BEDDED, BLESSED AND BARED. Story of sorts, by Louis Hemmings

BEDDED, BLESSED AND BARED

 

 

Plump and pretty, crowned with surprise; beautiful your buttons, delightfully they rise, gravity un-defied, our bodies slightly battered, tired limbs entangled, hearts somewhat tattered. Fumbling blind in your hinge-opened thighs, slow foraging fingers, sleep-sensual eyes; purse-clasp open, pressed pussy-willow tip: rhythmic spasms whip your shapely hips.

My crooked warm wonder shows little indecision, bare bishop-head smooth, piston-like precision, sunken to hilt, my sword sinks to inner core, ecstatic neurons sing but tendons slightly sore. Silent bodies bump, deep in understanding, mutual submission, romantic that *commanding, long covenanted couple, deep our strong roots, bedded, blessed and bared, sweet shared fruit.

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Ache. A sensitive poem by Erin Alexandra.
  • INSIDE ME THERE IS A DULL ACHE

    EVERYDAY IT’S THERE

    REMINDING ME OF EMOTIONAL WARFARE

    SO RELENTLESS IS THIS ACHE,

    SWELLING, RISING BUT

    NEVER EBBING.

    ITS HARD TO BARE

    AND SO,
    FOR MY OWN SAKE

    I ASK MYSELF

    HOW MANY MORE MALE INFLICTED WOUNDS CAN I TAKE ?

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    BODIES. ‘SPINE’ by James.

    You
    had a smile from ear to ear, and from across the room, our love met amongst the bow-ties and party dresses. Our eyes hid bashfully. Hands had finished with wine glasses and wished to be held.
    You kissed me on the street outside the pub on the cobbles. We left, and as we drove to my place, the alternating yellow, white and red lights moved across your face while I yearned to touch you again and again, every time your eyes were illuminated.

    It was your first time. It wasn’t mine, but it might as well have been, for all that scuffles in the dark rooms at parties meant to me right then. My bedroom was freezing. You giggled in nervous excitement when you touched me. Hands wandered below embarrassing and embarrassed pyjamas. You said it was a little painful but you had liked it, and I said I was sorry and that I was glad
    and we slept facing one another, with your hand in my hair and affection hanging like fog over the duvet and our resting forms.

    But sex became a topic never mentioned.
    We spent days in each others company, with our bodies only appearing when the lights went out.
    You said that you liked the way I looked but the coldness in our bed meant that my hands grew ugly against your body. I felt guilty of my desire and my pull towards you became an anchor to my worry. A ten tonne weight kept me still at night. My touch was only ever acquiesced, so I made myself forget I could touch you at all.
    I felt so small that I might have disappeared one night, under the covers, and you’d wake up and I’d had disappeared.

    Sometimes it felt that going away, melting into nothing, would have been easier.

    But looking over at you on that last night, I realised I had been sleeping in the shadow of your spine. I had quietly wasted away, behind your back, turned away from me, in the silence of the night.
    Only the shadow of your spine.

    A STORY OF LONGING FOR A LOVE THAT IS ONLY A SHADOW.
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    MORNING AFTER

    Hello
    Thank you so much for taking time to look at this new forum. So pleased with the feedback and relieved as even though I was all about ”opening up” it made me get butterflies and uncomfortable sense that I had taken all my clothes off in the middle of Trafalgar square. But thankfully I have had a talented army behind me who have also taken their clothes off and I think those clothed in Trafalgar square are regretting putting their pantaloons over their bare skin now !

    I feel good. It was good for me !

    So thank you to everyone who has shared as you are helping more to strip down. You are beautifully talented people.

    The next topic is MORNING AFTER so lets continue to talk.
    SUBMIT/ GET WRITING/ CRAFTING. I LOOK FORWARD TO BEING ABLE TO SHARE MORE OF YOUR TOUCHING STORIES.

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