The Art of Getting Lit Laid

[jacfox]

I never read or watched the Harry Potter stuff.

Same with LoTR

Saw og Avatar but couldn't sit through the 2nd one

The Weasley twins, older bothers of Harry's best buddy, Ron Weasley, run a joke and prank shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley (accessed through a magic portal behind a London Pub called The Leaky Cauldron). Among many other things they sell joke candies, e.g. the Skiving Snackbox which contains Fainting Fancies, Fever Fudge, Nosebleed Nougat, and Puking Pastilles, all designed to give you a minor illness to enable you to get out of doing something. Seems like an opportunity for a niche market for Climax Unlimited

 

[jacfox]

Let's not forget desserts. There are some already--Cappezoli di Venere (Nipples of Venus), Jelly Roll (Pianist Jelly Roll Morton's favourite sex act), Boston Cream pie, Creampie Cookies, (loads of creampie variations--why not?)

 

[DynamicFigure]

The Real Game

Gentlemen, come closer.
I’ll tell you a secret - though I’m not sure I should.

It’s not your body I want at first.
It’s your presence.
Your voice in the morning, your words at night.
The way you slip into my day until I can’t remember when you weren’t there.

We trade stories.
We laugh in the spaces between them.
We build a secret language only we can speak.
And then… you stop chasing.

That’s when I notice.
That’s when I want.

By the time I see the rest of you, it’s not curiosity - it’s hunger.
A slow-burn inferno that’s been building for days, weeks…
and when it breaks, it’s beautiful, ruinous, unforgettable.

Ladies - is it just me?

Men - here’s your lesson:
Woo her, but don’t rush her. Let the story write itself instead of skipping to the last page.
Be present in the small ways: the morning check-in, the shared joke, the question you actually listen to the answer of.
Make her feel seen, not just looked at.
Take your time as if you know the ending will be worth the wait.
Because it will be.
Slow is not passive - slow is deliberate.
It’s the difference between a match that flares and dies… and a fire that burns until she can’t sleep without its heat.
Don’t just want her body - earn her trust, her laughter, her anticipation.
And when she finally asks for more, it will be because she’s starving for you.

That’s the real game.

---
Hello! Consider this an invitation to our thread - as you liked one of my posts, you might enjoy our content here. Please scroll up for the thread introduction.
@2tallpaul
@SexyInMy60s
@stargame

Presence. You said it. Both must have it. Let it unfold naturally. And always keep her wondering a just a bit if I’m truly all in or not. Polarity breeds desire. Neediness breeds contempt. It’s my favorite dance in the whole world.

 

[Carmina24]

Batman

He sits where the cave remembers him: a hulking silhouette in a throne of shadow. Once the cavern wore a soft, honest light; now a single lamp cleaves his face in half, carving a sharp jawline and an eye that holds constellations of old grief. His cape pools like a rumor. When he speaks, the cave listens - low, rough as a river - each word a deliberate stone dropped to make distance ripple outward.

He tries to be a wall: stern voice, the quiet geometry of menace, breath measured like a clock counting out regrets. He intends fear as a shield, thinking if he scares me away it will keep the world safe and his heart unexposed.

But I am a different weather - clear, stubborn, warm - and those careful edges don’t cut through me.

I meet his half-lit face and smile without flinching. I see the thing he’s trying to hide and, with a gentle, steady hand, I imagine setting the light so that it shows him whole: not saint, not monster, only a tired human with too many owls in his chest. He is impressive; he intimidates; he thinks that will keep me distant. I let him keep his theatrics. I hold my ground.

I watch the bat unmask himself a little - an eyebrow loosened, the corners of something like humor. He is frightful by design, noble by ruin; still, I want him to know the true ruling: I am not small. I am not afraid. I will not run.

Even Batman must learn this: the dark does not scare me.
It only sharpens my fire.

 

[Hornymwtxn]

The Weasley twins, older bothers of Harry's best buddy, Ron Weasley, run a joke and prank shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley (accessed through a magic portal behind a London Pub called The Leaky Cauldron). Among many other things they sell joke candies, e.g. the Skiving Snackbox which contains Fainting Fancies, Fever Fudge, Nosebleed Nougat, and Puking Pastilles, all designed to give you a minor illness to enable you to get out of doing something. Seems like an opportunity for a niche market for Climax Unlimited

Joke candies...
A snickering snickers.
A meowing kit Kat
A betwixting twix
Butterfingering butterfinger

 

[Hornymwtxn]

Let's not forget desserts. There are some already--Cappezoli di Venere (Nipples of Venus), Jelly Roll (Pianist Jelly Roll Morton's favourite sex act), Boston Cream pie, Creampie Cookies, (loads of creampie variations--why not?)

Lemon merengue just sounds nasty and delicious at the same time

 

[Hornymwtxn]

Batman

He sits where the cave remembers him: a hulking silhouette in a throne of shadow. Once the cavern wore a soft, honest light; now a single lamp cleaves his face in half, carving a sharp jawline and an eye that holds constellations of old grief. His cape pools like a rumor. When he speaks, the cave listens - low, rough as a river - each word a deliberate stone dropped to make distance ripple outward.

He tries to be a wall: stern voice, the quiet geometry of menace, breath measured like a clock counting out regrets. He intends fear as a shield, thinking if he scares me away it will keep the world safe and his heart unexposed.

But I am a different weather - clear, stubborn, warm - and those careful edges don’t cut through me.

I meet his half-lit face and smile without flinching. I see the thing he’s trying to hide and, with a gentle, steady hand, I imagine setting the light so that it shows him whole: not saint, not monster, only a tired human with too many owls in his chest. He is impressive; he intimidates; he thinks that will keep me distant. I let him keep his theatrics. I hold my ground.

I watch the bat unmask himself a little - an eyebrow loosened, the corners of something like humor. He is frightful by design, noble by ruin; still, I want him to know the true ruling: I am not small. I am not afraid. I will not run.

Even Batman must learn this: the dark does not scare me.
It only sharpens my fire.

Even batman needs a wingman.

 

[The_Quiet_Man]

Even batman needs a wingman.

What a true statement that is.

 

[Carmina24]

The Weasley twins, older bothers of Harry's best buddy, Ron Weasley, run a joke and prank shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley (accessed through a magic portal behind a London Pub called The Leaky Cauldron). Among many other things they sell joke candies, e.g. the Skiving Snackbox which contains Fainting Fancies, Fever Fudge, Nosebleed Nougat, and Puking Pastilles, all designed to give you a minor illness to enable you to get out of doing something. Seems like an opportunity for a niche market for Climax Unlimited

Yes yes yes! I love it!
But instead of making the person eating the candy sick, what if they make them think you have bigger boobs instead?

 

[WCSGarland]

Yes yes yes! I love it!
But instead of making the person eating the candy sick, what if they make them think you have bigger boobs instead?

What delicious naughtiness, but why stop at bigger boobs? Why not a bigger cock as well? What a riot if the person thinks they have a titanic sized prick, to sink in the depths of the bounteous maidens afloat upon the plentiful seas of debauchery.

 

[dawn_of_night]

I seduced a guy when he was in his office.

This is the best part of work from home ...

 

[Mo_Bandy]

Lit laid is like anything else. Right place at right time.

 

[Carmina24]

The First Time

When words finally catch fire and become touch.
When the teasing, the daring, the slow pull of late-night confessions ignite into something neither of you can hold back.

The first time is the clash of mouths, hungry and unrestrained.
It is hands slipping beneath fabric, tracing skin that trembles under every inch revealed.
It is the way your body recognizes hers - as if it has been waiting for this moment all along.

It is heat pressed to heat, the slow slide of clothing discarded, the gasp when there is nothing left between you.
It is the tangle of limbs, the press, the pull, the wet-sweet sound of surrender as she draws you deeper.

All the questions you carried - how would it feel, what would it be like, would she meet me there? -
are answered in the urgency of her hips, the way her breath shatters against your neck, the sound of her moan tearing through the dark.

The First Time is not an ending.
It is ignition, detonation, revelation.
The moment when fantasy throws open the door to reality - and reality devours you whole.

Because once you taste wonder made flesh, you will never go back to words alone.

 

[jacfox]

Batman

He sits where the cave remembers him: a hulking silhouette in a throne of shadow. Once the cavern wore a soft, honest light; now a single lamp cleaves his face in half, carving a sharp jawline and an eye that holds constellations of old grief. His cape pools like a rumor. When he speaks, the cave listens - low, rough as a river - each word a deliberate stone dropped to make distance ripple outward.

He tries to be a wall: stern voice, the quiet geometry of menace, breath measured like a clock counting out regrets. He intends fear as a shield, thinking if he scares me away it will keep the world safe and his heart unexposed.

But I am a different weather - clear, stubborn, warm - and those careful edges don’t cut through me.

I meet his half-lit face and smile without flinching. I see the thing he’s trying to hide and, with a gentle, steady hand, I imagine setting the light so that it shows him whole: not saint, not monster, only a tired human with too many owls in his chest. He is impressive; he intimidates; he thinks that will keep me distant. I let him keep his theatrics. I hold my ground.

I watch the bat unmask himself a little - an eyebrow loosened, the corners of something like humor. He is frightful by design, noble by ruin; still, I want him to know the true ruling: I am not small. I am not afraid. I will not run.

Even Batman must learn this: the dark does not scare me.
It only sharpens my fire.

Stunning... fantastic lines!

 

[jacfox]

Carmina's inspired me to write couple of odes...

The Word

We join our bodies
Joy flows freely
Perfect bliss and deepest passion
Comes from connection
Perfect union

Yet, no words to speak,
What could it mean?
Meaning we endlessly seek,
For higher purpose yearn

But meaning is there
In words alone
The power to create
To destroy
To raise up
To strike down
To stroke
To hurt
To demean
To value
To love

There needs no higher
Than this: we share
Through our bodies
Our words
Whispered in darkest night
Held close
Even when far beyond sight

So long as there are words
Then we are one
We write, we speak

Therefore, we are

One

 

[jacfox]

The Physical and the Spiritual

When the ache finally breaks
When the urgent becomes the unstoppable
When time slows to a single point
A singularity before the surge impossible

When the tsunami flows
Through the quaking body
The tingle effervesces,
Eruption bursts from the ravished yoni;

The blast from the spine
When the fine fierce flush
And the agony of climax
Through the perineum rushes

Both join in ecstatic union
A loss of the self
Nothing but the light
In the moment

Eternal

 

[Carmina24]

Even batman needs a wingman.

I agree. So here is my response.

Robin

Not everyone is meant to stand in the spotlight.
Some of us are Robin.

We fight just as hard, though our name isn’t the one etched in neon.
We show up in shadows, in silence, in the small corners of the day where nobody’s watching.
We steady the chaos, stitch the cracks, and take the blows no one else sees.

And we don’t need to fight villains to be a hero.
We’re a hero when we show up for work.
When we do the laundry.
When we sweep the floor.
When we care for family.
When we bring joy to a Lit partner.

And maybe the world won’t ever call us “hero.”
Maybe there won’t be statues or headlines or songs.

But the truth is - it was never about the world.
It’s about us.
Knowing that our worth is not measured in applause.
That even without recognition, we are still fighting, still building, still saving.

Robin is not “less.”
Robin is essential.

And when the mirror dares to ask who I am -
I bare my teeth and snarl back:
I am the damn hero.

 

[Carmina24]

Carmina's inspired me to write couple of odes...

The Word

We join our bodies
Joy flows freely
Perfect bliss and deepest passion
Comes from connection
Perfect union

Yet, no words to speak,
What could it mean?
Meaning we endlessly seek,
For higher purpose yearn

But meaning is there
In words alone
The power to create
To destroy
To raise up
To strike down
To stroke
To hurt
To demean
To value
To love

There needs no higher
Than this: we share
Through our bodies
Our words
Whispered in darkest night
Held close
Even when far beyond sight

So long as there are words
Then we are one
We write, we speak

Therefore, we are

One

Breathtakingly beautiful, @jacfox !

 

[Carmina24]

The Physical and the Spiritual

When the ache finally breaks
When the urgent becomes the unstoppable
When time slows to a single point
A singularity before the surge impossible

When the tsunami flows
Through the quaking body
The tingle effervesces,
Eruption bursts from the ravished yoni;

The blast from the spine
When the fine fierce flush
And the agony of climax
Through the perineum rushes

Both join in ecstatic union
A loss of the self
Nothing but the light
In the moment

Eternal

@jacfox
Your words capture it so vividly - that instant when body and spirit collapse into one. It’s not just pleasure, it’s revelation.
I had to Google "yoni," though lol

 

[jacfox]

@jacfox
Your words capture it so vividly - that instant when body and spirit collapse into one. It’s not just pleasure, it’s revelation.
I had to Google "yoni," though lol

Yoni was popular in female erotic writing at one time. I think the original Greek meaning is corner, and the Greek Y is a bit like G sound, so I guess that's the origin of gynae in medicine and so on

 

[Carmina24]

The Heroes and Heroines of Lit

By day, we are ordinary.
Goofy, clumsy, scatterbrained.
Glasses slipping down our nose.
Fingers tapping spreadsheets.
Folding laundry. Burning the toast.
Cooking dinner and forgetting the salt.
No one would suspect.

But when the veil of night falls, when we slip into this world of words, we transform.
The disguise drops.
The timid voice becomes thunder.
The shy hand becomes fire.

Here, we do not need capes or masks.
Our weapon is desire.
Our power is honesty.
Our gift is the courage to bare what the world tells us to hide.

We are the heroes and heroines of Lit.

Our powers are not forged in laboratories or alien suns.
They are born from persistence, from longing, from the quiet battles of everyday life.
We were not chosen - we chose ourselves.

We wield seduction like a lasso - words pulling hearts closer.
We carry mystery like a shield - guarding the allure that makes others lean in.
We hurl truths like daggers - sharp enough to wound, yet healing in their revelation.
We summon intimacy like lightning - sudden, blinding, unforgettable.
We spread laughter like wildfire - burning away shame, leaving joy in its wake.
We lift others like anchors - reminding them they are never drifting alone.

And even when our bodies are untouched,
or our lives may be sexless,
our fantasies roar.
Our sexuality remains our superpower.
It does not diminish us.
It fuels us - desire expressed in words, in fantasies, in courage, in connection.
It is proof that passion cannot be silenced, only transformed.

Not because we fight villains,
but because we fight silence.
We battle shame.
We conquer loneliness.

And with every story, every poem, every whispered reply,
we remind ourselves and each other that the truest superpower of all
is daring to be seen.

We are the heroes and heroines of Lit.
And this -
this is our origin story.

 

[Hornymwtxn]

@jacfox
Your words capture it so vividly - that instant when body and spirit collapse into one. It’s not just pleasure, it’s revelation.
I had to Google "yoni," though lol

I did too, and the definition is kina hot also.

"Yoni, sometimes called pindika, is an abstract or aniconic representation of the Hindu goddess Shakti. It is usually shown with linga – its masculine counterpart. Together, they symbolize the merging of microcosmos and macrocosmos, the divine eternal process of creation and regeneration, and the union of the feminine and the masculine that recreates all of existence"

Yonilinga for the win

 

[jacfox]

I did too, and the definition is kina hot also.

"Yoni, sometimes called pindika, is an abstract or aniconic representation of the Hindu goddess Shakti. It is usually shown with linga – its masculine counterpart. Together, they symbolize the merging of microcosmos and macrocosmos, the divine eternal process of creation and regeneration, and the union of the feminine and the masculine that recreates all of existence"

Yonilinga for the win

Brilliant!

 

[Hornymwtxn]

The Heroes and Heroines of Lit

By day, we are ordinary.
Goofy, clumsy, scatterbrained.
Glasses slipping down our nose.
Fingers tapping spreadsheets.
Folding laundry. Burning the toast.
Cooking dinner and forgetting the salt.
No one would suspect.

But when the veil of night falls, when we slip into this world of words, we transform.
The disguise drops.
The timid voice becomes thunder.
The shy hand becomes fire.

Here, we do not need capes or masks.
Our weapon is desire.
Our power is honesty.
Our gift is the courage to bare what the world tells us to hide.

We are the heroes and heroines of Lit.

Our powers are not forged in laboratories or alien suns.
They are born from persistence, from longing, from the quiet battles of everyday life.
We were not chosen - we chose ourselves.

We wield seduction like a lasso - words pulling hearts closer.
We carry mystery like a shield - guarding the allure that makes others lean in.
We hurl truths like daggers - sharp enough to wound, yet healing in their revelation.
We summon intimacy like lightning - sudden, blinding, unforgettable.
We spread laughter like wildfire - burning away shame, leaving joy in its wake.
We lift others like anchors - reminding them they are never drifting alone.

And even when our bodies are untouched,
or our lives may be sexless,
our fantasies roar.
Our sexuality remains our superpower.
It does not diminish us.
It fuels us - desire expressed in words, in fantasies, in courage, in connection.
It is proof that passion cannot be silenced, only transformed.

Not because we fight villains,
but because we fight silence.
We battle shame.
We conquer loneliness.

And with every story, every poem, every whispered reply,
we remind ourselves and each other that the truest superpower of all
is daring to be seen.

We are the heroes and heroines of Lit.
And this -
this is our origin story.

Your words capture emotion and reality.

Perfectly intertwined, exposing ourself and finding acceptance when at our most vulnerable.

 

[subdudeme13]

The Heroes and Heroines of Lit

By day, we are ordinary.
Goofy, clumsy, scatterbrained.
Glasses slipping down our nose.
Fingers tapping spreadsheets.
Folding laundry. Burning the toast.
Cooking dinner and forgetting the salt.
No one would suspect.

But when the veil of night falls, when we slip into this world of words, we transform.
The disguise drops.
The timid voice becomes thunder.
The shy hand becomes fire.

Here, we do not need capes or masks.
Our weapon is desire.
Our power is honesty.
Our gift is the courage to bare what the world tells us to hide.

We are the heroes and heroines of Lit.

Our powers are not forged in laboratories or alien suns.
They are born from persistence, from longing, from the quiet battles of everyday life.
We were not chosen - we chose ourselves.

We wield seduction like a lasso - words pulling hearts closer.
We carry mystery like a shield - guarding the allure that makes others lean in.
We hurl truths like daggers - sharp enough to wound, yet healing in their revelation.
We summon intimacy like lightning - sudden, blinding, unforgettable.
We spread laughter like wildfire - burning away shame, leaving joy in its wake.
We lift others like anchors - reminding them they are never drifting alone.

And even when our bodies are untouched,
or our lives may be sexless,
our fantasies roar.
Our sexuality remains our superpower.
It does not diminish us.
It fuels us - desire expressed in words, in fantasies, in courage, in connection.
It is proof that passion cannot be silenced, only transformed.

Not because we fight villains,
but because we fight silence.
We battle shame.
We conquer loneliness.

And with every story, every poem, every whispered reply,
we remind ourselves and each other that the truest superpower of all
is daring to be seen.

We are the heroes and heroines of Lit.
And this -
this is our origin story.

You really need to write a book. Don't deny the world your genius.