My Writing

Sunday, June 29, 2014

The road to recovery: What turns me on?

I don't have fantasies. Not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway. I have fleeting thoughts, fragments of events, images of people, whole body sensations that wash over me spontaneously and then, just as quickly, disappear. A smell, a visual, a physical feeling, a taste...anything can trigger it.

And that makes it hard to define what turns me on. I can't just say, I have this recurring dream about being in the middle of a gang bang with 7 buff firefighters stripping me naked and tying me to the firehouse pole so they can use me as their personal toy for days. No. My fantasies aren't that fleshed out. They're moments. Wisps of scenes that race across my internal vision so fast I sometimes don't even catch them, I just get the resulting twitch between my legs, and then it's gone. Irretrievable.

So for me, it isn't about knowing and sharing my fantasies or sexual dreams (because I rarely remember those, either); it's more about knowing what triggers the feelings that cause them.

For example, I might check my phone messages and come across an erotic image:


Momentarily, my brain is jolted and my thinking shifts. I notice the man's hands on her hips, the garters stretching across the V of her folded body. I can imagine myself in this moment, one of my favorite positions, and a warmth rises up and down and out from my belly.

I put my phone away and go back to whatever I was doing, and the moment is gone. It happens just that quickly.

It isn't a fantasy, so much as a response. And that's where I think the misunderstanding happens. I'm sexually and sensually responsive, not proactive.

Sometimes porn does it...and occasionally I actually seek it out. I prefer watching women masturbate but, though I consider myself bisexual, I don't tend to like watching girl on girl porn (probably because it isn't realistic and is obviously made with men in mind). I'd choose amateur home-made videos to stylized pornography, mostly because I can't stand the music (huge turn off) or the sounds the girls make. I like erotic films (like Henry and June or 9 1/2 Weeks) and reading well-crafted erotic fiction. I appreciate artistic images of naked women and sometimes men (though with less regularity...because too often, nude male photography is crafted homosexuality in mind...which feminizes the men - a turn off for me). I seek out still images of BDSM, though I'm not interested in doing it myself and stories or video footage of it does nothing for me. I have rape "fantasies", though the idea of a gang-bang repulses me. I like having my throat held during sex, anal stimulation, rough sex. I like it when my husband comes in from working, asks me to bend over the bed, and fucks me until he comes. I like being used, but to a point. I like being restrained, but not tied up. I like being spanked playfully, but not truly beaten. I like music, and massage, and romantic dinners (even at home), the idea of having sex in unexpected places (the floor, the car, on an abandoned dirt road). I like erotic texts and notes, but am not much for phone sex. I prefer sex in the morning or the middle of the day, even the middle of the night, over bedtime. I'd love a sex-getaway (a weekend away from work and children and chores), even if it just meant taking the trailer to a nearby camping spot, sharing a half-rack of beer, sitting around a fire until it got too cold and then going inside to "warm up".

Basically, I need a mental/emotional/spiritual removal from the intrusion of reality and resonsibility...and something to respond submit bury myself in.

What turns me on most about my husband (since he's dying for me to explore that in greater detail)?  His natural smell, mainly. The look he gives me when he wants me, when his blue eyes darken and the pupils expand. His tattooed arms. His breath on my neck and in my ear. When he physically controls me, without force or words. His massages. When he's productive and proactive about the housework. His cooking. When he puts his arm around me during a movie. When he's physically active and drinking less. How he dresses for work and when we go out. When he takes charge of things.

It's hard to get turned on when we fall into one of our down cycles...both of us in loungewear as soon as we get home, him on the couch - me in the chair, separately loosing ourselves on the internet, drinking until we get too tired to do much else. We become disconnected, disenchanted, run-down, depressed. Bored.

The other night, we went outside, set up camp chairs in the driveway, and looked at the stars. Things like that are enough to jolt us out of routine. Don't get me wrong. I love routine and need it most of the time, but from time to time, it's nice to do something else.

Being connected, being intimate outside of sex, being intentional and mindful about our sensual existence, those are the things that nurture my desire and make me "want". My path to intimacy is through the senses...and the senses lead to my sexuality. I suspect that for my husband...his path to intimacy is through sexuality. This isn't necessarily opposite from me, but it is different. He isn't looking for meaningless sex. Quite the contrary; he seeks connection through sex. For me, connection comes through physical contact (and sex), yes...but it mainly comes in through the mind. The difficulty this presents is that I have a hard time just "being turned on" without some outside stimulus.

In A Return to Desire, Ogden describes the "performance model" of sex. She says,
What is missing from this performance model of sex? For one thing, it's disconnected from the rest of life. The desire phase appears out of the blue, with no antecedent, no history. And the cycle ends when you roll over on your side and go to sleep. This leaves out most of what actually occurs in our sexual response....In addition, this model is linear, an action model--which may work fine for men who are able to proceed in pretty much a straight trajectory from desire to "doing it" to climax to dead sleep. But if you're like most women, you take a more circular sexual path, enjoying the view before and after and along the way.

But she is also clear to point out that one cannot be passive for desire to take hold. I don't think being "responsive" is being "passive", though I'm sure it would be easy to say so. It's not that I don't feel desire on my own. There are indeed times when I spontaneously feel "sexual". When suddenly I am awash in feelings of desire and sexual hunger. But these are whole body experiences that are rarely if ever attached to a fantasy or particular stimulus. I'm not sure what triggers them, because these highly fleeting moments happen (that feel sort of like getting a sudden injection of a drug that relaxes the entire body - pretty much the feeling one gets directly after an orgasm) at the weirdest times - while I'm walking down the hall at work, when I'm working out, while I'm running errands. The only thing I can imagine these times have in common is that I'm usually maybe it's adrenaline? And it's always when I'm on a high, emotionally (melatonin? seratonin? dopamine?). This certainly makes a case for regular exercise, I suppose.

Anyhow, that's the best I can come up with right now. But, I'm open to direction.

Saturday, June 28, 2014

The slow demise of a sex life: a history

At the behest of Mr. LL and as a exercise related to the book I'm reading right now...I've been doing quite a bit of thinking about what turns me on - honestly...the gritty truth. I'm having to dig here, because I haven't really thought about it (specifically) for a long time - maybe ever.

What turns me on? he asks. Over and over. And he genuinely wants to know. He asks me what he needs to do, what it was that used to get me going....He's trying. And really, I've been less than helpful. I'm not intentionally sabotaging things.

It's not because I'm lazy or don't care. But, really looking at what turns me on, what motivates me, what makes me desire sex - well, I guess I'm afraid of finding out it I'm broken or that it isn't him. Better to just not look in that dark closet. I love my husband. And our life together is comfortable and safe. We work hard to provide for our family. But somewhere along the way, the focus changed from erotic intimacy to a safe closeness.

(This post is a precursor to another that will follow with more specific information about my turn ons...I'm breaking it up as to not end up with a novel-length stay tuned for the next installment.)

Let's go back a bit.

Boy and girl find each other on the internet. Boy and girl write back and forth, getting to know each other a bit. Boy and girl meet. Girl is instantly in lust. Why?

He was hot. Physically hot. He had sideburns and these amazing blue eyes. He was quiet and seemed intense, observant. He unnerved me and just let me chatter nervously. I imagine there was scent as well, but I can't remember it. He didn't drink, which showed self-control, and made me hyper aware of my own need for social lubrication. When we parted, he gave me a hug, and nothing more...though I probably would have fucked him right there in the parking lot if I'd had the chance.

He was new. Exciting. And after dating several guys who really did nothing for me in the lust department, it felt amazing to really want someone. I think I was a bit taken aback...surprised by my own re-awakening. And I gave him credit for it.

From there, a lot of sex happened. And believe me, I wanted to keep him. I think I tried very hard to be the kind of girl that a I thought a guy like him would want. And though my sex drive was unlikely to stay that high forever (the new was bound to wear off, and reality would work it's nasty little hands into the mix), it was a whirlwind. We didn't share bills or responsibilities. We spent money like freaks and went out every weekend, sometimes more. He had his first drink in over a year, and off we went on a seemingly endless party.

My want turned to love, and though the want didn't go away, my focus and intentions shifted. I wanted to keep this guy. It wasn't just about the sex or the fun anymore. And I knew him now.

So, I rode high on the wedding planning, and pledged my heart, and stopped taking birth control, and (as sort of planned) was pregnant within months (too soon maybe?).

That'll put a damper on a couple's sex life right quick. I was exhausted. And I had a new focus. And since I'm pretty obsessive, I did what I do best...I obsessed. I nested. And my thinking shifted. I wasn't thinking about sex anymore. I was thinking about a baby. I was thinking about motherhood.

In the meantime, he became pretty disenchanted with his job, and decided to go back to school. He spent a lot of time training and doing homework. He had a new focus. He's also pretty obsessive, and did what he did best. He obsessed...he worked his ass off. He was thinking about being a father and provider for his family.

Without going into detail, the birth was difficult and I spent quite a bit of time recovering after some major complications. It certainly put me out of commission for awhile. In fact, after an emergency hysterectomy, I quite literally felt nothing but pain during sex...even 6 months out. I worried quite a bit, because he was so unhappy. He knew it wasn't my fault, but our sex life had pretty much been on hold for over a year, and he wasn't handling it well. And I was just scared that I'd never enjoy sex again.

Eventually, it began to feel a bit better. But the damage had already been done. I felt guilty and he felt unwanted.

He began to ask often what he could do. I dug deep, searching for an answer...any answer. And all I came up with was that I needed more help. I was stressed and tired and sinking into what I now know was depression. So he did more around the house. But nothing changed between us.

At some point, he brought up "swinging," (here's a link to all my posts on the topic) and I agreed to try, though it sort of terrified me. The initial foray into that wilderness was exciting. I was apprehensive, but it certainly changed the focus of our sex life and gave it a bit of a jolt. (You can read about our first time at a club here.)

Eventually, I became disillusioned by the whole swingers scene. First of all, I'm an introvert. And swinging entails actually searching out and meeting people, usually on the internet or in a club. I'm not good at small talk, and I'm awkward at best meeting new people. Dating was never my favorite thing to do on my own, and though having a partner while "dating" was a bit easier since I had someone to lean on, it didn't make the meetings any more fun. And quite honestly, there was little for me in it. My bisexuality did flourish, and I had a few intriguing encounters, but the men tended to be a disappointment, and I found myself unsatisfied at the end of the night, more often than not.

I don't regret it, but I realize now that what I hoped would be the key to recharging my desire was really just another way for me to relieve my guilt and to please my husband, whom I was desperate to make happy. The really shitty part is that rather than relieving my guilt, it actually made it worse. I felt guilty that I didn't truly like being on a path from which my husband obviously gained pleasure.

Our sex life pretty much ebbed and flowed, cycling with the tides, for several years. I started taking medication for depression (which was a battle unto itself, believe me). We experimented with D/s and D/g (and some elements of that have stuck with us). Things seemed to plug along at a rate that at least kept the arguments over it to a minimum. Until last year, with our "threesome" debacle. (Read about it here and here). For some reason, I think this experiment pushed me too far, past some hidden limit. And once I'd crossed that line, I had a hard time finding my way back. There were some trust and insecurity issues that came out into the glaring light of day, and like an ostrich, I stuck my head in the sand and avoided the whole thing.

So what I can see has happened, over time, when I look at this short history of our sex life together is that I've been following his path. Mainly because I didn't know where mine was, and because he was so much more eager than I to go on a long hike up an unknown mountain, into a forest full of who knows what. I'm more of a backyard kind of gal...a lot less "exciting" than he is. So when he asks me for my fantasies, it's hard to come up with anything.

I mean, I write a lot of stories and poems, so I suppose to some degree, those are my fantasies. But, I haven't really delved too deeply into what really turns me fact, I sort of avoid it, because I'm afraid it will be too pedestrian. Because, I'm really not that creative when it comes to sex (though that might be surprising to some). I like plain old missionary style most of the time. I like knowing where I'm headed. Spontaneity really isn't my thing. But, I realize that's a surefire recipe for stagnation and boredom in a long-term relationship (especially for Mr. LL, who seems to get bored easily). I guess I have this fear that experimenting with one thing will just lead to something else, and that he'll never be satisfied until we've gone so far I don't even recognize us anymore.

Or is it? Does satisfaction and contentment necessarily kill desire? Does it inhibit change (b/c I'm not a huge fan of change, either)?

I can say this...I am not satisfied with our sex life as it is. It's easy to fall into a sexless pattern. But, it doesn't mean I am content. It just means that I've become numb in reaction to constantly feeling like a failure (mostly self-initiated and imagined). I hide from my own insecurities because I'm ashamed of them. I feel like I should be able to rise above them.

Ultimately, I need to find a better way to define and explain "fantasy". And I need to find words to explain (and accept) that my sexual path is really pretty straight and narrow. That it's more about my mental and emotional state than it is about "doing something out of the ordinary". next post will explore this: what exactly is it that turns me on? What do want? What do I need? I don't know that I have a definitive answer for these questions...but I'll give it my best shot.

Friday, June 27, 2014

On the Green Line to Arlington Station

Flash Fiction Friday

Key Words:  Parting, Station
Word Limit:  200
Forbidden Words:   Discreet, Forbidden, Tryst
Extra Credit:  Name the train and the destination

She could tell she’d had too much to drink, because she’d never be doing this otherwise--running her foot up the inside of a stranger’s leg on the train. He said nothing, but his smile was inviting. She shifted in her seat, subtly hiking her dress up just enough to “accidentally” expose herself when she uncrossed her legs. 

She was nervously pleased when he countered by leaning forward to “tighten his shoe laces,” taking the opportunity to gaze between her still parted legs. She thanked the gods that tonight she’d opted to go bare beneath her dress. 

He slowly and quite intentionally ran the back up his hand up the inside of her extended calf as he sat back up and re-situated himself in his seat. Licking his lips, he visually assessed her from head to toe one more time as the train rolled into the station. Then he stood up and held out a hand to her, without a word. She slid her hand into his, rising.

Yes, she’d had too much to drink. She could tell, because she’d never be doing this otherwise.


I have to admit...this was tough. 200 words isn't much, and to have any story at all, it has to be tight. I like the challenge, though. It's an exercise in brevity and clarity, two things every writer should practice often.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Mile High Illusion

Miranda had worked for Mr. Jordan for 15 years as the only flight attendant on his private jet. It was a sweet deal, really.

There were drawbacks of course.

Though she had a lot of time off, she was paid year-round to be on call. When Mr. Jordan wanted to fly, she had to be at the ready within an hour, sometimes less. It also meant she got to travel quite a bit herself. When Mr. Jordan went to Paris, so did she. When Mr. Jordan went to Dubai, Miranda did, too.

She knew several languages and had originally been hired, right out of college, as a translator by Mr. Jordan's company. Miranda moved up the ranks quickly, as she was professional, punctual, talented, and...let's be honest...attractive, young, and approachable.

Mr. Jordan wanted her to be the face his clients saw smiling at the door, her well-manicured hands holding the tray that would bring them champagne.

On this particular day, Mr. Jordan had requested Miranda's presence for a flight to New York with an overnight stay, a short trip that Miranda had been on dozens of times over the years.

She had prepped the cabin, fluffed the chair cushions, and stocked the refrigerator and cabinets with the expected essentials.

When Mr. Jordan boarded, Miranda smoothed her skirt and straightened her hat (he had always required that she wear a traditional stewardess uniform -- gloves and all). He greeted her as usual.

"Good afternoon, Miranda. I expect things are ready to always seem to have everything just as it should be. I so appreciate your attention to detail." He nodded his approval and smiled as he moved past her toward his preferred seat, making himself comfortable.

"Can I get you anything before take-off, Mr. Jordan?"

"No, my dear. Just make yourself comfortable up front. I'll ring you if I need anything. For now, a bit of peace and quiet and solitude." He looked down at his open newspaper, his silent way of dismissing her.

Miranda made herself busy in the kitchenette (closed off by a door to ensure privacy to the passengers in the cabin).

It must have been 25 minutes or so before she heard the tell-tale ringing of the bell meant to summon her. But when she entered the cabin, no one was there. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she began to look behind the seats (there were 12) to be sure Mr. Jordan hadn't fallen or been hurt somehow. Maybe a heart attack?...She was mildly panicked by his apparent absence. Finding the cabin completely empty, she went to back of the plane to knock on the door of the private quarters Mr. Jordan used as a sleeping room on long flights, and when he had sporadic (usually beautiful) female guests. Some, of course, were paid escorts. But, often, Mr. Jordan brought along women he knew to break up the monotony of being alone. He was busy. Too busy for a steady, committed relationship. But the man had needs, didn't he? And Miranda didn't judge.

She knocked lightly on the door.

"Mr. Jordan? You rang? Is there something I can do for you?"

At that moment she heard a clank and the voice of woman, moaning, and squealing. The sound was coming from the bathroom.

Miranda was suddenly confused. Mr. Jordan hadn't had a companion with him when he boarded. Unless she boarded after Miranda had left the cabin, which wouldn't have been at all the protocol. Was Mr. Jordan hiding his guest from her...or more likely, was he hiding Miranda from his guest? Why?

She walked toward the bathroom, at the front of the plane, near the door behind which she spent most of her time on these flights. She put her ear up to the door and prepared to ask if Mr. Jordan required assistance, but her hand stopped short of knocking when she heard the woman's voice again.

Her eyes grew wide and she inhaled deeply. She decided not to knock, but rather, stood motionless outside the door, listening.

She could hear the rhythmic pounding that made the internal activity obvious. And still, she could not move.

She knew that Mr. Jordan would not approve of her eavesdropping, but it was the closest she was likely to get to being in the position herself. She indulged her curiousity and kept close enough to hear but far enough away to pull herself together quickly if need be. The sounds were primal. Whatever he was doing to that woman, it must be amazing. Miranda found herself feeling a tinge of jealously. She also found herself feeling a tad...tingly.

Standing, with her back to the door, she closed her eyes and slowly pulled her short skirt up in the front, just enough to touch herself. She thought a moment about removing her glove, but figured it would be too hard to get it back on if the door opened too quickly. With her fingers moving against her quickly dampening panties, she wondered to herself, why on earth is he fucking her in the bathroom when he has a perfectly good private room at the back of the plane?

She bit her bottom lip and let her fingers quicken their movement a bit. A small sigh slipped from her mouth, quiet enough to not be heard over the ruckus in the room at her back. She leaned up against the wall next to the door, on the side where the door would open against her to hide her indiscretion.

She spread her legs a little more and tightened her calves and thighs, pink rising up her neck and cheeks. She shuddered and whimpered quietly, biting her lip again to quiet herself. She felt a tiny trickle of liquid down the inside of her thigh. She could feel the blood pumping in her ears, as her breathing began to return to normal. It was quick. She had always been able to do that on her own. A skill she had perfected over the years, blazing fast self-produced orgasms.

As her breathing slowed and her hearing cleared, she continued to listen to sounds behind the door.


Her eyes flew open, she quickly pulled her skirt down over her thighs and, gulping and very obviously and nervously flustered, she responded in a strained and unintentionally small voice, "Yes, Mr. Jordan? I heard the bell and became concerned that you were possibly injured because I couldn't find you anywhere and then I heard moaning from the bathroom and thought that you might be hurt so I stood here and listened for bit until I realized that you must have a guest that I didn't notice board the plane...I'm very sorry Mr. Jordan if I've disturbed your privacy in any way..."

She stopped to take a breath, and looking like a frightened guilty puppy who'd just eaten the side of the couch, she peered up at him through her lashes. What she saw was a unexpectedly mischievous smile. She straightened her gaze, as he began to laugh softly. Just then she heard the moans growing to a crescendo in the bathroom behind her.

"Wait a minute..." Miranda looked very confused. "If you're here...then who's in there?"

Mr. Jordan continued to laugh. He reached around her, his body close enough for her to feel his heat and smell his ridiculously expensive aftershave. Turning the knob to the bathroom and pushing the door open, he exposed his little trick. His smartphone emitted several deep throaty moans and a final scream of release, "Oh my God!"

She swung back around to face him, her eyes narrowing in question, "What is going on, Mr. Jordan? I don't understand..."

"I knew you'd be faithful to your curious nature...I knew you'd listen in. You do that often, don't you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Jordan..." She was fidgety and extremely uncomfortable with the question - even more so with the answer she knew she shouldn't give, "...but it's hard to ignore in such tight quarters...." She was quick to add, "It's none of my business and I never judge or talk about what happens here to anyone...I promise..."

"Miranda, you silly girl." He looked at her, lowered his head and tsk-tsk-ed.

"I'm not a girl, sir...I haven't been for quite some time." She was bit indignant in her discomfort.

"Had the operation then, have you?" He smirked.

"The operation?" Her quizzical expression gave way to an exasperated sigh. "You know what I mean...I'm not a girl. I'm a woman if you hadn't noticed." She breathed in fully and stood tall, ready to face whatever he might throw at her next.

"Oh, I've noticed. For quite some time, as you say."

"Mr. Jordan, I would be very interested to know what is happening here, if you would be so kind to enlighten me...What exactly is the purpose of this prank? Were you trying to trap me so that you could reprimand me or fire me?"

"Good God, no, Miranda. I wouldn't dream of letting you go. And I apologize for my dishonesty. I'm not sure where this adolescent behavior is coming from. Maybe you bring it out in me."

"Excuse me?"

"I was watching you."


"I wanted to see what you'd do...I wanted to see if you'd listen in. I was in the back quarters, watching through the peephole..."

"Watching me?" her cheeks grew hot, and embarrassment flushed through her, stopping, with the greatest intensity, between her thighs.

"I'm sorry, Miranda...forgive me. I shouldn't have. I really didn't expect that you'd..."

"Okay...stop right there, we needn't discuss it, I'm completely mortified at this moment..."

"You shouldn't was amazingly erotic...and I feel like a giddy thief for having witnessed it without permission. I know it was wrong - and I'm sorry...but really, I couldn't stop. I was hypnotized by it. Unable to move, or speak, lest you stop."

Miranda looked at him with a mix of confusion and anger and shame.

"Mr. Jordan, I..."

" me Tyler. Let's start over." He reached his hand out to her, as if requesting that she shake it, which she did, reluctantly.

"Nice to meet you, Miranda. Would you like a glass of champagne?"

Miranda could think of nothing better than drinking away her humiliation.

"Yes...yes, I think I would."

She made to release his hand and turn to retrieve a bottle, but he held tight and pointed out that he'd already beaten her to it. He led her back to the seats and handed her over to the soft leather cushion, into which she sank and wished she could be buried whole.

He poured her a glass and held it out to her. Shaking a bit, she took it. He sat beside her and held his glass up for a toast. Hesitantly, she clinked her glass against his.

"To the next 15 years, Miranda. May they be a bit different than the first."

She drank the glass of champagne as if it were water and she'd just completed a marathon, and he refilled it just a quickly.

Good lord what have I gotten myself into? She thought to herself.

"What do you mean by "different," dare I ask?"

He reached across the armrest and touched her face.

"Miranda, yesterday I woke up and realized I was tired of being alone. And then it hit me....I'm not. You've been here all along, ready in an instant, always expecting my call."

"It's my job, Mr. Jor--"


"Yes, Tyler, it's my job."

"No one just gives up 15 years of her life to follow some bloke around the world and follow his every whim simply because it's her job. honest. It isn't just me, is it?"

She swallowed audibly.

"You don't have to say it...just kiss me." He leaned toward her.

Holy hell, she thought. Right now, with little time to do so, she had two choices between which to decide - slap him and request that he have the pilot turn around this instant, or accept the fact that Mr. Jordan...Tyler...was not a normal man, and therefore would never have approached her as such. He would not call her and ask her to coffee, subtly referencing his interest in her. He would not be shy even appropriate. He was used to getting his way, without asking. The fact that he'd just requested that she kiss him was more accommodating and patient than she would have ever guessed him to be. This was him. And if she wanted him, she would have to take him as he was. Though many women would have refused his entitled way of commanding those around him, Miranda knew him for what he truly was. She also knew herself, and that he was right. No one gives up 15 years to follow some bloke around the world, unless she loves him. It wasn't explainable or justifiable. It just was.

She quickly downed the rest of her glass of champagne, and then leaned in to kiss him, the bubbles still dancing on her tongue.


So I was NOT going to stay up late to finish this story. I had intended to do it early this morning. But got in the way. And here I sit at 11:30 pounding out the tale, so I can submit it for Wicked Wednesday (the prompt was to explain how/why a flight attendant might be sipping champagne in first class). I didn't think I'd have a thing to contribute for this one, but as it turns out, I became quite entranced with my characters and couldn't give up until I finished. So, for what it's worth, I got it done, with 36 minutes to spare before the deadline.

Hope you enjoyed it...I'm headed of to bed now. Exhausted but pleased with myself. Just sayin'.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

In the mood...

So as you can tell, if you've followed me at all, I've been "in the mood" a lot more lately. Which begs the question, Why?

To the best of my knowledge, I can only say...I'm not working at the moment. No work = less stress...less for my mind to deal with...more sleep...the ability to keep up with the housework...time to just "whatever". Now I'm not saying I don't want to work - because, goddess save me, I'd probably kill myself if I had to stay home all the time (though when the kiddo is in school, it might be nice to be at home by myself on occasion).

I wasn't meant for a laid back life. I'm sure in every life I've ever had, I've been a laborer of some hands and mind busy all the time. Producing.

But, every once in awhile, it sure is nice to sit on my ass and do nothing. I've been on vacation for a week, but today was the first day where I actually stood around wondering what to do. Hmmm...should I take a nap? Read a book? Watch a TV show (which one? I haven't watched TV in eons)? Paint my toenails?

Seriously, aside from taking my son to swimming lessons, giving myself a pedicure was about the most productive thing I did today. I took some photos, wrote a bit, and read. But, really, I didn't do one thing yesterday that I didn't want to do (except maybe cook and do the dishes...but I agreed to take on that chore so Mr. LL could work on his motorcycle).

Knowing that stress and fatigue quite obviously have an impact on the level of my desire, I need to brainstorm ways to stress less and sleep more when I AM working.



I've also been reading about the topic (The Return of Desire by Gina Ogden) and writing (which does wonders for my well-being. Of course, when I'm working, I have less time to read and write, both of which center me and help me de-stress, so I suppose I have to figure out a way to stress less, sleep more, read, and write (this is starting to sound more difficult).

Anyhow, reading and writing about sex certainly have a way of centering the brain on it, and when I'm thinking about it all the time, it makes sense that I'm more likely to want it.

So, for now, I'll just keep on doing what I'm doing. There's time to develop a plan. I need to do some thinking on this.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Introducing "Microerotica"

Click on the image to enlarge.

So...a lightbulb went off today while I was reading someone else's post. She had a really great idea for short erotic story I headed over to twitter and tumblr to see what others had done with the idea. "Tumblrotica" had already been taken, "Twitterotica", and all sorts of other variations, too.

Obviously writing "tiny" erotic stories is not an original idea, so I decided to take these bite-sized erotic stories, or moments, and display them on an original photograph. The top one, I took a few days ago, after I wrote the story and couldn't find a suitable image (of someone else's).

So, welcome to Microerotica. My goal for now is to post one every Monday. At some point I may also open it up for submission (original photos/writing) from readers. We'll see if I can build my own habit first.

Here's a bonus...since this is the first posting:

Click on the image to enlarge.

Friday, June 20, 2014

An Open Window

(Image and prompt source:
Key Words:  Late, Eager, 
Word Limit:  250 (there's not much time)
Forbidden Words:   Anticipation, Wet, Hurry!

It's Flash Fiction Friday, folks! Let's see where this one takes us. My writing process with prompts is really just to start writing and follow the lead of the words. I often am just as surprised by the outcome as anyone.

An Open Window

He slid out of bed and padded, naked, into the bathroom. She climbed out after him, pulling on a fresh pair of panties.

She could hear the bathroom fan and the shower running, which was her cue for a little secret morning“self-love.” Shimmying eagerly onto the bed, she grabbed her vibrator quickly from the drawer, pulled the already damp crotch of her panties to one side, slipped it in, and turned it on slowly. Her legs, spread wide, fell open to the warm light of late morning that shone in from the large picture window.

The subtle vibration increased as she turned the dial a bit more. She sucked her lip and moaned quietly to herself, her head tipping back to expose her neck, her back arching as she reached a quick and relaxing climax, a nice release before the beginning of a busy day.

She let the vibration continue for a bit, as the warmth washed under her skin down to her toes and up to her cheeks. She would look freshly fucked over coffee, and he would probably know her little secret, but would say nothing.

She opened her eyes and let her gaze wander to the side window, but instead of endless blue sky, the shape of a man filled her view. She gasped, but then recognition brought a sigh of relief and an impish eye-roll.

Jumping out of bed in nothing but her little blue panties, she opened the window and leaned out just in time to catch the towel-clad backside of her husband running back around the fire escape to the bathroom window.

(sorry...269 words...just plain couldn't cut any more)

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Keeping it up can be hard.... (personal update)

The writing muse is fickle. She (or he...or it) seems to wander in and out whenever she damned well pleases. Because she knows it all depends on her. Goes to her head, I imagine. Gives her too much power.

So I write, even when she doesn't show up. I'm pretty sure this pisses her off. She likes to be needed and relied upon.

Maybe I need a new muse. One who is actually willing to show up on a regular basis and doesn't see the job as a power trip.

I've noticed others having the same trouble. It's hard enough to write in general (takes time, energy, brain-power, care), but sex writing offers up the added necessity that you be thinking about sex, having sex, wanting sex, or ... well, something.  Some of my favorite blogs have given up the ghost, and I'm totally bummed. If anyone knows what happened to Stories from a Man's Abyss (loved the way that man wrote about his beautiful wife - and all the wonderful photos he took), please point me in the right direction...and poor Quizzical Pussy - I hope she's feeling better soon (her situation seemed to be getting pretty dire there toward the end).  And Monk's Press hasn't posted in 6 months! I love his angry sarcasm...

I know I've done the same thing to like two readers. You know who you are...the ones who actually check in on a regular basis. That get hooked into my drama. I know that when I checked into Stories from a Man's Abyss earlier today and saw that the link was no longer viable, I was actually sad. Not like "I just lost my best friend" sad...but when I "go back to get a really great pair of boots and they're gone" sad. Sad nonetheless.

I'm trying to keep things up here better. Trying not to stay away so long.

And for those of you interested in my little "drama", here's the latest news.

Things haven't been so pretty here in the LL kingdom. It's not that we fight all the - I'm "Queen Avoidance" and I do a great job of pretending nothing's wrong. But "King I Will Not Put Up With Your Bullshit" pretty much put his foot down recently and in a long conversation (the type I hate, since they make me actually have to answer questions and face the facts) the "D" word came up. It wasn't a threat...but both of us admitted to having thought of it. Yikes!

No good.

We haven't been going to the counselor. The last time we were there, it actually seemed like we were getting somewhere (for the first time) because it got heated and some truths actually came out. We were uncomfortable. And I guess that's good. But, we love each other, and we are grown ups so were were capable of going to dinner afterward with our son and not fighting or being "weird".

We are also capable of not talking about things for a long time...and letting them fester.

Anyhow, we're at a breaking point, I suppose. Which is what brought me back to the doctor with some questions. Normally, I hate talking to professionals (or anyone, really) about my problems. I do the healthy thing and bury them. I wasted no time. I just told her I was having trouble with low sex drive and that I had been looking at the options. So we talked about them: supplements, hormone therapy, current med side-effects, etc. And I walked out with an increased prescription for Wellbutrin (I'm maxed out at this point) and a referral for a psychiatric nurse who can maintain my prescriptions while my doc is away for awhile. The doctor seems to think I need to get the depression under better control and that I may see an increase in sex drive with that. If it improves in a few weeks, we'll be okay, until my body gets used the dosage. And then I guess the plan is to switch to a different medication and move our way up with that one. There's also the possibility of adding mood stabilizers, which was the purpose for getting the psychiatric nurse involved (my doctor didn't want just anyone messing with my dosages, especially in that regard, while she's away). And I guess I am supposed to continue on with the counseling.

I'm not adding anything else...even though I've been looking at some natural supplements that claim to improve libido and balance hormones. The doctor says we'll save that until we see what my body does on the increased level of Wellbutrin.

You know, quite honestly, I hope this helps someone out there. I'm a pretty hard-headed woman, and I usually think I can handle everything on my own. I sometimes have a difficult time admitting that I have any issues. When I started taking meds for depression, it was hard to admit that I couldn't just fix it on my own. And it was also hard to see that I was any worse off than anyone else. I have a tendency to compare my state to the states of others. I look at myself and say "there's no way I need meds, because I've seen depressed people before, and they don't look like this...I just need to get up off my ass and get over it." Much more easily said than done, as anyone who has dealt with depression before knows, especially if your moods are all over the place...up and down and sideways. And moods can wreak havoc on your life...your productivity, your relationships, your sense of self-worth. Being pissed off, anxious, irritable, and down all the time isn't a good way to spend your days. And it isn't normal. It also isn't something that can be ignored away or just "gotten over".

So there...boring personal post.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming...a little "related" HNT (haven't done one of these in awhile)...

Wednesday, June 18, 2014


"Your kink is not my kink, but that's okay"... (Wicked Wednesday Prompt)

There isn't a person on the planet who is wired the same way. Not even twins. We have our own thoughts, our own needs, our own fantasies. The things that turn us on, sometimes surprise even us (I know, I've been - "what the hell? he's got his hand around my neck, holding me down, and...wait! he's sort of choking me here! oh, holy hell...I like that...why the fuck do I like that? this is twisted..."). So, we know the internal sex lives of some other people could quite possibly shock the hell out of us (or not, depending on your experience level and your own kinky interests). 

Personally, I have no problem with anyone's kink. Even the more hard core kink is fine, as long as everyone involved is of age and consenting. And quite honestly, no one should be made to feel "unacceptable" or " weird" because they have "off-the-beaten-path" sexual desires (though it goes the other way, too. I've read plenty of blog posts condemning "vanilla sex" as being boring or "unevolved"...even "unnatural").

But, where the whole YKINMK becomes possibly NOK (not okay) is when we're talking about a committed couple. What happens when his kinks don't match hers and one person in the relationship isn't willing to fulfill the other's kinky needs? Oh, sure, it's easy to say we should be honest with each other up front before a commitment, but I don't know too many people who divulge their entire kinky self before marriage. It can take years to admit one's desires, especially if the person feels those desires might be "strange" or "off-putting". Not to mention that many of us develop as sexual beings over time and our desires and sexual interests change. That, of course, complicates things further in a long-term relationship. 

From experience, I know it's hard to go back once you've headed down any particular path, especially if you head down that path with someone and they like something you don't (been there, done that, too). It's not easy to say to the one you love, "Hey, I realize you really like <insert kinky activity here>, but I've tried it and it isn't my bag." Your loved one's disappointment might be palpable. And it will certainly hang around in your own head for some time ("I wonder if he'll be happy without <insert kinky activity here>?" or "Will she be satisfied now that she knows what she'll be missing?" "Is it fair for me to keep him/her from accessing this particular type of kink?").

Kink is one thing, but shared kink is fully another beast. Since all people change over time, it is almost unavoidable that at some point two people are NOT going to want the same thing. A couple has a few choices at this point...accept one path and follow it (without judgement or disappointment - which can be difficult and/or impossible depending on the people involved), allow both people to follow their own path separately but continue the relationship (difficult even in the most "open" relationships), agree to compromise somehow (also not necessarily easy), or ignore it and let the resentment take over.

It's easy to say YKINMKBTOK...unless you're married or committed. Because while his kink might not be my kink...I cannot disregard it, ignore it, belittle it, or force myself to share it. Somehow, I have to learn how to cohabitate (is that a word?) with it, knowing that it lives within him and wants to come out to play on occasion. 

Likewise, I have to admit MKIMKATOK (my kink is my kink and that's okay). I think my husband is kinkier than me...actually, I know that for a fact. Mostly, he's more sexual than I am (I think I may well be more "sensual"). He's more open sexually...more accepting of his own kinks and others', as well. Oddly enough, since I'm the one who writes about it, he's just plain more into sex than I am. He looks at porn. He thinks about and talks about and wants sex more often than I do. At one point, before children, we were matched pretty well in that. After kids, our desire levels and sexual interests began to head off in different directions. Basically, my sexual path became a grown- over foot trail that required a native tracker and a machete to navigate. So, I turned around and followed him down his wide-open highway of a path. It wasn't my path, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy the road-trip. Unfortunately, at some point, we pulled onto the Audubon and I couldn't handle the speed (getting off that SOB isn't easy, btw). He found the speed exhilarating. I found it terrifying...and still have PTSD. He wistfully reminisces about how much fun it could have been, though he'll accept the quiet country roads that I prefer, with the occasional "mudding" stint to liven things up.

It's a hard road to travel, when two people are in the vehicle and want completely different scenery. But there's always a compromise...when "your kink" meets "my kink (or lack thereof)" and becomes "our particular brand of what works...for the most part". I guess that's what a partnership is all about, right?

Friday, June 6, 2014

The Wrong God

FFF: 5 verses of 4 lines each
Photo and prompt provided by:

The Wrong God

I kneel at the foot of my heart,
small and unable to move it -
even naked, I cannot make it feel
my old wicked temptation.

I pull at my hair, bite my own lips,
to feel the pain and taste the blood,
but despite the desperation
my skin and mind are numb.

I pray at the alter of my own desire
willing it to enter my body--
honey-slow and thick like cream--
my offerings continually inadequate.

I stand and turn to leave, head hung
low in fear and disappointment,
terrified I cannot coax to the surface
and understanding of my own devotion.

I look upward and inward, searching,
listening to the point of pain,
for any request I can fulfill,
suddenly realizing...I'm praying to the wrong god.

e-Lust #58...GIANT apology...self-flagellation to follow...

So, I submitted for e-Lust #58 and had my FFF story "Neverland" published. The rules state that I must post the entire edition within 7 days of publishing (which would be the 22nd of the month). It completely slipped my mind in all the craziness that is my life, but here it is (with my heartfelt apologies). You may now line up to punish me now.


Pandora Photo courtesy of Pandora Blake

Welcome to Elust #58 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #59? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Do NOT take my rapeplay fantasy away from me! Pulp Fiction “O” is for Outlaw No More

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The Second Letter The Wake

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too* All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!  

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Orgasm Denial Games and Ideas What is “Normal,” Anyway? Abject Submission 3: Only the Gift Is All BDSM Sexual? #KinkySex A new Dom asked me for advice Let's Talk Sex Stigma What I want On Being Submissive Dildos in Wonderland - Fantasy Sex Toys

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

My sexual Assaults Risky Business What is feminist porn? Butt Plug Weekend (Humor) The Shaming of Slut Shaming Do Bisexuals Need To Be More Upfront? Why I Don't Support CatalystCon

Erotic Non-Fiction

The 'Good' Girl vs The Whore - Marriage Well Laid The sheer poetry of pegging a homophobe The Missouri Misery's Maiden Voyage On the Edge (Touch Your Cock for Me) Parking On A Dirt Road Masturbation: The Big Finish The four-day orgasm Dear lover

Writing About Writing

Imagining Disabled Characters in Erotica


Simple Needs - a Lusty Limerick

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

On Happiness and Risk Sex addiction - a primer More Than Bend Over Boyfriend Toys

Erotic Fiction

Neverland X marks the spot Chain Links and the Rail Marshall The Devil and the Golden Ring A lonely day in Paradise Mine Is Bigger Than Yours Rub It Harder Face Splash – Part 1 Stray Kat Sneaky Sexy Snippet of A Work in Progress


56 posts later ... ELust Site Badge

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Making Friends with the Monster

I'm not a huge fan of Eminem...or Rihanna. I can take 'em or leave 'em. But, for some reason, the other day (and maybe it's just because of the moment when I heard this line up) when this song came on, it hit me sideways. 

"I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed,
get along with the voices inside of my head,
You're trying to save me, stop holding your breath,
and you think I'm crazy, yeah you think I'm crazy...
well that's nothing..."

It was followed by this one...

And I actually had to pull the car over, and just breath it in. The music...the feelings...and the revelation that I am both my worst enemy and my only savior. 

I've written on here several times about my waxing and waning libido. It's caused a hell of a lot of strife and drama in my marriage. In fact, it's pretty much the only thing we fight the point of needing a mediator in the form of a counselor, which doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere.

Just recently, I stopped taking my "bupropion" because we were having trouble with our insurance. After several days (and maybe it was just the return of the sun in our dark little corner of the world, or the fact that the moon was full), I noticed my libido was improving. And my mood...I felt less agitated and irritable. Less "tight" I guess. And then...the new moon hit. I've done plenty of data collection on how my libido follows the cycles of the moon. No matter how much evidence I collect, though, it doesn't "solve" the problem. It just shines light on it. It might explain it. But, it doesn't fix it.

So, how do I pull this all together? Well...I have this sneaking suspicion that my drugs are numbing me in more ways than one. I purposely took this particular anti-depressant because I was under the medically-encouraged assumption that it would not have sexual side-effects. And it might not. But my sexuality is so intimately tied to my brain and emotions that when those are off, so is my libido. So, I seem to be rather screwed here. To remain emotionally stable, I may need to continue medication of some kind. But, a large majority have side effects that may make the problem worse. It's like a cat biting its own tail. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.

And amidst all of this, I have one unhappy husband.

Quite honestly, I've hit a wall. And I don't know what to do.

Why do women stop wanting sex? - article from Daily Mail (U.K.)

I find this article both validating and depressing. I tried to go to a naturopath recommended by a friend, but they wouldn't accept my insurance. And going to a regular counselor is proving to be an insurance nightmare as well. I'm not saying that solving (or attempting to solve) the problem isn't worth the $ it would cost, but it adds to the stress (which apparently triggers the "celibacy hormone"). Who knew?

So, I'm a naturally stressy person. But summer is coming, and I have a some vacation time maybe it's time for some de-stressing experiments, the addition of some black cohosh and angelica root, a new (or no) anti-depressent...maybe a mood stabilizer? A trip to the doctor? Hormone level tests? A psychiatrist? A sex therapist? All of the above?!!!! thing at a time here. As you can see, I wind myself up quite easily, which could be the heart of the problem.

Whatever. I have a monster in my head. And somehow, I've got to come to terms with it.