Wednesday, 21 September 2011


The only suitable mirror was in her
parents' room so she waited 'til they were out and
wondered if it was
normal to be so secretive, but she
wanted so to see what
she could only feel.

It was awkward getting
angle and light right but then
there it was, something so
complex she stared at it for
ages, wondering if it was
normal, those curious

wisps of hair and the
plumping vertical oval--was that
normal? It looked ugly but
drew her fingers to explore the
startlingly sensitive flesh--
was that normal?

Was it normal to be so wet? to be so
excited? to feel so bad and
so good? Was that

”Erotic notebook, weekly erotica writing prompt ” href=””

Monday, 19 September 2011


She felt the living thing within her
twitch and tense and
cry out through that
wry mouth her mouth encompassed,
speaking a salty language that made her
blush and which she
struggled to comprehend.

Saturday, 17 September 2011


“Has he had you?” her friend asked and
she had to think what
“had” meant, with it’s
implication of taking, owning,
inhabiting her body, and her
mind filled with images of herself on her
knees, bent over, against walls, in
sight of others, shared,
stuffed, loving it.....”Well
yes,” she said, “I suppose he

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Beach Mother 2

The girl walked proudly alongside her
mother, watching how she
existed in her heels, how she
held her head up and her
back straight so her
breasts were thrust forward and how her
hips swung lazily as she
sauntered along the beachfront
past the hot glances of men,
past their ill-concealed erections, and the
girl slowed her usual haste, trying to
draw those eyes, make them
want her as much as her mother and she
knew then that soon she would be
making the same feral noises her
mother made behind her bedroom door.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

Beach Mother 1

The boy lay next to his
sunbathing mother and watched
other boys and men look
longingly at her oiled and
near-naked body and he
suddenly understood, so he
went walkabout watching girls who
ignored him and mothers who
watched their chicks like hawks and he
found himself being those
other boys (and men) as he
approached his mother’s body and
saw her as they saw her, with those
small breasts in their hands and those
long legs wrapped around them and that
sweet mouth full of
demanding obscenities and a
queue behind of other men
(and boys) which he would
happily join.


She was such a tiny thing but her
thin thighs could almost
cut my head from my shoulders, her
fine fingers left
deep gouges in my back and her
slender pelvis could lift
twice her weight whenever the
fury of her orgasm turned
Delilah into Samson.

Saturday, 3 September 2011


The succubus spoke of the
pleasures she would show me, of
grandes horizontales versed in
every vice, of harems
bulging with oriental beauty, of
discreet orgies in my honour, of
yummy mummies dropping their
babies at nursery then
dropping their knickers for me, of
virgins adept at anal congress and
sweet girls who loved to get their
knees dirty, but all the while her
figure got fainter as I
slipped away, dreaming of
just one thing, once, to