Reminder

Without a Word

Without a word, you fall into a position I never asked for, never had to, a position you needed to feel and knew, with certainty I would honor.

The Only Thing I Measure

Forget all they told you. The only thing I measure is how much I love you, how long, and how.

I hope that this is ok with you. If not, please let me know and I will delete it immediately.

Of course! Thank you.

Tom

Everything

The thing is, I remember everything. Every inch. Every curve. The curl of your lip. The way your nipple rises when I go for seconds. Each little skin tag and mole. The depth and deceptive tightness. The sounds you make when we move to a new speed, a new depth, and fresh helplessness. I remember what I see when you cross the room. I remember how you feel as I lay on you. I remember everything Clothes and time and distance do nothing to blur what I know. You think we are apart now and again. But we are not. Because I remember everything.

Suddenly Safe

And then, you suddenly realize the fantasy is about to come real. Me standing, directing the pleasure of everyone involved in a way you never believed happens. Certainly not to you. A smile on my face, half wicked, half so full of love you ache for it, feeling suddenly safe in this strange place you find yourself.

=================

Fill in your fantasy. With the right person, they can happen. But for Gods sake, make sure it is the right person who will both push you and protect you, and love you even more after it is done.

Limits

And just as you believe there are limits to what might become real, uyou find out there are not. None in you. And certainly none from me.

Oh I see. Your twitter links are all quite old. I suppose that the belong to the tumblr that was taken from you.

They did indeed. I lost eight years of poetry. And thousands of readers and handful of friends. The friends I have mostly refound. The rest? Ah well.

This time around I did not bother with Twitter. It has become an odd place anyway.

Be well.

The Problem

The problem is... The problem has always been that everything reminds me of you, and there is not enough time with you, for me to tell you how.

One of my poems from my deleted blog, found on someone else’s blog.

Wait. Watch.

Lay there.  Wait.  Watch  as I lay things out.  Flogger. Crop. Plug. More.  As I anticipate which pain, and where I will punish you with tonight.  As I anticipate what tender places I will penetrate, with what and how long,  and how hard.  Watch. See my smile.  See my shaft rise,  hard as stone.  Know,  you are mine,  helpless before my desire. 

Mine. Yours

You give yourself to me,  surrender more than your body,  but your trust as my fingers caress you,  the flat of my palm smooth against your belly,  down,  slowly down,  smiling as your pelvis rises,  smiling at your helplessness,  your legs tied, spread wide,  one arm tied, one free,  the silk scarves soft and strong both,  you are beautifully vulnerable your body alive under my touch as my fingers approach your heat,  as they slide over your swollen heat,  the damp texture of your loins trembling,  as a tease you, tracing the moist slit that presses upward against my hand that rises then pressed against you, finally letting one thick finger slide in, just barely, sliding up towards your clit, finding it, hard and tender as I kiss your neck, 

You reach out in darkness,  the blindfold tight against your eyes.  My fingers probe as your hand finally finds my cock, you grasp it, your fingers tight around it’s shaft just as I plunge my own fingers deep in you. 

“No” I whisper.  “Caress it. Softly.” You cry out as my fingers swirl hard against your clit,  as another hand grabs your breast,  your excitement building, desperately to pump,  to let your hand reflect your hunger. 

“Caress.” I command  and the strain of it, your body now being mauled by my strong hands, while your hand struggles to obey,  softly sliding over my hardness, cups my balls smooth and shaven, so hungry for me,  but obedient, 

My fingers press your clit firmly now,  the rhythm of them back, forth, firm and steady,  savoring your cry, watching your beautiful fingers  slowly, lightly rubbing me as my own hands  take you hard, your soft breast helpless,  your clit enslaved. 

“Mine.” I say softly, but firmly too,  sure of your giving, sure of your body,  certain the first orgasm of the night  teeters on the edge, as your voice,  uintelligible whimplers,  as my hand commands you to slow your touch even as my own speeds up,  presses harder until you cry out,  as your entire body spasms,  lost in sensation,  as your hands abandon me,  and you grasp the sheets in beautiful agony then falls limp, your bruised chest heaving. 

I straddle you and take your hands and place them against my shaft.  “Now.” I say.  “Now pump me. Make me cum white and hot over your breasts.  and I watch your fingers,  your manicured nails as they surround me and gently move, up and down, slow, firm, 

My sigh tells you,  tells you the pleasure that fills me at the sight of you,  of your touch,  of the knowing that shortly my pleasure will erupt and cover you, the beginning of our night.  Yes, only the beginning,  my own helplessness in love,  no less binding  than the silken scarves that bind you and leave you at my mercy.