In today’s digital age, the world of writing has evolved in more ways than one. It’s no longer confined to traditional novels and journalism; it has extended its sensual tendrils into the realm of erotic content. The demand for erotic literature, whether in the form of short stories, novels, or…

Chapter 1: The Man in Black A cool breeze whispered through the tangled, night blooming jasmine and overgrown lavender bushes that had overrun the once orderly paths of the once lavish estate. Insects lent their wails to the mournful song of frogs. There; the man in black floated through the…

a poem —

Essays on Writing Erotica — In erotica, you must get as close to life as possible. Work in the theater of now; the instant of each supple movement. Discover the origin of salt in your lovers flesh. Translate each stroke of sublime movement into monument of touch. You (the writer), must excavate the body of…

No moon weeps at the sight of the sun. Its shape lies beyond the veil of desire. Is it love reflected in the burning sea? Is that my man coming after me? In the dying heat of a summer night, I spy the form of a tiny lizard, no bigger…

Music for me has always been both salve and dagger, and this year was no different. I’m an obsessive music fan, listening to albums over and over, pouring through every song, analyzing lyrics, tone, instrumentation, and silence. These are my top 5 albums of the year, as in the albums…

Summer sensuality on a warm, sultry night. — I see him from afar; long, smooth, mahogany hair, carelessly swept away from his brows. His eyes are dark, so dark they look black from this distance. Denim jacket over a dark blue tee. A tourist. Perfect. His body is compact, tight and hard in all the right places. I…

From a 2017 Mikey McMichaels photograph of model Kyoto Cat — by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda She sends me, tasting her secret, my face thrusted under her shoulder with each one of my longest slick sucks, strong enough to deeply inhale aroma like blades, slicing me within the birth marking depths of her sweetest of sweats. She holds my nose there for minutes, her naked flavors aroma unwashed sending me…

a poem, by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda — The scent of her leather heel spurs that digs into my skin, the pain of anticipation as she slowly unzips while treading so deep on my torso loves seeing me hunched back, trampling on my thighs, deeper impressions, she steps down harder, waiting to hear my confessions within her weighted …