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The HORNY PEN

(When reading comes close to foreplay)







J. RAVAGEUX























Copyright © 2017 J. RAVAGEUX

http://ravageux.com

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13:

978-1976277283 


ISBN-10:

1976277280


I am thankful to you for buying an authorized copy of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. Continue doing so to support the writer to stay writing and publishing books for your reading pleasure.

It is obvious that this is a work of poetic fiction.


For comments and suggestions, please email

jravageux@gmail.com










ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



There is regret when I waited

to get over you

and punish myself to close the doors

to pleasure

to sensuality

just because your standards

are not mine to live up to

and your acceptance

is not mine to start with.

So now I begin,

the new chapter in my bedroom

with a horny mind

and tissues and lotion

preparing for whoever it is

to cum (ooops, strike that)

to come in my life anew.



To all of you who experienced this, thank you!







1


HORNY THOUGHTS

HORNY PEN



The mind works wonders. Give it silence, a pen and naughty scenarios, all it will do is to spill out the juice called words and will stop at nothing until the words dried out.



The first chapter focuses on idle thoughts and how they are crafted to create environment, reactions and reason to be horny and be naughty enough to share it through words.



Dive in to the experience. You’re welcome!

SHORTS: When You Are Gone

I have the entire day for myself. Living alone after an abusive relationship is liberating – it enables you to put into perspective the relationship that was left behind. Being alone means having to have the entire world (literally and figuratively) to yourself. No judgment, no pressing for emotions and no need to move on when you cannot yet. The heart takes into consideration what abuses (hopefully for others, not physically) it has finally free itself from and what part of the romance makes the mind reconsiders.

Waking up naked in the whiteness of the sheets, the comfort offered by the blanket that was shared by two bodies before (or sometimes by myself), because my partner usually ends up fully bare and erected in the morning --- to my delight. The morning wood is a “wood” for a reason, and making fun of it to start the day is a simple pleasure. Sleep is interrupted yes, but I hear no complaint or opposition to what my hands, lips or mouth (oftentimes, in combination) are doing. Just the usual plead to do it deeper, faster, full, that is music to my ears and pride to my ego --- making him beg and beg for more while I am here in between his legs savoring the pleasure to myself. After the usual mouth-play, the position changes. This reversal of this carnal fate allows me to open fully, to give myself to the contradiction of the muscles --- softness of the tongue and the hardness of another.

The post-coital shower ensues. He will prepare for work and I will prepare our breakfast. Only now, I will eat alone. I can stay naked after waking up, or do to myself what your never failed to do before. But I have the entire day for myself. I have many hours to think what I miss of the past relationship. I can dial your number for the after-office “visit” but today, I decided to just have this book and read few pages…



In between your legs



In between your legs,

I found courage.

Courage to discover,

to delve

and seek.

How deep and endless,

exploring the willingness of you.


In between your legs,

I found solace.

Solace in the dark,

the moist

and free.

How the world revolves,

this very moment with you.


In between your legs,

I found excitement.

Excitement in your cries,

your whimpers

and pleadings.

How submissive to pleasure,

a tough and strong like you.








In between your legs,

I found your longings.

The longing to embrace,

to kiss

and to suckle.

How some simple touches affect,

carnal thoughts and dreams of you.


In between your legs,

I found my surrender.

Surrender to the ecstasy that washes me.

How these thoughts I have between your legs.

Allow me now to pleasure you.



First Time



I clearly remember my “first time”

not because

it is an experience of feeling glorious or triumphant

but because it is full of embarrassment, of uncertainty

and hit-and-miss founded on magazine readings of

sex experts and naughty, paid columnists

who have not shared in their articles

how to lubricate

what to hold and fondle

where the arms and legs should be

and that it is effing painful when it is forced and

more painful when the second thrust was given

and how to take it out on the moment of release

so that there will be no “God-given” accident

that you will carry in your womb

and guide through graceful, young adulthood--- a child

who, in whatever source she came across,

will ask,

if I can clearly remember what it is like for my “first time”?

Weekend Mornings



This morning I wake up

you are “up”, ahead of me.

The feeling of you stretched and full

brings horny scenarios in my head…

waiting for me to take action.

I realize that your state of being

will be never be calm

never be soft

ever so proud

until I humiliate and choke you

up and down

by the body

by the neck

by the head

on the tip

to the point that you cried and cried

and sob to surrender

by what I call success,

while you silently fold

and I surrender to sleep

because it is a weekend.






Young Lovers


Young lovers.

They wear tight clothing to be closer

and in every opportunity

to have deliberate contact

body to body

skin to skin

lips to lips.


Young lovers.

They make excuse to see each other

in every time possible

just to show how each can perform the role

fingers playing

body groping

skin licking


Young lovers.

They pull away from reality to enjoy

carnal slavery to measure

compatibility and in the process

creating fetishes

celebrating sexuality

challenging societal norms.





Rich Women Problems


Thank you, dear Husband, for this diamond ring ---

perfectly cut

and collectible carats

on my finger from an exquisite package with lace and ribbons.

But I know where this will properly serve its purpose.

It will look magnificent on my black, fitted gloves when

my hands are stroking up and down,

the shaft of the pool attendant

when the glistening head matches my dazzling jewel.


Thank you, Mother-in Law, for the fine handbag ---

limited edition

luxurious leather.

It is big enough to lay on the grass

when the moustache of my golf instructor

brushes in-between my readily, welcoming legs,

spread wide with the matching expensive shoes,

high up on the greens of the Bermuda.


Thank you, sponsors, for the lavish accommodation ---

a penthouse of scandals and

halls of orgasms.

It will hide the indiscretions of few invited friends

who will leave their mansions, private planes and yachts

to experience a scheduled soiree

with nude escorts and affluent lubes.

Accompanying us till the serving of the breakfast banquet

while our partners are out there

conquering the world to bring us more money.



Mother’s Instinct


I reckon why you came home early

just like last week

and the week after that.

When the children are away

and this is the time we can have for ourselves.

We need ten minutes for preparation,

another ten for romance,

five minutes to satisfy you,

two minutes for your release,

three minutes for me,

seven if I am lucky (you are tired, right?),

four minutes to clean up,

and another six minutes to reheat the food,

to open the TV,

throw the sticky towel to the laundry basket.

Because any time now,

not even a minute late,

the familiar “Mom, Dad, I am home now!”

Will greet our pretending-to-be innocent faces

as we meet our gaze to agree

to see each other same time next week.






Breakfast in Bed


I do not like the eggs to be sunny side up,

or scrambled

or beaten.

I want it all raw and unshaven so that

I can do lots of naughty things with them

using various parts of my hands

distinct parts of my mouth

unusual parts of my body.


I do not want the buns to be soft,

or toasted,

or freshly packed.

I want it exposed from your jockeys after

your exercises

Where your sweat and scent

fills the plump and tightness and

fills the hands that grope them.


I do not like the sausage to be half-cooked,

or over-cooked

or fresh from the can.

I want it fresh from your boxers

or trousers, if you don’t have one.

The manly smell of the moist and hairy part

brings me (or any other woman) to a horny mindset,

brings me to wetness as you serve the breakfast in bed.






Naughty Neighbor


You have been very naughty O’ neighbor

for showing me much skin while you are mowing your lawn (or your wife),

wearing cycling shorts in the heat of the sun

hanging your shirt on your firm, toned shoulders

uncovering secrets why she is happily satisfied.


You have been very naughty O’ neighbor

for opening your windows across our own,

in the middle of the night to allow us to hear

your nightly activities consisting of ooohs and aahhs,

helping me imagine before surrendering to my naughty dreams.


You have been very naughty O’ neighbor

for allowing me to “see” you taking a leak on your fence,

while drinking alone in your backyard

pretending the world is yours with your swollen manhood,

that stirs my discreet fantasy to expected reality.


You have been very naughty O neighbor

for disrobing me, caressing me, claiming me,

when I give in to your sinful invitation,

carefree on mounting and bringing you to spaces you want to show

to other neighbors whom you will soon be doing it with.






Forgive me Father


Forgive me Father for I have sinned.

When I attended the mass and saw you in your pre-mass clothing.

Your shirt is so tight that

I thought of touching it,

feeling it, tasting it.

And felt unfair to God for tempting you from your duties.


Forgive me Father for I have sinned.

When I saw you in the community gym playing balls with the homeless

Your biceps so hard that

I thought of touching it,

feeling it, tasting it

But felt I sinned to God for not thinking of the homeless.


Forgive me Father for I have sinned.

When you swam on the pool with the children naked.

Your bulge is so prominent and obvious that

I thought of touching it,

feeling it, tasting it

But then felt ashamed that I am not fair to the children.


Forgive me Father for I have sinned.

I am in the confession box with you.

My breathing so heavy of anticipation that

I thought of touching you,

feeling you, pleasuring you.

And I will accept the forgiveness of God and your pardon and (hopefully) release.




Spiritual Indiscretions


Sometimes I pray and ask God

why did He create hot men (other than my husband)

and let them roam the earth,

readily available and can be accessed with

simple buttons satisfying their primal urge and carnal desires,

their hot bodies, their bodily service

and their bottomless pleasures

in return to moments of finger playing

mouth gagging and saddle-playing

within the confines of the bedroom or other adventurous places?

I question the creation of their smooth skins,

buffed bodies (defined abs) and mind-blowing bulges

that roam the earth waiting

for their seeds to be spilled

and their fantasies fulfilled.

I close my eyes in prayer as my knees shake and I lose fortitude

when I touch and do nasty things to these hot men (other than my husband)

and when they bring me to carnal bliss rooted from their naughty nature.

I kneel before them not necessarily in prayer,

but in praise and temporal adoration,

how this creation in front of me, standing hard in its glory

is free and ready for the picking (by hands or mouth)

outside the Eden of earthly matrimony.


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