Forbidden Lover

It’s 2 a.m and I’m on my way to see my forbidden lover she pounds the dirty backstreets of my mind does things that most girls would slap me for asking but her looks will never soothe my ego that’s why she remains a drunken rendezvous usually it would take me an hour to stumble this far but the sexual energy cuts through the drink I’m making good time does she cry herself to sleep when I leave or is that just my arrogance talking? perhaps it's her using me as an idiot with a hard cock because I’m certainly that we could be very happy together she makes me feel like a degenerate the only girl who’s managed that but this is a small town what would my friends say? I mean, she’s beautiful when she comes that screwed up face flushing imperfect breasts heaving completely lost to the passion no wonder I come so hard with her my insecurities may mean I’m lonely forever but who wants to compromise? she certainly doesn't she's got me - a real prince! these thoughts have done little to slow me down before I know it she’s answering the door wearing nothing but a t-shirt I press the palm of my hand against her pussy my middle finger lying perfectly in between her lips she gasps and arches her head back for now I'm hers.

The Creep

I sat in the empty carriage of a late night train
fighting against the drink to stay awake
the world was flying by outside
but I appeared to be going nowhere
trapped in the present
no company but for a flickering light
compared to some relationships it was heaven
then the creep walked in
he had the hair of a newborn
but the wrinkles and desperation of experience
he sat down opposite me
I made a point at looking at the empty seats around us

“Where you heading to, young man?” he asked
“There’s only one stop.” I fired back
“I meant after that.
“The bridge.”
“The bridge?”
“Yeah the bridge by the station. I live under it”

the creep looked concerned
I noticed dried spittle in the corner of his mouth
probably caused by medication

“On a night like this?! No, I insist you come back to mine. It’s real warm.” he offered.

I began to wonder if it was just dried spittle

“Do you like jazz?” he asked

I do like jazz as a matter of fact

“It’s not bad” I said vaguely

he began reeling off names of musicians I’d never heard of

“Never heard of them” I replied
“Well come back to mine and I’ll educate you” he suggested

I ignored him and his offer of tutoring

“I’ve got good wine. It’s come all the way from France” he explained.

I looked out the window
the train was passing a small town
everyone there was probably asleep
lucky bastards
I noticed the creep wasn’t wearing a coat
just a tatty, tanned shirt and some ill-fitting trousers
it was November
some time passed

“You ever been curious about men?” he finally asked
“Only when they’re staring at my girlfriend.” I answered

I noticed some fear in his eyes 
he didn’t have many years left
but he wasn’t ready to go
not whilst there was so much to take.

“I bet you’ve got the perfect helmet.” he guessed

He was right
nice shape with a real smooth finish.

“Look, I’m tired, old man. But if you go two carriages that way, there’s a boy in there. Real curious. Has a saxophone with him too. Very jazzy.” I lied

the old man stood up and looked up the carriages
he stroked his chin
some of the dried spittle (or worse) flaked off

“But I didn’t see anyone. I looked. I looked in all the carriages…” he pondered
“He was asleep when I saw him. Slumped down. Easily missed” I replied
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute. Wait right here”

he eagerly shuffled out of the carriage
I got up and went two carriages down in the opposite direction
eventually the creep returned
he looked angry

“Why did you lie to me?! I thought we were friends!” he bellowed
“He’s gone? Are you sure? Maybe he got off at the last station?” I said
“There’s only one stop. You know that! You fucking know that!”

the poor fucker began to cry
He really wanted to devour me
or anyone, to be honest
he wanted to suck the very marrow from the bones of my soul
just like me and any girl I’ve ever met
we weren’t that different really
tears trickled down his face
they followed the crazy roadmap of broken capillaries covering his skin
each one told a story of how the creep had given up on shame a long time ago
he held up his shaking, pleading hands

“The cancer took away my erections! It doesn’t mean I don’t get turned on” he screamed

is this really all we have to look forward to?
Desperation?
Disease?
Impotence?
I let out a long deep sigh.

“You give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you under the bridge at the station.” I offered.
“Oh yes, young man! I’ll pop to the shop and get some wine! I know a shop nearby! They’re very discrete!” he triumphantly bellowed.

The train stopped and we both got off

“Ten minutes. No later. And no kissing.” I warned.

The creep hurried off
stumbling as he went
I got in a taxi and went straight to my girlfriend’s
she had everything I wanted
that poor son of a bitch is probably still waiting under the bridge
getting older and older.

Forgotten Woman

She is the forgotten woman stranded on the sexual sidelines her demeanour keeps her there crafted by bitchiness and bullying it stops her feeling human the only release is to pleasure herself dreaming of what it’s like to let go to feel a writhing, twisting body on top filling her with passion passion she longs to reciprocate if only society would accept her just for one day as a living, breathing, horny being she’d overcome that hurdle of doubt be able to tell men to fuck her like every woman should bring life to her soul instead of tears to her eyes she needs to deny her design for life stop masturbating let the frustration begin to kill her then snare a man any man they’re all easy then this tragedy will end and many more will begin.

Would be lovers

Here we are, young would be lovers
between underground platforms
the smell of brake dust heavy in the air
busy footsteps of the city long faded into silence
even with the fluorescent lighting revealing her flaws
she’s the most beautiful girl I’ll ever meet
it’s as if she’s been plucked from my subconscious
to satisfy every urge I’ve ever had
there’s hesitation in our eyes
hearts wrestling with guilt
trying to forget about faithful lovers back at home
but resisting this carnal passion would be a crime
our tongues entwine
hands run up and down each others bodies
a dress rehearsal of what’s to come
we break off to an awkward silence
her boyfriend weighing heavy upon her mind
for once in her life she has no answers
she desperately looks in my eyes for guidance
sees nothing but tears in the morning
I finally get a glimpse of her true soul
it’s straining at the seams as we depart
her southbound
me northbound.

Beautiful Waste

Golden brown locks
brush against those caramel cheekbones
framing those lips
which could unlock a million zips
and take her away from this life
but instead she's on her knees
with another blue collar joe
and his friends
waiting their turn
to screw this beauty
with their calloused cocks.
She should be with the men she idolises
from the screen
the sports field
who can bang her into the magazines
where she belongs
far away from these dirt encrusted cretins
who streak her mascara
unload disease inside her
but the chlamydia is nothing
it can be treated
unlike the genetic curse of the small town
for which there is no cure.

Secrets

There was an odour of pussy and desperation in Secrets
one which permeated the beer and made me consider sobriety.
Men sat at the bar chatting to the girls
convincing themselves there was an attraction
but what woman was interested in a life devoted to masturbating?
The girls were sexy
but in the most transparent way
with no honesty in their eyes
and without that
how's a man to come?
“I like your shirt” she said.
But I knew it was business
and stopped her routine by asking "How much for a dance?".
“£20, baby, but if you want some bubbly it’s £35.” she cooed.
“I’m driving” I said
as I finished my seventh beer.
She led me to a booth and sat me down on a sofa
which probably held more DNA than the police.
She started dancing to some soulless music.
Why can’t they dance to Bach?
I began to think about leaving
but I didn’t have enough money for a taxi
and, besides, I had a hardon now
which was slowly breaking the fibres of my jeans.
She slowly pulled off her g-string and lay down on her back.
This is where everything changed.
You show a man a new pussy and things change.
He wants to see it
eat it
and fuck it.
She mounted my lap
began grinding her bony arse into my balls
then she turned and arched into my front
she took two fingers and dragged them down her lips.
She was tormenting me and she knew it.
My cock knew it too
he was screaming “Tell me to fuck you! Tell me to fuck you now!”
just like every other cock that been in that room.
But the request never came
and nor did I.
Moments later I was back on the street
horny, frustrated and broke.
I’d be back next week.

Five Words that Kill

"No he's not my boyfriend"

she says yet again

to yet another stud

and the world around me is drowned out

by the thoughts of him fucking her.

Fucking those fucked up problems out of her head

for one night

and maybe the morning.

I try to take my mind off the inevitable nightmares

with a lapdance

but she's got nothing on her.

The only thing in common they have is:

No Touching.

Olfactory Pursuit

Her odour is so strong and powerful

that when I scratch a spot on my nose
the car almost spins off the road

I must have washed her juice off three times

but it's persistent

just like this pustule.

"You will be mine!" her scent promises me

biological warfare on my cock

it's roots may be sticky

but it can never grip

as it doesn't intoxicate me

I don't want to dab it on my wrists in the morning

and lose myself in its symphony
of pleasures to come
that's why I'll never stay overnight.

Eva

The fluorescent sign reads "Swedish Model - 1st Floor"
but the grotty, bare splintering stairs read "Late night in Soho".
I mount the stairs
and knock at the door.
Eva answers.
Usually she's out of my league
but somethings brought her down to my level.
Drugs?
Debts?
Things I'd rather not think about?
"Are you coming in, baby?" she purrs
in a voice more Eastern Bloc than Eastern Stockholm.
Uniforms adorn the wall like an x rated fancy dress shop.
She hands me a menu.
The uniforms cost extra.
You can't fuck a uniform
so I just pay for oral and positions.
There's no kissing offered.
Fuck.
It doesn't feel real if you can't tongue.
I hand over £40
and a £2 coin for the maid.
What does the maid do?
I mean, look at the state of the carpet.
Grime from all over the city coats it.
And probably much worse.
Eva spreads her legs
and I see her sweet pussy.
It's neatly tucked in
and only spoiled by what I hope are razor cuts

and not herpes.
The sex is mechanical and requires lube
but she slaps my arse as I fuck her
which takes talent.
The beer's making it hard to come

I pay for 10 more minutes

and force it out.
She watches me dress and makes small talk about my journey home
for a moment I think she cares
but she doesn't.
I leave and pray I won't give my girlfriend herpes.

The Curves

She sees me across the crowded pub.
BENNY! She screams.
I look over and my cock begins to harden
those curves
sweet Jesus!
Looking at them packed into that dress makes me think anything’s possible
she’s drunk
it brings out the best in her
the wildness makes those curves even more appealing
imagine trying to control them
holding those powerful thighs down
Heaven.
She puts her arm round me and I follow suit
my fingers grab hold of some fat under her armpit
it’s firm and enveloping
my cock can’t get any harder
I could do this for a living
Benny Roberts - professional curve handler.
She tells me she loves me
I tell her the same.
We approach the bar
I walk
she stumbles.
We hit the Jagermeisters
everything crap evaporates
work
money
prospects.
And then, with a peck on the cheek, she’s gone
to find someone who makes her feel a way I never can
and that’s how it’s always going to be.

Desperate Days

She was like a cigarette butt
screwed up
unwanted,
nicotine stained.
“You’re very attractive” she slurred.
What was that white sediment on her teeth?
it was thick and furry
like the hairs springing from her upper lip.
Her oestrogen had given up long ago.
It really highlighted the age gap.
Yet I was thinking about fucking her
my young cock pushing into her patchy haired cunt
forcing its way past those dry, discoloured labia
doing its best to avoid the warts.
Two years without sex was really starting to take it’s toll on me.
I dry heaved at the thought of coming in her.
“Come here, sweetie,” she gurgled.
I smelt stale alcohol on her breath.
It had a tragic scent.
There’d been life there once
but some bastard had beaten it out of her
taken everything that made a woman good
and reduced her to this.
I dry heaved again.
She went to put her arm round me
but I left.
She deserved better