Across Manitoba

•November 15, 2012 • 4 Comments

She said:

I want you
deep inside me

but please
don’t take it
as literal
as it sounds

I need to feel you
in a place that
your dick––
on it’s best,
gold medal
triathlon winning

cannot reach.

I need
every part of you
to fuck me wet
and long

and tenderly

I need your hands
your eyes
your voice
to open me

wide, like the prairie
outside the car window

Under a clear night sky

Recommended Reading

•September 27, 2012 • Leave a Comment

Aerial Feeding by Shanna Germain.

This is an absolutely beautiful poem by the amazing Shanna Germain. It is published by one of my favorite new blogs for erotic writing, Featherlit.

Scene of the Crime

•September 17, 2012 • 6 Comments

How is it that

your legs

hijack the entire



hold hostage

any coherent thought

in my mind


author the entire evening

plottwists and all


reduce my attention span



…I’m sorry,

you were saying?


•August 9, 2012 • 3 Comments

the driving force behind
the curtain
your invisible
humming machine
twirling coal into diamonds
what is this madness
you call
a tongue?

Seattle Erotic Art Festival – June 16-24

•May 1, 2012 • Leave a Comment

Well, it’s almost that time of year again–when, for a short time, we let our Freak Flags fly high and proud, and come together and celebrate All Things Erotic in Seattle. Artists, art lovers, freaks and geeks from around the country will make their way to the Freemont neighborhood in Seattle to take part in one of the biggest Erotica festivals in the country.

I have two poems that have been accepted to the Literary section of the festival this year: Fire, and Letter to a Feminist Lover.

Check out the website for details and more info on the festival:

Hope to see you there!

•March 28, 2012 • 4 Comments









Breath Work

•November 7, 2011 • 4 Comments

There are days when

sliding into

the dream world of the scent

of your skin

the taste

of your tongue

is the only lesson I need


On being human

on breath and






and so this day


as it began


in the prayer

of your




•September 26, 2011 • 10 Comments

I have a confession. I’m a True Crime tv show junkie––The First 48, City Confidential, Dateline. Every now and then I’ll catch an episode of Law & Order SVU, but true life drama is always more interesting.

Usually, erotica is the furthest thing from my mind when I’m watching an investigator use the latest DNA technology to crack a thirty year old cold case, but during one particular show, I heard something that got my creative juices flowing.

It was an episode of Forensic Files, and the arson investigator was explaining the term “flashover”.  He said: “Flashover is the point at which you go from having a fire in a room…to having a room on fire.”  For some reason, I found this definition really…erotic. Anyway, I wrote down the quote and stashed it away on my computer. A few weeks later, I wrote this flash fiction piece.


After dinner at Girardis, Randy and Jenna pause outside the restaurant to take in the warm spring air. The sun has just set, and the street is vacant. The topic hadn’t come up all that evening, but she could read the question in his eyes as they’d made small talk throughout the meal.

“So…did you fuck him last night?” Randy asks, as he runs his hand up her camisole and along the small of her back.

She buries her face buried in his half-unbuttoned shirt. She told herself she wouldn’t get this close. Not tonight. She inhales his Armani cologne, and for a split-second thinks about lying to him. She decides to tell him the truth.

“Yes. He’s my husband, and if I keep making excuses, he’s going to get suspicious.”

Justin looks her in the eyes. “Well…we can’t have that, can we?” He kisses her––slowly at first––then more passionately. His tongue explores her mouth, desperately trying to give her a reason to leave her not-so-perfect suburban life. She reciprocates, as if this were the last time their lips would meet.

“I know I’m just a distraction for you,” he says, pulling away. “You told me as much in the beginning. I guess part of me wishes that you would’ve changed your mind by now.” She knows what is coming next. His apartment is just up the road. Her husband is out with his friends and won’t be home for hours. Although she had resolved to end things tonight, her body is craving his now. The kiss…his hands against her spine, coupled with the thought of never seeing him again, has thrown fuel on a smoldering flame she had fought so hard to extinguish. “One last fuck,” she thinks to herself. But, would she have the strength to leave it at that? Or, would this be the point of no return?

She reaches in her purse, fumbles for her keys. In the distance she can almost hear the sirens.

Summer Dream

•July 23, 2011 • 10 Comments


Summer Dream

You sit astride my hips

head lowered, hair dangling

auburn vines of fire

Animalistic in your lust

your thighs flexing prayers

to the gods of desire

and damnation

Sweat drips from your pores

like the honey slow drip

of raindrops

falling from leaves

Summer nights like this

we lie entertwined

like jalebi

spent from an evening

of making love

in the August heat

with only the whir of the ceiling fan

to keep our desires

from consuming us

When we wake from this dream

we wonder how much was real

our bodies slick to the touch

sheets drenched with the only evidence

we will ever need

Masquerade (flash fiction)

•May 5, 2011 • 5 Comments

Masquerade (flash fiction)

“Don’t I know you?” a sexy voice calls out to me from behind. I turn around to find an equally sexy figure wearing a sleek velvet corset, a black mini skirt, high heels and mardi gras mask.

“Well, the voice sounds familiar,” I respond. “But you definitely have me at a disadvantage–I seem to be one of the few partygoers without a mask tonight.”

“Oh, no worries,” she says, while straightening my tie. “It would be a shame to cover up that handsome face.”

I smile. “Well, it only seems fair that since you know what I look like, that you should show me your face.”

The beautiful stranger takes a sip of her martini. “Why don’t you take it off for me?” she says, more in the form of a command, than a question.

Taking her not-so-subtle cue, I grab her hand and we duck into a hallway door. There, we find an old wooden stairway leading down into a wine cellar.

We feel our way down, the wood stairs creaking with each step we take. There’s an old dusty window in the far corner of the room, where the moonlight filters through, half illuminating the cellar.

Tonight, there are no kids. No partygoers and no party. Only our silhouette against the wall, her lips around my cock, and the best anniversary gift in a long time.

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