You Haunt Me

You haunt me even when you’re

not there as I can’t wash

while the wonderful

smell of you lingers on my

fingers, while there might still be a

ghost of our coupling somewhere on my

body, somewhere in my

senses.

One-sided Conversation

John, what are you doing up here?

Go downstairs now before someone sees you.

Stop it, my family are here!

I’ve got to get this bed ready for Gramps.

Don’t point that thing at me!

My husband could come up, my kids...

John, stop it now......

God, don’t break my kneecaps!

At least close the door.....

Please be quick.....

Jeez, you always come so much!

Be quiet going down, ok? I

need to brush my teeth and if you

got any in my hair I

swear I’ll kill you! Couldn’t you

wait until tomorrow?

Cliff Edge

I had no idea there was a cliff edge

nor that I was near it: it was just a

great night with me and Hub and Mike

laughing, eating, drinking, dancing and the

third bottle just about empty when my

husband kissed me and I moaned, I

remember, closed my eyes, felt

different lips, a new tongue, a new

heat in my centre, felt two men hold me up on their

hardness, felt soft and strong and

limber and pliant and dizzy as I

stepped off the cliff-edge I never imagined

existed in my living room.

PTA Meeting

The agenda was dry but she was

determined to pay attention despite the

sulphurous looks from the man opposite

daring her to come to his no-doubt

scruffy work-van where he would

strip off her finery, make her feel his

work-stained jeans against her soft flesh as he made her

bend over, give it up, allow his

gnarled penis access to her bare pussy

--why was it wet?—leaving the

indent of his sharp zip and a

faint smear of motor oil on her

pale ass.

Barista

Her long dark hair was wound up and

pierced by three pens, one of which she

gracefully plucked to mark the cups with

customers’ finickity commands whilst I

imagined her naked, commanded, her hair

falling like black snow on her

white shoulders as I drew each pen and wrote

something obscene across her

spotless body.

Tally Ho!

Three or four times a year but

always when he least expected he would

arrive home on a Friday night to find his

children happily playing with the babysitter, a

bottle of champagne open by the bed on which

certain clothes were laid out which

immediately set fire to his belly and his

beautiful naked wife, newly shaved, her

eyes sparkling with adventure, reaching on

tiptoe to kiss him, whispering

“My hunting clothes are ready. Shall we

go hunting, my love?” and she knew his answer from the

swelling against her and the heat of his kiss on the

mouth that would soon taste of

other men’s cocks.