Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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She is red lace

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She is all curves and soft skin.

A dark tempest of hair

and eyes the color of a stormy sea.

She is red lace

against pale skin,

chaste yet wanton.

The juxtaposition

of innocence and sin.

Good girl and bad girl.

A contrast that

bewitches him

beguiles him

and entices him

to unravel the enigma

that is her.

:

*Not a new post but something reminded me of it so here it is again.

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken by sirensong1208


16 Comments

In the blink of an eye

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Where does the time go?

It flies as though it has wings. 

16 years have come and gone.  Milestones have been achieved, mountains have been scaled and conquered.

And yet, as a parent it is those first moments of meeting that seem to have carved themselves into my memory, and into my heart. 

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Sweet and spirited and smart as a whip, even from those first moments, I could not believe that I had created such a creature.  I felt incredibly blessed.  I still do.

This child, the multi-voweled one friends would call her, her Irish name unusual for this part of the world, she stole my heart the moment she looked at me.  She knew me as I knew her.  Nine months of her hearing my voice, of my feeling her kicks.  Of her knowing my heart beat as her lullaby. 

They never really tell you that when you become a parent that your heart will be forever outside of your chest.  That you will never view the world in the same way.  That your first priority, indeed your only priority, will be to make sure that the world is a better place for that child.  It changes you. 

I now look ahead to the last years before university, before she ventures out into the world on her own.  I see all of the changes, all of the lessons, the joy, the heartbreak, and I hope that I have given her the tools to forge a brave future for herself.  One that will bring her happiness and fulfilment. 

This past year has been challenging and I have never been more proud to say that I am her parent as I have been watching her navigate complicated choices that would have levelled others.  I don’t know what the future holds for her, but after watching the graceful and brave way she has conducted herself this past year, I know that she can handle anything.  She has always marched to the beat of her own drum and I know that that will never change.  She is fearless, even if she doesn’t think she is, and I am in awe of her. 

So to my beautiful first born I say Happy Sixteenth Birthday Sweets.  I’m so proud of you.  I love you beyond measure.

:

©SirenSong1208

Photographs personally owned by Sirensong1208

 

 

 


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Gossamer

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He sees her.

She is in repose.

She is all dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and elegant neck.

All of this and those breathtaking curves he adores.

He watches the rise and fall of her breasts, wanting to wake her yet wanting to devour her with his eyes.

She is a wild beauty captured by him, but untamed.

Her body is gilded with gossamer threads making her appear to be a fairy tale princess awaiting he who will awaken her to everything.

Her curves are draped in delicate netting, sheer but for the embroidered flowers their edges caressing the swell of her breasts.

He sighs in appreciation at the vision she presents.

His hungry gaze following the cut of the gown as it flares to show the satiny expanse of her bare belly before resting upon the silken triangle he is sure is his gateway to paradise.

He aches to plant a kiss along that delectable curve, the hollow of her navel, his lips following a sinful path to the most intimate part of her.

He breathes her in, closing his eyes, memorising her scent; his body anticipating her taste, knowing it will be burned into his mind, his senses, forever.

Wondering to himself, who has awakened who…

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©SirenSong1208

Photograph by sirensong1208


8 Comments

A Christmas Eve instruction

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Christmas Eve mass.

A time for reflection.

But for her

she was thinking of anything

but the birth of the baby Jesus.

She felt naughty

and alive

for she had been given instruction.

Her eyes danced with mischief.

Her secret

and his.

She knew he must have smiled

as he typed the words

wondering at her reaction

feeling a delicious tug

at the thought of her

doing as he had directed.

Up went her skirt

past the lace top thigh highs

dark against her pale thighs.

She tugged her black lace knickers down.

Off they came and down went the skirt

smoothed along her thighs.

Enjoying the feel of her naked skin and sex

against the skirt.

It was a first for her

and she found it a most delicious practice.

Every time she crossed her legs

every time she moved

she was aware of her bareness.

She thought of him each time

knew he would be pleased

and this aroused her

as pleasing him always did.

Going to church

would never be the same…

*This was first posted two years ago. At the time it caused a bit of a stir. Last year I added audio. It’s a favourite piece so I beg your indulgence once again.

©SirenSong1208


22 Comments

Blue

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Blue

my favourite colour

in a lacy sheath that caresses curves

concealing and revealing

elegantly.

Neither the pastel of sunwashed skies

nor the jeweled tone of a Caribbean sea

but rather the velvet dark of a star less night

when lovers’ promises hang in the air.

.

Blue

my evening’s colour

touched with candlelight

and the whisper

of suggestion

of sin.

Deeper than the ocean’s hue

and as bold and fathomless

as my desire

for you.

:

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


13 Comments

Revisiting a milestone

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Much can happen in a year.

I have never been afraid of getting older.  In fact, over the last few years I felt I had become a better version of myself.  In every way. I was finally comfortable in my own skin, confident in myself and what I knew I offered to those closest to me and to the world at large.

But this has been an extraordinarily hard year.  On many fronts.  And I feel it.  It’s taken its toll.  It seems I have been cast upon a new and unwieldy sea.  Currents that I used to navigate with ease I am finding to be more treacherous, and challenging, to manoeuvre upon.

I struggle with hope and optimism, with the actions of others, but the one thing I know I can count on, can always rely upon, is my own strength, is my belief in myself. 

I wrote the following at the start of this year and I thought it was appropriate to this post:

There are those times that you take stock of yourself

Ticking off what is important

And what is not

I’m not young or beautiful

But I am so much more than the skin I am in

I am the sum total of all my years

I am wisdom

I am kindness

I am compassion

I am humour

I am love

:

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208

 

 


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I feel you

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I feel you.

Just out of reach.

I close my eyes to focus

and you are here with me.

A tingle of awareness and a sharp quiver 

runs along my spine and lodges within my core.

Arousing me.

Deeply.

Do you know? Can you tell?

Do you feel that catch in my breath…

as I think of you

my nipples hardening as I think of your touch

of your breath upon them 

a moment before your lips

before your tongue

tastes them.

Never have they known such blissful awakening.

Does your breath catch as you think of touching me that way?

Does the line of your trousers change?

Does it tighten, imperceptibly

noticeable to no one

but you?

Do you close your own eyes

thinking of me

smiling wickedly

as you play that film reel in your head

replaying

days

months

layer after layer 

stripped away

leaving me bare 

to your hungry gaze,

knowing my gaze

upon you

was just 

as ravenous?

:

A repost, this time with audio.

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208