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Welcome to Elust #66 –
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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~
~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~
~ 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!
Christmas Drinks At The Y
Nothing But Mouth
The things he does
The First Submission
Canadian Mist, Eggnog, Ginger Ale and You.
A Peachy Night
Skeletons In My Closet
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 28
a most pleasant fuck
Sex on Meth
Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor
Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish
Writing About Writing
Thoughts and Advice on Sex and Relationships
Today feels like a poetry kind of day…
I hope you enjoy it.
Jade A. Waters
He cups the side of my face
Thumb rubbing gently, mindlessly
Across the surface of ruddy skin
That waits for more—waits for him.
“Spread your legs,” he says, and I do,
The rush of air kissing my thighs
Grazing the naked heat of my cunt.
“Just like that,” he says,
His fingertips traveling down
Faintly tracing the slope of my neck
The curve of my breast,
And teasing my nipple
In quick, playful tugs.
“Touch me, please.”
My words are a growl
Coming out so deep, so hungrily
I’m sure they emanate from where I ache
Where I need him more than anything,
But still he makes me wait.
I am open
While he strips off his shirt
Unzips the fly on those trousers
And eases himself out.
He is beautiful, hard,
And he circles his length
In sync with the strokes of a finger
That he winds round my nipple
Before he stands in front of me.
“How badly do you need me?” he asks,
And my answer is an eager lean, an easy moan,
The wrap of my lips
Around the head of his cock,
My eyes on him as I suck him deep
Clutching his hips, drawing him further.
A gasp stumbles from his mouth
When he tilts back his head.
“Yes, just like that,” he moans,
“You must really need me.”
He cups both sides of my face now
His palms electric on my cheeks
His fingers twining in my hair
Before he jerks me back, abruptly
Stealing his gorgeous cock from me.
There is a moment between us
Eyes locked as we acknowledge
This wait he puts me through.
Then he pounces—
Pushing me back,
Spreading my thighs ever wider
Before thrusting inside,
Filling me, hard and deep
And bringing cries to my lips
Shudders to my body,
As he makes me wait no longer.
Many years ago, I had a friend with early arthritis who mentioned that whenever it rained, everything changed for him—his body slowed, his joints ached, and he remembered how old he was (his words).
While I’ve no definitive physical reaction to rainy weather, I have noticed my own unique response to it. It’s beyond the casual gaze out the streaked, foggy window, or the perfunctory lean toward the scent of nature drenched in rainfall. Instead it’s a deep-rooted thing—a snapshot in time of an incident that shaped and changed me.
And so sometimes, when it rains, I remember.
Usually, the memory comes fleeting and fast—and always, I push it aside to write about another day. But during a rainstorm a few weeks ago, I went combing through my files. I’ve been a recorder since I was a little girl, and I’ve saved most everything—I have the diary I kept from ages seven to eleven, the bounty of journals I locked in a drawer as a teen, and those I have on my nightstand as an adult. So when I found the story that’s popped into my head here and there over the last two decades, I felt inspired to finally commit the experience to words—this time as the vivid imprint that occasionally flares, something I recognize as the start of a transformation far deeper than raw, young me saw when she wrote it in calculated detail back then.
At 14, I was gangly and awkward. I had thick, bushy eyebrows hidden behind gigantic blue-framed glasses, and I wore baggy shirts and loose jeans to hide developing breasts and hips that had grown far wider than my mother’s. I’d already had braces for the first of two times, so I’d endured much of the teasing that came with them for years prior…but while my teeth were straight, I felt crooked. I felt small. I had a mind bursting with curiosity, but I, like many young teens, was just coming to understand this strange body of mine. I’d heard and read of what it could do, but I was timid, observing all the goings-on around me with a pair of huge, inquisitive eyes. Still, my body ached, somehow, for more—and at school, in my art class, I found it.
His name was Rob.
Rob was a boy three years older than me. He was tall and lean, with long, wild hair and deep, dark brown eyes. He wore a leather jacket, rings, and earrings, and rarely smiled—unless, I soon discovered, he was looking at me. I could feel him watching me from the table a few feet away, no matter who he was talking to, what he was drawing, or what the teacher had to say.
And one day—quietly, leaning close in his chair—Rob told me I was beautiful.
These words were foreign to me. I already had a boyfriend—he was a goofy boy a year older who had supposedly already had sex, but who refused to do anything with me for the six months we’d dated. He’d explained to me that “sex was trouble” and “smart, good girls didn’t want those things.” But occasionally, if I begged, he’d kiss me close-mouthed. Or, he’d push on one of my breasts and joke that my body would be more fun if the other breast would then pop up like a head in a Whack-a-Mole game. He was my very first boyfriend, and from him, I learned I was a weird nerd, an “okay but not great” trait, and that the reason he really liked me was because I wasn’t “too pretty” like the other girls he’d dated.
I suppose it’s not a big surprise Rob got my attention.
For two weeks after Rob complimented me, I remained quiet. I noticed him in class though, always watching me, making something buzz deep inside in a way I’d never felt before. The day he slipped his phone number my way, I fondled the paper for hours, wondering if I should follow the longing pulsing along my skin, and the desire filling my head. It distracted me when my boyfriend spoke of video games and burping, then reminded me I was needy when I asked him to kiss, and that if we did, we’d get caught, and the trouble we’d get into would all be my fault.
So I called Rob, and for two more weeks, we talked about our lives and mature things. He shared the trouble he got into with his friends, the potential risk of getting thrown out by his parents, his record with the law. I was a good girl through and through, and I couldn’t comprehend these sorts of tales. It seemed he was the very trouble my boyfriend told me I was for him—but Rob didn’t push me away or tell me I was weird, or only sort of pretty, or anything else I’d learned in last six months about myself. Most importantly, he didn’t tell me I was strange when I told him I had feelings for him, or that I wanted more than anything to kiss him.
This is why, when he asked me to meet him on a murky, drizzling Saturday, I knew it was what I needed to do.
Heart racing, limbs numb, face pink—I marched as fast as I could through the fog and sporadic tear drops of rain to meet him. With the amount of time I was allowed and the time it took to get there, we’d have a mere twenty minutes alone. But when I arrived at Rob’s side, this didn’t matter. He curved his hands around my back, affectionately, confidently, then dipped his lips near mine.
I was panting.
Rob kissed me hard and deep, pulling me up against his body as the rain sprinkled faintly on my forehead, nose, and cheeks. I had a flash of guilt when his tongue slipped into my mouth—this was new. This was close. This wasn’t anything my boyfriend would do.
“That’s gross,” he’d say.
But that clearly wasn’t what Rob thought. He kissed me there in the drizzle for a few minutes, then took my hand and led me to shelter under an enormous tree. When he pulled me into his lap, he cradled me and stared into my eyes.
I remember him asking permission every step of the way, the words a melody to the backdrop of rain pattering on the tree foliage above us. His questions came as teasing pauses paired with the most tantalizing of smiles. “Can I touch you here?” he’d said, creeping his fingertips up my thigh. “How about here?” he’d asked, catching the button of my pants. “And here?” he’d whispered, kissing me as I eagerly nodded and he slipped his fingers beneath my panties.
What came next felt like magic. I was caught up with the pattern of his fingers in time with his mouth. There were tingles shooting through me in ways I’d never dreamed of, ways I felt like I’d been waiting for without even realizing it. When I opened my eyes, Rob was as lost in the kiss as I was—but he didn’t stop to tell me the things I usually heard after a kiss. Instead he kissed me harder, fogging up my glasses in our closeness. And as the sprinkling quickened beyond the shelter of tree we sat under, I—loving every second of this thing I’d longed to do—tried to hold my breath so he wouldn’t hear me. I wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that I took the tiniest inhalations and wheezed them out in little bursts of sound.
In a few minutes, reality interrupted—the steps of someone passing nearby, the threat of time ticking by too fast. Rob withdrew his fingers before I could come to my senses, my lips parted, my eyes wild. “We should go,” he said. “Your parents will kill you if you’re late.”
So, hot and shaky, I straightened myself up and stood. Rob held my hand and stared ahead, pensive until we came back to the sidewalk. But my mind was on fire, my body screaming with some new awareness I didn’t have before. He kissed me goodbye and sent me on my way, and I remember the way his gaze felt on my back—heavy, heated, full of the wanting and longing that rivaled my own, but so much more experienced. Once I made it around the block, I breathed normally again—and that’s when the rain began to pour down faster over me, a cascade washing away the naïve, timid girl I’d been before.
When I got home, I called my boyfriend to tell him we were done. I’d like to say things with Rob continued in a normal fashion, but our relationship over the next year and a half would end up being one of the most complicated and painful of my life, fodder for stories not meant for this rainy day memory.
Still, a few weeks later, when I got contact lenses, plucked my huge eyebrows, and started feeling more comfortable in my skin—enough not to hide under layers and layers of fabric anymore—Rob was the first to acknowledge me when I got to class. Our conversations had dulled to occasional glances, a flickered memory of our secret rendezvous in the rain—but now he cast a smile in my direction and leaned close like he had on that first day, so only I could hear him.
“You were already beautiful,” he said, whistling under his breath. “But look at you now.”
I’d smiled and set to work on my art project, just as he’d gone back to talking to his friends. I didn’t know it then, but our moment had been tattooed on my memory, a catalyst of something he was the only one to see waiting inside me to break free.
Which is why sometimes, when it rains, I remember.
Happy New Year, everyone!
Well, we’re on the second day of 2015, and to celebrate, Pillow Talk has a special New Year’s Secrets for you! Today, Malin James, Tamsin Flowers and I recap the year that was and usher in the excitement of the next one. Tamsin is our host this time around, and she’s thrown us some fun questions about our experiences as erotica writers, memorable writing moments, and other sexiness we’ve found in the industry. As usual, I’ve posted a bit of the session here with a link to continue, or you can hop on over to our site to read Secrets in its entirety.
Thanks so much for joining us—2014 was a great year, and we can’t wait to share more secrets with you in 2015!
Pillow Talk Secrets
Tamsin: Hello ladies. How are you both doing today?
Malin: So good! How are you Tamsin? Jade?
Jade: Great! So nice to be here with you both.
J: Yes, Happy New Year! *Blows party whistles* *Throws confetti*
M: I love the New Year – it always feels good to start fresh. *removes confetti from hair* 😉
T: It is great to have a fresh start. Now, let’s get going on today’s business – our look back over 2014 and our look forward over 2015. I’ve got a few questions to put to you two – starting with what was the most surprising thing writing erotica taught you about yourselves last year?
M: Oh boy.. Well, I think the biggest thing it taught me was that I’m far more comfortable with myself sexually now than I’ve ever been. I don’t seem to have the hang-ups that plagued me as a younger, non-erotica writing woman.
J: It certainly does have that effect, doesn’t it? Something about writing erotic things adds to one’s erotic nature, I think.
T: I agree. And on a similar note, the more erotica I write the more comfortable I am with the fact that I’m an erotica writer. At first I didn’t want anyone to know – but now I take the opportunity to tell more people and most of them receive it very well.
J: I just love that feeling! I find the reception being positive is true, too.
M: Yes! It’s kind of funny to realize how much apprehension you can have about writing erotica when you first start playing with it. It’s nice to let that go as you develop as a writer.
J: I wrote about that acceptance of myself as an erotica writer back at the end of 2013 – and this year, having been one with it and really truly loving it, I would say the most surprising thing I learned is what a damn work horse I can be. I mean, I know I go at it sometimes, but I’ve had to pull back from working myself to exhaustion a few times. That was a shocker. I’m sure you both can relate to that, too.
T: Absolutely – that was one of my answers – I’ve surprised myself with my sheer doggedness when it comes to getting stuff done!
M: I never would have called myself a workaholic until this past year, but I’ve been surprised, like both of you, by how much it’s actually true. I guess loving your work brings that out!
J: Yes. But one of the things that’s helped is that you both have been around to “talk me down” when I’m taxing myself. I think that’s one of the greatest things we’ve done for one another (besides all the “talking up,” of course).
M: Yeah – that support really has been critical. It’s easy to push too hard, or get too low. Having two partners/friends who can offer that bit of perspective is just invaluable.
T: It is a wonderful thing, and I wouldn’t be without you two! Now, what’s the most interesting or surprising thing you’ve learned about the industry over the course of 2014?
M: For me it was a fairly general realization. I was surprised by how unstable the market has gotten recently, and yet, within that, how many other options writers have. That and how unfailingly supportive other writers are.
T: That was totally going to be my answer – just how fantastic the erotica community is. We might supposedly be competing against each other but every writer I come across is generous with their support.
J: Yes. It’s a tight-knit group – probably the most lovable and delightful group of all the writer groups I’ve worked with. Considering how much flak the genre can get, it’s wonderful to have that support.
T: If we don’t help each other, who will?
T: Now, turning to what we’ve all been writing, tell me each of you, what was your hottest sex scene of the year?
I wasn’t going to write this post.
I’d settled in my head last week that I would not do the end-of-year recap, especially since my lovely Pillow Talk cohorts and I have a New Year’s edition coming to you in just a couple days (and we do so hope you enjoy it).
But here’s the thing—writing is not optional. It’s not an act we choose; more often than not, it’s a thing we must do. It’s in our heads, in our hearts, and in our veins. It fuels us, guides us, makes us. Sometimes, it takes us in a sweet embrace, stroking the sides of our faces as it whispers, “It’s time to write, love.”
So here I am.
A year ago, I had only recently launched this site with the release of The Big Book of Orgasms and the reading that followed. I had no idea what the year would bring, but I was excited to find out. And you know what? It’s been a seriously fantastic year. Sure, there were some major real-life hurdles for me—I went through a break-up, threatened to quit my job, experienced the worst bout of insomnia in my life, had a couple car breakdowns and multiple rounds of very sick kitties. I also got so overworked I had to force myself to learn to relax (still working on that).
Despite all this, one thing held true: I was thrilled to be writing erotica and thriving in the world that comes with it. The list of experiences that brought smiles to my face goes on forever, but there were some definite highlights. I finished writing a book. I wrote a bounty of short stories. I signed with an agent. I furthered my love of live readings while helping out on an awesome book tour. I swapped my site over to a self-hosted one and started a poetry page, then tried some audio, too. I almost finished writing another book. I met and got to know amazing people, through Twitter, Facebook, real-life readings, events, and experiences. I discovered tons of new writers that blew my mind, and cherished old ones that kept me reading well past my bed time (and others, before I crawled out of bed in the morning). I found brilliant and wonderful sisters and colleagues in my Pillow Talk pals. And—over and over again—I found myself incredibly content when I was writing.
So I guess I’d say I’m in the same place as last year, but now it’s better. I’m still excited, but this time around I’m even more certain—yes, this thing is in me. It’s the very thump of a beating heart that keeps me happy, dreaming, and continuing on.
As for 2015 goals? I’m keeping it simple: WRITE. (Okay, and maybe take a day off here and there.) 🙂
Wherever you are now, and whatever your goals, I wish you all the best in 2015.
Thanks for joining me!