I climb into the bath, water hot as I can tolerate

my movements and mind mellow, thoughts become languid and lax

the heat and steam seem to reignite the pilot light at the meeting of my thighs

feeling vacant yet reawakened, I ache


tough love

Yes, I’m small, and light. Yes, I look graceful — delicate, even.
Yes, you’re taller. Bigger. Stronger. Yes, you can pick me up, toss me around, pin me down.

But I’m strong too. And flexible, and wriggly.
And determined.
So when we wrestle, I will give you a run for your money.
And the only way you’ll win clean
is if I want you to.

This shape reminds me of a heraldic maunch, minus the pendant part of the pendant sleeve, of course.


take me for a ride

I want to go for a ride, but I want you to drive.

I don’t need to know exactly where we’re going. Take me on the scenic route.

There’s no speed limit here…

Floor it, throw me back into the seat, downshift and accelerate into the curves.

Make me laugh in delight… or swallow my smile until

it turns into a conspiratorial smirk,
my glittering eyes peeking
through lowered lashes.

short hair

I like my short hair because
it doesn’t get in my face, and it doesn’t accidentally get leaned on;
“just-fucked” hair is never a big deal;
the nape of my neck is always exposed
and sensitive,
especially when he
my stubble.

my hair is too short

I’ve got a pixie cut, short back and sides. Short. Clippers short.

I want him to grab my hair at the nape of my neck, twine it around his fist, pull my head back sharply.

I want him to breathe on my neck and lick me.

I want him to kiss me deeply, control me.

But my hair is too short.