Rough

Fuck the status quo and the bitches who won't bleed.

Come and get it, if you want it. I'm in the mood to scream.

I'm a goddamn dominatrix tripping on my own fucking leash.

Still, I could make your world sweat. Baby, on your knees.

I'm a snake around your apples, hungry raptor in the trees.

Love's a joyous paralytic, and I'm ready to receive.

Fingers laced around our necks, thighs entwined in sheets.

Dappled purples, mottled blues. Honey, dig in deep.

I don't live on the edge, I'm the fucking razor blade.

Slap and kiss me, push me, choke me.
There is no pleasure without pain.

Bite me with your tongue, lick me with your teeth.

Maybe after all, you'll find a good girl underneath.

Long

I want the type of love that people envy. Not because I want the attention, but because I want to know that I have something that people rarely find.

I want passion. I want a man who will push me against the wall and ravage me. I want more in his mind than lust. I want to mean something to someone. I want to mean everything to someone. I want to be his every waking thought. I want to exist where I do not.

I want frantic kisses in bed and someone else’s sweat on my chest. I want a man who will accept my sexuality with all of its kinky attributes. I want a man who will suit my animalistic needs but who still knows how to make love.

I want romance. I want tender kisses and warm hugs. I want a body pressed against mine. I want a man’s arms around me in a loving physical silence. I want to belong to someone, and I want him to belong to me. I want those butterflies when he whispers in my ear. I want him to say sweet things and mean them.

I want a man who will appreciate me as a woman instead of a plaything, who will use me as his rock and not his whore. I want cold nights and hot kisses. I want lingering tongues and trembling pulses.

I want a man who will challenge me intellectually but never find joy in my ignorance. I want honesty so impenetrable that it hurts. I want a man who has no qualms about sinking his teeth into me. I want a man who knows what safety words are for. I want a man who always wants me but has the self control to wait. I want a place to cry but never a reason. I want love so radiant that it shines in my eyes and reflects in his.

I want spontaneity. I want kisses in the rain and company in a storm. I want love on a soft floor. I want someone to make happy. I want to run my fingers through his hair and rake my nails across his back. I want to please him in every way I know how. I want to take his bottom lip in my teeth and milk a vibrating moan from his mouth.

I want laughter so pure that we sound ridiculous together. I want corn and fluff. I want unabashed comical relief. I want his smile imprinted in my memory but never the need to recall it. I want a man who hugs me from behind and nibbles on my ear. I want a man who relishes in the simple sensation of fingers tracing invisible pictures on his back. I want a man who calls me just to hear my voice.

I want a lover. I want a friend. I want days to crawl across the sleepiness within a white hammock. I want fights to end completely without harbored anger or remorse. I want arguments to end in sex. I want a man who understands what makes a relationship last and puts it into practice. I want a man who loves massages—giving and receiving.

I want a man who’s vocal. I want to hear his pleasure in rippling groans that flex and tense his torso. I want silence to disappear in the shadow of ecstasy but blanket the times when nothing must be said. I want a man who knows the value of the word “beautiful.” I want to believe him when he says it.

I want instant heat between my legs at the sight of him. I want his hands. I want dripping sarcasm in wine glasses. I want his voice to be my aphrodisiac. I want his lips to hesitate above mine for a split second to intensify what is to come.

I want a man who appreciates the dying art of the written romantic letter. I want tea for two and cuddling on the couch. I want Jimmy Stewart nights and Kevin Smith nights. I want slow dancing for no reason. I want him to tell me what to wear so he can look at me hungrily all night long. I want Chinese takeout, chopsticks, and pajamas. I want really bad kisses… with good ones to make up for them.

I want lips, tears, teeth, nails, leather, lace, flesh, and metal. I want parallel heads with an annex for dreams. I want messy perfection.

And I want.
And I want.
And I want.

Fluid

I am your toy to mangle,
your slave to suppress with chains,
the mud ensnared upon your sole,
your peeling flakes of skin.

I am your pawn to sacrifice,
your dog to starve at will,
the rain cast from your fingertips,
your exuded drops of sweat.

I am your experiment to ruin,
your voodoo doll to stab,
the saliva which you expectorate,
your faithful lover in your bed.

Wilder

There are some things I can’t explain. Like how he pushes me against the wall and growls how much he wants me and then after he’s had his fill, turns over and falls asleep. Like how his flaming touch causes my skin to crackle and peel away like burning parchment curling into delicate, black wisps of ash.

There are some things I’d kill to know. Like how his lips meld pain and pleasure into one luscious sensation of pure, galvanic ecstasy, causing rumbling moans to issue forth from my expectant, gaping maw. Like how his long, slender fingers know how to touch me so that my vision leaps from my person to roll on the boiling surface of the sun.

There are some things I wish I could learn. Like how to force his body to spasm in unchained delight so that his gray eyes loll back to hide within creamy white doors—how to graze my teeth along his torso as he does mine so that his core will tremble with aggravated anticipation.

There are some things he whispers. His voice, like cream between my legs. His breath, the inducer of my drunken reverie, seeping like some nocuous gas into my lungs--burning, tearing.

There are these moves he makes. His limbs are conductors of music, like streaming hands along a vast expanse of harp. His being combs the air with preternatural grace as he walks, thrusts, licks, bites, comes. His presence is warm chocolate dripping on the tongue. His mouth, his sex complete with darting, raping tongue. His sex, his mouth demanding my undivided attention with its constant and firm commands for worship. My own lips are inadequate to form coherent words, the syllables powdered flecks of white on nascent crests of violent waves in my mind.

There are some things I crave even in the temporary death of sleep. His nails slicing interstices of linear scarlet down the tensed muscles of my naked back, his knee beneath my sex, parting my inner thighs. His legs, his hands, his back, chest, tongue, feet, hair. I devour him every time I look at him. I take him. Take him with me behind my eyelids to ravage him within the gray brain matter encased within my skull.

There are some memories evoked. Metal containing my wrists conjures the sting of lashes across my thighs. Satin before my eyes twists my lower half into writhing fits of agony as an invisible tongue laps and sucks at my most sensitive of places. Leather binding my ankles summons feelings of momentary delicious abandonment and strips of black hide tickling misleading pathways along my ass. Crushed red velvet restraining my limbs is a mystery. My neck throbs with teeth it has yet to meet, bruises with oil puddles of color before being sucked by pillowed lips. My insides recoil then contract, involuntarily displaying their need to be filled and sated with his long, pulsing heat.

There are some positions he likes me in. Like a master peering down at his adoring slave, he views me as I pleasure him.

There are some places he likes to take me in. How his mind creates his fantasies, I’d never have the breath to question.

There are some sounds he loves to hear. As my mouth wraps around his name as it would around his cylinder of flesh, he leans back his head to fill me. As I scream in pain, his mouth curls to lovingly mock me. My whimpers for him to stop cause his hand to rise ten more times.

There are some things he hasn’t done to me yet.