SELECTED PIECES - this book was published in 2017 by BareBackPress
S E X Y W O R L D
A neon sexy world
In soft focus. A purple haze. Traffic whizzing.
This place sizzles.
Baby-faced – red light – blue UV -
nails white – string-bikinis – glitter-phones -
black eyes – wet smiles.
Viagra for love night
Latex catsuit. In the doorframe.
Bathed in glaring blue.
Statuesque. Symmetrical. Alien. Ponytail.
Throwing hair. Biting lip.
Back turned. Harden nipples.
Back arched. Texting. Boring.
Hand on wall. Hand on pussy.
Pressed to the glass.
A red leather chair. Black pillows. Mirrored.
T O U C H T H E I R G O L D
A man’s wallet in my hand. In it I can read the man. Money is magic.
It makes things appear. Like me.
It takes trust to let a woman hold the wallet. Or desperation. The skin that holds a man’s worth. His work. His sweat. His fitness. It’s more intimate than holding his dick. Or hearing his secrets.
The skin is important. Nothing made in China. Nothing threadbare. Animal skin is what a man carries. It has a pulse.
I open it.
Takes power to let a woman take money from the wallet. Gentlemen want to give me their money. Like my American man. They like it when I touch their money. Touch the meat they’ve hauled home. Touch their gold. And they get what they want from me then.
He lets me hold his wallet the entire time.
I take 50 euro to begin.
He must pay for everything else after I suck and one position fuck.
“May I kiss your tits?”
I take it from his wallet. Put it under the pillow.
“You on top?”
I take it from his wallet. Put it under the pillow.
His eyes excite, come alive when I take his money - this is what he goes to work for.
S A D F A C E
Lonely neglected men.
Only have sex every 6 months.
Perfect fingernails beckon.
Excitement. Not just a fuck. The taste of something new.
A hot little thing.
Not wife love. Boring old wife love.
He’s trying to forget.
One beer too much. Conscience off. Wedding ring off.
There are two types of men.
Those with self-control. And those without.
Demons in the streets.
They want love that purrs. A fungirl. Love with an image. An unfinished kiss. Something to remember.
Your husband wants to bend me over.
Watch his imprints.
Girl you still think about from school.
Your internet history.
Your wife’s sister.
Girl from work.
Tiny glitter outfit.
Tits and ass.
Feels nice. Doesn’t it. After all this time.
Sadface of the spent penis.
Penis has gone to sleep. To dream.
Women like novelty too.
These guys. Their sex is the most boring.
That’s why they are bored.
Didn’t mean to do it.
It wasn’t his fault.
It was my fault for tempting him.
IN THE BLACKLIGHT -
CUM AND CONDOM GLOW
LIKE SEX IS SOMETHING SPECIAL
N O R O S E S
He lives alone. No family.
Eats his dinner alone.
Some pork and cream potatoes. Red wine.
Keeps the TV on because the noise comforts him.
He’ll die alone.
Probably be found dead after a week
because a neighbor notices a smell.
Or a leak.
And the neighbors will feel guilty.
And the ladies of the Red Light District won’t notice.
Even though he has pumped a lifetime’s money in.
We haunt him. It’s a consumption.
He thinks about us.
Dreams about us.
Knows all our fake names.
And fake stories.
No broken hearts.
And his ghost will walk these streets.
Admiring the new girls.
Remembering the old.
Walking into the neon light.
With open arms.
With the old sailors and lords.
Touching without connecting.
The cycle never stops.
They fall in love with me
They think they know me.
They get jealous if my curtain is drawn when they visit.
Want the girlfriend experience.
To talk. And talk.
Give love. In their own way. And feel something.
And although I give him sex. I give him nothing else.
But a politician’s promise.
The toad will never be a Prince.
H A R I B O P A U L
I felt girly. Baby pink bra. Baby pink panties. Baby pink Bo Peep socks. Nasty pink Cinderella heels.
Englishman. Old. Retirement vibe. New lease of life. Hawaiian shirt. Flashy watch. More money than he deserves.
“You are very pretty. So white and so pink.”
I curtsied slightly. Acted shy. Old fuckers love that.
Old guys are usually good customers. Rarely bargain. Vary in functionality a lot. But manners often better with age.
Just the sucking. And some fantasy play.
“What age are you Karina?”
He was examining my hands and face closely.
“You looked younger when I first saw you.
You look 25 or 26 up close.”
I washed his genitals. They looked about 90 years old up close.
Now his fantasy: he wanted me to eat Haribo off his crotch.
“My Daddy told me not to take candy from strange men.”
“But I’m your Uncle Paul. I’m not a strange man. Keep your little outfit on.”
Haribo Paul sat in my chair. Condom on. Semi-erect penis.
Haribo all over his lumpy grey crotch.
I cuddled his legs. We played a fun game. Big eyes. Gobble gobble. Cute.
Didn’t take long for white in the condom.
“So you are here on holiday?”
“Yeah. Head back to England tomorrow. Then off to Cambodia for a month.”
With some Haribo I’m sure.
P L A Y
In my box
Johns love sport
Change the channel
C L E A N S E
I fucked a schoolboy. At schooltime.
He told me he was 18.
“You’re hot.” he said.
“You’re hot.” I said.
Touched his chest. Hot teen.
“I’m a virgin.”
“I’ll fix that.”
He’s so clean.
His skinny ass where the impure spread themselves.
Virgin on the altar.
I’m the molester.
His tight growing body,
overrun with hormones.
Flower quivering in his belly.
“You’ve got a nice dick.”
Penis sensitive and shy.
Tip in my finger and thumb.
Initiated into the great mystery.
And the great misery.
Something from the deep awakens.
God tells us to do bad things sometimes.
All the shit in your schoolbag is useless.
And science doesn’t understand.
“You’re doing good.”
Life is about energy exchange.
Good sex. You succeed in business.
Good luck. Good money.
The unspoiled hold the most energy.
I’m on his flesh - the conduit.
Fuck him good.
Suck up his youth.
I’ll look younger.
He’ll look older.
T A P
It gets later and later
Talons on the glass
Pineal glands pumping
So you see more
The ones left are trashed
Or driven by deviance
Penis out the jeans
Lost in a maze of red corridors
Just a red light
Search for a girl
Nobody knows you here
A hippy at my window
Stroking the pane
“Your head is turning into a lotus flower
you are too bright.”
And he covered his eyes and walked away.
He was the lotus flower