I love to write. I have come to realize that I enjoy writing love/erotica poems and short stories. But, I spend so much time trying not to offend those who may come across my page and say, well he seems like a Christian, but his content doesn’t reflect Christ/Christian values.

The truth is, when people come to this page, my desire is that they sense that I write what comes naturally. That which comes naturally to me, I write with conviction. My words are hand selected from the dictionary/thesaurus in an attempt to move the reader, allowing them to taste a bit of their own fantasies without being overly vulgar. That is the joy I get out of writing erotica, building up a suspense with creative language that moves the reader without them walking away feeling dirty, horny maybe, but not dirty.

So I will be posting from time to time some things that move you the reader–I will always continue to be tasteful, but I am too old not to be true to myself and my creative convictions.




this is an excerpt from a larger piece I have been working on for some time now.

He wasn’t sure how this happened, or maybe he was, and he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.
She hungrily accepted his tongue dancing poetically with her most intimate place.

It was that red dress. The moment he saw her in it, his heart began racing. He wore a pair of fitted grey dress slacks and a button down that showed off his physique. She was impressed with the way his clothes fit, he had been talking about working out and dieting and she saw the fruits of his labor.
In a dark corner of Longhorn, they sat, both obviously a bit nervous. They had each made sure that their responsibilities were unaware and preoccupied.
His eyes ate her up. Her dress hugged every curve. It didn’t help he loved her eyes, and that smile. She had greeted him with a hug and felt the slightest impression of an erection to which she blushed.
After a dinner filled with laughter, they went to the waterfront.
She felt like a teenager, her heart was racing, his voice, dropping kind words and compliments kept her breathless. She had to keep it together.
“I know you say it’s not you I find beautiful, but you do not understand what or how i feel about you. I want as much of you as i can have, I would love to make love to you. I think highly of you and i have wanted to say these words for quite some time now. I am very much interested in that silky-smooth skin of yours, those lips,” he thought he’d explode right then and there as she turned into him and kissed him. Those lips, they were like a moist cloud, or a refreshing breeze against his own.

And so here they were, her hands clenching the sheets as his tongue dove into her, driving her over the edge yet again.
It was his turn, she pleasured him the way she knew he wanted, maybe even deserved. He watched as she took all of him into her mouth, making magic happen with her tongue. He panted and grunted as he held on for dear life.

They locked eyes as she lowered herself onto him. Instinctively he began kissing and sucking her breasts, something he fantasized about a thousand times over. She rocked and ground her pelvis into him, as he thrust upwards.
He wanted to change positions, but their lips locked in a fiery kiss and his hands slid down her back and caressed her backside. With eyes wide open she tightened, stiffened, her head back she let out a gasp of ecstasy as another orgasm ripped her body apart. Simultaneously she felt him convulse, he cried out her name as he released years of bottled up passion stored away just for her. He rested his face in the crest of her neck, hers in his, their breath ragged and warm.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He awoke, startled by the aggravating sound of his alarm clock. Frustrated, he looked down and saw the affect the dream had on him. He got up, hoping he didn’t talk in his sleep, and prepared for another day working with this woman he loved… yes, he loved two women. He had admitted and accepted as much. She doubted he would ever act on an impulse, and he tried to reassure her that he would and could. Yet inside he had a deep level of respect and wished she would act on an impulse. So, he showered and replayed the images from his dream as he pleasures himself. He needed that release if he were to work near her and not try something stupid…. To be continued


This was not happening. This could not be real. Never the less, he was navigating through a throng of Sunday afternoon drivers.
Surreal. He understood, accepted even, that family ages, health scares come and go. But his sister, his oldest sister, laying in a hospital bed—it shook him. Like the dusting of confectioner sugar on a Bundt cake, worry was sprinkled over his heart.
What would they discuss? How long should he stay? Genuine love and concern coursed through his veins, and he wanted it to be evident, but would his visit be marred, somehow discredited by awkward moments of silence?
Once in her room, he found it did not take long for a jovial conversation to spark. They discussed exactly what landed her here, then moved on to their love of British crime shows on Netflix.
He sat in awe of how things turned out, as the two did not go out of their way ordinarily to interact. There was no bad blood between the two, just a matter of years.
He wove his way home, feeling the warmth of friendship rekindled—that was what it was like speaking to his oldest sister; two friends who lost touch sit down and pick up where they left off as if time had never separated them.

Its been too long

I have not had the opportunity to write and post the way in which I would like, but I am working on a few pieces and hope to have them up soon, thanks to the few that follow and read my content, you have no idea how much I appreciate you!

Words of Days Past

Often one’s solitude

can be disrupted, polluted

by unnerving tumult.

Strong imperturbable mindsets

may dance around malarkey

of any one flibbertigibbet ,

who kyoodle only because they can

Yet it must be known-must be said,

that the scalawags (with their aloofness)

of society sometimes foment distractions

of the sort that plants seeds

of creative constipation.