tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21695524668380511532024-03-12T23:17:24.937-05:00Pretty BirdUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger43125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-56314006990818174152013-12-16T14:08:00.000-06:002013-12-16T14:08:06.246-06:00Frolicsome FunWriting has left me, at least for now. But the fun of exploring sexuality has not--and I want to share it with you! Join me for my new project, Camp Frolic, coming to Texas in fall 2014.
Check it out at www.campfrolic.com, and don't forget to sign up for the mailing list.
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-16853400162493919662013-09-11T21:03:00.001-05:002013-09-11T21:03:31.000-05:00Prelude in T, for TearsSometimes I get stuck in a rut where I can only write the start of stories. Beginnings are what I like best, don't you? Longing, and the first hints of its satisfaction? The moment before the first kiss?
Here's a story I don't plan to finish. Please finish it for me, in your dreams.
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She was wet. Again. She couldn’t help it. These thoughts came into her head unbidden andUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-25901323072672872972013-08-18T20:26:00.000-05:002013-08-18T20:26:10.082-05:00The Mermaid
“They weren't ugly then,” she said, her voice disproportionately defensive. Maybe one day he’d learn to keep his mouth shut. It didn't do to ask people questions, here. Not that he’d really asked so much as--”Look,” she said, cutting into his thoughts. She lifted her shirt with her arms crossed, so he could see everything. The soft brown of her areolas. The gentle curves of her Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-73648694733960428762013-08-09T17:03:00.002-05:002013-08-09T17:05:35.447-05:00Writing ExercisesI've been at a writing workshop/retreat this week. It's been a great experience, and opened my eyes to a lot of possibilities. Here are some random, not sex-related exercises we did with synesthesia. I've never been much at description, so this whole exercise really excited me.
Biting into a Peach
A marching band goes by in the street and I can smell the flowers in every lapel, the float Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-19055778372553999462013-06-17T20:24:00.002-05:002013-08-09T17:00:29.836-05:00The First and Only Time I Played Spin the Bottle (and I didn't even get kissed)It was cold in the basement. We’d been naked for the photo shoot, but most of us had tossed on coats or boots or even a few clothes as they’d herded us down the stairs. Prospective buyers were touring the studio. It wouldn’t do for them to see thirty rowdy nudes cluttering up the space.In the basement, our nascent intimacy, born of being posed tangled under lights for hours on end, seemed to fadeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-44989857158088732512013-04-16T22:47:00.003-05:002013-04-16T22:47:46.404-05:00A Change In Perspective
This one isn't sexy. Sorry.
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She’s the same age I was. It’s hard to believe. I have plenty of memories from before I was 7. Episodes and glimpses. But at 7 I begin to remember whole chunks of time. I remember what it felt like to be me.
A friend said the other day, “Do you feel like you are still seven on the inside?”
No, I do not. At seven I felt fully formed. There Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-48156298407715351082013-04-06T21:18:00.001-05:002013-04-06T23:32:03.135-05:00Surprise!
I wrote a book. I even had it professionally edited. Apparently, I misuse the word "towards" a lot.
I'm pretty crazy excited. Here's what my Amazon page looks like - I feel so official! God I hope my future employers don't Google me.
So, yeah, you can buy my excellent book on Amazon, or throw me a more substantial share of the purchase price by buying it from the printer, Create Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-82213480979534567322013-02-18T21:32:00.000-06:002013-02-18T21:32:28.200-06:00The Drive - Part 3You might like to start with Part 1.
Or check in on Part 2.
The cab was beautiful. Sarah had told me the story while we ate: Her father had bought the truck so they could drive together, but a stroke had kept him from being able to stay on the road. Now Sara and Bruce were a long-haul team in a rig most young drivers would never have been able to afford. As I hauled myself up the two steps Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-40344705325130901712013-02-13T21:09:00.002-06:002013-03-07T21:16:21.308-06:00The Drive - Part 2 Here is Part 1
Back on the road, coffee refreshed, I turned up the music and went back to my fantasy. Bryan was pulling me into the house, hands under my shirt, gripping my back. I arched in my seat. My hand gravitated back to my lap. I could feel the heat and wet even through my skirt. And that’s when I passed my friends in the truck. I couldn’t see the driver, but I was sure my Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-52130863022987952452013-02-04T20:22:00.001-06:002013-03-07T21:13:53.929-06:00The Drive It was a long drive. I knew that setting out, but I didn’t mind. Bryan was at the end of it. After months of teasing, talking, fantasies, love letters, and long-distance kisses, I would finally be next to him again. We could stop sketching out song ideas through the crappy sound of video chat and start making real music. We would make love and make our album. Two days of driving was nothing Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-11942518480156262362012-10-25T20:40:00.002-05:002013-02-04T20:30:44.989-06:00Half Naked Thursday: I Love Myself
I'm not perfect. That doesn't matter. I'm strong. My body feels good, and my heart is happy. I think these pictures capture all of those things about me. Perfectly.
The gorgeous, talented, and infinitely charming Cricket Burwell took these pictures. Be sure to take a look at her site, www.cricketburwell.com, and do visit her Etsy shop for amazing re-stayledUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-83318575852845331122012-08-25T13:23:00.000-05:002012-08-25T13:23:37.716-05:00The Pearl Is In the LotusIt was the second-to-last week of the semester, and Gene suggested Telephone. It was just the kind of disarming thing he’d do, to make us play a silly children’s game. Our small class of high-school seniors went along with it, of course. There was very little we wouldn’t do for Gene. Even the skeptics among us had been seduced by his lectures, mixing history, philosophy, world religions and what Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-35080759075938143192012-07-20T22:16:00.002-05:002012-07-20T22:17:53.147-05:00UnrequitedMy attraction to him is a one way street. You'd think I'd mind, but I don't. He flirts. He hugs me hello. He even offered to kiss me once, but it was an inconvenient time and it seemed sort of like he was doing me a favor.
When we're out, he's constantly looking for the next pretty girl. He gives our conversation only perfunctory attention. Then his blue eyes crinkle charmingly&Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-14008263871222762212012-07-14T23:01:00.001-05:002012-07-20T21:48:18.182-05:00The ComposerIt was done--tonight's symphony. Tim looked up from his laptop with an anticipatory grin. It was true, composing was part of his day job, but he took satisfaction in his work. And there was a special savor to writing a piece for someone he knew personally.
Tonight's piece would test out his newest modifications to the machine. Over the last few weeks, he'd created a new sensation module and Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-51984715205825293592012-07-11T21:57:00.000-05:002012-07-11T21:57:16.932-05:00Promises, PromisesI've had a bit of a shaky week. Maybe some of it was hormones, I don't know. I lacked my usual relaxed attitude, that feeling of centered calm that lets me greet the successes of my friends with compersive joy and accept their occasional offenses with equanimity.
Which is to say, I lost my temper. Quietly, privately, I raged. Being rather pathetically uncomfortable with anger, my default is to Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-21019897163528749972012-03-26T21:43:00.000-05:002012-03-26T21:43:02.293-05:00Playing Dress Up
Thank you, Steve Rogers Photography, for these photos. You can tell we had a good time, can't you?
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-73561772809509740432012-02-29T22:10:00.000-06:002012-02-29T22:51:16.596-06:00Head"No," she said. "Hand me that pillow."
He wanted her in the bedroom. From the moment he'd heard her car pull up he'd been hard. She'd pressed herself against him as soon as the front door shut, greeted his kisses open-mouthed. But when he'd tried to lead her down the hall to his bed, she'd resisted.
Women delay sometimes, even ones who want you. But for her, it wasn't normal. She was so Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-16108417663361585712012-02-25T22:37:00.000-06:002012-02-25T22:37:01.986-06:00Crushing OutI've had the kind of crush where I'm always scanning the crowd for her. The kind of crush that makes my heart founder and my face flush when I see her walk into the room. If I talk to that kind of crush, I can barely meet her eyes. Even if we're good friends, I'm half-afraid the whole time that she might see how much i like her.
I've had the kind of crush that's mostly misery. Where I wantUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-47588688487800202242012-02-15T20:19:00.002-06:002012-02-15T20:19:29.475-06:00Lube and Orgasms
If you are in Austin, come see Orgasm, Inc. next Wednesday! You have to reserve your ticket in advance at www.tugg.com/events/201
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-27408302675922383882012-02-02T23:17:00.000-06:002012-02-02T23:17:29.611-06:00Ramble about WrongnessThe previous post was hard for me. It was hard to formulate what was going on in my mind, and painful to write down.
I really hoped that publishing the story would help me dispel some of the lingering shame I feel. A lot of times, blogging has worked that way for me. I post something, and I feel free. It lightens me just to put it out there, and when people comment saying it resonates I feel Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-20138619903043965082012-02-01T20:36:00.001-06:002012-02-01T20:36:20.135-06:00Red TideRed tide is a common name for a phenomenon also known as an algal bloom, an event in which algae accumulate rapidly in the water column resulting in discoloration of the surface water. Toxicity varies.
I should post a warning. The following contains graphic scenes of …
Fuck it. Take your chances. This is non-fiction. The sensitive should abstain.
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Last week, I went to Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-43161878263382865152011-12-29T12:44:00.007-06:002011-12-29T12:54:49.195-06:00So, I met this really fascinating panda...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-14805898701330637512011-12-12T16:51:00.001-06:002011-12-12T19:26:39.324-06:00A Year of SexA long time ago my husband (then boyfriend) and I did a collaborative art project called A Year Of Bad Sex. It was an illustrated calendar: I created the stories and layout, G drew cartoon illustrations. Each month memorialized one of my mediocre early sexual encounters--until December, which celebrated Great Sex with him. For some reason, our photocopied creation wasn't a huge seller at the Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-23731172107499623752011-11-01T21:37:00.000-05:002011-11-01T21:37:23.821-05:00Suck. My. Cock.If you trusted him with your secrets from afar, can you trust him with you body when you are finally up close? Just a little something while I work on more complete stories....
“I want you to Suck. My. Cock.”
I’m not really awake. His commanding voice penetrates my somnolence, but not enough to spur a reaction.
“Rosie. Wake up and Suck. My. Cock.” His voice is low, his tone even. I can Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169552466838051153.post-71885015120071598172011-10-16T20:29:00.001-05:002011-10-16T20:30:30.683-05:00I Want Your SexActually, it's the sensual sensation Mia Martina who wants your sex. I just want you to listen to her read my story.
Mia tells me she cursed my name many times while recording Centerpiece because of my excessively long sentences. You'd never know by listening that she found it challenging. I think you'll find her hypnotic voice brings the story to life.
This is a story from my former blog Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0