The Only Thing I Measure

Not The First. The First

I know I am not the first to see you naked. Not the first to touch you. No, I am sure your body has been touched everywhere by others. I am sure others have pushed their way into you, filled you, gently and roughly both. I am not the first to feel your hands around my shaft. Or your lips. I am not the first to bring you to orgasm. Perhaps not even the first to bring you several of them, one after the other. My cock is not the first to feel the delicate tightness of your throat, the tight depths of your vagina, or the yielding constraint of your ass.

I never expected to be the first when we found each other. We had lives. Past. Past lovers.

But I can tell you this. No man has loved you as deeply. No man has wanted not just your body but your sexy soul. No one, and I sure of this, wanted to take you to experiences that are the first. No one more dedicated to making fantasies real and fill your soul with my sex. No one will ever believe you are magic and spend his life partaking, punishing, exalting you to everyone, but most particularly, to you.

And in time, you will never be reminded of those who came before. Only of us.

Hi, send me a private message

Reach out any time.

After the First One

There is a point, after the first one, the line crossed, the fantasy lived, your spirit and body pushed past what you imagined you would ever do.

There is a moment, when you are in my arms in the afterward, that you realize what you have done, and that you have become that rarity, a woman who is willing to live what you want, take it, be taken, the first border breached and you realize

that the first wall is always the hardest, and the next one, and oh yes, there will be a next one, is inevitable, for you are not the same woman as you were. And never will be again.

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If you have ever been pushed past what you thought were your boundaries sexually, you know.

Hi. I love your poems. And especially the themes that inspire your poems. “To The Man Who’s Cum Is In Her Mouth” is brilliant.

Are you also on twitter?

Thank you for your kind words.

Not any longer. When they canceled the original site, I did not start Twitter up again.

The Best of Lessons

It is the best of lessons, the more fucked out I leave you, the more the surrender. the more desperate the need to please. And what man could want more than that perfect desperation from his perfect woman?

When and Where

My hand reaches and finds your thigh,  resting there where all can see, wondering,  like you,  if,  or rather when,  my hand will reach up and claim you,  claim your moist heat for my own,  opening you,  probing you,  never satisfied until you cry out in surrender to your own pleasure. 

They can not know as I know,  that were I to slide my hand slowly up your silken thigh,  right now,  right here,  you would allow it,  the perfect submissive,  always willing to take,  or give pleasure at the moment of my desire. 

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Tumblr killed my former site, The Other Poems, after eight years of poetry and over 12,000 readers and friends. If you like this poem, please consider reposting it so I can find my friends and followers again. Thank you.

I love it when I find a poem from my deleted blog that I can repost to my new on. In this case the poem found me. A Reader from London refound me and shared two. Thank you!

Beyond Words

The knowledge that you will,  with or without bonds is intoxicating beyond words. 

At Our Best

Every time I see you anew, I am unsure. A tender kiss? A ravaging? Domination or a focus on your beautiful pleasure? At our best, it's all four.

My Greatest Fantasy

It is my greatest fantasy. The one that endures. You wanting to please me like it was the most important thing in the world.

Because to me, it is.

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.