Monday, December 31, 2012

Smile Dance Be

It wasn't hard to choose my next three words for my year, considering I'd already started practicing their ideaology this past month.


As I previously mentioned in a post, Doc recommended I try to smile more. Smiling has never really been a problem for me, but I like the idea of doing it intentionally.

I want to stop and smile when I see something that amuses me, when I notice something amusing about my life.

I want to use my smile to take moments to enjoy my life. To live in the now. To soak in the awesome that is my every day. To highlight the amazing when it happens. To find joy. To deal with sorrow.

I will smile.


I work. I write. I run, occasionally. And I do yoga a little less than I run.

I have family. I have friends. I do things... a lot of things.

This past year has been hectic, with my at times packed schedule and crammed in work and trying to see everyone I care about, and and and...

Sometimes it felt like I was juggling on the edge of a cliff. Sometimes it felt like I was plugging the holes of a dyke with each of my fingers, toes, knees, and nose. Sometimes I laughed. Sometimes I cried.

My life was, and is, anything but simple.

Still, I want to dare myself to dance instead of struggle. Dance, instead of worry. Dance, instead of fret or fear.

Know that love is more important than I let it be. Know that the people in my life deserve more of me. Know that my passions are necessary, not secondary.

I will dance.


Too often I expect myself to be someone or something that I am not. Too often I set up impossible expectations for myself. I don't just let myself be.

So goal number three: just be.

Allow myself to be sad or upset, instead of holding it all in. Allow myself to be honest instead of lying about my emotions. Allow myself to be a person, not atop a pedestal doomed to fall flat at the slightest touch, but down on this earth and grounded in truth and love.

I am me, left, right or center of whatever perfect is.

I will just be me.

The Surface

~ a story ~

They prepare us all the same, drilling the knowledge into us from our awakening.

Cling tight to the surface. Seek a new home to dwell in. Multiply and pass on the code.

Life was simple, pleasant, warm. I liked the others, loved our time together, loved the dull thump and steady current back and forth that was the music of our days and the movement of our sways. I loved clinging to our first home, growing stronger each day, born from one into many.

I lived on the fourteenth dark strand near the colder part of the surface. I didn't mind the cool at times, though I heard tell of warm and even hot surfaces further into the dark. I liked constant change, the difference in the surface at times. It seemed exciting to me.

But then the moment came. I was hardly aware it grew near. When it came, I remembered all I was taught. The mighty wind as was predicted at my creation came, erupting me forth into the great light as was told.

I clung tight to this new surface, smaller than my first had been. It wasn't a strand, though it was wet like my strand had been.

As I burst forth into the great light, I could hardly take in the magnitude of the colors around me. My mind filled with awe at the sight, ready almost to burst.

But then I remembered my teaching. Cling to the surface. Seek a new home to dwell in. Multiply and pass on the code.

As I gushed through the air, my surface landed on another surface, drier than my home before and drier than the wet one which had landed me here. I clung tight to this new home, the light jagged at times, the color less diverse though no less amazing.

This surface moved and flexed more stiffly, and the wind seemed different. And then, suddenly, it grew dark. I tumbled down across ridges and valleys before landing on a surface similar to my first home.

I clung tight. And then life felt like it was when I was created. The dull thump. The steady current back and forth.

I wanted this new surface to be my new home. And so I did as I was taught. I multiplied, creating others. Soon dark strands were filled with my creations.

I taught them as I was taught.

Cling tight to the surface. Seek a new home to dwell in. Multiply and pass on the code.

And I prepared them for the next mighty wind to appear.

Enslaved pt 3

~ a story ~

All the dwellings loved him. All the people bent to his will. I wanted to know his scent and taste his flesh. I wanted to bed our ruler.

Cooing to get to inside his dwelling was easy. Cooing to find him just as simple. And, knocking on his door, the warmth inside of me grew without any touch.

He swung his chamber door open angrily, rage filled eyes and a booming voice pushing me back.

"You will take me," I sang. "Flesh and fuck. You will love me and never get enough."

His eyes changed, but not in a way I had seen my song produce before. Others in my place might have worried, but I still had my song.

"You are no commoner, no mere quiet girl. Leave me at once before my rage unfurls."

He sang to me.

He sang to me. And, inside, I wanted to obey him. I wanted nothing more than his love, his affection. But enough of my being knew I should sing on that I did not do as he ordered, did not follow his command.

I sought my thoughts almost lost in my mind, and somehow remembered my words. But even as I sang, it all come together.

"Ruler on high, taste between my thighs."
"Low and common lady, you do not fase me."

"You sing to rule them, they love you so. And it is your secret I know."
"You are my child, my flesh, my blood. That babe I thought cast into the mud."

"My mother, your lover, her flesh you took. You fiend, you horrible man, you crook."
"You stupid, petulant, insolent bitch. I had hoped you were thrown in a ditch."

"Not lucky are you in my fate. I want what is mine, even if late. My birthright your kingdom, your people, your reign. What once you took I shall take again."
"So simple, so dull, so stupid are you. This little games of yours is through."

The hood went over my head. I had not heard their footsteps approach. Had not known I'd lost before I even knew what game I was truly playing.

Even in the cold damp cellar, with little to eat and even less light to speak of, occasionally I will find pleasure in my stay. The brave ones come, not believing in the tale spun, and do as I say.

I have my days of freedom, my moments of glee in the countryside. Frolicking in the forest, dipping my toes in the small waterfall of the winding creek. Eating sumptuos meals of the common folk, my ultimate treat.

But he always finds out. And finds me.

And I end up back in my room, back in my chains. All his people, my little toys, all the real enslaved.

Enslaved pt 2

~ a story ~

I cooed at my mother once to get her to give me coin. I cooed at my father to let me slip out at night.

But this night would be different.

I cooed at the fare coach driver to give me free passage. I cooed at his passengers to forget they ever saw me.

I arrived at the professor's doorstep late, long past when others had started their slumber. I weighed whether my gamble would be worth my efforts. I was too far gone to stop now, but still I thought my game might be a mistake.

When I knocked on his door, the lights in his dwelling remained dim. It took my insistent banging to rouse him. He saw me through the glass and puzzlement filled his face.

"Evalyn, why do come here at this late hour?"

"You love me," I sang. "More than any other. You will love my body tonight as you have none other."

He swung his doors wide, scooped me up, and ascended his grand staircase to his bedroom. When he kicked open the door, his wife shot up with a start.

"You will leave," I sang. "Come here no more. You love resides in the holy chore."

She stood and walked as if gliding on air, quietly leaving her home, closing the front doors behind her like any holy woman would.

He threw my body onto his bed, ripped open my garments, and feasted upon my flesh til the morning. He told me he loved me and he took of my body in ways I never knew could feel so good. I sang back my love in dulcet notes and enjoyed his flesh still more.

And warmth waves pulsed throughout my frame, and I trembled at the professor's touch, I thanked whatever creator their was for my gift.  For a moment, I wondered if I was some sort of a god.  But then I remembered the boy, and how easily my melody could break apart.

I took of the professor's flesh twice more before slipping out in the early light hours.

When he awoke the next morning, no wife to speak of, and no evidence as to why she was gone, all the county dwellings were in an uproar.

I remained quiet as I had before, my game giving me more than I had hoped for.

Enslaved pt 1

~ a story ~

They held me in chains, naked, the cold concrete floor no comfort to my flesh or bones. The bars of my cell were not within my reach. Little light filtered into my room, but I could see well enough. That is, until anyone one of them came to see me.

Few believed the tale. Fewer dared to glimpse the sight: a beautiful woman manacled to floor in the basement of a county estate, tucked in the hills of the high country.

I knew why they kept me, had come to accept my fate. Though they kept me chained, it was they who were enslaved.

I didn't realize my power til I was nearly thirteen. I was quiet growing up, and often stayed on the edges of others' lives. I watched, I listened, and enjoyed seeing the drama of those around me unfold.

But then, on my last day of youth, before I would become a lady of the country, I grew bold.

There was a boy. His name was Taren. I wanted to kiss him. I knew he fished out on the low lake afternoons after studies, so I eased my way down the valley looking for him. As always, he sat on the edge of a mound of land that hung out over the blue water.

Barefoot, with moist earth between my toes, I sat down next to him. He turned and looked at me. I was nervous, having barely spoken in the twelve years of my life, but I decided to be bold.

"Kiss me."

His eyes bugged out and he coughed, having lost his words for a moment.

"You don't talk," he wrenched from his hoarse voice.
"Kiss me."
"No one knows I come here. How did you find me?"

This wasn't going as I imagined it at all.

And then I remembered seeing the old Mage trying to coax sick children to sleep. The sing-song of her voice. The way it calmed them, bent them to her will.

"Kiss me..." I emulated the tone, the vibration, the music of her words.

At once the boy sway, as if an enchantment had come over him. He leaned forward, his lips leading, and softly graced my mouth with a kiss.

But then he didn't stop. He kept leaning into me, would not let his lips off me, til finally I pushed him away, and yelled, "Stop!"

At once, he changed. He looked confused. He said his head felt fuzzy. He asked me what I was doing at his spot on the lake, how I had found him. No memory of our kiss lay in his mind.

I ran away, hoping the boy would forget I had ever visited him at the lake.

I too was confused, didn't understand what had happened. But I had a hope and a wish for what I wanted to believe.

I stayed quiet again, holding my tongue through my studies, growing into my womanhood in the background of my dwelling's lives.

Until I decided I wanted more again. I wanted something only my influence could achieve, if it really did exist.


I can hear laughter, chatting. I still need to shower, wash my hair, and change my clothes. My bottle of champagne is not yet in the refrigerator. I haven't even grabbed dinner yet.

I literally walked into the house about five minutes ago after working ten hours today.

I'm sitting on my bed, work clothes off, feverishly typing on my netbook trying to not disappointment myself.

I set a few goals this year, but none has been so difficult as writing for this blog.

Everyday. Well, an average of everyday, I strove to write one entry. Whether my aim was erotica, a rant, some random story about my life, or, more often than not, a retelling of a kinky adventure, I set out a year ago to push myself to produce more content than I ever had before.

One lesson I learned about my motivational style was rather simple yet had eluded me til now: Set a deadline.

A year already has a put in place schedule for me to follow, and the end of each month made for a natural constant goal for me to keep up with. A few times I fell short and needed to write one or two extra blogs for the next month. However, with that steady reminder of my constant aim, I slogged threw this year.

And now, with just under four hours til my ultimate deadline (when I initially wrote the rough draft of this entry), I am trying to meet my very last goal for this year. I'm not sure if I will, but dammit I'm going to try.

I've worked hard and I want to do this. I want to prove to myself that I can do this, that I can push myself to finish. Writing isn't hard, despite what people may say. But finishing? Finishing is a bitch ass motherfucker.

And with this lesson conveyed, and hopefully learned, seconds dripping away quickly, I'm one of six blogs complete.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Would Have

~ erotica ~

I would have fucked you.

I wanted to fuck you. I thought about it all day. Thought about it as we walked, talked, laughed ate. I thought about fucking you in my bed. On the couch. Rolling around on the floor. In the shower, trying to not slip and fall. Against the wall, trying not to wake the neighbors. Screaming into a pillow. Belting obscenities into the bed. Face down. Ass up.

I would have fucked you.

I would have fucked you for hours.

Fucking, til we both were breathing heavy. Fucking, til there were no more pillows on the bed. Fucking, til the sheets were twisted piles in our way. Fucking, til we were sweaty mounds of exhaustion. Fucking, til the air was thick with the scent of our sex. Fucking, til every muscle ached. Fucking, til my cunt was sore from your cock and your cock sore from my hot cunt.

I would have fucked you for hours.

I would have fucked you all day.

Waking you from slumber with my lips around your cock. Your cum in my belly before breakfast. You eating me out, feasting on my flesh just before lunch. A dinner of carnal delights: licks, bites, kissing, sucking, and oh so much fucking. Each person's dessert just one more orgasm, just one more cum, pushing the other further, just one more drop of ecstasy, just one more.

I would have fucked you all day.

I would have fucked you in every way.

Fingers. Tongues. Oral. Anal. Your cock in my mouth, in my pussy, in my ass. My purple cock in your mouth, in your ass. My Hitachi or yours? Or both at once? Ninety-six or sixty-nine? My pussy riding your face. Your cock hitting the back of my throat. Teeth in flesh. Tongue across skin. Hands in hair. Fingers gripping asses. Scratching. Gnawing. Primal fucking.

I would have fucked you in every way.

I would have loved fucking you.

But you fucked up.

So I told you to fuck off.

I Want

~ erotica ~

"I want to watch you suck my cock."

I saw the eagerness in her eyes, saw the sparkle as she stared at my rather large purple dildo that I stroked while I sat on my bed. I was naked, save for my strap on, which itself was cover with a condom. She was naked, save for her socks; they were striped, multi-colored, and it was chilly.

She looked so eager, practically drooling at the thought of my cock in her mouth. I just stroked and stared at her.

"I want to watch you suck my cock. Do you want to suck my cock?"

She squeaked her response almost before my last syllable left my lips and rushed over towards me.

But before her lips descended onto my cock, my hand held her head back. Her hands flared out to the side in a most comical way and I had to hold back my laughter.

"I want you to suck my cock, but I didn't say I would let you."

And them came the pout, the cutest little pout I ever did see.

I wanted to fuck her. I wanted her to suck my cock til she gagged. But something in me wanted to see the real her. However my cock was talking now.

"You know what would make me want to let you suck my cock?"

She slowly moved her head side-to-side.

"A magic little word you forgot to utter."
"Oops." Her hands flew to her mouth, covering her lips, her face full of embarrassment. Cute overload indeed.

"I'm sorry. May I please suck your cock."
"Now, that is exactly what I wanted to hear."

My hand, which had been on her forehead, moved to the back of her head and pushed her mouth onto my cock. Her eyes bugged out wide as my cock glided across her tongue and down her throat.

For a split second, I wondered if her manner was real, if this cuteness wasn't an act. But, just as quickly as the thought arrived, her gaze grew concentrated ad calculating, though still delighted. Her hands gripped my shaft as she worked her lips up and down my cock.

"Do you like that, my cock in your mouth?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Do you want my cock somewhere else, say in your hot little pussy?"
"Mmm hmm, plsss."
"Good girl, getting it all wet for your wet cunt."
"Thn thu."

In and out. I gripped her hair and pushed her a little deeper, held her head down a little longer, and fucked her face for just a while longer.

When I felt my cum growing, I stopped her, pulling her off my cock. She gave me the pouty face and eyes, but I quickly pushed her over onto all fours on the floor.

She presented her pussy just right, craned her back just right, and extended out her arms, trying to hide as she tickled her nipples against the carpeted floor.

Reaching under my jock, I flicked on my vibrator, and quickly entered her. Her cry was high pitched and filled the room. She squeaked each time I thrusted, her voice raising to pitches I didn't know existed. That is, until I leaned over, gripped her breasts, and bit into her ass.

Suddenly her voice flipped, growing guttural and deep.

"Are you close? Yes, you are close. Good girl. Then cum."

I slammed my cock into her as her screams grew loud and my own orgasm raced through my body. My nails dug into her breasts. I bit and sucked harder on her ass. She pushed back and pushed back until finally collapsing onto the floor.

Leaning back onto my heels, I sat back up on my bed, pulled the condom off my dildo, and flicked it onto her ass.

"You are, indeed, a good girl, and a pretty good fuck, as well advertised, but now that we've both cum..."

She looked up at me with those pouty eyes again, but I wasn't buying it.

"I want you to go. Lock the door on your way out."

And, like flipping a switch, I finally saw the real her.

"You fucking bitch," she belted, throwing the condom back at my face before grabbing her clothes and storming off in a huff.

"Now that's the girl I fucked."

Cute overload ended.


~ erotica ~

As the intermission ended, patrons filed back into the crowded theater. I intentionally strayed behind, asking for another drink from the bartender. I needed something strong if I was going to make it through the second half of the show.

"Scotch neat please."

He gave me a sideways glance but poured the drink all the same. I threw it back, which elicited an appalled facial expression from him, and landed the glass hard on his counter top before paying him and tipping him well. I figured for having held his tongue he deserved a little extra.

Turning towards the theatre door, my hand reached out to open it. But, just as I was about to grip the metal knob, the door swung open. I stepped back in time to miss the gentleman making his quiet exit.

When he stepped out, he looked up at me with a noticeably embarrassed face. I could see the wheels in his mind turning, searching for an excuse for his egress.

"Don't bother," I said, and motioned towards the comfortable seats just around the corner. He sighed in relief and joined me.

"How were you roped into attending?"
"My brother's in the show. You?"
"My roommate. Utterly abysmal."

I swayed my crossed legs back and forth, trying to not be too obvious as I admired the handsome stranger's physique. Attending the theatre did have its perks. He was sharply attired, a suit cut to the lines of his muscular frame. My fingers twitched at the idea of ripping it off of him.

I craned my head around the corner behind my seat and saw the bartender had finished packing up. No one else was in the lobby.

When I looked back at my new friend, he had a devilish grin on his face.

I took a gamble. I extended my finger out and motioned him over. He stood. I stood.

I backed into the wall, hiding us as much around the corner as I could. I lifted my left knee, creeping up my skirt. His one hand found my thigh, the other went to the back of my neck as he met my lips for a passionate kiss.

I wrapped my leg around his waist momentarily before pushing off, spinning our bodies, and thumping his back onto the wall. His hands dropped to his pants, freeing his cock for me. As he worked, I pulled a condom from my bra, tore open the packaging, and, just as he freed his engorged member, slid it down his shaft.

He gave me a smile as I worked the latex down.

"I always cum prepared," I whispered.

I lifted my leg to his waist again as he guided his cock into my cunt. Once he was inside me, I jumped up and wrapped my other leg around his waist. He caught my limb and rested his back against the wall for support. I squeezed my thighs, lifted my hips, and came back down on his cock, fucking him roughly against the wall.

When I felt my orgasm near, I bent my head down into the crook of his neck and sunk my teeth in.

"Harder. You can mark me." Oh, good boy.

I bit and sucked as sweet warmth surged through my body.

Unable to hold me up any longer, he leaned forward, resting my ass on the back of one of the small couches. My heels rested on the wall, my hands on his hips, as we continued to fuck.

And then we heard the applause start.

"You better work harder; they'll all be out here any moment now."

I didn't try to disguise the glee in my voice, knowing I'd already had my one cum and could feel yet another rising.


He pulled me up, turned me around, and bent me over the couch, thrusting harder than before. My cum, and his grunts, came and then ended just as we heard the footsteps start.

We stood up straight and eased apart as patrons streamed out of the theatre. I smoothed down my skirt and stepped away, but not before turning back, giving him a smile, and mouthing, "Thanks" before exiting stage left.


~ erotica ~

"We have to go."

He sat on the couch, his clothes sloppily thrown on his body, his hair merely pushed back off his face. He'd flipped to something random on our television; we were probably going to be late.

"Come on. Get your shoes on. You know how much they hate it when we're late."
"Remind me again of why we're going?"
"Because they're our friends and they throw this party every year and it's our job as their friends to support them."
"Even though it's dull and boring and will be slightly torturous?"

I slipped my final earring in as I walked over to him.

"Even though it is dull and boring and will be slightly torturous."

I leaned down and kissed him in the familiar way we'd known for years now. When I stood up, he gripped my top and gently tugged, quietly asking for another kiss. I gave it.

When I stood up again, he tugged again.

"We have to go," I insisted.

I turned to grab my coat, but he grabbed my hips and turned me back towards him. In the rush of his movement, my hands found the back of the couch for purchase. My lips were near his again.

"Just a little fun before we leave."

His hand was quickly up my skirt, and soon past my panties.

His fingers played with my clit the way he knew I liked, the way he knew I almost never said no to.

My nails dug into the fabric of the couch. I brought my knees up to the sides of his thighs, humping his hard hard, giving my non-verbal agreement to his vehement request.

His free hand undid his pants and pulled out his cock before wrapping around my hips and pivoting my body down onto the cushions.

And then his body rested on mine. And then his cock was inside me. And we fucked fast and hard on our couch we'd own since before we'd met our friends.

Soon I no longer cared about being late.

May I

~ erotica ~

"May I?"

He gave a small head nod in consent. I practically jumped up from my seat and scurried towards him, descending down to the floor, resting on my knees by his feet.

His boots were tall stiff leather that, over time, had come to meld closer to the shape of his calf. The very top of each boot ended just below his knee.

He had ladder-laced each boot to the top, cinched each tight, wrapped the lace around his calf, tied with a simple bow in the front, and tucked the excess lace in between the tongue and side of his boot.

I found the ends of one, bringing them back out to the front. Slowly, I pulled the bow lose, leaving just a simple overhand knot. Hooking my forefinger, I made just enough space for my digit to fit between his leather and the lace before languidly tugging the crossed fiber forward until the two pieces separated.

The half of the boot lace that weaved under his work I rested to the side of his boot. I gripped the other's end and again used my forefinger to hook into the lace, slowly, intentionally pulling it through the eyelet, leaving just a fraction of its length at the end, creating a floppy U shape that dangled above the tongue.

This time, gripping the side of the U closest to the eyelet, I hooked my finger once more and pulled, sliding the lace through, leaving about four inches between the previous set of eyelets, and creating yet another floppy U. I repeated this process over and over and over again, working down his leg, til I came to the last set of eyelets.

Now, at the toe of his boot, I spread the sides of his leather apart, loosening the grip on his foot, creating the space he would soon need. Scooting myself forward, I wrapped my thighs around his leather and sat on his boot, my clit resting on his toe. With my head still tilted down, I cupped my hands in the back, gripping onto the heel.


My head tilted up and saw his face. His eyes looked stern, but not upset. He directed my gaze to his other boot. It seemed his preferred process was different from how I'd been taught, but I was happy to appease his wishes however he wanted.

Unsettling my body from his boot, still on my knees, I scooted over to his other foot. Again, I found his tucked bow. Again, I took care in undoing the simple knot, as well as the initial loosening of the crossed lace. Again, I pulled through each eyelet in long measured strokes, taking care to run the lace against the leather in hopes that he felt the friction even through the barrier. Again, I came to his last set of eyelets, spread the sides of his boot, and loosened the leather to give room for his foot.

And, just as before, head down, my thighs hugged his boot, my hands cupped his heel, and my clit rested on his toe. I waited patiently for him to slip his foot from his boot.

But then I felt the gentle rock up and onto my clit. Felt his muscles flex beneath me. Felt as he slowly maneuvered his toe up and down, up and down.

My grip on his heel grew tighter. My thighs squeezed together. I tried to keep my breathing low and calm. I licked my lips, sighed, and then bit my lower lip.

Was this a test? Was this a tease? Either way, I knew what I wanted, what he drove me closer to with each flex of his foot.

"Please?" It was a whisper.
"No." It was a command.

I bit my lip harder. I rested my forehead against his shin.


He gripped my hair, tilted my head back, and looked into my eyes. There was a muted satisfaction in his gaze as he took in my wanting agony.

"Please, Sir?"

A wide grin broke across his face.


He lifted his leg up hard multiple times as my body shaked before freeing his foot from his leather. He released my hair and I bent my head down, resting it against his boot. I picked up the loose laces and draped them inside of his boot before setting it to the side.

Again, I scooted over to his foot and placed my body as I knew he wished it, and as I so wanted it. This time he merely lifted his foot out; no reprisal of my ecstasy tonight. I draped the laces inside as before and set the second boot next to the first.

Still on my knees, I leaned over, resting my hands on the floor beside his leather. I licked the toe of each boot clean, and then kissed his boots.

Friday, December 28, 2012


For the past year I have used three words to guide my days: Bravery, Endurance, and Forgiveness.


I slogged through twelve events, an often difficult work schedule, writing the hundreds of blogs for this forum, and working on my current trio of novels yet to be published.

I had harrowing moments, especially my San Francisco and Minnesota travel odysseys. Never have I been so happy to be carry-on only. Nor was I so glad that I had seven hours to make it to the Meet & Greet.

I made it through my year, eking out tight schedules, including my September of four events (with two literally back-to-back; stepping off a plane, hopping into my car, and driving to the next event for setup), as well as the hardest three work days of my life (fifteen hours the first day, eighteen and a half hours the second day, and eight hours the third, with precious little sleep in between).

I wrote fifty thousand words while flying to San Francisco, while still making it to gigs, and while still trying to give you fresh words everyday.

I knew, going into my year, that it wasn't going to be easy. But, even more than the struggle, even more the hardship, my endurance gave me strength. I learned from my adversity, gained the knowledge of how hard I can push myself, how much I can accomplish when I just put my head down and barrel through.

I endured.


I have never been so scared as when I flew out to San Francisco for the first time. I'd never been to the west coast, and I was going to an event where I would know little to no one, save for the two folks I shared a hotel room with.

On the first day, when I put on my school girl outfit and made my way to my first class, I was beyond nervous. Would anyone here get me? Accept me? Would I find my place in this new sphere?

After that first day, I relaxed... a little. I let myself just be, even though I was still nervous enough to shake. But with each passing moment, I met someone new. Or I saw a familiar face. Or I allowed myself to explore the city, and just be me.

Part of me craves adventure, whether it be a completely unfamiliar realm or rediscovering a traveled place. This year afforded me time to go to so many spots I had never been before: Atlanta, Chicago, London!

I traveled across the pond, saw a dear friend, spent time with another, and made even more connections. Yes, I was scared when I got on the plane, scared when I landed, scared when I got lost for a very uncomfortable hour near the Elephant & Castle station.

But I didn't let my fear rule me. I didn't let my nerves or self doubt stop me.

I was brave.


One of the biggest changes for me this year has been going to see Doc. I know he's not some sort of magic man. All the work we've done has been small changes, little moves, but enough to slowly reshape my views of myself and my life.

Often I am hard on myself. Often I don't give myself the care I give to others, the love and support I offer to others. Doc urged me to be kind to myself, love myself. He encouraged me to share my feelings instead of holding them in for fear of judgement, rejection.

I know my work with Doc is not done. I know I am not a perfect person; no one is. I know the ideas I have of others, elevated up on pillars, high above what I could ever aspire for, are complete and total bullshit.

But I've stopped calling myself stupid when I make a small mistake at work. I've pushed myself to not believe one conversation about how I feel, one small gesture of affection, or one simple misstep will end my connection with another.

I've created this small space for me to just be. It's tiny, but it's comfy. And it keeps growing. Every time I look in the mirror and smile. Every time I take a picture of myself and post it on Twitter. Every time I talk to a friend and tell them how crappy something is without fear of them shunning me. Every time I am just a little kinder to myself, that space grows.

I can forgive myself for just being me.

And now, with a year gone by, it's time for three more words to guide me. More on that in a future entry.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Six words

And now for something different...

So I was watching some more TED Talks before bed tonight, and one of them featured a man named Sebastian Wernicke. I watched two of his talks actually, and both dealt with synthesizing TED Talks down. With the plethora of ideas floating around among, at the time, one thousand posted talks online, he endeavored to shrink that wealth of information down to a more workable amount, specifically six words. Both his talks are awesome and available on

With his idea as inspiration, which technically he pilfered from Hemingway, but whatevs, I'm going to write some six word stories for you tonight. And, should any of them stick in my mind for longer than the next twenty minutes to an hour (the average time I spend on a blog at night), I may just expand them later in the month, which is not much more on us.

Of course, should you like one or more of my shortest of stories, please feel free to say such in a comment. No promises, but I could be swayed to work more on one or more of the ideas below should the interest of you, my fair readers, be so piqued.

Also, I will let you in on the most obvious of cheats. Should December 31st arrive and I am still behind on blogs, I will create six word stories to fill out my obligation to myself for this year.

(My goals/plans/ideas blog for my next three hundred and sixty-five days on this earth is also coming soon, though I fear it may not be til after the new year has arrived. I'll see what I can do, though.)

So, as promised, without further ado, please enjoy the following six word stories:

1) MoMa: Inventing Impressionism; awe inspiring hour.

2) Can't speak but need to scream.

3) I feel lost all the time.

4) The dark is the bad place.

5) Sweet one. Kind one. Lost one.

6) I'm happy because he left me.

7) I've missed you every moment since.

8) I know you don't love me.

9) Our family is more than bloodlines.

10) Kiss me. Fuck me. Leave me.

11) Stop yourself from being that girl.

I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, or, should you celebrate another winter holiday, or no holiday at all for that matter, I hope you, at the very least, had a pleasing Tuesday.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012


~ a poem ~

My hands in his hair.
Guiding his tongue along, around my clit.
Brushing his bristly beard in languid strokes up and down my pussy.
My legs resting on his shoulders as he devours me.

His hands in my hair.
Guiding my mouth along his shaft.
Bobbing my head back and forth on his cock.
Pushing my face further.
Pushing his cock deeper.
His two feet planted on the floor, commanding the room.

My hands on the edge of the couch.
Supporting my weight.
My body bent over.
My hips high in the air.
My ass begging, pleading for my cunt.
Wanting nothing more than his cock inside my very wet pussy.

His hand stroking his cock.
Him looking at me.
Waiting for my plea.
Waiting for the word he loves to hear drip from my lips.


My hands gripping the cushion.
Pushing back against the strength of him.
Pushing back onto him.
Pushing him further into me.

His hands on my hips.
Rocking my body.
Powering forward.
Thrusting, pumping, fucking me right.

My hand brushing hair out of my face.
His hand gripping my strands again.

My hand reaching back to rub my clit.
His hand squeezing my cheek and then smacking my ass.


Bodies and pussy and cock and cums.
And hands.

Sunday, December 23, 2012


~ a pittance poetry ~


Deep in the forest, creeping through the almost night
Drifts a little girl clinging to a small light.

She wanders and cries, and holds her beam tight
Not knowing what dangers lurk or could fright.

She wishes she were home, weeps at her plight
For she does not know how exactly to fight

The fear welling against her little child might
That there is something in the woods that will bite

Or claw or tear or scream or scare or quite
Frankly, more horror the thought, invite

Her terrors to rise to worse heights
Like her lost toy, this her search for her white kite.


Don't tell me what to say
Don't tell me how to play

Don't pretend you're nice
Don't pretend I'm your vice

Don't smile and lie
Don't ask or pry

Don't give or take
Don't feint or fake

Don't love and leave
Yet be what I need

Do smile and ask
Do test and pass

Do open yourself up
Do let it erupt

Do tell truths
Do kiss my bruise

Do hold me tight
And be just right


He loved me
He left me
He healed me
He cleft me

In two to live
In two we give
In true our hearts
Incur love's darts

Saturday, December 22, 2012


It was just so perfectly timed.

The thought popped into my head.

Sitting on a couch, reading a book, waiting for him to return home. Hearing him entering, but my not responding. Just reading my book; no care in the world.

He drops his things. Immediately drops to his knees. Pulls my skirt up. And begins eating me out.

I'd drop the book, loosing my place, but oh-my-god not caring.

Resting my hands in his hair. Reclining my head back. Moaning. Riding his face. Grinding against his tongue and lips.

That passion. That not-caring-or-giving-a-fuck-I-want-you-that-much lust. Getting lost in it. Drowning in it. Never wanting to come up for air.

That thought, those images playing around in my head.

And then the song came on.

My car radio playing while I'm out shopping for gifts. Hearing the back beat swell right before the DJ stops talking. Just enough time for recognition and move to action. Turning up the volume. Blaring the music and lyrics.

And now they are together: my fantasy and the soundtrack for that fuck.

The memory of the smell of my wet pussy. The imagined feel of his lips on my clit. My remembered moans. And the sound of the music. The evoking words. The heavy bass. The dark yet sensuous song booming from my car's speakers into my ears.

For four minutes, I lived in my mind. Imagining my tensed muscles. His supple lips. My gasps and groans. I felt the warmth grow inside me. Felt the rising to my high. Wished, for once, more than anything else, that my brain could make my fantasy come true.

And then the song ended.

Friday, December 21, 2012


I went to a company holiday party last night.

I went to Happy Hour first, had drinks with friends, and made plans for the holidays, but then I left earlier than normal and found my way to the bowling alley where the event was held. It was hosted by one of the half dozen companies I work for, and, funny enough, the one I've worked for the longest.

Driving over, I was a bit nervous. Not as nervous as I could have been, considering I had two drinks before leaving Happy Hour, which relaxed me a bit. But still, I was little nervous.

The company hosting the event is the same company that my Ex works for. On the drive there, I was worried about making it before the party ended, and making sure the guy I was selling a scarf to* would be there. But also needling in the back of my head was whether or not I would see my Ex.

I was arriving late, fully 2.5hrs into a 4hr party. And last time I checked, my Ex didn't have a car. Maybe he wouldn't be there. Maybe I would show up, get my $25 from scarf guy, have a free drink or two, and leave. Maybe things would be okay.

Well, they were okay, but not for the reasons I listed above.

It was rainy. And not the fun-light-playful rainy. It was cold-windy-puddle-making rainy; decidedly not fun. I parked my car and sprinted into the bowling alley.

First thing I noticed, when I got inside, was that this was a nice bowling alley. New-ish carpet, mood lighting, and monitors in front of all the lanes as well as at the ends of the alleys. Okay, I thought. Guess they weren't skimping when they picked this place.

I looked left and glimpsed a "Private Bowling Lanes" sign above a set of French doors. Walking inside, I saw familiar faces. The first that caught my eye was my favorite work friend who I immediately walked towards.

"You're not wearing pants."
"This is my first time seeing you not wear pants."
"Yes, I have a strict no pants policy when I'm not working."

I was wearing my comfy gray skirt, red tank top, white snap shirt, awesome black & gray stripped socks, my purple flats, and my Santa hat. I gave him a big hug; then we began chatting.

But almost as soon as I struck up a conversation with him, I saw movement in my periphery. It was my Ex. He stepped towards me, leaned in, gave me a hug, and said, "Hi. You look really cute." I hugged him back and then we parted. He walked away while I stayed with my work friend.

To say that I was shocked would be to both over and under state my mental-ness at that moment. I was surprised that 1) he made a gesture of pleasantries towards me, 2) that it seemed warm and genuine, & 3) that it felt... normal.

It was just so normal.

We didn't speak again for the rest of the night, which was fine; I can't say we have anything to talk about. But there was never a cross word, never a leering look, never anything negative to speak of. I hung out with my group of work friends; he hung out with his. I genuinely had a good time.

All my nerves leading up to that moment now seemed silly, and, having had that simple interaction makes me hopeful that things are okay with us. Not perfect, because no breakup is perfect, but okay. And that's pretty cool, considering how far we've come.

So...yay. We made it to normal. It only took three years, but we made it to normal.

*So I've sold two scarves this season, and have an order for a third. Super awesome!

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Good Boy

~ erotica ~

Everyone was on the floor. He sat cross-legged in front of me. My crotch nuzzled up to his tight little ass, my legs laying lazily on the carpeted ground. My chin rested on his shoulder. We watched the small intimate show, cheering on our friend who was dancing. But I wanted a little more entertainment for my evening.

I reached my arms around him, spread apart his thighs, and wrapped my legs around his middle, resting the heels of my boots on the floor. My chest now laid against his back, my arms around him. I let my hands dangle as my forearms rested on the inside of my knees.

I brushed my nose against his ear before whispering my intent for the evening.

"I'm going to eat your asshole tonight."

I heard the stalled breath and immediately felt his body tense. He slowly reached a hand up and gently dragged my hand down to his crotch where his cock was already growing hard. I massaged his cock through his shorts while we waited for the show to finish.

When the show ended and the party began, I quickly sat my things down under a suspension frame. He'd sat against the wall waiting. I turned to him, extended my finger, and beckoned him over. He crawled like any good boy would.

With a move reminiscent of how I'd soon play with his ass, I gestured for him to stand. I leaned in close, my lips again by his ear.

"Do you like sexual humiliation?"
"I... I don't know."
"Hmm, I think we'll find out tonight."

I grabbed one of his wrist and then the other, tying a basic cuff around both before throwing the excess of my rope above the top and pulling down, lifting his limbs into the air. He could still stand flat on his feet, but he couldn't get away.

I grabbed him by his hips and turned him towards the party crowd. Most people milled about, looking for places to play, equipment to use, or a place to sit, but a few watched us, wondering if we'd make a good show.

I unbuckled his belt, unzipped his shorts, and pulled off the fabric. Like a good boy, he wore no underwear. His cock was mostly hard. Even with his shirt still on, I could tell he felt exposed. He looked down towards the carpet.

"Look up. Keep your eyes open. I want you to see them as they watch you, as they watch me fuck you."

Reluctantly, he did as he was told.

I dropped to one knee and eased his legs apart, gripping his cheeks to expose his asshole. I reached over and dragged both my bag and a small table to within easy access. I put on two gloves, and grabbed a condom, my bottle of lube, and a special surprise toy, setting them next to me on the table.

With each cheek firmly in my grasp, I spread my tongue wide and gave my first long languid lick. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, and gasped. I quickly gripped his balls and called up to him, "What did I say?"

"Keep my eyes open."
"That's right. You can gasp, moan, plea, and scream, but your eyes will remain open."

My mouth delved back into the cleft of his ass, licking furiously now, tracing his rim with the tip of my tongue, using the stud in my mouth to tickle his flesh, and delicately probing inside of him. He pushed his hips back, an eager little slut, wanting more and more of my tongue in his ass.

But I wanted something more now.

Standing up, I riped open the condom wrapper, pulled out my cock, and slid the latex down my shaft. Taking up the lube bottle, I generously slicked up my cock for my boy, as well as one of my hands. I set the lube bottle back on the little table next to me again, just in case I'd need it later.

My dry hand found my boy's cock, rock hard now, and stroked him as my slick hand's fingertips played with my boy's asshole.

"Having fun?"
"Good, because now I'm going to fuck this little ass of yours. Would you like that?"

Again he pushed back as my fingers now explored inside of him. Good and warmed up, I pressed the head of my cock to his hole, easing it into him, and slowly sliding all of me inside him.

"Fuck!" he screamed.
"Yes, my boy. That is exactly what I'm doing to you."

My hands rested on the front of his pelvis, pushing him further onto my cock, framing his cock for those watching. Indeed, we had drawn a crowd. My boy looked on them, no more embarrassment in his eyes.

"You like it when they watch me fuck you. You like it when they see me take control of you, my cock inside of you, ramming in and out, don't you?"

I shifted my hips, slowly easing my cock out and then gliding it back in, slowly fucking deep into his ass. When I did this again, he whimpered in the way that got me hotter.

"Are you about to cum?"

He repeated the word over and over. I held my cock inside of him, not moving it, but instead reaching over and grabbing my surprise. I rested the small vibrator on the millimeter of my cock not fully in his ass, and turned it on.

"You like that?"
"My cock buzzing inside of you."
"Do you still want to cum?"
"Yes! Please! Oh God please!"

With one hand, I gripped his balls, massaging them firmly. The other cupped the head of his cock.


His body twitched and jerked, his head having no choice but to follow the spasms. He spewed into my hand, white, sticky, and warm. I brought that hand to his mouth where he greatly lapped up every last drop of his cum from my fingers. I wiped the excess moisture on his face, down his chest, and back onto his cock, stroking his now sensitive organ, my rock hard cock still inside of him.

"Now, what do you say?"
"Thank you. Thank you."
"That's my good boy."


~ erotica ~

The concert was loud. And crowded. And because of a series of annoying laws recently passed I had to take my nicotine addiction outside into the cold wet evening.

The band was bland, the beer flat and just barely not warm, and the food was sold out, though I would not have expected much from the small kitchen in the first place.

I leaned against the brick wall, staring up into the cloudy night sky, enjoying my cigarette, even in the damp chill air.

And then she stepped outside. Fishnets. High heels. Tight short skirt. Tank top, sequined, showing just-barely-not-too-much cleavage. A black leather jacket. Ruby red lipstick. Hair pulled back off her face.

She looked over at me, leaning up against my wall, enjoying my fag, and gave me a smile. She stepped over, came in close, and whispered in my ear, "Can I get a light?"

In her lips she placed a clove cigarette retrieved from her jacket pocket. I enjoyed the way holding the cigarette accentuated her lips just that much more. I pulled out my Zippo, with one snap popped it open, and the second lighting the flame. Leaning into the small heat source, she took a few good puffs before standing up straight again, but still standing very close to me.

I could feel the vibration of the music inside through the wall I still leaned on. But I could also hear the pitter patter of the occasional rain drop that landed next to us.

With each of her inhales, she let the smoke settle deep into her chest, and then tiled her head back and blew up towards the dreary sky. I enjoyed the line of her neck, the routine of her closing her eyes, feeling the slight high, and then releasing it into the air.

When about half her cigarette was finished, I realized I hadn't spoken a word to her, and that she hadn't care. The smile was still on her face, and she still looked at me with eyes that were asking for more than a light.

Finished with my smoke, I flicked my butt away and stood up tall for only a moment before pivoting and leaning into her, my arm against the brick wall, my lips by her ear.

"I live a five minute walk away, and I want to do more than light your cigarette tonight. I want to taste the skin on your neck, wrap my lips around your nipples, and enjoy your sweetness as I eat your pussy til you cum. I want your hands in my hair pushing my face into your cunt. I want to hear you scream from ecstasy as I make your body shiver and shake. Now, do you want to go back inside, or do you want to follow me home?"

For good measure, I nibbled her ear just a little before I stood up tall and took her back to my place.

She screamed. She cursed. She rode my face, pulling my hair, pushing my mouth into her cunt. She came, and came, the sweet music of her ecstasy more melodious than the band both of us had ditched for our fun.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012


My session with Doc today was surprisingly awesome.

We started talking about OKCupid and how I've completely revamped my profile, basically lifting my recent blog post about my disappointment with the site and pasting it into my profile, including the list of minimum qualifications.

My daily message count has drop significantly, but I'm actually pretty good with that. The quality coming my way most days was meh.

After talking about OKC, we transitioned into talking about happiness.

I watched a bunch of TED Talks last night, one of which was seven minutes just on the power of smiling.

Smiling lifts your mood, is a stress reliever, and can make you seem more appealing to the opposite sex.

Doc found it interesting that of all the TED Talks I could've watched, I happened upon that one.

And then I got my homework for this week: smiling.

Doc encouraged me to smile at random times in the day. He asked me to try to take fifteen to thirty minutes where I just plaster a smile on my face and leave it there. He suggested I do it at home, in case I was worried about seeming odd while out and about. This act alone, he posited, would be enough to lift my overall mood.

Doc also suggested a smiling exercise throughout my day. If I came upon a stressful situation, he asked me to smile, take a deep breath in, sigh out, and speak what word or words fit the situation. He encouraged me to develop a mantra of my own for my smile-sigh practice.

The point of the exercise is for me to re-train my brain to deal with stress and negative moments and emotions, to learn to slow down, relax, and process, to find a way to get through without letting the situation overcome me.

With that in mind, I turn that homework over to all of you. Why don't you, my amazing readers, try heeding my Doc's advice?

Smile more. Smile often. Take a moment, when something gets tough or seemingly overwhelming, to just stop, smile, sigh, and maybe just say "fuck it" or "okay" or "I'll get through".

How much better could your life be if you just choose to make yourself happier? If you choose to try to be a bit brighter. Or, and this is the best part, if you just fool your brain into believing that you are indeed happy. Turns out, according to Doc, that the emotional part of our brains are pretty stupid. If you just smile, right now, for no good reason, and leave that plastered on your face for a minute, you will feel happier. Your brain will think, "Hey, I guess I'm happy because I'm smiling."

So try it. Who knows? You might turn into a smiling happy fool. And wouldn't the world be just a little bit better with a few more of those in our lives?

Tuned In

My life infects my writing.
My writing infects my life.
- me, in a random moment of realization and blunt honesty

So there was this moment at work. Well, no, it wasn't actually at work, but it was during the break between our setup and our tear down. It was this subtle little thing, a blink of an eye, yet as soon as it happened I had the feeling I would end up telling Doc about it. And I did just that today.

I was sitting in a booth in a diner with two of my co-workers. One sat next to me, the other across from us. The one who sat next to me was a nice guy, which I already knew. He was in charge for both calls and I had worked with him before.

However this was the first time we had had a chance to chat for more than a minute or two. He gave me a ride to the diner since I drove the box truck for the event and we chatted in his vehicle.

He was a really good guy. Like I said, I'd sort of knew that, but hadn't experienced it first hand before. I know his girlfriend and, since she was with him, knew that he had be to pretty awesome. And he is.

So we're all sitting in the booth, finished with our meals, killing time while waiting to go back to work. The boys (my other co-worker was also a guy) were chatting about sound stuff, an area that I have almost zero interest in. I spent my time playing on my phone and reading my Twitter feed.

So they're talking, and I'm ignoring them, when the super awesome nice guy sitting next to me crosses his arms, resting them on the table, leaving his left hand dangling there. And I immediately have this desire to reach out and grab his hand, hold it, grip his fingers with my own.

The moment was so striking, it hit me almost like a Mach truck. (Yes, this experience is what inspired PDA.)

Of course I didn't do it. He was not my boyfriend, he has an awesome girlfriend who I like a lot, and I, like most adults, have a modicum of self control.

But that moment has stuck with me for the past few days.

When I spoke to Doc about it, he had me explain why it happened. There are a few reasons.

First, Doc, as homework, has stressed for me to actively tune into my emotions. He wants me to be aware of how I am feeling moment to moment and see how that affects my day-to-day, especially in the area of me opening up to people about my feelings.

Second, this particular job happened to be the last gig I had before the slow season at work started. I was highly stressed, having had little sleep in the past few days coupled with lots of work.

Lastly, this moment, though it was in between gigs, was also highly relaxing. The boys were talking exuberantly about sound design. I was enjoying my time on the interwebs. We were all getting along smashingly.

All of this led to my flash of awareness of something I wanted. Because I was tuned into my emotions, I realized all at once:

1- This guy sitting next to me was awesome, a fact I had not fully appreciated before.
2- I felt the need to be comforted, to have someone in my life be there for me when times got difficult, when the stresses of the busy season got to me.
& 3- I need someone in my life to fill this roll.

I can say a lot of things about my Ex, but this was one area where he got it right. My Ex was my champion, my cheerleader. He always thought more of me, more of my work than I did, and was there for me when I came home tired, worn out, and needing a strong set of arms to fall into.

It's been three years since I broke up with him, three years without that person to come home too. I've spent almost as long outside of our relationship as I spent in it. And though I don't want him back, I want that person in my life again.

I want that person to come home to, that person who is my champion, my cheerleader. I want those arms to fall into at night, that voice telling me how great I am, that I can do it, that it will all be okay.

I want a partner again.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012


~ a fictional truth ~

When you came home, tired from work, grumpier than normal. When you flopped down on the couch, kicked off your shoes, and said you wanted nothing more than to be left alone. When I slowly crept beside you, and softly asked if you wanted me to rub your shoulders. Or fix you dinner. Or just leave you alone for an hour. When I asked in the way I know is soothing to you, whether you know it or not.

That was me taking care of you, being there for you, telling you how much you mean to me.

When you left for work this morning, rushed as ever, focusing on your day's endeavours. When you couldn't pick out the right look for your big presentation. When you couldn't remember where you'd placed your keys. When you almost walked out the door without your lunch. Or your scarf, even though it's been freezing outside all day for days. When I picked just the right look, found your keys, wrapped your scarf around your neck, and kissed you bye as you rushed off.

That was me being your champion, your cheerleader, the person who always has faith in you, the person who knows how great you are, telling you how great you can be.

When we slipped off to sleep in each others arms, our breathing the only noise in our room. When I nuzzled my cheek against your skin. When I sighed in that way I sometimes do when falling asleep, allowing my body and my breath to fall into you.

That was me telling you how comforting you make me feel, how safe my world is when I'm with you, how you are my home.

When you kissed me, your lips so gentle against mine. When your hands explored my body. When I arched my back, breathed heavy into your ear, and whispered dirty thoughts your way. When I relaxed and let my body be with your flesh. When I came.

That was me telling you how much I want you, need you, desire you, love you.

Monday, December 17, 2012

e[lust] #42

Photo courtesy of Penny

Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Please check the site in January to find out if e[lust] will be continuing under a new owner, or not. Thanks for participating!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~
My Stint as an Escort
Gone Daddy Gone
Showing My Spots

~ e[lust] Editress ~
Curtain Call

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~
Thoughts: Safe Words
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
Ask Aunty Dee: Anal Play and Buttplugs
Being sexy
I'm Monogamish, Apparently
Orgasms, Spontaneous
Profoundly in love
Rape Fantasies
Why Don't You Go Fuck Yourself?

Kink & Fetish
An Unexpected Gift
Cathartic Sex
Confession: The Stalking of a Doll
He got off to my laugh
Kink Guide to Fifty Shades Darker: conclusion
Kinky erotica from the top's point of view
Pain and Collars
Pegging Prep for Virgin Territory
The Cowboy (1 of 4)

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor
a different kind of scene

Erotic Writing
Dream Lover
Everything You Give
From the Inside
Get Back in Line
Just Hands
Lust in the Dunes - Part VII: The Love Elite
nching on "Special K"
On The Phone
Out of the Blue
Take Two
The Stranger
White Stockings, White Stockings She Wore
What if?
Writing Challenge - A Question


~ a half imagined moment ~

We sat in the diner booth, the three of us killing time til our afternoon movie, a distraction to fill the dreary Sunday. He sat next to me, our legs almost, but not quite, touching. Our friend sat across from us, massaging his scalp, then retying his dreadlocks back up under his bandanna.

Our friend and he talked, rather exuberantly, about a subject I had zero interest in. I found them almost cute in how much they loved the subject, except for the fact that I could not follow them, nor did I want to.

All of us at the beginning of our diner stay, even before our server took our orders, had brought out our smartphones. His laid to his left, at the edge of the table; if it had been a thin thing, I would've feared it falling. Our friend alternated between unlocking and relocking his Droid throughout our wait for our food, our meal, and even now as we sat, the two of them sipping coffee and talking.

I occasionally twirled my phone on one of its corners, but now it rested at an angle on the edge of the table as I perused my Twitter feed, letting the boys have their chat in peace.

He crossed his arms, resting his left forearm on the table, his left hand dangling in the pocket of space between his chest and the edge. His right hand gesticulated enthusiastically as he explained to our friend the answer to his tech problem, solving an issue that seemed almost impossible.

Matter-of-factly, I reached my left hand over and held his forefinger, softly massaging it with my thumb.

He continued to talk to our friend, and I continued to read my feed, but our hands under the table lived a life all their own.

He pivoted his arm, giving his hand more room to move. He interlocked his fingers with mine, sliding his digits in and out between the valleys of my hand. He grazed his fingertips inside my palm, tracing my life, wisdom, and love lines. He danced his digits across my skin on the back of my hand, encircling each knuckle, figure-eighting across and back. And then he gripped my hand again, squeezing hard, holding it tight.

I didn't let go. Nor did he.

It was loving, comforting, having him so close to me, being so close to him. Even in this restaurant, even on this dreary day, I felt warm not because of the layers of clothing on my body. I felt the heat between us, the connection, the constant way we always had an eye on each other.

When it was time, our trio paid our bill, left the restaurant, and headed to the small theatre nearby. We saw the indy movie with our friend; everyone loved it. We then went home.

But during the walk to the theatre, and during the movie, and as he drove us home, more time than not, we held each others hand.

Friday, December 14, 2012


~ erotica ~


He turned, looking at me quizzically.

When the doors to the elevator closed, I immediately grabbed him by his tie and pulled his body towards mine. We slammed against the wall with a muffled thud, his head now near mine as I continued to hold his fashioned noose. His leather gloved hands had instinctively braced against the wall, his arms above me, his wool coat crowding me, his body enclosed around me.

"What are you doing?"
"Oh, nothing."

I kissed him, quieting his inquiry. His left hand found my hair, gripping my strands tight and pulling my face into his, our embrace ravishing our lips. The sweet aroma of his leather filled my nostrils along with his cologne which he loved to layer on before we ever left the house.

My free hand, which was resting on his chest, now eased into his coat, unbuttoning his wool as it traveled, gliding down his shirt, across his pant leg, and finally caressing his now stiffening cock. I felt the smile form on his lips as we kissed. I returned it in kind.

"What if someone...?"
"What if someone?"

I released my grip on his tie, and hurriedly unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, and pulled out his hard cock. His right hand went right for my thigh, lifting me up and onto his cock, finding easy entry through my tights; I'd cut out the crotch for just such moments.

"Fuck," I gasped as he entered me, reclining my head back, taking all of him in.

His movements hiked my skirt up to my hips. His hands now went for my shirt through my open jacket, wrenching my breasts just barely free. His lips closed around my nipple and sucked before lightly nipping the delicate flesh. His teeth then found my neck, my arms encircling his head.

My hips pumped trying to ride him against the elevator wall. He used his arms and his hips to lift and let me down, as in and out his cock glided inside me.

With a jolt, we stopped. The elevator had started moving, descending.

"Shit!" he screamed.
"Fuck, please don't stop," I whispered into his ear.

We were heading down, down to the lobby again.

But I was there. I was right there. Just another moment. Just another minute.


He kissed me and fucked me hard, pumping my body up and down on him, grinding my back against the wall. Closer, closer to my cum. Closer, closer to the lobby. My warmth growing. The floor levels decreasing.


When the doors opened up, the old man saw the back of the gentleman's wool coat, as well as the back of the gentleman's head, and he could just make out the form of a woman standing in the back corner of the elevator. Her breathing was labored, her head planted on the man's chest, his arms around her. Their embrace created a small world for them in the back of the elevator.

The old man's steps were as labored as the woman's breathing, but he had come to accept his slower speed with his increased age. He crept onto the elevator, his walking cane, now his most beloved travel companion, helping his way.

The woman caught a glimpse of his face as he entered. The old man wore a knowing smile, as if a friend were constantly whispering truths into his ear. With an uneven gait, he turned around, and pushed the button for the fourth floor.

He couldn't hear the two behind him, save for the woman's breathing which was slow to ease. He reached up to readjust his hat and push his glasses back up on his nose. When his floor came, he lumbered off the elevator.

Just as the doors were closing, he stuck his cane in between them, bounding the metal back open.

"Next time, push all the buttons. That way the ride down is a little longer."

The old man tipped his hat to the couple and lazily walked away.

Thursday, December 13, 2012


~ a story ~

As the doors opened, my breath caught in my throat, yet I tried not to show it. She just stood there, no leaned there, against the wall of the elevator, her manner so striking, yet quiet, unassuming.

Her body was positioned in the lazy way fashion models try to fake, but on her it was real. Her hair was raven black, cascading down far past her shoulders, skimming the sides of her hips.

Her eyes darted up for only a moment before returning to the tiny screen in her hands. Even in that brief millisecond I saw they were a rich brown, almost as dark as her hair. One ear bud hung from the other, only half delivering music I could just barely not hear.

Like everyone these days she was bundled against the cold. And like most magazine covers, she made my paltry drab look all the more quaint. Her thick knit scarf, the cream color a soft accent against her sun-kissed skin, hid all of her throat. Her black leather jacket was buttoned up and zippered, but with the belt strap hung loose on her sides. Her jeans had rips and holes that revealed blood red tights underneath. And her scuffed and worn dark brown boots looked older than she did.

It was as if I were looking at a fantasy, as if the elevator had created a dream and revealed it to me, some sort of evening prize after my long day at the office.

I'd stood so long at the entrance, shocked by the sight of her, that when I went to step into the elevator, the doors knocked into my arms and opened back up. She didn't bother glancing up at my clumsiness. I took a spot across from her, leaned against the elevator wall as well, though not nearly as cool as she, and waited for the doors to close.

After a moment, she reached out her hand and softly hit the Door Close button. Before I could stop myself, I said, "I think they make those, but never connect anything to them. They just want to give you the satisfaction of thinking you're doing something to make your trip quicker."

Her eyes flashed up at me again, her annoyance easily conveyed without words. The doors closed slowly; somehow it felt like the world was growing smaller, claustrophobic-like. Instead of hoping for more time in the presence of this beauty, which was all I wanted as soon as I glimpsed her, now all I desired was for the small box to move quickly so that I might run away from my embarrassment.

But, true to form, the elevator stopped on every floor on its way up to the seventh level where my, and it would seem hers as well, car was parked. No one else got onto the lift, yet there must have been some random malfunction since none of the indicator lights for any level were lit. And at each new stop, she extended her finger and jabbed the Door Closed button a few times, a futile effort to get away from someone who wanted the separation just as much as she.

As we painfully endured our long trip, I could think of no way to salvage my self worth, no way of redeeming my stature to her, so I merely stared at the floor and bit my tongue, hoping to not let loose any more ill advised words.

When finally we reached the seventh floor, she seemed to make a made dash for her car. In a quick moment, as a game to myself, I tried to snap guess what car she drove. But it was obvious from the start as soon as I stepped off the elevator. The only two vehicles about were a shiny jet black Prius and my old Jeep.

She hopped into her ride, silently turned on her car, and slid away, cool to the very end.

I stepped into my Jeep and let it warm up as I banged my head against my steering wheel a few times. Then I drove off, hoping I would never see her again.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012


~ a story ~

As he walked down the street, no one took notice of his form. He glided over the concrete, barely making a sound with each footfall. He wore a suit, though it was wrinkled seemingly from his day. His hair was mussed, almost as if he were in a fight, but not as messed up as one would assume such activities would entail.

I noticed him from my car as I drove by. While no one else seemed to know he even existed, his form caught me, almost startling me.

I recognized his face immediately, though I only saw part of it as my car approached. Instinctively, I applied my accelerator, putting myself as far away from him as possible. He was dangerous, calculating, and never to be underestimated.

Yet that was what everyone he encountered seemed to do. Others had discounted his influence and had paid dearly for their naivete. I only missed his shock wave by accident. I didn't come to work that day; I had the flu.

When my boss first saw him, she recalled his warm manner and even nature. That day his suit was pressed, his shoes shiny, reflecting the amber lights of our lobby, making his honey gold eyes sparkle even more.

My boss liked him immediately, and invited him into the small conference room. The haze of his sphere of influence drifted throughout the office as he passed by the sea of cubicles, eyes turning as he moved. My boss recalled his motions being catlike, with an inhuman smoothness and predatory stature.

Yet she couldn't help but nod and smile as he made his proposal, barley glimpsing the paperwork he placed in front of her before she signed, shook his hand, and then invited the first person in the waiting line that had formed during their meeting to enter and have their own little chat.

When he was done, everyone in our company was swooned, and swindled, yet none could say no. His fancy talk, his calm and comforting air, and the smile; he was a devil cloaked in fairy dust, sprinkled over all he encountered.

When I came into work a few days later, the mood was somber, reflective. No one wanted to talk to me, to talk about him. No one wanted to admit their err, their stupidity, their new woes ahead. And none really understood how it had happened.

I finally got the story from my boss, who showed me the surveillance video, showed me the evidence of his allure right there in snowy black and white. The turned heads. The line outside the conference room. And his face, a face I made sure to remember.

I couldn't believe it. To look at him, he wasn't much. How could he cast such a spell over them all?

I didn't want to know. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Even in a wrinkled suit. Even with mussed hair and a slow unassuming gait. Even with his back to me, I knew a predator when I saw one.

I floored my car, raced away, and hoped I would never spot the man again.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012


~ a poem ~

You feel like a drug.

The rush
at just
the smell of you.

The high
when your hands
are on my body,
when your lips
touch mine
and we kiss.

God, when you're inside me.
It's almost...
almost too much.

I feel like
an addict,
always craving
the high of you,
the high of us

I can't stop
thinking about you,
your hands,
your lips, 
my next hit.
How much will I get
this time?
Enough to last
the night?
A few hours?
Or maybe just
til you leave.

And then I'll sweat
and shake.
I'll ring my hands
and pull my hair.

I'll wonder:
What can I bargain?
What can I do
to have more of you?

You are my drug.
I am your addict.
And I don't ever
want to kick the habit.

Monday, December 10, 2012


~ an imagined romance ~

"That sound you hear, that awkward long silence punctuated by my now explanation of it. Well... that's me biting my lip and my cheeks hurting from how hard I'm smiling. That's me being over-the-moon thrilled by your call, so more than happy to hear your voice. That's me not saying it, but feeling how much I love you and I'm really glad you called."

Her smile couldn't help but ride her voice, bursting from the phone's speaker into an awaiting ear. And Fera couldn't help but catch the infectious nature of Gem's grin.

"How is it? Where are you this week?"

"Oh, just some small town in the middle of nowhere, at least it feels like nowhere. We're inspecting soil samples this time, testing for baselines and to see if there's been any contamination to the ground water or crop soil. Hot, boring work out in the heat of the long summer day. But surely you've got better things to talk about, something more fun you want to hear."

"I just want to hear your voice. Even if it's talking about dirt and water. Even if you're tired or worn down. I miss you next to me, so since I can't have that, can you just keep talking."

"About what?"

"About anything. What did you have for breakfast?"

Gem, with her earnest honesty. With her dark brown eyes that always made Fera melt. Gem with the insistence on weekly calls, long aimless conversations, so much time spent on the phone while Fera was away. Gem, the girl Fera couldn't help but love.

"I had orange juice, a bagel, and some oatmeal. What about you?"

"I didn't eat breakfast. I hit snooze too many times and had to run out the door to make it to work on time."

Gem, who never wanted to get out of bed. Who, on Sunday mornings when Fera slept over, would curl up next to lover, pulling all the covers away, and never letting them go. Or who'd splay her entire body across the bed, arms draped over Fera, snoring loudly into her lover's ear. Or who'd grumble when Fera got out of bed, lifting the sheets, letting all the warmth dash into the room.

Even grouchy sleepy lazy Gem was still the Gem Fera missed now, the voice over her phone on this Monday night.

"I miss you."

"I miss you more. We should plan something for when you get back."

"Like what?"

Gem, the schemer. Gem, the big idea girl. Gem, her love.

"Definitely something big. And fun. And with lots of friends."

"And lots of clean up."

"You won't have to do any of it."

I'll have to do all of it, thought Fera. 
"How about just you and me, Gem. Just you and me in bed, on a chilly morning, watching something unimportant, sipping hot cocoa, snuggled up next to each other."

"I miss our Sunday mornings, me magically finding you in my sleep."

"I miss the scent of your hair as you slept, it all tousled about and wild. And the little whisper of your breathing as you drifted off. And how you'd close your fists tight as you slept, as if you were holding onto something and would never let it go."

"When do you get home?"

"You know, Gem. End of the summer."

"But it's so far away."

"I know."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too. But you know I have to go to bed now. Very early morning."

"I know. I just don't want to stop talking to you. I don't want to not hear your voice."

"Okay. You're in bed, right?"


"Curl up under the covers."


"Nice and snuggled?"


"Okay, and so am I. Now, close your eyes. Imagine my arms around you. Imagine my breath on your neck. My face resting in your hair. You can hear my breathing as it slows. As I drift off into sleep with you."

Fera could hear love's slowed breathing. Could hear she'd stopped moving. And, a moment later, could hear her Gem fast asleep.

"Goodnight love," Fera whispered, the sound of Gem sleeping her only needed reply before hanging up the phone.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Must Eat Pussy

I have not been on OKCupid for long, but in my brief stint I have grown disheartened, disillusioned, and dis, I mean pissed, off in general by the crop of folk migrating my way.

It seems so simple, and yet it also seems to be the hardest thing in the world: a person who I find attractive sending me a coherent thoughtful message.

As such, I have decided to soon augment my profile with some information that will hopefully weed out unsuitable applicants who come upon my page. Of course they may just ignore my words all together, but at least I tried a little harder.

Henceforth, here are some of the basic standards I intend to hold up as the introductory requirements for me even considering someone for possible dates.

1) Thou shalt not be a douche.

You can be an asshole, if you are a fun lovable asshole. There are assholes in my life that have done some asshole-ish things to me, but I asked for it. Assholes can make things way more interesting, can push you to be more honest than you might want to be. Fun lovable assholes are good.

You can be geeky. In fact, I would prefer you at least be a little bit geeky. Geeky is fucking awesome. We can geek out about Battlestar Galactica or Harry Potter or the Avengers. We can share our geekiness with each other and marvel in all the geeky awesomeness that we are. Geekiness is a plus.

You can be passionate, ecstatic, full of life and energy. You can run around ready to teach and learn and grow and shape the people around you and reshape yourself.

You can be quiet, reserved, yet a totally great person I want to be around. You don't need to be loud or boisterous. Just being yourself is great in and out itself, without all the bells and whistles.

But a douche... 

A douche brings everyone down. A douche turns awesome to awkward. A douche takes the party from YAY! to meh. I will find it very hard to like you, let alone date you, if you are a douche. No douches accepted; please keep it moving if you are a douche.

2) Thou shalt not be a hermit.

My last "relationship" involved me with an anti-social individual. Most of our time was spent at either my place or his (or ours when we moved in together). I tried to be happy with it just being us, or me leaving to go do things alone with my friends. All the time. Never with him. But I was lying to myself.

I'm not saying I'll expect us to do everything together, because no. But we will do some things together. 

I can, at times, be a little social butterfly. Yes, I go to quite a few events and visit my friends all over this great planet. But if I had a partner, a person I was fully committed to, I would make more than enough time for us, just us. And then I would want you to come along for the ride, experiencing some of the fun stuff with me.

I want a travel companion, a concert buddy, a hotel roommate, a lover, and a friend.

3) Thou shalt talk.

Not only was my Ex anti-social, he didn't talk about his feelings. Ever. Very big problem.

I'm not saying I expect us to go into marathon gab sessions where we explore the inner reaches of our moral code, dissect the influence of our parents and siblings on who we are, and finally realize the thing that has held us back from true enlightenment.

But I do expect us to talk. Tell me if something upsets you. Makes you happy. How was your day? I want to know that. Is there something bothering you? Something you want to expound on that makes you happy.

Talk. Because if you don't then we will have problems because...

4) We shall be poly.

I am poly. I am poly. I don't stop being poly just because I don't currently have any partners, nor will I cease to be poly because the immensity of your love with fill me to the brim with all the blahblahblah.

No. I am poly.

I have the great capacity to love many people, and would love to have multiple special important lovers in my life. I want partners, dammit, and the idea of denying myself a full rich life because someone wants to change my mind or, worse still, change me, is heartbreaking. And a definite dealbreaker.

I am all for us going slow, not jumping into a W configuration with random semi-permanent offshoots. But if poly is not a possibility for you, if merely the idea of multiple caring emotionally invested lovers does not compute, we shouldn't even start.

Inevitably, when I tell you about this person I met, or this friendship that is developing into something more, and you tense up, or turn cold, we will be done. You will make an ultimatum or remain quiet until one day blowing up at me, and that will be it. And what would our time together have been for if you lied to both me and yourself from the beginning.

& 5) Thou shalt meet the basics and fucking exceed them.

- You have a job or are actively searching for steady employment.

- You own your own car or have the ability to transport yourself without my assistance.

- You do not live with your parents. (Roommates, great. Parents, no.)

- You can write grammatically correct sentences, which will then form a coherent paragraph, possibly leading to multiple thoughts encompassed in a short essay.

- YOU READS BOOKS! Not a sports page. Not a magazine. But a book. (Bonus points if you know the reference. If not, your welcome.)

- You have the ability to engage in intelligent thoughtful conversation on a range of topics and issues. (For example: You know the difference between Iran and Iraq. And you can find them on a map.)

- You are not an ultra-conservative Republican. No. Just no. Trust me; no.

- You are kinky, or you are kink aware and accepting, realizing I will need to find my kink elsewhere.

- You wholeheartedly accept gay people, their civil right to marriage and families. 

- You are pro-choice.

- You enjoy whit and humor, both high and low brow.

- You practice basic hygiene rituals. (See above link.)

- MUST EAT PUSSY! This is a dealbreaker. Seriously, if you don't eat pussy, don't even say hi. Don't try to be funny or witty or baby step around it. No. Just don't. So. Fucking. Annoying.

If you can abide by all of the above, and then some, then maybe, MAYBE you can date a poetic.

Because that's another thing.  Just because you meet the minimum doesn't mean we'll click.  It doesn't mean I'll find you attractive or you, after inspecting the goods, will find me attractive.  And that's okay. 

But, for the love of all that is good, the fact that people can't even meet the minimum is rage-making.

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