Giving thanks. A simple effort often made complicated by our seemingly never ending need for more. The way the negative tries to crush the positive. And what of being grateful for the negative? The things that make us stronger. Give us hope for the future and propel us to strive for more, for better. And so, the cycle begins again…
I know I have much to be thankful for. Even during the darkest moments, I have been aware that still, I am so very fortunate. A roof, a meal, a healthy child. Family and friends that love me and I love in return. Doing what I love. Travel. The list is endless if you think about it. And although there are things that I wish were different and times where I am a whinging, ungrateful and selfish brat, it is usually a passing glance that comes and goes. Yes, it creeps back, but if I use all the good to block it then it becomes more manageable.
It is in our nature to be dissatisfied, it is what keeps us moving forward. You cannot understand, the joy without the pain, the hunger without be satiated, the loss without having loved. Another birthday lining my face, but I am glad to celebrate another year when some I know did not get that privilege. The extra pounds that creep in from having an endless supply of food, that so many are denied. The aches and pains that remind me of all the wonderful adventures I have lived. Winnie the Pooh says it quite nicely, ‘how wonderful I have something that makes saying goodbye so difficult.’ So, we too, need to look on the bright side more often. Being grateful and acknowledging it, is a sure way to bring peace and joy to the dark times.
Growing up in the US, Thanksgiving was always a special time. While much of the joy came from football and parades and too much stuffing, it was the joy of family and friends that made it special. When you look back and see those that are now missing from that table, you realize the true importance of not only being grateful for those in your life, but, also, for never missing an opportunity to tell them how much their presence in it means.
People change, grow apart or simply fade away, but they all touch our lives in some way and I believe are put on our path for a reason. Maybe their time with us is just a moment or a season or a lifetime, but it is a sad regret to look back and think they might have been happier to know how much they truly meant to us. ‘I love you’ is carelessly tossed about today, but unlike the Eskimos who have many words for snow, we use one word to describe intensity of feeling in its many forms. Unless you are a wordsmith who enjoys crafting lyrical prose, I love you, you’re special to me, I value our friendship- are all good options. Although, today it will more than likely be an emoji, a photo or a 9 second video!
I have had the opportunity to spend a couple of my Thanksgivings in the UK sharing the feast with those who do not celebrate this holiday. While it seemed strange at first, given the reason for the holiday, I realized that being thankful is something we all can do. Even if a small can of pumpkin cost £6! But I had pumpkin pie as I have for many, many years, so I was grateful…see how easy it is!
And I have gained other holidays, too. Ones that were not familiar to me: Bonfire night, St David’s Day, Boxing Day, St Dwynwen’s and Miner’s fortnight. New experiences, new traditions. New memories. Different faces at a different table, but home and family nonetheless.
The year has flown by and soon it will be Christmas and the start of a New Year. I am not big on the whole resolution thing, but perhaps I will resolve to be more thankful next year. Ah, but why wait for January 1st, I think today is a fine day to give it a shot, don’t you?
Where has 2016 gone? Jack Frost will soon be blowing in and if the cool fall in the UK is any indication, it is going to be a cold winter! October and the heat is already on.
I survived the recent birthday and celebrated in style! A trip to Buckingham Palace was a dream come true--though meeting the Queen is still firmly on my bucket list as she was not there. The first thing I did while rounding the corner near St James Park was look to the sky. The Palace flies a standard Union Jack when the Queen is not in residence and the Royal Standard when she is. My heart sank a little when I saw the Union flag, but just walking the halls of history was more than enough for a first visit.
The immensity of this experience struck me the moment I stepped through the doors of the palace. Tears sprang to my eyes immediately as the history, pageantry and romance all combined to hit me head on.
I ascended the grand staircase to the ballroom imagining I was meeting the Queen for a Royal Ball. The fact that one of my favorite walking shoes had separated from the sole before I arrived and was now held together with some large rubber bands, did not deter me from exuding what I had hoped appeared as regal charm. How many had walked this very same path as I trod now? How many whispered conversations, important deals and horrible secrets had been spoken in these rooms? And how many had been born, died and lived between these royal walls.So many possibilities swirled through the air. Ghosts of the past floating on the glittering dust trails in the afternoon sun.
90 years of the Queen’s fashion was the special exhibit lining the ballrooms and was a feast for the eyes-even if a little claustrophobic-- as the many visitors all jostled for a closer look. The exquisite detail on both Her Majesty’s wedding and coronation gowns were a highlight, but it was fascinating to watch the way she not only kept up with the changing silhouettes through the decades, but also wore them all effortlessly with style and class. Many commented that now, at 90 years old, she looks better than ever and I have a tendency to agree!
Although I planned to cap off the day with Tea in the garden, the lovely café I had been expecting was more of cafeteria line to feed and water the masses, so I passed. Ah, reality never seems to creep back in slowly…
Buckingham Palace is only open to the public for a couple months out of the year, so I am grateful the timing worked this trip. If you have an opportunity to visit, it is well worth the trip and the reasonable price of admission goes toward restoring and maintaining the stately residence.
The final room on the tour was the Throne Room. I stood there thinking of all the Kings and Queens that had sat in that same spot- some of the older thrones still visible on the outskirts of the room- and was reminded of the dreams of a little girl wishing to be a princess. I may be past my princess prime, but that hasn’t appealed in decades anyway, I still have time and now I am going for Empress. I think it suits me much better :-)
The turning leaves and crisp breezes usher in a time to reflect. The old fades away like the vibrant autumn colours of the Bittersweet vine and with it comes the hope, that someday soon, spring will poke its fragile head up through the barren ground again.
September, the month of my birth brings even more time for reflection. The melancholy moments of reliving the past. The people, places, and memories that have somehow collided to make me who I am today.
The youth so carelessly spent: omnipotent and fearless, grabbing the best of what I thought life should be, the middle years of anxious busyness, child rearing, and playing the role of adult-- and now that what some might call ‘the golden years’ loom large in the not too distant future, what will change?
What have I learned about life? Do I have regrets? Is it ever too late to start again- to move closer to my genuine self? And what of the physicality of it all? It seems that my ‘20 something’ year old self is still trapped inside this ‘50 something’ year old body. A body once taken for granted as I climbed and raced and gave in to all the pleasures life could offer. A body, that I now work so hard to try and make it come close to doing what it once had.
Don’t misunderstand, I am grateful for each passing year. The strands of silver and gold laced through my red hair are simply natures highlights, the lines that crinkle near my eyes a reminder of all the laughter I have shared, but in my soul I now know things that I could not have known in my youth. Important things. Things that only experience can teach us. As the clock moves forward, so does my ability to better understand the world around me. To understand what is worth focusing on and what is not worth fretting about.
People come and go, families break apart and come together once again, true friends remain over decades while the acquaintances ebb and flow, yet, each one creates a small place inside us where the memory remains. Each giving or taking a little bit of our past that shapes the future.
Sometimes I lament the crime of not knowing these things sooner. The wish that I had seized more of life…If I’d only known. But, then I again realize that none of it would be true because I would not be the same person I am now. I no longer covet the life that did not turn out as planned. The phrases “be careful what you wish for” and ‘aren’t you glad some things did not turn out as hoped for’ now remind me that it was perfect as it was. As it should have been.
No, my life is not perfect. Some would say, far from it, but I now choose the simple things, the important things to gauge my success. And while I have so much to be grateful for, I have always been a little greedy. Always reaching for just a little more. One more adventure. Stepping outside the norm. Not quite satisfied. Searching. As if the ever elusive brass ring is not meant to be caught, simply to be reached for. A leg up to the next level. The climb. Moving forward. Continuing to live, grow, love.
I look forward to the years ahead. Along with the gentle nudges that help me to understand what needs to be gracefully surrendered, I will continue to strive for what can be accomplished regardless of age, propriety or physicality. Transforming my reality once again to encompass the peace, the knowledge, the knowing.
What is it that I know? Probably not much, however, the one thing that has always been certain and will always be true in my soul, is that in the end, love is what truly matters. What always remains. It is eternal and I believe the only thing we take with us when we leave this life. So, love each other and yourself, laugh until you see wrinkles, make more memories and know that if your life is not exactly how you thought it would be, keep living anyway, you may just catch that brass ring after all.
Once again I am writing a blog to say, "I’m sorry for ignoring you." It is not intentional, I assure you. Life gets busy. Time passes or stands still and suddenly you realize another month has passed.
I have not been lazy though. My duties at eSensual Books are keeping me very busy. You can read all about it in our blog here. So many exciting new things happening, it is difficult to keep it all sorted!
And dont forget there is still time to submit your sexiest audio stories to a new Call for Submissions. Talk Dirty to Me is a unique audio only antholgy, edited by Essemoh Teepee and myself.. Please read more about the details here.
As with everything, my life seems to be divided in half. I live in the States and I live in the UK. I have an identity as mother, daughter, sister, friend, and a separate identity in which I write, record, and manage a business that is mostly kept separate from my real life. I write about characters that exist only in a novel, but after spending sometimes months with them inside my head, it is difficult to admit they are not real. Sometimes after a while has passed since a new release, I actually even miss them!
Fantasy and reality have a way of crashing gears, sometimes when they merge it is fabulous, until the moment comes where you shake your head like a wet dog and remind yourself it is not real. Sometimes you just have to leave it in a little box and take it out for a visit. Ah, but, that is the price of a vivid imagination and as I have noted before, my family often says, “I don’t know what world you grew up in, but I don’t remember it like you do.”
As complicated as it might seem to operate in different worlds, I wouldn’t trade it. The imagination is an incredible tool to assist in your journey through life and the brain cannot tell the difference between a vividly imagined daydream and a real life experience. Try experiencing the intense pleasure that Directed Erotic Visualisation© gives and you will understand.
Today, I am missing Callista and her beloved Professor Anbu. The third in the Research Series, Academic Research is well underway and I look forward to see where their crazy adventures will lead this time. I have included an excerpt from Captivating Research to remind you and give us all something to look forward to in the New Year when Academic Research is released. Enjoy!
Callista gave the looking glass one last glance. She felt like a Princess. All of her life she’d dreamed of dancing at the ball with her Prince, and tonight, she would have the chance. The vivid scarlet dress threw extra colour into her subtly made up face and it appeared as though she had a continual blush. The long lean column of silk clung to her every curve, the flared bottom tickling her ankles as she moved. The scoop neck was on the demure side but the bra pushed her ample cleavage high – at least my shoulders and knees are covered—Callista wanted to make a good impression on the Consul General, Anbu had said he was a close relative of the Sultan. She wanted to show him her respect and that she was as much a professional as Anbu. She knew women in this region were often treated like second class citizens but she would not be just the assistant this time! Certainly Anbu had invited her as a colleague as well as a lover. He may be more experienced, but I am certainly as capable. STOP! Her brain was twisting again. Now was not the time to pick an imaginary fight with Anbu. They had a special evening ahead and she needed to be on her best behaviour.
Looking in the mirror one last time, she turned to check the timepiece on the nightstand.
* * *
Anbu glanced at his watch; six fifty-nine, where the hell is she? It was not like Callista to be late.
“Bruna, would you like to check on our friend and see what is keeping her?”
“She will be here Master, relax.” Anbu shot his shirt cuffs from his sleeves, straightening the gleaming gold cufflinks at his wrist. He ran a finger over the abstract design, remembering the day Halgan had given them to him. They had been her father’s, a gift from a Christian missionary travelling through their village in Somalia before the troubles. He had been lying alongside her slender body in his hotel bed, sated from hours of lovemaking, holding each other and talking. Halgan had told him her father had acted as an interpreter for the missionary, protecting him from falling foul of fundamentalist hotheads. The links had been the only item of value her family had preserved when they fled to the camps. The day after she had given them to him she was dead, his Halgan, killed because of her love for him… Not tonight Anbu, too much is riding on this evening. Stay focused.
“I guess I shall have to go get her…” Anbu snapped back to reality to find Piers, his jaw slack and mouth gaping, and Bruna with a secret smile on her lips, their attention drawn to the staircase.
Callista manoeuvred the wide, sweeping curve of stairs like a debutante at her coming out ball. The crimson silk moved with her, clinging to her voluptuous body as though it couldn’t bear to be parted from her soft skin. Her head was erect, her neck long, her body language open and relaxed. Anbu remembered the nervous young ingénue he met in a café a few short months ago and a strangled sob choked in his throat. My god she is stunning. No wonder that damn masseur couldn’t keep his hands off her.
Piers stepped to the bottom of the stair case and extended his hand. “Ms Makris, you are breath-taking.”
“Thank you, Piers and please, call me Callista.” Anbu watched her smile sweetly and take a deep breath, pushing her breasts practically into Piers’ face before stepping into the foyer.
“Like a goddess, Chica. You look so powerful.” Bruna gave her friend a clandestine wink.
“Thank you Bruna. You look absolutely stunning.”
Anbu looked at the two women side by side, Bruna’s risqué gold dress had been altered to include a sheer drape of chiffon that covered her arms and shoulders and brought the hemline just below her knees. The added modesty did not detract from the pure sex that Bruna exuded from every pore. Callista was elegant and demure, the cut of the costly designer gown emphasising her delicious shape to full advantage without being overtly sexy. But Anbu knew beneath that demure look lay a boiling tempest of sexual energy. Pretty on the outside, dirty on the inside…
“Professor, if I may say so, none of the girls in the richest sheik’s harem will compare to the beauty of these fine ladies. I do believe you will be the most envied man at the reception.”
“Thank you Piers, I am a very lucky man indeed.” Anbu realised the truth of his words as he spoke. Maybe he had taken his fortuitous circumstances for granted lately. The last few weeks he had been busy preparing for this trip and contemplating his future. The attention and willingness of these women had made him feel the world was at his feet. He understood now that instead of paying attention to their needs, he had been pondering how much more there was for him to discover. His emotions and libido had been locked away by guilt and memories for so long. Now that he was free, he wanted to explore those possibilities. Well, tonight will be all about them.
Anbu stepped between the two women taking the arm of each and escorted them to the waiting helicopter. The breeze was still warm from the blazing day as the trio strolled to aircraft waiting for them. Callista wanted to pinch herself and glanced over at Bruna, who had her head up, looking every inch as though this was her birth right. Damn, she is gorgeous…
Anbu checked to see that they were both belted into the rear seats securely and gave them each a kiss on the cheek as he settled headphones onto their heads before clambering in beside the pilot. She saw his eyes darting about, taking in the controls and glowing instruments as the pilot started the engine and wound the rotor up for take-off. Callista would have preferred to sit beside Anbu and snuggle. Boys will play with toys…
The short flight swept them over Dubai and across the nearby border into Oman. Anbu’s crackling voice in their ears recited the rules as the aircraft circled above the Consul General’s private palace.
“No drugs, no intoxication, no overt sexuality. Do not wander off…”
“Yes, Master.” Callista snapped into her microphone, trying to curtail his laundry list of rules. “Shall we check in with you before we visit the loo as well?
“Don’t be crass, it doesn’t become you. It would be unwise to display such impudence with our host and his guests. I don’t plan on straying far from either of you tonight.”
“Oh and what’s the special occasion?” Callista hated to be snide but she didn’t need Anbu treating her like a child. Anbu twisted in his seat and looked over his shoulder at the two women. Callista thought he looked contrite.
“I suppose I deserve that. I know I have been somewhat preoccupied lately, but tonight we will all enjoy the evening together.”
“Master, will you dance with me?” Bruna’s big dark eyes pleaded with him like a child asking for candy before supper.
“Bruna, it is not that kind of a party, more of a reception, partly in our honour. Play the game, nod and smile. Speak when you are spoken to.”
“Oh great, so it will be boring!”
“Bruna, things are rarely boring when you are around, you seem to have fun wherever you go. Just try to stay out of jail okay?”
The pilot expertly wound the helicopter down to land close beside a sparkling white limousine that was waiting to take them the short distance to their host’s gleaming palace bathed in golden light from powerful spotlights hidden in the lush landscaped grounds.
Anbu helped them both from the aircraft and into the car. He raised Bruna’s hand to his lips and kissed it soundly. “Be good little girl for me, just this once?”
The Brazilian smiled and batted her eyelashes. Callista looked at Anbu; his white dinner jacket highlighted his coffee coloured skin, the crisp bowtie, the intricate cufflinks, his perfectly pressed black trousers and polished shoes made for a delicious package of Anbu. She thought he looked like someone out of a James Bond movie, maybe even the legendary man himself and she giggled at her fanciful thoughts.
“What is so amusing, Callista?” Anbu turned his attention on Callista, his grey eyes almost black as he searched her gaze. “Please share with the class?”
“Nothing, I was just thinking you look as though you should be in a Bond movie. Helicopters, fancy cars, and a white dinner jacket—of course, you are much more handsome than any of the Bond’s—thus far.” Callista tried fluttering her eyelashes, but was sure it came off as more of twitch. Damn, I wish I hadn’t worn the falsies.
“Thank you, I think.” Anbu laughed as he got into the car and the rich joyous sound made Callista’s heart flip-flop in her chest. “I don’t think this research project will require anything as exciting as espionage. No car chases, high tech gadgets, disguises or explosions and certainly not gunplay, but should you get a paper cut, I can probably assist.”
They all laughed as the car sped off towards the party. The sleek Mercedes ground to a halt just a few moments later and the back door to the car opened held by a liveried servant. Callista elegantly swung her legs from the car, ankles together, and stepped on to the walk. Bruna joined her and they both stared at the building in front of them; white walls bathed in pastel floodlights, Lapis and gilt cupolas atop tall minarets. Verdant palms and formal planted flower beds softened the abundance of marble. Anbu’s whisper floated from behind them.
“My friends, I don’t believe we are in Kansas anymore…”
If the hotel was over the top in Callista’s view, then the Consul’s Palace was positively obscene. If this was the home of a government official what on earth must the Sultan’s Palace be like? Anbu did not seem at all phased by the ostentatious luxury surrounding him. He absorbed any environment like a sponge, effortlessly fitting in to his surroundings. Callista supposed it was the very essence of his academic success as an anthropologist and ethnographer. He had a chameleon like ability which enabled him to adapt so completely to his circumstances. She was envious of his laid back approach to extreme cultural shifts and more determined than ever to learn how he achieved it. That was why I took his job offer to begin with, after all!
The palace was humming with excitement. Elegantly clad people whispered secret gossip into each other’s ears while watching the subtle dance of the Sultanate court. The tinkling music of fine crystal glasses and gold bracelets mingled with boisterous conversations of congregated self-important men watching the exquisitely desirable women parading past them.
The formal reception had been short and as Bruna had guessed, somewhat boring. The elderly Sultan had only appeared briefly, escorted by the Consul General who had introduced him to Anbu. After a few quiet words and a laugh shared by the three men, the Omani ruler moved to the next group. Except for a glance lingering on Callista’s cleavage and a measured look at Bruna, he essentially ignored the two women. Callista remained calm, following protocol, and Bruna just laughed. The Brazilian whispered in Callista’s ear, “Do you think he might like one of your blow jobs, Chica?” Callista nearly dropped her champagne.
Once the Sultan had circulated, he was spirited away by his minders and the real party began. The techno beat of music pounded in time with the flashing lights and their host’s harem re-appeared in dance clothes, shaking it for all they were worth in hopes of attracting the attention of a Prince or Sheik. Callista guessed that most of them were on the usual three year contracts and were constantly looking for fresh opportunities to extend their tenure.
Bruna took one look at the harem girls and pouted. “Master, look at them. I don’t stand a chance of snagging a Sheik wrapped up like this. What about the Generalissimo, I could make him happy?”
“I don’t believe even your considerable charms would work on our host, Bruna. If the rumours are correct, the Consul General is gay. He has no children of his own and though many have tried to snag him from bachelorhood, none have succeeded.” He laughed at Bruna, as she made pretence of stamping her foot in disappointment.
“He studied at Oxford for a while, before my time, but the more cosmopolitan lure of London, and particularly Soho, was too strong. I don’t think he got a very good degree, a Desmond at best.” Anbu saw Bruna’s confusion and added, “A two, two degree; second class honours? Archbishop Desmond Tutu? No?” he sighed and said, “Callista will explain it later.”
Callista noticed the Consul General over Anbu’s shoulder, approaching rapidly and wearing a frown. “Anbu, pissed off host at six o’clock. We haven’t done anything, honest.” Bruna nodded vigorously in agreement. Anbu sighed and turned.
“A word, Professor?”
“Of course, Excellency.”
“Will you excuse us, ladies? I shan’t keep Professor Dahl very long. Enjoy the party.”
“Behave, and stay here!” Anbu hissed over his shoulder as he made to leave.
“Master, may I use the restroom?” Bruna put on her baby voice as she called after him and smiled sweetly.
“Yes, but take Callista with you.”
“Don’t you trust me to pee?” Bruna didn’t think Anbu had heard her and Callista thought it was probably for the best.
Anbu paused mid stride and half turned. “Callista, why don’t you take Bruna to the powder room? Now!” His tone was curt but Callista couldn’t resist pushing him.
“Take her? Yes, Daddy.”
“Master, this was supposed to be a fun night out for us, remember? I hope your mood improves before we get back.” Bruna turned on her heel and wiggled her delicious bottom across the dance floor. Callista looked at Anbu hoping he would say something to make her feel better about everything, but he did not. Instead, he turned on his heel and hurried after the retreating diplomat. To make matters worse, she had lost sight of Bruna and had to hurry to search for her.
It had been our anniversary. My husband had arranged for a weekend at a romantic Victorian hotel. Not that we need a special occasion to celebrate, our time together is always special. Although we enjoy trying new restaurants, it had been a while since we’d had time just to ourselves, and the last thing on our minds would be getting dressed up and going out. Well, the last thing on my mind anyway, and I hoped, his. I checked into the room early while he was still at a meeting and decided to prepare an indoor picnic.
The city market was nearby and the many specialty shops surrounding it would provide all we would need. As I wandered the maze of stalls, I was overwhelmed by the choices. The smells, the colors, the sounds of the shoppers wheeling and dealing filled me with excitement. I was aroused thinking about sharing it with him and I couldn’t help but transfer that arousal to my choices. Decadent, sensual, spicy choices; fresh crusty bread, piquant olives, creamy cheeses, sweet, juicy fruits—and when I saw the delicate smoked lobster, I couldn’t resist. I had enough food to feed a family of four, but my appetite for food was being fueled by a hunger of a different kind. The large ripe strawberries caught my eye on the way out. I almost passed-too cliché, but the sign said, ‘homegrown.’ I bit into the sample and the authentic flavor hit my tongue, I groaned in ecstasy. The vendor raised a brow before bagging my purchase.
I returned to the hotel and borrowed a few items from their kitchen. I still had time to prepare for his arrival, so I soaked in the claw foot tub, running through my mental checklist. I wanted it to be perfect. I took extra care with my make-up and hair and dressed as if we were going out. I knew he would be in a suit coming from work, and if I greeted him in lingerie, we would never get around to eating—food anyway. What took hours of preparation would be cancelled out within five minutes when we lost our battle to be patient. We try, but we just never seem to be able to wait.
My heart was racing. He had just called to say he was five minutes away. I couldn’t wait to see him even though it had only a day since he’d kissed me goodbye. I always felt that way though. After all these years my heart still skips a beat when he walks through the door. I checked my reflection one last time, smoothed the duvet, plumped the pillows and paced the room my pulse racing, my tummy fluttering. I saw the wine bucket empty on the desk—I had forgotten the wine! Everything so perfect and I forgot the wine. I picked up the phone to call room service but heard the key turning in the lock. I pushed out a breath as my heart squeezed in anticipation.
He looked good enough to eat. His black cashmere coat hugging his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt and striped silk tie. He always looked so put together. I could see a little of his day lingering in the shadows under his eyes, but when he looked at me and smiled, the tiredness seemed to be swept away. In one hand he held a dozen red roses, and in the other, a bottle of pink champagne. Sounds like a romance novel I know, but we are old fashioned romantic that way. I nodded toward the bucket full of ice and he dropped the bottle and the roses into it before taking off his coat.
He stood there, still looking at me in the snug fitting wool dress and fuck me heels like I was dinner. I could feel his thoughts touching my skin. I was trembling, my nipples were so hard they hurt, but I was enjoying the tension of waiting. He opened his arms and said, ’Come to me.’ I love when he demands things of me—in the bedroom anyway. I stepped into his embrace and my body relaxed against him. I could feel his erection pressing into my thigh. We just stood like that; close, quiet, wanting—for what seemed like an eternity before he pushed me toward the bed. ‘No’- I’d told him. ‘First we eat and then we fuck.’ He laughed and pushed his hand under my tight skirt wiggling his fingers in the moist heat of my cunt. I moaned, the need strong, but I clamped my hand over his wrist and pulled his fingers from my aching flesh.
I pushed his suit coat back slowly then made an elaborate event of straightening it and hanging it on the chair. Slowly, I unknotted his tie and opened the buttons on his shirt one by one. Next the intricate work of removing the cufflinks before pulling the shirt from his trousers and again, hanging it carefully over the chair. I urged him toward the bed, making him sit. I could hear his breathing now. We didn’t speak, he knew and I knew. I removed his shoes and socks then grabbed his belt buckle and pulled him up. He stood so close to me that each deep breath he took caused his body to graze mine. I shoved his pants and briefs to the floor. I wanted to drop to my knees and taste him. His cock was thick and hard and so very close to my mouth. As I bent to retrieve his slacks, I exhaled; sending a warm burst of air over his groin. My mouth was watering, but all that food…
I pulled the tablecloth covering the picnic away and he looked in amazement at the spread I’d prepared. He took a plump berry and pressed it to my lips. I opened slightly and he thrust it into my mouth along with his fingers. The sweet juices exploded on my tongue then he kissed me. Oh, the taste of him and the strawberry mixing was so exotic. My head was spinning. I felt my stomach clench in anticipation.
His soft chuckle reminded me that I’d said we’d wait. He turned me and unzipped my dress. I felt the fabric parting exposing my warm skin and I shivered with desire. His fingers ran the length of my spine and as he knelt and pushed the dress to the floor, his tongue followed, tracing the line to my bottom. His teeth found the soft mound and I squirmed with need as he bit into the tender cheek. He inched the panties over my hips and down my trembling legs. Lifting each foot, he kissed my instep before removing my shoes then rolling the stockings off. I could feel the dampness on my thighs and I pressed them together until I felt a sharp tingle run through my clit. He stood and unhooked my bra pushing it down my arms and letting it fall to the floor. His cock pressed into my bottom, his warm chest against my back. He lifted my hair from my shoulders and kissed along my neck. I was so ready. Then he whispered in my ear, ‘Food first, remember?’
He poured the champagne and we toasted to our future. We sat naked, sharing the delicacies, and each other. A kiss here, a caress there, a slow tease and we sated one hunger while fueling another. We reminisced, shared dreams and fears, we laughed and remembered how good it is to just be us. The passion was there, in every moment, but it took a different form. Our passion was for one another, not just for sex. We finished with some artisan chocolates and fruit. He took the bowl of bright red berries and the half-full bottle of champagne and set them on the night stand. I know, he is so romantic, and I am the luckiest girl in the world but wait—it gets better.
I was putting the food away and he watched me moving around the room, I could tell he was contemplating what he would do to please me. We were comfortable naked, but the way he looked at me was making my skin burn. As if we hadn’t taken a break, the intensity of arousal returned and I could hardly breathe. He didn’t ask, but I knew he needed me. The walk to the bed was only a few steps, but it seemed miles away. I stood before him. His hand stroked my tummy and my breasts. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me down onto him, his mouth covering mine in a deep slow kiss. My control was slipping, I was lost already. I didn’t care how or when or why, I just had to be with him.
He popped a berry into my mouth and kissed me again. The sweet kiss was pushing my orgasm close. Another berry, crushed against my nipples, he licked and lapped until my back arched and I forced my breasts against his mouth, begging for release. Each time I neared orgasm, he stopped. The tiny seeds and soft pulp sliding against my clit was more than I could bear and now I was running for the edge of the cliff. The cool juices ran over my labia mixing with my own and I wondered what it tasted like. He could tell me, because now he was sucking and licking—tasting all of me. My hips were moving, my legs taut, I was ready to explode.
He pushed his tongue inside my cunt and I screamed. He drew it out and I groaned, then I felt it, the plump berry sliding into my pussy. It was soft and cool and very naughty. He dipped it inside, twisting the stem so it swirled against my g-spot. He pulled it back out and looked up at me before taking a bite. A trickle of juice ran down his chin and it made my mouth water. Again, he pushed a berry inside. Carefully he moved it in and out. When he offered me a taste, I could see my own creamy juices dripping from it before he plunged it into my mouth. It was exquisite to taste my desire for him. He gorged himself on the heady treat until I could hold back no longer and exploded, pushing the last of the fruit from inside me.
Content in my afterglow, he stroked my body. He took a drink of champagne then kissed me, letting the sweet wine flow into my parched mouth. He always cares for me so tenderly. ‘We need to clean you up,’ he’d said. I didn’t want to move. He was in charge now.
I felt the hard, cold glass pushing at my wet slit. I wasn’t sure at first, but when I felt the lip of the bottle pass through into my cunt, I panicked. I trust him completely, but ‘what if’ was racing through my mind. Slowly, he eased it deeper; the smooth, cool phallus soothing my heat. I opened my eyes and looked down at him. He peered between my legs like a surgeon, careful to protect me, but when he glanced up and I saw the dirty boy looking back at me, my pleasure swiftly came to a head. He moved the bottle slowly, twisting round and round, sliding it in and out. I could hear the liquid sloshing against the glass keeping the cylinder cool. My nerves were alive, my body tingling, my need to come front and center. I tried to keep my hips still, but he increased the pace and I started to peak as he fucked me. I was panting, begging, reaching—then it happened, he pulled out sharply and thrust back in, the champagne erupted like a fountain inside my cunt. The tiny bubbles expanded, popping like tiny pinpricks against my flesh; a fine, delicate, high-pitched hum of sensation so new, so exciting, so exquisite that my scream came out with no sound as the orgasm ripped through me. He covered my pussy with his mouth and drank his fill of the cool luscious fizz.
I guess we didn’t need the wine after all. Both, my juices, and the champagne, flowed freely all night long.
I live in my own little world, but it is okay, they like me here… was on a t-shirt I noticed the other day. How true, I thought! So much of what I do revolves around fantasy.
The stories I write, the DEV© audios at eSensual Books, the pseudonym-persona that appears to the public, and the vision of making my dreams come true, shape a great deal of my world.
Since I was a small child I found it easy to slip away into other worlds that I created in my head. It was, and still is, difficult when reality cuts in announced and the gears grind together.
They say our perception is our reality, but sometimes the distinction between the two is clear and obvious. As with many things, you cannot appreciate the good, without a little bad to remind you why ‘this’ is better. If we can create a world, experience it through our thoughts and words and experience, then does it not take on a form of reality? After all, if it is our perception...
I heard from teachers and parents and coworkers- Where are you? Quit daydreaming and pay attention. Today a label would be attached to me and perhaps, a script from the DR, but I was not swayed by the opinion of others. Just like dreams in our REM sleep, the fantasy helped shaped who I would become, assisted in sorting through conflict, and brought peace and serenity during the times when life got to be a little overwhelming.
The downside to all of this is, that when we imagine, we often exclude the negative. While the positive energy created in a no-conflict world can assist us in making it through tough times, it can also make simple things more difficult to cope with.
So how do I manage? Reviews from my stories have often included words like “pain, angst, suffering,” and more than one editor has told me,”You need a happy ending!” I cannot write a happy ending because they want it, I can only finish the work the way it is intended.
My Writing seems to be a way of using those fantasies and daydreams I enjoy while in La La Land and bring them to truth. We read for escape and I wouldn’t want a beach read to make me cry, but I do enjoying reading another’s words that I can relate to, and empathize with, even if it is sharing their pain. Humans have banded together in common causes since the beginning and sharing the truth of fiction is no stranger to those groups.
I don’t plot or outline. I am a ‘pantser’ to the core. The words come as they will and they can only be held back for so long. Writers block is simply a way for some of us to take a break from all of the head on emotion. Red Smith once said, "Writing is simple: all you need to do is sit down at the typewriter, open a vein, and bleed on to the page."
When we are ready to confront the release, the words will still be there waiting. Until then, I’m off with the fairies creating visions for happy days to come.
I’ve always prided myself in staying up to date with the pulse of the world. Curious by nature, a voracious reader, I pick up bits and pieces of information that allows me to at least discuss current events with some intelligence.
Having a 21 yrs. old son also helps to keep me in the loop. He shares his love of music, technology and philosophy. Truth be told, I might be lost with the rapid advance of technology without him.
Today I stopped to fill up the car and while I waited to pay, a woman came in and asked if there was one bathroom for everyone. I laughed and replied that soon that would be the case almost everywhere. Slightly older than me, a vacant stare was her response.
My views are fairly liberal and I am pleased with the easy acceptance of many changes in the world over the last few years. It has opened people’s minds and hearts to the possibility of finding their own happiness. Yes, I know there are many who want to try and control the world in which they live. Follow the rules. Stay in the box, but as the small victories for the ‘round pegs in the square holes’ continue to add up, the world is evolving as it should.
I am having my roof replaced next week. The adjustor came out to take a look. A small folding ladder in the trunk came out and up to the pitch SHE climbed. I couldn’t believe I actually asked her, “You’re going up there?” I was immediately embarrassed, but out of old school training came the shock that a woman would be the one. I have been on many roofs in my lifetime—usually to sunbathe with iodine laced baby oil or a frat party on the top of the science building at Georgia Tech, but that was long ago.
The roofer showed up shortly after. Pulling up in a new burgundy hummer, SHE stepped out with her Louis Vuitton bag – small terrier included and proceeded to join the adjuster on the roof. I could hear them carrying on up there and was almost sorry that they had not invited me up, too. Of course, I was too busy pondering if roofers drive hummers and carry Vuitton, maybe I should give up writing and switch careers!
We might only get one go round on this earth, so why is it so difficult to make our lives our own? ‘Go confidently in the direction of your dreams and live the life you’ve imagined,’ (Thoreau) has always been a rally cry for me and though it is a struggle to stay on the path, I push away the fear when I think about the way life used to be.
I’ve never been the best at following the rules, but I did it for a long time. I’ve might not be ‘okay’ with a lot of injustices and discrepancies in the day to day state of affairs and I will probably still balk at the status quo, but there is hope for us all to move forward. Now more than ever before ‘living the life you’ve imagined’ is close enough to touch.
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.’ (Laozi) The journey IS the joy and it will lead you to the only destination that truly matters: your authentic self.
So put on the Fitbit, lace up the trainers, and step in to the world. I’ll see you at the finish line.
I was recently involved in a heated conversation with colleagues at The Manor about an article stating that kinky sex and polyamory are good for you.
This may be true. I do agree that sex as a rule is good for you in many ways. Kinky sex may even be better--all that stretching. The best work out program-ever, the best drugs freely available to create and maintain the peace inside you and, toss in a little pain or denial to build up your desire and everyone will want to know your secret to happiness.
Polyamory is not something I have ever considered for myself. I have loved, lost and loved again, so, I know that there is more than one… however, personally I have never loved more than one at a time. I know many polyamorous people who lead happy lives when they work within the boundaries they have created, but it is not my choice.
Many cultures throughout history, and currently, believe in having more than one spouse or lover. In some countries where religion and government haven’t suppressed free thought completely a mistress is considered de riquer and is not only acceptable to the wife, but often she is involved in a tryst of her own.
Many would cry foul, but if it is agreed upon between two adults ahead of time, who are we to judge? Can we not love others in different ways? Are there seasons of our life when we need fulfillment in other ways? What of the age-old parental dilemma when a child says ‘you love my brother more than me’? Is that true or is it simply that we love each individual uniquely?
So what is your point, Genevieve? While I believe everyone has a right to experience pleasure in any way they choose as long as no one is harmed, the absolute is: honesty. Absolute honesty. Communication in these types of relationships are paramount to maintain their success and bring pleasure to all. My point is, that any sexual interaction with intent whether it be IRL, a phone call, text or online can be construed as ‘cheating’ if you’re in a committed relationship. It is the intent to deceive and not simply the sex itself.
Many can justify that if I am not physically having intercourse it is not sex. Perhaps if I simply omit the details, is not outright lying, so it is ok. If I lie to protect my partner, it is better. But what of the emotional attachments that may be involved in these interactions? If you’re not chatting pure sex just to get off, but using these interactions to relate the intimacy then is it simply sex? Is not breaking the trust of intimacy more cruel than a simple physical act… So what? While inserting tab A into slot B can be a purely physical act like scratching an itch, it is when the emotional connection happens that it all changes.
When I make an emotional connection with someone, my body tends to agree and I am only interested in sharing it where the connection lies. When I was younger, sex was a different story than it is now. I experimented, I looked for physical pleasure, but could not seem to grasp the brass ring. The physical act without the connection holds little sway with me, but with history and the wisdom that comes from living, I have found the greatest pleasure I have ever known through true intimacy. The profound sense of peace that comes from vulnerability, allowing another to truly see you. The pure joy of letting go.
So, your lover not feeling like quite enough? Thinking a little strange would set you right? Afraid you’ve missed out on so many choices? Then be honest with your partner or take the risk. My suggestion would be that instead you work on building the intimacy in your current relationship first, because it will give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. And while you might think there are many beautiful bodies or different techniques yet to be discovered, you might not find what you are looking for without that connection.
I guess if I want to be happy and healthy, I am going to have to seriously ramp up the whole kinky sex thing because while I am all for plenty of sex, I do not feel that polyamory would be a good fit for me. Unless of course, my partner would go for a threeesome…
Taking the leap can be scary, the adrenaline rushing through your veins, the fear of missing the mark making you hesitate, but then you are flying through the void and for a moment the freedom is more exhilarating than anything you’ve ever known.
This is a leap year and will not return for another 4 years. We read on social media all the various phenomenon that won’t recur in our lifetime. 800 years before March will have four Saturdays….but that does not really affect me.
Leap Day has always been a day that usually slips by unnoticed, but because it is somewhat unique I always found it exciting when I was younger. Sadie Hawkins dances where –horror- we had to ask the boys and then as time moved on the possibility that if worse came to worse, I could actually propose to my beloved.
There are two sides to this coin for me. Who wants to propose to a guy that can’t seem to do it first? I would have to guess he didn’t want to or he would. Guys are pretty straight forward like that. I have always been clear that I only want what is freely given. The obligatory is not worth my time, yes, maybe I have pushed, persuaded or otherwise tried to squeeze another drop when it was not due, but honestly, if you don’t want me than why bother?
The other side begs, why should it be the man to ask? Dates, trips, marriages- are we not two separate people joined by a common love? Should we not have equal say? Should an important step like marriage not be discussed thoroughly prior to the commitment? We think we know one another, think that we will sort out the rest because after all love can fix anything, right?
The sad truth is that all the love in the world cannot fix everything. Sometimes, love is not enough to make it work. Sometimes we miss the mark because we believe that the fairytale will happen as it should. Sometimes fear will destroy us.
So now what? Do I propose because it is my right, because it is leap year and it will take the pressure off with humor, because I know in my heart and through endless conversations on the subject, we make a great team or do I hold back and wait? Take the chance of enabling the status quo or simply admitting I am afraid of rejection. Even more afraid that the hesitation. the fear of the simple act of the leap itself, could change my life forever -filled with the regret of 'if only's'
Do we always know when the time is right? Can we ever be sure of success? If love is not enough, will we fight for what is? Will marriage change anything except my name and status? Or will we simply love as richly as we always do, just now with a piece of paper that says we should?
I don’t know the answer to many of these questions. What is right for one, may not be for another, but I do know that I have always gone after what I wanted with a fierce determination. My heart whispers the truth and I must listen. Whatever the answer is, I do know I am looking forward to the wind in my hair, the exhilarating sense of freedom and the joy of whispering back to my heart that I was willing to making the leap.