withinthebrain

[withinthebrain]

Syntax Error

I flinch at connection with a calculated pause. My brain is built for riddles, to crack the code of comfort, but it carries contradictions, too.

I’m fluent in logic… and sarcasm… illiterate in affection.

What’s the math behind a hug? Emotions are puzzles with missing pieces.

Avoid the eye contact, smile through the awkwardness. It may not be mental math, yet the formula unfolds.

[withinthebrain]

Savored Flavor

in a line of love, depth of heart, of sacred vows, naked as truth.

thy gaze unfastens the most cunning clasp. disrobes me in earnest; my defenses crumble to thy tender touch.

my body bends to thy will, reading sacred verse upon thy lips.

remembering: such is the flavor of forever.

[withinthebrain]

Goodnight

How does one drift or dare to sleep, when only silence meets the ear? How does one lull into a tranquil hush, with no bedtime story to hear?

[withinthebrain]

In Hand

Open the door and let me in; let me carry your stories and sins.

Desires unspoken, or dreams left behind, I'll listen with patience, journey hand in hand.

Let me calm the restless voices, jabbering in your head; let me join your forces.

[withinthebrain]

Edge of Yes

A hand fists deep in my hair, Teeth nibble tender along my neck, A cock slicks upon my tongue, Fingers curl firm ’round my throat, A palm presses, claiming my breast. Tongue flits greedy over nipple peaks. My fingers trace treasured velvet spheres, A hand clasps tight around my wrists, A shaft taps wanting at my clit, Teeth dig in along my hips. Fingertips feather across bare skin, That tip presses close against my slit, A cock just waits, demanding a kiss. Fingers dig needy at my inner thighs, An impatient cock throbs at my backdoor. Handprints of scarlet cover ass cheeks. Knuckles trace the dip of my spine. My hand molds to a fervent pulsing girth.

And I surrender on the edge of yes…

[withinthebrain]

May I?

Kirt follows me in my front door after guys night at the bar. She’s on the couch, watching me with that smile that draws me to her like a beacon. Her PJ short shorts and tank top barely cover her curves and she doesn't move to cover herself.

Kirt leans in, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Man, your wife looks good...”

I smirk, turning to glare at him for a moment. “Yeah… she does.”

Without a word, I cross the room and gather her into my arms, kissing her lips and pressing myself against her skin. She giggles and her fingers tease through my hair as I lower my mouth to her neck.

Kirt settles beside us, eyes dark with interest. “Mind if I watch?” he half-jokes.

I glance at her. She pulls her lip between her teeth and scrunches her nose. She nods, and I run with it. "Stay and watch," I reactively snap, watching her face for a reaction.

Her eyebrows jump in disbelief that I told him to stay. Kirt shifts beside us on the couch, the outline of his growing bulge catching my eyes... as well as hers. Her gaze flicks from his face, down his body, and settles upon his bulge.

I grab her chin and drag her eyes to meet mine. “Do you want to see his cock?” I call to her inner defiance. She nibbles her lip, glancing back at him as he grips himself through his jeans.

“Yes,” she whispered, but continued, “Can I touch him?”

Slowly, as I begin to undress her, her fingers reached toward Kirt. I gave him a shrug and he was stepping forward to meet her invitation.

She holds Kirt’s zipper between her fingers, but her eyes stay locked on mine.

“May I?” she asks again, slinking her eyes over his body once more.

I nod firmly. “You can touch,” I groan thickly, “but don’t forget who you belong to.”

A Cheshire grin covers her face. She lowers his zipper. He swallows hard, hands balled in fists at his side.

Then Kirt glances at me almost shocked. “This okay?” he asks aloud.

I like that he asked. That he knows who’s setting the rules here.

“Tonight, what’s mine is yours,” falls from my lips as I take in the view of him right there before my eyes with my wife. His boxers slide down to expose his honestly handsome dick. She drew him to her, her hands looped around his muscular thighs.

“Good girl,” I murmur watching her take his length between her lips. Kirt glances at me again, deferring control. But again, I only nod once, and he breathes surrender.

Seated on the couch, I lift her upon my lap, her back against my chest. He kneels before her, no longer asking permission. Kirt pushes her legs back so her toes rest on my knees, and he cannot hide his grin as his tongue meets her bud.

With one arm wrapped around her waist, claiming what is mine, I slip my other hand between us and press my length against her slick entrance. She moans and presses back against my chest.

“What’s mine is yours,” I remind him, and he too presses his girth against her slit.

I’m not sure she was ready for just how far this would go when she coyly agreed to see the bulge in his jeans, but the tremble of her muscles as her head lolls against my shoulder tells me she is perfectly content with being claimed, worshipped, taken.

[withinthebrain]

The Clock Moves On

The clock keeps ticking past the dawn,

Yet I am lost where daydreams spawn.

But here, with sunlight on my journal,

With coffee warming me eternal,

I pen the fading words of last night

Lasting remnants of our opulent plight.

[withinthebrain]

Steamy Sunday

twilight creeps honest through the drapes, teacup cradled warm against my sternum. my robe flutters in the caress of evening breeze, and the pages of my book flutter through my mind a deep breath, a warm sip, a fresh fantasy.

[withinthebrain]

Animals I’ve Seen Today

My dog tail happily wagging thumping my leg

Her dog small and likely evil pulling the lead

Your dog all tongue and joy with no personal bubble

His dog old and slow grey around the chin

The dog on the corner still proudly barking into the wind

A squirrel continually circling the tree teasing all the dogs

[withinthebrain]

Euchre

The cards have been dealt, a hand we didn’t choose. We hold them close, playing by rules we barely know.

I play the nine of hearts, a quiet question queued, a probe across the table, seeking clues to your cards.

You signal in your choice words, I guess at the weight of your hand, trust and bluff entwined, in a silent language of patience.

When I lay my trump, will you read the play, or fold before the last, giving up the round?

So deal the cards again, and this time I’ll follow your lead, to meet your hand with mine, revealing a perfect game.

[withinthebrain]

Swallow the Sin

I taste restraint on your lips. Feel the tension trembling in every muscle. You wear patience like lingerie, so very tempting, but never lasting.

Your hands say slow. Your hips say now. Your mouth? Lies with good intentions.

Forget the waiting, I’ll swallow the sin and take it all in.

Teach me how to crave, show me desire, feed the hunger, remind me of restraint.

Revel with me in sweet surrender, willing to crumble and burn and fall; give me a reason to break.

[withinthebrain]

Just Live

Live life like improve.

Yes, and… you fail, you flail, you rise, rewrite, call it art.

yes, and… be wrong, be strong, be weird regroup jump in.

always answer: yes, and…

[withinthebrain]

His Words Twist

He says I should take my time, get used to the size of him, ease into it. Mm-hmm. Sure. Let’s pretend I have that kind of patience.

But let’s be honest:

I love the feel of his cock throbbing, of his stomach clenching, of his hands twitching with restraint, of his eyes darkening with need, of his mind fighting every instinct to not ruin me.

And then his words twist, and suddenly all I can think is… Grab my hair, pull it, guide me, guide me down your length, press yourself down my throat until my nose tickles against the hair at the base of your shaft. Take away my choice.

And I… I tremble, and I beg, and I ache to submit to his unabashed claiming.

[withinthebrain]

Star-crossed

I see you in the corner of old dreams and hear you in the echo of the thunder. I feel you in the warmth of the sunshine and taste you in a glass of whiskey.

And you… you do the same, don't you? Smell me in the last wisps of a bonfire, remembering a ghost you've only met in a past life of soul mates…

We may orbit the same sun, though it be at different times. You rise to sunlight as I fall to the moon.

A story half-told or half-remembered, two shadows longing to touch, if star-crossed, they would burn.

[withinthebrain]

Just a Sip

Vajayjay of mine doth want to feel thy tongue aswirl, thy fingers real deep inside and stretching mine all the while I drink some wine… or bourbon.

Let me taste your sultry tip slick your length upon my lip..s drink you in in all your brawn just before you come upon my breasts.

[withinthebrain]

Tasted

wet lips part for you; tasting of sweet temptation, you dance on my tongue.

[withinthebrain]

Proof of Life

We trade touch for typed confessions, asking questions, always pondering, a slow-drip, slow-burn seduction through an imaginary string phone.

You are fingers clicking against keys, and fingers I imagine on my skin. You are lust in layers of language, a whispered heat through my veins.

Yet you are… tall, bearded, astute… absolutely handsome to boot, or so I think.

So forms the question: Does a picture shift the game? Does flesh make fantasy falter?

You're not words in disguise, but you could be colored pixels arranged in an image on the screen… [insert image here] send it anyway.

Does a photo kill the mystery, or does it build the tension?

Let the fog clear. Step forth.

Skin tanned or sun-aching, hair wild or tamed, smile sly or beaming…

Still,

Is a photo proof this is not a spoof… or is a photo just a tease? Say ay or nay: proof of life?