May 162006
 

Well I just spent an hour on a story that’s really bad. What I thought was a really cool idea while I was soaping up in the shower is less a cool idea when you put it on the screen and give it an objective look. Looks like my sudsy erect cock wasn’t such a good judge of story material after all.

Realizing a story is not worth finishing is a lot like bad sex. You get all worked up and ready to go but then things aren’t fitting, the bed’s scratchy and your mind starts to wonder. Before long you find yourself thinking about the season finale of C.S.I. Las Vegas and then you have to remind yourself, oh yeah, wasn’t I doing some sort of fucking?

Once I put a story down and consign it to the Great Recycle Bin of Doom, I like to go back through my e-mail and see what people thought of my other stories. I then trawl through my blog looking to see if there any new comments in month old posts. I’m a comment-slut and I treasure every comment like I would a lap dance from a flirting friend. The ratio of lurkers to actual commenters is astronomical so when someone does break down and comment, I know I must have really poked them in a good place.

Speaking of comments, let’s talk about Cell Phone Slave for a moment. One thing that keeps coming up in e-mails is the idea that people love the story but if Wesley requires Amaya to do _______, then they are out. Not that they would be unhappy, but that they would quit the story out right. That baffles me on so many levels.

I mean, I understand quitting a story that has no interest for you, but even when I read a book that starts great and turns bad, I end up finishing it. I finish it because I want to see if the ending made up for the middle. I want to know how it ends for my peace of mind. The semi blackmail e-mails I get make it very clear that if ____ happens, then they can release all emotional interest in the story. I get the feeling they tell me this as a pre-emptive threat though I think they see it as a courtesy. In the relationship of a writer and reader, they want to let me know that they are going to stop calling if I ever join a militia group. Some days I bristle at these e-mails and other days I am touched that they want to stick with me so they tell me what the deal breakers are.

What also interests me is that people are willing to tell me when they are willing to stop reading, but are they interested in what would make Amaya quit? If Amaya runs into _____ do they just assume as an erotica character that Amaya will do whatever is in front of her? And if she did do ____, aren’t the readers the least bit curious why she would do it?

Another thing about comments. I find that my comments on other people’s blogs are getting a little lengthy. It’s a leftover habit from Usenet and Message Boards where people were free to post novellas as long as it didn’t hijack the original intent of the thread. So far I have discussed hypothyroidism, why my wife and I are poly and why smart people watch bad porn. I’m not sure if it is rude to tell my experiences with the blogger’s comment section but I am going to watch myself. When everyone else limits themselves to four sentences, I feel like a hog taking up six paragraphs. What I am doing is keeping a notebook by my computer where I can jot down subjects I should most likely be discussing in my own blog anyway.

One last thing. If you are not reading BlogStormz, you really should be. In the last week I have already picked up so many new favorite blogs that my little sidebar is hopelessly outdated. Click that electric red box to the side and get rained on by great writers.

May 152006
 

I was in the tiny laundry closet. I was dumping an armful of white cottons into the washing machine. My wife was on her computer but her sixth sense kicked in. It told her my arms were full and I was unable to defend myself. Moments like these could not be ignored.

I was almost done when my wife walked into the laundry closet and slid her hands around my chest. Her fingers went straight for my nipples because that is where I am the most ticklish. I squirmed as she tickled, but I was also trying to stuff the rest of the clothes in so I can defend myself. She knew that once on a task, I couldn’t stop what I was doing even if I was being tickled. She knew my weaknesses that well.

Right as I was finished, she stopped tickling and slid her hands down to my boxers. Her hands slipped through my waistband and into my thick pubic hair. I went from squirming to stock still in an instant.

To read more, click Whole Post

“So, come here often?” she said. It was the oldest joke we had.

“Here?” I said. “Never.” My voice had matched her teasing tone.

“Would you like to?” she said. Her voice was still teasing. “Would you like to sit up on the washer while it runs and I blow you?”

“Yes,” I said. This time my voice was devoid of teasing, mockery or fun. I was dead serious and horny.

She laughed. A second of silence followed while she thought about it.

“All right, let’s do it.” Just like that, I’m in a sex scene from one of my stories. Sudden, spontaneous and I know I will never be able to reproduce this moment on purpose again.

She takes off her shirt because she knows I love a topless blowjob. I close the washer lid and turn the dial to Hot/Cold. Then I freeze. I’m thinking of my wife’s large tits, her mouth and her short curly blonde hair. She walks out of the closet for something and I’m staring at the washer machine when she returns.

“What are you waiting for?” she asks.

“I can’t remember how to start the washer machine.” She laughs but it’s true. I’m 33 and here I am blanking out like a teenager about to get laid. My wife reaches across and turns it on. I laugh with her and pull myself on top of the machine.

As soon as my ass was on top of the machine, a loud metallic POP rang out. We look at each other in horror. Did I just break the washer machine?

“It’s the lid, it flexed in,” I said.

She moves my cock out from my boxers. “We’ll look at it later.”

Oh yes.

My wife had pulled up a chair from the dining room. She must have done it when my brain had turned off trying to figure out the machine controls. It didn’t matter to me. I was just happy to be sitting there with my wife’s topless beauty before me. She was kneeling on the chair; just the right height for my cock and her mouth. The light from the kitchen came in and made her golden. Or maybe that was just my own slanted eyes. I don’t know. She just seemed like an angel at this moment. An Angel of Cock-sucking, but an Angel nonetheless.

The washer filled with water as my mouth sealed her mouth over my cock. I leaned back and hit my head on the shelf. The burst of pain on the back of my head didn’t even distract me. I tilted my head down and rested my back against the wall. I closed my eyes and gave myself to her tender sucking love.

Maybe a blowjob isn’t love, but this afternoon it was the most romantic thing I could imagine. Her fist pumped my cock while her mouth sealed over the tip. Her so wet mouth engulfed me while she moaned. I fell in love with her for the ten thousandth time as pumped my cock.

She stops and my heart breaks. I open my eyes to see her mouth open with an evil grin. She’s teasing me and I forgive her this terrible crime. Her tongue flickers out and pushes my cock left and right.

“I want the washer to be running,” she said.

I laugh. The washer is still filling with water. “No need to wait,” I say.

She laughs and takes my cock into her mouth. The oblivion of sensation is intoxicating. I forget about the bills, about the chores for today and about my family. Stress is literally sucked out of me by my lovely wife. She gives me the greatest gift and worships my cock with her mouth.

The washer is getting warm underneath my ass. Almost too hot but I don’t care. My wife is worshipping my cock, twisting her head as she goes up and down along my length. More and more she takes into her mouth until I feel like I am fucking her.

She pulls my hand to her hair and I groan. It’s her way of giving me permission and I take it. I grip her curly hair in my hand like I own her. Like she is mine to spank, cage, flog and fuck. Her curly hair fills my hand and I feel her breath flaring onto my crotch. I’m rolling my hips, sliding in and out of her mouth while she keeps sucking. It’s a brief illusion but when my hand is in her hair, I feel like a Dom again fucking the mouth of my slave.

I used her mouth till she rises for air. The illusion fades as I let go of her hair. She’s panting and that is so fucking hot. I don’t say anything. I just reach for a breast and bend down to take the nipple into my mouth. Instead of a short break for breathing, she’s moaning from my flickering tongue. I suck and nibble until I move to her other breast. A short desperate moan came from her lips and I know she wishes it was her on the washer and me in the chair. The greedy side of me says ‘too bad’. I move back and forth from breast to breast as I take my fill. I never get tired of taking her golden orbs into my mouth and I could have done it forever but I was interrupted by a new sound.

The washer had started.

My wife gets that grin. The one that says she has a new toy to play with and she can’t wait to try it. The washer is vibrating now and she wants to see its effect. She dives for my cock again and I release her hair. There are times for slaves and a time to be mauled by an eager woman.

I bang my head again on the washer shelf again. The pain is twice as intense but fades three times as fast. Being sucked is a great pain reliever.

I close my eyes while my wife blows me. She is sucking hard now, licking my tip furiously while her cheeks cave in. I can feel her glasses cold against my skin when she goes all the way down. Her mouth is so wet; I can feel spit dribbling down onto my balls. It makes me so hard to know she is literally drooling for my cock.

The washer is going full speed now. The agitator is pumping up and down very loudly. It sounds like sex; wet, mechanical powerful pistons of sex drilling away at some beautiful mechanical cunt. The sound fills the small laundry closet we are in. The pounding surrounds us and wraps us in the noise of penetration.

My hands gripped to the sides of the washer and I lift my hips. I’m not thinking, I’m just doing. I’m thrusting now. The plunging of the agitator is setting the tempo and I somehow manage to keep pace. My wife groans and keeps sucking as I pound her mouth. I don’t know if she knows what is driving me but she can tell when I am lost in the fury of sex. Her lips become looser so I can freely fuck them, which means that wet slurping sounds have added to the drumbeat of the machine’s thrusting. My own groans add to the mix and I felt like we were in the middle of a sonic orgy.

The bliss of orgasm struck me and I froze in mid thrust. My wife froze as well, staying still as she prepared for the shooting of my seed. Her fingers and lips were so tight, I could feel every spurt.

One spurt,

another,

another,

And then she relaxed her fingers. I continued to climax. My growl of pleasure now filled the laundry closet while the washer machine continued its ceaseless fucking.

My wife sat up, smiling at me in that proud arrogant way she always did when she makes me climax. I love her for it. She is like me in so many ways except she is a hot beautiful blonde.

“I love you,” I said.

“You better,” she said. It was another joke we had developed over the thirteen years. I don’t know why, but in that moment I realized how lucky I was to still be in love with my wife when our own parents had either already divorced and should have at this point. Maybe because it was Mother’s Day or maybe because it was just the right time, I got a glimpse of how fortunate we really were.

“No, I really love you,” I said. “And I hope we never change.”

She smiled. She knew what I meant but it was impossible for her not to crack a smile.

“You mean you hope you never stop getting blowjobs,” she said.

We laughed. I wondered if this would be a new joke we would be repeating over and over again for another thirteen years.

May 142006
 

I’m going to talk about my mother and things will get a little dark, depressing and uncomfortable. I can promise you there is a happy ending but if you choose to skip all the nastiness then I don’t blame you. I think there should be places where you go to escape the worse of everyday life. If my blog is one of those places for you, then feel free to skip this post.

If you are curious about my mother, my childhood and where I started writing erotica, then click Whole Post.

My mom came from a military family. She was the second youngest and terribly jealous of her youngest sister. I think that’s why she got married at 16 to Vietnam vet and had me by the time she was 17. If you look at those photos, you can see how happy and radiant she was to be the center of attention.

The marriage was over by the time I was four. I have almost no memories of my father but the stories my grandparents tell me are chilling. He was into drugs, and some days he would get out of his mind and beat up my mom. He liked to teach me to be afraid of things by doing stuff like burning me on purpose, holding my head under water during baths and dangling me from heights. Considering I am still dealing with phobias regarding all three, I believe their stories.

What I do remember is living with my mom in an apartment. She was a single mother and she was my best friend. She didn’t have many friends and so neither did I but it was cool. I loved my mom like crazy because she was my idol. She was mother and father figure to me.

Because of that, I always saw women as equals if not better. I never teased girls in my nursery homes. I always got along with girls and I would fight any boy that made a girl cry. That attitude has stuck with me all my life.

My mom married my step-father when I was 7. He was okay to me. In fact, I got spoiled a lot. Star Wars had just started and for my 8th Christmas, I had every single damn toy Kenner put out for Star Wars. My cousins on my step-fathers side hated me and his family saw me as a spoiled brat. I probably was.

Things changed when my brother was born. I was eight. The spoiling transferred to my brother and I was jealous. What really hurt though was the attention focused to. In our photo albums during those years, the only pictures of me was when I was in the shot with my brother.

I complained to my mom, who was still my best friend. You may be surprised to find out she agreed. My brother was more important than her now to our step-father. As a 9 year old boy, I should really not be aware that my mom was jealous of my brother but there you go.

Then my sister was born when I was ten and my mom picked her as the favorite child. It’s really that simple. Sure they were young but my brother and sister never had a single whim go unserved. If a two year old wanted to switch bedrooms, then my parents seriously considered it and called me selfish for wanting to keep the place I slept. It was a crazy time.

Puberty gave me an escape though. My parents never discussed sex or for that matter, allowed me to listen to the radio for fear of hearing about sex. Lucky for me, I found my step-father’s old Playboy and Penthouse stash from the 70’s. I would get up at five in the morning and raid the storage room for porn. I was 13 or 14 at the time.

Penthouse was my favorite because they had Penthouse Forum. This is where allegedly readers wrote in about their sexual adventures. I know now that paid writers supplied all the porn but to a kid who lived in a household where we had to call Dolly Parton’s movie,’ The Best Chicken Ranch in Texas’, finding out that others had sex and enjoyed it was an amazing discovery. I felt less like a freak and more like a normal person.

Porn however became the front line in my fights with my parents. When my parents discovered my porn stash, they at first thought it was hilarious. They took it away and laughed about how I didn’t know what to do with it. The second time they discovered it, it turned into a serious contest of wills. They told me no, and I still was disobeying them?

Raiding my bedroom became such a common occurrence that my brother and sister, barely 6 and 8, would help out. I remember very clearly my sister, maybe 4 or 5, stomping into the living room holding a Playboy and punching me in the leg screaming, “You get no allowance!”

It became the family narrative. Shon was a dirty disobeying liar and thief who stole stuff that didn’t belong to him from a virtuous step-father who worked so hard at his job and came from simple farmer background. Mom was the sainted mother with a pervert for a child.

My friends could never understand how a straight A nerd could be grounded so many times. I used to tell my friends’ parents how I was grounded because I got a single B. It was a petty thing to do but I got my joys where I could.

So in this tense family situation, my mother and I were no where as close as we used to be. Then her father was diagnosed with Lou Gehric’s disease. This guy was a veteran of WWII, Korea and Viet Nam and now he needed help being rolled over in the middle of the night. I worshipped my tough mean as hell grandfather and so did my mom. When he couldn’t take care of himself, my mom had him live with us.

My mom and I took care of him as he degenerated and it will have to deserve it’s own post in the future. As hard as it was to wipe your own grandfather’s ass, I can’t imagine what it was like for my mom. My grandfather did not become one of those sweet crippled people who spouts wisdom. No, he got more and more bitter. He demanded, complained, bitched and critiqued every step of the way. I don’t blame him for doing that, but it just made things even harder for my mom and me. Though, in taking care of him we became closer again.

I was still stashing porn from my step-father and it was still pissing him off. I didn’t care though. He hated my grandfather and wouldn’t have anything to do in the taking care of him. I really started to hate my step-father and I couldn’t understand why my mom loved him. I figured it was because my stepfather was a hard worker honest man like she always said.

My grandfather died. My aunts and uncles who had nothing to do with his care, showed up to split his inheritance. My stepfather was their biggest opponent, fighting to take as much as he could too. It was disgusting all around.

My grandfather died when I was 14. Life went back to normal. I kept sneaking porn from my stepfather’s stashes and I kept getting punished for it. My mom withdrew and from me and joined my stepfather in demonizing me. I started writing my own porn as a way to do something that wouldn’t be recognized as porn. I wrote long notebooks about silly adolescent fantasies and it kept me going. I never shared those stories but I was still proud of them.

When I was 18, my parents stunned me by divorcing. My mom explained that she caught my stepfather on his third affair and he was out of chances. She then recounted every scummy thing my stepfather did which included molesting one of my female cousins, embezzling from the last three jobs he had and sleeping with every one of my mom’s female friends.

It was one of the weirdest moments in my life. I went from being the demon pervert child with angelic parents to being perhaps the most honest one of them all. I see now how my bad behavior was something they could distract themselves with, but at that moment I realized all the suffering, shame and punishments I went through was just to cover for their lousy marriage.

Fuckers.

My mom had intended to live in our house with me and my siblings. That didn’t work out because my father had embezzled again and our house was being seized. My mom had a brilliant plan though. She wanted me to join the marines, and then I could support her and my siblings. I shit you not. Instead, I scrambled and got a scholarship to go to a university far away from home. I wanted my own life and I just didn’t trust her any more.

I tried staying in touch with her over the years. She remarried another guy who this time was a super conservative right wing nut. I tried to visit her every few months but she would change so much between visits. I remember discussing Star Trek Voyager once and she said it was a stupid show because they had a woman captain and women just aren’t strong enough to be in charge. My mom, who raised me as a single parent and taught me to see women as equals, now saw them as inherently inferior.

My sister came out of the closet as a lesbian and my mom disowned her. I still can’t rationalize that.

When I moved to Atlanta, it was right after the 2004 elections. I tried to make peace with my mom one last time. We had a great lunch and actually had a good time. Then she wanted to know who I voted for, and then spent the next hour bitching me out for voting Democrat. This was the last time we were going to see each other for years, and she wanted to demonize me one more time for voting for a guy who ended up losing.

Through my brother I found out my mom joined a religious group in the mountains. They raise foster kids in some sort of Christian boot camp. My latest stepfather reluctantly went with her where they live on some commune now.

When I heard that, I realized that my mom craved having someone in charge. She adopted their personalities, their values and their rules no matter what. I also had a creepy realization that she was very submissive and that should would go from one abusive relationship to the next.

My own wife who I adore, is exactly what I misperceived my mother to be. My wife is stubborn, independent, strong, a dominant personality and will stand up to me on anything. My wife is my partner and no matter if I am writing porn, staring at someone as trashy as Carmen Electra or enjoying a guilty pleasure like mud-wrestling, she doesn’t judge me.

I still need a submissive in my life though. Trust me, I have spent a lot of time wondering if my need for a submissive comes from some strange wish to be the one my mom loved instead of my asshole stepfather. Therapy had already been spent on the subject and I can say, with professional level medical opinion proof that my need for a submissive stems from a creative sexual power dynamic desire. I want to live my own erotica. I want to continue my love of being erotically creative that I started when I was a teenager and apply that creativity to a BDSM relationship. Being erotically creative has been my comfort food for close to 20 years now. Having a submissive is a lot like having a canvas.

So, here’s to my mother. She is most likely in need of a lot of therapy and I really wish she would stop being a bitch to my sister. I think she was a lousy parent but somehow through it all I am who I am and I know I wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t for her and her mistakes.

If you have a mom that loves you, nurtured you and didn’t make shaming you a hobby, then you better damn well let her know how much that means today. If you manage to read through all this, thank you for letting me vent and share my frustrations. I hope in some way you found it helpful.

May 132006
 

Sugasm #33

Fri 12th May, 06

This week’s best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Sorry for the late posting – I had a few family emergencies come up. Everything that was submitted after the 8th is already set for #34. Want in Sugasm #34? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist by the end of Monday night and you’re all set.

NSFW Pics

There Are Some Things Out There… (pornster.blogspot.com)

Angelique and Ivonne on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)

Lea in Lacey Blue by Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)

Two Galleries of Rookie Babe Hottie Mia (sensualarousalblog.com)

A Red-headed Peach (internetisforporn.com)

HNT: Two for the Price of One (seanandmel.blogspot.com)

Abby Winters: Diana and Fuji (ethnorotica.com)

Exclusive – Justine Joli, Panties (tgp.com)

Funny

No Matter Who They Are… (janeluvsdick.com)

Conversation with the Lead Burly Dude (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex

Festering Degenerates (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)

Can Someone Be Cheerful and Sexy at the Same Time? (seska4lovers.com)

A Typical Spanking Model? (adelehaze.com)

Actions and Reactions (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)

A Solo Career (gentlebutfirm.blogspot.com)

Not What It Appears To Be (damnjezebel.com)

Hair (gentlygently.blogspot.com)

I Just Wanna Make Love To You – or, American Closet Mystics (Re)Unite! (totalsensuality.blogspot.com)

A Sticky Situation (wanklog.blogspot.com)

Diddling for Dollars (herknees.com)

More Sugasm…

Join the Sugasm

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Sexy Reviews, Sex Advice

The Big Question (blog.babeland.com)

If You Want Her (or Him) to Swallow… (spiritsex.blogspot.com)

There’s a Vas Deferens Between Men and Women (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

Advice – Threesomes (part 1) (seskuality.com)

Testing a Tyre Paddle (spankingwriters.com)

Sex Toy Review: The Remote Controlled Egg (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)

Erotic Writing

Teenagers Again (the-sensuous-libertine.blogspot.com)

Eye to Eye (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com)

Say It (pleasinglydebauched.blogspot.com)

Does This Look Sexual to You? (avahsascent.blogspot.com)

Her (ropegirl.blogspot.com)

Tell Me (easilyaroused.co.uk)

Gettin’ Neighborly (taratainton.com)

My First Gangbang (drtycplinva.blogspot.com)

A 6 with a 9 Nightcap (thetastetester.com)

Post-Semester Phone Fuckery (talkingdirtyblog.com)

BDSM / Fetish

Inspired by… Someone (stockingaffair.com)

How to NOT Fuck an Egg (humiliation) (spoiledebonyprincess.com)

Humiliating Tiny Dicks Endlessly (phonesexsub.com)

Saturday (masterenigma.blogspot.com)

Bathroom Trips (annies-submission.blogspot.com)

Adventures in Cookie Peddling (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com)

Will You Pee in my Mouth? (On Fetishes) (4thegirlnextdoor.blogspot.com)

I Like it Like That (moonstruck.typepad.com)

Fiction – Proper Form (erotiterrorist.blogspot.com)

Getting in Touch with the Inner Lizard (principalquattrano.vixenblogs.com)

Case Study of a Femme Fatale (sabrinainstockings.com)

The cutie in the glasses, Mia, is c/o Sensual Arousal Blog.

 BDSM  Comments Off on Sugasm # 33
May 132006
 

I decided to give AudioBlogger another try. This time I wanted to tell a pretty short story and make it audio based. It was a story that I thought was pretty sexy. My voice went weird in a few places but I figured I would wait till it was up to decide on whether to keep it. I recorded it on Audioblogger and waited.

And waited.

Well after ten minutes I decided to try again. I re-recorded it and this time my voice was much better. Then I waited.

And when it still didn’t post, I went radical. I started a new blog under a new screen name just for the purposes of getting my audioblog posts. this time I also rewrote a little of it and it was much smoother.

That didn’t work either.

Well crap.

So next I tried using Windows Sound Recorder on my PC. I can always find a host site, right? It went pretty well till the damned recorder shut me off halfway. Apparently a minute is as long a sound file as it will make.

Sigh.

I could offer to read it to you each individually but the phone charges might get a little much. I’ll just have to wait till I get some sort of technical answer.

In the mean time, Wrygirl gave me a nice little recognition for the productive week I’ve been having. Wow. After years of struggling to get my confidence and writing back to where it was, you have no idea how much this means to me. I have felt really good about myself this week and this nice honor, even if its only for a week, really reaffirms how I am feeling. Thank you from the bottom of my perverse heart.

As for the Erotica Alert, I have this bad feeling that at 8 at night, my Blog is going to have multiple late Audioblog posts arrive. You’ve been warned. Have duct tape and lotion ready.

****Update- I was close. It was 9pm lol. I’ve got four copies floating around I think the one posted works best. ****

May 122006
 

Christine lived for Fridays. That was the night that her husband went off to his friend’s house and watched movies, played videogames and for all Christine knew, went cruising for hookers into the late hours of the night. It was the night that her husband was so busy being a male jerk with his guy friends that he didn’t give a rat’s ass what Christine did with her time.

He actually thought she hung out with her coworkers for drinks.

It was Friday morning but Christine was here, parking in her lover’s driveway instead of heading to work. She slammed the door to the car and rushed up the steps. Usually they don’t meet till after she got off work but this morning, he sent her a text message requesting her to stop by before heading to work. No explanation was offered, but that wasn’t unusual. Christine’s lover was not the explaining type.

He answered on the third knock. Christine groaned when she saw he was dressed only in his boxers. The cock she had grown to love was pushing against the loose fabric. It was hard and Christine thought she knew why he had called.

“I don’t have time,” Christine said. “I’ll be late for work.”

“Yes you will be late,” he said. “So start working on your excuse now.”

Click whole Post to Continue Reading


He took her hand and pulled her gently into his house. The closing of the door sealed off the outside world and Christine went to kiss him. He kissed her back but broke it off much too soon.

“Open your blouse,” he said. “Quickly.”

She obeyed. Her fingers moved fast under the urgency of his command. She bared herself to him, hoping that he appreciated the scarlet bra she had picked for their rendezvous tonight.

Instead, he reached for a purple marker he had set beside the door. He uncapped it and turned back towards her. While she held her blouse open, he reached inside her bra and pulled her breast out of the cup.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making you a promise for tonight,” he said. Across the top of her nipple he very carefully wrote a four letter word. The pen was cold against her skin and Christine shivered. Then she shivered again as she read what he had written.

It was the word ‘BITE’.

He gave her nipple a very brief, almost reverent kiss and then he blew across the letters to make them dry faster. Then he put her breast back into her bra cup. Her lover reached into the other cup and pulled her breast free. Christine stood there, still holding her blouse open as he wrote another word across this nipple with the cold marker.

This time the word was ‘PINCH’.

He blew again across the letters and Christine moaned. She looked down to see her nipple was hard but somehow, she knew that he wouldn’t fulfill that promise right now. She would have to wait all day till tonight.

“Turn around and show me your back,” he said.

Christine turned around. He used much bigger letters this time as he wrote across her shoulders. As he wrote, she slowly figured out what he wrote by the chills he made on her back.

He wrote, ‘MOUNT ME’.

“Put your blouse on and take off your pants,” he said.

Christine did as he said. She worried about the ink staining her blouse but she still did as he asked. Clothes can be washed or replaced. Her lover’s pride in her was much harder to replace.

She dropped her pants to her ankles. Christine went ahead and slid her black panties down as well. Her body was tingling and she wanted to make sure her lover made promises everywhere.

He didn’t disappoint. Kneeling down so that he was eye level with her sex, he took his pen in hand and wrote right above her pubic hair line. Painstakingly he wrote his word and when she realized what it was, she couldn’t help clench at the thought.

The word was ‘FUCK’.

His hand gripped around a thigh and forced her legs apart. Above the knee and stretching in large letters towards her sex he wrote his word. The marker no longer chilled her but then again, perhaps it was the heat of the promises of tonight that kept her toasty.

He wrote ‘PART’.

Christine could feel how wet she was when he wrote the same word on her other thigh. Forget work. Forget her husband. Forget all the hundreds of reasons she should not be here. Christine just wanted to crawl into the bedroom and surrender to her lover all day today, tomorrow and for the rest of your life.

“Turn around,” he said.

Hobbled by her pants and panties around her ankles, Christine turned around the best she could. She felt his breath on her ass and her cheeks tightened. The bite she was expecting never came. Instead of sharp teeth, it was the wet tracing of the marker. Down each buttock, spaced perfectly along the curve of her bottom her wrote:

S

P

A

N

K

“Okay, pull your pants back up,” he said.

She groaned. No fingers on her sex. No slap of his hand on her bottom. No quick slip of his cock into her. He was really going to make her wait.

He stayed behind her as she redressed. It was a small relief because Christine wasn’t sure she couldn’t keep her face from scowling. He was making her late for work and making her terribly horny. She knew that tonight would all be worth it but for now, she was just frustrated and wet.

“Wait,” he said. His hand took a hold of her long hair and curled it around his fist. Christine swallowed hard. Maybe he would spank her after all.

Instead, she felt the marker touch her neck right below her hair. She knew that spot. It was where his jaws would come down on her when they made love. It was where he bit her like a tiger as he pushed himself inside her.

“Oh please, no,” she said. “People will see.”

“Not if you’re careful” he said.

She felt the words but she wasn’t ready for them. It took her by surprise, more so than anything else he did today. When he was done, he kisses her again on the lips and told her to go to work. In a daze she left his house. Marked nine times by him in ways no one would see. Ways no one should see.

When she got in her car, she took out her compact. It wasn’t east to hold her hair up and catch the reflection of the back of her neck in both the rear view mirror and the compact, but she did it. She only saw it for a moment before her eyes misted over. The purple letters were locked in her mind.

He had written, “LOVE ME”.

May 122006
 

Compliments are funny things.

Today I took someone’s Half Nekkid Thursday picture and put it up as my wallpaper on my computer. I did it because the image was exactly what I want to see and it got me thinking dirty thoughts. Dirty thoughts are nice because when I sit down to my computer, I want my wallpaper to spark dirty thoughts and get my writing going right there.

Now I would like to tell this person that I put up their picture up as wallpaper but that strikes me as semi-stalkerish. Sure they put that image out there for the world to see, but do they really want to know that I have that image super-sized across my screen and that when company comes over, they’ll be seeing her too? Do they want to know that my wife will be checking it out and will make some comment about my weakness for ______? Do they want to know their body will be contributing to my output for the week? Heck, if I write a really violent story that just happens to be percolating inside me, will they freak out and re-examine their picture wondering how in the world it inspired a story about junkyard orgies?

On a stranger note, it feels like I am picking favorites. I love half Nekkid Thursday because it makes me look at my body in a way I am not used to doing. I approach myself as a sexual object worthy of photographing. I see that same approach in my favorite image posters and I love each and every one of them. If I say, hey, so-and-so’s image today is now plastered across 19 inches of monitor I feel like I am somehow saying the other lovely images just weren’t sexy enough. They were, they just didn’t coincide with what I was thinking right now. Half nekkid Thursday is one of the most sex positive things I have seen. I don’t ever want to fuck it up for someone.

So here’s to you, unknowing contributor to my erotic state of mind. Today you struck gold with me and I wasn’t willing to let you go just yet. I’ll be looking at your image for a nice long time and who knows what stories may come. You did great today and I really appreciate it.

May 092006
 

My wife and I are pretty nice people. We think a lot about other people’s perspectives and we work extra hard to make sure that we don’t offend or hurt people. We are just that sweet.

Now the hard part for us is that we spend a lot of time together and we are soaking in a sweet environment and then we go outside and the bus driver snarls at us. Or a coworker just says something petty and mean about us. Unexplained hostility baffles us, and for the longest time we didn’t know how to cope. We would break our backs to be nice to these assholes and try to win them over. Or worse, we would be really hurt that the asshole hurt us, and we wondered what we had done to anger them.

One day I had an epiphany. I was reading a book and there was this asshole character. As a writer, I recognized that the asshole existed to give the main character grief. The asshole didn’t have a life, or a background or even a spouse as far as the reader was concerned. The asshole was there to be a pain in the ass and for the main character to show us something of the character’s nature by interacting with him. I got to thinking about the asshole in the book and realized I would never see any more depth than what his role was.

My epiphany was that I realized that there are a lot of people in real life that are just assholes. They have been picked out of a Cosmic Cast for the role. Now, my compassionate understanding side knows that every asshole in the world has a reason. Maybe the coworker was abused as a child. Maybe the asshole waiter is in a loveless marriage. Maybe, just maybe, the asshole enjoys being an asshole. The thing is, we don’t know. Only very rarely will we get to see the spin-off story that details why the asshole is an asshole. They might have a cool origin story that justifies them but for now, in the Book that is your life, you will never read that part. You are stuck with them as they are: An asshole. They literally have the same worth of attention as evil foot soldier in a fantasy novel. Do you really want to sit down and find out why the Orc hates Elves so much? He just does.

I took this attitude and started applying it. It doesn’t matter if you think life is governed by Karma, or by God or by Space Aliens living in lava, you can only live the life that was written for you or that you write yourself. In this big giant Novel, there are too many characters to cast and the Cosmic Writer only has so much space to detail these characters. You have to learn to prioritize.

If I told you that your life was only 1000 pages long, do you really want fifty of those pages to be about how your asshole coworker makes you feel bad? Of course not. You only have 1000 pages, save those pages for the sexy coworker you really want to know about. Or for your family. Or for yourself. Every moment you waste on the asshole in your life is pages taking away from your Novel. I know some novels are about how the grumpy old guy became a wonderful kind person but you know, that’s the Asshole’s novel not yours. You got shit to do and adventures to have.

Now if you are married this asshole, well, that’s a whole other problem. I do suggest this though. How much time that person sucks out of your novel is within your power. You can cut them out completely, or you can relegate them to bit character role. And if they get upset that you have marginalized them to bit character role and start pushing back to become more of a starring Asshole role, well, I think you know it’s time drop them out of the book altogether.

What surprised me about thinking like this is I have lost a lot of my anger when dealing with assholes. Some guy insults me on a blog comment or a forum, they get busted down to Bit Character Asshole. Someone I work with is being unreasonable, I try to make the situation better but I don’t lose any sleep on why they are a pain in my ass. They just are. I think about them as much as I think about the Token Jerk on an office sitcom.

As human beings, it’s okay to want to know why assholes are assholes. It’s compassionate to want to improve their mood. I’m just asking that before you waste time, energy and pages out of your life, that you take a moment and consider that they just might be Assholes assigned to the role of pissing on your day. Then I want you to consider if you really want that kind of a Novel. If you’re anything like me, you’d rather be spending that energy looking for the Femme Foil in your Novel.