the adventures of maria

the annunciation the ascension the assumption

bonded soul

You look at me

I look at you
And it's like a natural rhythm
We dance the same music that only the two of us can hear
Our souls bonded into one

let me hold you all day

let me kiss you every hour

let me thrust in you every second

till our love juices turn sour

rubber-ducky

I reach for my bed posts as you plunge
Your head between my legs, bobbing—
Like my rubber-ducky, i turn; yellow with fever.

love ballad

included in our behind closed doors exhibit

midnight voodoo

Midnight strikes. The witching hour begins.

You are in a darkened room filled with tight, glistening bodies. the lone light bulb is in a losing battle with the thick steam that clouds the mind, and heightens the senses. Sweat mingles with heat, heat mingles with intent. You are all three, now: sweat, heat and intent; as you find yourself the pulsating center of that tiny room filled with bodies drenched with lust.

A hand slowly tugs at you from under the covers of your towel; its cadence slowly sending sparks across your body as you moan that first moan. Fingers work your chest, bringing your nipples to the right amount of hardness. Moist lips flutter around your neck and your arms. You arch your back and stare into the mist; it hovers, observing the spectacle below; with you sprawled in royal adoration by your subjects. It hangs suspended, readying itself it seems, for the great dive. A hand grapples with your towel, loosening its hold along your waist—in seconds it will lie limp on the tiled floor; in seconds, higher rituals will commence.

You feel tongues now, playing in the hard, sloping grounds of your chest; rivers of saliva run copiously and freely on your thighs. The mists have come down now, playful, staring at you directly in the eye. It stings. You close your eyes for a moment to hold your ground. Until now this grey entity have not revealed its intents to you—is it another one of your admirers, or another queen bee in this damp and dreary place? Slowly, you open your eyes in time to see the mists parting; deliberately it seems, to reveal the faces of your ardent slaves. Not exactly of prince charming’s ilk; but more like heaving ogres readying for the kill.

In your mind you scream silent screams.

Clock strikes five minutes past midnight. You walk out of the darkened room with the flickering light bulb, still breathing.

big bang theory

let us move me closer to creation

with your vaginal excretion

and my penile explosion

and make beautiful works of art

as colors of ecstasy 

envelope your body

the only integrating i'm gonna do
is when i jab my cum filled shaft on you