Tag Archives: life

Very Short Stories – If We Hadn’t Had Sex

♦ It seems my Very Short Stories idea has been catching on! When I last told you about them, one other, the lovely Innocent Loverboy, had joined in. Since then, four more have cropped up! So please go and read the wonderful posts by Jilly Boyd, Girl on the Net, Lady Pandorah and Ruby Goodnight.

I am, I have to say, absolutely thrilled and humbled that so many lovely people are joining in! Thank you, all!

For those who’ve missed what this is all about, it’s very simple. I started writing teeny-tiny flash fiction on Post-it notes. First, Covered in Cream, then Prometheus. Want to join in? Here’s how it works: Take a Post-it note, find a prompt word from anywhere you like, write a story no bigger than your sticky note. Then share it with the world and let me know! A link back would be lovely.

In fact, I wrote another, so here’s another example…

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“Maybe if we hadn’t had sex, I wouldn’t have damp jeans on from not giving the dryer enough time to run. Maybe if we hadn’t had sex, I wouldn’t be out of breath from having to run for the train.

Perhaps, if we hadn’t had sex, I’d have an extra £1.60 in my pocket because I’d have waited for change. Maybe if we hadn’t had sex, my damp jeans and my damp knickers (nothing to do with laundry) wouldn’t be combining unsettlingly. Maybe if we hadn’t had sex, I wouldn’t be grinning. ”

I’m cheating a little, as it’s a sort of literary-ised (totally a word) version of a few real events from my mad dash to my train to get to Eroticon 2014 for the Friday.  But I think it still counts. If not fiction, then fiction-ish.

I managed with smaller writing (made more troublesome by the train I was writing it on, sorry) to make a grand 92 words this time, but it looks like I’d have to write very cramped to manage many more. But that’s fine by me. It’s the dinky aspect of this that appeals to me and I’ll likely try to write bigger next time.

Next time? Oh, yes, I’m certainly keeping these going. In fact, Eroticon gave me several ideas! What about you? Can you write a story on a Post-It? When will the inspiration for your next Very Short Stories hit? ♦

The First Time Again

♦ Our ‘new’ mattress is a little harder and the room a little lighter. There are long-forgotten trinkets still strewn on the floor and half-filled drawers waiting for clothes and clutter. An unfamiliar ceiling. A single floorboard that creaks.

But he, at least, is familiar.

Days of drudgery and Domestos have sunk tiredness deep into our bones and our brains are fuzzy from weariness and fumes. We have relied on each other to put in the elbow grease and take care of tasks, but we haven’t yet sunk into each others bare arms in this house other than to flop into fitful sleep.

His hair is tousled and his body, as always, is full of soft curves and hard edges: a smooth belly, jutting hips, long limbs and the barest hint of plush, dark hair. He crawls into bed from the edge and peppers my naked breast with kisses. I ache for affection not snuck between hefting boxes or scrubbing surfaces. I long for the feel of him, the leisure of his body and the pleasure of his cock.

I press into his kisses and plant my own on his shoulder and neck, undulating under his mouth. I slip my hands from his torso as he starts to nibble at my nipple and I move one to his cock and one to my clit.

He lies down next to me, still with good access to my body and lets me stroke us both. His foot is planted steadily against the wall and I hook my leg over his lightly, giving myself better access to the sensations knotting around my clitoris.

I struggle to keep us both at our preferred rhythms – him slower and me faster – as he takes a nipple in each hand and presses and rolls them between his fingertips.

Our little moans and sighs of content mingle in the high-ceilinged room and I edge towards orgasm. After a little rearrangement of my pillows, I am there, gasping and groaning as I shatter the tension built up in my body and shudder into my climax.

I am still masturbating him slowly but now I turn to him and tell him I want him to fuck me. I want him inside me. I want to melt back into desire with him. I want to make it clear that the worst of the life-fuss is over and I can start to relax, that we can reclaim our lust together from the clutches of responsibility.

He pulls himself around so he kneels between my legs and pushes his cockhead against my wettened slit. I so want this. I gasp as he enters me, my cunt still tender and tuned-up from my orgasm. I ask him to keep his angle low so I can really enjoy the full size of him as he strokes the top of my pussy and thrusts me into happiness.

I love the feel of cock on cunt. I writhe in pleasure as I stroke myself leisurely, watching his gorgeous face change with his efforts. Soon he is coming inside me, groaning in the release of too much built-up tension. It has been far too long for both of us.

I pull him down on top of me and feel the last twitches of his cock inside me. The house is ours now and he is mine, but, perhaps more importantly, I belong to myself again, not to life’s little irks. There’s nothing like having a first time all over again.

Poem (À la Recherche de Gertrude Stein)

Note: Poem (À la Recherche de Gertrude Stein) is the full title of this work. It’s a little confusing, I know.

♦ I thought I’d share with you a poem I found some time ago by a poet called Frank O’Hara. Like love, it is messy, unstructured and rushes along at its own, sometimes dizzying, pace. But it is also warm and giving and full of little details that make it sparkle. The strange line breaks and lack of punctuation make this poem a little hard to read but it does carry you tumbling along with the flow and what I love most about this poem is that the poet clearly just really gets what it’s like to be in love with someone and have all your cares washed away by something so simple as their skin.

Even when my cares are Crush-matters themselves (hey, no-one’s perfect), it’s not long before his eyes draw me in and his warmth caresses me more than his words. The fact that I love him is enough to overcome the fact that sometimes I don’t actually like him. :P

I know the first three lines of this poem so well.  They speak to me and tell me everything will be alright because I am his and he is mine and come what may we love each other more than niggles and vicissitudes. I hope you like it too. ♦

When I am feeling depressed and anxious and sullen
all you have to do is take your clothes off
and all is wiped away revealing life’s tenderness
that we are flesh and breathe and are near us
as you are really as you are I become as I
really am alive and knowing vaguely what is
and what is important to me above the intrusions
of incident and accidental relationships
which have nothing to do with my life

when I am in your presence I feel life is strong
and will defeat all its enemies and all of mine
and all of yours and yours in you and mine in me
sick logic and feeble reasoning are cured
by the perfect symmetry of your arms and legs
spread out making an eternal circle together
creating a golden pillar beside the Atlantic
the faint line of hair dividing your torso
gives my mind rest and emotions their release
into the infinite air where since once we are
together we always will be in this life come what may

– Frank O’Hara

Six Words: Lift Me

♦ Despite protesting, Tom‘s been spreading the memey-goodness around like a bad case of the sniffles and, whaddya know, I got infected.

Here’s how it works:
♦ Write your own six word memoir
♦ Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like
♦ Link to the person that tagged you in your post.
♦ Tag five more blogs with links
♦ And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

So, bothersome thoughts of dissertations aside I sat and thought about it. And then thought about it some more. My idea got a little modified by the picture I chose to describe it, and, I’ll admit, the whole things sounds a bit twee, but what the hell. I’m in love.

Lift me

 .

Blacksilk’s six word memoir: “He loves me always, lifts me”. And if you can’t guess who ‘he’ is, you haven’t been paying attention to my blog. Hmm, now I’m slowly running out of people to tag, but I’ll choose: Scarlet The Harlot, Kinkerbelle and Confessions of a Boob Fluffer.

Has anyone tagged Bitchy Jones yet, or does she bite? (Well, obviously she *does*, but I mean in *this* context) ♦

Apologies

♦ Sometimes I feel I’m not very good at this blogging business. There’s a rather large lack in my blog of actual sex I’ve actually had recently, unlike, for example, in the rather marvellous new blog of LadyPandorah. This is my problem, you see, I have a cycle that repeats somewhat like this:

1) Either I visit Fractal or he visits me, we have lots of sex but I don’t get to write about any of it as I’m either too busy having it or busy just spending time with him.

2) The visit ends and I mope a bit whilst being unable to write about the undoubtedly fantastic sex we had that is still fresh in my mind because I’m too busy catching up on all the work and things I should have been doing during the visit.

3) I catch up a bit on all that but by now the memories aren’t so clear in my mind. I have a pretty bad memory and all our kink and fun is too blurry by now to write a really good, sizzling and accurate account of it all. So I write a post about, oh I dunno, porn or something. Or blindfolds. Or a pretty lady. Instead of all the sex that kick-started this blog in the first place.

4) It’s nearly time for another visit, and whilst decidedly really, really, horny I can’t keep my brain straight long enough to write sentences.

Repeat.

So, I’m a little jealous of all the people who can write their sex up properly. How do you remember it like that? So exactly? Are you cheating?

Blacksilk’s Writing-About-Actual-Sex Grade: C+, must try harder :) ♦