Outside

It hit me that there's an awful lot of outdoor sex going on at this site. I've never done that, and I can't imagine I'd like it. Maybe it's my subconscious mind saying, "Dude, you need to get out more." I'm not sure. It struck me as strange though, and if it occurred to me it had to have occurred to other people.

Clouds in the Distance

Having some difficulties. Non-fiction doesn't take anything personal. It doesn't diminish creative potential. My fiction and poetry requires a certain amount of emotional involvement. Depending on what's being written there can be very little emotion involved, or there can be a lot. This little erotica blog has taken a a piece of my subconscious mind.

About 14 years ago I quit writing erotica. It's easiest to explain as it involves the expectations of readers. People who enjoy reading about sexuality and freedom of sexual expression are very greedy about those feelings. They always want more.

The orgasm is the ultimate addiction because it's always free and always available. Once people find something they enjoy sexually, they have a tendency to return to it. If it has something to do with the written word, then people want more words, more stories. With my erotica it means they want more of me.

What is written here is an extension of my thoughts and consciousness. The cohesion of the words flows from my own essence. When it's presented to the world for people to read, they are being given a part of myself. With heightened expectations, with a sense of urgency or demand, what there is of me begins to diminish. As that happens the writing becomes less and less meaningful, until finally it is meaningless. That makes erotica worthless as well. Without my emotional involvement it's just dirty. It's no longer art.

I am an artist with words. Sounds and imagines have been a small part of my self expression, but that's a tiny percentage of what I have created using words. I don't write dirty stories. Creating pornography does not make me feel good, and so I do not do it. Even if sometimes what I write is extremely sexual, sensual and erotic, it contains my heart and soul. There's a very big difference.

This blog isn't ever going to be an assembly line for tawdry fantasies. The post started here two nights ago should have been finished that night. It wasn't honest, and so it tapered off. It's very important from my perspective that things like that don't happen, or else the words will stop coming out altogether.

To be honest, truly honest, takes focus and concentration. Let me show you what it means when erotica is not pornography. True sensuality is butterflies in your stomach. Sexuality is like a warm ball of light that expands and intensifies until it becomes a ball of spiritual fire and energy that engulfs its creators with pleasure and emotion.

It's like driving into the country in a convertible with the top down. It's like late spring on a Sunday morning. The wind is cool and there's a hint of morning moisture as it whips and flies across our skin. There are just enough clouds in the sky to keep the sun from hitting us long enough for us to heat up uncomfortably, and the temperature is in the mid 70's.

It was said that it is that way, and so being must be examined for the barest of instances. It is like that because those moments live on forever, but the moments have already happened. So it was like that, and in the future they will be like that. True timelessness knows no tense or history, no present future; no future passed us by.

We stopped at the old abandoned plantation house that once belonged to my dead great grandparents. We pulled up into the shell driveway, which was barely visible after all the years of disuse. I got out and walked around to your side of the car to open the door for you. The scene was like something out of a painting from a period of art that never existed, and will never exist in the future.

I held your hand as you stepped out and stood next to me. Your hand was so small compared to mine, so dainty. I didn't say anything because you didn't like it when anyone thought of you as fragile or precious. You didn't wear nail polish, but your nails looked better than those of people who do. I worried when I held your hand, because you felt too thin. It killed me to think society may have convinced you to stay thin instead of eating right and eating well.

You looked at me and I gazed back at you as your eyes caught mine and held them for a moment. Looking into your eyes felt like I had just let go of a rope that was holding me to the earth. It was like I could see stars and clouds and comets and moons, but none of them meant anything compared to you. You kept me from getting lost by smiling. Your happiness dragged me back to standing next to you. The distant galaxies of your pupils would have to wait.

There was a small strand of your hair hanging down over your face. You spent so much time on your hair, trying to make it look good. You always looked beautiful to me. It wouldn't have mattered if you had shaved your head, or if you had never done anything but brush it out straight. It was like you. There was nothing about it I didn't find wonderful.

The old house was falling apart. The roof was caved in and half of the porch. Some of the massive beams were cypress, but the place hadn't belonged to my family in two generations. It was just slowly giving in to time, the weather, the wind and the rain. I wanted to take you up to the second floor, but it was obvious the stairs weren't safe anymore. We could see through the front door that half of them were gone and the other half looked to be close on their heels.

The condition of the house didn't really affect our plans. We wanted to have a picnic in the country. We also wanted to get away from civilization and all the people. That vanishing testament to a history of suffering and delusional grandeur definitely fit the bill.

The old plantation was fifteen miles west of the Mississippi smack in the middle of nowhere. Anybody who didn't know how to get there would never find it with a map. I couldn't explain how to get there, and I had made the trip many times. Suffice it to say that the road was traveled very lightly.

I helped get the picnic set up. I spread out the blanket under a live oak out behind the house. There was a stretch of gravel and bare dirt from the house to the tree. The grass didn't like it under the tree or in the compacted earth. That meant that under the tree was a perfect place to sit down, eat and enjoy being alone with each other.

I helped you bring the food. We had little quarter summer sausage sandwiches with little slices of Swiss cheese on them. There were fresh strawberries and herbal crackers with some kind of spread on top that were heavenly. We didn't bring a lot of food though, because really we just wanted to be together.

When we finished eating you stuck the stuff inside the basket (where you found the basket I just don't know). You scooched over and climbed on top me while I was sill sitting Indian style. You straddled my lap and plopped down so we were face to face. You smelled so good being close to you made me feel high.

We talked while we held each and kissed now and then. You told me that you'd love me forever. I told you that I knew. We made the soft cooing sounds young lovers make when they are very close to each other. I told you I couldn't begin to describe to you how much you meant to me. I tried to find words to tell you, but there was just an empty place in the part of the human vocabulary devoted to undying love.

There were tears in the corners of your eyes. When I saw them the sight pulled at tiny strings hanging from my heart. I reached up my hand to brush them away as they started to roll down your cheeks. I looked at you with a question in my eyes, and I could see an answer coming back from you.

All of our thoughts and words were coming out of us backwards. There were no sounds because our thoughts were too loud to hear anything else. The sunshine was falling from the earth up into the sky, as the smallest of all smallest things moved intricately across tiny planes where oxygen molecules were as giants, exploding into themselves with nothing to hide. The pain and the gorgeousness of loving someone so intensely... time stopped for it; no ideas exist there and so no words could ever be brought back.

In that instant my lips were moving closer to yours. Your eyes told me love and my every countenanced breath and labored measuring moved from one tiny point to another, which should not be possible at all. Somewhere inside the minutiae there are infinite dimensions... gulfs of darkness and clusters of stars that define twinkle and blinking slowly, circularly, respond to every thought with images and encrusted crystals standing end to end. And of more not much could be said.

As I kissed you existence flowed back into itself from where nothing exists into where everything exists. I told you that I loved you more strongly than anything the world has ever known before. Every syllable, heartbeat and breath made it the truth. I ran my fingers through your hair as you pulled me in as tight as we could be, together.

We became one being with two hearts but only one mind, and with no thoughts but that now is the now. Now is forever. Is more, and has never been lost as the present, the greatest gift. Even though left in the distant past, that love does not fade nor ever diminish in stature nor ever be forgotten.

We separated and I helped you stand up. On our feet again you kissed me lightly on the lips and pulled away. I reached for you as you were backing up, but you yanked your hand back from mine. Laughing you stepped quickly backwards and my movements looked awkward and silly. You said, "Nannie nannie boo boo" and giggled because I could not get you.

I made a concerted effort to chase you down, and you let me grab you by the back porch of the old plantation house. We tussled for a second, and being wrapped up with you turned me on so quickly it may as well have been a faucet of desire. Where one second we were sweet and in love beyond all human understanding, in the next second we were dying to consummate our love once more. We were constantly consummating our love back then, much like now, or as I always liked to say, fucking like bunnies who found they only had one day to live.

You tried to set the pace, but I grabbed you and tore the shirt off of you, over your head. You acted as though you were struggling. As I spun you around and bent you over the front porch it was obvious you were not. You wanted me as badly as I wanted you.

You unbuttoned your shorts just in time to save the button as I yanked them down. They landed on the ground around your ankles. Your perfect ass was right in front of me. As you spread your legs to make it easier for me your perfect sex was right in front of me as well. My cock felt like it was going to explode. It was so incredibly sexy just being behind you like that, but I had to have it all. I tore my shorts off of me too, as fast as I could.

I was inside you within a minute of us getting off the picnic blanket. All the foreplay we needed was had in eating strawberries while we watched each other. I knew your body so well. I could tell from feeling you just before I pushed in that you were easily as wet as you needed to be, maybe even a little bit too wet. Neither one of us understood why we were always dying to have sex. We just knew that we were, and so we were once again.

I slowed way down to keep from coming too soon. There wasn't any fun in coming without you. I was firm that no woman should ever be left behind with me behind her, except that you were every woman I ever needed. I slowed down so slow you asked me to stop teasing you. I made sure not to make contact with your clit as I pulled in and out of you in long, agonizingly measured strokes. That made you moan very loudly.

I reached around your right leg and rubbed your most sensitive spot lightly. I kept wetting my fingers inside you to make sure there wasn't a hint of friction from playing with you. We both always took great care not to allow chafing or irritation, because that would put an end to our play for three or four days, or worse, even longer. I could feel you begin to tremble, a little. I knew that what I was doing could ruin your whole experience, and that would not do.

I pulled out and got you to turn around facing me. I put your shorts on the edge of the porch for you to sit on. It seemed like good luck was on our side, because the porch was exactly the right height for me to do you sitting down while I stood.

You opened your legs really wide and stuck your tongue out at me, which was the sexiest thing. You had a way of making the simplest thing seem absolutely wanton and lewd. As I came in close you guided me into you. I fit into you perfectly, at least that's what it felt like to me, and what you also said. You groaned as I pushed until the tip was somewhere deep inside of you. I could feel a limit right before the entire shaft was buried, but I pushed until you had all of me. You cursed quietly a couple of times.

You once told me my cock was the most interesting thing. It was tiny until I got excited, and then it was actually above average length and girth. You informed me I was what women called "a grower, not a shower." When you informed me of that it ended a feeling of inferiority that had dogged me since I had hit puberty. It made me feel even better when you told me I was almost a little too big. I'm not sure I believed that, but you always had a way of making me feel wanted.

You locked your legs behind me and wrapped me up in the tightest hug you could muster. None of it was enough to slow me down. I plunged in and out of you with abandon, every in stroke grinding into you as deeply as I could. Every out stroke I pulled almost all the way out before opening a path to your center all over again. Every time I was all the way in you made a yelping sound, and you exhaled every time on my way back out.

In not time at all you were coming for me. I told you how good that was. It made me proud of you when you came so hard. I wanted you to come so hard you couldn't breathe. I always tried to make it happen. I pulled your neck against my shoulder to make it harder for you to draw oxygen. You taught me to do that because it got you off harder.

We both sometimes wondered if it would kill the other person when we fucked. We had made our love play into a blood sport. We weren't going into it lightly. We were bad ass when it came to having sex with each other. You always impressed me. You were a fucking Amazon warrior goddess in bed. I couldn't even imagine somebody who would be better at it than you.

You came and came, moaning and then screaming because I wouldn't stop until I was done. Somewhere far away from where my cock was impaling you I felt you clawing my back to shreds. I could almost feel the blood as it dripped down my skin onto the ground. My cock was so hard it had gone beyond painfully stiff. The pressure in my balls kept building, until finally I came too.

There was an explosion inside my head that looked like the 4th of July. The pleasure was so intense I'm positive my heart did stop for a few seconds. I couldn't move. The shakes I got weren't obvious or easy to see, but they meant I had totally lost control of my motor functions for a few seconds. When I came back to reality my first thought was of getting dressed again. I had totally forgotten we were at an abandoned plantation house in the middle of fucking nowhere.

You looked at me and started laughing. I don't even remember what you said. It was something like, "Are you sure you're okay, baby?" I know I didn't answer you. I'm not sure what I would have said if I had tried.

I felt better after I was dressed, which took me longer than you. I sat down, because I really needed to. You giggled at me again, and I mentioned how fast you could get dressed if it was important. You hit me on the shoulder. I could hear a little thunder in the distance, and the clouds looked a little darker than they had when we first got there.

It looked like we would have to go home, back to where all the people and insanity was. We held hands and looked at the sky for a while before we left. Everything had a way of looking beautiful when I was with you. I couldn't even imagine what it would be like if you weren't there.

And that's what I mean by emotional content. That's what I mean by saying that I don't create trash. I am an artist, not a pornographer. I feel very sorry for anyone who hasn't felt so close to another human being. There is no greater pleasure than being in love. I sometimes understand why so many people hate though. They hate because they don't have love. It's wrong that they hate, and that hatred likely keeps them from true happiness. I'm glad I'm not the sort of person who has nothing but hatred.

I'm a lover. This was fiction. I have felt the same sort of love for every woman I have ever been with. They were all so beautiful, inside and out. God gave me something incredible. He gave me the gift of communication. Because of that gift I have known love so many times. I always have more than enough to go around.

I'm looking for a lover again right now. I always give one hundred percent. If you see me remember that I give myself away freely. All you have to do is make sure I know you want me. I'll give it to you. I can't think of anything I'd like more than to give you all my love.

Room Service

Lisa had been in the Royal Orleans three of the four nights she was supposed to be there. She had flown to New Orleans for a conference on risk assessment. The conference was so boring she wanted to hang herself during the intermission of the very first meeting. She had signed up for the conference to get away from the office for a few days, and because she thought New Orleans would be fun. She was still waiting for the fun part.

Lisa enjoyed the time in the French Quarter, although it was not exactly what she remembered. She had memories of it being no holds barred, but now she found it uptight and expensive. She noticed the hurricane had changed the city a lot, and she didn't mean the flood. There was an over all sense of depression and gloom hanging over a place that had once been very laid back and relaxed.

For her last night she didn't intend to do any of the things normal tourists do. Lisa wasn't going out to eat. She wasn't going to any bars, although she planned to have a couple of treats. She had made a breakthrough on enjoying the last bit of her trip to the crescent city. Lisa bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

The night before she had gone to a local hangout called The Abby. The first two nights she explored the tourist bars and gay bars on Bourbon Street, which were all packed and very loud. The Abby was completely different than those places. It wasn't lit up with expensive lighting, the music wasn't loud and there was a place to sit at the end of the bar furthest from the door. She had settled in to see what the place had going on.

After Lisa's second hurricane daiquiri with extra shots a woman came through the front door. The newly arrived woman was tall and had long black hair in a loose ponytail down her back. Lisa took one look at her and knew immediately what the black haired woman enjoyed.

The woman was wearing mid-thigh black leather boots with rows of little buckles from the top of her feet all the way up her legs. The straps and buckles were black outlined with red. The woman was wearing a black leather mini skirt and an impossibly binding corset with matching buckles, although it also had cords and eyelets for additional tightening.

What caught Lisa's eye more than anything was the leash the woman was holding in her right hand. She was holding the chain leash by a leather strap at the end of it. The other end of the leash was fastened to a collar worn around the neck of a really good looking guy who had to be in his twenties. He didn't have a shirt on, and looked to be in fantastic shape.

Lisa realized she had been blatantly staring at the couple after they entered the bar. She grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. Lisa had never seen anything like a woman leading a man around on a leash. It was right out of one of her sexual fantasies, so she couldn't look away. The only fantasy she had that was naughtier than having a male sex slave was being a sex slave herself. Just thinking about it made her get a little warm and sensitive

The woman came over and introduced herself, obviously because Lisa couldn't find anything else to look at. "Hi there. My name is Olivia," the black haired woman said to Lisa in a warm matter-of-fact tone. Olivia almost stuck he right hand out to take Lisa's, but realized the complication of doing so with a leash in her hand. Instead Olivia stuck out her left hand a little bit awkwardly, surely because she had to be right handed.

Olivia was about to say something when Lisa cut her off. "Is this your boyfriend?" Lisa asked pointedly about the guy wearing the collar. At close range his abdomen muscles were very distinct. The previously unknown detail that he was wearing tight leather jeans leaped right out at her.

"Goodness no. This is just one of my slaves. I think his name is Jacques, but I forget some times. I don't need to know his name. He pleases me when he is ordered to do so, but most of the time I rent him out to please other women."

"You... rent him out... to please other women?" Lisa asked as if she did not understand the words at all.

Lisa wasn't looking at Olivia at all anymore. Jacques was proving to be far more interesting. Jacques looked at her and smiled. He was not a big or tall man, but he was very well proportioned. He was about 5'10" tall, with curly dark brown hair and a dark olive complexion. He had eyes that hovered between green and brown. They were quite possibly the most interesting eyes she had ever seen, and she found herself lost for a moment.

"Why yes, dear. I most certainly do rent him out. Are you interested?" Olivia asked her pointedly.

"I want to say yes, but this is happening so fast."

"Maybe a little sample will help you make up your mind," Olivia said. She looked over her right shoulder at Jacques and told him, "Show this wonderful young woman what you can do for her. No hands either, and you had better be good."

Jacques moseyed up to Lisa and pressed in really close to her. He kept his hands behind his back as he smelled her neck slowly. Lisa could feel the warm air on the bare flesh just below her left cheek. He blew on her left ear softly and sucked on the lobe for just a split second.

Lisa could feel a growing bulge in the leather pants Jacques was wearing. She got goosebumps all over and moistened as her skin flushed a dark red. Jacques was moving almost his entire body against her, back and forth and up and down. His leather pants and bare skin were driving Lisa out of her mind.

Lisa's enjoyment was interrupted by Olivia, who said, "Come along, Jacques. Leave the nice lady alone."

Olivia turned as if to walk away. It occurred to Lisa she was dealing with a very experienced sexual facilitator, but it didn't matter. Lisa knew exactly how she wanted to end her short stay in New Orleans. For that matter she also knew what she wanted for her birthday and Christmas combined.

"How much, Olivia?"

Olivia took one last look at her, to make sure Lisa wasn't a cop. The sight made her snicker almost imperceptibly. "For $400 you can have him for the night."

Olivia expected Lisa to bargain or appear shocked. What she go instead was the quick vocal response, "Okay. What do I have to do? Can I take him home now?"

Olivia smiled very broadly and laughed. She liked the young woman. A lot of people would be shy or timid. Lisa knew what she wanted, and she apparently wanted it yesterday. Unfortunately Olivia and Jacques had a prior engagement.

"He can come round to see you tomorrow night. We have plans for tonight," Olivia said mischievously. Lisa could swear she saw Jacques redden a little even in the shadowy gloom of The Abbey. "Why don't you tell us where you'll be tomorrow night."

Lisa had told them. She didn't pay any attention to the seminars the next day, the last day of the conference. She was so excited she had problems sitting still waiting for the hour to arrive.

Lisa was waiting in one of the hotel chairs looking out the window onto one of the French Quarter streets when the doorbell rang. She walked over to the door and peeped out the front. It was Jacques all right. She thought he looked good enough to eat. She opened the door to let him in, and knew immediately she was about to have the time of her life.


continued...
Excuse any errors.
It's way past my peak writing hours.
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Note: I've been working on something else that was for here. It's becoming something far different than erotica, so it won't be posted here. That's why I had to write this from scratch tonight.