Saturday, 25 June 2011

What was she thinking?

The elevator was full of couples
going to change after the cocktails for the
formal dinner, chirpilly excited.
Some of the men checked her out
surreptitiously as she checked out
their wives, wondering whether they could
guess what she was about to do.
Her ad was, she supposed, direct:
“Good girl wants, for one night,
to be bad”, and the
mirrored back wall certainly showed a
good girl reddening in
anticipation of whatever
awaited her above in the no doubt
impersonal hotel suite in which,
she had decided, there would be
no “No”.

(For J x)

Friday, 24 June 2011


“Bare sun bares skin”, she thought as her
husband fucked her there
in the dunes not far from the
Atlantic breakers and people
sunning themselves but a
million miles from the self she was a
week ago in wet Surrey.
How had it come so suddenly to this?
Naked and splay-legged in the
gloriously open air?
She heaved up her loins to meet his
thrusts and her eyes rolled open to see
their audience, a young couple,
bare, brown and blond, his
substantial erection growing to meet her
blindly searching hand.
The only cock she’d ever known
ploughed her as she wondered what the
boy’s would feel like and how the
bald peach of the girl would taste and she
startled herself, coming hard and loud,
provoking her husband to do likewise, and
when she opened her eyes again
they’d gone and she hoped they would
come again tomorrow.

Wednesday, 22 June 2011


Is your vagina not beautiful enough?
You’ve taken the trouble to
shave or wax it bare and I’m
grateful, though if it were a
jungle I would still love it for the
scents, odours, flavours of your
femininity, the pulsing
heart of your sex, the
fulcrum of our fucklife, the
lips I like to kiss and
kiss and not taste fake jewels the
desire for which would make me feel
less of a man.

Tuesday, 21 June 2011


Simmer me gently on
a low heat, don’t
let me come
to the boil but
baste me
now and then with
piquant juices and
add spice
from time to time and
be ready when things
come to a head and


Sometimes she would find the
perfect couple who lived
just  far enough away for it to be
inconvenient, just near enough to be
tempting, so that between their trysts her
phone throbbed endlessly with texts from
one or other, keeping her
humidity high, her
erogeny on edge, her
work zoned out.

“Miss yr lips” “Which ones?
“Fresh creampie—want it?”
Sometimes she would intrude into their
late-night sex:
“Is he in u?” “U in her?”
“Rim him like I rimmed u—dare?”
“Fk her tight little arse for me
“Gonna DP u next time.”

And all the time her pussy
clenched at the thought of being
hooked on slender
scarlet-tipped fingers or riven by
blunt cock, trapped between
smooth and hairy skin.

(Copyright 21/6/11)

Wednesday, 15 June 2011


It was raining the day they were to
shoot her scenes and Dirk just
shrugged the way he did and
studied the crossword.
It wasn’t a big part—the
wronged wife in a
merry-go-round of infidelity
amidst the upper-middle class.
The script was by Pinter and a
tad pretentious but it was
work and she didn’t want it
to go to waste, so she
found the oilskin and the
sou’wester and went without
shoes on the wet grass despite the
sparks’ cables snaking nearby.
She thought she might seem silly,
not thinking how erotic she looked—
a barefoot English rose in a
mackintosh, all wet.