Lusting over Ludus ...

All those morning photos exchange, for a mood, for a boost, for a sneak of a naked beat of a chest, of a rib, of an arm and a fashion pick. I smile, I grin and I open my chin to capture the scene at my end and fantasize of our next battle over the Ludus court. I shall warm well my bare fists to slap and bite your ass cheeks to hear your cracking laughs of this ticklish child within. I like to keep your juice on, I won’t wash it off, I won’t run to shower, I will carry it for a day or two , this sticky dry elixir liquid leaving this trace once and for all in my head.

I text you in details how I want to have you, how I want to conquer you without conquering you coz it ain’t a conquest, how I want to be sensual with you, how I wanna glide between your legs, Up back to your Torso, crossing your trimmed chest, friction with your teenager hands, how I want to blend my Caramel shade with your ginger skin. I reveal on how I want you to touch me, how I want you to lust me, how I want you to rub against me till I freckle. I even want you to smile when you read my lips spelling those words. I will gaze at you while you carelessly read a book or napping or just daydreaming over the ceiling. I am lusting annoying you while you being serious. I am lusting smelling you over and over till there is nothing more to smell. I would carry your fermon, your sweat, your cum and let the Candles burn upon our Lust. How Can one sleep when in a state of Lust? I will chase my shadow to exhaust the eternal Lust but I know the later will exhaust me and win that I wouldn’t dare to take a medicine for cure. 

The Ludus, My Ludus ...

The sofa that turned into the arena where there is nothing to conquer but one’s  self. You hear ur fears spelled thru someone else’s tongue and realize they are not fears, they are realms of a parallel life that co-existed next to yours with hundred years of moon difference. No distance can’t crossed bodies solve over the Ludus while sipping the mercury as you get forgotten to be free, you get forgotten to EXIST. In my Ludus, my arm is an extension of someone’s leg. In My Ludus,  someone’s hands can fondle my Venus the way I fondle her and the way I like to fondle her. And when my Ludus becomes better than a hundred KamaSutra proposed position, everyone else should throw the book, liberate and sink in their own imagination instead. You don’t kiss much, comparing to average lovers, you don’t kiss enough and my legacy is a passionate kisser. But, was it annoying? Am not sure, I played along and I was not annoyed nor  distracted from the original skill which is being a connoisseur of touching.  

Am glad that porn industry didn’t spam you. Didn’t spam the sensualist in you, didn’t spam ur sexual brain, didn’t spam ur touches, didn’t spam your facial expressions, and I do love this childish smile of yours when you silently express your joy of the momentum.  We rub our flesh back and forth, we go slow motion, we go fast motion. I allow my arms to scrub against your balls, your inner thighs, your upper legs, against your Spartacus and I moan, I moan… We kiss again, we kiss more this time, you kiss, you kiss again. I speak “So now you kiss? … I wanna play”  .. You: “I told you I kiss more and more gradually” .. we laugh and I continue my rub. We feel easy, we breathe easy, the heart still easy, we don’t rush, we drag, we keep dragging and rubbing  and my face expression change, my moan change, I go mute, I close my eyes so I can see your flesh better, so I can smell you better, so I can bite your nipple better, so I can lick your balls better. We kneel on the Ludus arena as if we gonna dance, but we don’t dance, we kiss, we kiss again, and then I open my eyes and look at you with that post fever and think that this was a hypnotizing act anyone would wanna seek. We lay there and start Whiplashing and the night fade as you sleep over my lap while am dragging my hands over your head.

We Let Go, we become the bird who seize the food, be it a moment, a dream or a simple carnal desire,  we just seize food for our soul, for our spirit…

SHE and the other woman ...

SHE approached the mirror where the other woman was astride over this petite chair combing her hair. SHE bend and pick her ponytail up like a bunch of flowers and stamp a kiss on her back neck then look at her in the mirror and speaks "come with me". SHE takes her left hand slowly and move towards the toilet sink and speaks again with a piercing look "now u gonna wash your hands with soap, you gonna brush your teeth as you gonna give me a proper oral job" ... the phrase was followed by a soft groan from her throat then the other woman started to submit. 

Sun rays heated a corner of the bed, SHE lay down where there was no more gravity and asks the other woman to kneel and start her way thru her cave. SHE speaks in a calm voice yet patronizing knowing exactly how she wants to be touched ... SHE orders" smell me but while pushing hot air thru ur mouth, inhale me then exhale the hot air back to my land, my skin, my supple curves"  .. she adds "wait, adjust the mirror so i can watch you doing me, so I can watch my pink, so I can excite my eyes" .

The other Woman moved away, standing in that shadow fixing the object, and looking at SHE waiting for approval .. SHE nods and use a finger signaling to move forward ... The other Woman goes back to her kneeling position .. SHE keeps her legs loosened slightly apart and cupped her nipples with her fingers like a grape connoisseur at a winery ...  The other Woman push her face slowly downward and approaching SHE's graveyard where hundreds of cocks were buried alive and start her inhaling\exhaling ritual while keeping her eyes open and non distant ... "Shut your eyes and enjoy my garden ... Smell the roses, the wetness and the flesh" SHE commands in a hypnotizing voice ... 

Aroused by the act, SHE open her legs further, the more SHE opens, the more the other woman smell deeper, blow hot air, inhale the pink and exhale onto the moist hole ... SHE's groan louder and snap few uncomprehending words,  hysterical laughs and smile and open her legs as wide as it can get witnessing in the mirror the take over of her peach by someone's nose ... The pace grew bolder without any extra instruction from SHE as if the other woman suddenly knows her way, as if she was in this place before, as if she knows what to be done and how to manage a pussy ... After the smelling session that seemed like eternal, the other woman decided to take control and opened her mouth tiny bit and started to stroke SHE's swollen clit by the tip of her tongue ... in and out, more strokes, in a consistent intervals yet teasingly .. when the motion pause, SHE screams "Don't stop now" .. SHE use her hands to spread her pussy lips wider apart giving more space to the tongue that becomes sharper than a knife ...  "not too quick, I don't want to cum soon" .. the other woman step back and before SHE protest, the other woman slide next to her in bed and a delight friction between the two begins while the rays grow bolder and neither can see their reflections in the mirror anymore ... 

The friction becomes a heated volcano ready to erupt and burn whatever crosses the way .. The women change into scissor's position, hold hands and tribbing in an endless motion like doves in a lake ... they moan like cats in a matting season ... They pull each other up using their arms to climb and face to face they kiss vigorously ... they devour each other's lips ... they munch and shew and eat each other's tongues ... they thrive the symphony without disconnecting hands ... like a ballet dance ... they lay down to continue tripping and the wetness rise like a fountain between their thighs breaking the sweat noise crescendo ... the universe silenced for a decade, wakes upon a climaxed alarm of Two screaming Prima donna's  ... 

SHE, eyes closed, drop a tear of extreme pleasure and when she opens them, she look around to find her reflection on the mirror, the last gleams of sun thru her curtains, the noise of crude street passengers and no other woman on sight ... just an empty petite chair ... 

There is no War for me to Win as my Battle is Within ...

In the matter of Curves ... (Reflections over my body)

Paul Gauguin Painting (La vie ET la mort) 

After the daily morning shower I look at the mirror. I wash away vapor with my bare hands. I pluck my thick eyebrows. I sneeze; I gargle and glide my finger tips over my neck. I push them back at the corner of my eyes and I slightly stretch outward the flesh. Do I look like Japanese now? I just want to make those fine lines disappear and I promise I won’t complain. I snatch my messy head and I find 3 white hairs. Grrrrrrrrrrr, no not now. I slap my cheeks to wake up; I smile and say “I love myself as I am”. 

In front of the closet, I stand while water drops off my body. My skin spread soap aroma in the room that makes me blush. I stare at all those displayed unworn dresses and unfitting skirts and I think how they never give me consolation when I need them the most. On my left, I look to another bigger mirror. I consult my naked figure. I breathe in my round tummy. I touch my flappy sides and rub my cellulite. My curves do not intimidate me. I am sort of pear sculpture like the 18^th century nude paintings. I wrap myself in the towel like a spring flower. I go drop my mass weight over the floor. The carpet scratches against my feet and send ticklish waves that reaches my ears. I look opposite to the window and understand the fact that I am not timeless, am prone to wrinkles. My hair would turn grey, my teeth might fall and my sight would fade. I draw a smile coz I know I would still love myself by then... 

iPain

its been a year of pain

its been a year of a struggling "self"

my foot hurt, my ankle hurt, my bone hurt, my heart hurt and my brain hurt

my mind hurt and being in love hurt

its not dramatic, its simply painful

sadness take over and make room for more pain

i am growing with a smile of pain, with a laugh of pain and aching feelings

i adapt, i adapt till its impossible for extra adaptation 

i surprise myself and adapt further

my knees hurt, my hands hurt, my arms hurt

i accept reality, i accept reality till reality itself dissolve

i sink in grandiose ideas till they fold, till they becomes flame, till they burn me

i vanish and disappear in fantasies of my own creation

i wake up and my eyes hurt, my ears hurt, my lashes hurt

i eat whenever am in pain and more pain follow

i lost the right sentences and only the word 'pain' remain

Coffee is My Wine ... He said

In my Shrine
I remember all the poetry created
and the Love Muse
of my perfect planet
All the "Eve je T'aime"
and the word "Divine"
As the world fall in place
Coffee becomes my Wine...

In my cup
I see the face
of a girl who was once my mother
from a nostalgic time of black & white
Among my own down town
my own archive of sights
I pour more of dark salvation
to please my addiction
i spoil by pouring
and pouring to indulge
i indulge to addict
in my black cup of wine 

The Aroma surrenders
to the taste of fate
whisper old ancient language
that no one can translate
But then comes a man
who defeat the locks
for other men to try
having tears in grain
that later becomes their mourning wine. 

And the truth prevails
in obscure water
that hides my joy and pain
like traces over sand in a windy day
But here I come again
spell poetry that remain
my main source of power.
I gaze away 
watching the pot
that holds the wine of my coffee ...

Am I that exposed?
Does it even show?
How enticing it can be
to just sink in my cup and start a fantasy
of an Eve who cook my daily wine
and pour a magic into my cup of coffee....

The Crush Carries On ... (Reflections of a Voyeur)

*According to Wikipedia, A Voyeur is someone who have sexual interest in or spying on people engaged in intimate behaviors. According to me, its not the case, a Voyeur is someone interested in sneaking on Human feelings...

Modern life seems no longer providing any fairytale but fantasies are keeping its fuel. Its Rather Romantic than Cheesy, but all crushes have tendency to sound boring. Yet, we can never get enough of hearing or witnessing some of them. Someone Else's butterflies entices your own dull moments like reading this predictable book with its "Ouh ahh la la" soundtracks. Have we forgot our earlier rise? Is that why we have this big naive smile while hearing stories that speaks about crushes?

"She crunches within herself when he's around. She travels back to her teenage spirit. Her Voice shrugs when she addresses him, she cannot even maintain an eye contact as he deliberately shakes her being. She cannot think properly. She is no longer in charge of her emotions. She is no longer in control. She surrenders to all what she resists. She revives all what she misses. She simply Crush Boom Bang when she sees him." 

The story did not end. I know little since she knows little herself. I shall wait endearingly to hear more of her crush stories as I revive mine through hers...

*From & To all my Girlfriends.

Lavender .... لافندر

همس فى أذنها كلام حب....ضحكت و أسترسلت فى حكايتها

He approached further and said more love words

Its Ticklish...she tells him

He ignore and blow hot air behind her ears

تغمض عينيها فى دلال متوقعة قبلة على شفتيها

He pulls her off her knees, walk thru the hallway

Enter a room, place her gently on the floor and start smelling

ينزلق بأنفه يتشمم عنقها, صدرها كأنه يحصد حقول الافندر

She surrenders to the attack and release her aromatic soul defenselessly...

White Noise...

In the midst of a burning flame
My ideas are greatly shrinking
Cannot consume voices & verbs
It dehydrates me further
and leave me with one choice
But to stay silent....

Dry Lemons...

For it starts with a glance
seeing Bright Colds dance pretty
Out of tune & totally immune to us
Smile! Smile as it cracks Logic!
For colored worlds miss serenity.

A failing exoskeleton of old beings
Lost in their raison d'etre
Nothing falls prey to itself
Feast! Feast as it stumbles down !
A bright reminder of loss & naught.

So Haze & soundproof rooms disperse
As still points mark the mental loop
And our void become full once again
Flee! Flee as Reality shines again!
So encrusted are we in its confines.


As breaths & pulses pass by slowly
We refer to joy as a consolation
For muted thoughts & subjugated wills
Fall! Fall as colors appear again!
As you rot in dried wells of sanity

Courtesy to Omar Saleh.... whose demonic mind creates beautiful proses.
To get intouch with Omar: bhaal_son@hotmail.com

أنا عندى كرش ..... أنطباعات جسدية

قضيت اليوم بأكمله مستلقية على الفراش متأملة ببطىء و أستغراب هذا الكائن المتمدد فوقى.

من أنت يا صغيرى ؟ و كيف تسلقتنى دون أن أشعر بك ؟ و أين والدك ؟ نظر لى شزرا وقال: "أنتِ. فقلت له, أنا مين؟ , أنتِ والدتى. أنا مين؟ , أنتِ والدتى. كيف؟ و متى؟ و أين؟ , فقال: " يومياً, أمام الثلاجة" .

صمتُ قليلاً ثم تذكرت. صحيح, أنت فعلاً أبنى, كيف أتجرأ و أنساك. ثم مددت يدى حول كرشى الصغير الذى حاولت جاهدة نسيانه و قررت عدم المحاولة نهائياً أن أتزاكى عليه مرة أخرى

iTsunami...

Episode 1:
i hear a voice, that tells me to drink water, then i become water. When the earth is over, we shall be the last survivors.
i dive my feet into cold sand, and then i hold ma self with my own hands. i smell you. Weren't we the last to breathe over the surface?
thru my skin, i see you.
A shooting star chase me, remind me of how it used to be.
How when i climbed the mountain, i was giving you a hand to survive the dream.
Shall we be the last survivors?
The Mountain tears turns into crystal
A shimmer pass over our face, reflecting the world that once was a refuge from our inner fear.
We open our arms to play the music and spread it down hills as the human memory will only keep the picture of its last heroes who saved the world and liberated the soul as we became the last 2 survivors....

French Manicure... Part2

(Random thoughts over my sexuality)

Why no one find elbows, knees nor finger knuckles as attractive as any other part in a woman's body? I wonder while flossing.
I blow dry my pumpkin head. I pluck my non identical eyebrows. I pull up my skirt and watch my unsexy knees and wonder again; good that knees r not a tool to weigh woman sexiness.

....To be continued...

French Manicure... Part1

(Random thoughts over my sexuality)

I stopped walking in my favorite heels eversince my summer foot injury. I abused my feet by being a party animal that today am being punished by walking heels-less. All those glam open toes I saved for special occasions are for no special use now. On the other hand, this increase my chances to go barefeet as an act of protest as well as having my "walking barefeet fantasy" come true.
Someone once assured me that i have strong feet of a Taurus, my astro sign is Taurus but never knew I can have Taurus feet. I took it as a compliment.

.....To be continued....

Prey...

My Heartbeats chase my pulses

How can my brain be so wet?

Am spreading my legs and feel you behind me

Contemplating the well crafted bum.

Laying on ma stomach

Writing down how the chase continued...

I wanna bite you, scratch you till you bleed

I wanna lick you and kiss you on a harsh speed.

My stomach hurts

I am resisting to touch myself

The wolf inside is trying to escape

It's painful, more painful than an exorcism

My Wolf is stronger than all my demons together

It can tear you apart

No sweetness, no tenderness

Just cruel aggression

My moans scars your ears

It shall leave a trace

I insert my pen inside Venus

It is so dry as the fountain ran up to my head.

I lick the skin you licked

My naked flesh

My heart becomes an earthquake.

Inside my throat is a dry land

Craving to suck you, to be roused

My lashes rub against your face

while am having your lips as appetizer

I will chew your tongue

Tonight, you are my food.

Nothing can equalize me now

Breathing is crossing continents

I squeeze a nipple with fingertips

while teething upon your nipple.

Your screams do not affect me

No sympathy, No mercy

Am collecting all my past anger

and creating a fierce army

Ready to attack

before the battle even begins.

with all those bruises they call "love bites"

Your Body is mine

I smells you hundreds of miles away

I dig my nails in you

to mark my territory.

The wind carries the song

to other land yards

Other wolves will not dare to howl

No one can save you

Today you shall be enslaved

and I shall be crowned...

Film Noir...

(My first professional Fiction short story...Thank you Linda for believing in my talent and thank you all my friends for your constant support)

Carla Love Frank
Behind the steel bars Carla smokes her last cigarette, looking back with a cynical laugh at her past life. There is no present and no more future. This is the end of the plot.

She remembers when she first met with Frank at his office on the 10th floor. That day, her destiny was determined. She walked in wearing her white chanel ensemble, black heels and a hat. She never forgets her red lips at home. She enters then knocks the door. Behind a cloud of smokes, Frank appears, speaking on the phone with a wrinkled frown. He gives her a signal to come in and sit down. It's humid outside but the vintage ventilator cooled the air and pushes documents away from the desk. "Oops" Carla murmured, with a grimace she moves to rescue the papers. She slightly kneels to pick them up. Frank notices her posture and smile. Carla is the brunette Marlin Dietrich but as sweet as Rita Hayworth. Frank is a mix of Humphrey Bogart in a Frank Sinatra's spirit. He hangs up and takes a long breath. "Hello" he start, "How can I help you ma am?" Carla hesitates then speaks "someone wants to kill me detective". "Then you came to the right place sweet lady" Frank giggles. They fade with the scene while a Dean Martin Swing tune comes from the 11th floor.

At "Zaphir" club, Carla is the lead singer 4 nights a week. The place delivers first class services for it's cliental. Show rehearsals are always conducted early mornings and changed twice a month to keep the atmosphere vivid. The stage is centralized between the round black leathered lounges. The walls painted in shimmering white screams jazz. On the opening day of her new show, Frank checks audiences from behind the beaded curtains. Carla finishes her song on stage with a steering storm of applauses. She's every man's fantasy and every woman's jealousy. Her velvet voice hypnotized Frank that he didn't care enough why he is at this club in the first place. He fell for Carla's irresistable charm. Does he know she fell for him after their few meetings at his office? No, he doesn't.

Days go by; Frank and Carla are madly in love. They meet daily at her apartment late at night and sometimes she drops by his office early afternoon when she's not performing. They drink, smoke and make love. Carla's obsession with him grows. She's possessive. She's not immune to his gaze or his husky tone. The scar near his left eye is like a magnet that pulls her whenever she wants to escape him. In bed, she sometimes calls him 'Raoul'. He used to laugh then he hated it when she did that. Did he know that Raoul was the love of her life? Did he know that Raoul once existed? He was the love of her life and yet she murdered him. Why? Coz he left her and broke her heart apart. What about Frank? Would he face the same destiny?

Carla becomes more and more agitated when she senses Frank's distance. Would she cover her hands with more blood? She wants revenge as she cannot accept being rejected. She considers giving away her heart to someone a sacred act and she always expects rewards. The detective disappeared like a phantom. He never returned back to the club. He never goes to his building. A massive mystery embarks on the stage of the femme fatal. Suspected for a crime of love, Carla gets arrested. No more silk, no more lace, she is facing her destiny within the grey walls behind those bars of steel. She puffs her last cigarette with her challenging eyes and her red lips that she never forgets at home.

The End

Oblivion Grudge...

Inside my dark soul, I wanna free myself. I wanna cross the road, but the road wont allow me. Am not sinful enough. how can I be sinful if am in love with one god, "You"

I wanna dance barefeet till millions of dawn pass thru me and I find myself again.

I want this girl again, being wrapped in her own self passion, diffusing it to the world.

If I knew, just if I knew....... I wish I knew but am ignorant about life and yet still alive.

I wanna look at the mirror and recognize myself, I don't anymore.

If I scream those mountains over my chest!
Maybe then, I'll be ready to put down this load I've carried longer than I had cared to remember.

I can't reach you, I'm in the middle of the sea, cannot reach the shore

Demons, my own demons are locking me,

they do that sometimes,
they punish me

I wanna be holded,
till it crush my chest

I want compassion, I want to escape

cAn SoMEbody InsPire the HECK out of mE? (PS: Mature Content)

Digging a finger or two inside oneself for incentive..
Guiltless lustful actions known as Amour Adultaire..
Unecessary food filling a big hole in stomach..
Shaking infront of 9000 Watt speakers for a promised vibrate quack..
Quickies? they are only good for a momentum fantasy..
Foreplaying is becoming banal and no Eroticism enough for mental erection..

Neither prayers nor intense sex..

Cutting own flesh to taste running fresh blood..

But again......Nothing seems enough

The Graceful Lust ...

Everytime I go nude, I wonder, how do you think of my body, how do you perceive my curves and skin type. But I don't keep wondering far as once I dig myself in your arms, my soul melt in your sphere. The thought make me shiver and go with a goose skin. I notice in your eyes more desire in possessing my flesh, in merging with me through your touches. I deliberate and show more skin. I sometime sees you as a runaway boy who wish to be lost in a heavenly garden where he can feel secure. I mostly use my exposures as a way of communication when my language fail me to express how I feel. And before I drift in my mind obstacles, I quickly surrender my tongue to yours as a sort of alliation in forces.

How can lovers become one in this most intimate action without losing their identity? How can they get rid of all their integral complexes just by holding hands? How can a passionate kiss wash away all fears?... even tears becomes sweet and all irrational attitude make all sense.
It's mysterious and this is the pleasure out of it. No how's or why's as if all questions don't need more answers.

....In this most mask off emotional battle, lust become the only legible weapon....