My Writing

Friday, December 24, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 11/12

Not likely to be on here it is -

Reading the Virgin

First, I select
with discerning eye
the one I want
to touch
to caress
to hold in my hand
to pet and let
my eyes undress.

My fingers open
her to the crease -
careful not to bend
too far.

I loosen her hold:
her inner secrets
spill into my hands.

Her softness
and the unyielding
glue of her strength
too easily broken,

It's terribly exciting.

I lick my lips,
shiver under the
pressure of holding
myself in check;
then slip my fingers
between her pages,
bend them,
smooth them down,
nearly cracking
her back
to enter her
and devour the story
she holds
within her
unspoken depths.

I greedily spread
whole sections
to break her in,
making her part
of me,
taking in her scent
her texture
the pristine white.

She will not resist so much,
relinquishing her paper softness -
yielding to me.

And when I
close her up again,
her pliable folds will
never go back
to the vacuum-tight hold.

She will never be new again. 

(ahhhh....I love books.)
(Happy Christmas.)

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 10

Ode to Love

Fingers slip between cotton sheet and skin,
calling to mind the memory of one
who was loved with high intensity; him
have I felt in the heat of another’s tongue—
breath on my temple; and never a touch
to set my chest humming, call up need,
hunger, like air one can’t take in; too much
of what is desired, and we are undone—
no possible alternative; take heed:

love can produce a bitter aftertaste,
shock the senses like a sting unprovoked;
hold it with ginger fingers, its honeyed
flow may burn through thick skin, a wild fire stoked
by precocious want—greed, to own the prize:
one’s youth; one’s price goes up and down by days;
night brings new intrigues for the heart to seek,
sweet games to play, to fashion the soul’s rise,
a crescendo prancing to a beat…Nay!—
a symphony of strong bending meek.

Yet, we return with each new moon, so bold
in our reserve, beaten but unwilling
to end the dance, as young as sin, as old
as pleasure, a bloody tango chilling
meat to bone, keeping us feverish
and alive; animal energy becomes
synergistic currency, to barter
with, give, take, pry from dying hands, and wish
for; there is none who can leave us alone
more so than we, and none push us farther.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 9


I sit down to write B situate myself,
coffee cup in hand. . .

She makes her way
down a dank corridor
skin saturated by humidity. 
Stairs just visible
by mounted candlelight:
spiraling further
into shadows,
regions known,
probed each day.
Like a mystic explorer,
she takes inventory:
moss grows in cracks,
drafts of cold dusty air seep through
tiny pin-holes of decay
between plaster and stone.

She slides down,
as a woman on her knees before a lover,
fluid in descent.
Her blackberry lips let slip between them air
laced with cream, sandalwood:
smells like cashmere,
secret whisper spoken in the ear
of men she=s curled around,
to whom she=s given all or nothing.

She goes down to that place
at the bottom of the stairs
where there are doorways leading to forbidden fruitB
exposes them one by one for pleasure and amusement.
There is joy in pricking her skin,
scratching herself alive,
drinking wine to wear down reserve,
let her inner child out of the dungeon
that child who loves to play
with bugs, pulling off the legs until what was
is something new. 
Down there,
behind one of those doors
is what she is looking for:

                       an ultimate thing B a release,
                       a place to bleed her sorrow on the floor,
                       herself, a naked body,
                       candlelight to
                       help make reality more docile -
                       her body beautiful B the moment surreal: 
                       an art to satisfy perception. 

                       Behind one of those doors must be redemption. 
                       Farther down, there must be an end to the searching.
                       Farther down. 

I keep writing, sipping nervously
on my coffee, now cold and bitter. 
Keep writing through the cramping fingers,
through the stomach growl. 
She=s there somewhere. 
Follow her across the page,
deeper into hidden places, darkness. 

She takes the knob in her hand and twists. 

Could this be it? 
My muscles tighten, anxious to see
where she=ll lead me next,
into my private inside,
the recesses of my busy brain. 
She will open the doors that I cannot.
She will set me free. 

She pulls.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Book Club: Just Kids

So, I've been working my way through this memoir and am struck by the lyrical quality of it.  I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, what with Smith's poetry/song-writing background.  But, what is unexpected is the classic vibe of the syntax.  Somehow, I know that her early love of classic literature had influence over her writing.  I have bookmarked and margin-noted several passages.  One, today:

"Robert [Mapplethorpe] took areas of dark human consent and made them into art.  He worked without apology, investing the homosexual with grandeur, masculinity, and enviable nobility.  Without affectation, he created a presence that was wholly male without sacrificing feminine grace.  He was not looking to make a political statement or an announcement of his evolving sexual persuasion.  He was presenting something new, something not seen or explored as he saw and explored it.  Robert sought to elevate aspects of male experience, to imbue homosexuality with mysticism.  As Cocteau said of a Genet poem, 'His obscenity is never obscene.'"

I'm nearly done with the book and would highly recommend it.  To tell you the honest truth, I was never interested in Patti Smith as a musician, nor Robert Mapplethorpe as an artist.  I was listening to NPR one morning on my way to work and heard a short excerpt of the book read by the author along with some commentary by the interviewer.  I was hooked and immediately added the title to my list of "must-reads at a later date".  I just came across the book a few weeks ago and decided now was the time.

Anyone who has ever wondered what makes a sensational artist tick...this a good behind-the-scenes look at the making of a legendary and controversial photographer.


Saturday, December 18, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 5-8 I suck...and not in the good way.  I started something I wasn't ready to finish (the story I have hence removed).  And then I commenced with the vacation laziness.  And now, my motivation is just about as high as my libido.  Damn.

So, here are a collection of 4 short poems to fill the void -

Day 5:


You are
a careful editor,
punctuating perfectly my untrained thoughts:
your commas
curling themselves around
the curves of my words
(a parenthetical embrace),
always encouraging a revolving door
in our conversation
with a well-placed question mark;
you omit semi-colons
which elaborate the unspoken
relying, instead, on apostrophes
to possess, with simplicity,
the object;
and always—
ellipses at the end,
leaving the window open
for silence…
Day 6:

The Garden of Eden

On first sight,
You took my heart in your hands,
Like an apple
Filling perfectly the palm,
Where every nuance, dent, and ridge
Fit each of mine.

You took the fruit to your lips,
Unearthing hidden knowledge:
Softness beneath bruised and bitter flesh.
It was tender and sweet,
And you knew me then.
It was never forbidden,
Only absent,
Kept from you just long enough
To ripen and ready.

Desire me;
I will satiate your need.
Devour me;
I will nourish your soul.
Know me;
I will share with you my secrets.
Love me;
I will devote my heart to yours.

And when my core is left exposed,
My flesh absorbed into your own,
The seeds remaining may birth an orchard,
To provide a lifetime’s worth of everything we need.

Day 7:
This one was written after I saw "Unfaithful" - go figure...


Wrapped faith in imported Japanese silk.
The woman said it was of best quality.
With timid manicured fingers,
Placed it in a Spanish music box—
plays “Tiny Dancer”
flamenco style,
a twinkling sound like childish laughter,
with a twist,
like they know why
I place it so far inside,
as if to apologize—

Gingerly, tuck it in,
a helpless infant,
fingers of guilt, slightly shaking,
vigilant, like a doubtful love,
suspicious, fearing rejection,
hoping for touch,
returned obsession.

When love becomes criminal,
a penny isn’t enough for a thought.
Nickled and dimed to death,
love left lying lifeless in the center of
a dying lily in the middle of
a refinished antique dining-room table.

And he had the nerve to ask why I’d been un
and couldn’t finish the word,
all of his faith on the tip of his tongue.
I think he was just realizing why I’d packed
mine away—
to be full again.

Just a dangling prefix allowed the suffering suffix to survive,
revive its desperate grasp on
actions rather than guilty thoughts of
Faith, between present and past,
Caught by two so different,
too different,
too mindful of what separates.
Day 8:

Victorian Romance

Burst the surface of her tenderness with adept fingertips.
Slip them inside her bittersweet core, and ravish her innocence that
is so knowing—a seasoned naivete—not quite that of a girl,
nor, yet, of a woman.

She will bend to your will because she chooses to,
and because it easier than arguing.

But the chase is what the child wants;
the force, what she doesn’t expect;
the fire, what the woman wants;
the desire, what makes her feel blessed.

The sudden capture makes the child giddy with mock fear;
the powerful rapture what makes the woman want you near.

It is the office of the lover to polish both sides of the stone
that it may shine more brightly in your presence than when alone.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 4

Darkness Falls

A red sky frames
the silhouette of your blond curls.
You are colorless,
but light gets in the way
of temptation,
and I need nothing
but the vibration
of your energy around me.

As the red fades to black haze
and then blue night,
your shadow moves toward mine,
your dry, warm index finger
singes a path across my shoulder,
causing the useless string to drop,
to bare what you deserve,
what you have worked for,
waited for.

I am the prize for a hard day's work,
for keeping your hands to yourself,
for shutting out the brunette who brought in
more than her car for a work up.
I am the trophy given in the winners' circle.
And I revel in shining for you.

Like an obsessed art collector,
I polish and shine your possession.
I am the centerpiece of the meal,
the dessert after,
the aged cognac before bed,
the fine Cuban between your fingers.
And I beg to be gazed upon,
licked from the fork,
sipped greedily,
sucked in and consumed.

I am the red sky that frames your perfect curls.
My color takes away the need to hide.
Because the darkness shades your gaze,
and forces your hands to become your eyes.

Look at me
as long as you can.

No one knows what we become at night.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 3


Lay my head to pillow,
your voice pushing into me,
violating my sleep,
slick and natural,
sleek with superstition:
touch not allowed,
better to see, to suck in,
breath to cool the sweat
beaded in the pool of a quivering navel.
Eyes closed, feeling
each other only through sense,
smell our essence: musk and time,
fingers felt only by heat hovering
heavily over collar-bone, breasts,
abdomen heaving under the pressure
of hindered release.
I could heat the room with my thighs:
slightly spread in honest invitation.
But the dream might end on contact:
embrace is anticlimax. 
Let your words
enter me, push me, pull me,
choose your images to please,
make my breath
falter, swallow audibly.
Come to me, in the dark, uninvited,
and, writhing to meet your palm, 
I'll come for you.

Vintage porn is one of my favorite things.  I love to see that people have always been intensely sexual and drawn to sexual imagery.  As soon as cameras were invented, photographic pornography flashed onto the screen.  My favorite is artistic, like this.  Intentional and seductive.

Here are a few sites for more...

Vintage Lovelies

Vintage Cuties

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 2


At night
the moon teases
the rippling waves
lapping ebb and flow
she heaves

the glittering light
across his folds
is all he can say

a bright silence

but there is a moment
right before dawn
when the moon changes her clothes
is naked for just a moment
and rides heavily upon the sea

the moment
is so heated
she begins to glow
fiery red

the sea reaches his fingers
deep within her
and she rises
glowing and hot
blushing furiously

to heat the day

The Lustful Literate

Monday, December 13, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: the first day here's a gift and a challenge.

Circlet Press is offering 12 free erotic stories for the 12 days of Christmas (thanks to kareninqueens from Fetlife for the link idea!).  So happy about writing something each day for the same amount of time?

Here's day 1 for me:

Darkness Falls

A red sky frames
the silhouette of your blond curls.
You are colorless,
but light gets in the way
of temptation,
and I need nothing
but the vibration
of your energy around me.
As the red fades to black haze
and then blue night,
your shadow moves toward mine,
your dry, warm index finger
singes a path across my shoulder,
causing the useless string to drop,
to bare what you deserve,
what you have worked for,
waited for.
I am the prize for a hard day's work,
for keeping your hands to yourself,
for shutting out the brunette who brought in
more than her car for a work up.
I am the trophy given in the winners' circle.
And I revel in shining for you.
Like an obsessed art collector,
I polish and shine your possession.
I am the centerpiece of the meal,
the dessert after,
the aged cognac before bed,
the fine Cuban between your fingers.
And I beg to be gazed upon,
licked from the fork,
sipped greedily,
sucked in and consumed.
This is what I live for.
I am the red sky that frames your perfect curls.
My color takes away the need to hide.
Because the darkness shades your gaze,
and forces your hands to become your eyes.
Look at me
as long as you can.
No one knows what we become at night.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Submissive or Dominant?

So...interesting day.  But let me begin at the end.

Sitting on the couch after a movie, wine, martini, dinner, great day with the family.  Kids in bed.  Quiet after the movie.  Discussion:  what makes a submissive and a dominant?  What makes a good relationship?  Yin and yang.  Positive and negative.

Then...a continuation of a conversation we've had dozens of times before...but new.  Why Henry and Anais?  Why not Henry and June?  Why June and Anais?  Why not Henry and June?  Classic case of incompatibility.  Two dominant personalities do not work...for long.  Two submissive personalities do not work...for long.  You must have both sides of the coin.  And neither is less powerful than the other.  Both are necessary.

Hence the quote at the bottom of my page.

It's taken me years to understand my own sexuality.  Years to get that wanting a man to take control, to seduce me, devour me, take me, is not selfish.  It's taken me a long time to learn that some men want to do this, and that it is natural.

I totally get women who want the control.  They ride on top, they push, they aggressively take the reins.

I am not one of these women.

Hence the quote at the bottom of my page.

We went to lunch...drove around doing errands.  And I stayed in the car with the kids while he ran into place after place.  What a build up.

He said he had to prepare for "nap time."

Which took us to the drug store...the adult store...the hardware store.

And I can only tell you that my interest grew with each stop, engine running, entertaining the kids in the backseat while we waited for "daddy to get a few things".

Of course, our kids are young.  They have no clue what is going on, nor should they ever.

But, secretly, my mind was running amok.  What on earth was he buying in there?  What was in my not-so-distant future?

Anyhow, we returned home, sleeping children in tow.

And then, adult time.

He told me to read on the couch while he prepared....I listened to the clattering and bumping, wondering and looking forward to what would happen.  Apprehension.

When he came out to retrieve me, I was fairly well riled.

He led me to the bedroom, handed me ear plugs and blindfolded me.  He wanted those senses dulled so that I could focus on the ones remaining.

He set me on the bed, bound my hands, spread above my head.  Several minutes passed, stroking, caressing, kissing, teasing.

He bound my feet and pulled them up with rope to spread my knees.  Without pictures, it is hard to describe, but he did a fair job of rendering me exposed.  He licked and tickled and thrust his penis in a few times.  He brushed his penis past my lips in the process of tying me up, giving me enough pause to suck and kiss a few times.  And then he introduced a few new toys...buzzing and inserting and fondling his way to a very intense orgasm before he pushed himself into me and came.

We have joked about his coming causing a Pavoloviac response in me.  He comes, and in very little time, I respond by coming as well.

There is little I love more than feeling him filling me.  As it gushes out, I can do nothing to control the contractions that ensue.  It is automatic.  Possibly instinctual. 

So today, not only have I learned that I still like sensory deprivation, I also learned that I like to be tied up.  I like having not obligation to pretend that I have control.  I can simply lay back and enjoy, knowing that I have no other option anyway.

I learned that being a submissive is not about submitting power, it is about submitting control...which is a choice, and therefore just as powerful as asserting control.


This is a new place for me.  Not because I didn't know this about myself, but because I didn't know this about US.


Hence the quote at the bottom of my page.

Thank god I found my Henry.  And thank god I am both Anais AND June...because, while I can handle watching my husband fuck and be fucked by another woman...I could not handle sharing his love.

Sorry so serious tonight.  Maybe it's the booze.  Or's just because I feel intensely lucky to have been blessed by such an amazing relationship.  It has opened my eyes to a world I never would have sought on my own.  A world I might never have enjoyed.  A world I would not want to enter with anyone other than my best friend.

Hence the quote at the bottom of my page.

Lights out.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Book Club: The Smart Girl's Guide to Porn ch. 3

"I was a porn virgin"

I remember the first time I saw actual porn.  I was rooting around in the linen closet for a beach towel.  Since they were the biggest ones, used the least, they were on the bottom.  So, I pulled from the bottom of the stack, trying hard to avoid knocking the whole terry cloth tower over when, lo and behold, a collection of magazines fell at my feet.

I must've been around 9 or 10.  Of course, I knew they belonged to my father.  And I wondered briefly, even at that young age, why on earth he was stupid enough to keep them in a place so easy to find.

Anyhow, I glanced through them, mouth agape, eyes wide in curiosity, and placed them back where I found them.  I may have gone back to them a time or two...but at some point, they mysteriously disappeared...forever.

I also remember the first time I watched porn on film...not the racy, erotic thrillers I have come to love, nor the romantic types of film that have some steamy sex scenes.  Actual porn.  I was in first year.  I'd had a conversation with my then boyfriend about the fact that I'd never actually watched a real porn film.  I wanted to, just to see what the buzz was all about, but I was too chicken to go into the video store, behind the red curtain (why are they always red?) in the back.  I didn't want to be seen.  It made me feel like some sort of perverted creeper, hiding in the shadows, lurking.  So, I sent him.  Which, while it may have saved me the embarrassment of purchasing the film, it meant I was at the mercy of his selection.

Needless to say, the film sucked.  We didn't even make it through 20 minutes.  And it did nothing for my libido.

Things have changed a lot.  For me.  But not much for the industry.  I like this particular quote from chapter 3: "When visiting stores in person, it takes a conscious effort to enter the porn section for the first time, and as a woman be prepared that most men who are browsing before you came in will flee....If you decide to go into an adults-only store where you'll have a better selection, men may not flee, but you might be the only woman in sight, and it can feel...conspicuous.Then again, you could be surprised to see other women and couples shopping for porn and sex toys: it's happening more and more every year."

It is.  Here in my small corner of the world, I don't see it as much, though the people who work in our local "adults-only" store are usually female.  Even so, I rarely see women in the store shopping.  On the other hand, in the bigger cities, I notice a healthy number of couples perusing the dildos and dirty DVDs.  Maybe the stigma is less in a bigger city because the likelihood of running into someone you know is so much smaller.  I know that I feel much more comfortable shopping for adult items in a place where I don't think I might run into to someone I've seen at work or have a connection with through small town networks.

Another quote that caught my attention was: "Our culture is so packed with sexual shame that whenever I walk into a jack shack to find a DVD, the men run for cover, leaving me free to take my sweet time shopping for my next rental."  Jack shack.  Now that makes me laugh.

Adult DVD Talk
Check this site out for information, reviews, and discussion of adult film.

I personally tend to prefer soft-core, NC-17 type films.  Things that involve an element of heavy sexuality without being clinical or close-up.  Something with real story, emotion, and depth.  I like to escape into the sex AND the story.  But then, intellect turns me on.  (Take, for example, The Reader)

Related Tangent:  I went to a night club once.  I was single at the time, and hanging out with some friends, drinking beer.  A guy walked by who caught my eye.  I up-and-downed him once or twice.  And later that night he approached me with some sort of line like, "I saw you check me out."  I decided to run with it, because he was delicious.  I ended up making out with him in the parking lot, exchanging numbers, and then engaging in a "booty call" type of "relationship".  He was darling, but empty-headed.  It would never have lasted, because without the brains, the sex can only go so far in satisfying my deeper cravings.

Porn is a lot like delicious man.  Simple, redundant, unexceptional in all areas except for the sex, formulaic, and much less impressive inside than the package leads you to expect.

Some soft-core, main stream films suggested by the author:  Basic Instinct, Bound, Body of Evidence, Better than Chocolate, Caligula, Crash, The Fluffer, The Hunger, A History of Violence, Holy Smoke, Jade, Kama Sutra, Last Tango in Paris, 9 1/2 Weeks, Secretary, Belle de Jour, Betty Blue, Emmanuelle, Fanny Hill, The Pillow Book, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Sex and Lucia, Tokyo Decadence

Happy viewing!

The Lustful Literate

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Book Club: The Smart Girl's

Favorite quotes from this chapter:

"Like Hollywood stars, porn stars are overblown caricatures of contemporary culture's ideals and inhabit a tiny end of the gene pool.  The actors are all very limber, and can withstand extended periods of sex in difficult positions under hot lights.  They shave their balls, wax their asses, and sometimes wear makeup on virtually every inch of their bodies...and still perform."

"...I think that precisely because it's so far away from reality, most of the industry's purported "ideal" that stars embody isn't what actually turns most of us on."  (Maybe this is why so many women have so much trouble finding porn we like; I think most women want to see real people having real sex in real places with real expectations.)

The point of this chapter?  The concern over viewer self-esteem as a result of watching porn.

I guess I can see how some people might have body issues while watching porn.  I don't.  I watch porn for a particular an arousal aide.  I like to look at attractive people.  I like to watch attractive people fuck.  I like to have sex while I watch them.  I'm not worrying about how I look while I'm doing this.  I'm completely aware that the people in porn are chosen for their bodily features.  Duh.  That's why the girls have big boobs and skinny waists and the guys have big cocks.  The only faces that matter are the womens', because they'll be the focus of the cum shots and the orgasm close-ups.  Most directors don't seem real concerned with what's going on with the guys (funny double-standard there).  It usually appears that the females are the ones being objectified, but I'd say it's just as apparent for the males.  All they seem good for in porn is having a big dick.  But wait...isn't that what porn is about...objectification of others?  So, I guess that makes me unconcerned about sexism in porn.  Hmm...

The second point of this chapter - the concern that a viewer might see something offensive.

Blue reports, "It's unsettling to feel aroused by images we find offensive on one level or another.  If you're ashamed of sex, you're likely to feel embarrassed by the explicit imagery in porn.  Sexual surprise, offense, and shock manifest in several guises: embarrassment, shame, anger, depression, self-hatred--and confusingly, arousal."  Sex is one of those things that, because we have so little control over it, can be scary.  Our genitals respond, sometimes without our permission, to all kinds of things.  For example, maybe you notice a twinge when a hot chick walks by, but you aren't gay and don't consider yourself bi-sexual.  Will this confuse you?  Embarrass you?  Interest you?  Our bodies and brains are not always "moral" or "ethical".  They run on auto-pilot and are controlled by our pleasure centers.  The body's goal is to feel good.  Adrenaline, dopamine, chemical electricity.  Our bodies, especially our sexual hot spots, are not at all concerned with our values.  They just want.  I think for people who have no clue what they want or fantasize about, oftentimes women, porn can be a gateway to understanding.  Even if you find it offensive, if your body reacts to it, there's a learning experience available.  What is it about the visual imagery that gets your motor running?

The third point of this chapter - the concern that porn degrades women.

I've heard this argument before.  And I think it's silly.  Porn is a job.  The people in these films, magazines, and photos choose to be there.  They are paid for it; sometimes quite well.  And just because they are put in situations that might be degrading in the opinion of the viewer does not mean that the actors feel the same way.  There are all kinds of people and all kinds of sex.  As long as the participants are consenting adults who aren't hurting anybody else with their activities, there's nothing wrong with it.  Women who take pride in their bodies, sexuality, and sexual abilities are not weak.  I'd venture to say they are strong.  They don't perpetuate sexism, either.  Besides, as I said are treated similarly in porn - as objects...or better yet, carriers for big penises.

The fourth point of this chapter - the concern that porn has certain features that are unpalatable to some.

The facial cum shot (one of my pet peeves), anal sex, girl/girl action, fake orgasms, genital close-ups, unsafe sex.  All I (or Blue) can say is...get your remote.  Fast forward through the stuff you don't like to get to the stuff you do.

In fact, I think I'll get my remote ready right now.

Monday, November 22, 2010


Mmmmm...such a nice, warm, soft, comfortable bed...just the right position...sigh.  Dead asleep.  Dreaming.  And suddenly, I feel a hand sliding between my legs, searching out the magic button.  I have two options:  smack it and tell it to go back to sleep, or roll over and let it happen.  Some nights, I succumb, willingly and happily.  Other nights, I want to beat the crap out of him with a pillow for waking me from my perfect slumber.

My husband is a sexsomiac.  We didn't even know what that was until a few months ago, but now that we do, he now has a convenient excuse for waking me up in the middle of the night for a little skin to skin friction.

So, what exactly is "sexsomnia"?

Sexsomnia, also referred to as "sleep sex", is a type of parasomnia. "Parasomnias are disorders characterized by partial arousal during sleep or during transitions between waking and sleeping" (Healthtree).

Sexsomniacs engage in sexual activity while sleeping; sometimes, they don't even remember what they have done, while others wake up during the activity to find themselves involved in a sex act.  The intensity of sleep sex can be different for each individual; some people might only feel or grope their partner, while others may have a rousing sex session or masturbate. "At the extreme end of the scale are those who become violent and dangerous during sleep sex" (Healthtree).

No one really knows what causes it.  Some say that it may be genetic and might be exacerbated by alcohol/drugs, fatigue, stress, or a lack of sexual activity.  The disorder is much more common in males.

For some, seeking medical help might be necessary if the activities the individual engages in while asleep are dangerous to either himself or his partner.  There have been cases where individuals (mainly men) have had to endure legal action due to violent sexual behavior they had no control over or awareness of.  Some sufferers experience shame or embarrassment, which can lead to fear, depression, or greater stress.  If this is the case, the person should definitely pursue medical attention.

The treatments include medication (for sleep, anxiety, or depression), therapy, drug/alcohol cessation.  If there is any concern of dangerous behavior, sleeping in a separate, locked room may be recommended.

Luckily, my husband doesn't behave violently.  And he does eventually wake up...oftentimes when we are already having sex.  I can say, that I have never noticed that he was asleep.  He behaves just as if he were awake (or at least half-awake).  But then, when he wakes me up and I roll over in positive response, I'm usually not fully awake, either.  I don't notice it when he wakes up...there is no difference between him fucking me asleep or awake.  So, why would I complain...other than when I want to sleep and I'm not interested?  Besides, if I smack him and tell him no...even asleep, he seems to get the point.

Down, boy.  The store is closed.  Go back to your side.

Unfortunately, on the nights when his symptoms are worse, he tends to be overly "snuggley", and I spend much of my night fighting him off for non-sexual behavior.  I'd say that is the only real down-side.

He concurs that stress, fatigue, alcohol, and a lull in our sex patterns do worsen his symptoms.  When he's less stressed, more rested, and our sex life is in full swing, he has fewer to no episodes.

So maybe it's a good gauge of how well our life is going or a notice that things need to improve in some way.

And even if I tend to tell him no most of the time, on the nights I do submit, we end up having some pretty torrid sex.  So maybe for some of us, a sexsomniac partner is a bittersweet gift. 

So, what say you?  Any of you readers have experience with this disorder?

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Book Club: The Smart Girls Guide to Porn...

Chapter One:  "What a Smart Girl Wants"

Okay, a few days ago, I did a post inspired by the introduction of this book by Violet Blue (see my links for her site).  Then, I promptly read the 1st chapter and began to mull over the issues and ideas she presents.

I will first say that the book itself does not hold much "new" information for me yet.  Nor is it written with any particularly astounding style or craft, but I did appreciate a few points that have been made so far:

1)  Women watch, enjoy, and want more from their porn.
2)  Desire, for women, is NOT all in our heads:  meaning we CAN and ARE stimulated simply by the visual representation of a sexual act sans emotion or seduction of our senses - though we often prefer the two to come intertwined.

The section entitled "Why Does a Smart Girl Watch Porn?" was disappointing.  Not so much because it was weak or wrong...but because I'm sad that so many women are deprived enough that porn would be a viable stand-in for the lack of a stimulating sex life with their partner.  Porn can be a quick and easy aide for "getting off".  I'm not going to say I've never used it in that way, or that my husband and I haven't used it as a "starter" or "background noise".  But, I don't satisfy my sexual curiosity through porn (in fact, I find porn to be fairly formulaic and unimaginative).

I did appreciate her idea of using porn to experience things you'd never try yourself - and the short discussion on "fantasy" being just that, and not necessarily something you WANT to play out in real life.  Porn can let you "experience" a gang bang...a forceful sex act...humiliation...power over another...even things less savory or socially unacceptable.  Things you might think about, things that might even turn you on, but things you wouldn't actually want to play out in real life (and I'm not making any statement here on what makes "acceptable" or "unacceptable"'s really whatever makes consenting adults happy).  And even if you wouldn't really want to do some of the things you enjoy watching on doesn't mean you can't learn something about yourself in the process.  Watching porn can help you develop a working list of what leads to arousal for you.  That can carry over to your own sex life.  It can inform the decisions you make about who and where and how you have sex...what toys you purchase...and where you need to have your "head" to make sex as satisfying as possible - for everyone involved.

(And just an FYI...this is a first of a series of "book club" entries for this book.  And I plan to do others in the future....just look for the "Book Club" label.  And if you have fiction or non-fiction suggestions, please fess up.  Also, if you want to join in the discussion...grab a copy yourself, read along, and comment at will.  I love a good book talk!)

Monday, November 15, 2010

Question: What's your favorite naughty movie?

So, I'm reading The Smart Girl's Guide to Porn and plan to kind of take it a chapter at a time, sort of a book study/book talk.  A few days ago, I did a bit of a response to the book's introduction.  And on another day when it doesn't look like a storm is going to take out my internet connection at any second, I'll go into greater detail on chapter one.

So, for today, I'll just jump out there and ask you all...what's your favorite steamy film, porn flick, naughty website, etc.?  

If you respond to the question, give the title, where it can be found (if you know), and explain why you like it (why it's a turn on) and who you think might enjoy it as much as you - sort of a min-review.

I'll start.

One of the hottest films I've seen is Henry and June.

It was artistic, seductive, and, at the time of my first viewing (I was in my teens), it was more than I'd ever thought of experiencing - orgies, bisexual activity, voyeurism, domination, had it all, plus decent music, lighting, and acting.  So, it definitely beats most porn films.

By far, however, the hottest scene I've watched in years was from a mediocre film called 40 Days and 40 Nights.  Hot, hot, hot scene where the male lead brings the female lead to orgasm with nothing but a feather.  Made my thighs tingle. (Although, it is listed as one of the worst movie sex scenes of all time, and has been described as trite, disappointing, and "not at all kinky" on several review sites, I disagree.)  I tried to find a video clip of the scene, but got the internet ADD and lost interest...

But, I found this while I was looking...just for fun:  The 11 Most Famous Movie Masturbators.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Theatre/Film: The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Almost 40 years ago, a crazy little film had it's debut showing in Los Angeles.  It didn't bring in the audiences that were predicted, was pulled and shelved, and was ultimately considered a failure.

A year later, it was re-introduced at a little theater known for "midnight" showings of unique, foreign, and independent films.  It did well enough that first night and became a weekly regular showing, with regular viewers who, upon memorizing the scenes and the lines, began to jeer, taunt, and tease the characters on the screen.  One night showing, prior to Halloween, a few daring souls dressed the parts of some of the characters.  Not long after, people began singing along with the record played before the movie (meant to get the audience hyped up for the film).  This developed into a floor-show that would continue to be enjoyed before each showing.  Pretty soon, people were attending not just to enjoy the film, but to enjoy entertaining and being entertained by each other: costume, dialogue, zany behavior.

Audience members started getting more involved.  Shouting at the screen (and each other) wasn't enough.  They started acting out scenes, bringing props.  The phenomenon began to spread from theater to theater.  It took little more than 3 years for The Rocky Horror Picture Show to become a cult classic with a zealous following...which has been passed from generation to generation.  The film has also hit Broadway and is still being produced in smaller theatres across the country.

I got to see it last night, at a tiny college theatre in my small, rather conservative town.  I was not only impressed with the cast, music, and acting, I was impressed by the audience.  Ranging in age from the mid-teens to late 80's or so, the group was a mish-mash of well-dressed to hardly dressed.  It was great.  The Time Warp dance, costume prizes (first place was a pink dildo going to a young man in a wedding dress and fishnets), and audience interjections throughout the play.

And, it was sexy.  Though I will admit that I have never been pulled in by others' fascination with this film, I am intrigued with the concepts it brings up.  Sexual enlightenment.  Freedom from gender barriers. Liberation.  In 1975, after the sexual revolution, at the height of the women's movement, this film was just one more investigation of what could be.  Even though the ideas might be "alien".

My only sadness is that in the end, the "aliens" go back to their planet of Transexual in the galaxy of Transylvania.  Frank and his beautiful creation, Rocky Horror, die.  And the regular people are left to go back to their regular little lives.

Hey wait...I go through this every time I go to a swinger's party.  All those beautiful costumes, the blurring of sexual boundaries, sex, sex, and more sex...and then back to the day-to-day grind.

Now I just have to find my own Rocky Horror to do with as I may - yum!

So, looks like a lot of people wish our puritanical ways were a thing of the past.  All those straight men in bustiers, all those girls in fishnets and corsets...get to come out of the wood work, commune, and have a great time.

Last night's production boasted a sexy lead female (who serves pizza at a local restaurant), a darling Rocky Horror (a kid I used to know when he was younger and less...well, less everything), the son of a very religious man (how does he deal with his son frolicking around on stage in a Speedo and platform, lace-up boots?), and a plethora of others whom I see working at local establishments.  What fun to see their alter egos shine for just a bit.

After all, it's what I do here...put on my stage make-up, warm-up my stage voice, and become something I don't get to be in my everyday life.

My favorite scene:  a back-lit white screen, undulating shadows, Frank having his way with Janet...then Brad, and everyone loving it.

Yep, that's my next fantasy to fulfill...breaking down those gender walls.

So, here's to The Rocky Horror Picture Show.  May it enjoy another 40 years of fame.

Visit the official Rocky Horror Picture Show Fan Site for more information.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Smart Girls and Sex

So what do smart girls want?

Unfortunately, a lot of girls, smart ones included, have little clue.  But that isn't a surprise; not a lot of stock has been put into what women really want (sexually speaking) in mainstream media...or even porn.  Sure, there was the sexual revolution...but that just put the message out there that having sex was healthy and fun.  And yes, there's been The Joy of Sex and Dr. Ruth and romance novels out the wazoo (which is a whole weird culture that I didn't think I understood until now - but I'll get to that in a moment).  But there hasn't been a completely open sexual movement encouraging women to find out what makes them hot, what makes them sweat, what makes them come.  We have to diligently select from hundreds of outlets.  And sometimes, we don't even know where to start.

Let's create a profile for an average American girl - so I can evidence just how tough it can be for a woman to find herself as a sexual being.  We'll call her Mona...

Mona is born into a middle class family.  She doesn't have "daddy issues" and she isn't being sexually abused.  She's a normal kid.  Sometime in her early preteens (or maybe even before), she stumbles upon masturbation (I know this tends to happen earlier for boys - which makes sense...come on - it's right there...all the time).  In her teens she experiments with sexual activity, and finally, with the "right boy", she gives in.  It probably isn't good (seriously, they're teenagers...he's over-eager and she has no idea how to enjoy this).  It doesn't get better for quite some time, because she can't figure out how to transfer her ability to get off on her own to involving another person in the process.  She's young, self-conscious, and probably unwilling to explain to a horny teenage boy what it is she really needs to reach climax.  Let's face it, he probably doesn't care (even though he's told her he loves her to get in her pants).  She knows this.  So, she keeps it to herself, trying to figure out what she's doing wrong - after all, it seems to be working for him.  Some years later, in college, she gets a little more confident.  She starts asking for what she wants, reading up on it, watching porn.  She has meaningful relationships with men who really want to please her.  And yet, she still doesn't quite have the words for it.  Why?  Because, even though there IS a language for female sexuality, it is hard to find in mainstream media.  So it's no damn wonder, when Mona gets married and has 3 kids that her sex life starts to break down and she turns to romance novels to feed her disappointed and neglected sexual appetite.  And the problem with these novels is that they are poison.  They do as bad a disservice to sex as does most porn.  It's so unreal that the reader or viewer gets a warped sense of what sex should be or can be.  Mona doesn't have to throw in the towel, though.  There are great women doing great things to help all of us reach our sexual potential...and have fun getting there.

Mona's story is similar to mine.  With a few differences.  I figured out what worked for me fairly young.  And I started reading about it at a young age, too.  I think it started with Anne Rice.  I read the Vampire Chronicles and, in my voracious serial devouring of everything she ever published, came across Belinda.  Then came The Sleeping Beauty series.  My teenage eyes were opened wide.  I'm pretty sure I read all three books in a matter of a few days, with little sleep.  Nearly 800 pages of bondage and sex and an education I could not have garnered from the pages of My Body My Self.  This was followed by the diaries of Anais Nin (whom I ironically found about by reading The Bridges of Madison County).  Then came the early play with boys.  Almost always a disappointment.  All done for the amusement and satisfaction of the boy.  Of course, I suppose if I'd been a more aggressive girl, I could've gotten what I wanted.  Problem was, that while I recognized what turned me on when I saw it or read it, I couldn't name it.  I had no definition.  No classification system.  And I hadn't given myself permission to explore.  That also isn't surprising, given what society does to young girls who are starting to come to terms with their sexuality.  Times have NOT changed.  Boys who play with sex are "normal"...heroic even.  Girls who play with sex are "promiscuous little sluts".  So, we hide it.  We try to figure things out without anyone ever knowing.

By the time I got to college and watched real porn for the first time (I had a great boyfriend who braved the adult section at the video store because I was too chicken, and came home with - I will never forget this title as long as I live - Revenge of the Pussysuckers from Mars).  There is so much wrong with this that I don't even know where to start.  It was laughable.  We couldn't even finish it.  The guys were greasy and overweight, the girls were quite obviously brainless and desperate.  But what would have changed if I'd had the guts to go in and pick the porn for myself?  I'd never seen it before, so I had know idea what I was shopping for.  Didn't know my own tastes in the genre.  I know I wouldn't have picked anything involved "pussysuckers" in the title.  But, what would I have chosen?

Even now, I struggle to find decent porn.  The outside always seems to look so much more enticing than the inside.  While I am far from an expert, I know at least a little about what I do and don't like.  I'm drawn in by a cover.  If the cover of the box involves giant dicks coming all over eager young female faces, I'm out.  If it boasts a bevy of big butts spread wide and fake smiles, I'm not interested.  If the cover is sexy, artistic, looks like a little money went into the production, I might read the back.  Then it comes down to the story line.  If it's cheesy, forget it.  If the girls are too skinny, don't bother me.  The best ones (and I'm not saying they're great by any means) I've found so far have been produced by Wicked Pictures and Playgirl.  Although, I'll say the people usually look better on the box that they do in the films...and for the most part, porn actors are not theater majors...they are there to fuck - which, while I like to watch sex as much as the next horny MILF, I'd  prefer the people I watch to be a few notches above dim-witted.  And the more real the people look, the better.  The more fun they appear to be having, the more I'm likely to have fun watching it.  I want to see people really enjoying themselves, not faking it.  And I can tell.  Bi, couples, doesn't matter.  Sex can be beautiful and arousing no matter who is involved.  Porn should be able to capture that, not desecrate it or cheapen it.  Even "dirty" sex can be artful.  The constant close-ups on a girl's gaping vagina does not make me hot.  Watching a girl give a 12 hour blow job, also does not turn me on.

So, at least, at this point in my life I have some growing clue about what I like and don't like about pornographic material (print or film).  I'm a smart girl.  College educated with a professional career.  So, I can say with some authority that one thing is certain: smart girls want sex.  Which means we want smart porn.

So where does one find the entrance to the rabbit hole?  Here's a starting point:  Violet Blue.

In the introduction of her book, The Smart Girl's Guide to Porn, she says, "Porn, like Hollywood's reality TV, is often sexual disinformation: many sex acts are hot to watch but likely the sexual equivalent of Jackass and you shouldn't try them at home."

This gal has done a lot of research for the rest of us smart girls who are too busy with jobs and families to spend hours a day searching for porn we can really sink our teeth into.

Her website is a plethora of great information - including links and books from other authors.

Hey, it's a starting point.  Even smart girls need a little guidance sometimes.

The Lustful Literate's behind ;-)

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Sex Blogging

So I've traversed the sex blog neighborhood enough to finally get some sense of what it is I like most about erotic writing/blogging: beauty (visual and literary), perceived honesty, detail, and simplicity.  I must have viewed a hundred different sites over the last few days, only to "follow" or link to a carefully chosen few.  They run the gamut from tame to fetish to literary to dark to humorous.  But they all have beauty in common.  Of course, as we all know, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so maybe you won't agree.

I can say that in my internet travels, I have seen sex in it's ugliest forms (trivialized, caricatured, and malicious).  Anything related to sex can be ruined in this way.  Likewise, anything can be made beautiful if the participants are willing and lucid.

Pictures of drunk college co-eds doing things they will regret in the morning - ugly.

Stories of rape or child pornography - ugly (though, I will admit that I have a lurid fascination with Lolita).

Poems about voluntary submission, artwork detailing alluring sexual poses, classic pin-ups - beautiful.

I, personally, am not interested in any deep level of BDSM (doesn't mean I don't like reading about it, though; and I appreciate that some of you are out there writing about it so that people like me can understand and live vicariously through your exploits).

Mostly, I like reading about things that I would actually do.  Things that I have done.  Things that I understand.  It's a way to connect, if only for a moment, with a virtual stranger.

I think that's probably the most intense part of sex-blogging.  The intimacy.  The miles that separate are disintegrated by the crossroads of internet pathways.

I'm just one more pathway.  But maybe you'll cross it.  Maybe you'll stop and stay awhile.  And if you do, in some small way, we will have shared an intimacy that even my closest friends have not shared.  You, my dear internet reader, will know more about my sex life and interests than pretty much anyone besides my husband.  It's a strange world that we have become.  Public anonymity.


Monday, November 8, 2010

Experience: Friends with Benefits?

Mmmm...they're my favorite kind.  Most of the time.  As long as the benefits come drama-free.  For example, we have some friends that we love to hang out with...our kids know each other, we enjoy drinks and dancing  together, and on occasion - a little bump and grind...naked, between the sheets.

But then, there are the friends who can't seem to leave their drama at home.  For example...

There's this couple with whom I've been friends for years.  In fact, I knew them before I even knew my husband.  We'd go out dancing and drinking and dining every Friday night.  Mr. Couple insinuated early on that he found me attractive.  Mrs. Couple teased that if Mr. C didn't have her, he'd definitely try to squirm his way into my good graces...and certainly between my thighs.  It was all in good flirtatious fun and everyone was on board.

Then, a few years back, Mr. LL and I went to a gathering at their waterfront cabin.  There were a few other couples there all enjoying the fresh mountain air and a few too many libations.  Somehow, at the end of the night, Mrs. Couple, one of the other gals, and I all ended up in a bed "snuggling", fondling and generally being suggestive in a PG-13+ sort of manner.

Later, in the course of the evening, Mr. Couple hi-jacked me on the way back from the outhouse, trying to convince me that Mrs. C was totally into it and that we could definitely "get it on."  Now, even drunk I have my limits when it comes to other couples' boundaries.  It's very important to me that couples be honest with each other; it's why and how it works for Mr. LL and myself.  We are brutally and completely honest with each other.  We make rules, set boundaries, and do not sway from the path we create.  Even though our path morphs and changes from time to time, it is always before we are in a situation that might entail the need to stick to the rules.  Obviously, Mr. and Mrs. C have not had the kinds of conversations Mr. LL and I have had.  Nor have they had the experiences and opportunities to learn their limits.  Even though we have encouraged them to do so, they continue to ignore the discussion, but don't seem to be able to keep from stirring things up when we all get together. 

So, not being a complete idiot, I told Mr. C that nothing could happen between anyone unless Mrs. C was well aware and willing.

The problem:  Mr. C is always willing, and Mrs. C always seems willing when it's just her and I.  We've made out before - away from the boys (with their knowledge, of course - I have no reason to hide anything).  But, anytime it involves anyone else, she completely turns off.  Unless she's been drinking and forgets that she's already freaked out on us once...then she finds it completely acceptable to make suggestive comments to both myself and Mr. LL.

There have been a few other instances...even quite recently - just the other night, at my regular Friday evening girls' get-together, Mrs. C suggested we go pick up some take-out on the way home and grab another glass of wine.  This took us away from the crowd, alone, where wine was involved and we were close to her house (which, conveniently, was devoid of all other inhabitants).  She told me about her new camera and that she was just learning how it worked and would like some willing subjects to practice on.  Right about that time, a few of our other friends happened upon us and put the conversation to a close.

When I came home, I vented to Mr. LL - "There she goes again, trying to start something she doesn't really have the wherewithal to finish."

For, I truly am frustrated with this woman.  After all of the opportunities that she has been given to "play", she has always chickened out at the last minute.  I have been a patient and willing teacher.  I have offered her time and processing.  But, like many men - once I have been teased into a frenzy and left wanting enough times, I'm no longer interested.


So, not only is she my "sort of" friend...she's a cock tease AND a twat tease.  Fuck.  Double damn.

Obviously, I'm not about to go there.  It's too dangerous.  Too emotional.  Too everything.

Better to look elsewhere, toward people who know what they want and can commit to it.

I do...and I can.

But, since we all run in the same circles, it is likely that we will meet up with the C's again in the future.  The upside?  It gets easier and easier to walk away before the conversation ever gets started.

"The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience." Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Monday, November 1, 2010

Poetry: "Vasoline"

Every year...our town is home to a trans-gender conference.  It's great fun!  The "girls" take over and shop and dance and just hang out being "fabulous".  This poem is in honor -  something fascinates me about them, not quite sure what it is, but I'm thinking about it right now...


In the pink phosphorescence
of my combustible world,
I sink into opium transcendence,
spread across the lush hotel bed,
silver-sequined spandex skirt
pushed high up on my hips,
legs open to receive my daily bread.
Martini in hand,
cigar between candy-colored lips
bruised by kisses,
swollen with need,
bitten by my own teeth
in anticipation of heaven.
Feathers, glossy yellow, sashay
across the tiny hairs
standing like soldiers
on my flesh—
so awake, so aware, so resolved
to what will touch my muscled thigh,
glory in the smoothness there
and there.
I drift and slip and slide
with an air of indifference.
But I am not.
I would choose no other room,
no other view.
Shades of complacency, blue with comfort,
mingle with wild indecency.
And it is.
This is why I stay,
why I’m here.
I want to drown
in the scent of sex
in this cotton candy room
where I choose my vice
and sell my wares
to some middle-aged businessman
in a bad suit and thick cologne
trying to pretend his slick
like vasoline.
What would his wife say if she saw us
together up against the wall,
my face pressed into the cheap paint,
and heard the growl of satisfaction
in my throat
because he finds escaped
in this
and not between her moist lips.
It’s not enough.
He must have more,
something hidden between my thighs,
pulsing there with the dignity of a sword.
He buries his face between my shoulder blades
and sighs the sigh that says
Here I can be myself.
I feel like God,
like his savior.
And I open more and more
as the twelfth olive slides sedately down my throat.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Fiction: "The Tenant" part 4

(Original work of The Lustful Literate.  Please respect creative ownership.)

The Tenant
part four

Whenever had he wanted a woman this badly?  Not her succulent thighs or thick, dirty blond hair – but the hidden depths?  He thirsted to be let into the shadows inside her.  He wanted into those eyes so badly his chest ached.  He made fists of his hands and pounded the mattress on either side of his reclined body.  He felt he could actually die of this feeling.  He pressed his open palm down on his erection, willing it to subside, forcing it, as much as he could without truly paining himself.

And then there was a “click” from the hallway.  Her door.  Was she coming out?  Another drink?  A cigarette?  He couldn’t hear her in the hall.  He moved slowly to his own door and peered out toward her room.  The door was still closed.  He furrowed his brow as if to question her gesture.  Had she unlocked her door to emerge and then changed her mind, forgetting to re-lock?  He stood in front of her door and looked down.  No light emerged from beneath.  He put his hand around the door knob; it felt hot.  He pulled away quickly as if he’d been burned.  He looked at his palm in the darkness, opening his mouth to let escape a silent breath of painful yearning.  Confused, he tried again.  Turning the knob, slowly, as to not alarm her, he felt an icy chill up his forearm; it continued in a lightning jet of pain to his shoulder.  Once again, he let go of the knob.  But having turned it somewhat already, the door creaked open an inch. 

He peered through the crack, a stab of guilt slicing through his thoughts, like a child seeing something beyond his years, something he should not see but cannot look away from.  Wanting the view all the more because it seemed wrong, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness within.  Searching the bed for the curve of her form, he could not see well enough.  He glanced away, back into the hall.  He hadn’t seen anything, but the desire to had set the vision hard in his mind, as if the lights were bright on her body, highlighting its contours, its shadows.  The imagining gave rise to his manhood. The cotton and wool could not hold him in.  Quickly, he shuffled back to his room, bare feet sliding almost silently on the wood floor, angry with his own anatomy.  He simply couldn’t go to her like this, like some inexperienced school boy looking up to woman of knowing.  He had to offer her more.  She’d been propositioned too many times to be impressed by this.  He could see her reaction—rolled eyes, a sigh, a demeanor of pity.  She would be disappointed because that’s what she’d expect: his erection, his pleading eyes.  It’s what he felt but could not show.  She wouldn’t be able to see what was silently waiting behind the veil of the biological reactions of his body…that this was not about that.  He didn’t have to fuck her.  Indeed, his body craved her in the most primal sense, but his mind railed against it; intellectually, he could rise above simply wanting her, but his animal instinct was strong.  She’d hear it as a lie if he tried to explain.  Others had probably tried it as a method for sounding trustworthy or sensitive.  He didn’t have any reason to be either.  She wouldn’t respect those qualities anyway.  But she wouldn’t respect an erection staring her in the face on its knees pleading for her touch, either.

He sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for it to subside.  He drained the last few drops of whiskey and returned to her door.  It was open wide.  He looked behind him, back down the hall toward the living room, then stared again into the darkness of her room.  He reached back down and briefly attempted to tame himself, pressing the base of the shaft toward his left thigh.

“What do you want?”

Her words made him jerk and take in a startled, sharp gasp of breath.  A drop of sweat floated down his left cheek.  He said nothing.  What could he have said?  How could he tell her?  He had to touch her skin and smell her.  Walking to the foot of her bed, his silhouette was framed by the glow of the drapes.  He couldn’t hear her move.  She remained still and silent.  Placing his right knee on the bed, he let his weight fall forward on to his hands.  Knee over knee…hand over hand, he crawled to her side, spun sideways, and lay next to her.  He inhaled slowly and deliberately, taking in her musky aroma.  It burned his nose and made his throat constrict.  He closed his eyes tightly and fumbled for her hand.  She made no effort to close her fingers around his.  Like a dead body, she let him take her hand, but didn’t respond to him.  Her warmth, though, radiated into his palm.  She was so hot.  But she was dry.  How could her palm be so dry---not perspiring in such heat?  He held her fingers in his hand tightly, willing his words into her skin without speaking.

“It’s alright,” she whispered.

He could feel her looking at him, the heat of her eyes on his cheek…could almost hear the single tear sliding down her own.

Her body turned toward his.  His breath stopped, his heartbeat quickening.  Fear.  She placed her hand on his chest, traced her fingernail to his shoulder and down his arm to the hand that was still holding hers.  She picked up his arm, stretched it straight across her pillow and lay her head on his shoulder. 

He lay awake for several hours in that position, not knowing if she slept.  It didn’t matter.  He was holding her, holding the essence of desire in his arms.  He let it wash over him like the sweetest shower, saturating his skin.  He was cool now.  She wasn’t burning him anymore.  He’d survived somehow, and now here he was, relaxing in its wake, the softness of its contentment.  He’d never again know desire like this, like an electrical storm, all-consuming.  And all at once he understood that to bully the current or force it into submission would be futile.  Men had been trying for thousands of years to bridle the power of these waves.  But it was not until this moment that he realized simply giving in was far more satisfying.  He knew there was no battle to win but within himself.  She was not an enemy to be conquered, a book to be read, a project to study.  She was not to be simply enjoyed or entertained.  Or feared.  She needed to connect: only connect…the most basic of human requirements.  And this moment, a moment that could not be recaptured, was the only thing he wanted of her.  A kiss, or more, would be a knife in the back of this feeling.

In the morning, he would pack his things and go.