Dicktionary: an adult poem

F

Dicktionary

Aardvark's at the front

Page one

And zygote's near the rear

See, here

But after that this dictionary's worse than

Useless

*

Look

No love

But sex is everywhere

A noun, to have, to be,

Apparently

So tied up to identity

Commitment's close to shit

Sense tells me otherwise

Truth's here, before lies

Honesty, integrity and trust

Are simply absent

Lust is there in all its guises

Cunt, prick, dick are unsurprising entries

Anal's at the back

Jack, whack, lack definition

Hunger comes before contrition

Semen, spunk, cream, junk and mess

Are copiously ever present 

Flaccid's slipped out

Rigid's stuffed in

No condoms

Though subs and doms

Beyond my comprehensive comprehension

Get a mention

Menses don't

STD's neither

Faeces fail to soil these sheets

No thrush, cystitis, leaky teats

Fuck, shaft and roger, mean the same

While rape, reluctance, shamefully don't...

*

Who compiles such vile unsexy lexicons

Like these?

Who sees the sense?

Erection sans affection

Pounding mound

Without the common ground

Where love's the dirty word

Unheard except in

'I love pussy'

'I love cock'

*

I tossed the book

Screwed up its tissue lies

And shot its load of loveless crap

Into the nearest bin

I fucked it off

Then wrote my own

I've grown a little through it

Come on

Do it, try like me

To write a dickless dictionary

*****

Universal Constance - an erotic short story with a mathematical bent

'Connie! Connie! Come in. You won't believe...'

As the old man turned away and scuttled back into his study, his voice faded to nothing. From the bright, cold hard corridor, I stepped into a dull homely warmth, from echoes and cleaning fluid, into an anechoic cocktail of pipe smoke and coffee. The floor was tessellating redwood blocks, the furniture time-worn leather and mahogany, and the rugs deep, patterned and Persian. The ornate ceiling was high and the tall bookcases that filled both long sides of the room were bricked up with leather-bound knowledge. Heavy velvet curtains usually filled the whole of the far wall, though this evening they were partially open, revealing a huge and intricately leaded window. Beyond Professor Samuelson's cosy enclave, clouds drifted and the heavens turned. The sun's dying rays  pierced the multicoloured glass, illuminating his dusty academic world with shafts of regal greens, blues, reds and ambers. Beams splashed onto stacks of ancient books and dog-eared yellowed papers that covered every raised horizontal surface, smothering each table and chair, each cupboard and shelf. The stooping figure in the tweed-suit stopped, turned and puffed his pipe. Swirling fingers of smoke grasped and choked the sun's last strangled breath. The sights and smells transported me back through time.

A nicotined finger traced the words. Though only five years old, I read the complex text with ease, understood it too. I knew I was five because my shiny red shoes were a fifth birthday present that were sadly and quickly grown out of, as was the pretty flared frock I almost constantly wore. Father bounced me on his knee, squeezed my shoulder, and sucked on his pipe once more, while fervently nodding his head.

'Clever girl, Connie! Clever girl!'

I screwed up my face and pouted my lips in a theatrical exaggeration of confusion. My lisp was a mere childhood affliction.

'So Isaac Newton was wrong? How can that be, Daddy? You said he was the cleverest man ever!'

Father chuckled.

'He was, but he could only go so far in one lifetime. What he achieved in his was handed over to others. Over the centuries, his work has been added to by some almost equally clever people using increasingly accurate methods of measurement - measurements Newton's era was simply not capable of - and so eventually they proved that time...'

'So, Constance,' the professor knew my name was simply Connie, was not a contraction, but when the mood took him, he loved to employ its posh parent, 'please, take off your coat. Let me see you.' He became thoughtful and whispered, as though to himself. 'Yes. See you...'

His use of my Sunday name allowed me an uneasy familiarity, one he had long ago bestowed upon me.

'Of course, Edmund.'

I slowly unbuttoned and peeled the dark wool garment from my shoulders then let it slide down my slender arms before casting it casually over the same chair back on which I had recently hung my chic black handbag. The sun had expired. The room was gloomy now. Colour had given way to monochrome and hard geometry had melted into vague whimsy. He took two sideways steps and a table lamp sprung into life. I blinked. He clapped his hands like an enraptured schoolboy.

'Oh! There you are!' Another clap. 'There you are! Look at you! Perfection!'

He himself had bought me the scarlet high heels, had bought too the flared floral frock, its clever halter neck allowing a fully bared back and deep décolletage. The white silk stockings were my own addition, as were the skimpy silken knickers that I knew he would want to keep. My long blonde hair was tied up and pinned just as he liked it, with not a single free wisp to tickle my neck. Lipstick naturally matched my shoes. I fluttered my favourite falsies and gazed around.

'I have always loved this room. Ever since Father first brought me here...'

'He was a lovely man. Your mother too.' The professor loved to play with words and I smiled easily at his little joke. He grew serious. 'I miss them both, Connie. And more than you could ever comprehend. I never knew a man could work so hard! He barely had time for anything else. Your mother too! She was...'

I laughed.

'They found time to make me!'

He didn't share my quip, continued almost as if I were never made by anyone.

'...incredibly beautiful. And so quick, so incisive. Her ability to see truth where others could barely see a lie was astounding. I see her in you. You are so much...'

Emotion caused his words to stumble. His eyes shone with tears.

'Please, Edmund. We promised to... never... you know?'

He nodded and his wild grey hair swept away his woe.

'Yes. Quite.'

'So what will I not believe?'

For several moments, he peered quizzically over his half-moon glasses before the penny dropped. 

'Ah, yes! How could I forget! Unification! I believe I have achieved it!'

I sniffed and my unsupported tits quivered, their stiff little nipples chafing against the frock's clever cups.

'Seriously?'

'Yes. I believe so.' He untangled one folded arm, spread it like a wing and motioned a shaky hand to the blackboard on the wall behind me, beside which was the heavy door my knuckles had so recently rapped. Densely packed together and covering almost every inch of the board, untidy, almost illegible formulae were scribed in the professor's unmistakable hand. Much I recognised instantly, though substantial sections were new to me. I rested my hands on a chair back and peered at the jumbled chalky mess.

'General Relativity and Quantum Mechanics... You have somehow brought them together? On your own?'

The very notion was ludicrous - even more so than our own unlikely yet constant coming together. Though old, he moved like a dancer, was behind me and breathing in my ear in an instant.

'Yes, Constance.'

He started to have me. I expected it, was perfectly dressed for it. His hands were quickly up or inside my scanty clothing, sampling even the most private areas of my body. This was how he liked it. Him active: me passive. I relaxed, allowed him to move me, part my legs to his liking, thus giving him unhindered access. As he unclipped the halter, he kissed my neck, nibbled my cute diamond-studded lobes and pressed his swelling groin into my backside. 

Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus - extremely generously, I feel - nine further stories in 'Measuring up', my latest collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.

Mercury Rising: New short story posted on Lush

Hi

Not that I need the money (and it's a good job), but I just entered a short story competition on Lush. There is a limit of 3,000 words - which, after many edits and artistic sacrifices, I met exactly - and a theme of 'Some like it hot'. I set my story where the temperature change between day and night is the greatest - Mercury - and called it (rather cleverly, I thought) 'Mercury Rising', a reference to the old thermometers which were filled with that surprisingly runny metal.

The opening paragraph appears below. Please be aware that the story is erotic in nature, and contains scenes that may well set your body alight.

Love ya,

Alexandra :) xxx

Mercury Rising (intro)

Mercury once resembled our Moon, atmosphere-free and heavily cratered. Now, a thickening orange fog shields it from the dazzling daytime sun and insulates it during the freezing night. The peelers create immense plumes of dust behind them, which, over the seven Earth years of their operation, have completely changed the planet's appearance. Mercury's gravity is so insignificant, it will take centuries for the dust to settle. Meanwhile, the searing solar wind is stripping particles away, casting them into space to form a tail, in much the same way as a comet has a tail. After what we have done to Earth, I should be accustomed to such systematic destruction, but no: I found myself constantly shocked by it. Earth is, after all, our planet; ours to fuck up as we please. Mercury, on the other hand, is not. God only knows what we are doing there. It is an unnatural, obscene desecration on a cosmic scale.

Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus - extremely generously, I feel - nine further stories in 'Measuring up', my latest collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.

Measuring up: an erotic short story. Fourth and final indecent instalment

The Monday morning meeting had been a blur. The real work started today and the realisation was almost too much. I was shaking. Doubt was nibbling me. Apprehension was chewing me. Insecurity was ripping chunks off me and swallowing them whole.

'What do you think?'

Pam held up a hanger. Dangling from its black plastic shoulders was a dazzling white uniform of sorts. My big blue eyes grew even bigger.

'I'm wearing that?'

'Yes, of course. One has to look the part!' She shook it then held it out. 'Try it on then.'

'Where?'

'In here. Can you excuse us, Geoff, love?'

Without a word, her lover left the room.

'Should I tie my hair back?'

I swept it back into a ponytail and held it, while Pam subconsciously brushed hers over an ear.

'Definitely.'

I popped my jacket over the chair back and unzipped my dress.

'Damn! I have black undies on. They'll show through.'

'No, I don't think so. Top quality this, Sally, not some fancy dress costume this!'

In seconds, I was standing in my bra and knickers, my heels and hold-ups. Without taking her eyes off me, Pam unbuttoned the overall and passed it to me. Doubt twisted my mouth.

'It looks small.'

'Yes, honey, it does.'

Her face was flushed, her tongue was heavy, and her eyes were focussed on my crotch. Fuck. As if this wasn't complicated enough. I squeezed into the garment and, with difficulty, buttoned it up. It had a little turn-down collar, short sleeves and reached just above my knees.

'I can't wear this Pam, it's...'

'Fabulous! Fabulous! Honey, you look amazing! I would die for your body!'

'Thank you.'

I didn't know what else to say. I did a self-conscious twirl as she continued to ogle me.

'But you'll have to lose the bra. You were right. It shows through. Knickers show through too. Damn!'

Her voice was slurred, as if from drink, though I knew it was simply lust inebriating her lips and tongue. I panicked, called for aid.

'Geoff! Coast's clear. You can come in now.' I turned back to Pam. 'I think a man's perspective might be useful.'

She nodded resignedly. Geoff strode back in.

'Hey, that looks fabulous! And I love how you can see your undies through it! So sexy!'

I sighed.

'It's not supposed to be sexy. I'm actually supposed to be a nurse. They have to trust me. They have to be relaxed. I have to be believable. Wait!'

I turned my back on them, undid the buttons and took the thing off. After placing it over the chair-back next to my dress, I reached around and unclipped my bra then dropped it on the chair seat and quickly slipped the uniform back on. Geoff cursed under his breath. Pam thumped him somewhere. He grunted. I twirled while buttoning up. Geoff was shaking his head.

'Knickers too, love, I'm sorry to say. They're plain as day!'

He was right. They snagged on my heels before making a nest of a bra cup. The cool air on my genitals was very liberating. Again I twirled.

'Better?'

Pam was shaking her head.

'Good job you shave, honey, or that would be visible too. That material's not the quality I was promised!'

Geoff piped up.

'And I hope it's warmer in there than in here. You'll be poking their eyes out.'

He was right. My nipples were chafing. Pam thumped him again.

'You shouldn't be looking, mister!'

He rubbed his arm.

'They're nothing compared to yours, love. No contest.' He looked at me, winced and quickly added, 'No offence, Sal, but, well, yer know...'

I could do nothing other than agree.

'Yes, I know.'

Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus - extremely generously, I feel - nine further stories in 'Measuring up', my latest collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.

Measuring up: an erotic short story. Part 3 of 4 saucy sessions.

Another Monday. Another revelation. As per usual, I was the first to speak

'When do the appointments start?' Their faces were inexplicably blank. 'You know? The guys I've been luring here for the last four weeks? When do they start turning up?'

I didn't think the question overly contentious though was about to learn otherwise. Pam's wan smile stayed fixed, while her eyes rolled from me to Geoff and back again.

'Let me get you a coffee, honey.'

Leather creaked, castors rolled silently, and she was out the door. Though still a big woman, she could be decidedly nimble. I turned to Geoff.

'What the fuck was that?'

Geoff feigned ignorance.

'What?'

'Stupid face; rolling eyes; coffee. To be honest, I've seen the face and eyes before, but she's never made me a coffee. Never ever. I'll ask you again: what the fuck was...'

He blurted.

'She's grateful. And... embarrassed. Yes, grateful and embarrassed. About what you saw and what you agreed to pretend you never saw. So am I.'

A sigh escaped me.

'Listen, it's nothing. We all have things we'd like to forget.'

Again the big doleful eyes. Again the porn movie playing in his head. Again me the star. And once again my burning regret. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Pam returned. With a clink, she placed a steaming cup and supporting saucer on the smoked glass in front of me. Besides a gleaming spoon, the saucer also played host to a cylindrical choc-dipped wafer biscuit, the type you only ever see in coffee shops.

'It's filter. Black Mountain. Subtle and very, very smooo...'

I butted in.

'Pam, there really is no need for this. As I was just saying to Geoff, it will go no further. We all have things we'd rather forget.' 

Now my shameful film began playing behind her glazed eyes, or at least, I imagined it was. I really could not take much more.

'Regarding the appointments,' Pam's voice had suddenly adopted an officious tone, 'I've scheduled the first for the week after next.'

Refusing to play her game, I double-yolked the informality.

'Pammy, sweetheart, I'll have finished collecting data by a week on Friday. Surely the nurse is available to start the examinations before then?'

Geoff leaned forwards, interlocked his fingers around his knees and peered at me over his glasses.

'There, er, is no, er, nurse, as such, er, Sally. The, er, budget. Remember?'

I'd worked with these two long enough to know what was coming.

'So I'm the fucking nurse too, am I? Shove a broom up my arse and I'll sweep the floor while I'm at it!'

There was silence while they seemingly considered the possibility. Pam spoke first.

'I'd do it, honey, but I might,' her lip actually quivered, 'adversely affect the outcomes. Yer know?'

Geoff gallantly leapt to her defence.

'No, Pam, never! You never adversely affect my outcome! Quite the opposite, in fact!'

She giggled like a schoolgirl then patted his thigh.

'Not everyone has your good taste, love, unfortunately.'

'And obviously,' Geoff quickly added, 'I can't go handling men's bits, measuring and what-not? Once they saw me, there'd be nothing left to measure.'

By way of illustration, he waggled his little finger. Again I stood, and again I slammed my chair back into the wall, an event now so commonplace they didn't even look up. Then the reality struck me:  fresh out of uni, this young, single, sexually frustrated girl had walked straight into a well-paid job involving the rather daunting though not wholly unpleasant task of measuring the length and girth of a thousand young men's erect cocks. One thousand. Young men. Erect cocks. Fuck. What a prospect that was. I could hardly wait to start. However, in deference to my fabled poker skills, I wasn't going to let these two fuckers know it. I slumped back into my chair, stuck out my lip, and folded my arms across my cute little tits. Pam was incredulous.

'Listen carefully, honey. One thousand. Young men. Erect cocks. What is your fucking problem?'

Apart from when I'd caught her with Geoff's cock stretching her sphincter, it was the first time I'd ever heard her swear. I tried to remain suitably petulant, though my heart was no longer in it.

'Well, fuck you. I'm not doing it.'

Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus - extremely generously, I feel - nine further stories in 'Measuring up', my latest collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.

Measuring up: part 2 of a naughty story in four pithy portions

10 a.m. Tuesday morning, clipboard in hand, I was boarding the Tube at Belsize Park. How did they get me to agree to this? And what were they doing meanwhile, back in our snug little set up? Fucking on the cold glass desk? Using up the free samples? The way Pam had looked at Geoff over their first morning coffee, I was almost certain they had recently become lovers. I was only grateful I'd had it my mouth before she'd had it in her undoubtedly sweaty twat.

I cleared my throat.

'Excuse me?'

The young man lifted a headphone off his right ear. His black jeans were tight, his black leather jacket beaten-up but stylish, and his fucked-up hair and neat stubble just the right side of self-conscious.

'Me?'

I was standing before him, gazing down, clinging to a chrome upright as the train rattled unsteadily along its subterranean tracks. He was seated, had been engrossed in a dog-eared paperback that he now placed on the seat beside him. After a moment's grace, his eyes devoured me, licked their lips and came back for seconds. Though dressed professionally, I looked incredibly fucking hot, though I say it myself; I knew because, on the way there, I had employed every reflective surface to constantly confirm that fact to myself. Slender black heels. Black stockings. Tight arse-and-thigh-hugging black skirt. Crisp white blouse. Beautifully tailored black jacket. Sleek black hair. My make-up was perfect; eyes dark; cheeks subtly rouged; lips deep red. As I spoke, his eyes became fixed on my teeth, my perfectly imperfect teeth. Was he imagining - as I knew others before him had - that the slender gap between the central incisors was perhaps a promise of a slender gap elsewhere on my anatomy? Though always self-conscious of it, I had never had it fixed, had always understood it was inexorably linked to my self-image. My gap was me. It singled me out. Gave me an edge. As a psychologist, I had never dared examine its significance too closely in case I corrupted its intrinsic magic. I simply accepted that, whatever the psychology behind it, my gap drove men fucking wild.

'Yes. I'm conducting research and hoped you might be able to spare a few moments.'

'What sort of research?'

'It's of a...' I glanced around the almost empty carriage then back into his reluctant face, 'sexual nature. Would you be able to help?'

Reluctance turned to drooling obsequence.

'Yeah. Fire away.'

I instantly had him by the balls. As he quietly answered the increasingly intimate questions, freely revealing the frequency and audacity of his sex life, he fucked me in his head, stripped me naked and had me right there inside the carriage. He rammed it in my mouth, in both cunt and arse, then spunked on my pert young tits and licked it off. And it wasn't one sided. I was incredibly turned on and - without flexing a single sexual muscle - became his most willing virtual participant. The last question came way too soon.

'How often do you masturbate? Is it...' 

His answer was immediate and without the slightest hint of bravado.

'Every day. At least once. Sometimes as many as four or five, depending on how much time I have.'

I giggled conspiratorially.

'If you'd let me finish! It was multiple choice. I'll circle "Once per day".'

'But it's usually more than that.'

'Perhaps so, but that's the highest given option. The designer of the questionnaire obviously never imagined anyone with your sexual voracity.'

He sniffed.

'Really? That's rubbish! Who designed it?'

Eyes lowered, I bit my pencil then drawled.

'Me, Jake. It was me.'

Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus - extremely generously, I feel - nine further stories in 'Measuring up', my latest collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.

Measuring up: part 1. A naughty story in four parts to kick the year off with a bang!

The rule's coldness was reflected in its steely-grey prismatic perfection. Engraved meticulously along its length, black incremental notches numbered in unerring sequence, offered me simple yet particularly mind-boggling data. 9. No more; no less. 

Of course, I had heard rumour of such prodigious appendages, though this was the first I had personally encountered. I stared at the markings on my measuring stick and manhandled the young man's manhood once more to better align the two equally stiff rods. Knowing both would be affected by my immediate presence, I held them lightly and infrequently, thus introducing as little error as possible, though knew error would indeed be incurred. On the one hand, as the metal rule warmed, it expanded, thus underestimating the throbbing object aligned with it; on the other hand, my every touch pumped a greater volume of blood into the fleshy rod and hence created a greater length. Similarly, both expanded if I breathed on them, though the physical processes that caused the expansion were dissimilar: heat caused the particles in the rule to vibrate more vigorously, thus pushing them further apart and making the metal expand; in the penis's case, though the effect of my warm exhalation was the same, the cause of its expansion was of an entirely different and rather circuitous nature. As my breath caressed his genitals, I knew the man imagined me taking his member between my lips; the thought created excitement - a release of chemicals, a quickening of the heart - that was further manifested in his already painfully swollen flesh. In layman's terms, the thought I might suck him off turned him on. Indeed, it turned me on too. In response to my arousal, I breathed more heavily, and hence his cock swelled even more. It was a loop within a loop.

After dipping my head, ostensibly to better read the rule, I fumbled with the twin rods once more and scratched my pencil on my chart. 9.3. In addition to data collecting, I was conducting a series of impromptu queries that were not strictly within my remit:

How much bigger could this fucker get?

How much closer dare I get?

And,

Do its length and my mouth's proximity demonstrate any mathematical correlation?

'Everything okay?'

His voice was a husky whisper. My response was similarly strained.

'Yes, fine.' I cleared my throat. 'Just making sure I'm reading the length correctly. It keeps..,' Dipping my head again, I squinted at the rule and pursed my lips. At this distance I could smell his precum before it actually appeared., 'it keeps changing.'

The glistening liquid suddenly oozed from his peeping slit. A dewy drop formed on his tip then slowly lowered itself on a silken thread and settled on his naked thigh. While the thread remained extant, a tiny pool spread out across his hairless skin till it reached the size of an unfurled, unused condom. We watched it together, tacitly and reverently, both transfixed by the obscene beauty. Handing him a tissue, I smiled coyly.

'You're not going to...'

The dabbing tissue both severed the thread and broke the spell. He shook his head.

'No, not unless you...'

Temptation was driving me, though professionalism had her foot on the brake. At that moment, both were in perfect balance. Despite my hot and sticky body, I shivered.

Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus - extremely generously, I feel - nine further stories in 'Measuring up', my latest collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.