Suffused with Heat

when you fall in love with something

2012-02-10T03:14:00.000-08:00

a little image, words, a character, how do you keep it? It's nice if you have a Tumblr, but that doesn't work for everything, and things sweep by in the endless parade of new posts.

I fell in love with something just now, how can I put it in my pocket and keep it safe?

Mind to Media

Maybe just like this.

a post about vulva stuff

2012-02-04T10:39:00.000-08:00

I've various things I've been storing up to say in this post, but I didn't really feel like it. I'm sorry for neglecting my blog, but I've been feeling remarkably unsuffused with heat of late. But I just finished a story I've been sitting on for months and months, so I feel slightly buoyed.

In November, I went to a gentle little Tantric Orgasm workshop. The focus was really less on orgasm and more of liking yourself more, and I recognised that all of this was what I owed myself. It was really nice, actually, and made me feel slightly more comfortable with taking up the space I do, even if some of it is just a wee bit cringy for me - too much completely unironic talk of goddesses and yoni-worship that made me long a little bit for a space in which you can use the word cunt in a postitive way. I don't think bdsm can necessarily fit into Tantra. But maybe I'm wrong about that.

I got to make vulva cupcakes! One woman said that opening her eyes to see a vulva on a bun was so lovely it made her cry again (yes, withing 5 minutes of the circle of women introducing themselves and why they were there, there was quite a lot of crying. This woman-space thing is really really important, I think).

This one was my favourite:

But I was a bit alarmed at myself - my favourite is the pretty pink delicate one? The one that can't remotely be said to represent me?

I've been spending too much time of late on Tumblr, where perfect, pretty, pink, shell like vulvas set in smooth, creamy skin abound. I made the mistake of looking at myself, up close, with a light source. Mistake! I'm in my mid thirties, I've had two children. I've done my perineal massage both times, and unfortunately torn a little both times due to various factors. I nearly didn't the first time, let's say, but things don't always go to plan. Sadly, though I'm certain I looked before, when I was still young and less battered by ageing and childbirth, but I honestly can't remember what I looked like then. I had a crisis, though, this time. Dear god, what's happened to me? 'Is it colour?' someone asked me when I bemoaned my vulva's fate. Colour?? I hadn't even been worrying about that, so much, I was more fixated on the possibility of slight prolapse... I did after that, though.

A little time and perspective has gone by, Kegels and the Tantra workshop helped me feel a bit better, and things don't look as dire as they did. I'll never have a pink or perfect vulva again though, if I ever did in the first place - and I have no idea what a man who isn't the man I met at 17 and bore children for would think about this.

I saw this the other day - is it the perfect answer?

This product is called 'My New Pink Button' and when applied to the vulva, it temporarily dyes it a shade they're calling 'Bettie'. Makes you good as new!

My New Pink Button (tm) is a temporary dye to restore the youthful pink color back to your labia. There is no other product like it. This patent pending formula was designed by a female certified Paramedical Esthetician after she discovered her own genital color loss.

•

Bettie - Think of that favorite lipstick you wear for those dressy black tie affairs and think "Bettie". This shade blends with a woman's own skin tones to bring out that "sexy hot pink, I am fired up, look". Go dancing this weekend and remember to bring "Bettie" along!

•

Dye System Kit includes 20 disposable applicators, mixing dish, labia colorant dye and instructional guide.

•

Our Products are Never Tested on Animals, but it will bring out the Animal in You!

•

Easy to use - applies in just one minute - and your pink is back!

•

20 applications per bottle

At first I wasn't sure if it was real... but I think it is. I think I won't even comment on this, though here's a rant from someone else. Is this something men want us to do? Is a darkened vulva really off putting? I don't know! People don't talk about this stuff. Honestly, it makes me want to weep. There's no end to how wrong we women can ... be.

ANYWAY: back to my original cupcake experience. I am succeeding in raising my daughter aware of her physicality and her genitals and how to feel about them, I think. She loved this project, and made her own cupcake topper. She liked her efforts way better than mine:

She just saw this and said, 'that's mine, isn't it. Well, it was mine. I ate it.' Which makes me think cunnilingus is having your cake and eating it too ;)

When I dropped off the box of vulvas (which was alarmingly reminscent of the 'dried vulva collection' conversation I once indulged in with a friend), I was discussing with the teacher how positive and lovely it had been to work on them with my 8 year old daughter, and how it might not be the same with penises - would everyone just giggle about penis cupcakes? My 4 year old son was there too, and I suddenly realised that that was just silly. Yes! He said, I want to make penis cupcakes too!

Yes! Echoed my lovely tantra teacher friend, Power to the Penis!

So we went home and made a fondant penis cupcake topper. He wanted a reallllly long one, so it came out like this :)

So, a little adventure. The class made me feel a little more accepting and less grief filled. It's a good thing to do, in this day and age of photo shopping and youth-worship. In Australia, all photos of fleshy labia are photo shopped out, by order. Just a simple, childlike bare slit is all that's acceptable. I'm not denying for a second that the young perfect pink model vulvas aren't beautiful, but... well... is there room for all of us out there?

dangerous days

2011-12-30T09:18:00.001-08:00

Someone posted this on Facebook and there was much giggline. I dunno. I think it's quite powerful. I don't know about you, but I've sat in a public bathroom and prayed for the absence of a little blue line. And been so grateful for the relief instead of the fear. And I wasn't even in danger of being stoned to death for my indiscretion.

Just say there really was a divine immaculate conception. Imagine. Imagine how it would feel to learn you weren't crazy, or that your dream had been real. Or perhaps to think maybe you WERE crazy.

I don't know. Sure it's a good get-out-of-stoning-free story. Or maybe just a good story. There's a lot of feminist fiction to be garnered from it, and the child's subsequent conviction that his father is God. If you're not precious about your bible stories, that is.

Still. My point is one of sympathy for a common experience, rather than anything blasphemous or snide to be found in this painting. I really like it.

woo

2011-12-06T09:12:00.001-08:00

scare-ifying

2011-11-30T05:43:00.001-08:00

And scarifying. Australia's attitude towards genitalia. Comments are important, even if this theme (same as my own) makes them annoying to read.

this post is moving and educational

2011-11-29T03:30:00.001-08:00

Being the heroine/hero of your own story

gendered tv stations

2011-11-28T06:08:00.001-08:00

A friend just suggested that he's been thinking we need men and women's tv stations for a while now.

Off the top of my head, I said I wanted cupcakes, vampires, and porn.

I'd say, perhaps I need a tv station all of my own, but I KNOW there's people out there who'd join me.

I also like house programmes like Grand Designs and things like Misfits and Firefly and Stargate Atlantis. I've sort of stopped watching television in the last couple years, in favour of the internet, but part of me misses it.

What would your tailormade tv channel show?

yep

2011-11-25T17:48:00.000-08:00

2011-11-21T03:07:00.001-08:00

the death of the editor

2011-11-10T13:01:00.001-08:00

I once read the sample of a friend's wedding ... what do you call it... booklet? The one of the ceremony, anyway, that you get in the church. Oh dear, wordsearch issues strike again.

Anyway, I read it, and pointed out a couple your/you're mistakes. The groom was glad to know, but the bride defiantly and vociferously insisted she didn't care, and that they would leave them there.

In contrast, at my wedding rehearsal, my father (aha, neon arrows, blaring sirens, root of issue) pointed out that I'd spelled complement 'compliment' in one of the readings, causing me to throw an f bomb into the shocked silence of the church. Yes, my grammar pedantry was nursed at the knee of a Virgo father, and then I became and English teacher who corrects essays for a living. I really did care, and it was too late to change it. In fairness, it was a stressful time, for more than the obvious reasons. Still. I would have cared anyway.

My name is Vida, and I am a compulsive corrector of typos. I got into trouble last night, for pointing one out to a writer, ironically thinking I was doing something good. For some reason, it's taken me til now to really understand that people don't want attention drawn to their grammatical and typography errors. Most would rather not know. They don't care. I think it's finally sunk in - I hope so. I've been accused of perfectionism, though if only they knew how much the opposite is true, what a hopeless, helpless, floundering quitter I really am. It's not perfectionism that makes me care about accuracy in stories (and god knows my dashed off blog posts are full of hideous typos and weird Freudian spelling issues), it's just that the errors stand out in flashing red to me. Like that, but flashing.

The irony is that I offer my proof reading up in the hopes that people will like me for it. Have a cookie, let me proof your story, love me, please. Funny, eh? My super powers are not so impressive. Well, the cookies are good, but the power to spot missed apostrophes and tell you about them, not so hot.

Still. That aside, there's a serious point to be made in all this. There is much to be read about how e publishing is the future, and one of the concerns about that is that editing will become obsolete. It's cheaper for the publisher to have the author organise that themselves. And who can afford it, really? A friend who works for a financial paper says everything she writes is checked by three people other than herself. As far as I'm concerned, this makes sense. I don't believe you can really see your own mistakes, your brain won't let you. No flashing red in my own work. I know it's a big challenge for me, and I'm the typo queen. They still just don't stand out. It's clearly happening already - I've yet to read an ebook that doesn't have several typos in it.

But maybe a lot of people don't care at all? Ebooks are cheap, so quality is sacrificed, and that's ok? It's not for me - each typo or mistake I hit (or even each word I see that could be replaced with a better one) is like a huge speed bump in the road - it jolts me out of the story every time. I think reading should be a smooth process, whereby the words slide directly into your consciousness - that experience shouldn't be derailed by little mistakes. But maybe it's not for most people? I'm the grammar pedant English teacher here, maybe I'm just unable to read as a reader anymore, I can't put down the red pen.

So I'm undecided. I feel that quality and editing should be vital parts of the publishing experience. I have one writer friend who rejects the idea that they should have to format stories or proof read. After all, what are editors for if not to edit? I pretty much agree, and I think it's sad that this is where money is being saved. On the other hand, maybe I'm part of a small uptight minority, and most people just aren't bothered anymore.

the hollow in your chest

2011-11-07T07:47:00.000-08:00

I think I have some small sort of chest infection. The weight pressing on me feels a little like grief and longing; it's familiar, but in my experience grief and longing make less phlegm.

frigidaire...

2011-10-28T06:16:00.000-07:00

I have no idea why, given the well-upholstered nature of its padding, but now the cold weather is here, my ass feels chill to the touch. Through layers of underwear and lycra and ... well, not such a heavy skirt, I suppose. Still, though. Why so frigid?

And I wonder how I could warm it up...
.
.
.
.
.

Bahhaha, I went looking for thermal undies, but this is funnier. On various levels nobody much will understand ;)

rough and soothe

2011-10-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

I don't like it freshly, perfectly smooth, so much. It unsettles me, somehow, a slip-soft cheek against my lips, a silken jaw.

I'd much rather some bristle, some scrape and rasp and texture. Some biteable contrast for my teeth to try and catch, the velcro click, the matchstick strike and flare, the promise of soreness against my thighs. Leave the softness for my lips to find when they reach your mouth, an oasis, a respite.

The blood in my wrists itches, to be scratched slowly along the sandpaper of your face til they reach your wet mouth, and you bless them, kiss the burn beneath my thin skin better. Scratch and soothe and set alight.

Intense Sensations

2011-09-24T16:02:00.000-07:00

Vanessa at intensesensations has so very kindly awarded me a shiny green award! Generous in the face of my blog-neglect of late, especially.

Rather than nominate 15 people (because that's a lot of work, meme-dudes) I'll refer you to Vanessa's varied and versatile review blog. Her reviews are a delight, her subject matter a wonderful blend of literary and erotic texts. Have I put her on my blog roll yet? If not, it's only down to the laziness and neglect, not any other reason. Thanks Vanessa!

Here are some Vida facts for you to say 'hmmmm' about:

1. Vida may or may not have used her pseudonym as part of one of her children's names...
2. Vida recently went through a rollercoaster of elation and crushing disappointment when she discovered Daim cake in her local supermarket, only to find it was a special promotion, and everyone had bought it up by the time she went back for more.
3. Vida ~~likes~~ loves to work from her bed, and is currently stymied by the broken condition of her laptop, and the even more broken condition of her finances.
4. Vida thoroughly expects rejection from every market she submits to, and lives in fear of the day she starts anticipating success and gets crushed. I think I may have been overconfident about one*
5. Vida doesn't write much. Lack of discipline, tiredness, distractions in the form of internet entertainment, tiredness, dullness of thought. When the inspiration comes, it's great, but ... it's rare.
6. Vida loves the thought process of idea-formulation. Where do they come from? I love how they grow as if implanted, seed-like, by the unseen hands of a celestial gardener with a trepanning-trowel.
7. Vida suspects it would all be much, much better if she could have 9 hours sleep a night.

Bound By Lust!

2011-09-24T15:45:00.000-07:00

It's getting warmer... warmer and closer and realer....

Bound by Lust is available for pre order now!

My story in this pretty pretty book is called Slave Sister and it's inspired by the idea of sharing and caring. It's also the story I have written that is most inspired by 'sexy things I have seen on the internet. See? The hours of 'research' paid off :)

I was worried it's a bit porny, but it's tender too.

I can't wait to get my paws on this book.*

*I just wrote 'I can't wet'. Freudian.

Steamlust Trailer

2011-09-07T08:59:00.000-07:00

Steamlust - an animated film from NikkiMagennis on Vimeo.

Nikki Magennis is a goddess.

Bound By Lust!

2011-09-02T12:57:00.000-07:00

Sigh of relief!

I just got a beautiful mail from Shanna Germain, she of the sparkly new website. The news is that her meticulously selected collection of romantic bondage stories has made Cleis very happy, and they've chosen them all, and best of all, I'm in it too! By the skin of my panties, and very gratefully-pantied I am too.

Because, ooo, look at the lineup:

Reclaiming Spring Sommer Marsden

Being His Bitch Janine Ashbless

Spring Training Donna George Storey

A Preference for Deference Allison Wonderland

The Heart of Chaos Rachel Kramer Bussel
Under the Clock Justine Elyot

Steps Evan Mora
Brush Strokes Kristina Wright

No Sleep Kristina Lloyd

Crossing the Line Dominic Santi

A Few Things to Pick Up on Your Way Home Andrea Dale

Life Lines Nikki Magennis
Marcelle Alana Noël Voth

Whippoorwill Teresa Noelle Roberts

Slave Sister Vida Bailey

A Beautiful Corpse Craig Sorensen

Eine Klein Spanking Clarice Clique

Defining the Terms Sharazade

Devil's Night Veronica Wilde

I keep looking at anthos I didn't submit to, and thinking Damn, I want to be in that, look at the authors, and now I am VERY happy to be in with my gang. I mean, seriously, look at the lineup. Look at the page sharing love!

Woo yay! Thank you Shanna. I can't wait to see the cover.

spelling and spanking

2011-08-28T04:55:00.000-07:00

from Barely Pink

Beneath Sea and Sky

2011-08-27T15:37:00.000-07:00

Available from Smashwords

Oh, such a treat. I just read Shanna's recent ebook, soon to be on kindle too, the very beautiful and inspirational 'Beneath Sea and Sky'. Six tales of magic and longing that are the best thing I've read of hers yet. As always, her characters and language are heart stopping, heart in your mouth beating, painful and beautiful to read. Her ideas and settings are so sharp and clear, and as usual she doesn't stray from the difficult, the blood and gristle, she embraces it and makes it sing.

The standouts for me are Heatsong, an evocative vampire story, Hands of Time, that speaks to me of breaking marriage so clearly I could weep, and the closing The Princess of Silk and Pain, a fairy tale rewrite that is a tour de force.

Get it! It's a fantastically good collection. The only downside is how it leaves you wondering why you'd bother trying to write anything ever again after reading it...

troo

2011-08-08T11:12:00.000-07:00

"WE WRITERS HAVE A SAYING. WELL, NOT A SAYING. MORE OF A COMMONLY ACCEPTED IDEA THAT HAS YET TO BE ASSEMBLED INTO AN EASY-TO-CARRY QUOTE. I WILL ATTEMPT TO CORRECT THIS NOW: “THERE IS NOTHING SO APPEALING AS THE NEXT THING YOU WANT TO WRITE."

- Maureen Johnson (via jarfuls-of-wisdom)

(via callidorablack)

hello!

2011-07-30T02:23:00.000-07:00

It's been a while... Suffused With Heat has been neglected during the birth of suffusedwithheat.tumblr.com, which is more about pictures. Pretty pictures, dirty pictures, silly pictures. Feel free to browse!

Back soon, when I actually have something to say.

uninformed judgement

2011-07-13T11:54:00.000-07:00

Rachel KB wrote this piece about the blanket judgement of bdsm practitioners that happens so regularly. IT reminded me of a train of thought I'd had while loading shopping into the car the other day.

When your friend tells you they're going to take up running, with a view to completing a marathon, chances are you'll be impressed and supportive. Well, you may think they're crazy and that you would never do that, but you would still think they're impressive. As people get obsessive about their running, and talk about how they are addicted to the endorphin high and can't handle their daily stresses as well without it, we continue to think it's great.

We don't think they're crazy for suffering through the lung burn and muscle spasms and knee damage and all the rest, to get to their goals of endorphin highs and fitness and competition.

Chances are a lot of people who like their sex a little rough don't suffer half as much physically as your average runner. But people are appalled at the thought. And feel free to comment derogatorily about people who enjoy denigration. Ironic!

I do think that fetishes are born out of unmet needs. I suspect that it's even possible to unwrite those fetishes, with a lot of work. However, I don't know that the onus is on kinky people to do that at all. Or that it's necessarily the right thing to do. I'm all for being self aware, but bdsm sex seems to award people such a huge amount of fun and satisfaction. If your fetish doesn't do anyone else any harm and you get something good out of it then... well, I wince more at people in knee bandages running on concrete than I might do at a little creative filthiness.

quote

2011-07-11T14:39:00.000-07:00

Female toplessness is legal in a lot of places in the US (although not where I live), and I’d be meeting the letter of the law with a couple of Band-aids. But I have a gut feeling that if I go anywhere that there are people—and particularly anywhere there are children—nobody’s going to be too happy about my Band-aids. The enforcement is social; women just don’t go around topless in the US.

It bothers me because it’s unequal, but it also bothers me in its implications: that my body is inherently sexual, and a man’s body isn’t. It feels like men are being viewed through the first-person lens of “it’s nice to feel the sun on my skin, and I don’t mean anything by it” and women are being viewed through the distinctly third-person lens of “it’s inappropriate for me, a heterosexual man, to see her sexy parts.” It ignores the experiences of people who are turned on by male chests and somehow manage to contain themselves when they see one.

The Pervocracy: My boobs want to be free.

posted 2 weeks ago

I like this point. It's hard to explain to my kids why half naked men aren't considered naked. Why flat chested little girls have to cover up their chests that are no different to little boys's chests. Sigh. It's all so silly.

Now I have no urge to go round bra-less and topless myself, quite the opposite, though I have often had dreams in which I suddenly realise I'm out and about in underwear, or topless, and it's usually not as horrifying to me as it would be if I realised I'd gone to work with no top on in real life... but, yeah.

I confess, though, I have perved at (on?) a tanned and topless muscly builder or two in my time...

I had this book!

2011-07-09T10:28:00.001-07:00

The clitoris is pure in purpose. It is the only organ in the body designed purely for pleasure. The clitoris is simply a bundle of nerves: 8,000 nerve fibers, to be precise. That’s a higher concentration of nerve fibers than is found anywhere else in the body, including the fingertips, lips, and tongue, and it is twice… twice… twice the number in the penis. Who needs a handgun when you’ve got a semiautomatic.”

Quote - Permalink

FROM WOMAN: AN INTIMATE GEOGRAPHY, BY NATALIE ANGIER

I think my sister gave it to me. It was excellent. Worth a read.

2011-07-08T16:28:00.000-07:00

I had a bruise on my wrist, initially prefectly four sided, from one of the links in my bracelet watch. Little rounded, black and cream art deco squares. Lined up with one, on the side of my wrist, a maroon shape that has spread and blurred, pressed against the bone. I didn't notice it happen, the metal forced against my skin.

On the back of my other hand, a long dark rectangle, half way down the fourth Metacarpal, intruding on the interplay of bone and vein. I do remember that one. Door handle. I'm so unbalanced, clumsy.

I wish they were yours, these marks. I wish you had given them to me. So I could run my fingers over their colour, press into the tenderness of them and know you'd been there. Feel your touch linger on me. My skin would be a diary, a calendar, mark the days since I was claimed. The change and shape of the memory of you would blur and spread and fade until I could feel it and see it no more. Until I was new again, and waiting.

merrrrrmaids :)

2011-07-07T16:13:00.001-07:00

omg cupcakes!

2011-07-05T14:15:00.000-07:00

April Flores... so creamy skinned...

A Sommer freebie

2011-07-03T11:28:00.000-07:00

A sweet F/F story from Sommer that feels a little different to the other stories of hers I've read. Touches a chord for mothers who've lost a little bit of themselves.

a pleasant rejection

2011-06-30T10:29:00.000-07:00

I submitted a bit of a half assed story to Kristina's Best Erotic Romance collection a while back, only really because she asked - I was expecting a pretty instant rejection (because there was just no way that was 'best erotic romance' as far as I was concerned) but it kept not coming for ages and ages - then someone else got one and I wondered why I hadn't yet and resisted writing to ask for it :)

Well, it came this morning and it was such a good rejection! The story had been shortlisted and ultimately the balance was tipped for something a bit different, which takes any sting out of the whole thing.

I haven't subbed much, because I am writingly challenged and lazy, perhaps, so this is my first rejection - and as rejections go, I am incredibly happy about it! Kristina is a Thoughtful Editor, and very nice with it and I appreciate it a lot.

I have to post this

2011-06-27T15:19:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the size, I'm sure you can click for big. I love this, if only for the fact that shy Catholic women (and mothers) sometimes refer to their genitalia as 'their Mary' - and now I know why!

cuteness?

2011-06-25T01:53:00.000-07:00

Now. A confession re political correctness. It's difficult these days - sometimes I do really like things, and then smarter women than I swoop in with words like objectification and sexism and one sort of gaze or another and I do see their point and it makes me think - but it doesn't always stop me liking things.

I think it's good to be aware, better be aware than be one of those dullards who can't see beyond surface significance.

But this looks like fun, nudity needs to be more everyday, I think, and I want to know if they got chased away before they finished the pose. :)

self assured vintage

2011-06-22T14:10:00.000-07:00

You'd look happy too...

...if you had a posterior like mine.

ahem

2011-06-17T04:03:00.000-07:00

Ha. This makes me laugh:

All these variations on the original are funny, I like the Keep Calm And Eat A Cupcake one too.

The whole Daddy thing used to so not be for me, it just made me squirm, being the pschologically attuned little writer that I am. A little too aware of my own issues to be comfortable with this one.

And yet... as the days go by and life spins further out of control, god help me, the idea is gaining attraction.

crumble

2011-06-12T09:04:00.001-07:00

My hands smell of vanilla and whiskey and apples and flour brown sugar and butter and spice. I washed them, but the water's not hot, and why would you want to wash that scent away, anyway?

It's so good. What beauty we have at our disposal.

Soon the crumble aroma will start to float out of the oven and fill the house too, juicy fruit and crisp, spicy sugary topping. I'll whip cream. And we'll chase this rainy day away.

I'll come back with a photo in a bit

2011-06-09T16:13:00.000-07:00

This picture made me think of a story, today, one I wrote and submitted but is hanging in anthology limbo. I didn't get a rejection, but the antho is on hold, I guess... a sad little situation for the book and my story, really. It's about a chase and a hunt and some sex while tied to a tree... hmm, maybe I've said too much.

I didn't realise it at the time, but the flogger that's in the story, most probably looks just like this one. All dark red and pretty.

It's one of those stories where I'm describing things I actually have no idea about - I just sent it to someone who does, to read, and that makes me feel all squirmy. It's hard to explain. I'm not going to, it's hardly appropriate here :)

But god bless my imagination, let's hope it doesn't get me humiliated this time.

I hope that story gets to see the light of day soon, though, I like it. I like the photo too. Is it the shoes? The toy? Her ass? All of the above, I suppose, and her hair and shoulders too.

(p)ink sheets

2011-06-07T08:31:00.001-07:00

doodling

2011-06-02T13:46:00.000-07:00

I have to confess, that I had a habit of doodling the occasional penis when I was in school. I don't find myself doing it any more, now that I think about it. I hope I wasn't alone in that teen habit...

dressing gowns

2011-05-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

For some reason I keep writing women in dressing gowns. Silk ones. I don't quite know why. There must be a robe in there somewhere. We don't really say robe here, but dressing gown always sounds so old-mannish or little boy at boarding school. And I'm going for something far more silky and sensual than that.

What's the right word?

science of boobies

2011-05-21T06:47:00.000-07:00

I could watch all day! Not just the boob ripples and the beautiful face, but the way the water holds its shape after the balloon breaks.

sigh

2011-05-20T14:34:00.001-07:00

click for big?

2011-05-13T13:38:00.000-07:00

So. So... here is an instructional video on how to turn a woman into a giggling multi orgasmic jelly. Nudity and orgasm warning*

http://kissiah.tumblr.com/post/5426925190/all-kinds-of-sex-ok-so-im-not-sure-when#notes

Now, um. I have to confess I don't know anything about coming like this, sadly. I'm for it, as you can imagine, but I don't know... doesn't the guy seem a little ... Christian about it? A little messianic? A bit of a G-sus, if you will...

Leader Leader Leader Leader, Leader!

Maybe it's just that he's got Kool-Aid, too...

Hot Fuck Sundae

2011-05-08T04:43:00.000-07:00

Light 'n' shade, dears.

Steamlust

2011-05-03T13:31:00.000-07:00

Woo, and hoo! I have glad tidings to report. They are this

And the fact that I'm in the lineup! I can't wait to see who else is, and I'm so happy to be there. I think this will be a fun one. I nearly threw in the towel on this story, and I'm so glad I persevered, and learned a lesson about just doing it. It won't always work, but it paid off this time.

Steampunk, it's so pretty, I lived in a world of coppery, vibrant colour and great boots for a couple weeks, writing this. My story's called Undergrounded: Hannah Hawthorne and the Stranded Time Ship. And you can pre-order your copy here!

Good things Coming

2011-05-01T12:15:00.000-07:00

I have had some hopeful news, of late, and this is good. More to say soon, I hope!

Do not get on this bus

2011-04-25T14:23:00.000-07:00

It's Sexual Assault Awareness Month, I think I saw. I was trying to think of something to write about that, but this caught my eye before I managed it, so it's going to do, for now.

2011-04-20T13:53:00.001-07:00

Ugh, writing. The self critical voice is a useful one, no doubt, but not always when you're in the middle of trying to write something you know isn't the best, but the voice in your head that second guesses every word choice makes you so paranoid you can't actually make it any better. Gah! The Cheese Factor, it's a literary tar pit.

When the shark bites, when the bee stings...

2011-04-16T04:16:00.000-07:00

M from www.drinkyourcunt.tumblr.com

Favourite guilty pleasure, srsly. Though I don't even feel guilty. He's so endearing and entertaining.

I mean, come on:

Anonymous asked: So.....
Even though I know it's most likely impossible for you to be my calculus teacher, I can no longer look at him the same way again......You guys are sooooo similar, it's uncanny.....But hey, now I go to class everyday. I pay close attention to his lips when he talk (mostly because I want them alll over me now) and watch his fingers when he points......So....being slightly obsessed with you is helping me pass calculus......

I am totally your calculus teacher and you should totally confront me about being sexy on the Internet.

That makes me happy, reading that.

And this makes me happy too, the little adorable sweetie pants.

And then there was the post by his friend, who said that his readers only know the naughty bits, they don't know how he gives her hugs and kisses her on the forehead each time they meet.

All the expert cunnilingus sounds great, like, but I have to say at this point in my life, the thing I keep coming back to is the idea of getting kissed on the forehead.

You're safe, M, about 5 people read this blog, so no more fame explosion will befall you. But thank you for the cheer you bring to my day.

2011-04-14T02:06:00.000-07:00

Black and white ink fun

hot fuck sunday

2011-04-12T14:02:00.000-07:00

Oh, it's not Sunday? Ah well. I have to try and write some Romance. Without any theme or prompt. I hate that. Someone tell me what to write about?

Kristina's writing romance with a gangbang. Sigh. I tend to fall into this pit of sappiness I don't necessarily want to explore when I try and write romance. Then I struggle out of the Happy Ever After ending dripping with the syrup of it and desperately trying to wipe myself clean.

But worse than that is that when I'm confronted with the idea of having to write a story without a theme or title, I am met with a terrible blankness. 'What I did on my Summer Holidays', anyone? I'd better go stick a fork in the ass of my imagination. Er, not in its ass. I don't think that's quite what romance is about. This could be why I'm more comfortable with erotica :)

baha

2011-04-07T02:20:00.000-07:00

I was having a little self indulgent weepy moment.

And then I saw this, and it made me cackle out loud.

Heh.

Vajazzled

2011-04-01T03:19:00.000-07:00

The concept of vajazzling makes me chortle. Ad does the phrase 'vajazzle your vajayjay'. Every time. People get so scornful about it too. It's funny. I saw the above photo posted ironically the other day, in a post by a mommy blogger planning a new craftroom in the room of the eldest daughter who had flown the nest. One commenter was sarcastic about how authentic her smile looked.

And then a little later I had a sudden flashback! To the pornographic novel I found in my parents' bookshelf, which I recognised as fairly classic, and had an early prototype vajazzling scene within that I had completely forgotten about. I had to Wikki it to find the title because it was gone, gone, I couldn't quite reach it. One of those ones about turning a bored housewife into an ever-ready-for-it whore, you know the way. Of course it was Emanuelle and it had a scene where she goes to a party to get gangbanged, but first they take her away and dress her in filmy diaphanous white and painstakingly attach tiny pearl beads to each and every one of her pubic hairs! Ha! I thought, as I remembered that detail. Vajazzling is not new! Then I wondered how they do it now that nobody has pubes anymore. With a hot glue gun, it must be.

Of course it is! And this photo explains the smile - she was doing an educational photo shoot!

Lord, I'd forgotten about Emanuelle. That was educational.

I will leave you with a little soupcon of the entertainment the internet has to offer.

teehee!

fragments

2011-03-31T14:24:00.000-07:00

She's putting on her scarf, over her turquoise coat, wrapping herself up in yards of its softness. She feels my gaze, mid twist, and looks at me, eyes sparkling. 'What?' But she sees my smile. She knows what.
'What?' she whispers, as I tip her face up to kiss her. Her lips are soft and her face is warm. I take the end of the scarf and finish winding it around her neck, wondering if I flicked it in the other direction would she spin like a top until I'd unwrapped her.

'You know what.' She shakes her head, fluffing her hair out over the scarf, peeping in the mirror, picking up her hat. I nod, deliberately.

'You think I look cute.' I nod. 'You like me.' I nod again, and smile. And wait. 'You love me and I make your heart glad.' I take her face in my hands and I kiss her again, stroke her face.

'And you're beautiful.' She goes the sweetest shade of pink, and the happiness in her smile is more reward than I could ask for.

When she comes back, her cheeks will be flushed from walking in the cold, her nose will be red and I'll unwrap her then, the gloves, the hat, the loops of gold and turquiose scarf that her eyes and hair glow against. The winter coat. It's just her nose that will be cold, I know, the rest of her will be hot from walking all bundled up, and from coming home to me.

When did you find your clitoris?

2011-03-29T08:37:00.000-07:00

18?

Succinct little statement there.

I was 14. Must have been ignited with intuitive drive as it was after watching Young Guns. Or was it Young Guns 2? Either way. The heat! Like a flash fire, or whatever the expression is. We don't have that sort of extreme weather event here. We certainly didn't then either, as no one else found it for years, and I wasn't able to point them to it, somehow.

'Where do you like to be touched?'

'Um, here?'

'That's a funny place.'

Sigh.
Bless him.

Or,

'Do you frig yourself?'

Me: Well (debates teaching three drunk boys in a dark garden about female masturbation, at age 15), yes.

Best friend: No.

Yeah, right, Vicki.

And yay for the big colouring book of vulvas. It should be in schools.

Hot Fuck Sundae!

2011-03-26T17:07:00.000-07:00

When I first saw this picture, what attracted me was the Adam and Eve nature of it. But then I thought, no, that's actually Adam and Steve, isn't it? Either way, cute ass creases :)

Here's a sweet site: Happy Naked People - if it was mine, I wouldn't be able to resist adding captions - 'he's happy because he can lift his bike over his head'.

pet peeve

2011-03-21T03:15:00.000-07:00

Oh my god.

For fuck's sake. That's not a big colouring book of vaginas. No. As I might have said before, it's a big colouring book of vulvas. VULVAS. Shout it out loud. Why does this annoy me so much? I suppose it's because people manage not to get confused between the words for testicles and penis. Or maybe because the world at large is still completely ignorant about female anatomy and they don't care about what a clitoris is, or how it works. No, it's all about the vagina, and basic male pleasure, and reproduction. Vulva? Huh? Bah!

Aside from that little ranty rant, it's a worthy project, or at least seems so from the sweet reviews I browsed through at the start. I love the idea of women sitting at home, happily colouring in vulvas in a book their partner bought them.

fragment

2011-03-19T08:20:00.000-07:00

She's on her knees for him, working hard, reaching for his hips and he slides his fingers into her soft hair and grips, pushes her harder, takes away her choice that little bit more. Her mouth is wet and hot and so willing, her throat a tight treat that makes his own breath catch. He knows how each little gag puts pressure on her cunt, milks the cream out more. Her nipples are hard, her smooth breasts bounce.

She's drifting, so used, so wet, focused on air, and trying to keep a seal and follow the rhythm she can't set anymore. Her knees spread wider and the pulse pounds in her pussy. The pain in her scalp burns warm, the sound of his breath sings to her.

The dance continues, while she pretends she's giving and he pretends he's taking and the world shrinks to just that one high ceilinged room.

cabbages

2011-03-10T04:18:00.000-08:00

This photo holds a warm place in my heart.

Someone put wings on that cabbage fairy!

The size of that leaf just cracks me up. Aw!

Found at The Thickness

A dark and dirty muffin lament

2011-02-26T14:33:00.000-08:00

Oh, my poor muffin

It could do with some stuffin'

A creamy fillin'

From some custardy villain

With plenty to spare

It's so unfulfillin'

To be unfilled but willin'

The future holds nuffin'

No hope for my muffin

Just stale despair.

With a nod of thanks to D, for inpiring this poem through muffin discussion. You're a-muse-ing!

omg

2011-02-26T14:31:00.000-08:00

gigglesnort

Messing It Up, a not quite date rape story

2011-02-02T11:03:00.000-08:00

I’ve been lucky. I never got attacked by anyone, never found myself scared and picked on by a man, or intimidated, or whatever. Never was in a situation I couldn’t handle, except perhaps when I was still 12 or so, and some scumbag guy who hung round the school bus stop freaked me out by harassing me in a cheerful and complimentary way to the extent that I asked my oblivious mother for a lift home (she totally refused and didn’t pursue why, I’m sorry to say). He drifted away though, thankfully, far less involved in the situation than I was.

There was this one thing, though, that I didn’t quite know how to term at the time. Well, I did, really, but I suppose I wasn’t assertive enough to. Well, I was and I wasn’t, but there was a lot of classic self doubt involved.

My best friend’s brother was in his early twenties, I think, when we were in our teens. He was older, cooler, funny, irreverent. She was just starting to get on with him on a more adult basis, I think. He was full of jokes and stories and attitude, and I liked him. One day I was alone with him in her house and he kissed me, and I was totally buzzed by the attention and the fact that he was attracted to me. I was maybe 15 by then. Maybe a little younger.

I think I probably gave him the odd knowing glance, after that, flirted a little, made him uncomfortable at the non alcoholic church discos we went to by asking him to dance, in public.
I don’t think anything else happened until one morning, when my friend had gone off somewhere, leaving me asleep in her room, and David appeared and got into bed with me. He got on top of me, and kissed me and rubbed himself against me. I protested, cheerfully, said, David, stop, I don’t want to do this, I have a boyfriend!

And he said, so?, and rubbed a little more, but then got up and went away. And then I realised my legs were wet, and could tell by the pungent and alarming smell of spunk that he’d come on me.

That was a little freaky. I told my friend about it at some point, and she was upset, apologetic, angry with him. I don’t know if she ever said anything to him.

Then a year or so later, I was at her house, for her birthday, and didn’t make it to the last bus. He offered to bring me home, and I didn’t want him to, but didn’t have much choice. I can remember asking my friend to come to, and she said no, so what could I do?

He drove up to the top of their lane, pulled the car over and kissed me. And I didn’t say, no, stop, take me home, please. I suppose I was happy enough for the attention, the little bit of affection, hey, even the pleasure of having someone to touch and be touched by for a little while. So I asked him to take me for a drink for a bit of Dutch courage, and he did, in a manky, old man pub in Kilcoole. Then he drove me closer to where I lived, turned down the quiet little dark lane by the church (Church Lane, that is) and we got a bit naked. Which was ok with me. And then he got on top of me, and started trying to penetrate me.

Which wasn’t ok with me. I was still sixteen at this stage, I’m fairly sure, I’d only slept with my one boyfriend, and wasn’t ready to start having casual actual sex just yet. I turned that corner fairly soon after, but hadn’t yet. I told David this, but he kept on trying. ‘I can’t get it in’, he gasped, pushing hard against me.

‘That’s because I’m trying really hard to keep you out,’ I explained, clenching my pc muscles together in a sterling effort to keep myself unpenetrated by his distinctly un-condom covered cock.

At that he relaxed his efforts, and gave up.

And, what did I do? Well, I gave him a blow job. Yeah. I kind of wish I hadn’t now, especially as afterwards, the premature ejaculating bastard rolled over and smeared his come all over my stomach and crotch, so that when I went home, I once again realised my underwear was damp with semen, scrubbed myself clean in fear and spent however many days ‘til my next period terrified I might have experienced an immaculate conception.

Before that realisation, however, he drove me home and as we sat outside the house in the car, my father walked inside after looking piercingly into the car.
‘There’s your dad,’ said David.

‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘and you know what he’d do to you.’ David laughed and nodded ruefully.

‘David,’ I said, ‘what do you call it when you have try to have sex with someone you know doesn’t want to?’

‘I know, I know,’ he interrupted me.

‘No, really, what do you call it?’

‘Rape,’ he offered, with a sigh, and I’m glad I made him say it, proud of myself for getting the point across, even in the confusion and blame of myself for being accessory to it, for not saying no, for getting him to buy me a drink, for wanting a little intimacy, just not the whole thing, not the actual sex-sex, just a little bit of sex and closeness.

And then I went in and found myself doused in his semen, and felt dirtied by the hostile act of his smearing it on me, wiping himself off on me, as what, punishment for not letting him fuck me? I don’t really know, I didn’t understand about that sort of gesture then, but I know it was aggressive, and soiling, and that the fear of an unwanted teenage pregnancy rested solely on my shoulders for a little while.

I made another mistake and told my friend again, and this time she was angry with me, for encouraging him to have a drink while driving, and endangering him. She didn’t say she was angry with me for being a slut, for agreeing to fool around with him, for wanting something but not everything out of the encounter. She wasn’t sorry for not coming too when I’d asked her to, just annoyed with me for putting her brother in this situation and then calling date-rape-attempt I suppose. I think that was pretty much the end of our friendship, which had been so intense, and dwindled away after that. There was other stuff too, other mistakes, but I suspect that was the major one.

As far as bad experiences go, this one was mild, I suppose. I was ... lucky? A little more self esteem and self respect could have prevented it, too. He was really not very attractive. Skinny and spotty and prematurely balding. Just kind of charismatic. I saw on Facebook he got married recently. I wonder if he grew up and got better at it all. I wonder if I did.

what???

2011-01-31T13:11:00.001-08:00

To revisit an older topic, who the hell is waxing their 8 year old daughters???

Found here, on a post about a song favoured by Danielle.

Eat Me for free this weekend

2011-01-29T08:53:00.000-08:00

Free Smut for the discerning reader! Roll up!

Get yourselves to All Romance, and nab a free copy of Eat Me this weekend.

Why not?

Throw a wee review up afterwards if you feel moved to. I only have a teeny wee tidbit of a bon bon of an introduction in here, but you've got a classic Shanna Germaine story of sweet awakening, and a naughty little strap on vegetable romp from Shanna as well as lots of great others. Go for it!

Holy Hot Fuck

2011-01-27T02:42:00.000-08:00

How to knot a tie.

I don't know how to embed it! Maybe it only works on Tumblrs? Watch it! Now! NSFW!

beautiful

2011-01-27T02:26:00.000-08:00

Oh yes you are.

giggle

2011-01-22T13:04:00.000-08:00

'We're playing 'Secret Spanker!' my small son announced, as he bounced round the bed, giggling with his sister.

Is that a little like Secret Santa?

I see marketing potential. Perhaps there should be more spanking holidays.

**ugh, have to stop looking for a nice festive spanking pic on google, images is full of nasty pics of violence against children that totally harsh my buzz. Shudder.

I'm sure it's just me...

2011-01-13T03:43:00.000-08:00

But 'I understand and I wish to continue' seems to scan in the same way as 'Thank you, Sir, may I please have another?'

I was going to find an appropriate picture for that, but then I google imaged the blog instead of searching for it and I got a beautiful collage of all my pictures I've used in the first couple pages. Pretty.

Some of them aren't mine, and it's fun working out which - like the sardines, for example. Suffused with Fish is not what we're after.

new bra!

2011-01-08T02:36:00.000-08:00

'Tis purple.

While I was away a while ago, I had to go buy a new bra. Sainsury's drapery is a wonderland of clothes, and kids' dalek costumes (so sweet!) and nice underwear. Not like Tesco.

My sensible friend insisted I try it on and off I went, wondering why a man was standing buy his trolley, staring at me.

Then I realised I was striding through the supermarket purposefully, unbuttoning my coat while holding a pink embroidered black DD bra in front of me.

Indeed.

Skin!

2011-01-05T13:16:00.000-08:00

Creamy shoulders and spilling-out boobies. You have to love it, don't you?

lovely story I just read

2011-01-03T14:13:00.000-08:00

And a pretty picture too

I Wish You Were Braille

Happy Christmas!

2010-12-23T14:29:00.001-08:00

resonance

2010-12-21T13:55:00.001-08:00

You know that something has hit a chord when you realise you're crying without noticing it as you read.

Simple lines...

She felt his body spread over hers.
"I'm going to make love to you now, Molly," he said.
She nodded her head. There weren't any words she wanted to get out. Her face felt wet.
"You don't have to worry about anything, ok? Don't worry."

That's from Charlotte Stein's Ever Unknown in Total-E-Bound's Master Me, sent to me by the incredibly kind Justine Elyot, who is currently offering joy to the world in the form of book giveaways, check her out.

But. You don't have to worry about anything. I just can't even imagine.

Eat Me!

2010-12-04T10:38:00.000-08:00

Oh, how nice to be able to promote something!

Even if my intro is longer than my actual flash piece in Alison's ebook collection titled Eat Me and full of delectable, delicious, food themed erotica. There's lots of longer ones too, by people like Sommer Marsden and Shanna Germain and M Christian - see who else:

If you check the link, you can see the contributer list and our thoughts on food and how it complements thoughts of sex and for the modest sum of $2.99, it can be yours!

Splitting Hairs

2010-11-15T02:46:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me to write about my take on personal deforestation. On hair removal – pubic topiary, for some. I’m not really the one to write about it, given that I met my husband when I was 17, in an era and place where people my age didn’t wax, god, it might even have been pre-Brazilian. My husband frowned on the idea, having no issue with women looking like the women they were. And I was cool with that – sparing the expense, the mess, the pain, the embarrassment ... the alarming nudity of it all... so I’m not really the right person to wax lyrical on the topic, given that I am be-pubed, as god intended.

Times have changed though. At a meeting of women bloggers a couple years ago, a friend said that she’d seen an online exhibition of normal people who’d volunteered to be photographed naked. It was interactive – charmingly, you could click on their clothes and underwear, and see them in various stages of undress. She complained that to a woman, despite being quite different in age and style, etc, they were all waxed bare. She found it depressing that this had become the norm. Someone else suggested that perhaps she’d just clicked one time too many :)

I mean, I don't see anything wrong with this lovely happy woman.
(Sorry, this template has photo sizing issues. )

But no, apparently bare is the norm, now. In conversation with a man last night, he said he hadn’t seen pubic hair in two decades. Definitely Channel Four’s sex ed programme had all the boys thinking that women had to be hairless – though their standards came from porn, depressingly, and the girls were following suit. I loved Jiz Lee's stand on this issue, that she talks about here.

I do think that’s a problem, I don’t think it’s positive. It saddens me that this has become a blanket standard, that girls of ... what age now – 14? will assume they have to wax. I personally have no issue with pubic hair. Sure, a pube on the tongue is not the most fun, but as Demure Lemur pointed out in this wonderful post, hair gives texture, interest. Perhaps it’s a marker of our difference. And its purpose is to get our pheromoes out there. We're so scared of our animal nature - the horror of smelling. Is our fear of odour a form of evolution, or a frightened rejection of our animal nature... ?

I’m not so sure about the infantilisation argument either, though. That doesn’t really wash with me. It may be some people’s motivation, and I agree that not letting women be at all hairy in other places is an unfortunate societal construction – but it certainly isn’t something I’d consider. But I liked this post I found on Sex is Not the Enemy, in full here that demands an end to the politicising of the hair/no hair debate:

That said, I am sick to death of the “hair or no hair” debate. I’ve heard a lot of people on one side say that pubic hair is disgusting and unattractive, I’ve heard people on the other side say that without pubic hair, one looks prepubescent.

They’re both ridiculous arguments, positing personal preference as fact. It’s not fact. Some people like it with, some people like it without. Neither way is “disgusting” or “wrong”, it’s just fashion, it’s just what people are used to, it’s just individual taste. Why is that so hard for people to understand?

Here here. I think I agree with this. I don’t think anyone should feel they have to shave or wax – I don’t think anyone should feel they shouldn’t if they want to.

I read a nice story once, probably in one of Alison Tyler’s books, about a woman who shaves for her partner and is surprised at the deep, intense, fetish level of his arousal on discovering her smoothness. Having shaved out of curiosity, or ... boredom ... or in the spirit of adventure recently, I totally empathise with this. The silkiness! The smoothness... the ... intrigue. It really was like a brand new country. Yes, I do wish I’d done it while I still had someone to discover it with me. But even on my own, it seemed a very intimate experience. A sort of, ‘I’ve never been to me’ feeling :)

It didn’t make me feel childlike, I can attest to that. It made me feel, much more aware of myself, and like I had a secret I wanted to tell. And sure, I can imagine oral sex is a vastly different experience.

I gave a friend a voucher for a salon a couple years ago, for her thirtieth, and she horrified me slighly by going to get a full wax. I wanted her to have some luxury, a manicure/pedicure maybe, not to have her pubes ripped out by thier roots. But she loved it, felt gorgeous, went out and bought herself a thong just to revel in the sensation all the more. More power to her.

My main reason for not doing it before is that far from looking pre-pubescent, with my fatness, I’d end up on the other end of the scale and look like an old lady, what with my saggy tummy and stretch marked Mary (as a friend put it – I have stretch marks on my Mary!!) and the fact that being bigger means you’ve more pubic area too... it makes for a comfy hand rest, don’t get me wrong but ... ach, I don’t know. Does April work it? I don't know if I've seen a picture of her with pubes. I confess, I'm a little scared of this expanse of bareness on myself.

Adding those little insecurities to the pain/discomfort/embarrassment/couldn’t be arsed factor, and I don’t think it’s something I’d be bothered doing just for myself. Nor would I expect anyone else to do it just for me if they didn’t want to.

Still. It’s a place I’d recommend visiting, just to see...

Just to let everyone know, I continually typoed 'waz' instead of 'wax' throughout the writing of this post, which was quite funny.

Hot Fuck Sunday

2010-11-13T05:48:00.000-08:00

Ah... that warm pressure on the inside of your wrist...

She should take her watch off though, just in case.

damn, it's monday again

2010-11-08T06:12:00.001-08:00

Caught unawares, on the stairs?

Money Porn Mondae

2010-10-25T14:34:00.001-07:00

Money Porn! I think I need to put this under my pillow... I need some riches to fall into my lap... I quite love this picture actually.

Hot Fuck Sundae, early or late, it's up to you :)

2010-10-14T03:40:00.000-07:00

I hear we're going to have another very harsh winter. Snow and ice will abound.

I went looking for long johns for the laugh, but then I found him:

Well. It's easy to rock a vest. But long johns, maybe not so much. And this... including the tea cup? Ok, well, maybe it's cofee, but still; this is a man who is at ease with his sexuality, whatever it may be. And good lord, why wouldn't he be? The legs, for heaven's sake. Such masculine, muscular elegance.

They're organic, you know. Get some!

Ass-ociations

2010-10-11T02:34:00.001-07:00

I was in a shop the other day, and I saw a load of these:

Will you judge me if I said that the first thing my mind went to was this?:

I mean, come on... there's really not that much in it, is there?

You know, somehow, both of them make me feel a little bit Christmassy.

Happy Monday!

HFS

2010-10-02T13:47:00.000-07:00

I'm not really in the mood for Hot Fuck Sundae at the moment, except maybe the Sundae part. And the fact that it's such an excellently clever title, if I do say so myself.

Sex - sigh. I dunno.
Have you ever flicked through so many tumblr photos you got beautiful-ass-fatigue? That happened to me once. So very many beautiful, mostly female bodies, all these images of perfection. Endless perfect asses. It became wearying.

I love this site for its realness. And how much more interesting the pictures are in their aunthenticity and vulnerability. Real people are interesting. Girls who are fat but who still see themselves as sexual are interesting. You confront a lot looking at these pictures. Health. Self image. Self love. Trends and media domination and the plasticity of the enduring vision of what is attractive and acceptable that has been fed to us for some time now and that most of us have accepted and internalised wholeheartedly.

Why? Well, it's complex.

I don't believe in blanket fat acceptance to a certain degree, because of health, and because of how the human body can look and what it can do when it's strong and fit - those things are good things. And, fat is fear, and an attempt at self protection. But, acceptance and love have to come first. I remember my mother in law's reaction to me trying to explain something about how it's improtant to love yourself. 'Well I don't love myself!' she spat in disgust. Ah, Catholicism. You have so much to answer for.

It would be nice if we could stop separating the external and internal so much though. Celebration is good. Normal people should be celebrated. Women should celebrate themselves. We all should. Whatever shape we are.

Hot Fuck Sunday (early!)

2010-09-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

Hmm... who would you rather be? ...

I like how this picture is pretty and nasty. And how you can hardly see him - just these ghostly arms and the faintest hint of black t-shirt and trousers. In the woods.. but .. there's just so much to look at. And all the contrast of pretty and spikey. Dark and white. So uncomfortable. Oo.

:)

from smut bookshelf to smutbox

2010-09-13T03:37:00.000-07:00

The days of the smut bookshelf are gone.

The other day, my 7 year old daughter and her little friend decided to adorn themselves with kiddie makeup (pink features heavily) and pose glamorously on my bed. My daughter requested that I photograph them. I came into the room to see my tomboy girl posed elegantly on the bed in her jeans, fluffy pink dressing gown and goopy eyeshadow and lipstick, a book she'd picked up from the bed held all provocatively in her hands.

The book was Rachel Kramer Bussell's 'Naughty Spankings', carelessly left there by moi.

Can you say 'inapproriate'? Yikes!

So my daughter can read now. And it's occurring to me that it's time to remove my smut from view. She's not at a point where she'd go looking at adult books yet - at least, not if I don't leave them lying around under her nose.

So now they're in the purple box under the bed, in case you're looking. It's not a permanent solution, but it will do for now.

And at least I can stop worrying about my mother in law having a browse...

I just read this

2010-09-08T04:26:00.000-07:00

And I have no idea what to do with it, but I feel like I have to share it.

I wish I could write it, but that is Not To Be.

So.

Someone else did: http://www.poppystvincent.com/2010/08/for-you-when-you-get-back-from-the-airport/

This moved me.

Hot Fuck Sundae

2010-09-05T03:30:00.000-07:00

I keep meaning to writing about fat. A weighty issue for me. But I'm so reluctant. I see calls for 'Rubenesque' stories, and think I should write something for it... but... ach. I'm blocked on it all. I don't know how to make it positive but still include my feelings on it all. How to reconcile fat and happy and fit and healthy all into one bouquet. I feel like I should write about it. I will, I suppose. Just. Not right this minute.

Little Gifts from Within

2010-09-04T14:52:00.000-07:00

The dream is partly absurd,

to be laughed at and discarded

But I will keep the memory

of the soft silk skin of your brown chest,

your stomach,

beneath my lips

and treasure it as though it were real.

It's Sommer Time!

2010-08-25T17:19:00.000-07:00

Sommer is offering you cash and the stories off her back at her new place, with a wonderful SommerTime naming contest for her publishing press.

What are you still doing here?? Click! Run!

2010-08-14T13:52:00.000-07:00

I think this picture's lovely. So apt in terms of reading and writing erotica.

The only thing is... the minute you see her torso as a face, it's all over...

once

2010-07-26T04:55:00.000-07:00

We pause, to move. Me kneeling at the edge of the bed and you behind me. I can't remember why, something must not have been comfortable. Spontaneously, finally, you put your hands over me. One covers and holds my right breast, the other reaches between my legs and cups my pussy, seals me tight. For a moment in the darkness, I am held and owned. I am balanced and your hands on me feel just exactly right. It's perfect. It's surprising.

Later on I tell you that. The way I'm supposed to do, to communicate about sex. You sound surprised in return, as if you don't understand what you did or why I care. You don't understand that I've waited years for that one little moment.

And you still don't do it again.

Hot Fuck Sunday

2010-07-11T11:50:00.001-07:00

I do quite like this picture. Because of her skirt. And the water. But really, mostly because it reminds me of a modern version of this one

This is one of my favourite paintings. When my daughter was small, she asked if it was me.

My father once bought me a book of wall pictures including this one, and then years later, a nice Rembrant book. I flipped to this pictue (in order to demonstrate my enthusiasm for the present) and said I loved it. His girlfriend piped up, in her TheQueen-like accent, 'She has horrible legs.'

Sigh.

a pet peeve, a personal bugbear, if you will

2010-07-06T13:18:00.000-07:00

Say I was going to make a spanking video. Chances are I'd put on my best lacy pants (or panties, U.S types) for it. Maybe even a nice skirt, you know? I mean, a girl would rather look her best, even if she's up-ended, red cheeked and wriggling. I would imagine. Wouldn't you agree?

So, if that is the case, wouldn't you think the same would apply to the spanko boyfriend, or he who awards himself the capitalised 'Master'? It seems the answer is no.

Instead, more often than not, he's wearing ... shorts. Shorts don't command respect. They don't shout steely authority. They kinda shout nerdy teen, to me. Especially on older men. With bellies...

Worse again is the saggy tracksuit bottom. I mean, come on. That's not even trying a little bit. They're not even leather tracksuit bottoms, like this one:

Ok, that wouldn't command respect either, tee hee.

But yes, the sagginess. The old, wrinkly, round the house when no one can see you tracky pants the lads all seem to favour. I don't understand it. It puts me off, I tell you.

As does one other thing, while we're at it: If I was going to make a spanking video, I'd turn the fucking telly off first. I mean, come on! That's just rude and tasteless. I saw one the other day with a tracksuit AND a tv blaring and glowing in the background. Too much! And don't tell me it's spontanaety. They set the camera up!

Alright, I have vented, and now everyone knows I've been watching Spanking Tube. Oh well.

I leave you with this gem, which illustrates again the way tracksuits fail to strike fear into the heart of a spankee:

I once had a conversation with a writer of bdsm stories about how the idea of leather trousers with a 'panel' that opened in front was a bit silly, and found this to be a far scarier vision. Yes. Meheheheheh. Snigger.

I mean, even if somone let this AliG-alike anywhere near their ass, wearing a baby blue velour tracksuit will never say 'you is my bitch' to a girl. Don't kid yourself, gangstas.

2010-07-02T14:08:00.001-07:00

Note to anyone whose erotica sensibilites were offended by the porny blow job picture - turns out it's even harder to find an appropriate lollipop picture than a blow job one (and I spent a lot of time loking for both!) So after extensive searching, I've given up on trying to be tasteful for now.

My friend was telling me yesterday, that her friend asked her what semen tasted like. Because, she'd never given anyone a blow job. She'd got married to the man she met when she was 16. He'd recently left her, with a debilitating disease and low confidence.

But she'd never gone down on anyone. Sounds like no one had ever gone down on her either.

I find it hard to fathom. In some respects. I mean, I'm not queen of orgasms, it's true. But still... I remember refusing a friend who asked me to go a little further, and suck on it, please. And I said, er, no! But even then, at 14 or thereabouts, I'd read Cynthia Heimel's Sex Tips for Girls and countless Cosmo articles on the best ways to please your man and so on. And it wasn't long before I'd found someone I was comfortable practising on. And because I'd never been taught that sex, or pleasure, or genitalia were disgusting or repugnant or evil, or whatever the fuck hangup you have to have to banish oral sex completely from your repertoire, I loved it, I loved being good at it. Back then it was great to be in control of someone's pleasure, to give something. To be too hot with an aching jaw under an airless duvet working on their pretty cock while they gasped and panted hoarsely above me. Asking if it was ok, to hear,

'Are you serious? Didn't you hear my breathing? And I didn't even come!'

Ah, yes, to be mistress of that.

But don't we expend such energy, being disgusted by things? Don't get me wrong, I'm as fond of laughing or ew-ing at random weird fetishes as the next girl, as I think the humour potential is strong in some cases. But dismissing blow jobs? Aw. So sad.

Plus, you know the fact she's asking about them means she's curious... I just pray that if she does decide to go down on someone that he doesn't have lumpy semen. Because that would be so ironic, Alanah might be tempted to write a sequel.

a validating thought

2010-07-02T02:40:00.000-07:00

A message from our hero, Janine Ashbless, that I found in her interview with Nikki Magennis, that cheered me, and made me feel like cheering:

“Sex is important. ” I think that’s what pretty much all of my stories express. The establishment would have us believe that sex is trivial and a bit silly, a footnote to anyone’s life story. This is bollocks. People pour time and money into sex, they destroy their relationships and their careers for sex. And – on the positive side – in the loneliest and bleakest times of our lives sex is a gift of solace and pleasure. Fictional sex might be as important as the real thing, because let’s face it the stuff that really matters is what goes on in your head, not the bumping together of hairy bits. It’s what’s going on in your head that makes sex not just a trivial genital spasm but a place in which to find something more: escape from the self or connection to the human race, punishment or redemption, love, responsibility, surrender, empowerment, validation, intimacy, even transformation. So I write about those things. Sex in my stories isn’t always happy but it always matters. And I try and make it hot as hell too, of course!

Nikki's got an interesting question going on her blog today as well. Worth a click*

ack

2010-06-29T16:31:00.001-07:00

One for Danielle

Ugh. I have this story that's been sitting with me for a while. It's due to be submitted. And it doesn't want to come out onto the paper. I've had it in my head for ages. I've blocked it out in notes. I've lost those notes, somehow, they're not in any of the three notebooks I might have scribbled them into... but writing it down, it's just not coming out right. All that intense prettiness that I can see in my head skids and scrapes as I try to lay it down on the screen the same way. It doesn't want to be out there. For three days I've been opening the folder and looking at it, and doing other stuff instead. What is up with that?

Hot Fuck Sunday

2010-06-27T08:38:00.000-07:00

A Celtic Dom! This is a first!

Would you trust a red-bearded man to take care of you?

I can't get the photo to size right for the blog, so here is a better resolution original somewhere else.

tongues

2010-06-22T16:17:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd be good at languages. With a sensitivity for cadence, and rhythms and structures and words, the taste of them. But no. It never came easy. Not even what's supposed to be my mother tongue, mo theanga fein.

And now along with the distance between us, there are unfamiliar words and meanings. It's not easy to stretch my tongue around your syllables, these multiples, they're hard to swallow.

So so much goes unspoken. Written into the pauses and the silences. They're universal, where translation fails.

It will do, perhaps, or have to, until we find another language, and I can learn you a better, more wordless way.

new fascination. archive diving

2010-06-21T16:47:00.000-07:00

I'm a little bit in love. With MonMouth. Who I've read before, and liked, but never got involved with, bloggilly for some strange, foolish reason. But here I am at 00.48 am, with the cream cheese sitting unblended in the blender, lemons unzested, cheesecake uncaked and I'm still readingreadingreading his delicious, enticing, heartwarming posts about sex.

There's this tender, naughty compassionate enthusiasm for women, and people, and sex and lust and communication and so on, that I find irresistible, so real it makes me want to cry at times. I'd email him and ask if I could do an interview, if there was anyone visibly reading this. But two comments a post do not an enticing readership make, methinks. Especially when one of them's me.

Maybe it's only because he reminds me of someone. Maybe it's because his posts are so exceedingly hot. But yes. Little bit in love.

For something beautifully, achingly, breathtakingly dirty, try part 1 and part 2 of Parts for Wholes.

there's a cream for that...

2010-06-18T12:43:00.000-07:00

Bahahaha, this makes me laugh. Inwardly.

2010-06-13T15:44:00.000-07:00

This picture reminds me of Once when I was Young. 15, maybe. And I had a very pretty boyfriend with whom I was learning the beginnings of desire, and sex. And we had a friend, his friend first, Tony. Tony and I got on very well. He was kind, he was sweet, his father was an alcoholic, I think. He didn't talk about it much, but I think he needed a lot. I wish I'd been older, then, maybe, more for him. But. Oh well. Once we kissed a little, me and Tony, played around a little in my basement bedroom before he had to run for the last bus out of the little rural village I lived in. We'd run around town that day, seen a favoured band busking outside the indie record shop, held hands, there was something about the Violent Femmes but I can't remember what.

He came home with me and my boyfriend went home with someone else, and it was the beginning of the end of our eight week weenie love affair, sadly.

But, before all that, before, before, there was this one time that we were all out, hanging about in the sun, obnoxious and young and full of ourselves, us teenagers. Sitting against the wall at the bus stop, in a row. I walked up to Tony, where he sat, with his long legs stretched out, and planted my feet on either side of his spread thighs with a bounce. Stomp, stomp, with my ... hmm, docs, it must still have been, with flowery scarves for laces. And there I stood in front of him with my crotch more or less at face height. And he leaned forward, and kissed me. Right on the zip of my jeans, warm and sweet on my mons, no lower. And I shrieked, and leapt and ran, laughing, all of us laughing, with the kiss branded onto me. It must still be, somehow.

Hot Fuck Sunday, late again

2010-06-01T07:10:00.000-07:00

Oh, Logan, I have neglected thee. And you have a new website. And look what's on it!!

I'd offer to help, of course, but I have a bad track record ... last time I tried that I instantly shaved a stripe into someone's head. So I'd just have to blow all the hair off his neck instead.

2010-05-29T03:38:00.000-07:00

from SexandCandy

Think of the temptation... you'd be sure you couldn't, you shouldn't... but then maybe you couldn't resist just nibbling on her ear, just a little. Or licking her jawbone. Or even, taking her knickers off and getting your hand sticky between her thighs.

And the next thing you know, your partner, or the confectioner, would be walking in on you, bent over her, covered in chocolate and shame...

:)

* Excuse the hideous typos I was guilty of in this post... I have typo-blindness. Talking the knickers off a chocolate woman?? Oh dear...

Hot Fuck Sunday, one-day late

2010-05-24T02:06:00.000-07:00

water nymphs

I'd like to live in a culture where women bathe together. There's a story in the this, the way the water slowly embraces, the languid splish and splash of it lapping, the sluicing away of the sweat of the day in sunwarmed water, the caress of a soapy cloth, of soapy fingers sliding over smooth plump breasts and rounded stomachs. Water beading on soft limbs, hair piled up on heads, nipples stiffening in the cool air...