Hello

I'm so sorry about this.  I couldn't help myself.  I don't know what came over me.  And I know it's not exactly a new reference, but I heard it today and it practically wrote itself.

To the tune of Hello by Adele:

Hello.
It's me.
You've been at it for so long I think I almost fell asleep.
It's okay.
You can cream.
Don't get me wrong; I love that cock but now my insides need some healing.

Hello.
Can you hear me?
I've been screaming in your ear so maybe all you get is ringing.
If I were younger,
Maybe.
But I've forgotten how it feels not to have ears beside my feet.

There's lots of different ways to get off
And my pussy's tired.

Hello, lick my insides!
You've got a cock a mile wide,
And I'm sorry, but it's only making me numb,
And I think you might try using that tongue.

Hello, get between my thighs!
You'll like it if you only try!
Just give me some head and maybe we can restart,
But that cock of yours just really tears me apart at the mo'.

Hello.
How are you?
I'm enjoying it a lot and you're still hard, I know it's true.
I came twice.
That's swell.
Now I think you need rewards because you made all that shit happen.

It's no secret that the both of us
Are up for one more time.

Hello from the other side!
Lube it up, don't do it dry!
'Cause the thought of anal is really making me hum
And I'll drain those balls of every drop of your cum.

Hello to my backside!
I'll make you groan a thousand times.
Spread those cheeks and press it in to the heart.
Don't be shy, you aren't gonna tear me apart in that hole.

Oooooh, in that hole.
Oh, do it in that hole.
Yeah, baby, in that hole.
In that hole.

Hello, now you're inside!
I took it all, I really tried
To stuff you so far up inside of my bum
That I'll sneeze your jism every time that you cum.

Hello from the bedside!
That was quite a wild ride!
Now the semen's dripping every time that I fart,
And if we go once more, you might tear me apart. Maybe no.

Flash Fiction Friday - Flame On

Long ago all was darkness, and Sky Mother dreamed herself a husband and so it was, and she called him Mountain and lay on him in the way of women and men, and found herself with child. After an age, through birthpangs of thunder, she brought forth twins, a boy and a girl. The boy was Ice, cold and calm, while his sister was Fire, molten ire, raging, and the two could not share, for Fire wished to consume all, and Ice wished to cover all. Sky Mother let the two roam about the world in darkness, never seeing one another, until one day the two met, and fought until they could fight no more.

Exhausted, the twins sat together on the barren ground, and Water noted Fire's nubile form, lithe and alluring, and Fire saw Ice's powerful body, unable to be resisted, and from fighting they fell to loving, and in that way Fire melted some of Ice's chill and made the water rage, and Ice eased some of Fire's burning and made her tame. And Sky Mother looked down on her children's love and wept tears of joy, which rained down on the world and made life, and she beamed with gladness, which brought light into the world. And so it was and ever will be.

---

Oh Demon Lust, consume my mortal frame.

Devour me utterly in my desire.

In me you burn a harsher, driving flame

That doth consume my loins upon your pyre.

I long to break you down, to make you tame,

To ride you like a steed that does not tire,

But though I strain, my soul you always claim.

Forsake this spite, entombed in molten ire

And enter me, a soft and supple dame.

Your acts are wanton in what they require

Yet rising up like phoenix in your name

I burn and in your embers I expire.

And though strange lusts in me you may inspire

I long for you to set my heart afire.

---

The first one, I blame entirely on being in the middle of a book of Native American myths, of which creation myths are a part. This is not one of them, nor is it a clever retelling of one of them so I could include some twincest. It's basically a pastiche, and not a terribly good one. Ah well. I'm my own worst critic.

I decided that, given the first one, I should probably write something else. So I wrote a sonnet. Yeah, I can dash them off. It's not my best work, nor is it as smutty as sonnets I've written in the past,where I can get the whole metaphor thing going and really make hay with barely-concealed sex. This one... I don't know. Hope you like it.

There's a whole crowd over at PB's blog flashing their fiction around, and what with the new system he's got, you can join in the fun right now. Or at least head over there and read the others.

Flash Fiction Friday - Christmas

Dear Santa,

Please send my sister some underwear for Christmas. I came downstairs early last Christmas to see if I could see you coming down the chimney, and she was there, and I thought she was unwrapping a present but it turned out she was unwrapping herself. She took off all her clothes and lay back under the tree and started rubbing between her legs and on her boobies and saying all kinds of things about how she wanted you to deck her halls, and I figure it's because she wanted Santa to bring her some underwear to cover up those places with. Maybe that's how she gets the best gifts every year.

If you bring me the pony I asked for, I promise I'll go down this Christmas and rub myself like she was doing without any clothes on. I don't know what some of the words meant, but I'll say them all too. Please don't put me on the naughty list for sneaking a peek at my sister.

Love,

Virginia

---

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, except for my spouse.

She was decked all in red from her head to her toes

But beneath her red robes was as pink as a rose.

A stocking was hung from my out-thrusting shaft

Which she saw as it wiggled as at it she laughed.

"Mama in her 'robe' and Papa in his 'cap'

Aren't tucked in our beds for a long winter's nap.

Do you think Mr. Claus will surprise us," she said,

"If he comes down the chimney while I'm giving you head?"

"Don't you worry," I said as I thrust down her throat.

"He'll most likely enjoy it, the randy old goat."

The moon on the breast of my wife on her back

Gave a luster of midday (when we were also in the sack),

When what to my wondering eyes should appear

But her grin as I eased in, from ear to ear,

And she said, as my cock slipped slowly out of sight

"Merry Christmas to all, and no sleeping tonight!"

---

I've struggled with writing a sexy parody of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas before. Maybe the picture inspired me. It's not my best work; I wish I'd put a bit more effort into incorporating more of the stock phrases at least. Or added it to the plot of the original, where Santa actually shows up. But I'm glad I did it for Flash Fiction Friday because that way I was excused from having to do a line-by-line parody because of the length restrictions. And yes, I know, I didn't use the phrase in it. If you want, you can view it as an addendum and not the entry.

Which brings us to the first entry. I actually thought of this first as a letter to Penthouse (because it's a Playboy cover and all) but then the idea came to me a bit differently. Very little editing occurred. Maybe it's just a bit of fluff, or maybe I'm horribly corrupting the holiday, but it's Christmas Eve; you can't do anything to me.

May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white. And you know what that means, don't you?

Here's the list I have so far for Flash Fiction Friday this week. I may be updating it as I find out more people; if you're a participant, let me know and I'll change the list. Hell, I'll change the list on Saturday or Sunday too if you let me know; I'm not proud or particularly punctual myself. David (on the list below) is compiling, so let him know too. In fact, I got this list from him, so thank him for it; I'm just repeating it.

• David: http://dsinvegas.blogspot.com/
• Lexi (that's me, so you don't really need a link, do you?)
• Scintillectually Yours: http://scintillectual.com/
• Advizor finally got his up: http://advizortoall.blogspot.com/
• William: http://thetrainingofmylovelyslut.blogspot.com/
• And of course, PB did one too: http://insatiabear.blogspot.com/

Now I know more people are doing this. I just know it. But I can't read minds. Neither can David. We're nice people; let us know if you're Flash Fictionalizing this week.

Flash Haiku Friday

As there was no Flash Fiction Friday this week, for reasons I hope are nothing more than minor inconveniences, and as I have limited brain-space for much of anything, I've thought of the smallest thing I could do and done it.  Thus, Flash Haiku Friday.  The picture is something I had lying around; I don't know any credits, but I'd be happy to change that if someone else recognizes it.

flowing white silence

betrays energy within

she is the morning

lonely in dawn's light

or has he not awakened

to give her comfort

chill air warm bodies

temptation draws her to bed

day is forgotten

---

Three haiku.  I suppose if I were a scholar of Japanese poetry, I could have chosen a better verse-form for telling an extending story, but the haiku is brevity incarnate, and any of the three could be read in exclusion of the others.  I'm not a huge haiku fan (I'm much more into Chinese poetry, actually), but I do write them on occasion, although usually more as a joke and involving language not ordinarily found in courtly verse.  In this case, I've made an exception.

I thought about doing the haiku so each last line became the first line of the next, but I was too lazy.  There's probably a term for that, but I don't know what it is.

So, here's hoping that PB is okay and Flash Fiction Friday will return next week.  If not, I may start doing my own because it's basically the only thing I do any more.  Feel free to steal the image and use it for your own devices, although you could let me know if you do and I'll link to whatever you do.  Here's where I'd say something about how you should do that, but frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

My apologies for the lateness of the hour, but it is still Friday.  Had I been more on the ball, this would have gone up this morning.

Limericks

Rozewolf wanted limericks, and Advizor echoed, so what the hell, I've composed a few, which have nothing to do with Flash Fiction Friday but that's mostly because I can't see myself being able to write just one and fulfill any requirements.  Maybe Flash Limerick Friday.  Anyway, ask and ye shall receive.

A girl in a town closely littoral

Had orgasms decidedly clitoral.

Said this girl, "I'm a lass

For whom fingers will pass

But I simply cannot abide shit oral."

The lady came out of the lake

And was wooed by a knight, brave Sir Jake.

Though his sword filled her needs

And did naught but good deeds

'Twas for royalty only she'd quake.

Said the pharaoh, returning from Punt,

"I am horny as hell," with a grunt.

"When I'm back down the Nile

I shall party in style

And fuck everything Ra gave a cunt."

---

I really wish Blogger would get it together to support the very standards-compliant BR tag, so I could stop jumping through hoops to write poetry.  I'm quite proud of the first one; "closely littoral" isn't exactly the finest phrase ever, but it means "near a lake" and it rhymes and scans.  And no, "shit oral" doesn't refer to anything other than bad head.

Had I been writing for a less frank audience, I think I could have done the last one, just changing several words around and maybe ending with, "And chase everything Ra gave two legs..." and then trail off and grin.  Honestly, you saw it coming, right?  I think it might even be funnier that way.  But since we're a frank, adult audience around here, I went with the frank, adult version; also, I want to take back "cunt."  Also, Ra gave a cunt to things other than women... and here I'm trailing off and smiling again.

Yeah, I have nothing better to do than write dirty limericks for you.  I'm like your trained limerick-writing monkey.

Flash Fiction Friday - The Mother

dropping he dove deeply    all alone and unarmored

seeking the sea witch    mother of the wild one

down to the cold black    down into shadow's lair

bright was his strong sword    long had he lusted for blood

blood to avenge comrades    blood for his dark gods

‘til came he down and    saw her slim form swaying

heard her sultry call    beheld his mortal foe

bright was his strong sword    forgotten in nerveless hand

no one to aid his quest    all alone and unarmored

singing she called to him    come slayer of many

come to my warm arms    put aside troubles past

forget the breathing world    long had he lusted for blood

now his lust is loin-felt    to spend himself in her slickness

whiten her womb-well    feel the flesh forced open

bright was his strong sword    casting away darkness

now he sees her true form    sneer curling her lip

she would revenge her son    wild one who rends men

her beauty made terrible    before his new wisdom

now he raises up    the forged fury of his fathers

screams she shrilly    seeing her scheme settled

mother of the wild one    and bright sword shall battle

---

Presented for your approval: one Beowulf pastiche of limited skill.  I wish I could say that I spoke Old English and had translated this.  Or that I had enough chops actually to do metrically what the bards of yore were able to pull off in their heads.  I tried to hoe a line which gives a feeling for it, anyway.

It's awkward because modern audiences are used to iambic pentameter, and if you read this, sometimes it seems like it wants to go into that, but there are six stresses and it's not iambs.  This isn't historically accurate because Old English poetry tended to do two stresses per half-line, but honestly, every time I've tried quadrameter, the lines are too short, and that's leaving out the other requirements.  So, sextameter of sorts with a caesura in the middle (that's what the space between the half-lines is, for those who wonder).  Let's face it, it's bound to have faults; it's not called "Flash" fiction for nothing, and this is pretty slapdash.

I am rather more interested in the alliterative qualities of it in any case.  Old English (and indeed other poetry of the same sort) is alliterative verse, which means it doesn't rhyme but it still holds together based on shared sounds.  I didn't force it, but there's rather a lot of it here, as it should be.  I admit that I stole "strong sword" straight from Beowulf itself.

At this point, a fair number of you have begun to wonder about me, or to wonder what the Hell I'm talking about, or both.  I hope the excerpt (if I can call it that) holds together on its own without too much context being needed, but suffice it to say that Beowulf is a hero, he's already mortally wounded Grendel, a monster (the "wild one who rends men"), and now he's gone down to the bottom of the watery realm to deal with Grendel's mother.  Maybe you saw the movie and remember Angelina Jolie.  Well, for starters, dear God no, but that's whom we're talking about.  I haven't seen the movie, nor do I care to, but if that helps, go nuts.  Actually, watch The 13th Warrior instead, because that movie kicks ass.

I'm left with the task of explaining myself, having just provided what would otherwise be a translator's postscript had I actually translated anything. Basically, I wanted to write Beowulf pastiche.  I took several liberties with the story.  Why with this picture?  I don't really know; it struck me that nobody said that Grendel's mother had to be hideous.  But the sneer is what caught me; she's not sneering in the picture, but I could see her doing it, and she went from beautiful to terrible, and that's basically when I started thinking up alliterative lines.  I'm particularly proud of "whiten her womb-well;" if the Anglo-Saxons had written porn, I bet they would have used that line.

Okay, I'm a nerd.  Don't expect Homer pastiche next week because it's much harder to pull off, but do expect further diversions into the world of literature-nerdery.  And if you're an Anglo-Saxon scholar who'd like to criticize me on my choices or my incorrect use of things or my lack of complete and total alliteration, I'm sorry in advance.  I should probably have written something sexier and less complicated.

For that, I recommend Flash Fiction Friday for your sexy and uncomplicated needs.  I don't mean that the writing is sexy and uncomplicated (usually the former, seldom the latter), just that you could write something sexy and uncomplicated for Flash Fiction Friday and we'd probably dig it the most.  Do the kids still say that?  Dig it the most?  No?  Damn, fetch my time machine.

Or, in other words:

Flash Fiction Friday    steeped long in silent sexiness

bursts forth bouncing    with burgeoning literary legerdemain

hail to the Bear-Tank   thick of thew and mighty

with visual treats vying    for exciting ecstatic exegesis

Because I Can't Leave Well Enough Alone

I had some requests for elaboration regarding the dirty nursery rhymes in my Flash Fiction Friday this week.  I'm not totally sure why I had the object of desire reciting filthy Mother Goose, but it just happened.  So since I've got nothing better to do than work, mope, or work, I've taken a bit of time out of my moping schedule to work on the topic of dirty nursery rhymes.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to have a good hard fuck.

Jack tripped on a rock and dirtied his cock;

Said Jill, "Oh what rotten luck."

Jill gave Jack a big old whack 'cause Jack was getting randy.

She reached down and grabbed his crown

and said, "He's dumb but he's handy."

Jack and Jill had time to kill so Jill got on her knees

Jack came in her eye and made her cry

And off she ran through the trees.

Jack chased Jill back up the hill and gave her a great big kiss.

She begged him, "Dear, let's do it right here."

Then they lost themselves in bliss.

---

Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard

To get her poor dog a bone

But when she bent over, the randy old Rover

Proved he already had one.

---

Sing a song of sixpence,

A pocket full of rye.

Four and twenty peckers

Came in my pie.

When my legs were opened

The cum began to leak

And I don't think I'll walk straight

For at least a week.

---

Ring around the rosy

My ass is nice and cozy

Fuck me

Fuck me

Anal now!

---

It's fun.  I'm definitely open to submissions; there are plenty of nursery rhymes I'm forgetting, and maybe you can do something slightly subtler than I have (though that last one would get a lot of use in my household).  Maybe a dirty nursery rhyme contest?  I've got no prizes, but then neither does FFF.  Hell, I'll take limericks too.  Any sort of dirty doggerel will do.

Flash Fiction Friday - Two-fer

Two this week because they're both so short and because I wanted to write a poem.

Foreplay

Thunder and a sudden rain storm, or was that her heart and loins? She could feel every wet inch of him through his clothing, crouching, grinding her heat to his, her lips to his. They were driven, beaten, hammered by the pouring drops, everything falling together, the blood running fiercely through them, and drenched in the sky that kept crashing down around them and upon them. Make the rain last, she prayed, as they slid down the embankment into the mud, uncaring. Make it last.

---

Erosion

the sky is a smith

shaping with rain

like wrought metal

driven

beaten

hammered

showing every shining tool mark

did they emerge from the earth

under the sculptor's tools

or are they imperfections

soon to wash away

too much movement for static sculpture

too still to be dancing

---

Two.  Because I'm carrying your dead weight, all you people who don't do Flash Fiction Friday.  Don't you feel even the slightest bit guilty that you're not participating?  For all those people who are participating, you're like unto gods with your mad skillz and I have no hope of eclipsing your talent.

Not too weird this week; just a bit of my blacksmith fetish creeping into the second one.  I hope everyone else's are much more inventive.

Poetry Corner

Yes, I write poetry.  Some people already know that.  No, I'm not planning on turning this blog into a poetry blog, because crappy emo poetry is hardly in short supply on the Internet.  But I was feeling creative.  Maybe I'll write some more later.  I'll try to make it saucy.  Oh, and by the way, if this post appears and then suddenly disappears again, it's because I'm trying to get it to present properly.  Once I get it figured out, it'll be back.  But Blogger's post editor doesn't like linebreak tags mixing with paragraph tags, and I like paragraph tags a whole bunch.

Prude

you know it too

you feel the need

the closeness you miss when

your touch is nothing but a touch

somewhere deep in there

your heart yearns too

somewhere deep down

where only you can see

lashing out blindly

breaking beautiful

cutting everyone down

making us alone too

don't you want it too

isn't it past time

let the world embrace you

love is not a crime