HOLY HELL - has it been that long....

Wow. It's been a long time since I've posted. In fact, I seem to have neglected this blog altogether. I'm so sorry.

I won't bore you to death with tales of writers block and shit happening at home. I will say that I've made lifestyle changes, for the better. Hopefully more good things will follow.

In the meantime, I figured I'd post something - anything - that was creative and in the erotica vein.

I don't have anything complete, but what I do have are a bunch of WIP's (works in progress for you non-writer types).

Sooooo, in order for me to not feel like a total failure, I'm going to post one of those.

Let me know what you think.




Tonight, I wanted you.

Shamefully, embarrassingly, desperately wanted you. I know I shouldn't, for so very many reasons. But then again, I've never been one to pay attention to rules, let alone play by them.

I wanted your attention. I was a whore for it. I dressed the part - short, flirty skirt with knee high fuck-me boots. Holey sweater with tight glittered tank beneath. Red - festive.

Glittery eyes - black and red. The night's theme.

Laughter throughout the night. Side glances down the table. Comments and innuendos, playful, flirty, fraught with meaning, hints.

Dares.

Whipped cream on my coffee, lifted by a scarlet tipped finger, sucked into glossy lips and a promising smile.

Did you notice? Were you aware of me as I was of you, when I grabbed your arm and leaned in a little closer than normal? Could you smell my arousal, my thighs slick under my skirt? My black and red thong was no help against the rush of lust that coated my skin. Simply because you were near.

Had it been you driving me home, would I have made it there? I was drunk. But not so much so that I wouldn't have known what I was doing. That what I was doing wasn't what I wanted.

I would have dragged you to me, tasting smoke and beer on your lips. Pressed my body to yours. In my heels, I was almost your height.

Would you have read the signs? Could you tell that a tilt of my head, leaving my neck exposed is an invitation to nibble, or lick? Would we have moved to the backseat, where we could shed some winter layers, lying skin to skin? Or would we just have made out in the parking lot like two horny teenagers who couldn't get enough?

Or would it have been worth the speeding ticket to get me to your place, into your bed, where you could have me, how you wanted me, whichever way you wanted?

And will it still be there tomorrow, I wonder as I lay in bed, my hand drifting down to stroke my smooth lips, slipping into myself as I picture your smile, and hear your voice. Would the lust still fill me with a want so hot that it burned me from the inside out?

My fingers lightly pet my sensitive clit, the sensations beginning already.

Liquid courage.

What happens when the drink wears off - but the want is still there?

Too many places to hide.

No place to hide for long.


Comments?