Unapologetically, she is sexually free, immersed in pleasure and sensuality. She tastes him, using her tongue teasingly; then looking into his eyes intently, she takes him deeply and slowly with intensity. As his fingers enter the dripping wetness of her pussy, she breathes deeply and says his name purposely. Wanting to pleasure her more, he lifts her legs over his face — her feet pressed against the black velvet upholstered headboard. He begins to use his tongue skillfully to stimulate the erogenous spot that can’t be ignored; she sucks him deeper, moaning with pleasure. Longingly, his tongue moves erotically and intensely; teasingly, outside and inside her, and then outside her again. His immense erectness is the rage of his fire that desires her. Unable to take it any longer, she releases all over him, but he keeps going as if not noticing. Her loud screams, signal waves of pleasure that take over. To taste herself, she kisses him and sucks his fingers. In silent euphoria, from behind he takes her; the fire in him causing an erotic rhythm that quenches the lustful want of her longing. Using the leverage of her hands on the wall, she pushes back against him — causing him to find unexplored depths of her, as she turns her face to the left to look at him. He asks her if she belongs to him through a passionate tone of sensual whispering; she answers, yes, guiding his hand to caress her breasts. They switch from one erotic position to the next, but she is dying to ride him. So she rides him roughly and vigorously without stopping — her hands around his neck. She does not cheat herself, going all the way up the full length of his dick, and then slamming herself back down, to feel the ecstasy of his width. As if in a trance, while sweating, somehow — she keeps her determined rhythm. Eagerly, she wants to cum again, but she wants to cum with him. As she feels the coming explosion, she counts down from ten; barely making it to five, they both release loudly, looking into each other’s eyes.
She was created in divinity
and born in beautiful darkness.
Her eyes, are many fires,
and her whispers, are
roses that sprout from her lips.
In her aura, there is calmness;
In her steps, a fierce boldness.
The heels she adorns exude
a subtle preeminent sexiness.
Whether formal or informal,
she is a goddess in a dress.
She is sensual, in the display
of the beautiful contours of her neck.
Under blue light, the twilight
kisses her prepossessing silhouette.
Her heart is exceedingly loving,
and her soul is gorgeous.
Violet, blue, pink, and black
are her favorite colors.
Recently, mid–twentieth century Black burlesque has piqued my interest. I am fascinated with the night life of the time period, particularly — the rich cultural demographic of Harlem, Manhattan, New York. I view the women of the burlesque art form as pioneers of fearless feminine sexual expression; Black women, in particular, because of the overt racial discrimination and stereotypes of the era. In my brief viewing of films of the era, I have taken notice of the intricacies in the performances, and the layers of skill intertwined throughout the dances are quite captivating. If I may say, I have had a few interesting conversations about the comparability of burlesque performers and so called “strippers” of the modern day era; I think the most highlighted point referenced in all three dialogues, is that stripping is an evolution of burlesque, (a theory which I reject) which in turn caters to a modern audience who would be dismayed and dissatisfied at the prospect of women dancing in only partial nudity. In my opinion, burlesque and stripping have certain similarities, but they are largely incomparable and should be seen as two completely separate entities. I consider burlesque, circa 1950’s an art form in a theatrical setting, and I consider stripping, pornographic adult entertainment in a setting of monetary exchange for services rendered. There are indeed many skilled strippers who perform wonderfully and have mastered incredible dance routines, though I know patrons of strip clubs might not particularly care about the skill involved as much as the removal of clothes in those specific settings. I have not yet extensively researched burlesque, but I have found that its origin was in England, circa late 1830’s in the Victorian era.
If you should doubt my love for you,
look into the sincerity of my eyes.
If you should wonder about the depths of my pain,
listen intently to the hurt in my cries.
If you should love me,
love me completely and unconditionally,
with the tenderness of your heart in sincerity.
If you should cast me away,
kiss me with finality, and let me go gently.
If you should be my wife,
embrace me assertively, and tell me you will love me
with everything within you, for the rest of your life.
If we should be together,
let us make moments to remember,
even in old age, keeping our fire—
being enkindled in each other’s desire forever.
Overcome with intense anticipation
She touches herself in partial undress—
Taking the edge off with her fingers,
And the sounds of heavy breaths.
Listening intently for his steps,
She wants him to come in, sit,
And watch her play with herself before sex.
He walks in, and she keeps going;
Saying his name seductively
Between uncontrolled moaning.
Slowly he starts undressing,
Enticed by her sensual writhing
And the lustful words of her whispering.
The usual foreplay is skipped;
While she she rides him, they deeply kiss.
Sensually, in a circular motion
She vigorously moves her hips.
Passionate confessions are orated
Through sincere and amorous lips;
After the first wave, she holds onto him
Screaming, her body shaking
As if she was involuntarily dancing.
After the second wave, they release together;
The measure of him, deep inside her.
The beauty in their intensity
Is the height of their euphoria,
And the length of the breathtaking
Intimate silence after.
Every touch is transcendent;
Every whisper, from seductive lips are passionate;
Every thrust is purposed;
Every zone teased, sucked, and licked
Every released orgasm is intense;
Every silent second after,
An intimate reflection without pretense;
Every I love you, is true;
Every answer to every concupiscent question,
Is, I do.
Keith Washington – Make Time for Love
She screams his name louder and louder;
Enthusiastically, he goes deeper and deeper.
If only he knew, that she does not scream for him
But that she fantasizes about another.
If only he knew, that her excitement for him is not true
And that she entices him with erotic whispers
So he can quickly reach his climax and be through;
If only he knew, that another man captures her
And that for him, she wears her best heels,
Short dress, and most enticing perfume.
If only he knew, that she touches herself
All day when he is away, and climaxes with such intensity.
If only he knew, that she drips with lust
When she is around her long desired lover
And is overtaken in her wet excitement,
When his hands inadvertently brush against her.
If only he knew, that she doesn’t belong to him,
But that now, she belongs to another.
If only he knew, that she dreams of his length
And thickness, deeper and deeper inside her.
If only he knew, that she wants to take him in her mouth
Before she straddles him as he is sitting.
If only he knew, that she wants him to reach
His climax inside her, as she is sensually whispering.
If only he knew, that she is untrue
When he asks her, do you like me inside you?
And she seductively says, I do.
If only he knew.
The chair, where pleasure takes place;
Where each other, they passionately kiss,
And where each other, they teasingly taste.
Where he sits, and she on top of him,
With his strong hands around her waist;
Where he guides her up, and then down on him
Again and again, in a sensual rhythm
Until she screams in transcendent climax
From the measured strokes of his depths;
his hands, lips, and tongue teasing
The erect nipples of her aroused breasts.
Where she moans, as she is immersed in
Constant waves of orgasms, on the the tips of her toes,
As if climbing unending erogenous steps.
Where she likes to ride reverse cowgirl
In an erotic trance with her hair down,
And sometimes, likes to turn herself to the side,
So she can feel him inside, as she looks into his eyes.
The chair, where they express the intimate
Poetry of their hearts without fear;
and he whispers sensual words to her,
While from behind, he pulls her hair.
The most fragile parts of me I reveal to you openly.
Without fear, I shine light on the secrecy of my vulnerabilities,
Letting go, and giving you the most intimate parts of me, willingly.
See me in my sincerity, and take me into your heart lovingly—
For I am a man of strength, devotion, and intimacy
Who has survived the bitter cold of tragedy and has loved deeply;
The seasons pass by — and many tears I have cried silently.
If you receive me, receive me completely, in my joy; in my agony.