• Experience

    TMI Tuesday

    1. What do you need to learn but won’t admit to? Well, obviously, if I’m writing it here, I’m willing to admit to it, right? But, I guess I’d say, I need to learn to be a better human. I’m not great at relating to others, creating and keeping friendships, maintaining relationships…that sort of thing. People tend to overwhelm me. Quite honestly, most of the time, I’d rather spend my time with animals and books. But, when it comes right down to it, I’d be a mess without a few important people in my life. I need love…and human contact…so even though I suck at human-ing, I know I need…

  • Experience


    Having been visiting family and sleeping in close quarters, I haven’t had the opportunity to masturbate for the past several days. And prior to that, I was in too black a mood to even want to. But, I returned home last night to an empty house (Mr. D and our kiddo have gone camping). It’s not like I walked in and was like, “Holy shit, I’m alone! I should drop everything and fuck myself!” Though, that wouldn’t have been a bad thing, and I applaud those who have that sort of spontaneous, singular focus to let everything else go. I need to cultivate that quality in myself. Mr. D hasn’t…

  • Fiction

    Pins and Needles

    Numbness had set in hours ago. The pain had moved from tingling to pulsing to nearly unbearable, but she had breathed through it. This was penance. She sat on her knees on the living room floor, palms resting on her thighs, head lowered, listening to the symphony of birds from the open window. This was prayer. The pauses between the bird calls elicited expectation inside of her: she waited for their songs, and as they began to taper off, she knew that sunrise had given way to morning. This was listening. She focused on her naked body…the curve of each breast and the swell of her belly. Her skin was…

  • Fiction

    Prosperity and Joy

    Hot wind whispered softly through the cherry trees–the late summer evening telling heady, perfume-laden secrets everyone already knew, like rumors that had been around the block enough times to become folk tales. It made the inhabitants of the apartment lazy and slow, sweat trickling into hidden crevices, skin sticking to skin. Fortune spread her legs to the fan in the window and caught her own scent as it wafted, pungent with the musk of sex, across her face. Roderick caught it, too, and it pulled him from his brief sleep, animal instinct overriding heat-fatigue. Eyes at half-mast, he reached across the bed to run his fingers across his mistress’s naked,…

  • Fiction

    The Fortune Cookie (full text)

    Here is the full text of my Smut Marathon round #6 entry. I had to cut a lot of it to get to the required 650 words (I have posted that version at the bottom).  The Fortune Cookie (title in Smut Marathon was “Your Fortune Awaits”) From outside, the restaurant looked inauspicious: brick, painted glossy black, glimmered in the sun, a traditional red awning hung over the red door, and a neon sign above silently announced its identity as The Fortune Cookie. Amile looked at the business card he held shakily between his thumb and forefinger and then at the numbers beside the door. This was it. Placing his right…

  • Blogging & Writing

    My Smut Marathon #6 Feedback

    I’m doing my feedback for round six of the Smut Marathon a little differently, just to provide a window into how I go about choosing. Read-through #1: My first read-through is about seeing what jumps out at me. I read quickly, just letting the characters and plots and descriptions wash over me. This is an emotional reading. I’m simply looking for what grabs me in positive ways or just doesn’t jive. I can look past things during this read-through: clunky moments, ill-chosen words, missing details. But I keep mental notes that come into play during my second, more precise read-through. I just let the stories wash over me, letting some…

  • Photography


    Daisies are definitely my favorite flower. I love their wild nature…the fact that they pop up anywhere, against odds sometimes. They are hardy and strong. Stubborn and pretty without being presumptuous. I like to think they are indicative of parts of my own personality. But orchids are sexy and sensual and sometimes difficult. They take more care and don’t always do what you want them to do. I have one orchid plant that my husband bought me several years ago. It has only taken on season off to rest (this winter) and not bloom. But, this summer, here it is again…beautiful as ever. (photo editing done with Pixlr and Overlay)

  • Blogging & Writing,  Brigit's Favorite Things

    Top 3 of the Week

    https://fireandhoney.wordpress.com/2018/07/09/yours/ This one is short and powerful. Cutting, from the male perspective…which is not something I’ve seen a whole lot of. Brilliant writing, from Violet Fawkes of Fire and Honey. I have gone back and read this story several times, but finally had to cut myself off (pun sort of intended) because it slayed me emotionally…and since I’ve been a bit low in the mire lately myself, I needed to find something more uplifting to read. But, seriously…Bravo! on this one. Comfort Girl Cara Thereon knocks it out of the park again with this disturbing tale. What happens when your body betrays you and likes the terrible things being forced…

  • Experience

    Demons Inside

    For those of you looking for an uplifting post today, you might want to travel elsewhere and come back to this another day. This post deals with issues of mental health, specifically bipolar disorder. It is a personal post. And I’m putting myself out there a bit, maybe out of guilt, maybe out of hope, maybe simply to be freed a little by the confession. Whatever the motive, and I’m not entirely sure what it is, I feel a need to write about it and to share it. For much of history, mental health issues have been hidden things – family secrets, shamed confessions, rumors, memoirs, and horror stories. More…

  • Fiction

    Closest to Real

    He wrote the words on my breasts yesterday, and I haven’t been able to remove them since. Not because they wouldn’t wash away…but because I’ve lost him and I don’t have the strength to remove all that is left of him. Could drunk whore and fuck-up be the last things he gave me that are still tangible? The cum that dripped from inside of me dried on my thighs too soon. I had no choice but to clean up, for my own health. But I haven’t showered since. I will. I’ll have to. I know. But, if he doesn’t come back, what else will I have? I thought of taking…

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