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I want to spoil you I stand in front of you, with my two hands and fingers spread on the sides of your head through your hair. Both hands grasp your hair firmly at the back of your head and stretch your head back behind your neck. I kiss your neck, bite your neck, lick your neck, towards your ear. I lick your ear, bite your earlobe and whisper in your ear: "You hot little slut. What will ou do with me? You tortured me all day, I was horny for you all day, my cock pulsed in my pants, I could feel the stickiness of pre-cum in my shorts and now I need to fuck you, so, kneel in front of me! Ope… 阅读更多内容

ADDICTION By Sheryl St Germain —In memory of my brother, Jay St. Germain, 1958-1981 The truth is I loved it, the whole ritual of it, the way he would fist up his arm, then hold it out so trusting and bare, the vein pushed up all blue and throbbing and wanting to be pierced, his opposite hand gripped tight as death around the upper arm, the way I would try to enter the vein, almost parallel to the arm, push lightly but firmly, not too deep, you don't want to go through the vein, just in, then pull back until you see blood, then hold the needle very still, slow… 阅读更多内容

This was written by Mapleabroad after her first kinbaku session with Wildties. I feel his breath on my neck. I close my eyes to absorb the eroticism of the moment, and what I know is to come. I am in a submissive pose, kneeling with my buttocks resting on my heels, my head bowed slightly forward, my hands before me. My pulse races, though my tightly tied kimono restricts my inhalations. Japanese music plays softly in the background, transporting me to another place. His body surrounds me, taking ownership and claiming me though his hands have not yet touched me. H… 阅读更多内容

“The Cinnamon Peeler” by Michael Ondaatje The Cinnamon Peeler by Michael Ondatje If I were a cinnamon peeler I would ride your bed And leave the yellow bark dust On your pillow. Your breasts and shoulders would reek You could never walk through markets without the profession of my fingers floating over you. The blind would stumble certain of whom they approached though you might bathe under rain gutters, monsoon. Here on the upper thigh at this smooth pasture neighbour to you hair or the crease that cuts your back. This ankle. You will be known among strangers as the cinnam… 阅读更多内容

The Encounter by Louise Gluck You came to the side of the bed and sat staring at me. Then you kissed me—I felt hot wax on my forehead. I wanted it to leave a mark: that’s how I knew I loved you. Because I wanted to be burned, stamped, to have something in the end— I drew the gown over my head; a red flush covered my face and shoulders. It will run its course, the course of fire, setting a cold coin on the forehead, between the eyes. You lay beside me; your hand moved over my face as though you had felt it also— you must have known, then, how I wanted you. We will always know t… 阅读更多内容

Kayden Kross, Manuel Ferrara and Dana Vespoli "Manuel and I met in late 2006 on the set of my first porn shoot. He was confident, handsome, and French. I was shy and clueless. We had sex, and then we didn’t see each other again for almost four years. The next time I saw him, I was closer to his level. It was another porn set, and once again we were scheduled to have sex. Things were different that time around. I, too, had become confident. I’d navigated the adult industry well and worked my way into one of the most lucrative exclusive performing contracts with the top production co… 阅读更多内容

By Alexxa Gotthardt, for Artsy Few artworks are as adored or widely reproduced as Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss (1907–08). When Klimt created his masterpiece at the height of the Viennese avant-garde and its psycho-sexual revolution, it was brazenly erotic, politically charged, and artistically revolutionary. Klimt was already the fearless leader of the Viennese avant-garde when he began painting The Kiss in 1907. He’d made passionate acolytes of young, ambitious artists like Egon Schiele and Oskar Kokoschka, who sought to express raw human feelings. He’d also made bitter enemies o… 阅读更多内容

To The Woman Crying Uncontrollably In The Next Stall If you ever woke in your dress at 4am ever closed your legs to a man you loved opened them for one you didn’t moved against a pillow in the dark stood miserably on a beach seaweed clinging to your ankles paid good money for a bad haircut backed away from a mirror that wanted to kill you bled into the back seat for lack of a tampon if you swam across a river under rain sang using a dildo for a microphone stayed up to watch the moon eat the sun entire ripped out the stitches in your heart because why not if you think nothing & no o… 阅读更多内容

Tess Gallagher (born 1943, Port Angeles, Washington) is an American poet, essayist, short story writer. She met Raymond Carver in 1977, and their relationship very much influenced her literary work, which included helping to edit and publish his writing. Raymond Carver influenced her to write the short stories that were collected in The Lover of Horses (1986). She wrote Moon Crossing Bridge, a collection of love poems dedicated to Raymond Carver, who died in 1988. She published the essay "Instead of Dying" in The Sun Magazine about Raymond Carver's life.Tess Gallagher has a cottage in Ire… 阅读更多内容

Mi fantazia mas pervertida no se resume en algo sexual sino en verte despertar sobre mi pecho entrelazada a mis brazos sin maquillaje hermosamente despeinada y a dormecida My most perverted fantasy does not sum up to something sexual but to see you wake up on my chest entwined in my arms without makeup beautifully disheveled and asleep… 阅读更多内容

Nora Barnacle, James Joyce's Muse On Nassau Street in Dublin, on June 10, 1904, twenty-two-year-old James Joyce saw (as clearly as he could see, since he was not wearing his glasses, and his vision was poor) the twenty-year-old Nora Barnacle, then a young chambermaid, sauntering by. Nora would later tell the story of their first meeting often, though she often told it differently. Sometimes she said Joyce wore a sailor’s cap, and other times she said he wore a big white sombrero and a long overcoat that hung down to his feet. Joyce proposed a date, and Barnacle agreed, but though Jo… 阅读更多内容

Even When Even when you don't get it hard Your prick still gives me such delight, Hanging golden white between your thighs, Over those balls of yours, dark charms. -- Balls of my lover, proud sisters, Their skin a rich untanned leather, Brown and rosy and lavender, Two fierce and farcical misters, Look, the left ball dangles lower Than the other one, both knowing What's what, goodwill overflowing To what end, God willing, what for? -- It's plump, that big littleboy dick, And velvety smooth from its base To foreskin, three-fourths of the way The rosy crest just covers it. It s… 阅读更多内容

Neo-constructivism by Georgy Kurasov by Alexey Larionov, Senior scientist of the State Hermitage Museum Nothing could be stranger than the fate that awaited the art of painting in the 20th century. This most ancient form of artistic creativity, as old as civilisation itself, found itself most unexpectedly marginalised, pushed aside to the outer reaches of contemporary culture, even declared to be a dying art that had exhausted its potential, while its place in exhibition halls and on the art market had been usurped by works far from our usual concepts of the fine arts. If we l… 阅读更多内容

I heard this beautiful erotic song sing by Brazilian singer Rosa Passos recently. Fusion Where does your body end and mine begin? Sometimes it is difficult for me to say. I feel your heat, I feel your cold I feel empty if I am not inside you. How much of this is love? How much is desire? Can they be separated or not? If from the heart to the fingers There is nothing in my body that you don't vibrate. What will it have fo… 阅读更多内容

According to an interview with Spanish news source El Mundo, Apolonia Lapiedrs, real name Samantha Sanchez, has announced her retirement from porn after a stellar five year career. She is 27. Below an extract from Twitter and her most recent post which is cryptic :… 阅读更多内容

The flower doesn’t dream of the bee, it blossoms and the bee comes. – Mark Nepo… 阅读更多内容

Some love is fire: some love is rust: But the fiercest, cleanest love is lust. And their lust was tremendous. It had the feel Of hammers clanging; and stone; and steel: And torches of the savage, roaring kind That rip through iron, and strike men blind: Of long trains crashing through caverns under Grey trembling streets, like angry thunder: Of engines throbbing; and hoarse steam spouting; And feet tramping; and great crowds shouting. A lust so savage, they could have wrenched The flesh from bone, and not have blenched… 阅读更多内容

The Porn Philosophy of abscess13 from Ukraine Let's explore the porn world in detail Since porn is an integral part of our present lives Porn taught us the standards of fucking, that's a fact Porn helps us jerk off in a great way With porn, the world is not completely hopeless And even the world of porn is a dream to give hope I have accumulated observations on the subject I share them with you in a free presentation Point number one: for erotica shooting Erotica is the deepest of misunderstanding, it is the limit If there are no genitals in an erotic work It can go to hell Wh… 阅读更多内容

Fired for doing porn: The new employment discrimination (Credit: EJ Dickson, Salon web site, October 1st 2013) When Gauge retired from the adult industry in 2005, she had big plans for her post-porn career. A 4-foot-11 Arkansas native best known her signature move — receiving anal sex while doing a handstand — Gauge abruptly left the industry after shooting more than 140 films, due to a contract dispute with her management company. Although she enjoyed her four-year stint in front of the camera, she wanted to take time off to prove to herself that she could succeed in other a… 阅读更多内容

I swallowed many loads during my teens in a city centre hotel bathroom in Dublin. I would go there on Saturday afternoon and spend four hours there, down in the basement where it was warmer and less pungent-smelling than public toilets. But it was a known cottaging place so I would go early to get the first cubicle. I would wait to hear a single soft rap on the door and then twist the latch to let the stranger enter. I would sit on the seat as he hung his coat on the hook behind the door, then open wide as he dropped his pants and offered me a faceful of manhood. Cock, balls, pubic hair, t… 阅读更多内容