The Art of Getting Lit Laid

[Carmina24]

You are at it again! Where do you find the words?

Were you able to open the photo?

 

[Hornymwtxn]

Were you able to open the photo?

I was not.
Sometimes imgbb is really flaky and clears on it's own.

But you may want to delete that photo on imgbb and then re-upload and get a new link and then edit that post with the new link

 

[Carmina24]

Vampire’s Invitation

I circle you slowly, letting the air thrum with tension.
You don’t move - though I can feel your pulse quicken beneath my palms.

“Do you feel it?” I whisper.
The weight of my gaze. The hunger folded into my smile.
The shadow of fangs that glint when the light catches.

This is no demand.
This is a summons.

Your neck is bare, a pale map of promise, your veins a soft hymn.
Each beat calls me closer, and my fingers trace the place I’m dying to press my lips.
I taste your heat like a vow.

I am offering you more than hunger.
I am offering you a crossing: a warm breath away from what you know, and into a dark that keeps you safe and fierce.

Come. Step nearer.
Let my voice be the doorway you choose to open.
Place your hand in mine if you will be brave; press your thumb to my pulse if you need proof that I am real.

Give yourself to me - not because I take, but because you wish to give.
Accept this small ceremony: the lowering of your chin, the closing of your eyes, the letting-go that is its own surrender and blessing.

Let me pierce you once, gently, like the softest punctuation on a sentence that becomes an eternity.
Let me drink the fire in your veins, the crimson that threads you to me.
Taste me back, if you would - let your lips answer before words can.

This is an invitation.
It waits on the breath between us.
Say yes, and the world reshapes:
one bite, one promise, and you are mine.

One bite, and it’s done -
you fall, I keep you, forever.

 

[dawn_of_night]

Coffee is normally in my arsenal, but in this case, I go to the battlefield alone

I've been making tea this week

 

[subdudeme13]

Vampire’s Invitation

I circle you slowly, letting the air thrum with tension.
You don’t move - though I can feel your pulse quicken beneath my palms.

“Do you feel it?” I whisper.
The weight of my gaze. The hunger folded into my smile.
The shadow of fangs that glint when the light catches.

This is no demand.
This is a summons.

Your neck is bare, a pale map of promise, your veins a soft hymn.
Each beat calls me closer, and my fingers trace the place I’m dying to press my lips.
I taste your heat like a vow.

I am offering you more than hunger.
I am offering you a crossing: a warm breath away from what you know, and into a dark that keeps you safe and fierce.

Come. Step nearer.
Let my voice be the doorway you choose to open.
Place your hand in mine if you will be brave; press your thumb to my pulse if you need proof that I am real.

Give yourself to me - not because I take, but because you wish to give.
Accept this small ceremony: the lowering of your chin, the closing of your eyes, the letting-go that is its own surrender and blessing.

Let me pierce you once, gently, like the softest punctuation on a sentence that becomes an eternity.
Let me drink the fire in your veins, the crimson that threads you to me.
Taste me back, if you would - let your lips answer before words can.

This is an invitation.
It waits on the breath between us.
Say yes, and the world reshapes:
one bite, one promise, and you are mine.

One bite, and it’s done -
you fall, I keep you, forever.

YES

 

[Carmina24]

So obviously I am losing the battle with sleep again...
What random stuff can I write about? I have done sleep, underwear, vampire, notebooks...

 

[jacfox]

Nothing beats Freedom,i hope its safe to drop an art that shows love involving myself and my cat

Safest place on lit--we're all pussycats

 

[jacfox]

Sweet Surrender?

The unexpected lover
Gift–or curse?--from the skies
Her presence dazzling
Sorcery in her eyes

She begins her moves
A seductive dance
Something of the night
About her glance

Her sensual curves
Her smoky lust stare
The race in the blood
Tension sings in the air

Nerves stretched like wires
Senses on fire
No hope of resisting
Consumed by desire

I lay down supine
Your prey vulpine
Your dark gaze mocks
But beware–I may look benign

But I am a were
fox

 

[dawn_of_night]

So.... How do you decide when it's time to move your "crush" into a "lit laid" category???
That's a natural progression right?

But, if you're feeling and s/he's not?

Is it rude to express yourself anyway? Share with them all your fantasies and desires that light your internal flame of desires....

Where's the line? Where does it start? What's too much?
Is there such a thing as too much self sharing....

 

[Hornymwtxn]

So.... How do you decide when it's time to move your "crush" into a "lit laid" category???
That's a natural progression right?

But, if you're feeling and s/he's not?

Is it rude to express yourself anyway? Share with them all your fantasies and desires that light your internal flame of desires....

Where's the line? Where does it start? What's too much?
Is there such a thing as too much self sharing....

Good questions and every relationship is different imo.

That is what makes it fun and kind of exasperating all at the same time.

What worked before may not work this time. It is all very confusing at times but worth the effort because these roller coaster feelings means you are alive.

 

[write_or_wrong]

So.... How do you decide when it's time to move your "crush" into a "lit laid" category???
That's a natural progression right?

But, if you're feeling and s/he's not?

Is it rude to express yourself anyway? Share with them all your fantasies and desires that light your internal flame of desires....

Where's the line? Where does it start? What's too much?
Is there such a thing as too much self sharing....

I wish I could help you but I'm 0 for 4 in that department. Pretty sure my advice would only make things worse, sorry.

 

[StarGazer58]

Cruel? How so?
Do you mean being ghosted?

Being ghosted is one. In the threads, I have seen people fight, a group gang up on one person and people posting some cruel comments about others. I have seen some epic breakups where for a long time they were soul mates and all of sudden soul enemies. I have also seen some almost begging for attention which always me wonder about their IRL.

 

[Carmina24]

My Love Affair

The moment I first saw you it was sudden - holy, impossible:
love at first sight, an urgent knowing in my chest.
You stood there silent and unassuming, and I knew -
I wanted you, and you had to be mine.

I run my fingers slowly along your spine,
not in haste, but in reverence - tracing what feels eternal.
My hands remember that first glance and still tremble.

Your scent rises to meet me,
rich, intoxicating, the perfume of wisdom and wonder.
I breathe you in as if you were the air itself.

When I open you, it is a sacred act.
You reveal yourself freely, offering secrets, truths, and dreams.
I drink deeply, losing myself in every line, every whisper of your voice.

Time melts away - the hours become a soft tide,
and the world slips behind a curtain of pages.
All that remains is you, and my endless devotion.

This is my love affair.
Not with flesh, but with books -
and the first breath I took of you still feels like prayer.

 

[Carmina24]

Whimsy

It drifts in like stardust,
light on its feet, impossible to hold.

The world is ordinary,
until whimsy tilts it sideways -
a sudden laugh in silence,
a butterfly landing where it shouldn’t,
the moon hiding behind clouds
as if playing peek-a-boo.

Whimsy is the secret door
you stumble upon by accident,
the music only you can hear,
the shimmer that makes you believe
there is more to life than reason alone.

It doesn’t shout.
It twirls, it skips,
it leaves you smiling at nothing at all.

And the beauty of whimsy is this:
as quickly as it leaves,
you will always find it again,
waiting in the next small,
unexpected moment of wonder.

 

[WhispersandWants]

Your Red Underwear with the Bow

I can’t take you seriously.
Not when you show up in that.

Bright red briefs -
as if Valentine’s Day and Christmas had a secret love child -
topped with a bow like you’re the world’s spiciest present.

What am I supposed to do?
Untie it gently?
Rip it off like wrapping paper?
Or just laugh because honestly,
who wakes up and decides,
“Today I’m going full gift package mode”?

And yet…
here I am, grinning,
totally undone -
by your red underwear with the bow.
https://ibb.co/Mxw93PLs

I love this. The fun and honesty!

Here is a response I came up with....

Love Sounds (and other unscripted joys)

Let's be honest:
Sex is beautiful.
It's raw and electric,
full of sighs and hunger,
but it's also
deeply, wonderfully ridiculous.

There's the noise, that noise,
that happens when she's so full of air
you'd think she was a balloon,
and we both glance around like
"who just stepped on a duck?"

There's the triumphant moment
she tries to strut in lace
to seduce him on the edge of the bed
only to trip halfway through
because her tights turned traitor.

Or when he's meant to sweep her up
with passion and wine,
but the wine's won this round,
and instead of rising,
he offers a sheepish smile
and an apologetic cuddle.

There's her sneeze,
mid-head,
which surprises them both
and makes him giggle
with a mouthful of thigh
and admiration.

There's blood.
Of course there's blood.
Because bodies are wild
and unpredictable,
and sometimes passion
opens more than just the heart.

And then the glorious panic
of her period starting,
as they both look at the sheets
like they're defusing a bomb,
only to shrug and collapse
back into each other's arms.

There are cramps,
that one stabbing pain in the arch of the foot
just when it was getting good.
And the quick shuffle-hop
to stretch it out
without killing the mood
(but it always kills the mood a little).
And that's okay.

There's the sports bra
she thought she could shimmy out of seductively
but ended up stuck in,
elbows up,
like a tangled praying mantis.

There's his sock. Still on.
Just the one.
And neither of them knows how or when
but it's a little hilarious
and oddly charming.

Sometimes they laugh
until tears run down their cheeks
and breathless bodies
curl into each other
not out of lust,
but love,
real, messy, funny love.

You try to be seductive,
the music's just right, the lights low,
and then your lacy lingerie catches around your thighs,
tangling your legs in a striptease-turned-three-stooges.
And yet, the way they look at you?
Still pure hunger,
now laced with joy.

You attempt the pose you saw in a porn once
bold, athletic, gravity-defying.
Turns out physics isn't an aphrodisiac,
and your bodies collapse in a heap of elbows and pride,
but not an ounce of love is lost.
Instead: more laughter,
and a new inside joke born in the sheets.

And then,
there's the whispering,
the stifled giggles,
when her parents are visiting
and suddenly they're teenagers again,
sneaking hands under sheets,
biting lips to silence moans,
laughing in hushed bursts
because the thrill of being caught
makes it feel impossibly new again.

Sex isn't just friction and climax.
It's all the rest,
the fumbles,
the giggles,
the apologetic glances
and uncontrollable laughter
when your bodies are real and ridiculous and perfect.

These are love sounds too.
The music of two people
who trust each other enough
to be fully, unapologetically human

It's knowing each other
not just as lovers,
but as people,
people with nerves, and bellies,
and strange noises,
and even stranger timing.

And in that laughter,
that surrender to the ridiculous,
is the most intimate thing of all:

You can't fake joy.
You can't fake trust.
You can't fake being exactly who you are
and still being adored.

 

[Carmina24]

I love this. The fun and honesty!

Here is a response I came up with....

Love Sounds (and other unscripted joys)

Let's be honest:
Sex is beautiful.
It's raw and electric,
full of sighs and hunger,
but it's also
deeply, wonderfully ridiculous.

There's the noise, that noise,
that happens when she's so full of air
you'd think she was a balloon,
and we both glance around like
"who just stepped on a duck?"

There's the triumphant moment
she tries to strut in lace
to seduce him on the edge of the bed
only to trip halfway through
because her tights turned traitor.

Or when he's meant to sweep her up
with passion and wine,
but the wine's won this round,
and instead of rising,
he offers a sheepish smile
and an apologetic cuddle.

There's her sneeze,
mid-head,
which surprises them both
and makes him giggle
with a mouthful of thigh
and admiration.

There's blood.
Of course there's blood.
Because bodies are wild
and unpredictable,
and sometimes passion
opens more than just the heart.

And then the glorious panic
of her period starting,
as they both look at the sheets
like they're defusing a bomb,
only to shrug and collapse
back into each other's arms.

There are cramps,
that one stabbing pain in the arch of the foot
just when it was getting good.
And the quick shuffle-hop
to stretch it out
without killing the mood
(but it always kills the mood a little).
And that's okay.

There's the sports bra
she thought she could shimmy out of seductively
but ended up stuck in,
elbows up,
like a tangled praying mantis.

There's his sock. Still on.
Just the one.
And neither of them knows how or when
but it's a little hilarious
and oddly charming.

Sometimes they laugh
until tears run down their cheeks
and breathless bodies
curl into each other
not out of lust,
but love,
real, messy, funny love.

You try to be seductive,
the music's just right, the lights low,
and then your lacy lingerie catches around your thighs,
tangling your legs in a striptease-turned-three-stooges.
And yet, the way they look at you?
Still pure hunger,
now laced with joy.

You attempt the pose you saw in a porn once
bold, athletic, gravity-defying.
Turns out physics isn't an aphrodisiac,
and your bodies collapse in a heap of elbows and pride,
but not an ounce of love is lost.
Instead: more laughter,
and a new inside joke born in the sheets.

And then,
there's the whispering,
the stifled giggles,
when her parents are visiting
and suddenly they're teenagers again,
sneaking hands under sheets,
biting lips to silence moans,
laughing in hushed bursts
because the thrill of being caught
makes it feel impossibly new again.

Sex isn't just friction and climax.
It's all the rest,
the fumbles,
the giggles,
the apologetic glances
and uncontrollable laughter
when your bodies are real and ridiculous and perfect.

These are love sounds too.
The music of two people
who trust each other enough
to be fully, unapologetically human

It's knowing each other
not just as lovers,
but as people,
people with nerves, and bellies,
and strange noises,
and even stranger timing.

And in that laughter,
that surrender to the ridiculous,
is the most intimate thing of all:

You can't fake joy.
You can't fake trust.
You can't fake being exactly who you are
and still being adored.

I am blown away... beautiful and hilarious!

 

[jacfox]

I love this. The fun and honesty!

Here is a response I came up with....

Love Sounds (and other unscripted joys)

Let's be honest:
Sex is beautiful.
It's raw and electric,
full of sighs and hunger,
but it's also
deeply, wonderfully ridiculous.

There's the noise, that noise,
that happens when she's so full of air
you'd think she was a balloon,
and we both glance around like
"who just stepped on a duck?"

There's the triumphant moment
she tries to strut in lace
to seduce him on the edge of the bed
only to trip halfway through
because her tights turned traitor.

Or when he's meant to sweep her up
with passion and wine,
but the wine's won this round,
and instead of rising,
he offers a sheepish smile
and an apologetic cuddle.

There's her sneeze,
mid-head,
which surprises them both
and makes him giggle
with a mouthful of thigh
and admiration.

There's blood.
Of course there's blood.
Because bodies are wild
and unpredictable,
and sometimes passion
opens more than just the heart.

And then the glorious panic
of her period starting,
as they both look at the sheets
like they're defusing a bomb,
only to shrug and collapse
back into each other's arms.

There are cramps,
that one stabbing pain in the arch of the foot
just when it was getting good.
And the quick shuffle-hop
to stretch it out
without killing the mood
(but it always kills the mood a little).
And that's okay.

There's the sports bra
she thought she could shimmy out of seductively
but ended up stuck in,
elbows up,
like a tangled praying mantis.

There's his sock. Still on.
Just the one.
And neither of them knows how or when
but it's a little hilarious
and oddly charming.

Sometimes they laugh
until tears run down their cheeks
and breathless bodies
curl into each other
not out of lust,
but love,
real, messy, funny love.

You try to be seductive,
the music's just right, the lights low,
and then your lacy lingerie catches around your thighs,
tangling your legs in a striptease-turned-three-stooges.
And yet, the way they look at you?
Still pure hunger,
now laced with joy.

You attempt the pose you saw in a porn once
bold, athletic, gravity-defying.
Turns out physics isn't an aphrodisiac,
and your bodies collapse in a heap of elbows and pride,
but not an ounce of love is lost.
Instead: more laughter,
and a new inside joke born in the sheets.

And then,
there's the whispering,
the stifled giggles,
when her parents are visiting
and suddenly they're teenagers again,
sneaking hands under sheets,
biting lips to silence moans,
laughing in hushed bursts
because the thrill of being caught
makes it feel impossibly new again.

Sex isn't just friction and climax.
It's all the rest,
the fumbles,
the giggles,
the apologetic glances
and uncontrollable laughter
when your bodies are real and ridiculous and perfect.

These are love sounds too.
The music of two people
who trust each other enough
to be fully, unapologetically human

It's knowing each other
not just as lovers,
but as people,
people with nerves, and bellies,
and strange noises,
and even stranger timing.

And in that laughter,
that surrender to the ridiculous,
is the most intimate thing of all:

You can't fake joy.
You can't fake trust.
You can't fake being exactly who you are
and still being adored.

Says it all...brilliant!

 

[Carmina24]

My Sacred Indulgence

You come gently, never demanding.
You slip over me like a soft tide,
wrapping me in warmth,
drawing me into surrender.

I yield without hesitation,
my body loosening,
my breath falling into your rhythm.

In your arms, time dissolves.
The world recedes.
There is only stillness,
only the hush of being held.

When you release me,
I rise renewed,
as if blessed by something holy.

This is my sacred indulgence.
Not a fleeting lover -
but the quiet divinity of a nap.

 

[jacfox]

My Sacred Indulgence

You come gently, never demanding.
You slip over me like a soft tide,
wrapping me in warmth,
drawing me into surrender.

I yield without hesitation,
my body loosening,
my breath falling into your rhythm.

In your arms, time dissolves.
The world recedes.
There is only stillness,
only the hush of being held.

When you release me,
I rise renewed,
as if blessed by something holy.

This is my sacred indulgence.
Not a fleeting lover -
but the quiet divinity of a nap.

Lucky, lucky nap

 

[jacfox]

I love this. The fun and honesty!

Here is a response I came up with....

Love Sounds (and other unscripted joys)

Let's be honest:
Sex is beautiful.
It's raw and electric,
full of sighs and hunger,
but it's also
deeply, wonderfully ridiculous.

There's the noise, that noise,
that happens when she's so full of air
you'd think she was a balloon,
and we both glance around like
"who just stepped on a duck?"

There's the triumphant moment
she tries to strut in lace
to seduce him on the edge of the bed
only to trip halfway through
because her tights turned traitor.

Or when he's meant to sweep her up
with passion and wine,
but the wine's won this round,
and instead of rising,
he offers a sheepish smile
and an apologetic cuddle.

There's her sneeze,
mid-head,
which surprises them both
and makes him giggle
with a mouthful of thigh
and admiration.

There's blood.
Of course there's blood.
Because bodies are wild
and unpredictable,
and sometimes passion
opens more than just the heart.

And then the glorious panic
of her period starting,
as they both look at the sheets
like they're defusing a bomb,
only to shrug and collapse
back into each other's arms.

There are cramps,
that one stabbing pain in the arch of the foot
just when it was getting good.
And the quick shuffle-hop
to stretch it out
without killing the mood
(but it always kills the mood a little).
And that's okay.

There's the sports bra
she thought she could shimmy out of seductively
but ended up stuck in,
elbows up,
like a tangled praying mantis.

There's his sock. Still on.
Just the one.
And neither of them knows how or when
but it's a little hilarious
and oddly charming.

Sometimes they laugh
until tears run down their cheeks
and breathless bodies
curl into each other
not out of lust,
but love,
real, messy, funny love.

You try to be seductive,
the music's just right, the lights low,
and then your lacy lingerie catches around your thighs,
tangling your legs in a striptease-turned-three-stooges.
And yet, the way they look at you?
Still pure hunger,
now laced with joy.

You attempt the pose you saw in a porn once
bold, athletic, gravity-defying.
Turns out physics isn't an aphrodisiac,
and your bodies collapse in a heap of elbows and pride,
but not an ounce of love is lost.
Instead: more laughter,
and a new inside joke born in the sheets.

And then,
there's the whispering,
the stifled giggles,
when her parents are visiting
and suddenly they're teenagers again,
sneaking hands under sheets,
biting lips to silence moans,
laughing in hushed bursts
because the thrill of being caught
makes it feel impossibly new again.

Sex isn't just friction and climax.
It's all the rest,
the fumbles,
the giggles,
the apologetic glances
and uncontrollable laughter
when your bodies are real and ridiculous and perfect.

These are love sounds too.
The music of two people
who trust each other enough
to be fully, unapologetically human

It's knowing each other
not just as lovers,
but as people,
people with nerves, and bellies,
and strange noises,
and even stranger timing.

And in that laughter,
that surrender to the ridiculous,
is the most intimate thing of all:

You can't fake joy.
You can't fake trust.
You can't fake being exactly who you are
and still being adored.

You should publish this on Lit for everyone

 

[Carmina24]

You should publish this on Lit for everyone

I agree!

 

[subdudeme13]

I agree!

I second that, you are a genius with words.

 

[subdudeme13]

Your Red Underwear with the Bow

I can’t take you seriously.
Not when you show up in that.

Bright red briefs -
as if Valentine’s Day and Christmas had a secret love child -
topped with a bow like you’re the world’s spiciest present.

What am I supposed to do?
Untie it gently?
Rip it off like wrapping paper?
Or just laugh because honestly,
who wakes up and decides,
“Today I’m going full gift package mode”?

And yet…
here I am, grinning,
totally undone -
by your red underwear with the bow.
https://ibb.co/Mxw93PLs

There it is! It finally opened up! You should untie the bow first!

 

[Carmina24]

There it is! It finally opened up! You should untie the bow first!

I will open it on Christmas Day. Lol

 

[Shygentleman2]

So.... How do you decide when it's time to move your "crush" into a "lit laid" category???
That's a natural progression right?

But, if you're feeling and s/he's not?

Is it rude to express yourself anyway? Share with them all your fantasies and desires that light your internal flame of desires....

Where's the line? Where does it start? What's too much?
Is there such a thing as too much self sharing....

I think every situation is a little different. Since this is Lit everyone truly knows that sex is on your partner's mind and determining the "dance" to get there is what this is all about and makes that desire grow.

For me, being a guy, I tend to leave the progression up to her. I "listen" to her words as she types. I study her likes and dislikes that she shares. Just like if we were dating IRL.

If you take your time and be patient eventually she wants you...and you will find that sexual enjoyment. And if you do it right she'll want more.