His Beloved Olivia

A tiny puff of wind
covertly breezed into the room
and elicited a little squirm, rhythmed
from beloved Olivia in full bloom

His tempted tongue, quivering
unfurled her moist nether lips in heat
she moaned, her arched hips wriggling
Holy! What a treat!

He thrust inside with pleasure
gently circling her pink pearl, aroused
so sultry was his muse’s gesture
it left him in utter wows

He fondled, kissed and licked her
savouring the juices nectarean
He sucked over and over
revelling in that one moment utopian

The intensity of her sensations heightened
till she pressed herself against her bourgeois
He captured the glow in her face, enlightened
as she finally let out an ecstatic ‘Ahh’

International Women’s Day

Hello gorgeous bloggers, 

Today is International Women’s Day and I would like to seize this opportunity to shed some light on a few pressing issues surrounding women. To begin with, what is a ‘woman’? How do we define a ‘woman’? The dictionary would eruditely explain us that a woman is a female human being. Oh, did I hear it right? Yes. A human being. Not a piece of flesh. If truth be told, a woman is worth more than a slice of ham and two lumps of fat on her chest. And I’m sorry to say that she is not a baby-producing machine either. She is a human being. She has a mind of her own. She has desires. She has aspirations and goals. She wants to be accepted-not because of her big eyes or large hips, but because of her thoughts, her energy and her abilities. Everyone, in developed countries and developing ones alike, is talking about women’s empowerment, women’s emancipation and gender equality. They are beautiful words that sound good to the ears. I don’t deny it. Indeed, they look good on paper as well; and I swear it will fetch you a couple of marks if you mention them somewhere in exams. But do we actually walk the talk? Are our women really liberated at home? Do they enjoy equal rights at their workplace? For all the optimistic person that I am, I don’t think so. 

Women are still shamed and criticized in this 21st century. They are still perceived to be the weaker sex in society. Their potential is still oppressed by bogus traditions and spurious beliefs. They are still seen as sexual objects. You don’t believe it? Let me give you a couple of eye-opening examples. Just flip through a fashion magazine, turn on the television or listen to the lyrics of popular songs and unfortunately, you will quickly find a common theme: the sexualisation of women. In advertisements, the exposure of women’s bodies occurs about four times as often compared to men’s bodies. The term “sex sells” has begun to cross the boundaries to where we are witnessing sex influence on every product that we are purchasing from alcohol, beauty supplies, groceries to even banking services. Have you ever wondered what correlation, if any, there is between a banking product and a woman’s body? Does that make sense to you? For me, it does not. 

Wait. It does not end here. In many parts of the world, women are traded most commonly for the purpose of sexual slavery and forced labour. As disgusting as it seems, in many Islamic States, captured women are sold in slave markets and at auctions. Are women just a dime’s worth? Not to mention, at work, they rarely escape from the dirty, lustful gaze of their superiors who trick those poor souls into sleeping with them for promotions and career advancement options. Everywhere, practically everywhere, women’s bodies are designated as property that can be evaluated, looked at and touched at the impulse of men’s desire. On top of that, if current trend continues, almost 16 million girls worldwide between the ages 6 and 11 will never get access to primary school education compared to just about 8 million boys. And don’t even get me started on the pay difference that exists. Why? Isn’t it high time this sickening, unjustifiable merry-go-round stop? 

Do you know what makes a woman feel unshackled? Do you wish to participate in women’s salvation? 

Then…

Give her. For once give her.
Give her a platform and watch how she dances off her feet. 
Give her wings and see how she soars higher for the sky offbeat.
Give her a pen and marvel at how she travels in time.
Give her a voice and see how she tolerates no crime.

Judge her. By all means judge her. 
Judge her by her courage
not by the depth of her cleavage.
Judge her by her morals unhurt
not by the length of her skirt.
Judge her from within
not by the colour of her skin.

Let her be. 
Let her be free expressing her emotions, needs and wants.
Let her be free choosing her path, away from religious dogmas and society’s taunts.
Let her live her life in a manner she hopes for.
Let her breathe even if she is a whore.

And! She is sexy. Yes! I’m telling you!           
She is sexy in the way she stands on her own feet independently.   
She is sexy in the way she brings up her child single-handedly.
She is sexy in the way she carries herself with dignity.
She is sexy in the way she sticks to her principles composedly.
Doesn’t this make her one hell of a sexy woman?

Please ladies, you have an identity. You do not need someone else to validate your existence. Do not let yourself be looked down. Forget the rules. You, as a single woman, are worth the entire world’s fortune. No one is rich enough to buy you. No one is strong enough to abuse you. No one is lily-white enough to slam you. Women’s empowerment starts with you. It is when you empower yourself, when you embrace yourself-with all your flaws, your valour, your beauty and your femininity. 

Happy International Women’s Day 2016!

Daddy’s Little Girl

A delightful cherub, a treasured angel, a ray of sunshine
Eyes full of mischief, puckishly running around the umbrella pine
Jolly in a perfect world of magic and miracle of mine
At six, I neither care to draw the line
Nor bother to define time.


Whoop! Daddy’s little girl I am, his princess too
With excitement my feet quiver as he looks at me and shouts “You-hoo”
“Cutie pie, bring me my shoe!”
Tickled pink I become when he rubs my head with shampoo
And he brings me to the zoo
Hand in hand, to admire the kangaroo
Along with the woodland caribou
How much I love him, how much I adore him, I’m telling you
If only Daddy knew
Of my heart’s untamed hullabaloo.

Every morning I hurry to tie his half windsor knot
In seventh heaven I be for this jackpot
Smelling of aromatic Bleu de Chanel he bought
Tut-tut! Daddy wants just the teapot
Does he even long for my touch? I waver on second thought.

Sneaking into his bed with all my might
I swear I am on cloud nine in the sweetness and the moonlight
Down here, my little bud is on a high and it feels alright
In the strong arms of my white knight
But so cold he is, as usual without appetite
Shh! Cruel Momma’s in sight
Goodnight. 

For long I waited for it-a signal, a sign, an indication
It never arrived, it never will, ’cause everything is self-deception
More so, an illusion
Do I live in a fool’s paradise? I shudder in rumination
I sense fear, guilt and sin creep in with my destruction
Stiffled, smothered and suppressed, I silently witness my desires’ annihilation
As they burn till nothing but ash is left at the dawn of realization
Daddy’s little girl I shall forever remain, is my final decision.

*Image borrowed from Google

Heya beautiful bloggers!

Since you’ve enjoyed my short poem (well I guess, hopefully), I’d like to explain to you its central theme, which as you correctly identified, yaay, is the Electra Complex. Developed by Sigmund Freud, the Electra Complex is a girl’s psychosexual competition with her mother for possession of her father. In the course of her psychosexual development, it occurs in the third—phallic stage (ages 3–6)—of the five psychosexual development stages: (i) the Oral, (ii) the Anal, (iii) the Phallic, (iv) the Latent, and (v) the Genital. 

This conflict normally resolves when the child finally identifies with the same-sex parent and employs the defence mechanism of displacement to shift the object of her sexual desires from her father to men in general. It is just a game of the id, ego and superego. Though it might not fall into our pattern of political correctness, the Electra Complex is much of a realness in reality and through my poem, I have modestly tried to explore this not much talked about subject.

Wish you a good read! 

A Taste Of The Forbidden Fruit (Part II)

“Do you like wine, love?”, Paul mumbled succintly and teasingly in her ear in a deep, gentle voice that educed an aristocratic tender masculinity.

“Pardon me?” Esther replied, confused and beguiled; quite oblivious of where the conversation was going, but so conscious of her large bust brushing against his broad chest in that moment. She felt a tingling sensation down there. Esther drew a quick breath to regain her composure.

“Have you ever tasted red French wine?” He simpered again, crookedly.

“Er..I suppose, yes”, she answered huskily, obviously not wanting to disturb the strange, thrilling atmosphere between them.

A long speech on the world’s best French wines ensued.

“French wines are one of the choicest wines available on the market. Especially those made from Shiraz from France’s Rhone Valley. A red French wine, darling, is bright to look at, it is noble in character and it feels intense, concentrated, deep..It possesses elegance.”

“I see…” Esther responded, while she continued to stare in this charming stranger’s eyes, delving in the profundity of his thoughts to figure out what he was really talking about; for nothing, categorically nothing, but him, made sense to her.

“You are like French wine, my dear. Young, yet so ripe. Bold, yet so supple. Sparkling, yet so balanced. You’re so beautiful.”

At that point, Paul got goosebumps. Something inside him shuddered. His arms slipped to her waist and tightened around her. Then he drew her closer. Her fragrance was just as commanding as she was-smelling a mixture of sweet jasmine and salted vanilla. He gazed down at those slumberous eyes and parted bee-stung lips in the dim light. Esther reflexly knew this tempting inveigler was in control. Hitherto, he was.

“That if I kissed you..” She waited, but he never finished the sentence. Her eyes closed, and she softened in his arms.

He leaned in and brushed his raw lips across hers, testing the delicate skin, absorbing the heat. He amended next, playfully, pausing, puckering, nibbling on her moist lips for a single heartbeat. This roused Esther because at that instant, she desperately needed more-she needed him, wild and consuming. Now this was torture.

Just when he touched her lower lip with his tongue, Paul felt his penis stiffen as it pressed against her. Then he opened his mouth again, angled his head, captured her full lips and sealed them together in a fusion of heat and pent-up passion. She instinctively came up on her toes, and he settled his arm more firmly around her tiny waist, pulling her vehemently against his tension-filled body. His fingers tangled in her hair as he kissed her longer, harder, deeper. She thrust her tongue inside his mouth and explored every secret corner. In a matter of seconds, they were soul-kissing voraciously; completely in sync with each other. For that short lascivious period of time, there was no beginning. There was no end. Only one thing mattered in the universe. That kiss.

“Give me your tongue”, breathed Esther, suggestively when they slightly parted for air. And she started sucking on his tongue gently, in and out of her mouth as she cupped his chiseled face with both hands and he squeezed her peachy bottom.

The kiss went on-occasionally changing from light and frisky to unyielding and serious. Paul swore his damsel not only looked like French wine, but she tasted like one too; and that his thirst would never be satiated for an eternity. He kissed her neck. She tipped her head back and gave him free access, biting down her lower lip. He spread his legs, pulling her tight into the vee. His fingertips-strong, calloused and erotic tightened on her sore nipples; and shock waves ricocheted between her thighs. It was so good. So incredibly, unbelievably good.

They wanted each other. Naked. As one energy. But good things seldom last long. Realization dawned. Esther instantly pulled away. Without thinking, she ran as fast as her feet could carry her, into the unknown, but at least in her mind she was going far away from this man.

Hunger knows no moral.
Lust knows no boundary.
Basic instincts drive us into animals.
And animals know no sin. 

Esther seemed to pacify her obstinate heart, trying hard to forget the face of that stranger. Alas! He was no stranger. Paul was her soulmate. And she just lost her soulmate.

(The End)

*Image borrowed from Google

A Taste Of The Forbidden Fruit (Part I) 

Evening lulled the reticient sun into sinking lower in the sky. Paul, who was already jaded after the mindless commotions of the party was too content to finally heave a sigh of relief as he hurriedly set off to take a peaceful riverside amble, barefoot on the cold, soft grass. The air was damp. He felt as free and alive as he could ever remember. Paul was really enjoying his much needed vacations on the island. 

As he sauntered leisurely down the lane, mentally planning some upcoming trips, his visionary artistic flair did not miss the vague silhouette he noticed in front of him. Picked by curiosity, he approached further in its direction only to discover that it was actually the silhouette of a woman. A rather gorgeous woman. Paul, who was now just a few yards away from her could exclusively see her back. Pity! Dressed in a casual ankle-length white dress on which there lay many specks of beautiful black stars; the woman was leaning far over the wooden fence, facing the river. The dress was perfect. It hugged her hourglass figure marvellously, accentuating her narrow waistline and exquisitely round-shaped arse. A shiver of arousal ran through him as he kinkily imagined feeling the tauntness of those fine cheeks on him. Her body spelt of summer holidays, which all the more convinced his unfailing intuition she was a native. 

No French mistress could compare to thy erstwhile beauty, mine Lady,
Lucky must be that she’r fabric f’r it caresses thy exotic skin incony.

Bless’d be the stars f’r they beholdeth thy sight,
I beseech thou to stayeth still, Oh Night.

Thee liketh the sweet f’rbidden fruit,
The m’re we art denied, the m’re we desire absolute.

But then, what is the ruleth f’r forbidden fruits?

He murmured, as he gazed in admiration at her attractive frame. Little did Paul realise that the whispers of his racing heart would echo into the placid stillness of the place. Slowly, she turned to face him. Their eyes met. 

Paul momentarily sucked in a breath because she looked utterly…not quite beautiful, since the term implied a set of criteria which needed to be filled and her looks were much too distinctive for that. But she had a definite head-turning quality that was almost difficult to define. Stunning, perhaps? And irresistible too. Bottomless. Divine. Esther was an ideally volumptuous made-up woman with big, lustful eyes, brows that were beautifully contoured and arched and with a long pointed nose. But that mouth and those lips? Made for kissing and for oral sex. Her long, wavy, black glorious hair complemented her flawless fair skin complexion. She wore no jewellery, no make-up-as if any was even needed for this youthful Venus surely brought up on nothing stronger than milk and honey. His gaze subconsciously shifted to her generous bosom, but he quickly blinked his way back to her eyes. Esther was perfection, yet intimidation. She exuded a whimsical air of mystery that somehow made her more alluring. 

Paul gallantly advanced closer to her, and she felt her full breasts tighten for a split second beneath the garments she wore. Esther was already being serenadated by this tall, magnetic debonair gentleman. He was styled in a plain navy blue long-sleeved shirt that was carefully tucked up to his elbows with a pair of dark, tailored slim-fit trousers. To complete the effortless fashion ensemble, he wore a luxurious watch which immediately made her think of those foreign brands- something like Bvlgari, Cartier or Tiffany & Co. The stoically built, lean man seemed more than twice her age with the pensive look on his handsome face, those golden soulful eyes that furtively probed every part of her body and with that soft deceptively charming smirk on his inviting lips. Paul had a few strands of silver hair, atypically evocative of wisdom, sophistication and confidence. It sent shivers down her spine just meditating on how powerful this man’s calm presence could be. She blushed a thousand shades of crimson. This was bad, but in such a good way.

(To be continued…)

*Image borrowed from Google