Tag Archives: Desire

afterwords: Sex and the Wheelchair

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Dear Lovely Peeps,

A couple of weeks ago, the Sex and the Wheelchair post discussed some of the thoughts that have arisen from getting horny again after years of chronic illness.

I knew it was a post that would seriously embarrass my wife – seeing as she has more decorum than I do.

And I knew that sex is not a subject that everyone is comfortable discussing.

However, I went ahead and published the post because the matter has been in my thoughts; and I have been very surprised by the response that it has received.
Continue reading afterwords: Sex and the Wheelchair

Sex and the Wheelchair

Sex and the Wheelchair - mightwar
 
 

I want to fuck my wife.

Yep, I said it. I want to fuck my wife.

In fact, I’d prefer to be doing that rather than writing this post. But unfortunately, no can do.

And that’s the problem right there.
 
 
I realise that many of you are now hurriedly backing away from your screens at this point, but I really need to talk about this.
 

*****

  Continue reading Sex and the Wheelchair

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Rapture

I have become a bedtime letch: a groping, many-limbed thing that smothers you with caresses and disturbs you as you settle to bed; climbing over and around you for indeterminate periods of time before finally snuggling into the soft point in your neck, placing my lips a little lower down and falling into a quiet slumber.
And it is customary that I do this now: I must perform this little ritual nightly else I am unable to sleep peacefully.
Continue reading Rapture
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Her. In Detail

I came to on a slightly cold, immediately unfamiliar floor. A movement more sensed than seen, drew my eye upward. And there she stood, straddled across my prone form: the fullness of woman personified. The warm white of her skin contrasted sharply to the total black of the plain knicker and bra set that caressed her form and left my mouth watering.
Continue reading Her. In Detail

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w.a.n.t.i.n.g (a love poem)

It is not enough that we are friends:
I want to know you in hunger, in passion and in rest.
In long languid strokes and quick restless tuggings.
To part and come together, tumbling over and over.
 
 
I want to offer myself without doubt,
without hesitation, without regret.
That you may know me in joy, in
passion, and in pleasure.
Continue reading w.a.n.t.i.n.g (a love poem)