My Writing

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Is Love a Social Construct and Marriage an Outdated Practice?

I do all kinds of research as a result of this blog.  I read up on one thing, find reference to another, get the ADD, and then find myself mired in a topic I never expected to find interesting.  And sometimes it leads to whole worlds of consideration and connections.



Case in point...on TED, I ran into a conversation on "open marriages".  There were some pretty heated comments, from both sides of the argument.   So, I started reading up on it.  As I searched, I was struck by the number of articles and websites devoted to the pros of open-marriage, and the lack of websites and articles against it.  And as I started reading all about the "grandness" of open relationships, how they allow people to be freer sexually and are more honest to human desires, I found myself growing more and more annoyed.  The overall opinion seems to be that we all have to accept that humans are not monogamous and that relationships and marriages that require us to "go against our animal nature" are stifling and doomed to sexual unhappiness and/or failure.  The prevailing sentiment seems to be that open-relationships are the way of the future, and that if you are against them, you have trust and jealousy issues and need to seek counseling to get over them.  Or better yet, that those spouses who expect monogamy are soul-sucking harpies with no sense of adventure, hell-bent on destroying their partner's will to live.  If I'm not mistaken, I'm pretty sure most people who walk down the aisle, do so of their own volition and are aware of the expectations when they say their vows.  Just because we find out later that our needs have changed, doesn't mean that our spouse is to be held responsible for those changes or is under any real obligation to accept them without question. In the process of my research, I've even seen a number of articles (from reputable sources, mind you) that seem to feel marriage is no longer of value in our present society...that it is a construct of culture, and that our culture has lost the need for it.  

Obviously, you can see where my counterargument is headed.  I have no issue with other peoples' relationship structures.  I do, however, have an issue with anyone telling me that my expectations of marriage are sentimental and unfair to my partner.  I also have an issue with anyone (no matter how many acronyms you put after your name) telling me that I, personally, am not accepting my own needs for sexual exploration or growth if I "pretend" that I'm okay with "being tied-down" by an "outdated and possibly harmful practice" (marriage).

I get it.  Human sexual desire is unruly.  We can love and lust after countless people for a multitude of reasons, both crazy and sane.  But...we can also harness that.  I'm not saying it is right or wrong to harness it, I'm just saying it's possible.  And I think to damn closed-relationships as the cause of the breakdown of marriage is irresponsible.  Sure, we have "animal desires"...but there is a stark difference between humans and animals - "free will" and the ability to control our behavior for the common good.  If we all ran around giving in to our every whim, society wouldn't last long.  And even animals have "rules" governing relationships...they kill for ownership over partners, have committed pair and group relationships, and even have preferences to stay single and live alone.  So to use "our collective animal nature" as a predictor or argument for polygamy, polygyny, or any other relationship dynamic is a fallacy.  

When two people make a commitment to each other, it should be with the express idea that both people know there will need to be sacrifices and compromises to make the relationship work.  Anything can work if all parties are in on the planning and practical implementation.  The problem is, one person is usually more into it than the other.  And neither person can really see it in exactly the same light (a drawback of human personality variance).  Also, there's the added challenge that humans and their needs change over time.  This is why it is imperative that a couple keep the lines of communication open and continually address the interests of both people.  I would argue that it is impossible to completely fulfill the needs of everyone in the room (even if there are only two) on an ongoing basis.  But, love is the thing that bridges that gap (though, sadly, I've also read several articles today that posit love - all emotions really - is a fictional construct, as well).  Even if I'm not able to meet all of my needs all of the time, I realize that love is worth more than me getting my way all of the time.  That is the nature of a committed adult relationship:  it's bigger than impulsive desires. Or at least it should be.

More than anything, I see the move toward mainly open-relationships, as opposed to marriage, as a symptom of a bigger issue in society, where human connection itself has lost (or is losing) value.   Some might say an open-relationhship does the opposite...that it allows an abundance and a variety of human interaction that marriage, by its very nature, quells.  I'm not saying all open-relationships are bad.  Quite the contrary.  I'm just saying that open-relationships being good doesn't inherently make marriage bad.

Many years ago, I read E.M. Forster's novel Howard's End.  The theme of the novel is human connection.  The novel's central argument is that human beings must connect and that this connection is ultimately the meaning of life.  What then does it mean for a culture that no longer "connects"...no longer, as a whole, sees any reason for commitment, and no longer holds itself to a standard of moderation or self-control?  I fear that younger generations have a sense that there is no consequence for their behavior and no good reason to deny their desires.  This "entitlement" to feel good, all the time, to live completely for fulfillment is like giving in to addiction.  Actually...it isn't like it...it is justifying it.

I'm not saying that life should be about denying one's happiness in the name of self-sacrifice and martyrdom.  But, I also do not believe we should give ourselves any more excuses for our behavior than we already do.  If we give into every one of our desires, what will there be to want?  And without unfulfilled desire, what will we have to fantasize or dream about?  If everything is within our reach, what will there be to work for?  And if there is nothing to work for, what then, is there to live for?  Yes, I paint a pretty depressing picture of it....and maybe even too dramatic a consequence.  But, human desire, to me, is like a child.  You give it an inch...and it will take a mile.  You give it control, and it will own you.  If we let children (like human desire) run our lives, it might be more fun, for awhile, but ultimately, it will fail.  After all, as with children, someone has to be the adult.

I hate to be the "parent" in this regard, but really, I think that saying marriage is a thing of the past and the idea of a two-person commitment is unnatural is like saying that no one should be hampered by rules, and we should all just do what we want, when we want, with whomever we want...and the rest of the world be damned.  The Lord of the Flies is a good example of what happens when the rules of society are erased.  Someone will always rise to the top - and impose new rules.  After all, it is human nature to create rules, to seek power, and to compete. 

So, basically, this is how I see it.  I won't judge those who want to have an open-relationship - or do ANYTHING...as long is doesn't harmfully impact anyone else - and in return, I ask that I not be judged for still having faith in an "antiquated" social contract and believing that saying no to some of our desires can actually be beneficial...to everyone.   I tend to be a moderate in most regards, monogamy included.  I'm not naive enough to believe my lover only wants me.  And I am not under the false impression that I will never want anyone else.  Every couple needs to figure out how they will deal with this little conundrum.  Some will choose to simply work through the denial of extra-marital sex, accepting that they do so of their own choice and that the sacrifice is worth it.  Others will decide to add others into their bedroom on occasion.  Some will become full-time swingers or will create their own brand of open-relationship.  And still others will find more creative ways to approach it.  There are as many ways to deal with it as their are relationships in this world.

My ultimate question is this...in a culture such as ours...is marriage an outdated practice which coming generations will have no use for?  And if we do away with it, what then does that mean for human connection and social dynamics?  Is romance a mental fabrication?  Love a fiction?  Are we moving into an era of "anything goes?"  If so, leave me to my fiction and allow me to embrace the past.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Closer

Music has been such a focal point in my emotional life, it's hard really to pinpoint a particular moment when it played a bigger role than in any other.

That, and...because my memory is less than stellar, it's also difficult to remember the musical specifics of any given event.

One that I can remember is receiving a "mixed tape" from a college boyfriend (I was still in high school - and he was several hundred miles away).  I put the tape on the main house stereo, naively allowing my parents access to the metaphorical depths of the songs he'd chosen.  All was fine and dandy until Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" came on.  I'd never heard the song before, and, well...I about came out of my clothes rushing to turn the damned thing off before it continued to its second bar of "I want to fuck you like an animal..."

Praise the gods above, my parents pretended to not be paying attention (la, la, la....head in sand....our daughter is an innocent flower of purity...la, la, la).

I listened to that tape on my walkman day and night for weeks, until he came home.  Eventually the shock from that first listen (I'm pretty sure I blushed crimson for the rest of the evening) wore off, and I began to dissect and over think (like every adolescent girl) the lyrics.  Somehow, I made it our anthem.

And, on the floor of his parent's basement, on a blanket he'd laid out for the purpose...with dozens of pillows...we fucked to that song.

Unfortunately, his younger sister (with the gigantic "tell the entire world everything and then some" mouth) walked in on us.  Though I must commend myself at not succumbing to the instant turn-off of "coitus interruptus".  When she left, we went right back to it.

"Closer" would eventually come to represent the lens the rest of the world had on my sex life - a reminder that nothing is really ever secret for long and that the things we believe to be private rarely ever are.  It also had an openly violent sentiment.

You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you
(Help me...)
I broke apart my insides
(Help me...)
I've got no soul to sell
(Help me...)
The only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself,

I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God

You can have my isolation
You can have the hate that it brings
You can have my absence of faith
You can have my everything

(Help me...)
You tear down my reason
(Help me...)
It's your sex I can smell
(Help me...)
You make me perfect
Help me become somebody else

I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God

Through every forest
Above the trees
Within my stomach
Scraped off my knees
I drink the honey, inside your hive...
You are the reason I stay alive...

Interestingly, he was really the first to introduce me to pain (and to the pleasure I acquired from it).  I guess I hadn't made the connection until now, that sending me this song was really probably his attempt at letting me know about his proclivity toward domination.  He was anything but overbearing in daily life. In fact, he was tall and sort of skinny, had shoulder length hair, rather feminine facial features, and defined himself as an artist and musician.  Pretty much the antithesis of "masculine". And I really hadn't thought about this as a possible starting point for my own submissive tendencies, until now.

So, there you have it - an epiphany.

"Closer" was, for all intents and purposes, the theme song for my (not so?) subtle introduction into BDSM...my teenage lover's fingernails digging into the flesh of my back and thighs.  The harder he pushed the more turned on I became.  His teeth in my neck, leaving marks...bruises that would need to be covered by high-necked shirts and scarves.  Scratches that lasted for days.

I had forgotten how much I liked that.  How aroused it made me...and how freaked  out.  I remember feeling a little afraid of the power his touch had over my body and over my psyche.  It wasn't just sexual.  It was mental and emotional.  He indeed violated my own vision of myself (tore down my reason...helped me become somebody else), desecrated my thin wall of innocence, penetrated my body, and complicated my thoughts of sex, and pain, and power.  And to whatever extent a god exists, he certainly got me closer to it.




 This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  Check out the site to see who else is being Wicked.


Sunday, April 21, 2013

Role Play, Figging, and the Element of Surprise

He told me to put on my schoolgirl skirt, a white shirt, thigh highs, heels, sit in the chair at the end of the bed, and wait.

So I did.

When he returned, in brown slacks, a tweed coat, cup of coffee in hand, he was carrying a folder.

He told me he was very disappointed in my last exam scores, and that since I was such a promising student, he was willing to tutor me personally.

Apparently, I had failed a test for a course entitled "History of Eroticism: A Focus on BDSM and Anal Punishment," in which I was supposed to have learned about Raphanus (a genus of flowering plants including the wild radish/horseradish) and its use in the historical practice of "figging" (inserting a piece of ginger root into the anus, vagina, or male urethra - either for punishment or pleasure).  I must've missed a question relating to its use as a punishment for adultery in ancient Athens, and I was also quite clueless about sodomy by mulletfish.  And finally, I was remiss in explaining how ginger was used in a caning victim's anus to prevent her from clenching during punishment.  Clenching while hosting ginger in the anus causes a subtle burning sensation and serves to push the root deeper, causing even more discomfort.

After a litany of incorrectly answered questions (it was obvious I hadn't studied), my Professor displayed serious doubts about my ability to succeed.  And my giggling and sarcastic answers only served to land me bent over the "desk", enduring the horse whip.

Somewhere along the way, I also ended up on my knees, carefully, under instruction, pulling his cock out and sucking it, until eventually my Professor decided to engage me in experiential learning, and pulled out a "gift" meant just for me....a carefully carved and peeled ginger root.

He coached me in "presenting" the way he expected, and then proceeded to insert the ginger root in my ass.  Umm...yes...a subtle burning sensation is an apt description - one that reverberates even when the implement of punishment is extracted.

He proceeded to lay me down, lifted my shirt to bare my breasts, lifted my skirt to bare my shaved pussy...

I asked my Professor about his "wife"...whether or not she cared that he "helped" his students in such a way.  While he explained how little she cared...or that he even brought some of his best home to her...he began to fuck me.

And the roles eventually disappeared, as I looked into my Professor's cold pedagogical eyes and watched them transform into the warm, blue ones of my Sir.




Saturday, April 20, 2013

Serving Him (book review)

As with my last anthology review...I'm sticking with the "top ten" format - that way I can keep the review as positive as possible (always best to look at things on the bright side, or so they say), the idea being to focus on what is best about the collection...since the things that annoy me usually don't bother other people (I missed my calling as a hard-nosed, bitchy editress)  - and if they annoy you...well, I don't want to take all the fun out of finding those little tidbits - and I certainly don't want to encourage you away from reading it.

Alright, now that I have the legal disclaimer out of the way (maybe I should put it in tiny print and move it to the bottom), on with the review...


What I love most about a well-constructed "sexy story" anthology is that there's theoretically something for everyone between the covers.  No two stories should bare too much (if any) similarity, and the topics, characters, and events should push a plethora of boundaries.

This little number, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel (a Cleis Press favorite), does measure up in these regards.  And while not every story blew a breeze up my skirt, the ones that did made the book well worth the price ($15.95) .  After all, this is a book you wouldn't want to keep to yourself - and even if you did, you'd probably read it more than once, folding down pages and marking particular "activities" you'd like to try.

For the most part, these stories seem written for an audience with any level of knowledge of BDSM.  Some of the stories are sort of sweet and romantic, others are pretty hardcore.

Starting from the beginning, in order of their appearance in the table of contents - these are the stories that caught my eye (and, let's be honest, made my panties wet):

1)  "Coffee Break" by Kristina Wright (I'm really loving this woman as an editor and a writer)

I wait for him to call with the impatience of a hungry cat....

Instructions from a Dom can be exhilarating, challenging, even downright scary.  In this story, the main character, sitting in a coffee shop, is given instructions to put herself on very public display in a manner that clearly pushes her boundaries.  But she muses...

I say yes to everything he wants because I know I'm really saying yes to myself...

Some stories catch my interest because of their craft, others because of their emotion, and others--like this one--purely for the premise.  This is one of those fantasy pieces that I would love to have really happen to me - IN MY MIND - but never in real life (I'm sure some people would).  Reading it lets me experience it in a safe way.  Plus, let's be honest...this story just turned me on.


2)  "The Letter"  by Tiffany Reisz

The fear of having someone else find out your hidden desires, especially if you feel they are odd or outside the norm can be intense.  This story explores the question: How do you tell someone you need to be owned?  The main character takes the road I would...she writes a letter and sends it.  But the letter isn't an explanation...it's a story - an analogy for what she wants most from him.

Naked, she waited on the bed...knees to her chest, arms around her shins, head bowed and eyes closed.  As instructed.  As always.

I have to admit, I was a bit put off by the "people like us" angle of this story - the concept that somehow people who enjoy BDSM are weird or have some sort of scary, contagious disease that must be explained in secret with a tinge of shame.  And there was one rather glaring editing error...but overall, the story in the letter and the idea of sending one's erotic wished via story was satisfying.


3)  "Run, Baby, Run" by Vida Bailey

Oh, the joys of sex in the confines of family dynamic.  Make a bit more complex by adding "alternative" needs to the mix.  This story has a playfulness that really drew me in...right from the beginning.  That parental "we know something you don't" wordless language that keeps a couple's sex life secret from the wee ones, made this tale quite realistic.  This story puts a sexy spin on the childhood game of tag...imagine waking up in the middle of the night to a note on his side of the bed that simply advised you to Make for the trees...and then running, like hunted prey, through the darkness, not knowing when or where the predator might strike.

This one truly increased my heart rate.  My only qualm is the jarring addition of back-story.  It's hard, in a really short piece, to go into much detail on the characters' pasts, but in this story, I can honestly say, it just isn't necessary.  Besides, the back-story that is there (one paragraph) is interesting enough that I would rather see it fleshed out or left out.  This story definitely is the seed of a novella or full-length piece - and I'd love for the author to explore the possibility.

4) "Safe, Sane and Consensual" by Ariel Graham (couldn't find a website for this author)

Laugh.  Out.  Loud.  That's what I did through this whole story.  The dialogue is wonderful, so well done I felt like I could hear the characters speaking.  And the situation is one that so many could relate to.

Ever had a parent try to control things...even after you were married?  Ever had to stand up to them and tell them to butt out or stop treating you like a child?

This story uses the D/s angle to show how it can empower the submissive, making him/her stronger and more confident, capable of standing up to the most formidable forces...even an overbearing mother.

And the humor and voice is just delightful.  Truly one of my favorite stories in the anthology...I found myself reading parts out loud to my husband just because they made me giggle.

5) "Breath" by Mollena Williams

The man I serve is not the Prince Charming of my childhood fantasies.  Neither is he the dominant I conjured up from my fevered imaginings once I uncovered the buried bunker that was my submissive self.

Breath play.  It isn't something I can imagine myself ever being involved in.  But, this story makes the desire for it completely understandable.  The author puts the reader in the scene, detailing every sense and emotion the character feels while she is being deprived of air.

This is also the first story in a short series that captured my admiration if for no other reason than craft.  Basically, story aside, Williams is just a damn good writer.  Her vocabulary is extensive and her descriptive ability is enviable...

...pushing me to the place where speech becomes and eel in my mouth and  can't quite manage words, stuttering and spitting syllables...

...I wasn't even trying to pretend the ecstasy and he surreal glossolalia were due to anything but unrelenting pain and protracted torment at the hands of someone I trusted completely...

...the heat of his gaze as he took in my acquiescence, my submission to this torment, suffused me, his energy surging even as mine ebbed...

...Manifesting power to give control of my autonomous functions to another human being...and to do so voluntarily, to look into the eyes of another person and give him everything is a sweet emotional narcotic...

Honestly, this was so well-written and tight...not a wasted word or passage...not an extraneous detail in sight...that I found myself understanding the impetus for this kind of BDSM activity.  In six pages of perfect erotic prose, she managed to make something that seemed utterly disdainful and weird (to me) sound poignantly sensual and romantic.  Wow.

6) "Silver Fish in the Crystal Pool" by Gina Marie

After reading Gina's bio, I found myself nodding.  Pacific Northwesterner, photographer, poet...all of these show up in her writing.  Her writing is dreamily poetic, relying heavily on metaphor and word choice, and her connection with nature is evident throughout.

He knows that the sun on my flesh is like food, that his lips against my blinded face and muted mouth are like fire that strokes my soul...

I can smell the molten core of my earth, bark and moss and spore, as it is lifted gently by the wind in the trees...

The drop of wetness on my thigh is now a rivulet, a cool little river of come leading from the mountains to the ocean...

I reach between my legs to feel it for myself, the quenched thirst of a thousand sunflowers blooming in the desert...

Maybe that's why I found the last two paragraphs, discussing this all over dinner at a steakhouse, a bit clunky.


7) "The Secret of Time Travel" by Jacqueline Applebee

I could write an essay-length literary analysis on this one, it is so packed with style and craft to explore...some quite possibly unintentional, but nevertheless present.

The story deals in memory as time travel, and it is written in bits going from present to past and back again...pulling the reader through time quickly - keeping us deliciously disoriented and at her story-telling mercy.

But the story also explores age and age-play as a dynamic of "time travel".

Time travel goes in two directions for us.  When I regress, become little and sweet, my lover grows stern and domineering...

The story is a beautifully-crafted masterpiece of perspective, leading the reader through time in a unique and satisfying way.

8) "Bared" by Gray Miller

Animal lust and a primitive need to dominate and be dominated are central themes in this story.  There is an overtone, from the beginning, of dangerous seriousness.

It is dark.  There is no subtle mood lighting, no moonlight, no sharp diagonal streetlight cast on the wall through a slitted shade.

Romance is absent.  This is all about two bodies meeting in almost war-like fashion, hungry and tense.

He bites hard, harder, more than most could take, but she is feral and a growl rises from deep in her throat.  It escalates into a throaty cry as her head flies back, teeth flashing as she drinks in the dark joy of the pain made pleasure.

But the story also makes clear something that is often misunderstood about D/s:

...while one is bound and one is naked, one thrusting and one penetrated, they are equal opponents and collaborators, his temporary advantage quickly met by the eager press of her asscheeks up to meet every slam of his hips.

What I like most about this story is its "snapshot" quality.  There is nothing beyond the moment.  The reader is dropped into the scene and left to absorb it rather than think about it.  Very darkly sensual, and very sexually satisfying.


To buy this book...visit CLEISPRESS.COM (buy 4 books get one free) or purchase from AMAZON.COM ($12, kindle version $9).


Friday, April 19, 2013

Stolen


Flash Fiction Friday prompt:  Keyword - "stolen", 300 word limit



The stolen car sat outside his rundown apartment.  Leah pulled the tattered blinds and peeked nervously out at it.

"Fuck, baby...we needed a ride...so I got us a ride..."

His messy black hair, and his blue eyes pleading with her to accept his gift, made his face look boyish despite the  dark shadow hugging his jaw.

"Joe...why can't you just bring me flowers like a normal guy?"

A deep growling laugh rose from his chest.  He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, smacked it against his hand several times, and fell onto the frameless mattress, glaring up at the concrete walls.

Deep inside, Leah felt that even though Joe was a bit ethically-challenged, he was basically a good guy with misguided ideas about how to make a girl happy.

Oddly, she felt guilty for the stolen car.  He wouldn't steal shit if it weren't for her.  He did what he did out of fear of losing her, even though he'd never admit it.

She sighed inwardly and shook her head, dropping to her knees.  No matter how much he fucked up, she couldn't help loving him.  She climbed on top of him and pulled her t-shirt over her head.  Her braless chest bared to him, he focused in on her eyes.

"You've gotta take it back."

"I can't...the fucking cops'll nab me."

"Joe..." she scolded.

"Fuck me, Leah..."  He almost whined it, running his hand through his hair in exasperation.  "No really, fuck me.  Fuck me so hard I want to take the fucking car back."

"Oh, I will, Joe.  I will.  I'd rather ride your cock than a shitty old Buick any day."

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

The Dance



The tempo changes repeatedly,
shifting us from waltz to sultry
tango, but he is always in the lead,
guiding my movements, as if my body

could subconsciously steer his hands.
which, solid and warm above my waist,
wordlessly decide, slowly or in haste,
just how much I can withstand.

Taking my wrist between his fingers,
placing them against his neck, he straightens
my posture.  His gaze controls my attention,
and his silent commands linger.

The music plays, but the room recedes,
as he manages my every move with ease.



This has been a Wicked Wednesday post, in response to a prompt involving BDSM.




This has also been a poetry challenge poem...#5 in an ongoing series based on The Poet's Garret list of poetic forms. --Australian Sonnet




Tuesday, April 16, 2013

When your body isn't aware that your thoughts aren't really happening...

Here's a shameless plug while I continue to consider what to write for Wicked Wednesday (it's such a timely subject for me, so I'm trying to figure out just how to handle it)...

My connected site..."Dear Sir," has a post entitled "La Petite Mort" today, based on an actual occurrence during my lunch break.  I'm not sure what set it off, and I surely wasn't thinking about sex at the time, which is probably why I found it so jarring.  

Do you ever find yourself overcome by sexual thoughts, inexplicably, at times when it just doesn't make sense?

Do those thoughts ever take on a tangible quality, almost becoming real...at least as far as the effects on your body are concerned?

It seems almost surreal, I suppose...a dream-like visceral experience where thought mimics reality but the flesh doesn't realize it's not real, so it goes along and feels everything as if something is really being done to it.

Weird.  I could almost feel his hands supporting my neck, his cum spilling out of me...my pussy pulsed and twitched in response.  And the warmth of the afterglow of orgasm...that moment just after it occurs...washed over me, starting at my head, ending at my toes.  I swear I must've increased my body temperature a few degrees in just seconds...and my heart beat increased rapidly enough to make me a bit light-headed.  Honestly, it lasted all of a second or two...but some much happened to my body in the space of that infinitesimal increment of time that I found myself consumed by my need to dissect it all day...hell, it's 10 o-clock at night, and I'm still fascinated and obsessed.  It's not so much that I had a sexual thought.  Duh...I have those all the time.  And it isn't that my body heated up and reacted to my sexual thoughts.  Once again...duh...  It's more that I was actually back in the moment...with the smells, the tastes, every sense being replicated as if my...  well, you get the point - I don't want to beat a dead horse.

Anyhow, I had to send Mr. LL a naughty text the minute the wave washed over me and passed back into oblivion.  Just in time to go back to work.  Hopefully, my text put his mind where mine was...and just maybe...he felt it.


Saturday, April 13, 2013

My Favorite Barista

She leans out the window, her long brown hair loose and still a bit damp from the shower.  It is early, and I am on my way to work, stopping in for my morning coffee.

"Good morning....Your regular?" Recognition lights up her big, blue eyes, and makes me smile.

"Yes, please." I hand her my travel mug and card, but in my mind, I'm thinking, can "my regular" include you?

She turns away from me to face the espresso machine, her lovely young behind held tight by her jeans, the kind with embellished pockets that give away the price.  And gauging from the size of the rock on her finger, it is easy to surmise that she probably works her by choice, not need....which somehow makes her sweetness more believable, and more of a turn on; her smiles and words are genuine, not ministrations meant to elicit tips or return business.

As I sit in my car, staring at her pockets, and the brown curls nipping at her lower back, I tried to envision her other half.  An older man?  A sugar daddy?  Someone with money, to be sure.

Replacing the lid on my mug draws my eyes to her hands.  No polish, short manicured nails, no blemishes.  Only the one simple, large piece of jewelry.  She strikes me as an all-American girl.  Probably has cowboy boots on and white cotton panties.  Very likely has a horse in the backyard at home.  And anyone who trusts themselves to work around coffee all morning in a white cotton shirt is either daft or very meticulous and good at her job.

Leaning back out the window, she hands down my coffee, card, and receipt.  I take it, placing it in my cup-holder, and then reach back up with a folded up dollar to place in the tip jar.

I wish I had the nerve to hit on her.  Instead, I flirt in my subtle ways...compliment her on the smell of her hair, ask where she got her jeans.

I'll keep coming back, though.

Maybe someday I'll tell her how luscious her lips are and that I'd love to find out if they taste better than the coffee.



Friday, April 12, 2013

FFF: In the Bath


"A watched kettle never boils."  She looked at me slyly, her right eyebrow lifted slightly and her lip curled up in a naughty smirk.

She laid back in the water, and her breasts floated, surrounded by soft white bubbles.  I set my glass of wine down and leaned over the edge of the tub, took her nipple into my mouth and sucked it until she moaned.  Squeezing it between my teeth, I bit, tenderly, pulling her breast upward and letting it drop, enjoying the sight and sound of it slapping the water as it made contact with her torso again.

I looked into her eyes as she took my face into her hands, her mouth devouring mine.  She pulled me forward far enough that I instinctually put out my hand to keep myself from falling into the water, which, of course, soaked the sleeve of my shirt.  Somehow, this served as an invitation to pull me in further; she put her hands on my breasts, which pulsed beneath the fabric of my shirt and bra, and the wine took over, telling me that getting in the tub, fully clothed, was a completely acceptable idea.

Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, but as my mouth again met hers, I hardly cared about the mess, or my clothes, or...anything...other than her lips and her simmering skin and the hot water.  I straddled her naked body, and her hands wrapped around me, slid down around my waist and pulled my hips forward to grind against her pelvis.

When her fingers slipped between my legs and into my shorts, delving under the edge of my panties, searching for entrance, I gladly folded my hips forward to make access easier.  I slipped my own hand into the water, past her forearm, between her thighs, pressed tight between my own, and squeezed two fingers into the V of her sex.  Her clit wasn't hard to find...swollen and expectant.

As the water splashed all over the tile floor, we finger fucked each other in synchronized movements and laughed out loud as we came together, our gushing orgasms vibrating and filling the water that held our bodies in a warm embrace.

"You're right," I said, "the kettle needs more than watching."

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This has been an FFF post.  Keyword:  "Simmer"...
photo:



Check out other writers' interpretation of this week's prompt.  CLICK HERE!

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Colorless

our colors run
together
into deep black

your blue
eyes meet
my green

skin
subtle ivory
blushes pink
with the imprint
of your touch

curled strands of
gold, bronze, copper
secured tightly
in your hand

ice-gray sheets
twist beneath coverlets of
crimson, ochre, aqua
wrap around feet
and hold down limbs
searching release
from bonds

music in soft hues
of sienna, chestnut,
and caramel
sift through the air
muffling false protests

the magenta feather
the sterling implements
the tawny candle
smelling of vanilla

which we are not

dancing shadows
punctuate the amber glow

and the sounds are hardly words

they take on the qualities
of sight, smell, taste, touch

clear sweat
the last thing I witness
dripping down your neck
onto the pillow

I close my eyes
to black
breathe in the sweet
and sour
salt of the body

swimming in the ether
of sensory overload
and absence of thought

colorless
and
utterly spent





This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  Click HERE to see who else is being wicked this week.



Thursday, April 4, 2013

Digging Deeper

Mr. LL and I were on the couch this morning, enjoying our morning coffee, when the conversation began over when our D/s relationship started to "blossom".  It's one of those things that is so hard to pinpoint, but as I really want to be able to sort of "chronicle" our path toward this place we are in, I thought the discussion was worth it.  Funny thing is...what I came up with is...really, it began the night we met.

Years ago, I walked into a club, after several emails.  When I saw him for the first time, it was the eyes.  Truly, they saw right through me, and unnerved me a bit - which was, of course, intentional.

After several failed attempts at dating (I'm not much for it, really), I'd finally found a guy who appeared to have the ability to take the lead.

Over the years, he's always been the one to bring up new "opportunities".  He's the one who first suggested swinging (which initially elicited tears from me - as I really didn't understand what the whole thing was really about).  He's the one who has always pushed me to try new things...the first I've ever enjoyed anal sex with, the first I've enjoyed having go down on me....

Basically, he's the source of a lot of firsts, mainly because I trust him with my heart and my body.

So, when recently he began adding little elements of D/s...a pull of the hair here, a smack on the ass there, a command placed at the just the right juncture of the discussion, he ever-so-gently tested the waters, gauged my reaction, and continued on his course.

As I've said before...he truly seems to know what I want before I do.  I simply follow his lead.  But, he's a good reader of my desires.  If he doesn't receive a positive reaction, he has the sense to know when to drop it and when to push it.

And usually, when he decides to push it, eventually there's an intense conversation where we hash out what we both expect and want from the experience.  We have only just begun to swim the murky waters of D/s, but what we have tried, I have mostly liked.

I have to admit...last night was an interesting turn of events, though - one for the books, I suppose.

Mr. LL wanted me to masturbate for him.  I hate doing it, but he said he wanted me wet when he went down on me.  The problem was, I just plain wasn't horny - and the reason that I masturbate is mainly to alleviate my sexual needs.  Most often, it's just maintenance...a way to release the pressure and relax.  He was asking me to do something I hated doing at a time when I wouldn't normally do it anyway.  I knew it wouldn't have the effect he was looking for, and when I tried to explain...he shushed me and made me do it anyway.

I, not unlike a spoiled child, huffed in anger, and set to work on the task I was given, pouting and fuming the whole time.

When he returned...he found me, well...not wet...and pissed as hell.

We talked about it, and he released me from the request, but assured me that he expected me to learn how to do this for him.  I harumphed my displeasure at this, and he began to try and alleviate the anger by kissing my clit slowly and gently.  He brought me out of my pout and then blindfolded me, heightened all of my senses with a feather, and then rolled me over on to my knees and proceeded to punish me with a jelly butt plug...I let go of myself here, as he added the vibrating pleasure of my favorite egg, and spread my legs, grinding my clit into the vibrator, my face pressed into the pillow, my ass in the air.  Eventually I let him know I was about to come (somewhere along the way, this has become a rule - that I tell him when I'm about to reach climax), but when I did, he grabbed my hips, hoisted himself up around me, pressing me into the vibrator as it lay beneath me on the bed, and forced the orgasm until I screamed.

I've known for some time he's interested in forced orgasms.  But this was the first time he pulled it on me.  Needless to say...it was a bit more intense that I was prepared for.  Later, after my third orgasm, I pretty much lay in a shaking heap next to him, my ragged breathing a sure sign that he'd done more than enough "damage" for one night.

I slept like the dead.

And this morning...our conversation simply supported what we both already knew.  Our path has been so gradual, it's hard to say when anything "starts" with us.  We tried the switch of roles quite awhile back - which failed so miserably it was comical. I thought maybe I'd like to dominate him...but I was a pathetic mess at it and hated the unnatural feeling of it.  We talked about it, and thankfully we both agreed that we were a "bit more traditional" in our marital needs.  Let's just say, I don't like seeing my man emasculated in any way - I need him to be "the man."  All day.  Every day.  Period.  Might not be fair, or reasonable...but that's the way it is.

When Mr. LL began to show more and more sexual assertiveness, I bent to his will.  Now...we find ourselves on an interesting adventure and neither of us really know where it will take us.  Okay....HE knows way more about where it will take us than I do.  But, that's the way I like it.

Some earlier posts that hinted at things to come...

Guilt, Jealousy, and Submission - Feb. 15, 2013
The Dom's Dom - Aug. 15, 2012



Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Diary of a Submissive (review)

Diary of a Submissive: A Modern True Tale of Sexual Awakening by Sophie Morgan



This one was an unbelievably quick read...mainly because it feels like having a conversation, albeit a naughty one, over coffee.  Morgan comes across as funny and honest about her experiences as a submissive.  What makes the book so charming is her witty banter...and it was easy to see myself in her words.

She begins writing in the 2nd person, pulling the reader into the position of voyeur, describing a moderately intense D/s public scene, and then immediately follows up by introducing herself as a "normal" girl with a "normal" background - normal parents, happy childhood, successful college years and a career...basically setting up the statement that D/s is not the outcome of a screwed up childhood or backwards sexual proclivities resulting from an abusive upbringing plagued by neglect.

Morgan gives the reader an opportunity to spend a few days in the head of a submissive...as she becomes one.  Very intriguing, indeed, as I find myself in a very similar situation - with my own variations, of course.  She explains how, as she was first learning, the internet was the mecca of information and the best way to meet up with like-minds:  "I genuinely think that the internet has, for all intents and purposes, changed the landscape of sexuality.  No matter how perverse your kink, you can bet there is someone out there on the web who shares it.  Unfortunately, there're probably another three who actually think your kink is not perverted enough and given half the chance will tell you how the way they do it is more intense/sexier/just outright better than yours."

Her distaste for some of the "norms" of D/s struck a chord with me, as I agreed with so much of it.  For example:  "It felt like a whole new world full of people who knew each other and were talking a language that I didn't quite grasp, with many using an elaborate form of pronouns (always capitalized for the dominant, always lowercase for the submissive no matter whether it was the start of a sentence or the world "I"), which I found ridiculous.  I decided quickly that committing crimes against grammar was a hard limit for me."  Ummm....ditto.  Morgan's English-geek humor made me laugh - mostly because I could totally relate with her eye-rolls and groans over online chats with people who could not be bothered with "quaint concepts like punctuation....--RU feeling horny filthy bitch?  Do U want to knew before you're master?  --No, because you talk in text speak and don't know the difference between "your" and "you're" and I'm enough of a grammar fascist that on that basis I don't think I could submit to you, sorry."

Eventually, her research landed her in the midst of a real relationship, where she learned that "the key to sexual humiliation is not about making somebody do something they don't want to do, it is about leading them to do things they secretly dream about doing."  While I am not necessarily into humiliation, this statement sent off the buzzer in my head - ding, ding, ding! - because that is exactly how I see D/s..."It's more about someone knowing how far I'd like to go and helping me find the courage to go for it."

Morgan opens the windows and doors wide, letting us in to watch as she gives herself to a Dom named Thomas, who teaches her quite a bit about her desires and limits.  But it is when she meets James that she finds her true place, describing some insanely intense moments when he damn near breaks her, leading her to a sort of sexual, emotional, and mental catharsis.

Really, the scenes she describes aren't anything new...but the sharing of her mental processes, her emotional evolution, is the real gem of this book.  She explains how, as she gives into James's demands, she has to navigate her own desires, challenging herself to understand what she wants and why she wants it, without judging herself: the confusion of loving and hating her needs, appreciating her Sir and detesting his debasement of her, all the complexities of putting wordless hungers in print for the world to devour.  In true anthropological style, she investigates the mental struggle a sub might have over her need to be dominated and her need to be her own individual with strong opinions and a demanding career.

Two scenes, in particular, were very enlightening.

The first, a night when James flogs her until she breaks into shaking sobs, mainly because she is unwilling to give in and use her safe word when she wants so much to prove she can withstand what he is dishing out, not only to herself, because she is stubborn and competitive, but to him, because she wants to please him and show him she can do what he asks of her.  I can completely understand this - the internal struggle of wondering - why do I want this?  why do I want this man to do this to me?  does this make me weak?  Even the anger she feels toward him periodically makes perfect sense.

The second, a night when, while on a business trip, James calls to explain, very sternly that she has neglected to do what he has asked, which is to write something for him.  She has missed her "deadline" and has selfishly ignored his requests.  She feels horrible, but, as is the case in D/s, she knows that there will be hell to pay.  Interestingly, he has already thought ahead to the likelihood of her failure (which makes her feel even worse...that he knows her this well - and that this is what she has proven to him) and has packed the implements of her punishment...3 sets of chopsticks and several rubber bands.  He instructs her to put them on her nipples and clitoris, which she does.  She is amazed at her willingness to follow his orders, even hundreds of miles away...punishing herself under his instruction.  There is this much need to please the Dom...and this much guilt and shame in disappointing him.  An amazing dynamic.

I personally have had these internal monologues...the petulant child inside wants so much to talk back, but somehow...she doesn't.  I bite my tongue and accept the "punishment"...and alter my behavior even though it pisses me off that his treating me like a child to be taken over the knee - works.  For example...I have a habit of leaving my keys in the door.  Mr. LL has "corrected" me for this.  And I coyly smile when he tuts and tsks my forgetfulness (which wordlessly promises that I will be feeling the smack of his hand on my ass for it).  I have a child, whom I correct in a similar way...which is probably why it annoys me that Mr. LL treats me like a child - but it annoys me even more that it turns me on to be treated this way.  Today...when I "almost" left the keys in the door - in fact, I did and walked away, noticing it just before he did - I nearly tripped over my own feet to get back to the door and hang them up where they belonged before he noticed.

So...the conditioning worked.  Dammit.

That's the sort of thing Morgan gets at...the way the right Dom knows his sub better, sometimes, than she knows herself....knows the kinds of challenges she needs....knows just how far he can push her....knows she needs him to take her there, even if she's kicking and screaming.

Anyhow, I highly recommend the book.  It's not a how-to or an explanation of how to be a good sub or Dom.  It's simply her story.  And it's quite hot...and humorous.



No Ordinary Love, the sequel to Diary of a Submissive is also available at Amazon.  Both books have earned 4-4.5 stars from Amazon Reviews.