Eroticon 2015 is less than a week away and the finely tuned hum of excitement is in the the air. The lovely MollyMoore from Mollysdailykiss.com has started a meet and greet for attendees, so I have joined in the festivities.
NAME (and Twitter name if you have one)
Genevieve Ash @esensualbooks @genevieveash
Is this your first time at Eroticon? If No, what is your favourite memory from a previous Eroticon
No, I was fortunate to be able to finally attend last year. So many choices, but I would have to say there was an elevator ride that was particularly memorable...
Which 3 sessions have you already earmarked as definitely going to?
Really an action packed event this year. I do like to keep my options open, but I am looking forward to: Remittance Girl, Stella Ottewill and Jonathan Keith.
What drink will you be ordering at the bar on the Saturday night?
If you wrote an autobiography what would it be called?
I am not sure. Maybe, ‘The Adventure Continues’ .I wouldn’t want the title to imply that I was in anyway finished with life just because I wrote an autobiography. It would be nice if we lived enough that we could write ours in a series.
Where are you writing this post and what 5 things can you see around you (not including the device you are writing on)?
Sitting on the sofa and looking out on the bay--150 shades of grey…love the Welsh summer…swans, boats, an empty wine bottle and my leather journal.
If you could go out to dinner with any 5 sex bloggers or erotic writers, regardless of whether they are coming to Eroticon or not who would they be? I like to meet new people and I have found that the ones I enjoy the most are usually thrown on to my path, so, I will wait and see.
Food and sex. Sex and food. Food for the body and food for the soul. Italy was a gastronomic delight, but truth be told, I don’t need to go anywhere special to experience the pleasure of food.
Growing up in a food centric family through both work and home, I learned early on how a good meal can bring people together.The simple intimacy of breaking bread. My real life career in the food industry,carried on this theme as I repeatedly witnessed the joy of others during a special meal.
Yesterday I visited the Cardiff International Food Festival and was immediately pulled in by the sights and sounds of so many enjoying a bite, but it was the scents that really drew me in. Flavours from around the world mingled in the warm summer air, swirling until they exploded overhead into a frenzy of culinary bliss.
I am blessed /cursed with a sensitive nose and as some of the more pungent flavours of lamb and venison came through the smoke of white hot charcoal, I struggled to weed them out. Instead I focused on the sweet cinnamon of roasted pecans, the yeasty warmth of fresh bread, tiny pots of herbs fragrant in the sunshine. I let them rest on my sense of smell separately and together. I touched and tasted and absorbed the goodness.
Food porn at its finest, the passion was contagious and in the broad light of day, it was as though a culinary orgy was taking place before my eyes. I watched the carefree attitude of the crowds as they jostled for position of the next sample, their bags already stuffed full of goodies. The many opportunities to sample wine, cider, and beer, certainly did not hurt in contributing to the light hearted atmosphere. Men egging each other on to try the ghost chili sauces, women declaring their intention to do better tomorrow as they popped another brownie into their mouths, and their kids with ice cream smeared on their chins were all framed by the lively salsa music coming from the bandstand.
I sampled some of my favorites and tried a few new things. Although the fear of gluttony loomed large, the myriad of sensations pushing me to surrender to the feast, I chose carefully. Sometimes when we become obsessed with the smorgasbord, the endless options, we miss the true taste of a singular pleasure. One that is to be savored. Enjoyed to its fullest before moving on to the next course. And while choice is always an option, and variety can be the spice of life, sometimes what we really need is too just break bread with those that touch our lives.
My current WIP is about a couple of sexy TV chefs who get more than they bargain for when they open up the phone lines. Here is an excerpt:
“Do you find other pleasures mix well with food?”
Francesca felt the heat rising to her cheeks and tried to find a snappy comeback but all she could think about was the other pleasures Rick was referring to.
“I am Italian, Rick. We find great pleasure in many things. Many of them involving food.”
“Just as I thought.” Francesca waited for him to continue but he just winked at her and continued to cook. Her heart was beating too fast and she needed to get control back so, she returned to the letter.
Paul stood close behind me. I could feel his warm breath on my neck, the heat of his skin washing over me in waves and his excitement growing. He was in my personal space and I wanted to ask him to move but instead, I calmly explained that it needed to cook fifteen minutes on each side then stood there just watching the chicken brown. I shifted on my feet, the movement pushing my hips just a little farther back. I could feel the heat and hardness of his arousal pressing against the thin cotton of my pants. Paul reached around me and set his beer on the counter. I could feel his heart beating against my back as he leaned against me. He rested one hand on my hip. I knew it was insane, I had to say something. But I couldn’t speak. I felt his other hand slip into the waist of my pants and grab my swelling cock. He stroked slowly, gently, waiting for me to panic. Fuck, it felt good. I closed my eyes and leaned back against him. His hips started to move and I could feel the denim covered shaft of his flesh pressing between the cheeks of my ass. I turned off the flame under the chicken and heard Paul chuckle under his breath. He turned me to face him then pushed me back. I felt the hard lip of the counter digging into my hips, I smelled the aroma of the five spice powder dusting the crispy chicken, and I tasted need on my tongue. Paul sank to his knees in front of me and reached for the tie that held my bottoms together. I even laughed as he licked his lips hungrily, but still, I could not stop him. Did not want to stop him. His tongue danced around the smooth head of my cock tasting the drops that glistened near the tip. He explored the veins and ridges, tasting every inch of me. I wound my hands through his blond hair and pulled him closer. The contrast of my dark fingers vivid against his fair head was arousing me even more. He was teasing me and already I wanted to explode. I pulled his hair, tipping his face up and locked my gaze on his. ‘Suck me,’ I had told him.
His mouth covered me and I pushed my hips forward forcing my way deeper. He choked a little and I gave him time to adjust to my thickness. He began to move, cupping my balls in one hand and stroking my shaft with the other as he sucked as much of me as he could into his throat. Damn, he knew what he was doing. A man knows a man, I had thought before I could think no more. His lips were tight around me dragging the skin up and pushing it back down with each dip of his head. I was so close but I didn’t want to come yet. I was a man, I could hold my own.
Paul looked up at me and smiled that silly grin I had seen before. He stood and unzipped his jeans. As he pushed them to the floor, I panicked. What did he think would happen now? I had never touched a cock other than my own before. Pulling his shirt over his head, I watched the muscles flex in his abdomen. I had always thought him on the thin side but he was all muscle. Lithe and wiry, the lines clean on his hairless torso. He lifted my shirt over my head and we stood there for a moment, two men, naked in the kitchen-one gay, one not. Paul took my hand and placed it in the center of his chest. I felt his heart pounding, the rapid rise and fall of his breaths and the smooth skin beneath my palm. My cock was throbbing and I needed relief. His fingers encircled my wrist and he slowly pushed my hand down over his hard belly, pausing as my fingertips met the wiry hairs surrounding his cock. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I could feel the head of his cock brushing the heel of my hand and I lifted my palm and let the tip of him slide underneath. It was soft and wet. I brushed my palm lightly back and forth and Paul shuddered. The excitement of doing something I had always considered naughty and the power of knowing I had aroused him was pushing hard at me. I wanted this. Really fucking wanted this. I gripped his shaft, stroking the velvety head with my fingers as I pumped him slowly. Paul closed his eyes and moaned softly. It was just sex, I’d thought. Two people finding pleasure together. Nothing wrong with that. His body was open and relaxed. His nipples were so hard I couldn’t resist pinching them between my fingers. His groan of pleasure thrilled me. He leaned forward and took my cock in his hand. He matched my rhythm until we both were breathing hard. Then he did something I had never expected—he kissed me; full on the mouth, his tongue slipping inside. I tried to pull away, but he had wrapped his hand around my head and held me fast. Everything was blurry then. I could feel the pressure rising up to my mouth looking for any escape. I knew I was moaning and, I was kissing him back.
Francesca paused. Her vision was blurry, the sexy story reaching to her very core. She was transported to a different place and no longer saw the studio or Rick or the look of shock on the executive’s faces. Francesca never thought that two men having sex would arouse her but there was something so primal and free about their coupling and that thought did turn her on. My god, what is wrong with me! I am on live television, in front of network big-wigs saying cock and fuck and all I can think about is Rick bending me over…
“Francesca, we are waiting for the –climax.”
“Sorry. I –uh, I lost my place.”
Paul broke the kiss and stopped stroking me. We were panting like animals. A slight smile rested on his lips and an unspoken question was in his eyes. I wanted to think I wouldn’t go through with it, but I was beyond the point of no return. My angry cock was so full it bobbed heavily in front of me, ticking against Paul’s shaft that rose toward his belly. My balls ached to be relieved of the pressure, the tension in my lower back tugging at my nerves. I was so fucking turned on and truth be told, the thought of being with Paul might have danced across my mind once or twice before.
‘My kitchen,’ I’d said, ‘I’m in charge.’ I thought I saw him shiver. I grabbed his wrist and turning him, I bent him over the work island. Grabbing the olive oil, I drizzled the slippery liquid on his tailbone and watched the stream of oil disappear into the crevice of his ass. I coated my hands and stroked my cock until it slid effortlessly through my grip. Paul was breathing hard, his hips squirming with impatience. We had been neighbors for almost two years, he could wait two more minutes, I’d thought.
I filled my palm with the chartreuse colored lubricant and the sharp scent of olives filled my nose.
“That would be Extra Virgin olive oil, folks.” Rick laughed to himself as her finished the ragout for the Braciole and poured it over the browned rolls of beef. Francesca rolled her eyes at the camera and continued.
I began to stroke Paul’s cock slowly. He was gritting his teeth, almost wincing as though the pain of holding back was just too much for him. With my other hand, I positioned the head of my cock at the tight bud of his ass. I let the head slip into him. Fuck, he was tight—and so hot. Paul wriggled his hips a little, trying to push back, but I slid out, teasing him. Again, I entered him, a little deeper this time, my cock stretching the tight entrance to the max. My cock was so hard, so slippery, I wanted to take my time, feel each delicious inch move into him, but he thrust back hard and my dark meat disappeared inside him. His muscles squeezed at me, drawing me deeper. I so did not want to come yet, but I could feel my orgasm pushing at me. Paul was moaning and he grabbed my hand to slow the strokes. Both of us barely hanging on.
I moved in him slowly, keeping my strokes even—holding back just a little. I cupped his balls, feeling the weight in my hand. His hips pumped meeting my strokes, trying to push me deeper inside him, his own cock thrusting into a phantom lover made of air. I waited until he cried out, begging me to fuck him harder. I could hear the pain of his need. I think I asked him if he was sure just before I drove into him fully and without reserve. He lifted his body on his hands, his back arching, and his head up in a careening wail of pure pleasure. I pushed his head down and angled his hips so I could go deeper. I was taking everything now. The freedom was exhilarating and I took and took and took. The pressure was centered in my balls; they were full and ready to burst. My cock had never been stiffer and my body was moving without thought; faster and deeper and harder. I grabbed Paul’s cock and began to pump with a firm grip. I felt his shaft slipping against my palm, watched as my cock moved in and out of his ass and heard his rapid breaths and agonized moans. That’s what I liked about sex; all the senses involved to create a delicious masterpiece, I’d thought with a laugh. Then I felt his body tense and he groaned; once, twice, three times, before he grunted and shot his load. I felt the hot creamy stream of his spunk running over my fingers and it sent me over the edge. I pushed into him deeper than I had dared and exploded. My own incredible release so hot and thick, I could feel it burning the length of me as it coated his snug chamber. I jerked and shuddered, planting my hands to either side of him on the island until we caught our breath. Slowly, I slid my softening cock from inside him.
I wasn’t sure what to do now so I turned back to the stove and finished the chicken. Paul handed me a cold beer and turned up the music. After we ate and cleaned up the kitchen, Paul thanked me for dinner. He’d said, he enjoyed the dark meat so much it was only fair that he provide dessert…
“Perhaps a little crème brulee- what do you think Francesca?”
“With that, we will take a commercial break. We’ll be right back to taste the Italian delicacies Rick has prepared.”