You are my love story
and when the world collapses around me
I want to get lost in your arms
like in the pages of a book
and I want to be your hero,
want to explore
all of the scenarios of our own book
and I want to live through the prologue
right up to the end.
In the chapters of my body
I want to tell you the story of true love
as through you all of my fantasies become reality.
My love, together we will determine
the contents of the book
and only with each other
our story will end happily.
My darling, you will be the author and heroine
and I will be the hero
in our one intriguing story
while the end is still to be written
and love is like having popcorn-moments:
where we must first go through the fire
before our story can really qualify
as a real love
as there need to be a little romance,
lots of happy moments,
times of prosperity,
at times a bit of unhappiness
to appreciate times of joy
and some misunderstandings to know each other better
and a lot of passion
to find beautiful moments
and lots of making-up, my love,
to determine the outcome
of this blockbuster a love story.
Monthly Archives: February 2020
You are my love story
It’d been a little while since I’d seen you. I had been counting down the weeks, then the days, and then the hours until I saw you again. There was a jittery feeling inside my stomach as I wondered if we would feel the same as we did the last time we saw each other. But the moment I saw your face all those worries washed away, replaced by happiness and excitement. You were here with me again! In the flesh! I could see you smile and enjoy being in your presence. I was an ocean of different feelings all tumbling about; nervous, excited, scared, grateful, shy…and many other things. But one of the feelings that kept resurfacing over and over again was a hungry, almost-painful need to be physically close to you. I needed to be alone with you. Locked away in a bedroom, together, between sheets…
My face felt warm at the thought. My heart began to quicken at the mental imagery dancing through my mind. I couldn’t help it- I’d never in my life experienced such an intense and overwhelming blend of physical and emotional attraction. And even though our hearts were enmeshed, our bodies had yet to follow. The butterflies flitted madly in my stomach and I briefly wondered if I would even be able to work up the courage to take you to bed. Maybe another visit…maybe another time…
And then you kissed me- slow and smoldering, soft and hungry, deep and delicious. I knew then that I’d battle through my nerves- whatever that meant. I’d peel out of my clothes with shaky hands and a feeling of light-headless if I had to. But I couldn’t let you leave again without your sweet scent being absorbed by the pores of my skin, leaving me bathed in your fragrance; the remnants of being claimed by you. You couldn’t leave without making me yours through a carnal take-over. There’s a sort of branding that comes with physical intimacy: enmeshed hearts are validated; love pours onto the sheets and echoes through the heat-filled room. Energy intertwines and the outside world sees the glow of unification between the two. And so, it wasn’t a mere want. It was a need. I needed to have you and be had by you. But I was scared.You make me nervous. I feel green and new and unsure- as if all my experience and knowledge and skill never existed. As if I were approaching you as a virgin- this thought amused me and I found my lips curved up in one corner, in a smirk, at my own idiocy. I am not a trembling virgin approaching the big, scary unknown. I am more of a little vixen with a tongue of gold and deft fingers to match. But under the heat of your blue-eyed gaze I am a trembling lamb. I am unsure of myself, doubting my skills, doubting my ability to please you. Doubting that you will really want the landscape under my clothes. I draw in a shaky breath and I feel a little queasy. I half-laugh, and for a brief moment I can clearly see how ridiculous I am being. But then the fear rushes in again. But I want you. I want you so terribly it’s all I can think about. But my nervousness is relentless and I come to fear the moment when we’re alone, when the sheets are waiting patiently to drink up our love. When you’ll finally see me stripped bare, of everything. The moment finally comes when we are alone, behind a closed and locked door. Daylight is right outside the blind, but we hold each other without the lights on. There’s plenty of light in this room and there will be no hiding- I briefly entertain the idea of chickening-out. Of waiting until another time. But we kiss, it’s a kiss that moves electricity down my body and makes the insides of my thighs warm and wet. You suck my tongue into your mouth and I moan softly, melting into this sensuous moment. I’m still nervous but the intensity of the feeling is muted by the ravenous hunger I feel for your touch. Our lips and tongues dance in a lustful assault and I sigh with relief as your fingers make their way down my body; where their wet and wanting target is dying to be hit. A thrill moves through me as your fingers move past the waistband of my underwear and slip downwards, meeting with the slickness there. My knees obediently draw apart, granting your fingers easier access.I quietly suck in a tiny, sharp breath of surprise when you push your way inside of me, and it feels so good it’s all I can do not to steal control and push myself down on you, taking you deeper inside of me. The butterflies in my stomach seem to have icy-razor wings and somehow the fear and nerves collide with lustful wanting, making for an overwhelming inner-climate. But I don’t want you to stop. I might die if you stop. My head swims in sheer pleasure as your skillful fingers feed the hungry mouth between my parted thighs. I could let you fuck me like this until I soak your fingers in cum, but this is only the warm up. This is only the beginning and my skin is already warm, I can already feel my heart pulsing wildly in my throat. I’m already soaking wet and desperate to cum from the sensation of you inside me-the sensation your skillful fingers easily demand of my body. My mouth opens to give up a little cry, and then your fingers suddenly retreat. I feel you pull out of me, and it leaves me desperate and wanting. Our eyes meet and I see a hungry look on your face that makes the insides of my thighs impossibly more wet- you’re going to fuck me until I cum on your mouth- I can see the promise burning in your eyes. Your soft, pillowy lips travel down my stomach in a straight line- my head swims and nervousness awakens the razor-winged butterflies in my belly. I’m scared again. But I’ve been made too wet and too hot to care. I see your face move between my thighs. I moan and close my eyes as I feel your fingers push into me again-I welcome them, swallowing your fingers deeply into my starving core. Your fingers work me with expert skill and I swim in pure pleasure which begins to grow steadily. Suddenly your tongue invites itself to the sweet slaughter going down between my open legs. I want to cry out but the sound is choked and gagged by the sensations taking me over. Your tongue skillfully assaults the little bud atop the slick lips your fingers are feeding, and the serpentine movements of your tongue give the hot little bud a heartbeat all of its own.begin to climb the ladder of pleasure quickly, more quickly than I want to. My fingers claw into the sheets in white-knuckled fists, my toes curl and my knees want to snap together like a sprung trap. My body trembles as a ferocious pleasure tears through me, rushing through the layers of all that I am, consuming me like an invisible fire. And then, just as quick as it came, it’s gone. I’m suddenly wrung-out, spent, shaky, weak. Fragile. You move up from between my thighs and come to rest at my side, you lean in towards me and we kiss. I taste my sex on your lips and it fills me with the desire to have my own taste of you. I want my mouth soaked in your sex. I want your taste on my tongue, I want to swallow your desire for me down my throat. My fingers do not savour you as yours savoured me- my tongue is impatient and watering for your taste. I find myself kneeling before your parted knees and I sit back, tying my hair up in itself while I admire the pretty pink place between your inner thighs, the place my tongue so badly wants to be. I lay on my stomach and move my face between your thighs like a man dying of thirst before an oasis. A little moan escapes from the back of my throat as I taste you, but it’s not enough, I want to be inside you too. My fingers push inside you, taken in a choking grip and I look up to read your face, so I can make sure I’m not hurting you. But your fingers claw through my hair and I can hear your cries and feel your hips roll in to meet my movements. I close my eyes and I’ve found pure, hot, unadulterated Elysium. I want to stay here forever with your sex coating my fingers and tongue. I want to live between your thighs, I want my face to be the place where your carnal hunger is satiated.I moan from the back of my throat as my fingers and tongue work on you. I feel your grip on the roots of my hair tighten, you pull my face in closer, shoving me deeply between your legs, and I take my cue and pick up my pace; harder, faster, but consistent rhythm. Your thighs close in around my head and you cry out- the sound ripples through me and I know it’s a sound I want to hear over and over and over again, for the rest of my life. I pull myself away from the heaven between your legs, and I come to lay beside you- we come in close together and we are a mess of interlocking arms and legs. We hold each other in the sweet after-moments as our heart rates begin to calm, and we bask in the glory and intensity of the connection we share; this unusual bond that moves through the unseen dimension, ploughing madly into the physical. I lay with you in my arms and I know I love you with my whole being. I know you are the one. I know that physical love of this kind cannot happen where the hearts and soul haven’t met. And we have met- our hearts and souls are well-known to each other, our bodies simply needed to catch up. I close my eyes and breathe you in, and I am drowning happily in an ocean of love and gratitude. The feel of your bare skin against mine is sensuous and soon I am wanting you again. I lay with you in my arms, your sweet scent and your nakedness intoxicate me. The pink peaks atop my heavy breasts harden painfully and the place between my thighs is already hot and wet again, my wanting for you slick on the insides of my thighs. I look at you and the love I feel is so intensely overwhelming, the overflow turns physical, and I want to make love to you. But my sudden hunger for you is ferocious and urgent, it steals the sweetness away, replacing it with a carnal desire- and I know that when I touch you again, it won’t be sweet- I’m going to fuck you like I’m branding you. Because you’re mine. And these are the feelings that you ignite in me…
Drop Your Feedback as writing after so long now 😃
A moody disposition. Deep, penetrating eyes of obsidian that rage with silent hell-fire. Powerful and sky-sweeping. Strong and guarded. Damaged and broken.
He is the man who desperately wants to be a father, but who never goes anywhere without a rubber in his pocket.
He is the man who wants to love and be loved, but pain is all he knows.
He is the cold and unfeeling creature that eats up pretty things and spits their bones onto the cold, tiled floor before daybreak.
He is a hunter that doesn’t need to hunt. His prey lay themselves at his feat, begging to be devoured.
He is the man who can have whatever he wants, but only truly desires what doesn’t want him.
He is a memory fading quickly.
He’s a body to be buried.
He is a trauma to suppress.
He is just Storm to me. But a God to everyone else.
They say he didn’t quite recover. That for a long time the only snacks he brought home to munch on were blondes with heads that didn’t clear his shoulder.
They said he gave his liver the work-out of a lifetime, and corroded the lining of his stomach.
They say he couldn’t sleep in his own bed for months…
But who the fuck are they? Who are they to say?
He is the man still fighting with a dead man. His father’s ghost hangs in the corner of every room.
He doesn’t drink to drown his demons. He drinks to let them loose so he can have a break. His body is a temple, but inside there are sights that will make you turn away. There are things there you’re not allowed to see.
But I caught glimpses. His father’s ghost held me down against my will and stole a part of me.
My body was another playground, until a Storm arrived, leaving the ground soaked in blood and regret.
Storm is black ink down the back of my throat that I am trying to cough up.
Storm is a nightmare wrapped in a dream, encased in a nightmare, cocooned in cobwebs from the past.
He is obsessed with hygiene, but leaves a mess everywhere he goes and on everyone he touches.
From the outside, he looks just like another pair of combat boots, walking the pavement of a Garrison city.
He is strong but fragile- splintering without warning. Spun glass that looks like titanium.
He is a battle hardened knight that would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for you. Just because.
He is disappointed and confused.
He is healing, far away.
He is the subject that I’m ready to put down now.
He’s a dappled dream that I gently lay to rest.
Who the fuck is Storm?
Honestly, I don’t know anymore…
चेहरे को दोनों हाथों से थामकर पहला चुंबन माथे पर देकर मैं देर तक चेहरा ही तकता रहा तुम्हारा।
कुछ कहना चाहता था मैं किन्तु तुम्हारे लिए अलंकार नहीं बचे थे पास मेरे। शब्द पीछे होकर रह गए थे, नज़र टकटकी लगाए जम गई थी उस पल।
माथे से सरककर मेरे होंठ तुम्हारी गहरी आँखों पर आए जबकि मैं आँखों की तारीफ करना चाहते हुए भी ना कर पाया और छोड़ दिए नयनों पर होंठों पर लगे सुर्ख लाल के निशान।
मैं सिहर गया था हमारे अधरों के टकराने पर जब तक कुछ संभल पाता तब तक तुम्हारा चेहरा मेरे सीने पर अपने होने को साबित कर चुका था।
चेहरे पर मेरे रंग की तरह जमे हो तुम। मेरा सांवला तुम्हारा गेंहू आ मिलकर कुछ तीसरा गढ़ देता है जो उगते सूरज की लालिमा सी रंगत मुझे दे जाता है। रंगत ये तुमसे ही है। तुम्हारी आँखों में काजल से लगे हो, काजल का काला और आँखों का धूसर मिलकर एक तीसरा रंग रंगता है, । होंठो के नीचे काले तिल के रूप में बैठे हो, दूसरों की सीधी नज़रों को आने से रोकने के लिए।
मेरी उंगलियाँ तुम्हारे बालों में अटक कर उस पल को वहीं रोक कर दुनिया के रुक जाने का एहसास देती हैं। दुनिया का रुक जाना कोई कम बात तो नहीं। इन पलों में मेरे बोलने से तुम्हें सख़्त ऐतराज़ है, ‘क्यों बोलती हो? क्यों कम कर रही हो इन पलों को अपने शब्दों से? मेरे साथ बहो बस कुछ बोलो मत।”
मेरे सीने पर धरा तुम्हारा चेहरा दुनिया की तमाम चाहतों और सुकून को चिढ़ाता हुआ मुझे किसी फ़रिश्ते को अपने आगोश में लेकर सोने के मखमली एहसास से लबरेज़ कर देता है। तुम्हारें हाथों में सिमटा मेरा चेहरा… ना, इस एहसास को अनकहा रहने दो।
कितने अलंकार रहते हैं मेरे तुम्हारे पास मेरे लिए जबकि मेरे पास तुम्हें प्यार करते रहने के अलावा और कोई अतिशयोक्ति ही नहीं ।