Erotic Poetry

Poem: Shouting Encouragement

He’s all rage and anger bellowing like a warcry at her
behind the starting line; shaking with vocal effort
like he’s trying to give it audibly to her while she shuffles uneasy
before the gunshot.

I don’t know who is more nervous,
her behind the line, or me next to him;
his voice so loud, so vein throbbing intense
I worry he’ll spittle and turn to me and snap me in half
over his knee like a broken twig
maybe like he is going to claim her when her race finishes
in a fury of red faced joy fueled by that screaming so powerful
it can only be born from anger,
and when she celebrates in his spinning arms will they go home
fucking hard his violence received like inspiration and sweat.

Maybe I’m not nervous at all but jealous.

Jocelyn's Corner

One of the best erotica public sex books ever?

Maybe. I published my newest books, “Backdoor public master loving my tennis brat girlfriend on amazon and WIDE this week. It flew through the approval process and even made it into romance and not the EROTICA category! I’m hoping there will be some good exposure and a lot of purchases. I’ve had 1 so far. Yay! That is $2.47 in my pocket that is worth it. But, Jocelyn, you’re saying, what about the $3.99 price tag. Well, dear reader, AMazon takes that cut, the sales platforms get their share.

I know. Bummer.

I’m a big fan of the story. Floyd and Sandy make a good couple. I think their story is finished, but we could probably take it on tour around the country as Sandy gets better and better at tennis and starts competing on the road. Floyd can follow her around fucking her in the ass in public while she’s signing autographs. THat would be hilarious. Like, “uhm, ah, sorry, I’m just not OHMYGOD! not feeling well right now” to the confused stares of the men asking for her to sign something. Haha, what they don’t know is that under the table or something Floyd is plumbing her butt.

Check it out! Great book good stuff.

Worked today on Billy’s story. Got a good scene in with his teacher Miss Mullins. They had some “real sex” that was different from the string of one night stands and quickies he’s been displaying for most of the book. Ahh, I miss the Hill family. Billy makes me think of my first boyfriend; all brash and stupid, but cute. Not dumb dumb, like book dumb, just clueless. I guess we all are at that age, but some are just, hmmmm, dense.

Erotic Poetry

Poem: Alison Hill’s Journal – “Ambrosia”

Drinking it is like the idea of rain coating your skin without the film
and sticky mix of sweat and dirt pinching hair follicles you didn’t know about,
but without all that, Ambrosia was like the rain you imagine when
you’re making out with a boy and the world lights up even with your eyes
closed, and you’re so startled you think you’re having a stroke, open up,
and see skin too close to focus on – then his hand is on your back, your breast,
and your heart is thumping against his palm you’re sure he can feel it through
his bones.

It is like the whispered kiss right before he kisses your clit,
feeling the hot breath those milliseconds of anticipation cresting
and hot, tingling, and terrible, then gone to pleasure like water boiling
the moment it hits the pan.

It is like the blanket your mom puts over you while you shiver with fever,
like the bowl next to your bed to throw up in when you’re stuck in bed,
like the hand rubbing your back while you tremble in fear hallucinating terror

Drinking it is like holding Brooke’s hand, letting her pull you with a smile,
a twist, and her arms beckoning for a hug. It is like swimming in water
so perfect on a humid hot day that you don’t mind the splashing chill.

It is divinity licking your tongue, sliding past like a welcome prayer answered,
and boiling blood to fire, to life, to lust without pain.



This poem is in honor of “Outside Lust” going wide from Amazon. Check it out now.

Jocelyn's Corner

Outside lust is going wide

As my erotica books get out of the Kindle unlimited contract I’m bringing them wide! Did you know that lust is over 30,000 words! It is a long piece of work. Yikes! I did a lot of writing for it over the course of a month and worked in three different stories.

Alison goes back to the dreaded vampire hideaway, engaging in some more exciting paranormal sex. She hooks up with a pack of shifters and is blown away by what she sees and does. Expect another round of Ambrosia to wash the pain away!

Billy heads out to the graveyard. If you’ve read any of my books after November, you’ll be familiar with this in world place. Four more books visited the same place, but didn’t know why all the graves had been turned out in large dirt piles and holes. Read Billy’s story for some exciting rear end action and his skull smashing excitement from a seance gone wrong.

Jessica and Will join their friends trick or treating around the neighborhood, but like a good married couple can’t keep their hands off each other. They sneak away behind a row of bushes and doft their clothes like two nudist tricks craving the other’s treat.

I love the book!

You should find it was no surprise that it was a sales flop, disaster, ignored. I think it is because I wrote it like an erotica, but titled it like a romance. Oops. You can see a turn in titles and form after that. I made my titles more explicit and the covers less artsy.

Anyway, it is going wide! YAY. I’m putting it in draft2digital today, and updated some stuff on amazon. It is one of the books that’ll be included on my patreon unlimited for $50.00 bundle once the rest of my KU prison opens up. I’ll have everything available for download by September! Yay!


Poem: Feeling Fireworks

Fireworks are blasting in the sky, booming
loud over the lake, the field, and I’m wondering
if that is what, at a microscopic scale, what is happening
in my womb when you cum inside me.

Maybe not with the volume, well, maybe your shouts,
and maybe not with the spray of colors, or the sheer
range of type, but sometimes I feel that alive, tingled,
awakened, and enraptured by the spawning lights
like I’m staring into your cringing eyes when you eek
out your cum inside me.

I think I hug you, after, like a dad hugs his daughter on the
blanket in the grass while the loud bangs burst her drums.

I think I’m snuggling you in like the daughter hides her face
in her dad’s belly frightened from the shattering force,
the incessant blasts, that are nothing like, yet strangely similar
to the blasts she’ll someday get.

Fireworks and grills, burning and beer, and later,
we’ll fuck, celebrating a day off, or independence.


I wrote today

Got Sandy in another public place, and I think I’m getting better at this “writing sex” thing. My scene was less about the action play by play and more about the scenario: fucking in a movie theater.

Their emotions are amping up to high levels because they are on borrowed time. I’m not going to give the ending away, but it is a great scene full of emotion, sorrow and worried thoughts.

I’m wondering how to bundle this book together. Should I lump it in with the two preceeding novels to make it a bundle, or should i release it as a standalone?

Right now i’m pushing over 30,000 words and it is just about finished. Were I to add the other two stories it would be about 50,000 words!  A proper novel!


Jocelyn's Corner

Morning writing

I do my best work in the morning. Not when I’m at work, supposed to be doing something else, or late in the evening after I’m spent with wine or dinner, or effort spent doing other things. Or fatigue. Fuck that.

My best work comes when I’m fresh in the morning.

Honestly, I didn’t know I had a limit, a fill line that made me max out on productivity. I think it is getting bigger as time goes on, but with all the things I do in a day, the less I have energy to write well at the end.

Like a glass full, it eventually empties, and then tomorrow its full when I rise. Thanks sleep.

Erotic Poetry

Poem: Wearing Masks

Make up, eyeshadow, eyeliner, lipstick,
like highlights in dark hair kissed by sun or dye,
like a closeup of an artist’s paint looks like broad strokes of
arbitrary white, or cream, but back up enough and the size becomes lifelike,
real; better.

I’m wearing enough that I don’t feel like the master artist
dabbing the precise brush against canvas, but like
the stage slop spinster bucketing with wild sloshes
like “modern art” on my face.

He doesn’t seem to notice either way; naked face,
or painted.
But his smile that one day lingered, lasted longer than it should
meeting my eye, smiling our secret connection, and deadpan
voice asking me a question while he left, and I’m wearing that same
covering again, hoping.


Erotic Poetry

Poem: Alison Hill’s journal – “Yoga Sex”

He’s flexing like a construction crane,
twisting the same moves I’ve seen on videos that
gymnastics taught me I could do over years stretching.

Am I showing off with more confidence because he’s
the squad’s tutor, cause they all see him as a geeky loser?
Squeeky voice imagined cause with me he’s all strong
and limber, flexing me above, below him like a lumber-

Down dog, up dog, forward fold, SURPRISE!
He’s in mountain and I’m bent over, but he’s stabbed me
though and though me, like a plumber cleaning pipes
and then we’re tangled, plank and corpse pose, rolled me over
and moaning not from held position sweat but moving
undulations like cobra, chaturanga, and side plank: flowing.

He’s strong like the steel I beams craned to the tower top
flopping skin slapping thighs like drumbeats and winches-
unyielding, but i’m bending, and spending loud words shouting
the summit, the climax, the building and he’s flowing.

Jocelyn's Corner

Writing after the weekend

When routine is interrupted writing suffers. I did not do my writing any favors this weekend while on vacation. Instead of the typical production, prolificness, and flurry of typing and words this weekend I got a total of 1,000 words sputtered out.

At least today I got 3,000 in. I moved Sandy and Floyd into the hotel room, gave them some explosive rounds and then am in the process of destroying their love. I hate doing it and am fighting doing it, pushing them further and furher into resolution.

I’m about to hi 30,000 in their story; I might wrap it up soon. We’ll see.

Erotic Poetry

Poem: Lovers Fights

How do you fight with someone you love,
not intending to hurt them, but win,
have your side shown firm, strong, but not inflicting
wounds that won’t heal.

Is it strong words and name calling?
twisted skin during sex with bite makes and claws?
Maybe climax denial when you pull out and blast me
before I have a chance to finish and you know it.



Writing at night

I’m writing at night because my days are full.


Poem: Alison Hill’s Journal “In a dorm room”

His strength doesn’t show like a painting, at first,
more like a stroke color shown pressing your nose against the canvas.

He doesn’t mince words like the jocks scorn, or
like Matthew hedged falses and lies to make me feel better.

His strength is both the long stretches in down dog,
plank, and chaturanga, holding firm narrow arms that don’t
look like they can easily lift me onto his crotch, or
pull me tight while he pushes into me; even when I’m
fighting to flee.

He wasn’t the first to enter me, but he was the first
in my butt, knowing before I did how much I wanted it
and taking, what I offered like a
direct line to satisfaction.


Removed from posting

I’m not posting any updates to steemit anymore. I’m not doing anything drastic. I got a good 30 words in today. I’m hoping I’ll have more time tonight to write longer. I’m working on finishing Floyd and Sandy’s story.

Erotic Poetry

Poem: Alison Hill’s Journal – Tutor Geek

Like a fisherman surprised by catching a walleye,
I got hooked by the tutor nerd’s finger up my skirt,
probed my ass with his calculator fingers,  and
slobbered his water bottle wet tongue against my crotch
until I came on trembling legs, bending knees into his wirey
strength in the glow of a stairwell safety light.

Practicing flirting on a stone faced geek shouldn’t
have born such satisfying fruit, but he worked me
like I pushed him, cashing in my cleavage and shoulder
touches like I taunted him to; why would I be surprised when
he finally took me like I was offering him.

Why should I be surprised now, at home, to know
that i liked it; that he is cute?


Jocelyn's Corner

Working on latest tennis book.

Working on Sandy and Floyd’s final book. Over 20,000 words, and now they’re at her dorm room, having a reunion.  Got 2,000 words in. Excited! Yay! Reminds me of my own school experiences with a few embellishments. I’m not going to give Sandy the dirty clothes on the ground treatment like my roommates endured.

Erotic Poetry

Poem: Hot Dad

That different shirt, the slicked hair fresh out of shower,
creamed by product and a brush so fine it makes each strand
look like a line of promises I want to make so he’ll kiss me.

I’m foolish and fumbling feeling his heat so close
to my legs uncovered by these short shorts.
His wedding ring blinds me like a wall, a gap, i know I’ll never breech.

Maybe it is the sun-kissed streaks that show up even when wet,
or the way his stubble is darker than his eyebrows, or how
his biceps are flexing into his shirtsleeves (he’ll tell me later good arms
aren’t from biceps but from triceps and that’s why all the “boys” look so weird).

He’s gone after a looking me in the eye and smiling, not saying
goodbye, but lingering his gaze like he wants me to suck him,
to stare at him while riding, but he leaves, chaste, like he wasn’t here
at all, and we’re all blushing and silent now that he’s gone.

Jocelyn's Corner

Adios to my personal blog. Value or nothing.

I think the blog is going to die. I have no readers in 7 months. Virtually none. No traffic, no purchases, nothing. My newsletter/mailing list is empty but for 7 people. The blog is done. I’m finished with it. I did a good run; I tried. The effort to continue seems dumb.

I’ll focus my efforts on putting out books instead, and only providing some real value here.

Expect poetry to continue, because I’m passionate about it. Daily posting has diminished my brand, reduced my drive to write more (because I’m spending effort here), and has not paid off at all like I’d hoped.

It isn’t about me; it is about you, the reader. I’ll write more books, and you can get the benefits in that fashion.

Good luck dear readers!

Erotic Poetry

Poem: How she hates me

Her eyes look away from me like sliding off ice sculptures,
avoiding my voice, my words with red faced rage contained
so obviously like a teenager I’m almost laughing.

Obviously, I don’t like being hated, but find a perverse
pleasure in how much and how blanant her distaste is;
is it my hair, my legs, my breasts, or face? My words?

Maybe it is how you come and hug me, wrap arms
around my waist while i’m perching up on tip toes
to get my arms enough around your neck to kiss.

I hated some that age too,
who were hugged and loved by boys
I wanted to love me, but didn’t, didn’t even see me.

Jocelyn's Corner

Do you need to build an author platform? What does that mean?

I listen to a lot of podcasts. You might do it too. There are plenty of podcasts out there with interviews of successful authors, and while not everything applies to an erotica author, most of the information does.  One of the interviews today was talking to an author that had a youtube site, and then used that audience to promote her latest books. She grew her audience over the course of a year, while working full time, wrote her book, and released to success because she put the hard work into creating her brand.

Her main point was that not everyone is going to have the success that she did without already having an audience. When pressed with questions on what new authors needed to do to be as successful as she was she answered with this:

“Build your author platform, and then sell to that audience. Don’t talk about yourself, give them what they want; entertainment, information, value.”

Looking at my posts, I see that I’m often just blathering about my story and me, using the blog and steemit as a soapbox to yell about my own travails. No one cares. Really, they don’t want to read about me, me, me, all the time, and I was wrong to think they, you, would.

her interview reminded me that writing isn’t about me, it is about you, the reader. Are YOU getting value, entertainment, or something out of what I’m writing?

So, as we go forward, I’ll be doing my best to provide the reader with value of some kind! I know it is a little more difficult on a daily basis, but at least I’m going to make a go of it.

Today’s “value?” Do the hard slow work of giving your audience what they want. I write erotica; so I’m going to give the sex. I do that with daily poems about fucking, and excerpts from my latest writing that doesn’t give too much away.  I’m also going to be discussing aspects of the writing process, and publishing, which I’ve done with Scrivener, and other things.

Your author platform is the base on which you’ve built an audience. For instance if I had a loyal engaged following on steemit or on this blog, that commented on my poems, on my blogs, then I would have a platform to stand on and sell my books to. That has worked to a small degree, and I’ve found that people that read one or two of my books tend to go deep and read them all. There aren’t MANY that do, but those that are read them all. That tells me my covers are bad, and I’m not selling directly to my niche enough. I need a wider platform to stand on to be more noticed and read.


Here is a snippet of today’s prose in Floyd and Sandy’s story:

As always I was captivated how my cock looked pushing into her butt; it was wrong. The dick should be in her pussy, flared wide like a fleshy hug, and the brown “o” ring should be staring at me like a cyclops. Instead I was crammed between her straining ass cheeks, buried up her tightest hole while she moaned and gasped.
“Fuck! Floyd! It is so big; it fills me up so much, but it feels so fucking good.” Sandy moaned, leaning her tits on the white porcelain sink, “fuck my ass. Fuck me!”
“God you look so hot taking my dick!” I said, “your ass is so fucking tight, so fucking good. I want to fuck you forever. Always! I love it so much! Ugh!” I said, slapped her ass then clung to her hips for leverage.
I railed into her butt, slammed full into it losing my shaft in the process, and started sweating.
Sandy’s orgasm blossomed fast, and her legs started shaking, she dipped her head into the sink, and went white knuckled on the sink lip. She flailed her knees like she couldn’t keep her hips up right, and her asshole started shaking with quivering climax. Her cries of pleasure were loud and filled the small space with discordant echos.
“Yes! Yes! I’m cummiing! Oooooh!” She let out loud.
“Oh god! I’m cumming too! Ahhhhh!” I said, letting my spunk blast into her willing ass.
I clung to her hips like I was riding a wild bull, and pumped my orgasm deep inside her.
“Ahh! No! Stop! Ahhhh!” Sandy yelled in shock.
Somehow she’d turned the water faucet on, and the sink was shooting her head with water.
She tried to back up but impaled her ass deeper on my cock. I was cumming and clung to her harder riding the last spasms of my own orgasm.
“MMm! Ahhhhaaaahh! No, stop, Oh god!” Sandy said, finally getting free of the sink, dripping water over her face and laughing.
“I’m covered in water!” She said.
I couldn’t help but laugh, and when I pulled out of her butt cum splattered on the floor and her calves.
“Oh! Now I’m covered in cum too! Help!”
I doubled over laughing, and looked around only seeing a hand dryer and no towels.
“Oh shit, that’s funny. I’m sorry; look there’s no towels.” I said.
“Toilet paper! Help!” She was shaking her hands in the air like she didn’t want to touch anything, and held her leg at an awkward angle so as to not have my cum slide down to her socks and shoes.
“Here, here.”
“Oh god, Its everywhere and my hair!”
We cleaned up, and Sandy used the dryer to get her hair under control. She gave me a few playful slaps on the shoulder, but laughed about it when I recounted my view; I had started cumming the moment she turned the water on, and couldn’t do anything while I was enraptured by spurting up her butt. God I loved her, and how willing she was to open her puckered little butt for me.
“Think anyone is going to be waiting for us to get out?” She said before we left the public bathroom.
“Oh god, I hope not.”
Her eyes went wide.
“Do you think there is like a line for the bathroom?” she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh no! They’re going to see us going out together and they’re going to freak out!”
I smiled huge.
“You’re the exhibitionist; I’m just doing this because it turns you on.” I raised my eyebrows. “I think you’re going to beg me to fuck you again if there is a crowd of people waiting when we get out and they all see you and me together. They’ll know we fucked for sure.”
“Oh god! Stop!” She said, horrified, but laughing too.
“We’ll never know until we do,” I said, and pushed the door open into the blinding light.
There was a crowd, and a short line for the bathroom, but there were four different ones to choose from so we hadn’t hogged the only one. Small comfort against the stern disapproval the three moms with kids glared at us while we left. Sandy was all blushing and red faced looking at the floor. She muttered a hurried apology to no one in particular and dragged me away as fast as I could.
I couldn’t help but grin like an imbecile. I’d just fucked the sexiest teenage girl in the ass at a public bathroom while random people had to wait for me to finish cumming inside her breathtaking ass. Jealous women. I almost laughed, but had the decency to hurry after my much much younger girlfriend.