by William Crimson

  • I’ve lost my connection to the world—no Internet. All I have are hotspots for the next week. If you comment, I won’t know it until I find another hotspot. So I wrote this in a café as quick as I could — 20 minutes. It’s inspired by Rougedmount, but is really inspired by anyone who’s thought life is too short. May there be many lifetimes, surely each with their disappointments, but also each with new loves and new experiences. I know I’ve been here before and will be again.

If it were raining, and if it were another lifetime, then I would take you outside. I might not remember why: Perhaps I loved a woman, in another lifetime,who didn’t love the rain; and you, perhaps, loved a man who closed the windows and the doors. But there’s always a longed-for experience, we missed in one lifetime, that brings us back to the next.

Will it be a summer shower?

tumblr_m8tfeaIYtd1qfbon7o1_400I won’t remember why, but you’ll look especially beautiful to me, and the dark clouds and the rain on the leaves will be especially beautiful. Perhaps you will wear a burgundy dress and a blue hempen top and your dress will cling to your hips and the water will confess your breasts and delight your nipples.

How beautiful you’ll be.

Your hair will cling to your neck and your ears will slip between the strands. I’ll nibble your ears. I’ll tease your nipples. I’ll press my palm at the V of your legs. We’ll open our mouths and drink the rain as it falls. I’ll take out into the open field. A woman deserves to be loved in the rain; loved for the beauty of the rain in her clothes. I’ll take you out into the long grasses.

I’ll take off your clothes.

I’ll sip the droplets at your nipples. I’ll taste your spine. I’ll bite the beads at your hips. I’ll lick the sluice between your thighs. I’ll mount you in the open field. I’ll mount you under the heavy clouds so you can feel the rain on your shoulders. I’ll mount you from behind so the rain pools at the turn of your spine, so the earth loams between your fingers, so your knees and thighs are earthy and pungent. My fingers will mark you, soil your hips and nipples, and your flanks with grass seed, and the wheat’s feathery tufts, and the slipping tongues and parchment of the wildflowers—red, yellow and purple. And I’ll mount you so your dripping hair trails forth and back in the mud until you also feel the summer’s downpour in your womb, warm, thick and nourishing.

I, the cloud.

You, my earth.

I promise you, in another lifetime, this is what we’ll do.

Will Crimson:August 16 2015

Categories: Erotica, Insemination, Oral Sex, RedBud, RomanceTags: , , , , , ,


    • Writing stories is like making love, I guess — sometimes I’m in the mood to throw my fictional woman face down on the bed with a stack of pillows to lift her ass, and sometimes I just want to commune with that beautiful body—a woman’s body—play her like a violin. Maybe it’s a man’s version of a “moon cycle”—except it’s what he wants to do to the moon, rather than the other way around. =)

  1. vanillamom

    this was sweet…earthy and full of amazing images…especially liked the line “the water will confess your breasts”…how evocative of the experience of a wet blouse/shirt in a rainshower. Thank you, dear friend. What a treat to return from vacation to consume…


    • vanillamom

      Hoping your internet issues get resolved sooner rather than later…good to be back and feeling relaxed and almost ready to sit and write.

    • I’m back! =) I totally missed the Ashley Madison hacker dump. 32,000,000 names, email addresses, credit numbers? Being abjectly craven, I immediately checked to see if Mr. William Crimson was on the list. What better way to impress than to pose as Mr. William Crimson? Erotic Bona Fides? Say no more. And I am profoundly disappointed. No one posed as Mr. William Crimson. I’ll be okay. Give me a day or so. No really, I’m fine.

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