• Experience,  Opinion

    Is Love a Social Construct and Marriage an Outdated Practice?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…

  • Experience

    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”…

  • Experience

    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…

  • Books & Reading

    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…

  • Fiction

    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…

  • Poetry

    The Dance

    The tempo changes repeatedly,shifting us from waltz to sultrytango, 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 straightensmy 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…

  • Experience

    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…

  • Experience

    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,…

  • Fiction

    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…

  • Poetry

    Colorless

    our colors runtogetherinto deep black your blueeyes meetmy green skinsubtle ivoryblushes pinkwith the imprintof your touch curled strands ofgold, bronze, coppersecured tightlyin your hand ice-gray sheetstwist beneath coverlets ofcrimson, ochre, aquawrap around feetand hold down limbssearching releasefrom bonds music in soft huesof sienna, chestnut,and caramelsift through the airmuffling false protests the magenta featherthe sterling implementsthe tawny candlesmelling of vanilla which we are not dancing shadowspunctuate the amber glow and the sounds are hardly words they take on the qualitiesof sight, smell, taste, touch clear sweatthe last thing I witnessdripping down your neckonto the pillow I close my eyesto blackbreathe in the sweetand soursalt of the body swimming in the etherof sensory overloadand absence of…

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