Cult of Two Read online

  Then I gently wrapped the belt around Serena’s neck. Slowly tightening the loop so that the buckle pressed down on her throat.

  “Are you ready for your present?”

  “Yes,” she replied, looking directly into my eyes.

  I unzipped my fly and gave the belt a firm pull.

  Serena gasped.

  “I fucking love it!” she cried—her cheeks flushing red.

  I forced my hard cock deep inside her tight pussy.

  Serena bit down on her lip and began to moan loudly.

  This just made me want to fuck her even harder. So I lifted Serena up into my arms and felt her legs grip my waist. Pressing her back hard against the wall, I started to slam my cock in and out of her wet pussy.

  Sending us both into a sex-crazed frenzy.

  Her tits slapping against my chest with every thrust of my cock.

  The pleasure intense and uncontrollable.

  I watched her pretty mouth slowly open.

  The orgasm exploding between her legs.

  —

  We stood in the hallway.

  Catching our breath.

  Cum dripping down the inside of Serena’s thigh.

  I removed the belt from her neck. Tracing the pink line left behind on her pale skin with my finger.

  She placed her hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “Do you know what you do to me? How you make me feel?”

  “Glad that you married me?” I replied smiling.

  Serena laughed. Pulling me closer and pressing her warm lips to my ear.

  “Happy anniversary,” she whispered.

  Change the World

  Poetry can change your life, but don’t expect it to change the world. Only you have the power to take on that challenge. A poem can stir the heart, but it can’t cast a vote.

  When Will I See You Again?

  So many promises

  wrapped up in excuses,

  always tomorrow

  but never today.

  Turn Me On

  Not a word is said. You turn me on with just your eyes. Fingers gripping my hard cock. My pleasure held in the palm of your hand.

  Rage Against Love

  Spare me your pity—

  the worthless platitudes,

  just let me rage

  against love.

  Set my heart free—

  just leave me be,

  to rip the stars

  from the night sky,

  while I scream—

  go fuck yourself

  to the moon.

  Please—

  pretty please,

  just let me rage

  against love.

  The Two of Us

  How easy the glass

  slipped from our hands,

  shattered shards—

  the jagged truth

  crystal clear,

  left to sparkle

  in the dullness.

  All our energy

  put into breaking—

  what was already broken.

  Risk Everything

  How precarious the fine line between acceptance and rejection. Yet, here I am again—placing another bet on the table. Going all in. Willing to risk everything for a chance to win this stupid game we call love.

  Awake

  I became so obsessed with you, that I even convinced myself that you loved me.

  Guilty Sex

  Temptation comes—

  a stage is set,

  your lifted skirt

  with panties wet,

  the sweet allure

  of guilty sex,

  you giving head,

  lips cherry red—

  fucking in your

  parents’ bed.

  Sunshine in Raindrops

  I could speak of your generosity of spirit—the sublime language spoken by your heart. But it is your laughter I miss the most. The rarest gift you ever gave me.

  It Was the Night

  It was the night—

  when stars fell

  from your lips.

  My hands

  on your hips,

  pulling you closer.

  Our parting wish—

  to be forever,

  held together

  in a kiss.

  The Explicit Request

  You pushed me hard against the tree and slid your hand down the inside of my jeans.

  “I know you respect me and that’s lovely,” you said kissing my lips. “However tonight, please spare me your polite words and gentle hands.”

  I felt your slender fingers grasp my cock as you whispered into my ear.

  “I don’t want you to fuck my pretty pussy—I want you to destroy it.”

  Humility

  Humility is the ability to celebrate a victory and not let your success defeat you.

  Rejection

  “Would you like to smoke this joint with me?”

  Sophia had a habit of asking rhetorical questions. A well-practiced distraction technique she had perfected over the years, and one I couldn’t possibly resist. No matter how hard I tried.

  “I really do need to get this book written,” I replied, hunched over my laptop at the kitchen table, trying my best to ignore her piercing gaze pointed in my direction. “I’m already two weeks past the publisher’s deadline, and my first manuscript was rejected.”

  “Rejected? You never told me that,” Sophia said, twirling a lock of red hair with her fingers.

  “It’s not the kind of news you go shouting from the rooftops. But it’s okay.”

  Sophia sat down next to me and fired up the joint. Blowing a cloud of swirling smoke into the air. “I’d be beside myself if that happened to me. I have a real issue with rejection.”

  “It used to bother me a lot too. Especially in terms of creativity. You pour your heart and soul into a project, spending countless days and nights perfecting it, only to have it dismissed on a whim.”

  “Well, you seem remarkably calm about it all,” Sophia said smiling.

  “Rejection is a learning curve and it took me a while to come to terms with it. Until I realized it was just a temporary setback and an opportunity to do something even better. Now when it happens to me, I think of myself as a tiny rubber ball. The harder I get hit—the faster I bounce back.”

  “I love that! Honestly, you should be a philosopher not a poet,” she exclaimed enthusiastically, passing me the glowing joint.

  I took a long hard drag and instantly felt the effects. “Fuck, this is strong stuff!”

  Sophia burst out laughing. “Hey, I just thought of a title for your next book.”

  “Really? What is it?” I asked.

  “Self-Help for Stoners.”

  Let It Go

  Never let anger get the better of you. No matter how justified it might seem at the time, in hindsight, it seldom solves or changes anything for the better. Find the courage to forgive yourself, even if you can’t forgive them.

  In Your Silence

  In your silence—it is the essence of who you are, the kindness that defines your heart, that speaks to me the loudest.

  Devotion

  Every Sunday—

  a sermon served,

  in silk robes

  and silver rings.

  The gold plate

  passed around—

  collecting coins

  from empty pockets.

  Come Monday—

  we work for

  our daily bread.

  Bought with sweat

  and broken backs.

  Praying—

  for a m
iracle.

  Far Too Late

  The inexplicable,

  in hindsight—

  explained.

  The opened gate

  I tried to close—

  far too late.

  Can you hear

  the echo of regret?

  Bouncing

  off the walls

  of a heart—

  broken.

  Written by You

  When I read the words you wrote, what really hurt me the most, was that they were written by you.

  Second Helping

  It was past 3 a.m. when Todd stumbled through the front door of the apartment and staggered into the bedroom. The familiar naughty boy grin plastered across his face as he rocked back and forth at the end of the bed. The stench of cheap liquor and stale cigarettes on his breath.

  Sarah was sitting up in the bed, dressed in her favorite pink flannel dressing gown. She put down the cookbook she was reading and stared at Todd’s bloodshot eyes.

  “I’m sorry, babe. Got caught up with the boys again and lost track of time,” he slurred.

  “That’s okay. How about you get undressed and into bed. You must be exhausted,” Sarah said softly.

  Todd flashed a crooked smirk as he collapsed onto the bed next to her like a sack of old rags. His head hitting the pillow. Eyes closing shut as he passed out.

  Sarah hopped out of bed and took off his muddy shoes. She gently folded her half of the white comforter over him and left the bedroom, switching off the light on her way out.

  It wasn’t the first time Sarah had been forced to sleep on the sofa. She pulled a blanket over her body, rested her head on a cushion, and stared up at the ceiling, listening in the dark to Todd’s thunderous snoring coming from the bedroom.

  —

  It was late in the morning and the sun was streaming through the kitchen window.

  Sarah checked her watch and wandered over to the oven.

  Peering through the glass door she could see the golden crust of the pie and knew it was ready. She reached for the oven gloves from the counter and put them on.

  When the pie came out of the oven, Sarah eyed it with a satisfied smile. It was perfectly cooked and filled the entire ceramic baking dish. She placed it down on the stove top and reached up for a white dinner plate from the shelf.

  “Ooh, my fucking head!”

  Sarah heard Todd’s chesty moan coming from the bedroom, followed by a loud, rumbling fart. He was finally awake.

  She neatly cut a generous slice of the pie and placed it on the plate with a spatula. She carried it quickly into the bedroom with a small bottle of water she had taken from the fridge.

  Todd was still in his disheveled suit, greasy hair flopped over his forehead, trying to summon up the strength to crawl out of bed.

  “I thought you might want breakfast in bed, sweetheart,” Sarah said, placing the plate down in front of him.

  Todd reached over and snatched the bottle of water from her hand.

  He unscrewed the cap and poured the water into his throat, gulping it down and throwing the empty bottle onto the carpet. He looked at the slice of pie sitting on the plate.

  “Smells bloody marvelous,” he exclaimed, grinning.

  “Let me go get you a knife and fork,” Sarah replied.

  “Nah, fuck that. I’ll use my hands.”

  Sarah watched Todd tear the pie apart with his chubby fingers, shoving large mouthfuls of pastry into his mouth—the thick brown gravy running down the stubble on his chin.

  “What is it? Beef? Tastes a bit like chicken too.”

  “Oh, it’s just a little something I whipped up. A new recipe,” Sarah said. “I hope you like it.”

  Todd burped and wiped his sticky fingers on the comforter. “Like it? I fucking love it! Be a good girl and go get me another slice.”

  Sarah dutifully picked up the dirty plate off the bed and returned to the kitchen, where she cut another large slice of the pie before walking back into the bedroom.

  “There you go, sweetheart. Enjoy!”

  She handed Todd the plate and watched him start to devour the second helping of pie. He smacked his lips as he swallowed large chunks of gristle and soggy meat.

  Sarah left him to finish eating his breakfast.

  When she got back to the kitchen, she looked down at her gold wedding ring. She let out a little sigh and slid it off her finger. Throwing it into the trash can.

  The ring rattled against the sides of the empty cans of cheap dog food sitting inside.

  Sarah couldn’t hold back the smile any longer and chuckled to herself.

  A wave of euphoria swept through her body as she skipped across the living room to the front door where her packed suitcase lay waiting.

  She picked up it up and quietly slipped out of the apartment.

  If Someone Really Cares

  If someone really cares about you, they will do everything they possibly can to right the wrong.

  Those who secretly can’t be bothered—just make excuses.

  Strangers in the Snow

  When the snow came—

  I thought of you.

  The magical night

  we spent together.

  Kissing in parkas—

  melting snowflakes

  with rosy lips.

  Making promises—

  we couldn’t

  possibly keep.

  Pleasure Bound

  Ropes tied—

  her tethered wrists.

  Vibrator pressed

  on swollen clit.

  Pleasure bound

  with writhing hips.

  My fingers fucking

  pretty lips.

  Her silent scream—

  the whipped cream,

  with a cherry

  on top.

  A New Romance

  Will you be

  my new romance?

  A first sentence

  of a love story.

  The beginning

  of my everything.

  Under the Pier

  You kiss me with lips that taste of sex and pink bubble gum.

  Standing in the shadows. Our bare feet buried in the wet sand—the warm summer sea swirling around our ankles.

  The teddy bear I won for you at the fair, carried quietly away by the outgoing tide.

  Our innocence lost beneath a rotting wood and barnacle sky.

  Under the pier.

  When the Romance Goes

  I remember a time when you made me daisy chains. Now you just mow the lawn.

  Trash Talk

  How amusing

  it must be,

  to sip poison

  with your friends,

  to crack jokes

  at my expense—

  to laugh behind

  my back.

  Never knowing

  it’s actually me,

  who is laughing

  the hardest.

  Thrilled to bits,

  deliriously ecstatic—

  over the fucking moon!

  To finally see

  the back of you.

  The Past

  The past is the past. You can’t change it. But you can cherish it, celebrate it, laugh about it, learn from it, and take the happy memories with you. What really matters is today. The new page that’s waiting to be written. Knowing you have your whole life ahead of you and the best is yet to come.

  Red Cotton Panties

  You love to touch yourself with your panties on. Lying in the bed next to me. Your hand under the hem, fingers softly rubbing your clitoris.

  A dark wet patch spreading across
the cheap red cotton.

  I place my hand over yours. So I can feel the movement—the rhythmic circles becoming faster, as you pleasure yourself with eyes closed.

  My lips press against your ear and whisper dirty pretty things.

  “Does your pussy feel good?”

  “Spread your legs a little wider.”

  “Imagine having a big cock stretching you open—fucking you.”

  The breathy moans become louder.

  Quicker.

  When the orgasm finally comes, I pull on your pink nipples with my fingers. Making your hips buck uncontrollably. Legs writhing with every intense wave.

  —

  A beautiful moment of dreamy calm.

  Your pretty face flushed and a quiet smile resting on your lips. I watch as you slide your legs out of the soaking wet panties and reach down for them.

  You gaze deeply into my eyes and speak ever so softly.

  “How would you like to feel my dirty panties on your hard cock?”

  You don’t wait for a reply. My eyes close as you wrap them around the shaft of my cock. I feel the damp fabric and your sticky juice on my skin.

  Your hand pulls my thick cock up and down.

  Harder.

  Faster.

  Until you feel the familiar throb beneath your delicate fingers. Biting down on your lip while you watch me cum all over your panties.

  Hearing me say your name.

  Over and over again.

  Six Seconds

  This can’t be true.

  Reading a text—

  doubting my doubts,

  drinking vinegar

  laced with disaster.

  I’ve met someone.

  Six years destroyed—

  in six seconds.

  Mass Delusion

  Melting ice caps

  and burning trees,

  dolphins strangled

  in plastic seas,

  temperatures rising

  by alarming degrees,

  poisoned rivers

  and dying bees,