Thanksgiving

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I too, am giving thanks to all of you who have been here with me and for me this year.
You, and you, and you, and You, you, and you; and you.

And everyone else who has been here!

Did I say thanks?!


I meant to.

xx

Submission

Thrash me, I take it. Slap me across the face, I turn for more. Command me, I bow down. Knock me to my knees, whip me into submission. Tie me down, I am cowed but come back for more. Break me. My spirit bows to you.

Thrashed by “what the fuck’s the matter with you?” I bow my head. Your terse retorts sting like so many slaps across the face, your silences like commands to bow down. Your cocked eyebrow knocks me to my knees, your cold glare whips me into submission. Rebuffed, my hands are tied, I wait patiently for your next command. Broken, you hold me tight.

You have never laid a hand on me. I am addicted to pain. It is the only way I have ever known love. I, am an emotional masochist.

Sex and the Older Girl

Thank you all for contributing to this discussion and once again, your thoughtful comments merit being posted front and center.

Donna: What particularly intrigues me is how a "purely" physically-induced experience is linked to past times when there was a social/emotional reason for the wave of heat. Our minds really do work that way.

...so far I haven't yet experienced such things, but they will happen, I know. I feel as if I've just figured myself out and now the rules are all going to change, lol. Isn't life interesting that way?

Isabel: My question is this: Is it a purely physically-induced experience and/or is it exacerbated by our response/reaction to it, because, I face it, some of this aging process is terrifying, but if we take a deep breath and let it flow can we get through it with at the least grace and dignity?

I'm going to push the limit here and give you the flip side of this uncomfortable experience in another poem.

At 53


A soft warmth
Washes
Over my face

My breasts revert
to supple
pre-motherhood crescents

Hyper sensitive to the touch
Nipples and cunt yearn
Desire mounts

And now
Only warm semen seeps
Where once
My warm blood flowed

Jeremy: Amazing image!

Emerald: I just commented on Donna's blog about the intelligence of the body, and I agree much with you both that our response to/interpretation of physical/body-related aspects have relevance and that experiences of the physical body are opportunities to be in touch with ourselves on many levels.

Isabel: I feel very strongly, literally and figuratively, that the physical and psycho/emotional are intricately interwoven. We need to heed both our physical and emotional signals. One follows the other and it is never clear which is which.

Emerald: Definitely

Donna: Emerald said it for me already, but of course making meaning is what the human brain craves, isn't it? And I'm sure our cultural context as well as our personal history in making meaning influences the experience. As you pointed out, if menopause is seen as liberation and a chance to explore sexuality as recreation rather than reproduction, then it will be greeted differently than if it's seen as the end of desirability, with the assumption that our husbands will now dump us for a younger woman (although that brain book said 65% of divorces after 50 are initiated by the woman!) Change is always a challenge and not that we should aim to go through it without conflict or struggle, but I like the idea of doing it differently, borrowing from other cultures, challenging the status quo. I guess I've always liked that, lol.

Gina Marie: The older I get, the more I want to taste, and the more I taste, the more I want to live, the faster I want to go. Life just gets richer and richer -- and more poetic every day. And tastier, too.

Jeremy, thank you so much for the validation of this image, it is a truly beautiful experience amid all the other rather scary ones.

Emerald, absolutely, I think we need to remain very conscious of what our bodies are telling us and vice versa.

Dear Donna, I love the statistic that 65% of divorces after 50 are initiated by the woman! I’d say it was worth the read just for that. ; ) borrowing from other cultures hm, it would be very interesting to hear the Japanese take on this. Change is extremely difficult and challenging the status quo and thinking for ourselves is a the way to go. Confronting societal norms is really a challenge, one is on one’s own at that point and must remain strong in one’s convictions because you’re pretty alone with them. If I had a role model it might be Charlotte Rampling.

Gina Marie! I am so with you on all that! It’s almost like a distilling process, the more you live the stronger the sensations on all levels. Thank you so much.

The aging process seems to start from the top down (as I write in yet another age related poem, I’m ok from about the collar bone down so far, and my toes show hardly any signs of age at all ; ) ) and the outside in, I think it is a matter of getting used to what you see in the mirror and accepting it, while still enjoying the sensations in all their increasing intensity. Like “At 53” there are so many advantages in the process.

Again, thank you all so much for contributing.

Alison, Alison, Alison

How do I love you, let me count the ways...

out of 486 phone sex references on your lap-top you call up one of mine!


Phone sex is so, well, sexy, especially if you're speaking with someone with a voice that turns you on at the first note, maybe it's very deep, maybe he has an accent, maybe she has a wicked laugh... maybe you just imagine her voice in your ear... and close your eyes...

The Female Brain

Once again Donna George Storey has opened a great topic and others have made fascinating contributions to the discussion! Here's part of my side of the Storey.

At 55

Shock and horror
registers
my heart sinks
my breath taken
like being hit in the chest
the heat of
every embarrassment
humiliation
shame
indignation
fear
anger
relived
when a warm wave washes
over my face
and shoulders and
ribs
I take a deep breath
and wait it out
knowing
this too shall pass

Rip Torn

Here's my alter ego's alter ego. That would be my ego, right? You can say that again.

This is a little evening sheath in midnight blue silk charmeuse and it's dedicated to those who like it rough, and those who like to write about vampires AND those who don't!

Transition

Awash in melancholy autumn light
I wash the linens of ten beds and
As I practice the Zen
Of swimming pool maintenance
The water still feels like liquid summer
Silk satin sheets

Ruthie's Club

I am very sad to have received the announcement that Ruthie's is taking an hiatus. I wish everyone there the best, and express my always huge appreciation for how supportive they have been.

Hope to see you all back there in 2010!

Poppies, poppies and more poppies

See Emerald in The Green Light District to find out all about it.

Sweet Basil in the Rock

Did you know, in Italy basil symbolizes love, and when an Italian suitor wanted to show his love he would place a sprig of basil in his hair to win his heart's desire. And in Italy, sweet basil is thought to attract husbands to wives, and a pot of basil on a windowsill is meant to signal a lover, and that it makes a lemon vodka gimlet! I sure didn't, but WOW it sounds great to me!!! Join us at Marina's today!

WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT?

I thought the responses to this question were worthy of being brought front and center. I think I already knew the answer to it, because I have always been struck by the affection, tenderness, celebratory quality of the writing of the great majority of writers we work with. These qualities seem to be unifying factors that run throughout the work we share. There is depth and nuance, emotional connection. There is palpable character. There is recognition and often self awareness. If there isn’t HEA there is something thoughtful to be taken from the story. There is always story there that transcends the sex. There is often sexy playfulness. There is usually mutual respect. There is very little gratuitous sex. There is love of life, of sex and sensual pleasures.

This could have something to do with the editors we work with who choose carefully, edit and compile anthologies to reflect how they want sex portrayed, in a positive light. This may also have to do with other writers and editors who encourage and support our writing with positive comments and specific feedback.

Am I being too Pollyanna? No I don’t think so. The writers and editors I’m thinking of have little real need to help other fledgeling writers, they are very successful in their own right, they just do it.

It’s not always one big happy family, but it has been encouraging and very supportive of many writers, who deserve to be read, be it through blog tours like this and this, or flash contests like this. As well as the multitude of open interactive ideas and companion blogs.

So, love informs the sex and affectionate support encourages the writers.

For my part, a huge thanks to all who tirelessly initiate, organize, and participate in these creative exchanges, and thereby support each others writing.

Here are the responses which were just as I suspected.


Craig:
As for love and lust. I think of the two as separate entities. There can be one without the other, but the blending of the two produces a powerful result. Like blending spices.

So I have written about lust without love, and love without lust for that matter, but not nearly so often as I have explored the blending of the two in varying degrees.

Neve
Love and sex, sex and love? Can you have one without the other? Um, hell yes, you can! My characters usually do, but damn, isn't it nice when you have both emotions working at the same time? It's like a well-oiled machine winding through the curves of the erotic highway.

Jeremy
I'm a big fan of love, but in the erotic arts I think a lot of mileage can be had from plain old lust. That being said, one would probably find that the central characters in most of my stories appear to be in love, or falling in love, or growing into love, or on the verge of what might turn out to be love, etc.

Donna
So, finally, lust and love. While I totally understand the appeal of sudden sex without all of the emotional entanglements, in my own life I've never been able to divide the two. Even with something as obviously one-dimensional as a pickup, I always felt at least a pang of tenderness for my partner at some point. Having tasted what a deep, long-time commitment can do to sex, I can't even really fake it fictionally when it comes to casual sex. I suspect I could nominally enjoy it, have an orgasm, etc, but it would always be the packaged cookie rather than homemade. I know other experienced adults feel differently, of course, but for me "pure lust" is more about falling in love with my own desire than another person.

Erobintica
Okay, now to lust/love. They are different. I think of lust as a very serious want. Sometimes blinding. Hehe, often blinding. It exists in my one-track mind. Ah, but love. I have to say that in my experience, sex without love is all-in-all rather unsatisfying. There may be electric moments, but something is missing. I think with love - real love - not imagined love - there is trust. And trust can enliven sex even after many years.

As for my characters - it's funny - I find that sometimes there is love and sometimes there is not. There's something else. I hadn't really thought about it before. I'm so little published that most of you have hardly read any of my stuff, so you don't know what sorts of things I've been writing (other than the Trollop flashers). This is actually quite fascinating to think about. I'll probably be back later.

Emerald
Interesting question too! Fresh from the consciousness/spiritual retreat I attended this weekend, the answer in me is that love always is whether we are conscious of it or not. I would likely have given that answer anyway, but it seems especially fresh right now. :) In writing, it seems to me that would be there the same way (for me) — the love is there whether I or the characters are conscious of it or not. It occurs to me that may not make sense...but that seems okay to me right now. I'll leave it alone. :)

Donna
I hear you Isabel, there also must me an element of love in me for my characters as well or the story dies on the page. And the love doesn't have to be a grand passion or the result of finding the perfect partner necessarily. As Robin mentioned, trust is perhaps the even more magical component, which is why BDSM stories are so potent, even though I'm not exactly a card-carrying practitioner (just an occasional tourist). But Emerald's points really opens the whole discussion up into a kind of ethereal realm where it's all about love, whether we know it or not. I kind of like that.

Marina
I'm a hopeless romantic - my characters are almost always in love.

A Spice for All Seasons

Delving into these herbs and spices has been delightfully sexy. It is so fascinating to learn about everyone's interests in addition to writing. Thank you Donna, for hosting us and keeping our noses and taste buds primed and, in a sense (or many senses), enhancing our writing.

My head is still spinning with the flavors and scents from the fabulous opening ceremonies with Donna, chili-n with Erobintica, an encuentro with cilantro with Neve, comin’ with Sommer, delicious sin-a-mon with Gina Marie, a great thyme with Scarlett, orgasmic sneezes with Craig, and in a dill-irious pickle at Jeremy’s.

Join us next Sunday when I’ll be honored to turn over the blog stage to Marina St. Clare, who helped plant the seed of this delightful sex and food blog fest and will be writing about basil. The scent of freshly picked, sun warmed basil has the same effect on me freshly ground black pepper does. Is it because I associate it with summer, which is the sexiest season to me? Marina will turn us on to the intoxicating and sweet side of basil. I had no idea there were so many wonderful ways to imbibe and taste basil but she does!

8/2 Marina St. Clare—basil
8/9 BadAssKona—rosemary
8/16 Emerald—poppy seeds
8/23P.S. Haven—salt
8/30 Gala Goodbye



A Love Affair with Ginger

We live in an area where the pace is slower, where tradition trumps technology, where the people are very close to the earth and they mark the seasons by their bounty. Everyone keeps a kitchen garden and enjoys fresh fruit and vegetables as the seasons change. Right now we’re living on warm sun ripened tomatoes, firm green beans, zucchini, and tart sweet berries. Soon we’ll add fresh corn to the mix and frosted violet plums, figs, apples and then subtly sweet chestnuts.

To me, spices are seasonal as well. Fall and winter seasonings are rosemary and sage rubs, marinades and sauces for roasts and potatoes. Spring means lighter, livelier flavors like thyme.

Summer is crispy skin wood burning oven roasted chicken on a bed of tarragon and slathered with tarragon butter. Basil, picked fresh leaf by leaf, with tomatoes marinated in balsamic vinegar and tossed with goat cheese.

Each season has its bounty, but one of my favorite flavors lends itself to all seasons and a variety of dishes, both sweet and savory.

Ginger, a flavor for all seasons

Fresh ginger is pungent and aromatic, has a bite, a sting, and a delicious flavor and stimulating aroma. It lends itself to accenting chicken or fish, sliced into match sticks or grated into sauces. Powdered ginger is used in cakes and cookies. Just the scent is enough to evoke all of these tastes and send me into a sensual spin.

This delicious recipe whispers summer picnic to me and is from one of my favorite cookbooks of food porn, California Cooking, which could also double as a coffee table book of spectacular California seasonal landscape photos (if it weren't such a foodie mess).

Cold Lemon Chicken

4 to 5 whole chicken breasts, halved, boned and skinned
8 large dried black mushrooms
2 or 3 lemons
3 tablespoons peanut oil
1/4 cup fresh ginger, cut into fine julienne
1/3 cup red and green bell peppers, cut into fine julienne
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon chili paste with garlic
1 1/2 teaspoons lemon extract

Put the chicken breasts in a flat bowl and place the bowl on a rack in a covered steamer over boiling water. Steam for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until tender. Let cool in the juices, remove (reserve the broth), and cut the chicken into bite size pieces. Set aside. Strain the both, measure it, and if necessary add enough water to bring the amount to 1 cup. Set aside.

While the chicken is steaming, put the mushrooms in a small bowl and cover with boiling water. Let stand for 30 minutes, drain, squeeze dry, cut off the stems, and cut the mushrooms into fine julienne. Set aside.

With a sharp paring knife or vegetable peeler, remove the rind of 1 lemon in long shreds, being careful not to include any of the bitter pith, and cut the rind into fine julienne. Grate the rind of the second lemon. Squeeze enough lemon juice to measure 1/2 cup.

Heat a pan (preferably a wok) and add 3 tablespoons of peanut oil. When the oil is hot add the ginger and mushrooms and stir-fry over low heat for 30 seconds. Add the peppers and julienned lemon rind. Stir-fry for a few seconds. Add the reserved chicken broth. Bring to a boil and add the lemon juice and salt. Add the grated lemon rind, chili paste with garlic and lemon extract. Add the chicken pieces and cook for 90 seconds. Transfer t a bowl and let cool to room temperature before serving.

[Note: I’ve included the whole recipe, but this lends itself to simplification, and I do]

Ginger, the root or rhizome of the ginger plant which we use in cooking thrives in warm dry climates and has been prized for centuries for its versatile uses. It contains so many medicinal -epsias and -inatives and -algesics, it is also a substance for all ailments, from nausea, to fevers to insomnia. There was even a legendary application for it stimulating tired or lazy horses.

Ginger’s aphrodisiac qualities have long been reported and it is mentioned in the Kama Sutra, which brings me to the question of this blog.

Food for thought: What’s love got to do with it?

This is the 50th anniversary of the landmark decision on obscenity brought about by the case against the confiscation of uncensored copies of D.H. Lawrence’s 1928 novel, Lady Chatterley’s Lover, “a novel that inveighed against sex without love.”

My question for you on this hot and spicy summer Sunday is this: What’s love got to do with it? Do your characters have to be in love? Is it love or is it just lust? For my characters, even if it wasn’t love at first sight or doesn’t work out in the end, there was love in the mix.


A Woman for All Seasons

Cold slapped my face and burned my nostrils. The ice and snow crackled under my boots as I walked up the path to the front door. I could see the warm radiance from the fireplace through the bay window when I reached for the doorbell.

I stood in the warm kitchen while she turned the giant gingerbread snowman from the pan onto the cutting board. Everyone ooed and aahed before she took a large knife and sliced it into squares. I rolled my eyes and stifled a sardonic grin biting the inside of my in lip in snide collusion with my partner, even as I my body responded autonomously to the sweet sharp scent of the ginger. I thought her snowman was a little silly.

Later I was sitting on the arm of the leather sofa flanking the fireplace, and she stood next to me offering a plate of warm fragrant gingerbread swimming in half melted vanilla ice cream. I caught her musky scent too.

“Mmmm, thanks. Smells good.” I took the plate and held her caramel eyes.

“Ginger.”

“Yes, I figured. Homemade gingerbread, sweet.”

“No, I mean my name is Ginger,” she said smiling with a flash in her eye.

“Oh! Sorry.” I laughed. She was disarmingly beautiful in an androgynous, tall, rectangular way.

“Charlotte. Nice to meet you.” After small talk of the who do you know here sort, the vibe was so strong I knew we would get to know each other, intimately.

My nostrils flared at the sharp scent of ginger and I forked into the cake, soaking up the vanilla specked ice cream and let the flavor explode in my mouth. When I bit into the soft cake and sweet cream, my cunt melted.

“Nice.” and I held her gaze again.

It all began that night in the hall. We were in the hallway on the way to get our coats and the attraction was so intense we leaned against the wall and kissed. Soft wet mouths exploring quickly and gingerly lest we be caught out by my lover.

Winter came and went in a series of clandestine meetings. She cooked for me and regaled my senses with her creative flavor combinations. In her vast kitchen in the cool of that spring she served steamed fresh sea bass and basmati rice drizzled with gingered citrus sauce accented with cilantro.

When the weather turned warm we sat on her terrace overlooking the harbor and sipped icy ginger ale in frosted glasses.

That summer we picnicked on a soft old bedspread in the woods. She made savory chicken salad with match sticks of ginger and lemon zest, sautéed with red and green peppers and black mushrooms. I brushed my lips on her cinnamon freckled breast and tasted the salty mixture on her tongue as we made passionate love on the sun speckled forest floor and she came moaning with my tongue jabbing her melted cream cunt.

In the first chill of fall we watched old films in her living room by the fire dipping ginger snaps in milk and I felt like a child in total abandonment in her arms.

That cold November she roasted chicken and we bit into the crisp skin blanketed in warm caramelized onions laced with turmeric, ground coriander, cumin and ginger. We made quiet love under the soft white down comforter afterwards.

She would not hear of me leaving my partner of fifteen years and she couldn’t live with duplicity. Winter came again and the scent of ginger warms my nostrils but stings my heart with the intensity of her absence.

The Old Bump and Grind

Things are heating up at Craig's today with a scintillating stop on the tour of the spice bloglands...and here's my take on it.

THE CONSUMMATE HOSTESS

Alison is AT it again.

Sometimes it is just Water Under the Bridge.

Thank you Alison.

Cinnamon

Potent, pungent, provocative images, in prose and pictures... at Aphrodite's Table

SO HONORED

I wish I could be a little more original but I just have to repeat, because I am otherwise speechless, I am so honored
that my story Love at First Sight has gotten the nod again. This time by Donna George Storey. And isn't that an exquisite image of her.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM...

Summer's comin'!

Oops, I mean, Sommer's cumin!

She's today's stop on the delicious spice blogland tour with the heady scent of cumin...

Love At First Sight

Alison invited me to post this with reference to this. I'm honored, as always.

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

Pull on, pullover, comfortable. She was dressed in those neutral, nubby linen garments that pass for fashion these days. What some might describe as neo-burlap sack. I have no idea what women see in those formless clothes. They are so unattractive.

I first saw her at an outdoor concert. I had watched her approach. We acknowledged each other’s presence with a nod. She shook out a dark cotton blanket, laid it on the grass and sat on it beside and slightly in front of me.

She had shoulder length straight dark hair parted in the middle, pulled back in a pony tail. She wore glasses which were not particularly attractive. In profile she had large features with a prominent nose. I didn’t think she was attractive at all. In fact she looked downright ugly.

It was a clear warm day with a slight breeze. Concerts like these were my refuge in the summer. Sometimes I brought a date but usually I enjoyed them very much by myself, babe watching and getting off on the music.

People milled about on the grass while they waited for the band to come on. There was the rock version of Muzak coming over the speakers. It felt good just to sit back and watch. Finally the band came out and launched loudly into a raucous AC/DC cover.

She sat with her knees up and her forearms resting on them. She had pretty hands. She looked back and caught me staring at her. I smiled slightly.

“Have you seen this band before? I asked.

She gave me one of those I beg your pardon frowns, a little huff, and rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, but then she smiled a little and looked back toward the stage. I caught a glimpse of her teeth which were slightly prominent with one side front tooth overlapping the front tooth. Her lips were thin but very soft looking.

“Then you’re not from around here,” I said.

She looked back at me with both eyebrows raised like, I can’t believe you didn’t get it the first time.

“No,” she said and turned her head back to look at the stage.

As the band played a few more numbers I watched her. She kept perfect rhythm with the music with her head and sometimes her feet. She seemed to be enjoying it. From time to time I shifted and edged a little closer.

At one point she clenched her jaw, turned and glared at me.

“They’re pretty good huh?” I said.

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug.

When the band took a break I asked, “where are you from then?”

“The City,” she said not even looking in my direction.

“You came all the way out here to see these guys,”

“Mmm,” she grunted and bit the inside of her lip.

I could see the vertebrae in her back where they met her long neck. Her hair took on the luster of a skein of dark silk. There were red highlights. She slipped the fuzzy elastic band off and the loose hair slipped and slid on itself across her shoulder. She tucked it behind her small ears and seemed to be concentrating on something far off on the other side of the field.

“Where in the city do you live?” I asked.

She took a deep breath and sighed but didn’t look back at me. “Downtown,” she said.

“Oh yeah? I lived downtown for a while,” I told her.

She jutted her chin out in acknowledgment.

She wore no makeup. She was so homely, why was I pursuing this, I thought, it’s not really fair is it, I have no intention of taking her home with me.

“So, whereabouts downtown?” I asked.

“Downtown,” she said and shrugged.

“What’s your name?”

She blew air through her lips and turned toward me, looked over her glasses with one eyebrow cocked and said, “what part of fuck-off aren’t you getting?”

That made me laugh out loud, “bitch,” I mumbled.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she said and gave a little grunt like laugh.

“Hm, I like a woman with a little spunk.”

The weight of her soft linen top made it hang in such a way that I could see the outline of her breast, the nipple was hard. She shifted her shoulders and the neckline slipped to reveal the two fine black strings of her bra strap.

She caught me looking at her breasts and held my gaze for a second. Her eyes were smokey olive with dark rims around the irises. They traveled down below my waist and she smiled. She turned back toward the stage.

The band slammed into their second set, and she got up and looked over at me. When she caught my eye she had just the shadow of a smile at the corners of her lips. She stepped carefully around the other blankets and when she got to the front of the crowd she looked back at me. I was intrigued. I watched her head toward the restroom pavilion and when she was far enough away I got up and followed.

There was a long line in front of the women’s restroom but she was not in it. The men’s room was practically empty. As I headed for the urinal, I glanced under the stalls and saw her shoes. I pissed and went over to the stall I’d seen her in but the feet were gone. I would have seen her leave out of the corner of my eye so I knew she still had to be there. I pushed the door open gently.

She was standing against the back wall beside the toilet tank with her arms crossed.

“What exactly did you want with me?” she asked.

“Nothing, why?” I said, standing very close.

“Too bad,” she said and smiled.

She took off her glasses and met my eyes with a penetrating gaze. The corners of her mouth softened upward and I began to recognize what a handsome face she had. Her homely features came together as a striking whole. My heart started to pound.

She reached for the back of my neck and pulled me to her.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” she asked.

“Whoa, I’m not sure,” I said.

“I think it is,” she said as she slipped her hand down to the front of my jeans and felt the pressure of my cock already straining to be released. She grabbed my belt, undid the buckle and unzipped my jeans. She slipped her small hand into the crotch of my boxers and cupped my testicles in the warm palm.

“Nice balls,” she said, as she massaged them.

She gripped them with one hand and circled my throbbing cock with the other.

I leaned forward to kiss her but she pulled her head back.

“I’m in charge here,” she said with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” I responded not wanting to argue in this position.

She let go, slipped her top over her head and put it and her glasses on the toilet tank.
She pulled her pants off and I saw her small waist, softly rounded belly and full hips encircled by a black lace thong. Removing her formless clothes revealed a form of perfect proportion. Her B-cup breasts spilled softly over her black lace bra.

She slipped the cup of her bra under her breast and pushed my head down. I tongued the nipple and sucked it into my mouth.

“Bite,” she said, and I did. She ran her fingers through my hair, pressed my head to her breast, and moaned softly. I felt her breathing shorten and her heart pound.

She took my hand and put it into the front of her black lace g-string. She guided my fingers along her hot, slick center.

“Kiss me, now,” she said. As I stood she pressed her warm soft body against my aching cock.

Her kiss was soft at first but built slowly until we were hungrily devouring each other’s mouths. She pulled away and turned toward the wall, slipped her thong down around her thighs and leaned forward. With one hand on the wall, she pulled me to her with the other.

“Fuck me,” she said. All I could do was moan as I rammed into her. She was hot and wet and tight and at every pull back she contracted her cunt making my build up intense. I thrust and she grabbed. Our rhythm was perfect. I held on to her hips and pumped for all I was worth. I felt her come like a ring gripping my cock and I shot into her as fast and hard as I’d ever felt. We stayed like that and caught our breath and I could still feel myself coming into her and my legs started to shake. I fell back against the door as she stood, pulled her panties up and began to dress.

“Wow, that was beautiful,” I said, catching my breath.

“Hmm,” she responded with a light kiss on my lips.

When she was dressed and pushed past me to open the door I asked, “wait, what’s your name and how to I get in touch with you?”

She smiled and left.

It wasn’t love at first sight, but it sure was now. I jammed my legs into my jeans. I’m going to find that beautiful woman again if it’s the last thing I do.

A Waft of Cilantro is all it takes...

Join us at Neve's for a scent-uous tour of cilantro...

FOR YOU

Alison sweetheart,

Have a very lovely birthday!

...and I made you a Tart...

SUCH HOT

Food for thought... Erobintica has let out all the stops.

Ah, summer...

The scents and flavors...

Some of you may be familiar with my sensibility toward scent from here or here. It is a powerful sense and each season has its own scent signature. Summer has its unique fragrances from roses to BBQs. Combine scent with the sense of taste and you have spice, a potent recipe for the departure on an erotic excursion from which you may never recover your senses.

On July 26th I’ll be taking you on an exotic journey into the realm of Ginger.

Join these other wonderful purveyors of provocative pungence for a round the world tour on the spice trail. We’ll be grinding out sensual tales on each of these summer Sundays on each of these subjects:

5/31 Opening ceremonies with Donna George Storey
6/7 Hot chili powder - Erobintica
6/14 Cilantro - Neve Black
6/21 Cumin - Sommer Marsden
6/28 Cinnamon - Kirsten Monroe
7/5 Thyme - J.M. Stone
7/12 Pepper - Craig Sorensen
7/19 Dill - Jeremy Edwards
7/26 Ginger - Isabel Kerr
8/2 Basil - Marina St. Clare
8/9 Rosemary - Cerulean
8/16 Poppy seeds - Emerald
8/23 Salt - P.S: Haven
8/30 Gala Goodbye of a yet undisclosed orgiastic nature at Donna George Storey’s

This will make you laugh

I wrote this for one of Alison Tyler's fabulous contests way back when I was still actually writing something, and I've been working on putting it up for a few days to lighten things up a bit, but it takes me forever to get all the pieces of a post together, and then I read this! Magic. The Amazing Alison.



ODALISQUE

“Is this position ok?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder as she stretched out on her side on the platform like some odalisque.

“Yeah, that’s good. Turn your head a little more toward me. Whoa! Stop, that’s enough. ” She’s fucking gorgeous.Look at those tits.

“Have you ever modeled before?”

“No, no, I haven’t. I’m a little nervous actually,” she said.

Huh, trying to make excuses for those ballistic nipples.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re doing great. Just a sec, I gotta get my tools.”

I gotta fist this dick.Thank God she can’t see me from that position.

“Let’s see, where is that 4B? Uh! Here it is, ugh, uh, there we go, uh, got it.”

“That sounded like hard work.”

“Yeah, it was way down at the bottom.”

“Uppah, ok, let’s get to work.” Almost there baby, almost there, don’t turn around. Let’s get the head outta there and let this thing go.

“Oh, shit!” Never know where that stuff’s gonna hit.

“What’s the matter?”

“Pffff. Nothing! Just broke the lead. Ok, let’s start over.”

Poetry?

Hm. I’ve been lurking here, there, and everywhere, and
lurving it. I met a deadline with a story that may not have been what was called for, but it was the story I had to write. Do you know that feeling? And otherwise I have been reading and writing this:


May Flowers

I take this road
Almost
Everyday
I know its twists
And turns
Cherry blossoms blink
On distant hillsides
Hope
As the dead of winter recedes
From my memory
Honesty prevails
Deep violet bearded iris sprung
Forthright from the banks
Warm scented Erica looms
Pungent narcissus
Raises its ugly head
Crimson Clover shoots
Dark magenta Judas blossom
On black bark
Pallid lilac wisteria
Humbles
Wild flowers
And expectations
To be assuaged
With summer warmth
Love may never take
This road
Again


Straight piece of flowery poetry right? Nah, it’s a love poem and a sex poem. I don't usually like to put images in readers' minds but keeping in mind that I see, hear, smell, sex everywhere, I thought I might take a moment to give you a little peek at the workings of my poetry.

This road, my life, my loves, have been twisted and turned.

Cherry blossoms blink, there is light, hope in the distance after winter during which I feel dead or worse.

Honesty, is a fuchsia spring wild flower that grows in profusion on the roadside, and something I strive to be with myself and appreciate in others, even if it’s painful.

Deep violet bearded iris sprung, if you picture that image you can imagine what I am thinking of, and it can be of either sex.

Forthright, is a principle I want to uphold in relationships and appreciate in others.

Warm scented Erica, is tree heather which grows on banks above the road and to which I have often alluded in the sense of a sweet musky scented lover hovering.

Pungent narcissus smells like cat piss to me in addition to alluding to the complex.

Crimson clover, is an erect red spear headed flower, imagine that.

Dark magenta Judas blossom, on black bark is a flowering tree, but also a general reference to painful betrayal, nothing specific, just the pain.

The perfumed pallid lilac wisteria always grounds me with its humble soothing sexy beauty.

These spring wild flowers perennially reassure me that all is not lost, that my (too high) expectations may not be met, but that emotional pain will be assuaged, and that summer warmth, which I love, will temper my mood twists and turns, and though that sense of being head over heels in love may never take this road again, at this stage in my life, the flowers come back, the warmth returns.

Summer's coming, there is hope.

My Italian Idyll

Offering deep dark hunks of chocolate and Italian Men, or is it deep dark Italian hunks and chocolate offering men? Sommer and I are indulging you at Ruthie’s today.

Spinning

As Sommer might say: I. Can. Not. Keep. Up. Which is not to say what she would say, because clearly she can, but how she might say it.

There have been so many wonderful posts in the last few days here and there and here, my head is spinning.

Once again, thanks to all who participated here on The Blow Hard Tour, I'm thrilled I could entertain you and tickled I could make a certain sexy writer blush.

With that I'll continue trying to catch up and not go spinning out of control, maybe I could use a nice calming but exhilerating, grounding might be a good word, long draught of cinnamon which is right up there with black pepper on my list of arousing scents.

These images are for you.


Breathless,

I.

Blown Away on An Island in the Sea

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Let's Make Music Together

Today's musical stop on the Tour.

A Real Charmer...

You must go here and "if you listen closely a man says one must
swallow to alleviate any discomfort while going down..." hahahahahaha

Your Blow Job Queen

No, not me, Heidi!

I'm playing catch up, but see all of these, they are not to be missed...this stop on The Blow Hard Tour

Like a house afire...

Hot as blazes and twice as sexy...

DROP

... to your knees? Trou? whatever you're doing. It's one glistening drop of pre-come after another at Sommer's... Join us!!!

We love YOU

This has been such a wonderful conversation.

deep dark secrets...

revealed here...

Coming Soon to a Blog Near you...

Suck stupid, don't blow... : )

A little Teaser...

The magical Hot L Sex tour continues with a little Swiss Tease at Donna George Storey's...

A little inspiration for Sommer

If I could do it honey, so can you...

Palo Alto Associates In the Running

It had been raining for months in California, but on Sunday morning, February 27th, the sun was shining and there was the promise of a beautiful clear day ahead. Five Saks Fifth Avenue, Palo Alto Associates had been training for weeks for the Bonne Bell 10K Run: 6.2 miles through Golden Gate Park, San Francisco. It was a beautiful course to look forward to.

In early January, Kita of Palo Alto’s receiving department had campaigned for runners to join her. She convinced the store’s Assistant General Manager of Operations to sponsor tee shirts with the SFA logo. We all had a training schedule and went diligently to work.

The race was on! Kita and Rosanne started with the 7 minute milers. Ann, Carole and Kerry hung back around the 10 minute sign. We all pranced along for a minute or so until the crowd of 5000 women spread out along the route, And then it started to rain.

We ran and ran. Being unfamiliar with the route, the markings seemed to be miles apart. You never knew what to expect and around the next curve. There were crowds to cheer us on, even in the rain , and we needed them.

Two miles into the run everything was wonderful. It was just sprinkling after all, and besides, the run was all dowhhill, so far. However, what goes up must come down and vice versa. We started the climb and then it started: “This is the last hill,” they shouted, and up and over the rise we went. And again, “this is the last hill...”

That line will forever stay in my memory as one of those famous lies, right up there with “your check is in the mail,” etc. The encouragement worked, however. We all finished the race, Kita finished in 43 minutes, Roseanne, 48 minutes, Carole, 53; Ann Benedict and Kerry, 56 minutes, It was a terricìfic experience, friendships developed, we’re in great shape, and thanks for the Tee shirts Diane, your confidence got us going. Now, on to the Streets of Palo Alto 10K Run in April.

Corporate Newsletter
Focus on SFA
Saks Fifth Avenue, Palo Alto
March 1983 (?)

Alison, Alison, Alison

I'm speechless.

xx

Hot L Sex

Donna George Storey is running a series on Hot L sex! And Hot it is!

Thank you Donna, and this is opening a Danube sized flood gate of memories...

xx

Scruffy Jottings about Filth

The Amazing Alison Tyler is at it again...here.

X marks the spot

As you see, my notebook tends to be combination notes and sketches. I jump from one thing

to the other,

taking inspiration from this or that or the other thing,


and work it out here.


Though I may be a multi tasker, like Craig or Jeremy or Shanna or Nikki or Rachel or others too talented and numerous to mention, (see blogroll) alas there aren’t nearly as many gratifying and well deserved X’s through my pages, like Sommer’s or Erobintica’s, or well earned phenomenal stats. I am just, in the second sense of the word, a dilettante.

Here's to you all!

xx

Be Mine

I mean catch me, well Cinnamon Girl anyway, at Ruthie’s this week.

[heart] [heart]

Your Just Desserts

This has been sensational. To put it mildly.

I am remiss

Go here and delight in Sommer's delectable dessert. You will not regret it.

Relax

Take your shoes of and repose yourself on the tatami for some sex, food and awesome writing.

Oh God, I can't eat another thing...

well, maybe just a little more...

After yesterday's fabulous Brazilian Bash, today we're in the Mohave and I'm beside myself with the pleasure of it all...

overindulge me.

quiet nights of quiet stars

...
quiet thoughts and quiet dreams
quiet walks by quiet streams
and the window that looks out on the mountains and the sea...


would not seem incongruous at all were you to imagine yourself in the Cinque Terre sitting on a terrace above the azure Mediterranean looking back across a valley to see the massive rugged marble mountains rise up from wooded hillsides. You could slowly sip your mustard infused mushroom soup and smell the salt air and Mediterranean pines.



Sarah Vaughn sings this Jobim classic.

Feast your eyes on this...

In honor of the blog roving sensual feast, isn't this the sexiest broccoli you've ever seen?

Follow the feast this week:

Sunday January 25--Amuse-bouche Host: Craig Sorensen

Monday January 26—AppetizerHost: Shanna Germain

Wednesday January 28--SoupHosts: Helia Brookes and Jeremy Edwards

Thursday January 29—FishHost: Neve


Friday January 30--Meat EntréeHost: Kirsten Monroe

Saturday, January 31--Vegetarian entréeHost: Donna George Storey


Monday, February 2--SaladHost: Emerald


Tuesday, February 3—DessertHost: Sommer Marsden


Wednesday, February 4--Petit Fours and trufflesHost: Nikki Magennis

Finally, something to share

I got word this morning that I'm on the schedule at Ruthie’s. It's way off in the future but good news nonetheless. In the meantime checkout all their other great stories and even though it's a subscription site, you get a lotta bang for your buck.

I wish I had something new to tell you

but all I've been doing lately is rewriting, travel articles, poetry, nothing really sexy, well maybe I've been doing a few things really sexy but not necessarily writing about them. Yet. Here's a little poetry. (I'm not really this depressed right this very second ; ) )
Then go see all my blog friends, they have been up to great things!

A PSYCHIC STORM

Lashed
Like cold rain
Against a window
In a gale
And then a
Lull

Whipped
Like the last leaf
In a gust
And then calm
Floating

Thrashed
like a branch
And then still
Aching

One miserable day
Dawns into a brilliant
Blue next

Breath taken
Schizoid
Manic
Depressive
Bipolar
That is winter