I came across Carol Ann Duffy’s poem, Adultery while leafing through “The New Poetry”, edited by Michael Hulse, David Kennedy and David Morley (Bloodaxe Books), yesterday evening. It is a powerful poem which speaks of the guilt and excitement of adultery, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3cjLftgJuuM
Tag Archives: sex
Love For Sale Elvis Costello
Originally sung by Cole Porter and performed here by Elvis Costello, this rendering of Love For Sale is sad and beautiful, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vt4HS1ce8Hs.
Pangloss’s Song From Candide By Richard Wilbur
Lady in Red
“It’s Friday evening and that means clubbing. Yeah I can’t wait to get out there on the dance floor. The thud of the beat and all those guys watching as I strut my stuff gives me such a buzz. They can’t keep their eyes off me and their paws too. I can wrap any bloke round my little finger. The power of sex, use and abuse it, get what you want and move on.
God I feel sexy. What will it be? The tight red dress and matching skirt? Yeah that looks great. Where are my stilettos? Got them, I must have thrown them under the bed when I had that bloke last weekend. Mum never says anything about the blokes. As soon as she gets her benefits she’s down the pub picking up her own guy. She tried telling me what to do once.
“You’re a fucking slapper. I’m not having you bring blokes back here. You’re a disgrace. I didn’t bring you up to behave like a little tramp. I’m not putting up with it any more Kylie!”
I told her to fuck off and stormed out of the house. What right has she got to tell me how to live my life. Fucking waste of space she is. When it was happening she did nothing. She says she didn’t know. She didn’t know, my arse! If she had no idea then she bloody well should have known. To fond of the drink to care about me.
Well here I am. Club’s heaving, it always is at the weekend. Look at that bloke he can’t keep his eyes off me. He’s actually drooling. Pathetic loser, I’ll chew him up and spit him out like a piece of chewing gum. His hands are all over me the dirty fucker. He wants it bad. OK mate you asked for it,
“Want to come back to mine” I say grinding against him. Of course he does, the dirty fucker.
Sometimes I let them finish before I say anything. Other times I tell them while they are screwing me. Stupid twats you should see their faces when I tell them the truth. I just say casual like
“I’m 15 wanna see my school uniform”.
It’s a great little earner. No bloke wants to be called a nonce. They beat the crap out of nonces in prison but you know that anyway don’t you? Course you do. Anyway I’ve got more cash than all my mates put together. Blokes are stupid, they deserve everything that comes to them.
Sometimes when I’m by myself I can’t stop crying. Just 10 I was when that bastard slipped into my bed while mum was asleep. The things he made me do. Just a little girl and mum says she didn’t no, bollocks mum, bollocks world!”
Afterwards (blank verse)
Love and lust all end in dust. Standing at the mirror applying makeup, hiding who you are, but who are you anyway? A girl seeking for something beyond your grasp, you trip gaily down the primrose path to destruction. You laugh the sound signifies I no not what.
‘Young Lady, Older Man’, by Kevin Morris.
Me reading my poem, ‘Young Lady, Older Man’.
Underneath
Velvety soft skin enough to make a man sin. Firm young breasts beneath your dress. Sweet perfume fills the room and, underneath it all death.
Into Temptation
“You only live once” the girl said.
“Indeed we do” her companion replied smiling.
Should he allow this beautiful young lady to do something so intimate and potentially fraught with danger? If things went as he (and she) hoped they would then mutual satisfaction would be the result. A sense of fulfilment would flood his being and the girl would smile with delight at having made another man happy. The man would boast to his jealous friends about the wonders of this talented girl. They would, in return seek to avail themselves of the lady’s services. Even were he to allow the girl to perform this most private and embarrassing of services for him he wasn’t sure whether he could, on second thoughts confide in even his most trusted friends. Even if he withheld the shocking secret from his dearest friends they would, undoubtedly notice something different about him which would give the game away. The smug smile on his face would act as a clue that he had given into that urge which oft afflicts men of a certain age and to compound the offence that he had done so with a girl young enough to be his daughter. Would allowing a lady of more mature years to minister to his intimate requirements be more acceptable? Perhaps so but the man wasn’t being tempted by a lady of his own age, he was being seduced by a gorgeous 20-year-old into doing something which he new, in his heart of hearts he might well bitterly regret. Never the less the man was tempted. What Could possibly be the harm? They were both adults. No doubt tongues would wag but let people gossip it was after all entirely a matter for himself as to whether he should give into temptation and allow the girl to ever so softly and with the greatest of care … dye his hair
The sun light on the walls
Does the fact that I am blind impact on my writing? This question pops into my head occasionally and it is one which I have been meaning to address for some time. First let me describe my level of vision. Sitting in my spare room (where most of my writing takes place) I can see my computer screen. The screen appears blank to me although I know that words are gradually populating it’s surface as Jaws (my screen reading software) announces each time I type a letter). IF I raise my eyes I see the outline of a poster with writing at the foot of the picture. I wouldn’t know what the poster is except for the fact that friends tell me that it shows rather a nice representation of a dolphin. To my right and left are book cases full of braille books. I can see the outline of the books but nothing else. The sun is shining, it’s light on my wall and the quilt make me feel happy. There is something about the gentle rays of the sun which I love and I’m grateful that I have sufficient vision to appreciate the sun.
The fact that I am registered blind does, I believe mean that senses other than sight feature more prominently in my writing than would perhaps be the case where I fully sighted. For example when describing Sam’s visit to Woolton Woods in my book “Samantha” the sound of Sam’s feet crunching through the leaves features prominently due to me loving the noise made when walking on newly fallen leaves. The crunch of freshly fallen leaves coupled with the gorgeous scents which rise from them make for a heady cocktail of sensory delight. Passing through Woolton village Sam is delighted by the fading splendour of the flowers in the hanging baskets which festoon the cottages. I can’t see those baskets but I know through having passed often through the village and having had the baskets described to me what a wonderful display they make. This is not the same as seeing objects oneself, however I do, I hope still manage to impart Sam’s pleasure as she looks on the fading blooms.
For me what is fascinating about people is what makes them tick. Why individuals are as they are and act in the manner they do is a subject of endless interest. I am more interested in a person’s personality than in how they look which does, very possibly arise from the fact that I can not see people very clearly. Where a friend to pass me today in the street I would see a passing shape. Only when my friend speaks to me do I know that it is John, Brian or Jeff the identification being made by the distinctive sound of my friend’s voices. Living in a sighted world I do, of course fully appreciate the fact that most people are interested in the physical appearance of persons both in real life and fiction. Looks self evidently play a significant role in explaining what initially attracts one sighted individual to another. Talking to my sighted friends I know that physical factors are what first draws them to a person of the opposite sex. All this is not to say that looks are the be all and end all of attraction. Once most people fall into conversation with a person to whom they are physically attracted factors other than appearance come into play, for example does he/she make me laugh and does he/she have similar interests to mine.
Returning to the issue of writing, as a blind writer I find that I sometimes have to remind myself to describe the physical appearance of the people who populate my stories something which I suspect does not happen with writers who are fully sighted. As pointed out above, I am well aware that I live in a sighted world and physical attributes do play an important role in life as in story telling. In certain instances physical attraction is central to my stories. For instance the fact that Becky (a young graduate who enters the world of escorting in order to pay off her debts in “The First Time” is slim and blonde) plays an important role as many customers of sex workers like slim blonde ladies. Consequently it is important that Becky’s appearance is described as “The First Time” would lack authenticity where the central actor’s physical attributes to be overlooked. Having said that the primary point of “The First Time” is to explore the psychological effects of prostitution on Becky. I am more interested in how Becky’s engagement in sex work impacts on her emotionally so once Becky’s description is provided the story concentrates on Becky’s emotional state which is, in my opinion as it should be.
In conclusion my writing is no doubt influenced by the fact of my blindness. I do not believe that this is to the detriment of my craft I do however need to keep in my mind the fact that I live in a sighted world in which vision plays a pivotal role and ensure that where appropriate the visual aspect is reflected in my story telling.
Dream Girl
Never in his wildest dreams had Tom imagined that a girl like Bethany would be interested in a guy like him. Tom was the first to acknowledge that he was no Cupid. His beer belly bulged obscenely over the top of his threadbare trousers and his tangled hair was in urgent need of a wash and comb. However for some inexplicable reason here he lay next to a gorgeous blonde bombshell who had only just turned 20.
Softly Tom stroked Bethany’s firm young breasts. They felt like beautiful ripe pairs bursting with juice under his hands.
“God your skin is perfect just like silk”
Beth’s response was to kiss Tom full on the mouth. He wanted to explode, to shoot pure spurts of joy into this goddess. Tom reached for the comdoms which lay conveniently placed on the bedside table.
“Yes baby I want you inside me. Come on honey I need you”, Bethany moaned.
“God you are so wet” Tom exclaimed.
Suddenly it was all over. The background whirr ceased. The lights flickered and went out leaving Tom stirring disconsolately at his computer screen …