Mary Fae Smith

photo-74

What Woman Wants

“Go deeper, Go deeper, Go deeper”

He told her.

He questioned her.

He begged her.

He pleaded her.

Not her. Him. Him Him. Always him. Deeper into her but never into him. What did he want from her? WHat was he excavating inside the mine field of her soul?

Entering through her womanhood and moving in.

Out…out. Out! She wanted out. She wanted him out. Out in the open. THat is where she wanted him. No longer insider her.  In front. Standing. Staring. Revealing.

He was no longer allowed to hide in the Woman.

She forbid it. Gave him no respite. Gave him no solace. Gave him no home until he built her one first…

And let her go inside. Go deeper and deeper and DEEPER into he man.

All the longing in her soul craved entry within.

How does woman enter a man?

How does she penetrate and plant her seeds?

How does she build a life within his love?

Serious now. She meant it. Meant it down to the fibers holding her together suspended in time.

“Leave me. Leave me be. I want you to go. Go far away. I can no longer be your home. You must find your own. I cannot replace what’s been lost in your soul. You cannot infiltrate mine and play parasitic host to mine either. Be yourself for once, you slob. Be Man. Not A Man. Be Man. I need Man. All of Man. In one man.

Let me enter into that.”

She cried in her pillow.

– Mary Fae Smith

© 2013

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“LET’S BE HAPPY NOW!” by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Danny looks at me, the way
they all do:
lust-eyes. He waylays me in the
bathroom, hairy arms suddenly
around my waist.
“I heard U fucking Mickey last night,”
he says, “heard U cry out,
& no, no
it wasnʼt a cat but it yowled,
U yowled and my dick got hard, baby.
U know U want it. Deny it & Iʼll call U a
fucking liar.
I donʼt care who we hurt!
Letʼs be happy now!”
I confess,
his recklessness holds a certain allure,
& then Iʼm fuckinʼ him real high &
hard, up against the sink in the
bathroom, with his soon-to-be
wife just outside,
ear pressed against the door.
Not the marrying kind.
Iʼm the fucking kind.
The lewd lingerie kind.
The girl you
bring home for the
weekend,
not to meet the family
kind.
The dirty little secret,
the girl you jack off to after your
wife
goes to sleep.
The one you think about
so you can get it up with the
old lady,
year after year,
decade after dreary
decade. The one you wish youʼd married
& youʼd be happy now,
happy now, so very happy,
now.
© 2010

“She Left A Burial Note” by Roz Levine

With cardinal colored nails
She tip tapped her burial note
How she wanted to go out just fine
Frothed in finery fit for a female
Of the sex and twist persuasion
How her hair had to be colored
With number 5G
No more
No less
30 minutes of color
Not
One
Minute
Longer
She clicked out that note
How her lips needed Max Oom pah pah
And her eyes, the shadow of purple
Tinged with lilac below the brow line
Don’t forget to tweeze those stray hairs
Please, please, please
She wanted the polka dot g string panties
Under her Spanx hold ins
Beneath the purple passion velvet suit
Over the flesh
That would never more rise
With mother of god orgasms
And don’t forget the wonder bra
The one in flame the world red
It had to hold jiggle free boobs
In the tight oak coffin for eternity.
For Christ’s sake
If they find these remnants
In a hundred years
In five hundred years
In the next millennium
They’d feast their eyes
On some kind of a woman
Who roared to the end
Took the wild with her
To her final earth home.

Roz Levine

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2010

Juicy Quote

Photo by L. K. Thayer

Isn’t that the problem? That women have been swindled for centuries into substituting adornment for love, fashion (as it were) for passion? All the cosmetics names seemed obscenely obvious to me in their promises of sexual bliss. They were all firming or uplifting or invigorating. They made you tingle. Or glow. Or feel young. They were prepared with hormones or placentas or royal jelly. All the juice and joy missing in the lives of these women were to be supplied by the contents of jars and bottles. No wonder they would spend twenty dollars for an ounce of face makeup or thirty for a half-ounce of hormone cream. What price bliss? What price sexual ecstasy?

Erica Jong

“Beautiful” by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Photo by Alexis Rhone Fancher

ten years later all I can
remember is we both liked the
9th symphony best. that & the sex.
I saw U on the Boardwalk, black hair streaked
w/ grey &
lion wild. my throat closed, then my heart.
U looked right through me, past me, out to sea.
maybe U were looking too hard.
I was wearing Prada sunglasses & no make up.
I’d left my flashy engagement ring at home
on the sink.
I didn’t stop. U didn’t see me or it’s
been too long.
have I changed all that much?
U looked beautiful, btw.

Alexis Rhone Fancher

All Rights Reserved

© 2009