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Virgin Kiss

Posted on October 5, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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VIRGIN KISS

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Virgin kiss was when our lips first met
Mine were glossed with peach and ever so wet
Yours were parted with a grin
And, the newness of an encounter would begin
First time with someone new is full of the nervous tension in the air
Girlish giggle came from me
Even at my age, which is far from a teen
You had this nervous motion of your hands patting together in a quickened beat
Virgin kiss was a series of light pecks against one another
Almost with the butterflies in our stomachs swirling inside of us
My arms embraced you with mature expression of lust
You turned from unsure youth to a man of capability on display
Virgin kiss always starts that way
Quintessence fades
Yet, there is a purity
A new touch
A new exploration of nude flesh
My body isn’t a tightly wound band of rubber anymore
Neither was his, as I grabbed his love handles as we walked through the bedroom door
Youth may be heralded in some kingdoms of desire
But, virgin kiss began the culmination of a pair of experienced sojourners
Maturity has it’s benefits
And, for those of us who enjoy the rewards of a tender glide of a hand
This is where I let my soft kisses land
Tenderly………………..

Virgin Kiss

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Rush

Posted on August 31, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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RUSH

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Rush of the shower-head’s pulsation
Rush of your body against mine
The tiles in that shower are aqua blue
And, the touch of your hands is getting me high
Fingers in an out of every soft spot of mine
As I kiss your lips, they feel quite divine
Rush of blood to my head and yours
That growing friend down below is coming alive once more
Rush of my arms around your neck and my legs around your back
Water’s rush begins to pulsate faster and faster
Silky blond strands of hair upon my shoulders
Dark brown of yours is soaked with water, too
Rush into me anytime, my darling
As we take a long, hot shower together, our hearts and souls will be snarling
Rush, baby, rush….!!!!

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Rush

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Holly & Matt

Posted on August 24, 2011 by A.H.Scott

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DAWN

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Dawn seemed to spin forward so fast
Laying my head against your chest
Strands of my hair rested gently
You whispered a few words as we laid there
Morning’s rising, as was your junior partner
Oh, I feel something beneath the sheets
My fingers tiptoe down past your nipples and towards that rising tide
Ah, the man wants a little before dawn delight
Yes, you whispered and I winked at ya
Placing my hand beneath the sheet, I see you are ever so happy
I slide atop you and we bounce about a bit
My hair rolls around bare shoulders as I look down at you
Your fingers play a sort of seductive violin move around my nipples as I move
Closing my eyes, I begin to sigh as you start to thrust upward slightly
Your body against mine feels so damned good
We’re moving in unison like a bolt and screw
Oh, I can’t resist this joy
I love being your favorite toy
Opening my eyes and gazing into your eyes
Making love is so intoxicating
We are the ones getting ourselves high
You pull yourself upward in a slight motion
We’re facing one another and in an embrace of erotic entrapment
Arms here and there
Lips nibbling my ear, as you kiss me there and there
Boom!
It’s divine to feel all you give me
Every inch, every kiss, every touch, every whisper
Placidity is never around, when we’re together
Our bodies crashed downward onto that mattress for about another half hour

I know our time together is brief
I didn’t want you to leave so soon
You’ve got a plane to catch before ten
I’ve always known you are a man with obligations near and far
Sun cracks like a yolk preparing to bring about a sizzle
When you are with me, you really are all here
Not just in the flesh, but your mind is wrapped completely around me
As you dress and stand before the hallway mirror, I stand nearby and smile
I have a lover of such warmth and compassion in you
Before you walk out my door, there is one thing for sure
There is nothing simple about you, my love
Your complex nature is the magnet that keeps me stuck in love with you
I’m only wearing a blue nightshirt that I wore from the night before
Your hands squeeze my bottom in a secure way
I bite my bottom lip with a hint of blushing
You know how to get to me, even as you’re going
Taking me in your arms so tightly, your lips press passionately against mine
Farewell shall never leave our lips
Let’s just say, dawn’s here and see ya’ over the rainbow, darling one…..

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A.H. Scott

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Self-Portrait 2011

Posted on August 14, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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CHANCE

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Taking a chance is winking at a sexy man
Knowing the chance will pay off is when he winks back
You might not be exactly his type
But fate is a fickle tickle
Especially when it’s more than just your body that can raise his pickle
Beyond the flesh, he sees you as something more than just nice assets
Of course, it’s primal when he sees you walk across the room
Yet, nothing is that simple in life
If you were as dumb as a tree stump with great rack and shapely back
He might have you once in a while
But, then again, when the sweaty tangle is over, will a conversation be allowed
Taking a chance is throwing yourself open to a new interaction
It can even be one that you would never imagine
Arousal and amusing him is the trick
If you can get a man hard and make him laugh, then you’ve really got something
Chance is going out on a limb with him
Chance is knowing you might not be the only petal in his bouquet
But, better to be a treasured petal, than just to shy away
Chance is taking stock of your own worth
You know what you have to offer is priceless to him
He enjoys your intellect as much as your lovely body
Taking a chance is what life is all about
Chance is a key that unlocks your happiness
And, that is why I’m penning this poem right now
Chance is mine
And, I’ve taken it, with crossed fingers and an open heart…

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Self Portrait 2011

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Eclipse 1

Posted on August 2, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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Nude alongside him
I felt like a half moon kissing the setting sun
My eyes were closed and he asked me to open them
When I did, I melted beneath the gaze of his affection
He was so warm and wanting on this bed of desire we’d made
Smell of sweat and ecstasy filled the room
Silky left thigh rested atop his
I ran my fingers along his handle of love on the right side
He chuckled as I touched him, like a little kitten with a fluffy toy
Reaching behind my back, his hand reached those buns of joy
Now, I chuckled as a few pats of a melody began to play
Ocean blue was within view, as this house rested along the beach
Dusk made an alliance with a few stars in the sky
I started to tingle with every tap of that hand against my asset
Yet, he began to squeeze me like an accordion
Oh, being played ever so lightly by a man of sexual delight was nice
My body rolled away from this melody that he played and kiss him ever so lightly
I placed my hands on either side of his cheeks and cradled his face with my palms
We saw each other, bare and raw
In this moment, I wanted him inside of me
Nothing less, nothing more
Muscles on his body were well toned with care
Having him holding me in his arms made me quite aware
I laid beneath him, as he penetrated more than my flesh
He interrogated my soul with every insertion
My arms became like ropes holding him in place atop of me
Tighter and tighter I held on to him
Painted nails and fingertips left tiny impressions on this sensual swath of clay in my midst
He opened my carnal canal like a Gondolier along a waterway in Venice
Barely able to contain myself, I whispered something in his ear
“Stay”
A single word took his breath away
Inside of me he came
Like channeling a book title from Jacqueline Susann, “Once Is Not Enough”
Enough was never enough for a pair of passionate souls as we are
We made love until the morning sun began to ripen
I’d always thought it was just a passing fancy for he and I
Eclipse of doubt left through the billowing curtains and onward out to sea

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Eclipse 2

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Self Portrait - Webbcam #1, 2011

Posted on August 1, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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FLIRT

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Sometimes we know when we are doing it
Sometimes we may not
But, a batting eyelash is one sign
Another is her smile
She may not be a perfect vision of loveliness
Yet, she sure has style
Flirt if you can
Be it a woman or a man
She’s got a nice rack
He’s got a bulge in his pants
Each knows the dance of seduction as they take each other’s hand
As long as we are above ground
Let the flirt of your soul come to the forefront
Hey, we ain’t getting an younger

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Self-Portrait - Webcam #2, 2011

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Film Still - Stairs 1

Posted on July 30, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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STAIRS

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Going up
Going down
Stairs are there as we all move around
Tanned legs in high heels rise upward
Warm mouth tastes the thighs of her temptation
Stairwells have an isolating quality to them
Tanya found out with surprising results
In her apartment building in NYC
She exited the elevator with Arthur and they went into the stairwell
Manicured hands upon chipped paint on the red staircase held on tightly
Pink skirt hiked above hips and red lipstick on those luscious lips sighed
Arthur grunted with every motion inside of Tanya
She knew it was naughty and didn’t care
Even if the old prudes in the building decided to enter the stairwell and stare

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Film Still - Stairs 2

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Film Still - Stairs 3

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Film Still - Stairs 4

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Being banged in a semi-private place was so much of a thrill
Their bodies writhed and Arthur continued to drill
Crumpled as each came to their conclusion
Tanya and Arthur rested against the carpeted stairs beneath them
A few moments passed and she adjusted her skirt and blue shirt
For him, he buttoned up his shirt and zipped his trousers
Sounds of a dog-walker coming up the stairs with their furry clients came about
The naughty pair exited the stairwell and went to their apartment
They could have done the same thing at home
But, sometimes it’s oh so nice to let your raunchy side roam…

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Art Work by Robert Asman - 2011

Posted on July 29, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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……….Eroticism is one thing that makes my pulse race. The other is politics. Oh, don’t get me started on the dysfunction that the pampered politicians have created. Asman’s image was mind-bending and thought provoking. President Obama should be like Tyson and throw a single punch to the Tea Party and knock them the hell out. But, that would be too right a thing for him to do, right? LOL

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Okay, I’ll be serious about it. If the debt ceiling was raised time and time again the past, what is so different now? Hmmm, could it be because his opponents think this President is a man who can be steamrolled? I guess so. But, I hope they can come to some kind of compromise.

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Burnt Ash and Blood

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COBBLE

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Cantor holds a tiny dagger behind the Speaker’s back
Obama is trying to be peacemaker, but he’s gotta be Ali
Boehner is torn between two t’s – Tea Party & Tanning
Bachman has that twinkle of chaos in her eyes
Lawmakers on the Hill act so damned shrill and infantile
Eagerly paid lobbyists and think tank brains laugh and shuck
C.O.B.B.L.E, one and all they are with America’s economy
House, Senate, White House will always have their paychecks in hand
As for the rest of society, we’ve gotta make a plan
You see, either way the debate may go
Elderly, poor and the humbled masses will be cast aside on their asses
Unless you’ve got a private jet
Your future will be up in the air
USA is turning into Lewis Carroll world today
Black is white,
Rich is poor
The rest of us are just decimal points on treasury’s ledger
Stack away your dollars beneath a mattress of tears
New Deal and Great Society in the crosshairs
Yet, Tea Party-poopers act like Alfred E. Newman
“What, Me Worry?” in their frozen stares
Of course they don’t
They win whether or not there is a deal or not
Without a deal, they can say they are the hero for the common man
With a deal, they can say we brought ‘em to their knees
Either way, they come out smelling like roses
Seeds of destruction that they have planted will blossom in bitterness and destruction
Bathing an American public in burnt ash and blood
Bailouts for Wall Street, who needs not a penny
Foreclosures for Main Street, who needs help but doesn’t get any
Union crushing and austerity rising
No wonder America is in a crisis
And, the band played on…..

– A.H. Scott
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Hole in the Heart of the Dollar

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About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Gaddafi With Female Bodyguard

Posted on April 3, 2011 by Tony Ward

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Artwork by Rebekah Boyer

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……….Recent events involving U.S. foreign policy reminds me of the testimony General Colin Powell provided before the U.N. General Assembly, justifying the reasons why America was on the precipice of going to war with Iraq. Behind the scenes, the Pentagon was putting the finishing touches on the infamous “Shock and Awe” attack, as our military leaders prepared to rain havoc on the Iranian people. Our government referred to those human beings as “military targets”. There were fancy graphs, satellite photos and the honorable word of our highly respected, highest ranking military official pleading the case for bombing one of the oldest civilizations on Earth. As soon as the bombs dropped – the priceless antiquities of the nations museums were looted and scattered all over the world. Part of the fall out of War.

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It appears as though our government intelligence agencies have learned little from our experience in Iraq. At least we were not alone this time around; several nations committed to stepping in to the political quicksand – surprisingly France and England voted in favor of Security Council Resolution 1973. Germany smartly abstained from the vote. In War hindsight is 20/20.

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Now it appears from news reports – as little as 1500 “rebel” soldiers caused an uprising that committed our nation to add $40,000,000. dollars per week of tax payer funds: to a new war effort that is clearly fabulously flawed, while on Capital Hill our legislators are figuring out ways to cut spending while millions of Americans continue to lose their homes. Something is wrong with this picture of the American dream. As Marvin Gaye used to say: “War Is Not The Answer – For Only Love Can Conquer Hate”.

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Artwork By Mikel Elam

Posted By Mikel Elam

I am getting sick and tired of the blatant attempt to undermine Barack Obama’s intelligence and leadership abilities. Basically he walked into a problem created by the previous administration. Everyone now expects him to solve every problem within one and a half years. I think it’s unfair and I know many will not be able to understand this next statement. Some of it is racially motivated. Probably coming from many who don’t think they are racist. It’s like the comment ,”I am not a racist, some of my best friends are black or latino etc, and yet these “friends” really aren’t so much in their lives.
The art represents Obama in a box. The box is getting smaller and smaller trying to squeeze the life out of him. People are taking shots at him. In this case it’s the splatter from paint balls.(I hope nothing worse ever happens) They take shots at him like comparing him to Hitler and calling him a communist, socialist……the list goes on.

Invisible One

So many forget he is a black and white president and he represents the face of real America in the 21st century. Not the confederate flag waving, wishing it would go back to the old days of whites getting to sit and Blacks standing in the back of the bus mentality.
Yes this country is in financial trouble. I am in financial trouble. So in fact I represent someone who should be angry with the status quo. However I recognize where the problems started and no one seems to be holding that person and their administration accountable for past actions.
Its an unfair practice. A selfish act of aggression without thought. Again this reminds me of the times when a person of color opened their mouth only to have a gun placed there to shut them up. Make them disappear.

Invisible Two

Recently I created a series of portraits .Men of color from around the world. I have entitled the series “Invisible” based somewhat on Ralph Ellison’s great novel,”The Invisible Man” who writes about living in a society where we co-exist with others who want us to stay away unless they need us for servitude.
Obama is a reminder to everyone we are not going back to the days of the settling fathers. And thankfully he is very visible.