My Writing

Friday, December 24, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 11/12

Not likely to be on tomorrow...so 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
embrace
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,
fragile.

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
reluctantly
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

Storyteller

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. 
Continue. 
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.

http://www.mapplethorpe.org/

http://www.pattismith.net/

Mapplethorpe

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Erotic Advent Calendar: day 5-8

Okay...so 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:

Craft

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
unnecessarily,
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...

Un-

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
another.
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

Come

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


Birth

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

Okay...so 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 reading...and...how 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.

So...today...

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.

Hmmm...

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.

Interesting.

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 maybe...it'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 college...my 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