (although additional compliments about body parts won't hurt your chances).

There is an erotic frisson about a skillful mindfuck that is almost as good as the real thing (actually, in some cases it's considerably better than the real thing). The thrill of your mind climbing over the landscape of curves and hollows and nooks and crannies and interesting promontories of another mind is exhilarating. Having your mind probed by an enquiring thought is shiver-inducing. But on a more basic level, there's nothing more anti-climatic than finding yourself bored in bed with a dull man when the fucking stops. Apart from anything else, an intelligent man will apply some basic psychology to work out what else turns you on; he can read between the lines of what you don't say to work out what you want...