The MizAdventurez of Miz Angell

2012 already???

2012-02-13T10:52:00.000-05:00

WOW - has it really been so long since I've been back?

So sorry. *hanging head in shame*

Life's been a little, complicated, if you will. My personal life is being shaken up like a martini, and my writing has suffered greatly because of it. And I'm so disorganized that it hurts sometimes. I know a few writers who can understand that. I am making more of an effort to be organized though, and hopefully it'll all come together soon enough.

I've done a few submissions, and worked on a few of my WIP's. But mostly, I'm mourning. Not just my father, but my grandfather who passed on January 22. Suddenly, I have more responsbilities and I'm wondering how I'll ever get anything done.

Today is the one year annivesary of my dad's passing. And I'm thinking about where my life is going. And at the moment, it's nowhere. I'm stagnant once again. I have to find a way to move forward. I have all the ambition in the world, until it comes to actually getting it done. My to-do list is ridiculously long. And at the top of it is "get your shit together woman!" Of course that's been at the top since I graduated high school, all those oh-so-many years ago.

It's not just professionally, it's personally. I have friends who are always asking when we can get together, and it seems like there's never enough time - when in reality it's just a matter of getting my ass in my car and going. I know there's time to do everything - but then we're back to that organizational issue.

But I'm determined to get it done. Somehow, sometime, some way...yeah, all stuff I've said before.

Friends, readers, loved ones - bear with me.

I'll eventually get it right.

And I feel the need to post this for my daddy....

(sorry about the tears)

It's like the Great Wall of China up there...

2011-12-20T11:54:00.000-05:00

I'm talking in my head.

The writers block. The wall is so high that if you cut my skull open, I'm sure it could be seen from space.

But I'm not going to complain - not now. Because it's Christmas, and it's a tough one already. Not one day has gone by this month that I haven't cried. But that's to be expected, right?

I know my dad would want me to go on - to have the Christmas spirit and continue all the traditions that we've established.

We're lucky we got the tree up this year.

My mom can't listen to any music - hasn't been able to since he passed. When she's not home, I put on the carols. Try to get some Christmas spirit going.

We used to have a "war" in the house - Jimmy Buffet's Christmas Island v. The Carpenters Christmas Album. Guess who's was who's? It kind of left the kids in the middle. My brother didn't care too much. Me? I love both.

So I've been listening to both.

Now, unfortunately, I don't know how to put something up on youtube. And my dad's favourite Jimmy song isn't on there. It's called Merry Christmas Alabama (Never Far From Home). I'd love to put it up here for everyone to listen to. (If anyone can figure out how I can do that, please LMK).

What I will do is put up one of my favourite carols - sung by the incomparable Lea Michele (yes she's on Glee, but her vocals are just incredible).

Hopefully I can find a way to make a few more posts before the holidays are over.

I think it's what my dad would have wanted.

Merry Christmas, every one.

EPIC Fail....

2011-11-28T10:45:00.000-05:00

*hanging head in shame*

Ok, so in my last entry, I was determined to finish NaNoWriMo. I was set on my path that I was going to accomplish something this time around.

I am sad to report that this wasn't the case.

Not only did I not complete NaNo - I didn't even get it started! I haven't written one word all month! And I am so ashamed.

Unfortunately, reality - as much as we'd like to shove it aside - does get in the way. And in my world, that reality consists of a whole lot of family issues, two jobs, health problems, and general mental breakdowns. The latter of which are happening way too often for me to be comfortable with. I mean, I have no issues with admitting I'm a little nutsy-fagan. But lately I've begun wondering if I should be measured for the lovely white jackets, and put in a request for a decorator for my local rubber room.

It's nothing for you to worry about, my dear friends. I'm not going to go stereo-typical crackout and climb a clock tower with a rifle. And I don't have any desires to cause myself any harm (or others for that matter).

I just tend to float in and out of reality for awhile each day. My brain shuts off far more than I'd like it to. I'm convinced it's a defense mechanism. But against what - I'm not too sure.

I do plan on getting back into the swing of it all. I have a few submissions that I need to get in order for their deadlines. I promised myself I'd get to work on my website. And I do have to choose my next class.

Christmas is coming - that in itself brings a whole lot of family issues this year. And, I hate to say it, I'm dreading it's arrival. It's my first one without my father, and my grandfather (who's been in hospital for almost three months) might not be here to see it. It's going to be a tough one, that's for sure.

So, while I didn't accomplish my goal this year, I'm going to forgive myself. And promise to do better next year.

It's heeeeeeere.....

2011-11-01T09:45:00.002-05:00

And so it begins.

Yes, it is November.

Yes, it is NaNo time. (NaNoWriMo for those of you who just got back from Guam).

That one month of the year where anyone who fancies themselves a writer frantically puts pen to paper, fingers to keyboards, and heads to desks in an effort to complete the daunting task of finishing a novel (50,000 words) in 30 days.

Are YOU one of those brave souls? This year, once again, I will be one of them. Maybe this year, I'll finish.

For the third year in a row, I accept the challenge. Now - accepting and completing are two totally different things. Because, as with everything we WANT to do, reality gets in the way with things we HAVE to do.

Like work. Job #2 requires that I sign my soul away for ten days every November. Sleep and I become estranged, as do nutrition and I. I learn to survive on five hour energy drinks, many jolts of caffeine in different forms, nicotine, and sugar - lots and lots of sugar. All in all, once the 14th of November hits, I will have completed, between BOTH my jobs, about 130 hours of work - give or take. Which isn't bad if it was evenly spread out throughout those ten days. But it's not.

And then, factor in daily requirements - laundry, general housework - which somehow multiply in those ten days, and find the time to socialize with family where the conversation consists of more than monosyllabic grunts of "Hi." "Fine." and "G'night."...well, you see where I'm going with this.

All in all - real life does not want me to complete NaNo. But damn it! *I* want to finish NaNo this year.

And so I shall.

Somehow,

someway.

Someone said to me "But you finished NaPoWriMo. Surely you can do this." Ummm, well...did you see the word count requirement? FIFTY. THOUSAND. WORDS. National Poetry Writing Month was free form - really, the only rule was to write a poem a day. No word count.

This task is a little different. More of a challenge. More frightening, more daunting, more, everything. But I shall persevere.

I. SHALL. CONQUER.

To all my fellow scribes participating - I wish you the best of luck. If you are participating and you want to be writing buddies - you know, for moral support, bitching, and all that - just look me up.

My writing name? Angellz - of course. :D

And let's start this month off with a rocking anthem - cuz I'm gonna Do Things MY Way.

Take it away boys.

Don't Pay the Ransom!

2011-10-19T09:02:00.000-05:00

That's something I will always remember my father for. Whenever he & my mother would come home late, he'd enter the house with "Don't pay the ransom! We're home." And it never failed to make me smile.

So, honey - I'm home.

(kicking off shoes and sitting with a glass of wine) Would you like some?

I know it's been almost three weeks since a posting. Real life does tend to get in the way of things we really want to do sometimes. My hats go off to Sommer Marsden, Aisling Weaver, Alison Tyler and the whole lot of lovely, sexy ladies that keep us knee deep (or higher) in seductive prose and erotic tales. I'm almost done my fourth class towards my publishing certificate, and I'm finding out that editing is hard work. I mean, I didn't think it was sunshine and roses, but neither did I realize what a complex process it is, that needs to be handled delicately lest you bruise the writers fragile ego.

However, I'm finding out PDQ that becoming an editor - a successful one - might not be in the cards for me. I don't quite have the analytical mind that is required to sharpen, and examine, the various elements that will make a story publishable. (I keep getting stuck on premise - for some reason, while I can get it straight in my head, it doesn't follow through on the paper).

I think I might be ok with that. If nothing else, these classes will sharpen my skills as a writer, and show me what type of editors I will need to hire when (not if) I open my house.

Until then, I am quite happy with the work I produce. As few and far between as the pieces are right now, next week is my final class, and then I will have two months in which to spend all my free time writing ( you'll have free time? who are you kidding?)

Gleep!

So the voice is right. Between two jobs, Christmas fast approaching, family stuff to deal with, and of course, mapping & planning out my website, the house business, etc (and let's not forget your aim to actually FINISH NaNoWriMo this year...), free time will be scarce.

But there should be enough time to finish a WIP or two and get started on a few pieces I plan on submitting.

So, thanks for still being here. It means a lot. I promise to be home more.

But, next time, you bring the wine.

When the Zombies hit - I wanna be doing Sommer...

2011-09-27T00:00:00.004-05:00

Oops - I mean - I wanna do what Sommer will be doing. What will that be? you ask, eyes straining to see your screen, inching forward on your chair. You're wondering - does she have the answer for the Zombie Apocalypse?

We shall see.....

Hurry! The zombies are coming! Do me!

I do understand those who can’t grasp how zombies (or other scary stuff) can mix with erotica. I guess those are the people who would be all “hurry the zombies are coming! Get the photo albums!” (Maybe not for real, but it sounded good).

Not me, I’m a visceral person. I’ve more than once said, even after just making a big hoopdie doo over my 4 year no smoking anniversary, that if I’m ever diagnosed terminal, I’m smoking my way out of this world. I will, in fact, most likely light a carton of cigarettes with a blow torch whilst drinking red wine right out of the box with a crazy straw.

So yes, if the zombies are coming, I want to get laid one more time. If there’s high stress, do me baby. If we might all die this week, I want to get down and dirty as often as I can before I possibly shuffle off this mortal coil.

So, yes, laugh if you will, but the sex in these books are often touched with not just emotion but stress, anger, fear and urgency. Which can make for some mighty fine sex—you’ll know that if you’ve ever had that kind of sex. Especially when, as in the zombie exterminator books, you have a group of four friends who like to mix it up in the sex department.

I mean, come on, there are zombies all over…and by book three they are…mutating. So grab as much nookie as you can. You never know when your ticket’s getting punched. At least that’s how the exterminators feel. (And their inventor if you must know ;) )

So how about you? Do you want your photo albums or one more roll in the hay. Or the shower. Or the potting shed. Or the…[fill in the blank]. Comment and be entered to win your choice of the zombie exterminator books on pdf.

XOXO

Sommer

Poppy's birthday should be a big, fun, sexy deal. And it is, until the zombie exterminators find out that the creepers in their neck of the woods happen to be switching the game up a bit. They have a new nifty trick that keeps them from being readily recognizable. Something poor Poppy is unlucky enough to find out on her morning run. She goes from fantasizing about her birthday foursome with the boys, to running home to spread the bad news of mutation.

Her big day is suddenly full of machetes, a lady from the CDC and news of a new vaccine that might—or might not—work. Lucky for Poppy the boys won't let the new turn of events ruin her birthday, they still take her where she needs to go. Because all four of them know, every day could be your last. Sadly, Garrity, Cahill and Noah can't control what happens next. Things change, possibly forever, for their little group of exterminators. And over the next few days Poppy realizes a few things with perfect clarity: she loves Garrity, the thought of losing one of the boys terrifies her, and she's completely at a loss when it comes to one of her own being threatened. It seems to be the one area in which she can't pull off the bad ass persona.

What will she do, she wonders, if their perfect group of four suddenly becomes a group of three? How will she survive?

“Let me go,” I said, struggling to stand, but he wouldn’t let me.

“No. Calm down.”

“Do not tell me to calm down Christopher Garrity! You were the one who punched a fucking van!”

This time I managed to get up, but he came up with me, and he grabbed me to him even though I stiff-armed him to keep him away.

“Come here, Poppy,” he said, still sounding angry but also exasperated.

“No, let me go.”

“No,” he turned, using his bulk against me and pushed me to the side of the van where he’d just been. I’m not a tiny little ballerina, I’m about 5’9” and a good 140 pounds. I work out. I kick ass. But Garrity moved me like a paper doll and the movement of my head made some ropes strung from the roof sway.

“Let me go,” I said, heart pounding.

“No,” he leaned in and kissed me. It was not a sweet kiss. It was a rough, needy, desperate kiss that made me want him and want to punch him all at once.

I bit him.

His hands slammed my wrists up, and the fucker bit me back. A quick nip of my lower lip that made me taste a fleeting ghost of copper in my mouth.

“You’re hurting me,” I said, but it came out in a whisper instead of a yell.

Garrity gripped both of my wrists with one big hand and with is free hand, freshly sanitized and smelling of fucking cucumbers and melon of all things, stroked my exposed belly. “I know. And you like it.”

I started to balk, but he shoved his hand down past my belt buckle, past my black jeans, past my panties and found me slick and hot and swollen.

“I don’t,” I said, my face hotter than hot. I was blushing, and it was because I was lying.

Garrity curled a well-schooled finger into my cunt and thrust. His thumb, warm and broad found the engorged nub of my clit, and he pressed hard. My mouth popped open, and he took it in a much deeper kiss.

“I was scared, you twit, because I love you.”

I balked at the twit part, but he pushed another thick finger into me to join the first and in tandem they pressed that spectacularly sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside of me.

“I love you too, but we do this every da—”

I broke off because he was wrestling my belt buckle, and I shimmied my hips to help him. I needed him. I wanted to punch him, I wanted to make him put his head in my lap and stroke his hair, and above it all, I wanted him to fuck me.

“Shut up,” he said. Pushed my jeans down, still trapping my wrists in the bond of his own hand, working his own buckle one-handed.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” I snapped, but I thrust my hips toward him to contradict my ire.

Thank you to the lovely Sommer for joining us today. If you liked what you read (and if you didn't, you're a zombie yourself), follow this link to add it to your collection.

Just so y'all know...

2011-09-24T16:40:00.001-05:00

I don't respond to trolls - or cowards. I will not publish nasty comments. I don't pretend that everyone likes me or what I write. But this is my blog and I reserve the right to not publish hurtful or disgusting comments.

I have a feeling this person might be writing on someone else's behalf. Tell them to step up and do it themselves. And if you have something to say to me, don't hide behind anonymity.

E-mail me.

That is all - hope everyone is having a fantastic weekend.

The Bug in my Brain

2011-09-23T10:07:00.000-05:00

I'm telling you - there's one in there.

Or maybe Sommer's zombie exterminators missed one of their targets, and it's eaten it - I can't really be sure.But something is definitely missing up there.

See, I LOVE to write. For years, it was how I escaped, what I did when I was bored, and something I took immense amounts of pride in.

Lately, well, I seem to have a problem dedicating myself to my writing time. Things at work are SLOW to be nice about it. And in the past, I would have welcomed the slow time to write. After all, I have about ten serious WIP's, and a few dozen ideas kicking around in my skull.

Yet, lately, when I sit to put my fingers to the keyboard - Bejeweled Blitz winds up on my screen somehow.

*hanging head in shame*

I know - it's a disgrace. And then, if I'm home, I can find a dozen or more things on the television to sit through, rather than bring to life the wonderful characters that are just waiting for me to spring them from their prison.

I don't know where my brain has gone lately. I really don't. And to be quite honest, it's pissing me off.

After work, once in a while, when I have the house to myself, it's quiet, and peaceful, and the perfect time for writing. All day, I'll sit wherever I happen to be, and I'll have scenarios, characters and plot lines springing around my head like Tigger on meth.

But when it comes time to set it all down, and create, I stall. Hell, even while writing this blog I've taken three Blitz breaks. Maybe one reason is that things I write, some get taken the wrong way. People sometimes read into it a little too much. They think that I'm always the main character in everything I write - and some important people feel that it's not complete fiction. I mean, I've never made it a big secret, I do tend to take a few things from real life. Mostly settings, personality traits from others, even secondary situations now and again. But in no way is any complete piece reality.

Maybe that stalls my hand. Even though, I can't control how people will read into things, just as I can't control if they'll enjoy it or not.

But whatever the reason, I've stopped writing lately. And it just makes me feel, I don't know how to describe it.

Empty maybe - and a little bit like a fraud.

Because maybe I'm not a writer, like I always thought I was. Maybe I'm just playing at this, playing at getting my publishing certificate. I don't think I am, but who knows what the sub-conscious is up to.

I'm kind of feeling lost.

So I'm hoping the bug (or zombie) really did eat my brain - because I don't want to think that after almost thirty years of writing, I've lost my passion.

So...what's YOUR Zombie plan?

2011-09-18T09:41:00.000-05:00

Are you, my dear readers, prepared if a zombie apocalypse suddenly strikes? Do you know what you'd do, where you'd run, who you'd call?

I do.

In fact - I'm putting their number on speed dial. And you should too. Who are these marvelous creatures who are going to save us from the un-dead (and definitely unwashed) masses? And how will they prevent them from breaking our skulls open like coconuts and sucking our brains through straws with little umbrellas on them?

On September 28 - bring your cute little (terrified) butts back here to see. Guest blogging that day will be the wonderfully talented, incredibly adorable, and smoulderingly sexy Sommer Marsden.

With that being said, I leave you with my favourite Zombie Plan clip of all time - for those geeks out there, you'll know this one. Seriously - watch it all the way through - the ending is classic.

Where were you?

2011-09-11T09:19:00.000-05:00

As Alan Jackson asked, where were you when the world stopped turning? Ten years ago today, the twin towers came down in the city that, in reality, is the centre of the North American universe.

I was at work when our accountant rushed in, and down to her office to turn on the news. "The bastards took out the World Trade Centre."

To be honest, I had no idea what she was talking about. Until five minutes later, when my boss called me up to her office. We sat, all of us there that day, and watched in horror as those planes changed the course of history - as they changed millions of lives.

I went downstairs to my desk, unable to watch anymore. I sat in silence, in shock, and with tears rolling down my face. I realized that I had friends in the city, people who were there for work, who lived there, who were on vacations. I was terrified, and the theories flying around were that Toronto, with our CN Tower at the centre of our city, was next.

I called the only person I would be able to reach at that time - my father. His voice was soothing, telling me that if I was that scared, to just come home. My boss would understand. He reassured me that if anything else was going to happen, it wouldn't be right away. And my boss sent me home.

The subway was eerily silent. No one talked - no one listened to music - no one moved except in a zombie-like fashion on and off at their stops.

When I got to the subway, my dad was there to pick me up. More silence on the way home, as neither of us could stand to listen to the news.

My uncle was in New York that day - a trade show for work. He was supposed to be in a building next door to the WTC. But he forgot something at his hotel and had to go back. And we thank God for that every day. My aunt couldn't reach him for hours - as you know all the cell lines were jammed or down. We all sat in panic, waiting for her to get through, waiting for anyone to find out anything.

I got lucky. My friends and family all made it home safe, if not sound. For years, my uncle watched the terror alerts, couldn't travel with a peace of mind. I'm sure it was the same for millions of others. But for me, that's as personal as it gets.

For others, loved ones didn't make it home. Jobs were lost, personal memories altered, families torn apart.

I don't pretend to be an expert on what happened. I can't give you stats off the top of my head, or even pretend to understand why it was done. All I know is that it was done in the name of their God. Like so many wars that were started before, differences in religious beliefs caused horrific atrocities to be visited on others.

That's one of the many reasons I don't believe in religion. I was raised Catholic, but I no longer go to church. I believe in a higher power - call it whatever you want. And I believe in the end, we all will be held accountable to whomever, or whatever, we believe in for our actions here on Earth. But I don't think I should be told where, when, and to whom I should have to pray and worship to. Religion guides you, but also restricts you. I don't know a lot about different religions, but when hatred and ignorance are born out of interpretations of those, I can't have faith.

Today I pray for the souls of those lost in the attacks. I pray for the lives that were changed forever. I mourn the loss of pride, innocence and purity. But I also rejoice in the love that was shown, the friendships forged, and the support when the world came together, and started turning once more.

For all those affected - today, I pray.

Romance Awareness Month

2011-08-23T11:31:00.000-05:00

How did I NOT know that August was R.A.M?

Seriously. Someone who adores romance, like me, should be keenly aware of these things.

Instead, I'm keenly aware of the LACK of romance in my life. Especially now - when the summer is almost over and the grand tradition known as the C.N.E. is on right now.

See my whole life, I've been a sucker for romance. But very few of the guys I've ever been involved with are hard-wired for romance. It seems to be too much work for them.

And my whole life, all I've wanted, every summer, is to ride the ferris wheel at the Canadian National Exhibition, at night, with someone I love - his arms around me, cuddled tight, and when we stop at the top, to be softly, sweetly kissed in a way that makes it feel like it goes on forever.

It's never happened. And it's incredibly frustrating.

I might be a city girl, but there's still some small town inside me. And the CNE, as big as it is, always feels like a small town county fair. And it sounds stupid, but once the sun sets, and the midway comes to life, it's so romantic - at least I think so.

Maybe it's because you're walking around holding tight to the person you went with, because you don't want to get lost in the crowd. Or maybe it's how many times the boys try so hard to win their dates those cheesy stuffed animals, and when they finally do, the girls look at them like it's the most wonderful thing in the world. Stress seems to disappear, the midway is full of laughter, and it feels like life is good.

At least it's how it appears in my mind.

And when you're above the city - looking down on all the lights, or dead ahead at the CN Tower - it feels like you're alone on top of the world.

And there's nothing more magical than that.

Not that I think it's the MOST romantic thing in the world - I mean, I have a few other scenarios that are right up there - but it's something that would make my heart melt and my knees weak, in the middle of what has been my most hectic summer. And yet, it looks destined to go unfulfilled another year.

So tell me my friends - what makes your knees weak? What romantic gesture could your chosen man do for you that would melt you into a puddle of goo?

Gorgeous Glee-ful Girl Gagas!

2011-08-11T11:51:00.000-05:00

Ok, I was going for a cute alliteration there.

Ahem - Hi. My name is Angell Brooks, and I - am - a - Gleek.

Hmm, no looks of shock or surprise. Guess I'm out of the closet then right?

So if y'all know me that well, it will not come as a shock to find out that I have the absolute HUGEST girl crush on the adorable, lovely, gorgeous, talented, toe-curling Lea Michele.

The funny thing is - back when I was Rachel Berry's age, admitting you had a crush on a member of the same sex automatically meant that you were, well....*whispered* you know.

These days, the lines of sexuality are so blurred in every aspect of life that I'm surprised we still have labels at all. And yet we do. Hetrosexual, homosexual, bisexual, omnisexual, asexual - for whatever your choice, there is a lifestyle, and a label.

And, unfortunately, along with the label comes a bias. And judgement. And plain, old nastiness.

Hmm, where was I going with this again? Sorry - my train of thought has derailed somewhere along the way.

This started as just a way for me to share this amazing song from RENT, sung on Glee by Lea Michele and Amber Riley (Rachel & Mercedes respectively for those who have just returned from Guam). Also, one that *I* feel applies to me. Even if no one else does.

But it got me thinking. Why are so many people quick to judge in today's society anyway? People want others to be "normal". What the fuck is normal anyway? Ok, when I was younger, normal (for girls) was liking boys - usually on the football team or student council - and wanting to be a cheerleader. Anything that went against that, was weird - which was ME. Although I admired and appreciated the physique of the athletes, I tended towards the dramatic, and "nerdy" boys (who turned out to be gorgeous, smart and uber-talented later in life).

These days, anything that is "weird" is being considered normal. Which, to me, seems just about right. Because my definition of normal, is not being like anyone else. We all are different in every way. Some things may be similar to others, but we are each unique. Why strive to change that to be someone else?

So, instead of my original point, which was just to share a great song by two lovely ladies - it is now a showcase, and applause to two well-written, likeable characters, who fit MY OWN definition of normal, and stay true to themselves.

Sing it proud ladies.

And the winner is.....

2011-07-18T10:54:00.000-05:00

*drum roll please*

All Summer Long! This delicious story was contributed by the sexy and wonderful Kiki Howell.

She sent this little note with her entry:

I barely get to write in the summer with my teacher husband and my two boys all home, so I was more than willing to take up your challenge :)

And Kiki, we're so glad you did.

Our second sexy entry was by none other than one of my favourite partners in crime, the always-sensual, the always willing-and-able May Deva.

Now, I know that usually there's only a prize for first place, but seeing as this was my first contest, and seeing how both ladies put a lot of effort into their pieces, they're BOTH getting prizes.

One of the things I LOVE about summer is that you don't have to wear socks. Hell, in some places you don't even have to wear shoes! And there's all the lovely shades of nail polish, and toe rings, and anklets - all sorts of things to make your feet pretty (and sexy) for the summer.

So, whilst purusing Etsy, I came across these amazing barefoot sandals.

Each of the ladies wins her choice of these lovely creations, along with an extra something special for first place!

So ladies, check your email for information. And thank you BOTH so much for participating. It means more than you'll ever know.

I haven't given up yet - another contest will be held before the summer is up!

Sum...Sum...Summertime....

2011-07-12T18:46:00.011-05:00

It's that time kids.

Two entries. Two wonderfully talented writers decided to try their hand at my challenge, and I am ETERNALLY grateful to them both.

What was the challenge?

Take your favourite summer song. Use it to inspire a five-hundred word sexy summer story.

Here are the two wonderful entries. No names, but vote for your favourite. Voting closes Friday night (July 15) at midnight EST.

Brown-Eyed Girl

It is a cliche to call a summer night sultry, but it fit. Sitting in
the prickling grass with some friends, with the sun setting and some
folk-y music drifting from the bandshell, it was hot,sticky,sultry and
just about perfect.
 
“Excuse me, miss.”
 
A bump from behind and a deep voice jarred me. I looked over my
shoulder and smiled, not wanting to break my mood just yet.
 
“Not a problem. No harm, no foul, right?”
 
His broad smile, with a slight gap between his front teeth, answered
as he sprawled on the grass beside me. He looked like a surfer, tanned
and wind-blown.
 
“Hello, brown eyed girl.I believe there's been a song or two written
about you. They didn’t do you much justice though.”
 
His eyes scanned from my hair to my toes, then back to my eyes.
Normally, I'd be giving him the brush-off by now, instead I was
grinning back. He looked ready for a lark and willing to instigate if
need be.
 
“Ah,” I rolled my eyes dramatically, “Flattery may get you everywhere.”
 
He leaned towards me. “Really?”
 
“Maybe.”
 
I turned my head towards the bandshell, smiling, willing to let the
moment linger. We sat in silence through two more songs, testing the
current flowing between us. He moved slightly, I could feel his heat
on my bare arm. A new band took the stage and slow strains of music
wove themselves around us as the twilight deepened.
 
He shifted again, brushing his arm against mine. I realized I was
leaning toward him as well.
 
“You smell so good. I bet you taste even better.” He said quietly,
brushing my hair back from my face.
 
Trailing his hand down my arm, he touched his lips to mine softly,
ghosting his tongue across my bottom lip. He tasted like summer,
slightly salt and smoky. I wanted more. He brushed my hair aside and
began tracing patterns on my exposed skin, shivers following each soft
pass across my neck. My pulse was shifting from waltz to cha-cha, the
man had talent.
 
One hand brushed across my breast, bringing it to a swift peak. I felt
an answering stiffness against my back, a twitch that echoed in my
pussy. The hand continued down my side, burrowing under my loose
summer skirt.
 
“Oh, dirty girl. No panties.”
 
His fingers dipped into my wetness, mirrored the patterns he was
tracing on my neck across my clit. I was coming undone rapidly, his
cock pressing against my ass as I leaned back.
 
“Come for me.”
 
He bit down on my shoulder, just as I felt my body clench, and I bit
my lip to keep from groaning as release rushed through my body like a
tidal bore. He held me, waited for my breath to calm, stroking my
hair.
 
“Wonder what our first date will hold.” he chuckled, drawing me to my
feet and into the night.

All Summer Long

We were not in Alabama and far from seventeen. But, as Kid Rock screeched All Summer Long on the radio, I got ideas. Sweat beaded on my husband’s reddish-tan chest, running over tight abdominal muscles, soaking into the band of his paint and dirt covered work shorts which hung low on his waist. He caught me looking.

Smiling in a rather crooked way, he huffed, “The yard can wait.”

He turned with a grunt, grabbed the ice water I’d gotten him and disappeared behind the one closed garage door.

When I stepped inside, he grabbed my arm and turned me into him, his hand covering my mouth. As I struggled for air, his free hand worked around my tank to pull my bra free. After it fell, I felt the cold rush of his ice water over my chest.

My screech was stifled by the tight grip of his hand. Backing up on instinct, I felt his erection hard against my ass. The heat of the day radiated from his skin against my back as I watched my nipples pebble under my white tank top.

“Cooled down?” His voice was deep, his breath hot across my ear. I shivered.

I could only nod.

He grabbed at my breasts. Desire pooled deep in my stomach.

“Bend,” he demanded. I obeyed, laying over the front of his car. His free hand yanked my shorts and panties down over my nearing sun-burnt thighs. Then, I heard his pants hit the ground as well. Seconds later, I felt his knuckles and the head of his cock at my wet opening. As I imagined his big hand tight around his erection, my inner walls expanded around him.

A door slammed in the distance. My heart started hammering even harder.

“Come,” he hissed. The sudden invasion coupled with his anxious pace and fear of being caught, built the tension inside me from a fire to a near explosion.

His fingers moved between me and the car. Separating my folds and gathering my moisture there, they finally landed on my throbbing clit. Rapid thrusts pushed my engorged nub hard against the pads of his fingers. My taut inner muscles gave way to sparks of release, like fireworks shooting through my body. His hand at my mouth silenced my scream of pleasure. His chest fell to mine, and I heard his own quiet groans in my ear. His hot seed spilling into me set off another round tremors inside my body.

No sooner had our heat crescendoed than he pushed me down to kneeling behind the car—my wet nipples pressed against my hot thighs, my shorts still around my ankles, his legs against my bare ass. I heard his zipper seconds before I heard my neighbor’s voice.

“You got any energy left to help me a minute?”

I bit my lip not to giggle as the evidence of our moment trickled onto my thigh and I plotted future summer sexcapades.

THANK YOU once again to my lovely scribes.

Counting down

2011-07-11T18:44:00.000-05:00

Four and a half hours left until midnight. Until the deadline for my first contest arrives.

And I've gotta tell you friends, I'm feeling mighty discouraged.

One entry. That's all I've got.

I'm not mentioning the wonderful author/authoress who submitted, because the poll will be anon if I get enough entries. But I'd like to thank her from the bottom of my heart.

I've reminded. I've joked.

I've begged.

You see, I'm never sure if I have readers or not. Hell, I'm not even sure if my IRL friends make it here or not.

But I've had a lot of support as far as advertising the contest, from May Deva, Sommer Marsden, Alison Tyler, and Aisling Weaver to name a few.

But alas, I know my fave scribes are all very busy - Sommer is editing and writing her (getting progressively smaller) ass off, Alison's To-Do list is NEVER done, and Aisling just completed a cross country move. And I can't forget my wonderful Dayle, who's husband was in a bike accident and has been keeping us posted via iPhone from his bedside. (NOTE: I'm happy to say that he's at home now recovering nicely. WTG Ken!)

So that leaves the little known writers, whom I've wanted to get to know through this contest.

But no one is reading. Or at least no one is writing.

SO, I'm hoping that this last post before the clock strikes twelve will inspire some of you to sit down and type out five-hundred little tiny words that would mean so much to me.

I thank you for reading - and hopefully for writing.

WOW - I am getting old...

2011-07-08T19:24:00.001-05:00

OldER anyway. I mean, we all are.

But this weekend is my birthday weekend.

Wanna get me something sweet?

Then how about 500 words for my contest? LOL. I mean, the deadline is the day AFTER my birthday. (Please don't ask how old - some know the truth, but I'll never tell. Let's just say young enough to still do it, and old enough to know not to confess until the cops show)

So when I blow out my candles, my wish will be to have a full in-box at midnight on July 11. I know some of you have already sent them in, and I am forever grateful for that.

But for those of you still hesitating - let's just say that iTunes will play a part of the prize. Exactly what I can't say. AND if I get a full in-box, Ms. Alison Tyler has introduced me to a number of wonderfully talented artists on Etsy to choose from.

For those wondering how my "vacation" went - let's just say next year I'd rather stay home. 'Nuff said. But isn't that sexy purple birthday cake bad ass?

Paradise is definitely lost this year

2011-07-05T12:08:00.002-05:00

This is where I am.

With this.....

and this....

Every year, for a few days, I come up north to enjoy some peace and quiet with the women in my family. We drink, chill, listen to music and enjoy each others company.

And drink. Lots. Lots and lots of alcohol is consumed in these four days. This year, with the tragedies that have befallen my family - the loss of my father in February and my aunt's divorce - things are a little more tense than usual.

Normally, I try to keep my mind blank and serene, enjoying the sun, the company, the scenery.

The peace.

But this year it just can't happen. So, as you might have read a few entries ago, I have put myself on a self-imposed deadline: to finish at least two of the works in progress that I have waiting for me on my hard drive.

The internet connection is sketchy at best, so I'm not sure how long this will take to post, if it even does. I can't get cell reception decent enough to call home, and I feel like I'm in the middle of a shit storm.

My 18 year old cousin (the one who's parents are divorced) is being a 12 year old brat, screaming and swearing at her mother and calling her every name in the book. She didn't want to come to begin with and frankly, I didn't want to bring her. I swear that child is the BEST form of birth control EVER. My other cousin is feeling it, because she lost her mother six years ago, and she would do anything to have her back. When the screaming starts, I can see it in her eyes, how much she misses her mom. And that causes resentment. So there's just tension.

Lots and lots of tension.

Which means more alcohol consumption. Which I am just fine with, and am eagerly participating in.

This mini vay-cay is another reason that I extended the deadline on my contest. So, as of July 11, the contest is CLOSED. No more extensions - even if I only have one entry...

*blink blink*

*sniff sniff*

Although - I'm hoping that with the guest blog over at Unapologetic Fiction (thank you again to the lovely Sommer Marsden for having me), and with my wonderful friends following me on Twitter , I'll have at least a few entries to make it interesting.

And again, I promise to have a fitting, and interesting prize as well.

Now, I'm off for a refill.

And a set of earplugs.

Is there no love?

2011-06-30T10:45:00.003-05:00

(Psst - permission to repost, pimp out, and blab to your friends - GRANTED!!!)

I. Am. Heartbroken.

Well, not really...well, yeah I am.

Maybe I don't know enough about publicity, maybe I don't know how to market myself.

Maybe I should have put up what the prize is?

But when I check my inbox, it's empty. Not a word. Not a story. Nothing.

I have no entries for my first ever contest. *sniff sniff*

Now, I KNOW there are some great writers out there. I've participated with them in Alison Tyler's contests.

But what am I doing wrong?

So, here we go. Today was SUPPOSED to be the deadline. But since I can't have a contest without entries, I'm extending it. For the weekend.

Yeah, I realize that it's a long weekend, and no one really wants to be writing when they can be outside enjoying the lovely weather.

But it's only 500 words. And I know that most of you can pound those out in your sleep.

So, once again - here are the details (and they're copied straight from the post so I can't sue myself for copyright infringement. LOL)

Inspired by my iPod, which has been known to have a sick sense of humor sometimes, here's your assignment, should you choose to accept it.

It's summer time. Sunshine, beaches, water, patios, cottages, drinks with little umbrellas - and lots and lots of wonderfully dark, romantic, sultry and sweaty places to have sex. Oh, and music. Cool music. Loud music. Bopping music that seems out of place in the dreary, cold grip of winter.

So, pick your favourite summer song. Use it as the title. Give me no more than 500 words. Make us moan, make us sweat, make us sing.

Anyone can enter. If you've sold 10,000 stories, or are just entering the world of erotica, I'm taking all entrants. No discrimination here.

EXCEPT...

... the usual "NSW" rules apply. You know, no sex with - anyone under 18, animals (as per usual, shifters don't count), things or people that are dead (supernatural beings are ok though, as long as they're over 18). No snuff. No scat. Anything that is sent in those categories is automatically deleted, no matter how good you may think it is.

The prize? I'm not quite sure yet. But rest assured, as a frequent participant in these contests, I know the value of working for something worthwhile. So I shall, indeed, make it worth your while.

What am I forgetting? Oh right! Deadline and where to send it. D'OH.

Have it in by midnight (EST if you please) on July 11 to angell dot brooks at hotmail dot com.

And I know it's completely uncouth to beg (but I've never claimed to be couth hehe), but please, please, PLEASE - help a girl out.

Let's celebrate summer and shiny, sweaty bodies together.

CHEERS!

I CANNOT call myself a smut writer...

2011-06-28T11:07:00.001-05:00

if the sight of these two men, on stage, TOGETHER, doesn't inspire me.

Fortunately it does. He he he.

Ladies, Tim McGraw & Luke Bryan. How seriously nom nom nom are these two?

Saw their tour last night. And, not only were they TOTALLY inspirational (Luke looks so good in jeans it should be illegal and I had a great view from behind all night. I could wax poetic for DAYS on his thighs alone...), but the music wasn't half bad either. And there was this one absolutely ADORABLE roadie...all in all it was an inspirational night.

LOL. I'm horrible.

But seriously. It reminded me that country music is a summer staple around my house, and that reminded me that there are only TWO MORE DAYS until my Hot Fun In the Summertime contest comes to a close.

So please...I'm hoping for this to be a serious success. If you haven't thought about entering already, why not? Five hundred teeny, tiny words that make us all hot, bothered, and looking for a cold shower.

It's not that *ahem* hard....

And for further inspiration - check out the boys performing together on their current tour.

TWO DAYS PEEPS. Get cracking!

Drawing a blank...

2011-06-27T10:23:00.000-05:00

So to speak anyway.

See, I'm like most of the writers I know. I have several WIP's. Characters screaming at me to let them out. And so I do.

Trouble is, unlike the other writers I know, I'm not quite as disciplined at moving them forward past the initial introduction stage. Which explains why I've been working on the same screen play for the last fifteen years (yes, you read that right).

So, come hell or high water, on my foray into cottage country next week (yes I am FINALLY taking some serious ME time - sort of) I am determined to finish at least TWO of the shorts I have going right now. It's going to be difficult, as my trip involves a bunch of women at my aunt's summer "home" and that also involves a hell of a lot of drinking and goofing off. They usually never leave me alone, peering over my shoulder as I'm writing, with a slurred "What'cha doin'? Writin' more porn?" Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but that is annoying as all hell to begin with when people are sober - but at least then you can explain to them that the writing process is private, and they will understand.

Try explaining that to a bunch of middle-aged booze hounds, (and since they're my family I can call them that) most of whom haven't gotten laid in a few months. (yes the conversations ALWAYS lead there - and then the topic switches to the purchase of bedroom aides and when will I take them shopping? Answer: NEVER!)

Although it's always a good time, this year, following the death of my father, and a whole bunch of personal stuff that is going on, I do anticipate there being quite a few tears. And a few more hours of me on the sun porch away from the crying and sniffling.

So, here's hoping for a successful self-imposed deadline.

ANNNNND....speaking of deadlines. There are exactly four more days to get your entries in for my Hot Fun in the Summertime contest. I expect to see a few familiar faces, as well as some new friends.

So what are you waiting for? GET WRITING!

Anticipation...

2011-06-22T11:14:00.005-05:00

My body's hot, my thighs slick, as I sit here, watching the clock, waiting for you to slip out of your cubicle, down the hallway, and into the ladies room. There's a bonus to being the only woman in the place - this is one of them. MY washroom. All for me to use at my leisure. And by use I mean, entertain.

I see a flash of blue as you walk by my desk, like a heat seeking missile. It's been timed perfectly. The others are out at the coffee truck - no one will witness your foray into forbidden territory.

When they come back, I mention that my stomach is bothering me. I shoot to the bathroom, doubled over, so no one asks too many questions. And no one will follow. I smile as I see you standing by the sink. I flick the lock, ready, waiting.

I’d love to strip you down, and take that hard cock of yours in my mouth. But instead I settle for unzipping those polyester nightmare uniform pants. You’re ready to stroke it for me, because you know it would turn me on so much that I wouldn’t be able to think. But I stop you, and take you in my mouth. You taste of sweat and hard work, and your scent is that combination of musk and hormones that drives me primal.

Mmmm, you’re hard, and hot, sticky and sweet at the same time. I flatten my tongue and use it in broad strokes up and down the shaft, taking time to use the tip of it around the ridge of your head. The skin is smooth, and I playfully nip at it. My other hand reaches up to play with your balls and your fingers tangle in my hair, keeping my head steady as you fuck my face. I open my mouth wider, swirling my tongue around you as you bang against the back of my throat. My pussy’s wet, and hot, and I’m dying to be fucked. The smell of my arousal fills the small bathroom, and my juices are dripping down my thighs. I squirm, trying to move my thong against my clit, to provide even a little relief.

You can read it in my eyes that I want you. But you shake your head, smirking. I’m not getting off today. Only you are. My cheeks cave as I suction your dick. You keep my head pistoning up and down on your rod, pausing long enough to flex one strong hand. One finger gently traced along my jawline, and you smile, releasing my hair and easing me back.

I stay on my knees, knowing what’s next. I remove my shirt, and my bra, and start massaging my tits, offering them up to you, like a sacrifice. But what’s going to happen next is no sacrifice. It’s going to get me even hotter, if that’s possible. You fist yourself, jacking your cock with a somber look on your face, your eyes never leaving my face. I tweak my nipples, rolling them between my fingers, pulling at them, as I stare, mesmerized by your hand. It moves faster, and harder, and I can hear the moan in the back of your throat that means you’re ready.

You throw your head back, and I watch, as if in slow motion, as white hot jets of relief spurt out of your hard on. Your hand continues, and you groan loudly, not caring at this point if anyone knows that we’re in here, that we’re fucking around. Ribbons land on my tits, and I massage it into my skin in some places, and allow it to bead in others. I lean in, sucking on the tip, tasting you, taking whatever’s left.

You wash your hands, leaving me on my knees. You turn and help me up, handing me my bra and t-shirt. I put them on again, still painfully aware that I’m horny as hell and need to come. I look in the mirror and see the t-shirt sticking in places. We smile at each other, knowing that I’m taking you with me back to my desk.

And I’ll be thinking about you all day, waiting for quitting time.

Then, it’s my turn.

©2011

PSSSST - don't forget to enter my first contest!

Craving the cover...

2011-06-21T10:40:00.000-05:00

To all authors out there, I have a question. And I'm pretty sure Alison Tyler covered this at some point, but I'm asking again anyway.

Have you ever written a piece simply for the fact that you knew what cover you HAD to have?

Because I have the perfect cover idea that I'm dying to use. The right spot, the right male model in mind (I'd love to be the female but my hips are just WAY too big), the font (no title yet though). I know the lighting, the image fading...god I can see it all in my head.

But I don't have a fitting story to go with it. And that's the frustrating part!!!!

How about you guys? Has this happened to you? Any advice on how to pluck the perfect story for the cover from the swamp of ideas that is my mind?

Ummm...help?

2011-06-20T10:00:00.000-05:00

I did it. I finally did it.

But CAN I do it?

I registered my website. I'm so happy with myself for finally taking the initiative to get it done. It's the first step to starting my career.

But I don't know how to design a website!!!! GLEEP.

So now I'm panicking. What was I thinking? Why did I think I could do this? There's no way...

I mean, I have SOME idea on how to do it. Back in the day (oh...about nine years ago) two friends and I had our own website, and we designed it all. Learned how to do html and everything and damn were we proud of ourselves.

But things have changed since then. Now there's flash, and macro, and ... see? I'm not even sure of all the terms! I'm. So. Screwed.

I look at my domain, I know what I want to do...and yet I find myself reaching for a paper bag to breathe into when I think about where to begin.

So, I'm putting the call out to any and all smut-writers/geeks/nice philanthropic peeps who have a clue about all this who wouldn't mind donating time/advice.

And in the mean time, PLEASE don't forget, I'm hosting my first ever contest and am hoping that my fave scribes are taking ten minutes to scribble something together to enter.

I thank you, my nerves thank you, and my overworked nervous system especially thanks you.

Hot Fun in the Summertime CONTEST

2011-06-16T11:50:00.003-05:00

I'm stealing the torch. Ok not so much stealing, as borrowing. I figure, Alison Tyler isn't using it right now....

See, our lovely Trollop is a busy beaver these days (giggle - yes I said that on purpose). And I know that there are writers out there who are just itching for another contest. So, I figured I'd do one myself.

Inspired by my iPod, which has been known to have a sick sense of humor sometimes, here's your assignment, should you choose to accept it.

It's summer time. Sunshine, beaches, water, patios, cottages, drinks with little umbrellas - and lots and lots of wonderfully dark, romantic, sultry and sweaty places to have sex. Oh, and music. Cool music. Loud music. Bopping music that seems out of place in the dreary, cold grip of winter.

So, pick your favourite summer song. Use it as the title. Give me no more than 500 words. Make us moan, make us sweat, make us sing.

Anyone can enter. If you've sold 10,000 stories, or are just entering the world of erotica, I'm taking all entrants. No discrimination here.

EXCEPT...

... the usual "NSW" rules apply. You know, no sex with - anyone under 18, animals (as per usual, shifters don't count), things or people that are dead (supernatural beings are ok though, as long as they're over 18). No snuff. No scat. Anything that is sent in those categories is automatically deleted, no matter how good you may think it is.

The prize? I'm not quite sure yet. But rest assured, as a frequent participant in these contests, I know the value of working for something worthwhile. So I shall, indeed, make it worth your while.

What am I forgetting? Oh right! Deadline and where to send it. D'OH.

Have it in by midnight (EST if you please) on June 30 to angell dot brooks at hotmail dot com.

No means....no?

2011-05-25T11:17:00.002-05:00

(note: I dragged this one out from the annals - not ANALS you filthy people :P - of works in progress and finished it up)

I try to say no.

Honest. Even though my body wants it. Craves it. Is DESPERATE for it. I still try to say no.

Because, what it all comes down to, is the question - are we only about sex?

I'm trying to figure that out. But you're not letting me.

At the beginning of the night, it's a strong slap on the hand and a ferocious "NO." I am strong willed, I am tough, and I am righteous. This isn't happening tonight. We are going to enjoy each others company and just be together. Ok, a little groping OVER the clothing, and a few kisses are acceptable. But that's it.

You seem to accept this, settling for nuzzling that perfect spot on my neck, and running your fingers along my arm. You draw soft circles on the inside of my elbow, and nibble gently on my ear.

I'm getting warm, but I refuse to give in. Warmth is all I'm going to allow. My nipples become erect, almost painfully so, but I ignore them. Instead I lean over and softly kiss your lips. You slip your tongue in briefly, brushing against mine, and withdrawing. No sense in getting all worked up right? I think, this isn't so bad, because you're being very good, and accepting my NO this time.

Yah right.

An hour goes by, where we just watch TV, curled up on the bed. The door is closed. No one will disturb us, save the cat. You hold my hand, tracing a pattern into my palm. I'm blissfully content, desperately ignoring the throbbing between my legs and in my chest. I close my eyes, breathing deeply. I will calm down. I will beat these urges.

My hand is thrust between your legs, trapped against your hardness, and you start to thrust with your hips. I giggle, and try to pull it out, but your thighs are just too strong. I lie back, and just look at you, your eyes staring deeply into mine.

I move to my side to grab a drink from my glass on the side table. You take this as an invitation to spoon. You let my hand go, pulling me closer so that my ass is tight against your crotch. I bite my lip to hold back a moan, as my clit twitches. Your fingers once again trace patterns into my skin, this time at my waist. It turns me on to be this open and able with someone, and my ass moves further into your crotch.

You pull my hair aside, licking my neck, kissing your way from my collarbone up to my ear.

"No..." I whisper. But it's not even close to being strong. I'm not close to being righteous, or even wanting to be. I'm close to shattering all my will, all my strength. I'm close to giving in to my base urges, because, let's face it, we both want it.

I turn to face you, and you kiss me, this time your tongue taking longer in my mouth. My thighs part, and your hand naturally finds its place, palming my wetness through my jeans. My hands clutch at your back, pulling you into me.

"No..." I try to retain some sanity. I sit up and move, lying on my stomach to finish watching...wait, what were we watching again? You lie on top of me, your cock hard against my ass, pinning my arms in front of me. My hair is still to the one side, and you breath heavy against my ear. One word, a single uttered syllable turns me to liquid. "Please?"

I shake my head, not trusting myself to open my mouth at all. My resolve is weakening, as your hand snakes down the back of my pants, pulling my thong aside and thrusting two fingers into my pussy. I squeak, and bite on the sheets to stop myself from making further noise. You've had enough game playing and roughly you probe me, using your other hand to keep me down.

My juices are flowing and my cunt is clenching, riding your fingers. Suddenly I'm yanked onto my knees, and my jeans are being torn down. They make it halfway down my thighs when I feel you enter me. I push backwards, trying to take all of you in on each thrust. Trapped by my pants, my legs can't spread any further, and the imposed limit is causing friction in areas that I've never felt before. It causes me to come quicker, and I'm close to tearing a hole in the mattress with my teeth.

I want to scream, I want to cry out. But all I can do is collapse after you pull out, and picture you fisting your cock, milking yourself.

As I lie here, I attempt to comfort myself with this solitary thought...

Well, at least I tried.

©2007

Wanderlust...

2011-05-24T11:54:00.001-05:00

We all have it. Deep down inside, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. And it doesn't always have to be about sex.

Secretly, we all wonder what it would be like to pick up and go - leave our normal lives behind for an adventure on the open road. Head to the airport and buy a ticket on the first plane heading anywhere but here.

And yes, we wonder what it would be like to kiss the lips of the stranger across the grocery aisle from us. Or to strip off the uniform of the cop that just pulled us over, and see if he looks as good out of uniform as in it.

The lovely, talented and always scrumptious Sommer Marsden decided to embark on her own little journey. On March 15, she asked "Would you follow me..."

Her destination? I believe it was unknown at the time. But her desire? To write a live serial, and post it every day for us readers to enjoy.

Well, after 67 amazing installments, Wanderlust has finally come to an end.

It was a hell of a journey of self-discovery, not just for her characters Johnny and Aurelia, but for her readers as well. She tugged on a part of us that lies dormant, or unexplored, and left us longing to explore it ourselves.

So, in case you missed the first time I pimped it out - here it is - the link to her brilliant tale of sex, discovery, and fulfillment. (This will take you to the first page of it - post 1 is at the bottom of the page - you can figure out how to navigate it from there).

WANDERLUST

Pour a glass or two of wine (cuz you're not driving), grab a comfortable chair, and get yourself lost.

For it's only in losing ourselves that we are truly found.

ENJOY.

Listen

2011-05-24T11:20:00.001-05:00

I'm so tired of silence.
It surrounds me.
It's in the words coming from the television, the voices coming through the radio. It's in the chatter around us, in the laughter from others.
It's deafening.
Silence.
It's in every word we say.
Every word we don't.

I need words.
Big words, small words. Ten dollar ones and ten cent ones.
Loud ones, quiet ones.
Honest ones.

I need jacked up, lust filled, cum soaked fuck me words.
Tell me what you want to do to me. Tell me what you want me to do - what I have to do.
Tell me how you want your cock to fill my cunt, letting the hard c's soften and melt me.

Order me.
Tell me what to do to you. What to do for you.
To open wide, to suck your balls, to spread my legs.
To cum.

Whisper endearments to me.
Call me baby. Call me honey. Call me whore.
Quote to me Shakespeare, or Dylan, or even Rage.
Anything to let me know where I stand in your world,
in your life.

Stop living in silence.

Let me hear your heart.

©2011

"One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter."
-James Earl Jones

Closing Time

2011-05-02T11:05:00.001-05:00

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It was two a.m. Everyone had staggered out of the building, hailing cabs, stumbling down the street to the hot dog carts to satisfy their post-alcohol hunger, and leaving the place in a state of disgrace.

The state you were ready to leave me in. The lock clicked into place as my fingers deftly twisted the lever, and I stalked you, approaching my prey, grinning because I knew, tonight, you didn’t stand a chance.

And then we were dancing, completely alone. I wore a short flared skirt, with knee high boots and a strapless pink shirt. You were in jeans, and a black shirt. All the overhead lights were out, and the few that remained were the bar signs and the dim bulbs encased in stained glass covers over top the pool tables. We were standing in the middle of the dance floor, locked in each others arms, Chris Issak’s Wicked Games playing on the jukebox.

You were holding me close. Your lips brushed my neck, leaving impressions and lingering promises. Your hands explored my back, trailing up and down my spine, drifting across my collarbone, and down my bare shoulders. The song ended, and we stopped moving. We just stood there, hesitant to pull away, to break contact. Moving slower than I ever thought possible, you took my face in your hands, your lips claiming mine. You kissed me gently, then more intently, pulling me into you, your hands grasping my ass, your hard-on pressing against me.

You led me to pool table in the corner, laying me down on the green felt, the lights casting an eerie glow on us. Your hands traveled up my thighs, spreading them to position yourself between. My legs locked around your waist, pulling you closer.

You lowered my shirt over my breasts slowly, leaving me in just the strapless bra. You kissed the tops of my breasts, running your tongue along the curve and down between them. My hands tangled in your hair, clutching it in my fists as sensations I hadn’t felt in a long time spiraled through my body.

You took off my bra - thank goodness for front closures - and began licking my nipples, sucking them slowly, taking your time. My moans echoed through the empty bar, turning to yelps when your teeth came into play.

“Please.” I begged. “I need you.” You stood up, giving me an evil grin, and lifted my skirt, removing my thong in one swift movement. Your fingers grazed my clit, playing around my lips, before sliding one finger through my wetness into my pussy.

I gasped at the welcome invasion, my eyes closing. Slowly, taking your time, you fingered me, adding a second and then third one. Your other hand was playing with my right nipple - the super sensitive one; the one that has caused orgasms just because someone sucked on it the right way. A secret you knew from weeks of fooling around. A weakness you took advantage of, using and gauging my little gasps as an indication that I was close to coming.

You pulled away, leaving me wanting. I glared up at you accusingly, my eyes bright and my chest heaving. “Well that wasn’t nice.”

You knelt in front of me, nuzzling your nose against my clit, flicking your tongue around it. “Mmmm, ok, you’re forgiven.” I could barely speak the words as you licked at me, the tip of your tongue tracing random patterns in my juices, against my skin. I could hear the rasp of your zipper as you lowered it, and felt you shift as you tried to pull out your hard on without losing contact.

My calves were resting on your shoulders, and I could tell from the shaking movements that you were playing with yourself, and I almost drooled as I pictured your hard cock, calling from my memory how it felt in my hand, and against my tongue. How it was hard, almost to the point of granite. How it was hot and heavy, full of come waiting for somewhere to go.

I groaned. “I want…” I gasped as your tongue found its way into my hot hole. “I want to suck your cock. Please.” I was begging again, in gutteral tones, prepared to get really filthy to get what I wanted.

But it was what you wanted too. With one last, long lick, and a suck on my clit, you stood up. You took my hands, and helped me off the table like a gentleman. I stood before you, my hands going to the buttons on your shirt, my lips finding your neck. I kissed a trail down your chest, my lips claiming every inch of skin that appeared. After it was all unbuttoned, you went to take it off. I stopped you, just shaking my head silently.

I slowly sank to my knees on the hard wood floor, my juices sliding down my thighs. With the black material framing your body, looking down at me, you looked majestic. I took you in my hand, feeling the weight again and marveling at how smooth you were. I licked at the shiny tip, the glistening drop of fluid leaving a sparkling string between your cock and my lips.

I moved forward, just taking the head into my mouth, sucking on it lightly. Your knees buckled a little, and I smiled. Then I opened my throat and took you in all the way. I used my left hand to stroke your balls, while my right reached under my skirt to play with my wetness. Both hands moved in time with my mouth. I gazed up at you, looking you in the eye, urged on by lust I saw there.

I wanted to keep going. I twisted, turned, sucked and licked - firmly, gently, faster, slower. I wanted to coax every last drop of cum out of you, swallow everything you could give me.

But you stopped me, placing your hand on my head. “Get up.” Your voice was strangled, like it was an effort to breathe, let alone speak. I stood, staring at you eye to eye, thanks to the heels on my boots. Grabbing the back of my neck, you pulled me in for a kiss that left me breathless. I tasted myself on your lips, my sweetness on your tongue.

“Let me … “ you took a deep breath. “Let me make love to you.” There was no crudeness, none of the gutter, four letter fuck words that littered our previous nights. I was speechless. I could only nod, my eyes wide, my lower lip caught between my teeth.

You took our coats, laying them on the floor, before helping me to lie down on top of them. Positioning yourself above me, you kissed me again, and I closed my eyes.

“Open those baby browns for me. I want to look into your eyes.” I took your face in my hands, and stared into the depths of you, as you slid into me, slowly. I gasped at the invasion, biting back a moan as I felt the entire length of you come home. You took your time, making sure I felt every thrust, every nudge, every inch of you. I arched my back, wanting more, tilting my hips to pull you deeper into me.

Your pace increased, moving faster, thrusting harder. My hands clutched at the material at my sides, my moans no longer held back, but echoing across the emptiness. You stopped, encased in my warmth, and just held there, allowing me to enjoy your hardness, allowing you to feel me as I flexed my muscles around you, causing you to twitch in pleasure.

“Please.” I almost groaned. This night seemed to have me begging for everything. But to feel you inside me, to be with you that way was worth it all. You took pity on me, and smiled. You withdrew, and just waited, your head at the entrance to me. I moved my hand to my clit, caressing it with my middle finger, smiling as your eyes caught the movement, stopping you once again in your tracks. I dipped lower, stroking through the moisture, catching the top of your cock with my nail.

“You’re so sexy.” Your voice was low and husky, a tone I hadn’t heard before. I just writhed, moaning as my finger continued to play.

“I’m going to come.” I warned you, whining, breathless. That was enough to start you moving again. “Come with me.” You went faster, harder, fucking me now, not caring about simple words like making love, wanting to be with me when I went over that edge.

“Please.” This time the word came from your lips. You swallowed hard, beads of sweat appearing on your brow. You leaned in to nip at my lip. “Say my name, and open those eyes. I want to see your eyes, hear my name on those beautiful lips when you come.”

I nodded, locking my legs around your waist, bucking underneath you. I could feel your restraint, waiting for me. “Just…one…more…time….” I gasped. As I felt myself fall I cried your name, looking deep into your eyes. “Brent…oh…my…Goddd…” And felt your cock explode inside me as I kept falling, spiraling out of control.

I lay there trembling as my eyes tried to focus on my watch. Three-thirty in the morning; and as Garth Brooks sang, not a soul in sight. Except for you, and me. You helped me to my feet, handing me my apron.

“So I guess you’ll be closing next week too?” Your tone was playful, and I grinned.

“Whatever you say boss.”

©2011

Day Thirty - Farewell...

2011-04-30T09:10:00.000-05:00

The final day of NaPoWriMo. The prompt today was to choose a line from one of the authors that participated and use it as an inspiration. But there were just too many to choose from - so I did the free-style once again.

I would like to thank all the prompters. I wish I could have used them all, but my mind has been predominantly elsewhere this month. Hopefully next year I can write some happier material.

Congrats to all the participants! We did a hell of a job!

Fairy Tales

I need to love you

to keep my sanity

(what little I have left).

These emotions seemed like

a fairy tale

that would never have

a happy ending.

I've heard this story only once before,

and never thought I'd hear it again.

But when I saw you

I heard the words

"Once upon a time...."

My heartbeat quickened

and then the emotions

that I thought were buried

resurfaced.

It's a different place

and a different time,

but this fairy tale too,

is destined for

an unhappy ending

©2011

Day Twenty-nine - Free falling...

2011-04-29T10:59:00.000-05:00

No planning, no pre-writing - just go...

Good-bye baby butterfly
flutter to the clouds
flutter on home

be at peace
and know that we
love you
more than the world
more than ourselves

Good-bye baby butterfly
time was brief
not even known

the pain will heal
but never leave
and we'll always
have you with us
and see you
in each others eyes

Good-bye baby butterfly
flutter to the clouds
flutter on home

©2011

Day Twenty-eight - Jordan

2011-04-28T18:12:00.001-05:00

No prompt.

I never knew you were there

just a ghost in my thoughts

and yet you were real

and then you were gone.

now a ghost in my heart

and a hole in my soul;

pain to last a lifetime,

like the loss of the love

that was once your legacy.

a fleeting presence,

you were both a gift

and my punishment.

proof that I had a love

that was, for a moment, true

and then taken from me

like you were, without a sound,

without a notion,

without a clue.

daily, I will relive

the heartache.

daily, I will mourn

and cry in pain

to the gods

wondering why I’m still here

to deal with all

you’ve left behind.

like the loss of the love

that was once your legacy

you are mine to mourn

to miss

to regret

Pimping out the Seasons...

2011-04-28T11:28:00.000-05:00

Well, one anyway....Sommer (Marsden that is). I'll be back later with my day 28 contribution for NaPoWriMo.

(pimped out with gleeful permission)

"Have you ever been in love, Aurelia? For real?”

I stared at him, my heart feeling too small. Like it might fall all the way through my body to my feet.

“What do you mean?”

How fucking stupid of a question was that?

“Like your palms sweat and your upper lip feels tingly and your stomach churns so much you can’t tell if it’s good or bad. You’re more concerned for him at times than yourself. You think about him, dream about him, want to touch him randomly. Just to touch him. Like…if he hurts you, you can still forgive him, even if you wouldn’t forgive anyone else in the world. Like there’s not enough air when he’s not around. And sometimes when he is.”

He rattled it all off and my mouth got dryer and dryer and dryer. I thought of Jackson and my affection for him, but how easy it was for me to hurt him repeatedly to give myself solace. The other boyfriends who I promptly turned from when things got too sticky, too intense or they seemed to feel too much for me. Even the one guy—Chad— I was sure I had loved once upon a time at the beginning of college who I simply dumped one day and had never looked back.

He’d told me he loved me. I’d broken up with him and had never taken another of his calls. Woulnd't come to the door when he visited.

Johnny was waiting. I could feel him watching me as I remembered giving up the pain about Fallon--just letting it go. Chalking it up to his pain being expressed. His fear guiding him. I thought about hurting for him when he’d told me about his son. His loss. His rage at himself. I thought about all of it and how when he touched me it was like a fine mesh of electricity settling over my skin— an invisible net. Or how when he looked at me a certain way I wanted to open my mouth and say things I swore I never would.

Or how there never seemed to be enough god damned air when he was around. And even less when he wasn’t. I shook my head, bit my lip and echoed LL, “Nah. I don’t think so.”

Like what you've read? Head over to Unapologetic Fiction - Wanderlust and follow Really & Johnny's adventures from the beginning. Sommer Marsden is brilliant!

PS - have an answer for Johnny? Post it here - I'll pass it on to Sommer. I'll start - I have. And had my heart and soul ripped out because of it.

Day Twenty-Seven ... a red bicycle

2011-04-27T09:59:00.000-05:00

We have visual prompts today over at Not Without Poetry. Given the choice by Shanna Germain between two, I chose the one below.

Using one of the photos above or below, write a ‘still-life’ poem. The goal is to recreate the image(s) with your own filter while still keeping some of the essence of the original. It’s a good time to think about objects and what significance they have on their own versus the significance that is given to them by the viewer/artist/poet.

Ok, so I didn't quite do it the way the prompt wanted, but hey! It's poetry right?

Untitled

packing up the boxes
reliving old memories
the bicycle remains
leaning under my
bedroom window
a reminder of loss;
of a starry night,
a picnic blanket,
soft kisses
and the taking of my pride
and my innocence.

it can stay here.
with the sights,
smells,
and recollections
of that summer night;
the haunting sighs,
the murmured words,
the hesitant touches,
and the heartbreak
of the non-existant goodbye,
when you drove off the next morning,
escaped this town,
without a word,
one arm slung carelessly around
Carrie-Ann Thompson,
and the other steering your
restored 57 Chevy.

it can stay here
with the many tears I shed
and the many nights I cried.
it can stay here
with the remembrance of your
Mother’s screams mirroring
the wail of the siren
as the police informed her
of the wreck
just two days later.

it can stay here
with the regret that I couldn’t stop you
with the relief I wasn’t with you
and with the guilt
for feeling that relief.

it can stay here
as a reminder
you can’t escape
the small town.

but I’m going to try.

Day Twenty-six - The Sound of Silence

2011-04-26T08:46:00.000-05:00

Ok, used the prompt for the most part on this one, but instead of writing about what I saw, I wrote about what I felt.
Here's the prompt:

Turn off the noise. Go to a window. Write what you see, feel and/or want in a stream-of-consciousness form.

The silence in here
Is the loudest I’ve ever heard
The absence of your baritone
The loss of your laugh
The desertion of your quiet anger

The walls are bare of colour
Despite your paintings still hanging
The flowers all died
In your wake

There’s no more music
Floating in the air
The stereo remains mute
A silent homage to your favourite pastime

Your precious vinyl
collects more dust than before
now that no one drags it out
in a weekly drunken laughter
to play a song
to piss off mom.

The tangled wires remain
A puzzled mess
She cannot hear the notes
She cannot absorb the lyrics
They all sing of her loss
And she is better off
With them remaining in memory

It all plays together
In my heart,
I cannot shut it down,
Though it’s out of tune.
And I gaze at the room
Knowing nothing is ever
Going to sound right

The silence in this house
Is the loudest
I’ve ever heard.

©2011

Image found at The Change Blog

Day Twenty-five : Meme, meme, meme, meme...

2011-04-25T16:04:00.000-05:00

Today's prompt? (WOW - two this week huh? Yeah, kind of surprised me too).

Find an internet meme of some sort. Either one you’ve participated in or one that is new to you. Once you find one that inspires you — yes, you have to leave the internets now and come back to poetry — use the language (lolspeak anyone?), the topic or even the general idea of viral transmissions to create a poem.

While I wanted to choose an LOL Catz or something along those lines, I just took the idea of the first "meme" I ever did - choose a friends name and write a line poem based on the letters.

The name repeats twice, as it seemed to call for it.

Can you tell?

Listen to your heart

You know the answer

Do I know it?

Exactly what I thought

Be strong I tell myself

All of her is you

Kissing through the day

Entering the night

Replying to her heart

Can I tell you?

Listen to my heart

You'll never know otherwise

Do you understand?

Exceptions to every rule

Be strong I tell myself

All of you is her too

Keeping this secret

Entering your heart

Replying to myself

©2011
image found at HeartBeat Symptoms

Day Twenty-four - Easter tears...

2011-04-24T09:17:00.006-05:00

Sigh - Day 24. Forgive the sadness of the last few - first major holiday without my father, and it's tough to think, let alone get out the feelings....not the greatest, but it's something.

Pride

your voice echoes in my heart

your smile haunts my every step

your eyes follow my every move

your presence lingers in every room

your strength still inspires

your heart beats in mine

the head of our existance

the leader of the pack

what do we do

where do we go

we are lost without

your guidance

and wisdom

i watch your image run

away into the setting sun

realizing

we never did say good-bye

Day Twenty-Three - Blank...

2011-04-23T10:03:00.003-05:00

Day 23. Lack of inspiration provided this...

Here I sit
pen in hand
but nothing
comes to mind

I cannot scribble
a single word
or even really
make a rhyme

There's poetry running
through my heart;
it runs right through
my veins

and yet when the time comes
to write it down
the page is still blank
the emptiness remains

This is a problem.

©2011

Image found at http://www.servitokss.com/question-marks/

Day Twenty-two - Recycling

2011-04-22T15:09:00.007-05:00

Ok, so the prompt for this day was reuse and recycle – for Earth Day. Here’s what we were given.

Today is Earth Day! Explore our complicated relationship to Mama Earth by recycling. Find an old poem or two that you’ve abandoned and find a line, a title or a concept that really grabs you. Now use those to start a new poem, going in a direction entirely different than the original

So here we go. This is an old poem I wrote about fifteen years ago – if not longer. I’m hoping that the recycled version turns out better than the original.

Believe

All the love in your heart,
all the trust in your soul.
Everything in your life,
you gave to her.

Expecting to have it returned,
as lovers often do,
you died a little every day,
as she abused your gift,
deception at every turn,
lies falling from the lips
that whispered once of love and hope.

The eyes that had read bright with
adoration, and acceptance,
turned hard and cold,
denying you the warmth of their gaze,
the light of her love.

The arms crossed as she turned
not to your chest, containing your
beating heart,
but to the arms and heart of another.

Today, the arms and heart of another
are waiting right here
for you to turn and accept them.

I believe in your gifts,
I believe in your love.
I believe in the future,
with me by your side.
All that you gave to her,
I will not abuse,
I will not fail you.

I believe in you,
and all your precious gifts.
Give me the chance to prove
that you can believe in mine.

Image found at Spirit and Sky

Day Twenty-One...Oh Daddy

2011-04-21T09:17:00.005-05:00

So far behind on posting these - long weekends with family make it tough to get to a computer. But here is day 21's offering - dad's been on my mind a lot this last few days.

you sang to me
in soft tones
of rainbow's ends
and pots of gold.

held me in rapture
and enraptured
your angel,
your smile,
your hearts desire.

you loved me with words,
loved me in actions,
and then in none.

now it's my turn
to sing to you
in soft tones,
of angel's wings
and heavenly days,

loving you in memory,
until the day
we meet again,
once more
at the rainbow's end.

©2011

Day Twenty - Unanswered...

2011-04-20T10:46:00.001-05:00

Day 20. Creeping up to Easter weekend.

She cried to the desert moon,

in anguish and regret.

She wept into the Earth,

tears of sorrow and loss.

She rallied against her maker,

screaming "Why?" , repeating it

in unintelligble sounds,

for hours upon hours

with no end.

Eventually, in the silence,

there were no more words,

no more cries.

There was no reply.

Just giant drops of rain

as her maker

wept too.

Day Nineteen: Ah HA....the electricity's back on

2011-04-19T10:39:00.001-05:00

What I mean is, the light bulb went on - you know, the little one above your head that cartoonishly pings on when you have an idea, or a realization?

Mine went ping so many times the last two days that it broke. And how many writers does it take to change a light bulb? Well there are too many damn funny answers to that one...so I'll just say, in my case, it took one writer and one really pissed off muse.

Here was the prompt...

Visit last year’s prompt at ReadWritePoem. Then, list 3-5 lightbulb moments you’ve had in your lifetime. Is there a way to string them together in a single poem? Try it now.

While I didn't use the prompt COMPLETELY as it was given, I did decide to write on one particularly harsh light bulb moment that occurred recently.

Flip the switch....

The Horse is Black if You Please

my whole life
tales of damsels in distress
(or was it damsels in a dress?
I always forget which)
were told to me
as a gateway to happy dreams.

at the end of every
story
the knight rode in
on his (proverbial in most cases,
literal in few) white horse
to rescue the fair maiden
who, in reality,
could have rescued herself
had she simply been
confident in her own abilities
instead of conforming
to her society's rules
that state women
MUST be weak,
helpless, and grateful
once rescued
by said knight.

FUCK THAT.

Happy dreams?
that idealogoy has
caused me nothing but nightmares
in my personal life;
always looking to be rescued
by a strong man,
who needs nothing
from me.
one who can take care
of me,
one who can provide
me with the necessities
of life.

FUCK THAT.

the latest in this string
needs someone to care for him,
to release him from
his current lot in life.
He needs to be cuddled,
and coddled,
and told that all will be
ok if he just tries.
THIS ONE
needs rescuing,

And I no longer do.

I can provide ME with
the necessities of life,
I can take care of ME.
I am no longer conforming
to those story book ideals,
to those false happy endings.

I am banishing the nightmares,
and ridding myself
of the rescuer.

I am my own knight.

Day Eighteen...no prompt required

2011-04-18T10:01:00.001-05:00

Freestyling it once again - I find sometimes using the prompts requires more concentration than I can afford to spare at the time. LOL. So here goes...

can you hear the colours?
the docile, muted tones of yellow,
the bright, triumphant call of red,
green yells a bass line,
and blue cries staccato notes
through purples gentle harmonies.

pink screams in jazz,
and orange yee-haws herself a country tune.
teal giggles a childrens melody
and black & white rock out in shades of grey

in your world, you can see
the music
if you're looking with your heart
and
chasing the rainbow
of musical emotions
takes a lifetime of patience
but reaps an eternity's reward.

©2011

Mash-Up!

2011-04-17T11:42:00.001-05:00

K - musically I love mash-ups. When using them in writing, I love them even more. Which is why for Day 17 I am using the prompt. Here it is.

The following prompts are from Bill Alton. Use them as titles, opening lines, or combine all of them into a single poetic form.

1. My body is a speakeasy
2. Morning comes without the sun.
3. I loved him most when he asked me to leave.
4. Pain is the mind’s way of burning through fear

And awwwwwwwwayyyyy we go....

he knew it

couldn't continue

knew a choice

had to be made

life,

death.

but why must

it be made

by my hand?

morning comes without

the sun

when loss is at your

door

i prefer the dark

i couldn't look

heaven in the eye

not feeling the anger

i do

not feeling the the

pain and

earth shattering hate

that lives in my heart

i look in the window

and i loved him most

when he asked me to leave

taking the burden on his own

and i gasp as i watch

the plug being released

and i sob as i see

his soul drifting away

i cry to the heavens

be damned forever

you can't take him

that's MY daddy

Day Sixteen...not as easy as you'd think...

2011-04-16T11:34:00.002-05:00

The prompt?

It’s past the mid-way point! Hurrah! Today’s small (but hardly simple) prompt is brought to you by Geof Huth, the force behind one-word poems (called pwoermd).

Invent a word for a body part you do not have and consider the result a poem.

WOW.

Yeah, not easy at all.

but....

Stinterlobe

Day Fifteen

2011-04-15T09:30:00.004-05:00

Edited to add: So far behind on posting these - I'm getting them written but in the traditional sense - pen & paper. Then I need to type...and of course edits happen right?

Here's day 15 without the prompt

Roget's

why are words not enough?

they express it all

every emotion

every nuance

every feeling

every sight, smell and taste

and yet there are none

to descibe

how i feel without you

empty? yes

lonely? yes

forgotten? yes

souless? heartless? loveless?

yes

a myriad of words

and i haven't scratched

the surface of

heartbroken syllables

to tell you

how you've killed me

and yet...

still...the void beckons

fall in

to a wordless existence

fall in

fall

From a Poem's POV....

2011-04-14T10:45:00.004-05:00

Using today's prompt - sort of....

imagine that the poem you love has spent all day riding around in your pocket, being folded and unfolded, creased and straightened, shown off to people who got it and people who didn’t… Now, write your poem from the poem’s point of view. What did it see? What did it hate or love or fear? What did it feel like in your pocket, in your hands, when you accidentally dropped it on the street?

Again?
Ok honey,
If I’m not perfect
By now,
Then I’ll never be.
Besides, I think
I’m wonderful as I am.
You’ve edited me,
Rewritten me,
Scribbled me out,
And read me again.

I’ve been carried around
Since he’s been gone
He would love me
I know he would
He loved everything
You did.

He’d love my syntax,
My meter,
My rhythm,
My rhyme.

you penned me
you conceived me
Nurtured me
And kept me close.

Now it’s time
To let me go
To show me to the world
In his name
In his memory
In his honor

Dad would be proud.

Day Thirteen - ode to spring...

2011-04-13T09:07:00.001-05:00

This was inspired by the wonderful weather we've been having....

Untitled

FINALLY
The absence of the cocoon of
Heat and sweat
Despite the chill
In the air

No longer to feel
Constricted and covered
Free to feel
Pretty and painted
And adorned and admired

To wiggle and dance
To tap and step
To choose the surroundings
Based on preference
Not necessity

Say goodbye
To winter blues
And hello
To springtime
To love
To warmth
To flowers
To green grass
And the approaching summer

GOOD-BYE SOCKS.

©2011

Day twelve...

2011-04-12T10:20:00.001-05:00

No original title for this one - didn't use the prompt either. I wish I could say that all these poems were therapeutic, but they're really not. O_o

Anyway...here's my day twelve offering for NaPoWriMo....

I can see it in her eyes
She’s given up
Lost and alone
With no one left to love her
No one left to hold her

I can see it in her heart
She’s lost all faith
Doesn’t believe in anything
Or anyone
Anymore

I can see it in her soul
She’s lost herself
Life has no meaning
It holds no joy
It’s just meaningless

Wondering what can save her
Wondering if anything can
I sigh,
And turn from the mirror

©2011

PostSecret Prompt - Not Without Poetry - Day Eleven

2011-04-11T08:51:00.001-05:00

I liked this one - brought to us by the lovely creator of this challenge, Shanna Germain, and the PostSecret website. Here it is.

PostSecret is a place where people create anonymous postcards of their innermost secrets. Which, to me, is kind of a poetry all its own. Today’s prompt is to visit the PostSecret website and search for a secret (or secrets) that speak to you. Now, create a narrative poem based on that secret.

Alternatively, you can write a postcard poem (with or without the artwork) in which you share a secret of your own.

I decided to find a postcard of a favourite subject of mine - butterflies. And here's the poem to go with it. And while it's not a "secret" per se, it really is.

Chasing butterflies
was a beautiful hobby when
i was a young girl
Catching them in nets
watching as they fluttered
to escape
setting them free into the sunlight.
And then start to chase
them all over again.
It's always been a catch and release
program
but when the butterflies finally caught me
in their net
i didn't flutter to free myself
content to be watched
to be admired
to be cherished.
But though I didn't struggle for freedom
I was released anyway.

image found at glasspaintings.co.uk

Mad Libs...

2011-04-10T08:24:00.012-05:00

Day Ten - we've hit double digits in this activity! I used one of the provided prompts from Not Without Poetry for this one. Hope you like...:D

Toronto, Ontario

Because I am not available, I have the skin of a rose petal
that has spent its life reaching for music. Inside the folds
I am deaf. I cannot tell when a note reaches in
and sings to the atoms of the flower. Sometimes
a light breeze will bring the thirst into my atmosphere.
Or the yellow feathers falling on the patio floor are gathering,
beginning to cling to each other out of their drifting atmosphere.
All the saviours I have known have been vanquished by fog
and the devils crossing the courtyard at night.

Day Nine

2011-04-09T08:04:00.001-05:00

Ok, it's early in the morning, and I haven't had my coffee yet. I can't pretend to understand the prompt without my caffeine, so I'm just going to freestyle this one.

Damages

Do you understand

the cost of what you've done?

It's expensive to mend

a broken soul.

The shopkeep clicks her tongue

holding it high,

assessing the damage.

"Well, to fix the holes

I'll have to charge you your beliefs.

And that stain right there?

It will cost you your dignity.

And I'm sorry to tell you, my dear,

see that rip right there?

That will cost you a lifetime of tears.

All in all, to mend your soul

I'm afraid will cost you your heart."

She pushes the paperwork my way.

"Will that be paid up front,

or when you pick it up?"

I scribble an address on the paper,

the tone of my voice could freeze

the hottest cup of coffee.

"Send this guy the bill.

He should pay for damages incurred.

And when it's fixed, send it to him.

It's his fault.

He can keep it as a souvenir.

A memory of what once was.

I'm going shopping for a new one."

Day Eight....

2011-04-08T18:19:00.002-05:00

Absolutely miserable today, in case you can't tell. Here's today's NaPoWriMo ...

Forever

If wishes came true

you would wake up every morning

happy to be beside me

excited for the possibilities

the new day brings

eager to share them together.

If wishes came true

angry words would never have

been spoken or heard,

mistakes that can never be erased

would not have been,

and only mundane problems

would mar our little world.

If wishes came true

you would hold me tight as I cried

whispering soft words of comfort;

every tear would be kissed away

by lips sure and steady, and

strong hands would caress my back,

pulling me against you,

conveying all that words can't.

If wishes came true

you would fall in love with me

every sunrise and sunset

and you would know in your heart

that all is right,

that this is real,

that we are one,

forever.

One week down...

2011-04-07T08:43:00.001-05:00

Today's offering was semi-inspired by the prompt over at Not Without Poetry . Yes I tend to write on a theme - what can I say? I'm a girl who thinks with my heart, not my head.

When I left you with my soul,
I thought you would hold it tenderly
Keeping it safe
Keeping it loved
Making sure it didn’t get torn.

When I gave you my love,
I thought you would need it
Cherish it
Return it with yours

When I set my heart
With yours
They felt so right together
Side by side

Finding the right hands
Wrapped around it
Holding it tight
In a forever embrace
Made me see yours were the wrong ones.

©2011

image found @ http://daughtersofeve.ning.com

Day six...

2011-04-06T09:03:00.003-05:00

No prompt once again.

Untitled

You stole my soul

when all I wanted was a kiss

Invaded my heart

when all I wanted was a friend

Now you own my being

and you say it's not enough

You want my time,

to be my one and only,

to be THE one, not

the OTHER one.

From the moment our lips met

there's been no one but you.

Circumstances dictate positions

but not feelings.

What once was, is now dead,

and you are the only thing I see,

the only thing to keep me alive.

Be my breath, be my air,

and I will be all you need.

Bits and Pieces....

2011-04-05T11:42:00.002-05:00

Taking a break from my poetry run, I was searching through my WIP's, and what I've got posted as drafts on here. Remember Brent & Ali from Lover's Eclipse? That was my round nine story for Alison's Project Smutway. Anyway, I liked them a lot - but the story didn't give them much of a story besides mutual masturbation, which, don't get me wrong, can be incredibly hot. But I wanted to give them more of a life together (yes, they are based on actual people, so yes it's like living out a fantasy I guess...). So I started this little blurb. I think I'll work on this once school is done.

"Brent?" Ali's voice was barely a whisper as she snuggled closer to him.

His arms tightened around her, and he nuzzled her ear. "Yes baby?"

"Promise me..." her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed to clear the lump that had suddenly formed there. "Can you promise me one thing?" Without waiting for a response, she rushed on. "Promise me that if this...if we work out, that you'll never grow tired of holding me?"

He opened his arms long enough to turn her to face him. Lifting her chin, his hazel eyes gazed deep into her brown ones. "I can promise that I will never get tired of holding you." His lips softly met hers. "When something fits this perfectly - you never let it go."

Brent is what every woman wants - hot, arrogant, vulnerable, romantic, and dedicated - when the time is right that is. Which makes him just like every other man as well, stubborn and a royal pain in the ass. He doesn't pick up on hints very well either. Ali is (so I'm told) what every man wants - attractive, sexual, vulnerable and strong, with a big heart. I want to give them a happy ending.

Even if it is only on paper.

Day Five....I'm still going...

2011-04-05T11:07:00.002-05:00

OK, today I've decided to use the prompt over at Not Without Poetry supplied by the wonderful Jeremy Edwards. It's a little sad, so please forgive.

Gone

She gazes at the empty chair

across the table,

as she lifts her coffee to her

turned down mouth.

Eyes are full of tears

as she recalls

his voice as he asked how she slept.

They fall as she remembers

the motion of his hands

as he dunked his toast

into his tea.

She hears the swish of the pages

as his long fingers turn the

newspaper to the obituaries.

She laughs bitterly

as the ghost said,

as he did every morning

"Guess today's a good day,

because my name's not in here."

She cries in pain, and anguish

as she gazes at the day's page,

and sees his name.

Day Four....

2011-04-04T10:48:00.003-05:00

WOW - so far behind on posting this stuff. Sorry about that - work and school tend to get in the way.

Once again, didn't use the prompt. The words are just flowing - no editing. I'm just letting them be.

Over Me

Patience -

please have it.

Wait -

you know I'm coming.

Stay -

you know it's worth it.

Hope -

never lose it.

Love -

you know it's there.

Yours -

you know I am.

Knowledge is power -

and knowing all you do

you have that power over

my heart,

my soul,

my life.

Me.

©2011

Day Three....

2011-04-03T10:35:00.007-05:00

No prompt today - this one was kicking around my brain. Sorry it got posted so late - I was working like a dog.

Coma

nothing but open space.

no clutter;

nothing to view;

no complications,

no relations,

nothing to fight against,

yet nothing to fight for either.

thoughts disappear,

feelings cease to be,

blank,

empty,

desolate

nothingness.

Day Two....A letter.....

2011-04-02T10:59:00.004-05:00

Today's prompt was: Write a poem in the form of a letter to a person you desire but have not told, telling him or her what you would like to do to them.

Well, I didn't take the prompt for what it was, but did manage to work this in...

My dearest heart:

I see you everywhere.

In the darkest of shadows,

in the brightest of light.

You are there in my most peaceful of moments,

and in the deepest depths of my despair.

You are in every loving gesture,

and every hateful word.

Your eyes are the stars in my night sky,

your smile, my world.

Your voice is my salvation,

your arms, my haven.

In my dreams you are my guardian angel;

in my reality, you're my heart's ache

and my heart's joy.

You are everything to me,

you are all I need.

You are my breath, my heart beat,

my reason.

You are all I ever knew about love,

and everything I didn't know.

You are my heart on my sleeve,

my confessions,

my sins,

my desires

and my truths.

Please be mine,

not only in dreams,

but in my realities.

Turn the cold to warmth,

the darkness to light,

the sadness to ecstasy.

For I am yours,

forever.

National Poetry Month - A Poem A Day

2011-04-01T10:21:00.002-05:00

Yikes! What have I gotten myself into?? The lovely, and talented Shanna Germain has put the call out. The challenge? A poem a day for the month of April. Over at Not Without Poetry are posted prompts for those who are without inspiration. Of course, there is no need to stick to those - they're just a guideline.

I figured I needed a bit of a challenge. Like my life isn't complicated enough right? *chuckle*

So here is today's offering.

Destroyed

for months I dreamed

the taste of freedom on my lips

the song of the unshackled in my soul

the anticipation of you in my heart

today it lies here

shattered, tattered, torn

the victim of wanton destruction

the dream is gone

reality has set in

farewell to the other side

life is this

Sign Your Name (#inscribe)

2011-03-04T11:16:00.003-05:00

In the Twitter-verse, there's something called writing prompts. The lovely, talented and oh-so-devilish Aisling Weaver has decided to revive the once-defunct Fuck Me Fridays. This weeks word prompt? #inscribe. Now, I did this one at work, where it's difficult to concentrate. But I hope you like it anyway.

“Do you want me inside you?” Your words are barely a whisper, and yet they’re as loud as if you’d shouted them in a crowded room. My pulse races and I nod slowly. Your hands trail over my flesh, causing me to flinch as you hit the sweet spot, along the back of my neck. Your lips follow, my breath coming in gasps as my cunt moistens and clenches.

I want you. Inside me. Now.

You tug me to you, kissing me carefully, teasing, biting my lips, tracing them with your tongue. “Ride me.” It’s not a command, or a request. It’s a simply stated fact. And I’m helpless to question it, or refuse.

I swing my leg over your narrow hips, positioning myself over your cock. As your head nudges me open, I sigh quietly. You fit so perfectly inside me, brushing over my g-spot, making me come almost instantly. “I’m sorry.” You grin. “I’m so sorry I’m able to make you come with one stroke. I’ll try to do better.”

Before I can even form a thought, maybe a decent comeback to your egotistical statement, your hips thrust upward, violently jerking me in the air. As I land back down, I establish the rhythm that works so well for us. I’m in control, at least that’s what you let me think. But you, with your words, you’re the puppet master, pulling my strings.

As I lean over you, sliding up and down your hard shaft, moaning, my eyes closed, I feel your hands on my cheeks. I hear your voice. “You are so beautiful when you come. I love feeling you gush all over my cock. I love making you come hard.” I clench around you, raking my nails down your chest to your groin. You gasp and then sharply inhale. My triumphant feeling is short lived however, as you thrust up hard again, making me whimper.

My hair has fallen over my face, and you brush it back, hands moving to massage my breasts. You tweak my nipples, already hard and aching for your mouth. I can’t speak, just bite my lip and throw my head back in want and need. You take one in your mouth, brushing over it with your tongue, sucking it gently.

My pussy is drenching your balls, and the sheets beneath us. Your fingers move to my clit, pressing on it rapidly, like it’s an elevator button that’s won’t light up. But I’m all lit up, and exploding all over you.

Your hands grasp my hips, adjusting my rhythm, and increasing the pace. “Come once more for me baby.” Again, not a command or request, but a fact. And I oblige, not once, not twice, but three times more. The last time, I come so violently that I collapse on top of you.

Gasping, I slide off you. “I’m sorry.” I bury my face in your shoulder. “I just need a break. And then I’ll take care of you.” My drenched pussy is still twitching in the throes of my last orgasm, and my hand moves to your still-hard cock, stroking it.

Your arms slide around me. “Don’t worry.” You nuzzle my hair, planting a kiss on top of my head. “It’s my job to please you.” Your hands start tracing a pattern on my naked skin. I realize that it’s a heart. “Right here, with your head on my chest, and in my arms, is where you belong. We have forever for everything else.”

And as surely as if you’d carved your name there, you are inscribed forever on my heart.

©2011

Well, it was a good run....

2011-02-23T11:01:00.007-05:00

...but in the end, I was ousted by a very HOT and sexay story by Joss Lockwood. So there are now three finalists in the first annual Project Smutway.

Alison's challenge to us was to take one of our shorter pieces, and expand on it. Total word count? Between 2500 - 3500. So, without further ado, I present to you my final entry for Alison Tyler's Smutathon ....

FUCKED TO DEATH. *please hold your applause until the end*

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. Hers was just one.

Cops milled around the penthouse apartment, in the most exclusive residence in the city. Many of the uniformed officers gazed in awe and wonder at the twenty foot high ceilings, forgetting, for just a moment, that they were there to investigate a crime. A fact that Detective Johnson wasn’t about to let them forget.

“Parker!” One of the rookies jumped at the sound of Johnson’s bark, blushing beet red at having been caught studying the artwork that adorned the walls. “Get your rookie ass over here.” He rushed over to stand in front of him, slipping briefly on the glossy wood floors. He righted himself, looking down at what he could have slipped in. Johnson bent down, marking the spot for the CSI team to follow. But a closer glance told him what he needed to know – semen.

He stood, fixing Officer Parker with a pointed stare. “Parker, this is a crime scene. Need I remind you?” Parker vehemently shook his head. “No sir; not at all sir.”

“Well then stop looking like a kid on a field trip and GET MOVING!” Parker scurried off to speak to the nearest guest, and Johnson turned to M.E. Dawson. “Joe, what the hell happened here?” Dawson shrugged.

“Beats me Lou. But I don’t mind saying I wish I’d been invited.” They both stood in silence as the paramedics rolled the body by on the stretcher. Her unseeing eyes lay staring at the ceiling, the events of the night evident on her thighs. Joe spoke again. “T.O.D. is approximately two hours ago. Levitity hasn’t set in yet. No signs of violence on the body. There’s no reason to suspect foul play.”

Johnson almost sighed with relief. Natural causes would mean that he could avoid the publicity and scandal that the murder of a high profile figure would bring. He was breathing normally, glad he could avoid pulling out his ever-present pack of antacids (incredibly cliché he knew but the job was hell). Until, with almost comedic timing, one of the uniforms came rushing up to him, a brandy snifter cradled carefully in his gloved hand.

“Detective! I found this in the study. At first I thought it was no big deal, but take a whiff.” Johnson carefully accepted the glass, sniffing the interior. He almost groaned out loud. Beneath the scent of the very expensive liquor, was a trace of bitter almonds.

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, passing the glass back to the uniform. “Joe, make sure you do a complete tox panel. Looks like it might have been murder after all.”

Johnson looked around at the scene before him, and shook his head in disbelief. Throughout the room, officers had separated the guests, questioning each one as to the events of the evening.

Faces tear stained, naked bodies cum stained, voices strained with grief – all claimed innocence. But one had to be guilty.

Which one poisoned the naked socialite? And why?

Earlier....

Kathryn DeLong lounged in the entrance way, a slight smile on her ruby lips. Her nipples hardened under the silken folds of her robe. The scene in front of her was one of decadence, of debauchery, of blatant sexual fantasies.

Tonight was going to be her finest party ever.

The invitations had caused quite the stir, just as she’d intended; simple black on white, with the big, bold letters at the bottom – CLOTHING OPTIONAL. She’d left instructions downstairs with the concierge to keep them all waiting in the lobby until the entire guest list had arrived. Then, and only then, were the dozen special friends allowed into the private elevator which brought them up to paradise.

The looks on their faces when they entered the ballroom was priceless to her. The video cameras set up around the penthouse captured everything for her personal entertainment. Her staff, dressed in only silk robes, approached them, removing their outerwear and revealing all of them in their beautiful, naked glory. None were shy – the swingers club they all belonged to had taught them long ago to be comfortable with their bodies.

Two other staff members appeared, armed with Kathryn’s version of kiddies loot bags. She had tailor made each one to fit. The cries and laughter as they were opened were classic. Dildos, vibrators, lubes, restraints, ticklers – it looked like she had bought out the entire sex shop.

Once everyone had a drink in hand, Kat’s husband Roger hit a few buttons on the remote he held. The huge production began – the music started, the three screens on the walls started playing pornography, and the lights dimmed. “Ladies and gentlemen – pick your partners and let the games begin.”

They all stood around, suddenly unsure of themselves. Denise pulled a long deep purple vibrator out of her goodie bag, and moved to the center of the room. “Well, if no one wants to fuck me, I guess I’m going to have to do it myself.” She slouched down on one of the leather couches facing the large screen, where a woman was getting her pussy pounded by another woman in a strap on. “And now, THAT is inspiring.”

Turning the vibrator on low, she lightly ran it over her nipples, moaning at the sensations as they stiffened into tight peaks. Moving it down her body, she slid it up between her lips, teasing her moist hole with the tip. Her audience watched, enraptured by her facial expressions as she slowly inserted it inch by inch, only to withdraw it just as slowly. Tony approached her, kneeling in front of her, massaging her thighs, his faces inches from the action. His head bobbed in closer with every thrust, his tongue flicking out to lick her lips.

Everyone unfroze at that moment. Roger grabbed Kathryn, pulling her into a passionate kiss. His hands roamed her body, pushing the folds of her robe open. She moaned as his fingers made his way down to her mound, gently tapping at her clit. Her hands found his stiff cock, stroking it in the way that she knew would drive him crazy. She dropped to her knees, licking around his bulbous head, which was slowly turning the same colour as Denise’s vibrator. A drop of pre-cum appeared at the slit and she whisked it away with her tongue. One hand massaged his balls, which were tight against his shaft, and the other moved around to tickle between his ass cheeks.

He bucked, thrusting himself further into her mouth. Her tongue flattened out, licking him in broad strokes from base to head. His fingers tangled into her hair, holding her steady while he fucked her face. Her cheeks caved as she increased the suction. Swirling her tongue as he thrust, she could tell he was ready to explode. When it came to fucking her, he could go for hours, but for some reason, with blow jobs he turned back into a pre-pubescent teenage boy and was quick to come.

Which was fine with Kathryn. As hostess, there was much still to do, and some important details she couldn’t leave to the staff. She would come later. With a strangled cry, he thrust one final time, and she tasted him as the milky stream hit the back of her throat. Without losing a single drop, she drank him all in. He helped her to her feet, kissing her passionately once again, his tongue sweeping the inside of her mouth for remnants of him.

She smiled coyly at him as he sank into the sofa next to Denise, who had abandoned the vibrator for the real thing. She was bent over, her hands resting on the sofa back, as Tony rammed into her from behind. Roger lay beneath her, his fingers ticking her clit, and his mouth fastening to her nipples as her tits swung free.

In another corner, Larry's wife Tina and her best friend Sarah were engaged in a rather hot soixante-neuf, with their husbands watching, while stroking the other’s hard on. It made for an incredibly erotic tableau, and Kathryn wished she could keep that image with her forever. Then she gave a little laugh. She would.

She sat and watched the debauchery unfolding before her. There were dildos and vibrators strewn all over the room, glistening with juices and lube. She watched with great interest while Maxine got set in her strap on, using a generous amount of lube. She pushed her boyfriend Ken onto all fours, kneeling behind him. Massaging his asshole, she then forced the lubed up cock into his tight tunnel. Kens face contorted in pain for a brief moment. Then, as Maxie developed a slow rhythm, his jaw went slack, and his eyes glazed over in pleasure. Kathryn could hear him grunting as Maxie muttered to him "You like this? You like me fucking you?"

"Yes." He gasped. She reached forward, entangling her hand in his shoulder length hair. Pulling his neck back, she thrust harder. "That's my bitch. Take it you slut." Kathryn giggled.

She beckoned Jasper, her faithful butler and constant sexual companion, over to her side. He had provided many nights of pleasure to both her and Roger over the years, but he held a special place in her heart. In fact, she would say she loved him. But Jasper was British, and extremely proper. Providing services for his employers was in his job description, and yes, perhaps he had grown fond of his lady over time. And although he knew of her feelings for him, he would never, in a million years, admit to loving her back.

But it was there, in his touch, in his eyes, in the way he bowed his head as he said “As you wish” after she would ask him to do something for her. “Jasper.” She whispered into his ear, and led him off by the hand. No one noticed as they slipped out of the room. She brought him into the study, closing the door softly behind them.

The staff watched the scene before them in fascination. The DeLong’s often hosted dinner parties, and once in a while, had others over for a “couple’s party”, but never anything to this extent. Cocks swelled, pussies grew wet, and with raised eyebrows and exchanged looks, the staff sent the message that they planned on partaking of each other in the same fashion once the night was over.

Jenna, in the middle of the floor, humping her way to her fifth self-induced orgasm on the bearskin rug, noticed the silent communication between them, and the tents in the robes of the male staff. She beckoned the two closest to her, one male and one female, and raised herself onto all fours. “Kneel down behind me please.” She asked the male nicely, her voice dripping with honey. She indicated the female to lie in front of her. Looking over her shoulder, she wiggled her ass, and handed him a condom. “Fuck me honey. Use that hard on of yours. No sense letting it go to waste.” She then faced the girl in front of her. “Lie down and spread them for me. I’m dying to eat some pussy.”

They tried not to show their shock as they did as she asked. It was Linda’s first party here, having only been employed for two months, and she would never have expected this. Dante had been around for a while and was a little less shocked. But nevertheless, the help had never been invited to join in before. But it looked like it was to be a night for firsts.

Linda gasped as Jenna’s tongue touched her clit. It wasn’t her first time being eaten, but it had never been by a woman. And she moaned as that talented tongue delved deep into her cunt, fucking her like a mini cock.

Dante was absorbed by the scene that was playing out in front of him, so much so that he almost forgot what he was supposed to do. Almost. His cock head nudged Jenna’s lips open, timidly at first. But when she thrust her perfect ass up against him, he lost all thought and shoved his seven inches full into her. Once sheathed in her moist heat, he began shallow movements, rocking against her without withdrawing. She cried out, the sound lost between Linda’s thighs.

The door to the study opened again, and Jasper, his eyes wet, hurried from the room. Five minutes passed before it opened again. Kathryn stood there,taking in the scene before her. She closed her eyes, lost in the sounds of pleasure and lust. She took a deep breath, and glanced at her watch. Almost midnight. In twenty minutes, it would be Valentine’s Day.

She strode into the dimly lit ballroom, voice carrying as she moved to the centre of the room, stepping over Jenna, Dante and Linda, who were collapsed in a heap of limbs, lips and smiles. “My friends, I hope you are all enjoying yourselves, and …” her scarlet lips turned up in a smile, “each other. I think it’s time the hostess had some attention.” They all laughed. Her pussy dampened again as she observed her husband eagerly licking Kitty Carrington’s shaved mound, his strong hand pumping his cock in rhythm.

She beckoned Jasper, to her. She smiled, stroking his cheek with her hand, kissing him gently on the lips. She removed her robe, sinking down into the middle of the group, thighs spread wide, ready, willing.

Her husband smiled, plunging two thick fingers into her already wet hole. She arched in pleasure, reaching for the nearest cock. Paul Styles volunteered, groaning as her hand encircled his engorged shaft. Her pulse accelerated.

Kathryn’s mouth hung open as her husband’s fingers pounded into her. James, her ex-boyfriend, saw opportunity and fed his ten inches between her lips. Katherine’s heart pounded as she took his meat into her throat, her eyes focused on his. He winked as he held her head, gently fucking her mouth.

Paul’s cock grew under her skilful hand, his breathing becoming laboured as he approached his climax. Her grip tightened, her strokes hurried as he came with a groan, shooting off all over her luscious tits. Shaylene, Katherine’s best friend, was on it in a heartbeat, lapping up the cream, paying close attention to her nipples, which were hard and aching. Katherine’s breathing became laboured.

“Someone please fuck me.” Her voice was strained from the effort. Jasper stepped up. “As you wish m’lady” he whispered, sliding his prick into her dripping cunt. He moved tenderly at first, at an angle. His head rubbed her g-spot just perfectly. She gazed into his bright eyes, her mouth still working James' prick. She clenched around him, coming hard.

Jasper quickened the pace, ramming into her, hitting the spots he knew intimately. Jenna laid next to her, her fingers finding Kathryn’s clit, rubbing it hard and fast.

James' cock popped out of Kathryn’s mouth as she cried out at the top of her lungs her orgasm tearing through her like a hurricane. Her heart felt like it exploded, as she stiffened.

Jasper groaned, collapsing on top of his mistress. As he noticed she wasn’t moving, his eyes filled with tears. “Goodbye m’lady.” He whispered into her skin.

Thirty minutes earlier, in the study....

The party had been underway for a few hours. She had spent the last two enjoying Jasper's private ministrations. She was sure that no one had missed her. Cleaned up, and once again in her robe, she stood at the window.

“Kathryn, are you sure?” Jaspers voice was filled with tears as he wrapped his arms around her, the two of them gazing at the city skyline.

“Yes Jasper. I’m exercising my right to choose. And I’m leaving on my terms.” Her hand held a crumpled doctor’s report, and she tossed it into the fireplace, where it joined a set of x-rays. She turned to him. “Three months I’ve been planning this. You promised. Please don’t abandon me now.”

She placed her cheek next to his. “Let me hear it. Just once before it’s over.”

He gazed into her eyes, and kissed her tenderly, with all the passion he could. “I love you Kathryn. I always will. I made you a promise. And I will not abandon you.” With that, he turned to mix her a drink. Handing her the snifter, he kissed her again.

“I’d like to be alone for a minute please Jasper.” Her voice broke, and he longed to hold her, to tell her this wasn’t the way. But her mind was made up.

“As you wish.” And with that, he turned and left her.

She gazed again at the beautiful skyline before her, caressing the snifter. She drained it viciously, resisting the urge to smash it in the fireplace. She had to remember, that this was what she wanted. In the safe were all the documents they’d need. They’d know why.

Yes, her friends would go through hell, at first. Roger would be devastated that she didn’t share this with him.

But they would forgive her, eventually. They’d all be found innocent, eventually. And she’d be beautiful forever.

Writing issues

2011-02-06T15:10:00.000-05:00

Ok, well, besides having NO time to write - which is a problem in itself - you ever have SO much you want to say that you can't get it out? Nothing you write seems to have the emotional impact you want?

That's the other problem I am having (the no time to write being the first). I have a whole lot of emotional turmoil going on inside of me right now, and I used to be able to write it out (am thinking, in the words of Ari Gold - Hug it out bitch - but that doesn't help either). But these days, everything I write feels wrong.

I'm one that waxes poetic on my feelings - you can tell. But these ones are difficult to do that with. Which makes me think that these aren't feelings I've ever had before. Because if I HAVE had them before, I would easily be able to turn them into poetry.

It's all I've ever done.

But, no matter what I put on the paper, the words don't seem strong enough. They don't seem right enough. Hell, they don't seem to be enough of ANYTHING. And that, my friends, is frustrating the ever-loving HELL out of me. Because I can't put them on paper (or screen as it were) at all.

I even tried to write them out plain and simple, just as they are. Raw emotions, without pretty words or images, and even THEN it seems like I'm getting it wrong.

My muse seems to be telling me that there's more to this - that it's not close to being finished so there's no point in writing it out.

HOWEVER, that depresses me. Because if that's the case, then it means that this chapter is destined to end, and maybe soon. And if not soon, does it mean I'll never be able to write about it?

I'm not sure I like EITHER of those options. Because right now, if I DON'T get these feelings out - I know I'm going to explode.

And then it'll be up to my bestie Terry to clean up the mess - and I hate leaving her to do that.

Any of you out there have advice for this? Have you gone through something similar? How did you get through it.

I need answers - or help. Help would be very nice. But not professional help. My picture is up in every office like a WANTED poster. They don't want to mess with my kind of drama.

weak...

2011-01-27T12:37:00.001-05:00

darkness falls before my eyes
and brings the cold, black night
I should shiver with loneliness

but my body is warm
from the memory of your touch
the press of your lips
the whisper of your words

I should be empty
but my heart is full
from the memory of your smile
the heat from your body
the desire in your gaze

and I revel in the warmth
that these memories bring
keeping me from freezing
in my numb existence

and when the darkness fades
and the morning light appears
I look forward to the time
when these moonlit memories
aren't just memories

when they will be my
day time reality

Seducing a Cancer Woman 101 - Take this class!

2011-01-24T11:36:00.003-05:00

I follow lots of sexy people on twitter. A few are our fellow smut mongers, a few are famous for other reasons, and a lot are my very hawt & sexay personal pals.

One I've recently started following is the Sexstrology Blog. They have a list of How To's when it comes to seducing your chosen male/female astrological sign.

I thought for shits and giggles, I'd check out if mine is accurate. So I've reprinted it here (linked to them as well) with my thoughts included. When you're done laughing at this, head on over and check out your own.

Sexstrology Blog: How to Seduce A Cancer Woman

Often thought of as infuriating, Cancer women are rather… misread. It is best that before you proceed with your plans of seduction understand that they need to be understood. At ALL times. (Damn skippy darling) They need a partner who is going to understand that they are moody by nature (they say moody - I say bitchy). Though it may sound like they are upset with you, they are simply venting in general (no, chances are I'm pissed off). They are sensitive but not only with themselves but to those around them. Some would rather not put the work in and that is fine with them. They are one of those signs that doesn’t need, they have to want (oh no - that's wrong - there's LOTS I need AND want).

A Cancer woman is very cut and dry; you can take them or leave them. That being said, it does not mean she is void of passion or emotion. It is quite the contrary. She may just as well be too passionate and emotional. She feels her way through life’s decisions and does not look back (ummm - I'm ALWAYS looking back - in regret mostly). So in order to seduce her, she needs to be in the mood (this is true - sort of. If he has his mind on seducing me, it's easy to get past my defenses). If she is in no mood to date, you won’t get to even knock on her door.

So how do you get your Cancer woman in the mood? Be direct with your intent. She wants a partner who is not needy or greedy (well, it's nice to be needed...and greedy can be fun once in awhile). For all her shyness (HA!) and general reserve (*giggle*), she admires and appreciates a partner who is confident and forthcoming (nothing sexier than confidence that's for sure). If you are less than that and she finds out, you are cut off completely and irrevocably (actually I tend to waver on this one). Once a Cancer woman decides to have a partner in their life, whether it is a booty call situation or a relationship, they take it seriously (well this is definitely true). They like parameters and would rather not have them changed without being mutually agreed upon.

She will have no problem leaving you behind (REALLY? Ok maybe in one or two special circumstances but usually not this Cancer - no one gets left behind - I'm kind of like the military that way). It sounds harsh and it is but for all that coldness (I'm only cold when I'm pissed and then I normally regret words or actions - in fact I'm accused of being too soft sometimes), they have a burning desire (let's pluralize that please - desires). Cancer women are romantics (YEP YEP YEP YEP YEP - can't agree on this one enough). Once you get past their crab shell exterior, their interior is a sweet inferno. They love romance and eroticism. She wants to be adored, loved and cared for (well DUH, you forgot worshipped...lol). If you are looking for more than just a “friends with benefits” relationship then do everything you can to appeal to her emotional side (pssssst - it's not that hard). On your dates she needs to feel as if you see nothing but her. She needs to be secure in knowing that when she is with you, there is nowhere else you would rather be (take special note of that word). Slipping in a few white lilies or roses as you are dating will always gain you their favor. Trust me; you want to gain their favor.

Cancer women are about the thought behind the action rather than the action itself (uh-huh for sure). You happen to have purchased a silver bracelet with moons on because she mentioned her natural affinity towards the celestial object. You have shown her you paid attention to what she says (SUCH a turn on - not the moons - the listening and paying attention). You leave her a good morning note on her car after a date, and it shows you think about her (swoon). You surprise her with a candlelight dinner at your place and she will know you want her to get comfortable because you are not going anywhere (big big big big points - big time). The effort will have gained her trust and make her want to be with you more.

She has a somewhat traditional view of dating. She would love to be properly courted (never happen). Though do not be surprised if she makes you chase her time and time again (well where's the fun in giving up right away?). It is how she weeds out the jerks and losers from the keepers. They get fed up and leave. A Cancer woman looks at each potential suitor as a potential partner, a permanent partner. No, she does not expect you to immediately marry her but she would like to know that if she wanted to you would (careful - the M word scares people).

She will not expect you to want to marry her so soon in your relationship but you just might find yourself wanting to. Once you gain the affections of a Cancer woman you may not want to leave. They have a both a domestic (k - those who know me NO LAUGHING) and maternal streak. No, she will not mother you but you will never have to want for anything at home. She will take care of the things you both need and you will wonder how you ever made it without her. Sometimes it is at this point where things go wrong for the Cancer woman.

They are so supportive that some are taken advantage (SING IT SISTER). As she slowly lets you in, you will see why those walls were up in the first place. Those who have taken advantage of her have scarred her deeply. The wounds may heal but with a Cancer but those scars never fade. This is why it is important to understand her. It sometimes seems as if she is making you pay for someone else's indiscretions but that isn’t the case. She has it in her head that the only person who will protect her is herself (and hence why I get argumentative and bitchy).

So yes, a Cancer woman is a little bit of work but once you have her it is worth it. Her passion rivals that of her Cardinal cousin Aries. She can be spontaneous and exciting (well, I don't like to brag...). She would love deep and erotic love making sessions with kisses that make her head spin (YES YES YES!). Cancer women are fiercely loyal.

Do not let harsh reality of her life deter you from wanting to be a part of it (honestly it's a lot of fun despite the drama). She is certainly not letting it hold her back. She continues to move forward and wants someone to move forward with her. Give her a chance; understand her idiosyncrasies and you will be rewarded. You will have an amazing woman that will give you a life full of content and satisfaction. She will give you a relationship that is as exciting as it is stable. (*blush* well I try....) You will know a passion that could felt deep down in your bones and you will never forget how loved you are (I'll tell you every day and it might get annoying). So go ahead and crack open her shell then enjoy all the sweetness she has inside.

Well, it's not me to a T - but hell, many points are REALLY close.

Check yours out - how close are you?