Erotic Arts And Letters

[Zerreit]

I was looking for the Erotic Literature thread but sadly, it has either been deleted or locked. I hope the admins and mods won't mind if I start another one as a diversion from the many field reports that bombard MTC.

 

This thread is purely for erotic literature and arts. Post your favorite erotic literature. May it be poetry, an excerpt from a story, your own writings, or what not. Maybe some of us can even share artworks.

 

Post responsibly though as original erotic lit thread was closed due to some people who plagiarized. Please indicate if it's an original work, lifted from another site (e.g. Literotica.com), author, title of book, etc. Let's give credit where credit is due.

 

Let me start off with something from Rumi...

 

 

 

Lighting, your presence

from ground to sky.

No one knows what becomes of me,

when you take me so quickly.

--Rumi (From the book Yellow Silk 2, International Erotic Stories & Poems, edited by Lily Pond)

Edited September 17, 2005 by Zerreit

[Zerreit]

Songs

Melissa Holmes

 

I too overflow; my desires have invented new desires,

my body knows unheard of songs.

--Helen Cixous

 

Timpani of clitoris, bass note of nipple,

fugue of fingertip and skin.

 

in remembrance of the body

in remembrance of the blood

 

this swell of self -

polished wax of apple skin,

hips of perfume bottles,

magnitude of hands

 

mine, his, hers

all the flawed possessives.

 

If you listen long enough, syntax

is inconsequential

it's frequencies of flesh that gather

the tone and pitch of pleasure

playing with its shape.

 

This is a game I've always played

stretch the string free of knots,

see what my two hands can do...

windows opening into, outward

this mutability of metaphor

the vulva is.

 

I am obvious textures - velvet,

the tease of feathers,

smooth curve of soup ladles,

granite,

 

a shift of particles

purple behind closed eyes.

 

Think of where

to touch -

translucence of wrist, stone of ankle, silk of cervix

slipperiness with word and without...

Edited September 17, 2005 by Zerreit

[Guest chunky]

Electricity flows

each time they touch

Their skins tingle

they felt it as such

 

A longing kiss

that lasted forever

naked bodies connect

to end they want it never

 

they rise up and down

like waters beneath them

softly making waves

making pattern with rhythm

 

temperatures rose

like the sweet love they made

and they locked their embrace

under that gentle shade...

[MHY®]

This feel of your hand in mine

The sound of your voice

The gentle caresses

Playful hugs and kisses

 

Your mouth on mine

As you find my most tender areas

Sending electricity through me

As only you know how to do

 

The amazement at our excitement

The lust in your eyes

That is meant for only me

The afterglow of it all

 

The feel of your arms around me

The sound of your breathless voice

The satisfied caresses

The caring hugs and kisses

 

All the things I miss about you.

[MHY®]

LUSTFUL WAYS

 

Music drifted on a breeze

The night, heavy, warm, damp

 

The sun had long since set

Our clothes clung to sweat, slick skin

 

Sensual scents of our bodies

Languor in the thick air

 

Sexuality flows like two magnets

Radiating, drawn to each other

 

Secluded in moonlit darkness

Our clothes not completely removed

 

With out a word, with out a sound

Your muscular arm encloses round my waist

 

Bending me towards the vacant car

My fingers find metal cool beneath my touch

 

Your breath rolls down my back

I arch and silently spread my legs

 

Fingers entwined in my long silky tresses

Gentle, yet erotic, my head is pulled back

 

The bulge pressed against my bottom

Arouses and stimulates my passion

 

Eagerly I am drenched, quivering

You thrust hard into my soft, honeyed sheath

 

Slowly pulling out, I feel every inch of you

The thickness, the length, the ridge

 

The head of your shaft, teasingly enters me

Hungrily my body tightens drawing you in

 

You feel my urgency, as it is your own

Driving into me from behind, I obey

 

Meeting each demand in frantic rhythm

Tension building, your fingers wet with my desire

 

Buried deep with in, your seed fills me

Satiated, fulfilled, I succumb with bliss.

[MHY®]

Wanton Embrace

 

My lips tremble in anticipation.

Eagerly, I press my warm mouth to your skin.

Softly kissing your throat upwards,

lingering as I lead a trail up your neck,

seeking your lips.

your skin, salty, beneath my hungry mouth.

Sighing into your breath, sparks fly.

I want to devour every inch of you!

I imagine your lips, pressing into mine, softly.

Pressure increasing, as my heart beats wildly.

Your tongue, slips, enticingly into my mouth.

Intimately, savoring, I taste you.

Then u kiss me harder, taking over my senses

and delving into my being.

Our tongues caress , circling, stroking

I cant get enough, my body is exploding!

Drowning in desire, knees weak,

as your hands roam my body,

seeking my breasts, cupping my bottom.

A path of fire scorches my skin.

Touching your face, my fingertips gingerly tracing

your jaw line, strong, proud, my blood is pounding!

I lean into to you trying to get closer.

I feel your hardness pressed against my hip.

I smile at how your body responds

to mine, in needing, wanting.

I cant get close enough.

My hands fall from your nape to your chest.

Teasingly, I rub your nipples, longing to kiss them.

Your thigh parts my legs, making my skirt rise.

Slowly, rubbing your leg into my burning flesh,

I make no sound, my breath held in.

My hands slide down to your waist.

Opening your pants eagerly,

I find you hard beneath my touch.

Gently, I enclose your engorged manhood.

Smooth, yet firm, I imagine

my mouth, caressing, sucking, tasting,

where my hand is now working at.

I want you so bad!

Yet, you aren't through, ...nor ready,

to give me, sweet release.

I feel your fingers seeking my inner flesh,

bringing waves of excitement, pleasure.

Your finger invades my now wet, innermost turmoil.

I feel a wicked rage of infernal passion,

Spreading like wildfire, assaulting my senses

I beg you to quench my desires.

I look at you, your eyes, smoldering arrest me.

My cheeks grow hot under your gaze.

A groan sounds deep in your throat, gratifying.

Then bending your head toward me.

You capture my mouth with yours.

Seducing me entirely, endlessly.

My mind, my body, my soul.

Clothes fall away silently to the floor.

You... now want me... as I want you.

Edited September 19, 2005 by MHY®

[Zerreit]

From the book Yellow Silk 2: International Erotic Stories & Poems, edited by Linda Russo...

 

Seventeen, Excerpts

Kenzaburo Oe, translation by Luke Van Haute

 

Today is my birthday. Seventeen years of age I am today: a Seventeen. But nobody in my family realizes it's my birthday. Not my father, not my mother or my brother. Or at least they act like they don't. So I keep quiet about it too.

 

Toward evening, my older sister comes home from the Self-Defense Forces hospital, where she works as a nurse. I'm in the bathroom, lathering myself with soap. "Seventeen years old," she calls out to me. "Doesn't it just make you want to grab yourself?"

 

My sister is horribly nearsighted, and so ashamed of her glasses she's made up her mind never to get married. That's why she went to work for the SDF. In desperation, she does nothing but read. She's ruining her eyes all the more, but she doesn't care.

 

What she said to me now was probably stolen from a book. Still, at least one person in the family remembered my birthday. As I scrub myself down, I recover just a little from my lonliness. I repeat what my sister said. As I think about her words, my sex stands up out of the soap in a sudden erection. I go and lock the bathroom door.

 

It seems like I'm always having erections. I like erections. I like them because of the sensation of energy holding up through my body. And I like to look at my sex in the state of erection. I sit down again and cover myself with soap from head to foot. Then I masturbate. My first masturbation since I turned seventeen.

 

At first I wondered if masturbation wasn't bad for me but I looked through some sexology books in the bookstore and made the liberating discovery that the only bad thing about masturbation is feeling guilty about it.

 

I don't like the reddish-black adult sex, looking completely naked with the skin peeled back, and I don't like kids' sex, which looks like some kind of unripe plant. The sex I like is my own, when it's ready for masturbation. My very own sex. I can pull back the foreskin if I want to, but when I have an erection, it covers the rose-colored head like a soft sweater. I can use it to warm the stuff under the skin and melt it into a lubricating oil.

 

During health class, the school doctor told us how to get rid of that stuff, but everybody laughed. That's because we all masturbate, so there's never any stuff to get rid of. I've gotten to be quite a "hand" at masturbation. I've even discovered how to grab the tip of my foreskin as I come, like I'm squeezing the neck of a bag, and catch the semen in it. As a further advance, I've also made a side door in the pocket of a pair of pants. When I wear those, I can masturbate even in class.

 

As I masturbate now, I recall a story I saw in the color feature of a women's magazing, the confessions of a husband who gave his wife peritonitis by ramming his penis through the walls of her vagina on their wedding night. My erect sex is wrapped in its soft white foreskin, cloaked in a blue haze. It strains upward with the powerful beauty of a rocket. As I caress it, I realize for the very first time that the muscles of my arms are beginning to grow.

 

For a moment I stare in amazement at my muscles. They're like new rubber straps. My muscles. I grab my own muscular flesh, like my sister said. Joy wells up inside me. I smile. I'm a Seventeen, with no love for anybody but myself. My triceps, my biceps, my thigh muscles, they're all still young and immature, but with training they'll grow unfettered into thick sinewy muscle.

 

I think about asking my father to buy me an expander or a barbell set for my birthday. The old man is a tightwad, and he's not about to spend money on things like training equipment, but the warm steam and the soft bubbles have put me into the kind of rapture where it seems like I could talk him into it. By next summer my body will be solid, developed everywhere it ought to be. It'll catch the eyes of the girls at the beach, and plant fervent roots of respect in the hearts of the boys in my class. The salt taste of the sea breeze, the hot sand, the itching powder dusted over sunburned skin, the smell of me and my friends, and amid the cries of the naked crowd of swimmers, an abyss of blissful dizziness into which I suddenly plunge, in silence and solitude. I cry out and close my eyes. The hard hot sex in my grip stiffens for an instant, and in that instant I feel the sperm that erupts from inside me flowing out to fill my hand. All the while, I know that the lucky crowd of naked bathers is peacefully swimming, sunken into silence in the clear summer afternoon sea within me.

[Zerreit]

Creation

Robert Wrigley

 

The sun's a balm and a blade. They're blind

but warm without their clothes,

having packed a pad and blanket

most of a snowy mile from the car.

 

She slips her boots on and steps off

into the lee of a pine, to pee

and leave his leavings in the needles

underneath. What will the coyotes think

 

tonight, that scent, the mignled broths

taking color from the moon. High up

the trunk, a wound has oozed

every autumn for a dozen years,

 

the fallen limb a rack of stobs

they've hung their shirts and woolen pants on.

The palest breath of them rises

around her thighs, her nipples

 

wrinkle hard in the shade, her teeth chatter,

her breasts quiver and sway

and in the lenses of her sunglasses

he sees himself asprawl in the sun.

 

They do not own this land, they do not

live here. No one does,

except the coyotes and the deer, and the pair

of gray sparrows flitting overhead,

 

eyeing the lunchtime crumbs.

Dominion is a word, and ownership

is language. Here, a deed is what they've done,

not unsingable to wits across a page.

 

They are mates. They have mated,

and as he warms her again

beneath their blanket, they speak of this,

who bed most often in a bed

 

among the walls plumb and square,

the walls of law and human fidelity.

Mating, he says. Mount.

It is the only thing, she says,

 

to be human in winter.

Estrus, he says. The curse

of the cycle. Fun, she replies.

Recreation, not pro. And maybe

 

because they are laughing now,

the sparrows see their chance and land

along the blanket's edges, pluck a crumb

and fly back up to twitter

 

overhead like chimes in an easy breeze.

The light is wine, and still

in her boots, she straddles him, and the blanket falls.

 

and the sun on her shoulders

is luminous and symbolic. She can see

in his glasses the bottomless sky,

he can see in hers, the sparrows,

 

working an arm's half-span away,

hopping among the folds of cloth

for a morsel of cheese or an arc of crust,

and without the lovers knowing,

 

a loosened blue thread from the blanket,

which the birds will weave

through the twigs and redolent needles,

come spring in their nest.

[MHY®]

Wanting

 

 

Helpless

When you touch me

Feeling your hands move around my waist

I give my self to you, wanting nothing else

 

Intoxicated

When you kiss me

Your tongue glides into my warm, wet mouth

I taste you completely, wanting nothing else

 

Mesmerized

When you look into my eyes

You see right into my soul

I feel your gaze, wanting nothing else

 

Excited

When you take me

Our bodies move as one

I meet you with unbridled passion, wanting nothing else

 

Longing

When you leave me

So soon after making love

I need more time with you, wanting nothing else

 

Desperate

Knowing you go back home

To your separate life

I live for our brief interludes, wanting more from you.. :cry:

Edited September 20, 2005 by MHY®

[Zerreit]

Standing Stone

Carmela Delia Lanza

 

"And Ruth said, Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people and thy God my God..."

 

"Charles is where the garden will be,"

I tell my son on Palm Sunday,

the frost may still hit while we transform

the sand into soil for plants that pull me back,

an umbilical cord to my father.

I have resisted this gardening for a long time but now

I water the tree and feel this planting in my bones:

he talks about heirloom seeds from one generation to another

and my mother holds a bag of seeds in her garage,

she tells me she doesn't know what to do with them.

"The grass has taken over the garden," she says

as it should take over the world,

"I can't bend over anymore, I fall down."

 

Your body is over me and you ask me if I think of anyone else

while we f**k. Coming with you inside of me is not like my past.

I feel I turn myself inside out, skin is gone and I feel all

I have done, all I have meant to do brings me to this place,

the world moving night to day slowly under our bodies,

a thin moon is holding its breath, forgetting our names again.

 

We walk in the snow on this island where I was born,

my mother has no boots and steps in my footsteps.

The snow is up to our knees.

I have the number of the row and headstone,

my mother stops, she can't breathe,

she jokes that this would be the best place to die,

we would save some money, we could just throw her in a hole.

I keep going until I am standing over my father's half-year grave,

the wind wants to lift me over the headstone.

But I stand, a market of gravity, feeling the pull

to the center, feeling your heavy back against my breasts,

licking your black hair in the night,

no more talking, no more waving a hand, "forget about it,"

I have no moment left, no passing of fingers,

no stand of hair on my backbone,

I bury the seashells and let the wind lift me up;

my mother goes back to the car and says

she thought she was going to fall down.

 

I take my son to the ocean and we gather winter sand for you,

a man who is now my friend and will soon be my lover,

a seagull shivers a few feet away, looking for a warm spot.

I cannot offer him any hope while I dig with my fingers down,

your request was said as a joke and yet I take it seriously,

I will not understand your intensity until I am breathing

alone in my bed holding air that was once you.

Edited September 21, 2005 by Zerreit

[Zerreit]

Miss Keller Returns to Her Senses

Lynn E. Levin

 

The voice of her left and right

hands cried out, Carmine! Amber!

India Blue! upon the wide

stretch of his chest. Peter Fagan,

 

you are my lighthouse, she spelled

deftly across the little bridge

of his cock. On her palm

into which he normall pressed

news of the Great War or Chautauqua

 

business, he nested dozens

of kisses, then sunk

his teeth into the soft

mound of her eloquent thumb. Helen,

my rose and thorn, his fingers

confessed to the inside

 

of her arm. On the nape of her neck

he scrawled, swear you are mine. His fingertips

were fierce with her breasts

which could suddenly hear

nor was her dark eye

 

blind. Then like the strikers

on the picket line, her fingers traveled

down the length of his spine

to the small shallow where

she tapped I will always be separate

even from you translator

of the world to my flesh -

this is my crime. She grasped

 

as he signed and deeper

signed, then without hesitating

guided him into the darkness.

[Guest chunky]

Her skin glistened from the faint light coming from his window. It was already twilight, and with the light giving way to the darkness, he was having a hard time seeing her naked body.

 

But he needn't have light. The heat of her skin was enough for him to know she was there, and in that dimly lit room, he could see her raise her arms and cup her hands to his face, pulled him close, and gave him a deep, longing kiss.

 

Heat surged from his body, and he could not describe the sensation, as he responded and wrapped his arms around her. Her skin felt like soft cotton, and her firm breasts pressed against his in a powerful but gentle embrace. Slowly she pulled away, and looked at him.

 

She pulled him close again, and slowly reached for the knot that held his shorts to his waist. She reached into his shorts and held his erect tool in a loving grasp. She pushed him down on his back and artfully pulled his shorts in one swift motion, whilst holding him still.

 

She moved in and kissed him again, gently, and progressed downwards. His neck, collarbone, shoulders, abdomen and hips reacted wildly to the moist pursing of her lips, and the hot caresses of her tongue. No longer able to hold himself back, he moved his arms and reached for her breasts. Her nipples, erect and hard from the anticipation, aroused him even more.

 

She held her breasts together and squeezed him. He felt as if he was being torn apart and meld together at the same time. It was a sensation he could not fathom.

 

Her tongue moved where her breasts used to be, and he could not help but hold her head in his hands. She played with him, licking his shaft, teasing the tip with her now burning buds, and pecking it with her lips. She licked the slightest amount juice that came from him, and lovingly squeezed his manhood with her free hand. And in one breath she put him in her mouth.

 

Waves of wild pleasure flooded his entire being, and only became wilder when she moved her hips to meet his burning tongue.

 

Although he could not reach her, he knew for a fact that she was already wet, and when he lashed his tongue on her, she could not help but let out a very pleasurable moan.

 

Which only heightened his own longing. He played with her clit with his tongue so fast that she shook each and every time he stops. Slow, then fast, then slow, and as fast as his tongue could flick. She let out another moan, and he knew she came twice.

 

She moved again, and slid him inside her.

 

It was as if the heat was unbearable. The pleasure from the heat of their contact rose to an undescribeable level. Both of them tangled their hands on each other's hair. Their embrace was so tight that they could no longer discern from each other. They were one.

 

Wave upon wave, he held himself back, controlling his urge to ejaculate, which excited her even more. She knew he was injaculating the moment he stops and slows down his pace, and that upped her anticipation.

 

He moved her and made her lay on her back without breaking contact. That gave her more excitement, as she can feel him deep inside her.

 

He kissed her again. Their tongues looking for a reason to break contact, while finding none, and he slowly thrusts himself into her. He increased his pace, and her eyes start to roll around their sockets. She moans loudly, screaming his name, screaming "f uck" several times. She screamed for him to thrust harder and faster

 

So he did. He pumped himself like a ferrari, being careful not to overrev himself. They both didn't want it to end. Then she came once more.

 

She reached for him again, and he knew what she wanted.

 

"Take me from behind..."

 

Slowly, he eased himself out and she let out another moan. She turned and got on all fours and he gently slid inside her. He caressed her breasts who were vying for attention since he was on top of her and his hand bound by the bed. He held both breasts with one hand, and he reached for her slit with the other. He thrusts gently and hard at the same time whilst playing with her clit with his free hand. She reached for him and kissed him in what would be the most erotic kiss he has had since they started going to bed together. He was near.

 

And she knew it. He pumped faster while she moaned and screamed his name, and screamed for him to thrust harder.

 

He slid out and she instinctively reached for his throbbing hardness and sucked him till his eyes rolled in their sockets in turn.

 

They laid down, exhausted, and looked at each other lovingly, and started to kiss again. He could taste himself in her mouth, and he tasted as she did. He was still hard, and she pulled him again into her.

 

Edited September 23, 2005 by chunky

[MA]

Something by Karina Africa-Bolasco

 

 

SAUNA 2

 

I choose to come every noon

when I have the room all to myself.

Then I dare be fully bare.

I stretch out on the planks

and from their gaps heat spurts.

Making my flesh tingle

in all the special places.

My fingers tread lines of sweat

and catch pores popping.

I touch myself

as no one ever would:

the unders, the beneaths,

the tops, the beyonds,

and the in betweens.

All at once I feel your mouth,

like the heat, all over me.

Powerful hands cup my curves,

or whatever remains of them.

The searching legs lock mine.

The body, the heart,

smarting from unimagined wounds,

almost cringe

from imagined pleasure.

I pat my buttocks:

once, thrice.

 

It's just the heat.

[resident_big_evil]

i don't know if lyrics count, but here goes anyway...

 

Hand Painted Sky

Color It Red

 

 

There's a hand painted sky

Out tonight, out tonight

And it's perfect, perfect

Perfect for love, perfect for us

 

Yeah, us

And as the night air cooled

The beads of perspiration

From my bow

 

I trembled in expectation

Of what is to come

When lips touch lips

And tongue meets tongue

 

Lips touch lips

And tongue meets tongue

My roaming hands

Begin to explore

 

Ask for more, ask for more

And as the night air called

The beads of perspiration

From my bow

 

I trembled in expectation

Of what is to come

Until my skin presses against your skin

And everything begins to peak

Slowly, gently, you thrust me deep.

[Zerreit]

Painting

Jane Hirshfield

 

There is a painting of it: an eighteenth-century miniature from the Kangra School of India, of the lovers Krishna and Radha. In other paintings, they have sheltered together, stood under a canopy of invisibility among cows and the village girls who tend them. His hand has covered her breast. In other paintings, we have watched her prepare for him, behind the screen of a bedcloth held up by her friends. She is putting red dye on her nipples and the bottom of her feet, while he looks down from an upstairs window, smiling. His body is blue, his flute's notes possess a god's effortless irresistibility. But here it is different. Though her eyes and mouth turn toward him with undeniable longing, she stops him with one raised hand. Inscribed on the page are his words, "Hear me, hear what I ask," and hers - they nare simple, immediate - "I hear, my Lord." But still she is leaving, walking away. Though her torso turns back, her feet are already rising a little out of her slippers - the god, though not the viewer, can see the red dye as she goes. Under the silk of a sari so fine it could pass through the hoop of her earring, her nipples are standing.

Edited October 1, 2005 by Zerreit