Thinking about the World Cup (and getting hot)

Scoring goals

fit men on the grounds

taut, tight

running, leaping –

the ball is kicked

my heart is hot

as I try to keep

my focus on the ball

and off the bodies

the hot bodies, vying

trying to place the ball

in the goal, the goal, the goal

a goal is scored, the body exposed

my goal is reached

as I track an imaginary

ball across my

personal playing field

and score my goal

as I watch them score theirs

ecstasy comes

when the goal is scored

my ecstasy,

their ecstasy

I got hot writing this poem and I’m almost at the point of resenting the presence of my husband and son, because I so want to score a personal goal.

The ball has pleasured my right nipple, my left nipple, I can feel them both straining against my shirt, wanting more. It’s in my head and fake though, I want it on the bed and real.

My thoughts continue and the ball has travelled across my belly and it’s getting closer, closer to the ultimate zone. I can feel a zing in my clit and my pussy lips are sliding against each other as I can almost feel the rubbing that will lead me to where I want, I need to go.

My pleasure zone, where orgasm is the only goal worth getting.

Oh please, please give me some private space.


Same Sex is not the Only Sex

I am a heterosexual married woman. I’ve been playing with lesbianism lately, online, in my head and with my writing. In the flesh though, for me, sexual pleasure is with my husband or by myself.

Having said all of that, I am aware that this website doesn’t indicate that I have any heterosexual experiences or writing to prove it. I wrote a short story recently and I want to share it with you. Please be aware that I am a writer of fiction, and my writing is fictional – made up in my head and typed up for enjoyment! Read on, and feel free to play with yourself as you read it – I’d love to hear about how it made you feel as you read it!

Giving Your All For The Team

It was after the game, a hard fought game of football, played by hardened sportsman. She’d often thought about these [players and what they might look like underneath their footy clothes. It was time to see what was for real.

What she saw before her was even more than she had ever dreamed of.

The men in the room were all naked, with wet and tousled hair and their bodies shone with either sweat from their exertions on the field or from showering after it.