Visceral Lit











{July 20, 2007}   Tenderness

There are parts of a man’s body which are more than just skin and bones. More than the warm flesh of which they are composed.

When I press my body, naked against my lover’s skin, my hands seek out these parts more than any other. Fingertips running over the gentle curve of soft lips, eyes hungrily consuming the rise and fall of his body’s landscape.

The expanse of skin between the tops of his shoulder blades, just before the place where his neck takes root in his spine; I caress it with fingernails, lightly dragging them over each small rise and fall of bone. Reach back up with the ends of my fingers and press my palm there. It’s too high to be over his heart, but it feels like a part of his centre anyway, as if I can sense the pull of his lungs, drawing life into him.

I bury my face there; breathing him in; pressing my lips against smooth, tight skin. I am close to the curve between his shoulder and neck and I can follow that curve up to press my lips behind his earlobe, the scent of him purest there.

My hands can wander down to the bulge of his lats, muscles that stand out pleasingly when he lifts or when he presses his body up and down along mine. If he’s been climbing lately, they burst with definition each time he turns his body this way and that. If he hasn’t, they curve softly; gently expanding his chest and then narrowing to his waist.

The dip of his lower back and then the rise of his buttocks. My hand placed just over his tailbone, caressing that shape as I press my body against his. Our skin first feeling each point of contact like tiny electric pinpricks and then as our bodies relax into one another that intense comfort of not knowing where my skin ends and his begins. One warm, soft mass with nothing separating it.

When he stands, there is a faintly chiseled V between his hipbones, drawing the eye down further. If I touch it, tracing the curve of his hips, or the dip of his abdomen, it trembles and spasms. His breath catches in his throat and his penis jumps, if only briefly, to attention.

I cup his jawbone in my hand and caress up his cheekbone, tracing lines over his ears and down his neck. The soft skin just above his collarbone calls to my lips.

His eyes, the windows to his soul, intense and stormy grey in one moment and a sparkling, clear blue the next. Framed by lashes so long he inspires envy in even the most self-assured woman; they too draw my attention. I kiss each lid when they are closed. Admiring him as much as he lies asleep next to me as when he moves across my vision, active and engaged.

The backs of his knees, around to the inner reaches of his thighs where, if I touch with my palms, the backs of my hands brush against soft, receptive skin; A scrotum which leaps at my contact.

He sleeps beside me and I admire the landscape of his form and I want to wake him, to draw his penis out of slumber and to make love to every inch of him, to touch his skin as it heats and dampens with the fever of his pleasure. I also want to hold him, quiet and relaxed and just feel the closeness and the comfort of knowing that he is there, tonight and for many to come.



{May 14, 2007}   Introductions

I refer to myself in the first person, but I do not provide any but the most intimate of details about my life. In return, I know little about you, my readers. Yesterday, I posted my eighth post on this blog. Readership is climbing and I thank you all for reading and I hope you are enjoying my stories.

A little about me: I’m older than most people think, to look at me. I was married once, when I was very young but that’s been over for a while now. I am bisexual with a preference for men. I love women’s bodies and I love the intimacy with which a woman can touch me and I can touch her, but as I once exclaimed to a friend: “I just love cock!”

My experiences have ranged from very vanilla to quite kinky and I’ve seen lovers pale when I’ve described some of the more filthy things I’ve experimented with. I’m also a sucker for love and tenderness, the way I can touch and be touched when there’s more there than just carnality. Not to bash carnality, of course. There’s a lot to be said for a good hard (safe) fuck in its proper place and time.

I am safe and sane and you can assume that if I’ve neglected to mention the prophylactics or the discussions of safety and health, it’s for the flow of the story and not because there weren’t any. Please be safe in your sex too. Sex is too wonderful to allow for the more punitive consequences of not going into it with open eyes.

I write erotica because I enjoy it. I love the use of language to spin tales that will take your breath away and bring a flush to your cheeks. I write erotica because I enjoy sex and because I enjoy remembering those moments with others, where my skin tingled and my mind reeled. I write erotica because I’m a bit of an exhibitionist and a voyeur. I write erotica because I like to think of my readers and what acts I might be able to inspire. I write erotica because it gets me off.

I write other things too, of course because as sexcentric as I tend to be, if I spend my life in a constant state of arousal, I lose my keys and forget to eat.

My introduction to human sexuality came when I was ten. I was an exceptionally mature and responsible child and a precocious reader. The two aspects put together were what led to my raiding of my mother’s bookshelf while being left alone at home after school.

By twelve years old I had read 3 of the Hite Reports on human sexuality, one abridged Kinsey report, The Joy of Sex, Extended Sexual Orgasm and a host of lightly erotic novels which would now be classified as “Chick Lit”. I’d also read darker portrayals of sexuality, such as those in The Catcher in the Rye and Death of a Salesman.

My fascination with human sexuality was only heightened by the onset of puberty and I wrote my first piece of purely erotic literature at 15. In it, thinly disguised versions of my male friends and I interspersed our typical adolescent behaviours with a variety of sexual games. Monogamy was not a feature in this fantasy, as it rarely has been in my life.

All of the erotica I have posted thus far is based on real experiences unless otherwise noted. Most of the partners who have been immortalized here have read the work. If they’ve recognized themselves, they haven’t mentioned it to me.

I’d like to encourage comments and discussion of my posts, but I also enjoy where your silence takes my imagination.

I hope you have enjoyed reading so far, and I hope you enjoy reading further half as much as I do enjoy writing here. Feel free to introduce yourselves, or your avatars and happy reading!



et cetera