Erotic Arts And Letters

[Zerreit]

From the book Yellow Silk 2, International Erotic Stories & Poems, edited by Lily Pond...

 

Nice Girls Do It, Too

Dany Laferriere, translated bye Carrol F. Coates

 

At the last minute, Christina changes her mind, decided to stay home and rest. She hasn't felt well all afternoon. Of course, it may just be the beginning of a case of flu, but she doesn't want to go out in that state. There are times when she has the impression of being chilled to the bone (in a tropical country!). Since she arrived in Port-au-Prince, her greatest fear has been of catching malaria. She knows what she's going to do. She's going to fix a good toddy (rum, lemon, sugar). Then she will hop into bed with John Le Carre's latest novel. She likes his cool, refined sense of humor. That will make her evening. Harry will go to the Widmaiers' alone.

 

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you if I stay home, honey?"

 

"I'd rather you went with me, but, if you're not feeling well, honey... I'll just put in an appearance and come back as early as possible."

 

She knows Harry has nno intention of leaving the party before the last "interesting woman" has left - that is, any woman with protruding buttocks and full lips. Let's just say that Harry has a weakness for the young Haitian women who are always to be found at the Widmaier parties. But Christina is not jealous and Harry is no fool. He likes to come home. If he fantasizes about balck women, that's his business. In a way, it's nobody's business but his own. You have to realize that Christina is the brunette daughter of New York Jewish parents. She loves Woody Allen and her favorite writer (apart from Le Carre) is Philip Roth. So she appreciates humor and has a fairly pessimistic outlook on life. She followed Harry here, but she is herself a professor of comparative literature at the Union School. Harry is working at the American Embassy as a cultural attache. He is a slender person with a prominent forehead that makes him look vaguely like a sadistic killer. On the other hand, he has sparkling eyes and a sensuous mouth. You really can't put a label on him. As for Christina, she is somewhat uninteresting, with no lips or bottom, but bright and energetic. Men are attracted to her, curiously enough. At parties, there is always a cluster of men around her. But she distinctly prefers intellectual discussions over screwing. There's no way you can explain that to a man with an erection. So, as much as possible, she stays away from those social occasions that are simply pretexts for getting drunk and looking for sex. She has been particularly wary since a drunk pinched June's ass. June is their 17-year-old daughter, born in Manhattan. The name June doesn't really suit her. Harry named her after a character that had deeply attracted him in Henry Miller novels. That was the sort of femme fatale who had introduced Henry Miller to all aspects of hell. And of paradies. Harry's daughter has none of those traits. She is a classic beauty. A perfect oval, as they used to say. Her professors lover her. She is so gofted that she takes all her courses in French - a language that she learned only after they arrived in Port-au-Prince - and comes out with top grades. June never raises her voice. Always calm. She can always be found in her room working or listening to music. Her girlfriends have finally crossed her off their lists because they can never get her to come to their parties in Kenscoff or La Boule. With growing anxiety, Christina sometimes wonders whether right under her own eyes, her daughter is not becoming a nun. What had been just a joke between Christina and Harry is now becoming very serious - to the point that mother is now on the prowl in the interests of daughter.

 

"Know who I saw today, June?"

 

"Bob Samy."

 

"I know you, Ma. You've been talking about him for a week so I knew you would finally manage to get a hook on him."

 

Christina took a quick breath.

 

"Is it alright if I invited him to come for a game of badminton on Saturday?"

 

"Mom, I have an exam on Monday."

 

"But, honey, you study all the time. You should get some exercise."

 

"We do a lot of sports at school."

 

"Honey, sports isn't the only thing in life," Christina blurts out with an edge in her voice. "There are boys, too, and that helps us girls keep things in balance!"

 

"What do you mean, Ma?"

 

"June!"

 

"Just kidding, Ma. I know what you mean, but I can tell you that I haven't got any balance problems."

 

Christina appears to be lost in thought for a moment.

 

"Honey, you know that the mind isn't everything."

 

"Why do you say that?" June asks a bit anxiously.

 

"I'm saying that because I fell into that trap myself, honey," Christina answers softly.

 

"I don't understand, Mom."

 

Christina takes a deep breath this time.

 

"OK. Well, I missed a lot of chances with men I was interested in because I went all out on the intellect side when I was a teen."

 

"I still don't get it."

 

"Good God! Listen, honey, there are times when only the body should speak. Nothing else, just the body. You can;t do anything about it - we're made like that. It's physical, June. It's natural. We're animals too, you know! Monkeys do it. Dogs do it. Birds do it. Plants probably do it too if we just knew. June, look me in the eyes. June..., your mother does it. Even nice girls do it. Do you understand?"

 

"I'm not stupid, Ma. I know all that."

 

"June, there's a big difference between knowing something and accepting it. Or experiencing it. It hurts me to see you following the same path I took. You know I've suffered because of it, and I want to help you avoid that pain before it's too late. I don't want you to be just an intellectual. I'd like for you to have a mind, of course, but I'd like for you to have... a body too. Understand?"

 

"Yes, Ma."

 

They talked a bit longer and then June went right back to her room to do her homework. Christina went to take more cold showers (menopause). Afterwards, she called her best friend, Carol, a young woman who works with Harry at the embassy. Carol has already been Harry's mistress (Christina knows), but he dropped her after he began hanging around with Haitian women.

 

"Carol, I told her everything. All of it, even the bit about the animal. I felt like a fool! She stayed calm as usual, but I know my daughter - I'm sure I shook her up. I had to - she's 17, and good-looking as she is, nobody ever calls except to ask for help with their homework. You think that's normal? What can I do? I had to take the bull by the horns. I planted the seed and I'll wait for it to bear fruit. Of course I'm concerned; what do you think! If she were to start going out with four guys at the same time! But I'd prefer that! I can't sleep anymore. I hear the timer ticking constantly and I try to guess when the bomb will explode. She seems to be storing up fantasies, holed up in her bedroom, you know. She has to get out and get some frsh air, meet boys, have fun, cut up - you know, that's important. Life is too crazy to take seriously, Carol. I want her to let go (Christina is crying), blow up, taste the apple of love (she is sobbing now). That's all I want for my daughter. You say that it's everything I haven't had. Of course I know that you can't change your own life through somebody else's. I've got to hang up. Harry just came back and he doesn't have any idea what's going on in this house. He thinks everything is fine. The sun, tropical fruit, Haitian women with beautiful asses; he's in paradies. There aren't any problems in paradise. I'll call you again."

 

That conversation took place exactly one week ago. Today Christina has a touch of fever and she's planning for a restful evening with a toddy and a good detective novel to be followed by a sound sleep. At the last minute, she decided not to go to her own room, but to the guest room instead. It's an attractive room, smaller than the master bedroom, but intelligently arranged and that makes it very comfortable. Christina likes to hole up in this room, which reminds her of her undergrad days when she had a little room close to Columbia University. At that time, she was torn between solitude and freedom. Let's say she preferred to be alone rather than free. She would spend her time reading Virginia Woolf even as she hoped somebody would knock at the door. Now, she reads nothing but detective fiction and Philip Roth (a good thing he publishes a novel a year) in order to try ease the migraine that never gives her any rest. At least this room gives her the impression of still being the young woman who was free and alone in the sixties. From this small room, you can see the porch where Absalom sleeps when Harry isn't at home. Absalom is the young man recommended by the Widmaiers. he's a real pearl, as Francoise Widmaier says. He's polite, hardworking, and very bright. Christina sometimes considers taking him back to New York when Harry's tour is over. He already speaks some basic English and understands everything you say to him. Harry likes him a lot because of his ready wit. his quickness at understaning all sorts of complex situations amazes harry every day. Absalom is already preparing his bed for the night. He has a room where he keeps his things at the back courtyard, but Harry asks him to sleep on the porch when he expects to reutrn late from evening funtions or those torrid nights with some "Annaise." That way, Abslaom could react immediately to any alert. There are assassins and thieves in the streets these days. Christina smiles as she thinks that nobody knows she is here since she made a last-minute decision to stay home. She can hear June going fown to get a glass of milk in the kitchen. She listens to her daughter's footsteps climbing the newly waxed stairway. It's strange, she tells herself with a smile, you can hear every sound from this room. She never noticed that before. It's a real sound room. Through the open window, she can hear each step Absalom takes on the porch. June is listening to the Billie Holiday record her mother gave her recently when she turned seventeen. "What a serious daughter!" She thinks. A bit unfathomable, too. She has the imperturbable look of an oriental. She's a quiet flame in the midst of a storm. Christina can imagine her sitting her room listening to the record and trying to decode the searing poetry of Billie Holiday's despairing song. Absalom is also listening to music, on the little radio close to his head. Haitian music. Very sensual, gay, lively. Music to dance by. Haitian music and painting have been an agreeable surprise to Christina since she came to Port-au-Prince. It's such a contrast to the miserable life people lead here. They are hungry, but they never stop creating that joyful music and that lively, colorful art. While we Americans, who have everything, never cease whining. Real pessimists. The Haitian is the absolute opposite of the New York Jew. Today's Americans are like a fast-food restaurant of despair. They never stop producing the same depressing hamburger, day and night. Man does not live by hamburgers alone, says the Bible. Woody Allen turns out a film every year. Philip Roth, a book. Our annual ration of bitterness. Bitter America. Poor people die. The rich despair. But here, we're so far from Manhattan at first. She has Manhattan snobbery in her veins. The radical chic of the seventies - that was the greatest. City lights, random murders, yellow taxis, the wet pavement, Cuban coffee, aggressive whores. That's the fast life! before, she missed all that. Not so much now. She remembers, with an enigmatic smile, that she could do in one day everything it takes her six months to do here.

 

"What's time?" she wonders without even attempting an answer.

 

She had been so lost in her thought she paid no attention to the curious rustling on the porch.

 

"Non, Mademoiselle June."

 

She listens

 

"No, Mademoiselle June, I don't want to lose my job. We can't go on... If Madame hears about this, I'll get fired."

 

"There's nobody here," June says drily.

 

Christina is in a sweat already. Her daughter, June, is coming on to a man. Their servant! Christina creeps over the floor to reach the wondow. Withought making the least noise, she raises her torso. She is all nerves. Finally, she can see Absalom. He is lying on his back with June astride him. A slight breeze is rustling the leaves of the magnificent tree that completely hides the porch from the eyes of the curious neighbors.

 

June calmly takes off her white blouse. Beneath June's firm breasts, Absalom keeps his eyes closed. The rosy nipples are erect. Christina is getting goose bumps. With a shiver, she thinks to herself: "My daughter is in heat." Fascinated, she keeps watching. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. Time has grown limp. Christina is really tense. There's June, her June, calmly kissing Absalom's trousers. Down to the knees. Suddenly, she grabs hold of his white-hot penis and slips it under her skirt with no formalities. June closes her eyes for an instant at the moment of contact. Her tongue emerges to wet her lips. Abruptly, she seats herself on Absalom, with all her weight. Not a whimper. Time stops. The girl's nostrils flare and contract with increased rapidity. Another instant. Then a violent orgasm seizes her. Christina watches her daughter coming with the little squeals of a mouse caught in a trap. It's endless. And just as it's over, it returns more stronly and she has another orgasm. The cry of an invisble bird on the foliahe of the mango tree. June is galloping. She comes with her mouth wide open this time. Yelling. It's impossible to say whether it's a cry of pleasure or pain. Again! Desire puts her in agony this time. Like an animal trying to bite its own tail. Unbearable desire. A strident yell. It's as if she would stop but can't break off. She is galloping. Faster and faster. She bounds higher and higher. For the fraction of a second, Christina glimpses her delicate thatch of pubic hair. Drops of sweat are breaking out on her anxious forehead. The pleasure is intense. And the girl is all seriousness. She seems to keep articulating something. A prayer? Christina is silently weeping. That life (Absalom's penis) is inserted in the middle of her daughter's womb. A few abrupt movements. She rares back with her breasts pointing skyward. Her mouth is twisted ans she is moaning. She wants to rip her skin off. Pain. Spasms. Stop. Her body begins to move. Slowly. Gently. That unbearable sensation. Suddenly, she opens her eyes like somebody just emerging from a terrible nightmare. A few more sharp groans and another scream. She completely arches her back. The veins are standing out on her neck. "She's going to hurt herself." Christina suddenly thinks. But her face shows such an openly violent and penetrating pleasure that Christina lowers her eyes. It's a private moment. "I never felt that," Christina murmurs, letting herself slump back to the floor. She sobs for a long time, until sleep overtakes her in a foetal position.

 

Christina abruptly awakens when she hears Harry's car come in the gate. Suddenly, she starts: Harry absolutely must not find June there. She manages to calm herself before glancing over the windowsill. Nobody is on the porch. As if nothing has transpired. She hears Harry's steps on the stairs and the passionate voice of Billie Holiday ("Strange Fruit") coming from June's room.

[resident_big_evil]

from dan brown's angels & demons...

"Though billiantly rendered, the statue depicted St. Teresa on her back in a toe curling orgasm."

the staues name is the ecstasy of st. teresa, it got me curious enough to find it on the internet & here it is... you be the judge...

[Zerreit]

Commas: A Boy Writes Of His Clitoris

Gary Scott

 

With pause,

evening aureoles appear -

a constellation of two, of mirrors.

 

Yet, I could not see what was most curious,

where vulva was murmur,

 

and I was a mutable weave, a cat's cradle

of new twill, a song of

small green.

But twirls shush the syntax, redefine lace, posses and I.

 

Fingers spread with structure,

(I can see that now),

houring space,

thick silk, outlining

orchids,

 

the evolving O, and then O the tightness of heat

threading away like static, like clarity.

[Zerreit]

Venus Coming

Heather M. Bellson

 

The salt isn't dry yet,

she's rushed up

like a new wave

out of a conch shell.

Her index finger still shaking.

She runs it along the ridge,

brings it to her lips,

tastes the ocean

like it's her first time.

 

Smiles, points at me.

[bustero]

Whatever did happen to the old thread , is there something not kosher here?

[Zerreit]

Hi bustero, the old thread was closed, and then deleted I think.

 

Anonymous Songs

Edward Smallfield

 

naked under your dress

slap of water against the pier

tell me what country this is

 

all day the widow weaves

at night she separates the threads

one for each artery

 

slowly you erase

then with one stroke

ignite me again

[baboyboy]

hey.. this maybe a little ot.. but i use to have this book by tobsha lerner.. forgot the damn title but ilove the contents.. maybe any of u could enlighten me of his works so i can find the book again. this friend of mine lost it when he borrowed it. i really love the way she wrote erotica. thanks and more power to this thread i enjoyed reading the posts..

[rozzDrovz]

erotica books are diplayed ang for sale at Booksales.............100+ ln ata or less

Edited August 7, 2006 by rozzDrovz

[X]

Just the thought of him touching her was enough to raise her body heat. And he knew it when he touched her bare skin. Her knowing looks from across the room may escape a young and uninitiated boy who has no idea what the same word spoken differently meant at all, but he needed not to hear words. He could see by the look in her eyes and how she pouts her lips that she wanted more than just sleep in his bed, despite her usual excuse of doing so. He had to finish work, and the agony of waiting for him only made her hotter.

 

She stood up from the the bed, already naked, and like a stalking cat tiptoed her short way to where he was angrily crunching his keyboards. She pulled him, needingly, to the bed, like she had done quite a few times before. The email had done sending, he thought, and the rest of the job, he could do a bit later.

 

There was another job that needed attending to, and he knew the consequences of making it wait for longer than usual.

 

He was right. As soon as he laid down she began kissing him hungrily, like it was the first time of anticipating the inevitable. She tried her best not to fumble from her anxiety, but failed dismally. He didn't mind her fumbling. He made her wait, and she could wait no longer. She pulled his shorts away as fast as she could and grabbed hold his throbbing erection. She tried to hold back a bit and slowed down, and teased the tip of his manhood with light pecks and licks. But she was fooling herself, and he knew it. She took him in an inch at a time, sucked and licked in steps and successions like only she could do to him, and he gave a light moan that only made her want him more.

 

He was more erect this time, and despite her impatience, she took her time swallowing his entirety until he could no longer contain his pleasure. He braced himself on the headboard, and tried his best not to lose his self control, which, he knows was one of the "better" qualities she likes about him when doing the deed.

 

He could feel her skin burning through his and his anticipation grew. She willfully forced his legs apart with her free hand and continued to alternately suck and lick him. She lightly sucked on his pair of babymakers, which were larger than most she has seen, and she knows he's proud of the lot. So proud, that he allowed her the pleasure of holding them in her cupped hands each and every time.

 

She moved up and kissed him longingly, probing his mouth for his tounge. He can taste himself in her mouth, a taste that he liked so much that he immediately kiss after she swallows him. He knew why women loved swallowing him.

 

Without him noticing it, she arched her back and positioned her hips at just the right angle. In one skillful motion, his erection found her love spot, which was all wet and ready for him to subdue. She took him in slowly until he was in entirely, and she moaned lightly in his ear. He held her hips, controlling her motions, which was increasing in frequency and intensity. She knew how to control her muscles, which gave him more pleasure each and everytime. He cupped her buttocks with each hands, and squeezed them so tight she opened up and made him come in deeper, like he wasn't deep enough to begin with. And simultaneously he sucked on her unbelievably erect nipples that had been waiting all night for the mysterious skill he does with her that heighten he pleasure even more.

 

She knew he was in control. She knew he never loses control until the right moment. She could tell it by the way he suddenly holds her to stop, and she could hear his controlled breaths to control his desire and push his pleasure back.

 

He pulled out and she laid on her back, and this time he was not going to show her mercy. He easily found her hole and probed deep. He changed his speed so much and so abruptly it drove her crazy. He was unpredictably precise each and every time, and she screamed when he pumped harder. She recognized that controlled breathing as only his. It drove her crazy that this man, her constant lover, her fiercesome equal, has actually subdued her with his patience and control. It drove her crazy that this man actually holds back when others have not.

 

It drove her crazy that he made an effort to keep his pleasure back so that she can achieve hers.

 

And willingly, she surrendered herself to the intense and unpredictable lovemaking of this man turned animal, to the point of lunacy. She has given up not wanting him. And the thought of him making love to another woman and doing what he does best only made her want him more.

 

He came as she did. And they both knew it wasn't over.

[dianne]

his great golden spear...

filled with fire...

pluncged into me several times...

penetrated to my entrails...

a sweetness so extreme that one could not possibly wish it to stop.

Edited February 5, 2007 by dianne

[Grimace]

its like this hand you see.this hand he held last night.the thrill..total chaos! god! is there any decency of getting laid and telling? fock it..

[Grimace]

Hemminghway must have rolled in his grave when he saw us making out on the red couch, oh if only we could do more about it, i always lament the time that we could have..we just could move further, although..can you just nip my ear once more and i would purr.

[X]

He knew what she wanted. She knew that wasn't what he was after, but she also knows that regardles of what he wanted, he will not pass off that chance to be with her. So he went and saw her nevertheless.

 

She bugged him about food, but it wasn't what she really wanted. She was half-naked when he came in to the room, but she knew he was too much in control. He always have been, and it drove her crazy that he could wait until the very last moment. She wanted him to ravish her, so she wrapped her legs around him and guided his hands to feel her already erect nipples.

 

He cut her off and urged her to eat, lest the food becomes cold and untinteresting. Only after a few minutes of coaxing did she let him go so he could open the box of pizza, and as soon as he did, she gobbled the first slice she could lay her hands on.

 

It was hot and humid, and he was sweaty from all the walking and running he did all day. So he took a shower afterwards.

 

He wanted her. She had always known that. But he was also unpredictable, and that made her want him. She could never predict if it was the animal or the gentleman or both, and even if his initial moves gave away his intent and motives, she knew that it won't be like that for the rest of the night. He waves his wand as if by magic, and she knew she was under his spell.

 

And she loved it.

 

She loved the way he slowly and patienly played with her breast, alternatingly fingering the tip of her nipples and caressing the flesh around them. It drove her wild that he can go on doing that for such a long period of time that her anticipation builds up like a brush fire, until she could no longer contain herself. It drove her wild that he took his time knowing her body each and every time, and she constantly asked him if he had grown tired with her, if at all.

 

She called him the Master of the Slow.

 

His patience was more than a match to her impatience. While he was taking his time playing with her breasts, she slowly inched her fingers to her already damp lovehole.

 

He could sense her anticipation growing, so he moved his free hand down to her burning clit. He started licking her nipples, erect as ever, and alternatively sucked each with gusto. Then he slowed down again, pecking the skin around her breasts, her tummy her hips, towards the inside of her thighs. He teased the crease between her legs, and he gently moved the tiny patch of fabric covering the tiny mound of flesh that most men could only dream of laying their eyes on let alone be able to experience it like he had. Hardening the tip of his tongue, he traced the shape of her waist down and around until she moaned and cried in ecstacy and anticipation. She could wait no longer. She could no longer bear the heat burning her from the inside. She must have her fill of him again.

 

So he obliged her with the method she knew only he could masterfully conduct. He slowly eased her panties off and admired her shaven pubes, randomly flicked his tongue and teased the tip of her magnificently erect clit, and alternately pecked those lips that longed for his majestic twisters. He licked her with delight, missing the act at the same time remembering the last, and he knew he had to do better.

 

Slow then fast, he let his tongue vibrate the only way he knew that would make her squirm. She grabbed his head almost predictably, gently forcing him to increase his intensity. He slowly inserted his finger to her already damp hole, and probed deep for her magic spot. And sure enough, she came.

 

Out of breath she eased him upwards and kissed him like she did the first time they kissed. They hungrily probed each other, memorizing each other's touch like they did the last time.

 

She was impatient, as always, and she grabbed him, urging him to come closer. She pecked and sucked his nipples, erect like hers, and she slowly eased her way.

 

She licked the tip of his penis like she has done hundreds of times, but he felt somewhat differently. She held his dribblers with both hands, handling them carefully, preparing them for the assault she had been fantasizing of for days. She sucked him, like a girl sucking on a lollipop, alternatively licking his entire shaft while he strained to caress her breasts. Then, like she has done before, she took his entirety deep in her mouth and made him regret the day he refused her.

 

With her on top, she slid him into her, teasing him at the same time herself. She still couldn't believe his patience, while he held her hips and guided her slowly.

 

The Master of the Slow, she called him, for he made her scream with his pace.

[transcience]

Two bodies apart. Breath within earshot. Intermittent throat clearing. Eternal tossing and turning.

 

The proximity and the deadening silence kept me up all night. Almost physically intimate but not quite. The erstwhile comfort zone has resurrected. The familiarity made me feel uncomfortable. Madness.

 

Animosity dampened (or has it faded?) by the pseudo-bonding moments.

 

I have to arrest wild thoughts that night. You may be reading false signals. Dont read, just feel it.

 

The self has become defiant. The self willingly went with the flow. The self humbled itself.

 

It's liberating. I've never felt so much freer than ever before.

[Zerreit]

What about Erotic songs?

 

I find Captain & Tennille's Do That To Me One More Time sexy, erotic, and kinky. Of course there's Barry White whose songs are forever going to be everyone's choice of 'mood' music.

 

 

Do That To Me One More Time

Captain & Tennille

 

Do that to me one more time

Once is never enough with a man like you

Do that to me one more time

I can never get enough of a man like you

Whoa-oh-oh, kiss me like you just did

Oh, baby, do that to me once again

 

Pass that by me one more time

Once is never enough for my heart to hear

Whoa-oh-oh, tell it to me one more time

I can never hear enough while I got'ya near, oh

Say those words again like you just did

Oh, baby tell it to me once again

 

Do that to me one more time

Once is never enough with a man like you

Whoa-oh-oh, do that to me one more time

I can never get enough of a man like you, oh

Kiss me like you just did

Oh, baby do that to me once again

 

Whoa-oh-oh, baby, do that to me once again

Whoa-oh-ho-oh-oh-oh, baby, do that to me one more time

(Do it again)

One more time

(Do it again)

One more time

(Do it again)

One more time

(Do it again)

One more time

 

FADE

(Do it again)

One more time