Re-ennactment

There I am, in the living room, sitting by the fan, this large phallic object, a tower of impressive proportions, if you see it as a member, as I do.

If I’m sitting, it’s taller than my head. So I note where my mouth is in relation to it.

Then I stand, climb a little stool, how tall am I now?

How tall is my male character? Where will be his crotch standing, in relation to my mouth sitting? If I’m him…

Ah. 

What happens if I’m him, and I bend to kiss my mouth, where does my centre ends up?

I need a partner for scene re-enactments!

I laugh out loud at the tower.

Don’t give me the Sublimation Bull

Taking a risk, with a clear, albeit chaotic, mind, is interesting. I have decided to “poke the dragon”.
With a short stick, here I am, allowing my beautifully, previously peacefully dormant sexual energy to awaken, along with the awakening of my peri menopause too.

This shall be interesting! I wonder what this new dragon will be like. The last time I had a lover I was another person, another body, another dragon.
At that time, to put it to bed, I had to sublimate the hell out of it, wrote an erotica from it, maybe this dragon’s cycle will see it published. There is a chance the awakened energy will attract the knight. Risk: there’s a chance it won’t.

If it doesn’t, I’ll be left with the roaring dragon, spitting fire, razing villages, enchanting the sky, the piles of treasure. I just desire, desire. No sublimation shit. Yes, my powers of sublimation aren’t bad, and my treasure chest of alternative resources is always full, but there’s no substitute for skin against skin, smell of the dip of a neck, you know that spot, bellow the ear, when you give a hug, sometimes even one that should be innocent… That inhaling, when there’s chemistry, that tells you and your cells everything you need to know.

Words on a page are my reason for living, but for the fiery dragon, poked and awakened, they do not replace the moment that a splayed hand holds above your belly button, and eyes look deep into yours as they claim for your extasy.

The Consequences of Writing Erotica

Self-pleasure.

I have written an Erotica, not an erotic romance, not Mills & Boon, it’s an Erotica verging on Porn.

It is not only a stretch of the well-behaved woman, it breaks through the limits.

I’m going over the brilliant work that my freelance editor did for me, proofreading and editing my writing.

I cannot believe it still arouses me.

It happened before when I wrote an erotic short piece and then, I didn’t want to see it again, kind of ashamed of it, with a weird reluctance to see what I had created.

Maybe I’m more mature now, more comfortable with my fantasies and sexuality, more aware of my pleasure.

Not only I’m happy to see it again, it affects me as badly as when I first imagined it.

My poor toys are getting a lot of work!

Naivité

I am a suffering soul. I work in a place full of gorgeous men. Either, for some reason, my company attracts the gorgeous ones, or I simply find most men gorgeous.

What kills me daily, though, is that they have no idea of my filthy mind, or of how gorgeous they are, or how impossibly tantalising they look to me. They are ridiculously naive and do not care one bit to kill me softly with their smiles and winks! They wink!

Firstly they are impossible targets to me because we work together and love and workplace do not mix. By principle, a bad idea. But more importantly, they are all committed. Most of them married with impossibly perfect families, 2.4 children, a house, a dog, successful, etc.

My fantasies don’t really register that part though, the fantasies just see confident, interesting, intelligent, fit, right age, beautiful looks, charming, good-people, smiley… and winks!

Most of them all are above me, hierarchically, I wouldn’t mind if instead they were on top of me ha!

They pass in front of me, when they come back the company’s personal training session, sweaty, in shorts, sleeveless shirts, oozing testosterone, blushing cheeks. I hold my table hard not to swoon and fall from my chair.

One day, one of them decides to crawl under my desk to reach the power plugs beyond. Seriously? I look below me to see his ass wriggling, his shirt having gone up a bit, revealing a bit of his crack. I feel like touching the skin, oh so lightly… or maybe smacking his ass? Not sure. I held very, very quiet, super wide eyed, holding one hand to the other not to allow the naughty appendages go where they shouldn’t. I’ve kept my job by a thread, that day. So close…

The other day another one announced he had forgotten to take his towel to the company’s shower and had to dry himself with paper towels. I had an instant reply ‘next time, call me, I’ll dry you with my tongue!’ fortunately I kept the phrase on the inside and just a funny smile on the outside.

The third one is a cheeky salesman sort, every time I look at him, I see him spent after sex, after we had so much of it that he is naked over my bed like roadkill. Instead I look and say politely ‘good morning’.

I hope my own man appears soon or this job is doomed!

Online Dating Pearls

Love may be out there, but sometimes what I find that also starts with capital “L” is Laugh.

One poor guy wrote on his profile that he was looking for his Sole Mate.

The other one wrote something like this where the website asked about “first dates” (meaning how would you like to spend a first date):

It was when I was fourteen and I took the girl out and I wanted to kiss her but she didn’t want to kiss me. But I don’t understand why this is relevant…

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