Tuesday, June 14, 2005

 

What blogger am I?

We lay next to each other and the fan is whirling
It’s pace keeps me cool
But I want to turn it off and get hot against your flesh

We lay next to each other and my finger traces your thigh
I sense your awareness of my longing
A slight tension builds inside you about your next move
I can hear your mind bite its lower lip

You tell me I’m randy
You’re right, and I’m vulnerable again
Perhaps you’ll give me your body if only for a minute

“You’ll have to turn off the fan”
I try not to leap toward the control knob
But you already know that I’m desperate

A little lubrication in my hands to prepare your willing but tired body
The scent will stay with me through the night

You move to the center of the bed so my right leg stays on
I position myself above you.
Your knees point to the ceiling and I feel lucky and crazy
This must be my lust

I feel you stifle a small groan when I slide into you
I want you to know that I love you
I want you be my filthy little slut

I stroke evenly and gently, your body sucking me in
The room is dark and your breasts are magnets to my heart
And with only a moment elapsed I feel myself swell
This time is for me so I allow it to happen

And with one fluid motion I prop up and clutch my dick,
The only part of me in existence at this time
I feel the eruption of seed from my shoulders
The room is still dark and your stomach is puddled

You say nothing and I know you accept me
I have soiled my Madonna, which you never wanted to be
I am grateful. You are empathic.

And as I take care to tumble to the side
You stand and walk away unaffected
I know you’ll be back and want me to talk
I know you’ll lay down and expect me to sleep

We talk about things I can’t even remember
And the sex we just shared is a gift you’ll remember giving
I’ll carry your scent and the memory of the silk ribbons you keep inside

The alarm wrenches me from a dream
My blood rushes to my cock
My first thoughts are of coffee, my clothes, your pussy,
And the next time I’ll be allowed to press your wrists to the bed

I’m ready for the day


Comments:
Sweet Mother of...
Who the HELL IS THAT AND WHY HAVEN'T I BEEN READING THEIR BLOG?!

Excuse me while I go shower...
 
I'm guessing Quyen.
 
i'm guessing YOJ.

because her shit has that effect on me, too, cece :P hehehe.
 
It's the tattooed, painter, poet...YOJ...did I mention sexpot in my description?:)
 
damn, i could have guessed this one.
 
Def Yoj...she is usually the only one that can get me all flustered at my desk like that!
 
While I can't yet confirm or deny your guesses, I have to make an observation:

I can't believe how hot and bothered you're all getting over a twenty-thrust quickie that left Nina with a mess to clean up.

I'm not sure what that means, but I think it's a good thing...I think.
 
girls are easy like that, mikey.
 
Dammit. This is the only one I would have gotten right so far. I know YoJ's 'poetry' anywhere. Dammit!
 
Yep, has to be Yoj. Her poetry makes me have to sit still when I read it at work so no one thinks I'm still going through puberty. (Remember jr. high school guys?)

Good job on the poem Mike. It's pretty hot.
 
i didn't get hot and bothered because
1) i've met you guys and that would be ummm...weird
2) the soiled madonna line threw me off.
 
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