Friday, March 21, 2014

Twitterotica

This is the first piece of erotica I ever wrote for public consumption. I found it by downloading my Twitter archive, which is an interesting reminder of the last two-and-a-half years.

Before anyone was even following me on Twitter I started posting these erotic snippets of an encounter D and I had one night after a Halloween party. Each snippet was one tweet, read by no one, I'm certain, until now.

Not even the rain. January, 2013. Izèbel Vivant x Alveoli Photography
He came home earlier than expected. "You're not wearing the sexy lingerie you promised," he said. "I didn't expect you back so soon."

"You're all bloody, " I said. "Why don't you go wash up?" "Only if you wash me. Let's break in the shower."

"The shower's too small, and there's nothing to hold onto. Clean up while I put on the lingerie."

Sea green, transluscent, tied between the breasts with a keyhole open between. Matching tiny tap pants. He came back nude.

His cock filled as he climbed onto the bed. I’d sucked him from soft to granite hard earlier. No help needed now.

His fingertips plucked my tightening nipples, stroked my cleavage through the keyhole. "I bet you're already wet for me."

His long fingers stroked my lips over the fabric. "What's that I'm feeling?" He pushed the crotch aside.

Brushing smooth skin, he found what he sought. "I expected to stroke your closed slit. This is a surprise."

My swollen clit forced my usually tight pussy lips open. "What were you doing as I washed?" "Waiting."

He marveled at my openness momentarily, then smoothed the fabric back. I moaned as the seam slid over my clit just so.

He wedged the seam between my lips, sending exquisite shocks through my cunt. “Please take them off,” l moaned.

I pulled up on my knees. "You can't see the shadow of your open lips behind the cloth. Beautiful."

He rubbed me through the cloth as I thrust against him. Pinching a nipple hard (gasp), he said my tits were gorgeous.

Pants finally off, I slid onto him for the second time that day. He rubbed me and I came hard around him again and again.

Astride him now, I brushed my nipples over his chest. Tucking my head into the curve of his neck, I came again as he bit.

It wasn't always like this between us. For years we shared nothing more than pecks on the lips and hugs. I missed him.

But I didn't know how to find my way back to him. To us. I never left, he never cheated, but we were lost to each other.

It got to where I hardly thought of anything else. Weeks went by and I changed little things, but he didn't notice.

When we moved a year ago he found the bin that had all my wedding lingerie, now 13 years old. When was the last time?

I didn't know, I couldn't think about it. It was too hard. Maybe that was the beginning. It was another 8 months until...

For weeks I touched him more, wore almost nothing around the house, apart from panties and knee socks. I landscaped.

Only once did he say something, when he noticed my bush was considerably smaller and tighter. But still, he did nothing.

One night I finally found some courage and crawled astride his lap and kissed him, grinding my years-shy cunt into him.

That night ended our drought. The next day he shyly asked if it was OK that he wanted me again, soon. Yes, oh lord, yes.

He rolled me to my back, pinning me down.   I tugged on his hair. He pulled mine, hard. He slid a finger alongside his cock.

He was mesmerized by my tits in the sea-green top. Part of the wedding lingerie, nearly 14 years old and nearly new.

I stretched around his cock and finger as I came again, nearly screaming. “You're amazing.” “No, you're amazing. I love you.”

“If you still need it, you can put your pussy on my mouth,” he said. I didn't need it. And then I licked his cock clean.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Sex Snapshot 9: Two Fingers

Gliadin. July, 2013. Concrete Kitten x Alveoli Photography
Sometimes I feel like this woman, with a diaphanous, hazy cocoon separating me from sensations. I'm trying to burst forth. Trying to feel something without the dull film enrobing me. She's beautiful and wanting, just like me.

We lay there engulfed in the darkness. Trailing my fingers along his arm I whispered, "I might want you to fuck me a little bit."

I haven't said words like that in months. I haven't felt that stirring in months. My head was thick with images, indulgent sex, bodies twisted around each other. And the desire began slowly bubbling up from a deep reservoir. In the quiet and dark we pulled our clothes off, pressing skin to skin, his heat against my coolness.

My leg wrapped around him, feeling the heavy warmth of his cock as I clutched against him. His fingers running through the tuft between my legs, finding me open and wet and hungry for him. Two fingers inside me, two fingers pinching my nipple until I moaned. Two fingers and my thumb wrapped around his cock, smoothing over the silky skin and the taut head.

I pushed the fear from my thoughts as he pushed into me, stretching my cunt that's been unexplored for these long months. Tight, clenching, nervous. Can a pussy be nervous? With a slow press forward he found his way into me, and I found my way home. Nerves gone, instinct and physical memories took over as we moved together, deep and low and slow. Long, languid strokes as we pinched and kissed and nipped each other's flesh. Quiet filth whispered into each other's ears, words of wanting, longing, and desperation.

I felt him grow harder, splitting my taut flesh. I begged for release. Two fingers on my clit. Powerful clenches, restrained whimpers, gooseflesh.

Am I a butterfly now, reborn from transformation once again?


Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Should Smut Writers Work for Free?

How is this even a thing? For the last few months this thing--writers being offered work from for-profit money-making enterprises in exchange for exposure rather than pay--has gotten a fair bit of press. Nate Thayer's exchange with an editor from The Atlantic back in March put this topic front and center, but it's not anything new.

A few months later the issue made news again, when writer Catherine Deveny was asked to participate in a huge promotion by Equal (the little blue packets people) and was offered "exposure" but not pay. It's a bit of a different forum than a magazine, but it's still asking a writer to write for free. As Ms. Deveny said, exposure don't pay the rent, and she won't work for free for businesses.

And then last week urban scientist (her descriptor), science writer, and blogger for Scientific American Danielle Lee was called an "urban whore" by an editor at an online publication because she asked how much a gig she'd been offered would pay. A scientist, people. Who has specialized sciency knowledge that the average website editor does not have. A scientist with a big old Ph. D. behind her name. She was called a whore because she wanted to be paid fairly for the assignment she'd been offered.

Although I do plenty of freelance work for my non-sex blog related paycheck, I hadn't thought much about the freelance/exposure conundrum in the context of this blog until it happened to me.

Like many bloggers, I write my blog for free. Because I use the Blogger platform I can't solicit any advertising or affiliate benefits since Blogger prohibits this for "adult" blogs. I have written a few freelance pieces under the Liza pseudonym. I was paid for the couple that have been published, and hopefully the others will be published, triggering payment for those as well. Apart from a few commissions, I haven't sought freelance work related to this blog, but occasionally it seeks me.

Earlier this week it sought me. A major mainstream women's magazine (like, one of the first three you'd think of) approached me to write a feature for them. The editor acknowledged how difficult it is to find people who write frankly about sexual topics, but closed by saying, "[p]lease do let me know. I would happily give a full credit for your blog, of course." I replied professionally, and asked what rate they pay for this length/type of piece. And...crickets.

Some might wonder why I'm fine with letting Fleshbot run posts from this blog on their site without payment, but feel strongly that this magazine should pay for the requested piece. I can only sum it up by saying that the pieces that have appeared on Fleshbot originally appeared on my blog, and I wrote those for free, with no expectation of compensation. Having the same piece appear elsewhere never felt like something for which I should request payment, though it was important that my work be used with permission and not stolen.

But this new situation is an assignment from an editor at an internationally-renowned magazine that makes money by producing original editorial content. From my other work I know approximately what the rate for this piece should be, and that's what bothers me. Had I gone through the usual pitch process, I'd do so expecting to be paid the going rate, either per article or per word, should my pitch be accepted.

Some might say I should go for the exposure, get more readers, and maybe that will lead to paid work. As much as I'd like to write more and for more pay, I have no interest in helping to perpetuate a cycle in which writers are asked to contribute their skills, knowledge, talent, entertainment value and more without pay. But surely someone else will, hoping that all that exposure will pay off in the end.

Dear editor, you know who you are. And you know the quality I can produce. Don't you think it's worth a little scratch?


Monday, September 30, 2013

Ladies! Go Buy a Vibrator!

Ladies, when the spark has left the bedroom, hie yourselves to Babeland and buy a vibrator! It will cure all your marital woes!

Fuck no it won't.

Reach. Lo-res 120 film scan. Courtesy of Creative Rehab.

As I've slid into the sexless funk I've started looking at the advice offered to couples whose sexual relationship is in the doldrums. Without doing an exhaustive study, I'm pretty certain that the most popular piece of advice for women is to buy a vibrator. I remain confused as to how, exactly, buying a battery-operated piece of plastic is the way forward.

As a woman who owns about six vibrators, several of which I reviewed here (and not a one of these was sent to me free for review, ahem), I think I have a bit of knowledge in this area. Advice offered by WebMD:
"Ladies: Don't fret if you're not feeling desire right away. Enjoy the process of becoming aroused. A vibrator can help with that, [Diane Sollee] advises. 'After menopause, they may need a more intense vibration, at least initially, if a woman hasn't been sexual in awhile. She may need a vibrator.'"
All props to former marriage counselor and MSW Sollee, a vibrator cannot fix a sexless marriage. I'm not even sure a vibrator can create desire where there is none. And as good as vibrators are at making orgasms, if you aren't feeling the sexy and you don't have much impetus to get started they can create a worsened state of anxiety when the orgasm doesn't arrive as promised.

I know. I've been there.

A vibrator is a tool that can make an orgasm happen. But I don't believe that it can make you fall back in love with your partner or make you feel that hot, liquid, melting desire that begs to be quenched by fingers, lips, a tongue, a cock, and yes, even a battery-operated piece of plastic.

In the last few days I've tried my hand (and my vibrators) at having some orgasms. They feel good, but they are hard to get. It takes a while to get there, and I need multiple senses engaged before anything happens. And after the intense buildup the outcome is...minimal. It's a weak reminder of what orgasms should feel like, but all the investment to get there seems excessive given the payoff. When it takes a long time to get one, you want it dripping and gooey, not a quick and perfunctory squeeze.

Does a pussy have muscle memory? Can it "remember" what really good orgasms feel like?

How do you get back to the mental and physical place where an orgasm is a craveworthy experience?

Friday, September 27, 2013

Where Does Desire Go?

Photo courtesy of Don't I Wish
It was there for so long, barely concealed under the surface. I hardly had to think of something sensual or read a line or glance at an image and my panties would become damp, my breath a little short. A breeze across my arm raising goosebumps was enough to remind me of what had happened the night before, the hour before, and my nipples would follow, rising hard and tight and straining against the armor of my modest bra.

And then one day I'm wearing a 10-year old grotty t-shirt and full-length pajama bottoms instead of a silk cami and thigh-high leg warmers. And then one day when he rolls over to spoon me I clutch the covers more tightly and don't respond his touch.

When did the desire go? Because I don't remember seeing it pack up and slam the door behind it. I had the first orgasm I've had in about a month the other day. It was on my own, and I did it because I felt that I should, not because I wanted to. Something about getting back on the horse.


Thursday, September 26, 2013

I'm Not Going Insane. Really.

Sometimes doing what you've always done is referred to as insanity, when the outcomes are crappy but you keep returning to the pattern because it's what you know. The last and only time I broke this pattern I started by reading erotica. My taste was pretty bad to start with, my standards pretty low. I read a lot of stories from Literotica because they were online and free and no one could see what I was reading. I went for explicit description over romantic entanglement. BDSM and other more extreme stories captivated my imagination as they were so new and unknown to me. I recently revisited this post about the importance of reading smut for me. I'm now blessed with a better and faster internet connection, but online porn still doesn't really do it for me. Who am I kidding--not much has been doing it for me. But I think that it helps when my imagination (and not just my eyeballs) is engaged.

I've been running from a lot of things in my head lately. Seems like I need to make peace with whatever's been chasing me away and spend a little more time there.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Honesty and Courage

When D got home late last night I asked him to join me on the sofa. The sofa we just got to replace the one we fucked on for the first time after years of the sexless void. I asked him not to respond, to just let me say what I needed to tell him. I asked him not to try to problem solve, and just to listen. And I told him that I'd fallen back into these patterns and enumerated the ways that I'd been closing myself off to him and to our interactions. I couldn't look at him. I spoke with my eyes downcast, my face burning, and the tears streaming down. He acknowledged, and told me that what's most important is my health, but that he was glad I had taken the step to tell him everything. Some of it had been obvious, he said, but some was a revelation.

We have no solutions yet. Only an awareness of the reality.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

On Shame and Sexlessness

I've come back to the place I was in a few years ago, before I "got past" the sexless void in our marriage. I'm back in the place where I actively try to avoid sexual situations. I muddle through conversations when they involve sex or discussing whether we have a problem in this area again. I don't initiate. I don't encourage when he's amorous. I hide my body as much as possible. I don't even look at myself naked. If I let myself do these things it would mean I would have to face a lot of things that are overwhelming and painful.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Sex. Marriage. Honestly.

The other day someone posted a comment on a very old post, commending me for my honesty. To be honest, I again live in a sexless marriage. For all the gains we made, we've backslid terrifically. The traditional definition of a sexless marriage is sex once or less per month. That's us. It's me. The libido that came raging unexpectedly two-and-a-half years ago departed somewhere along the way, helped by illness, stress, and growing disinterest. I thought we'd beat the odds, but we've become a statistic. I just thought I should be honest.

Friday, August 2, 2013

New Erotica by Liza, Live on Unbound

One of the things I've been doing while not writing here is writing fiction erotica. I figure it might get me into a little less trouble ;). Most of what I've written is under a different pseudonym, so you'll have to see if you can puzzle it out. But last weekend a new erotic fiction piece debuted over at Unbound, a wonderful site designed to offer women opportunities to discover new erotic products. As part of their offerings, Unbound is commissioning erotica related to the theme of each of their quarterly boxes and I was lucky enough to have the chance to write three "quickies" all related to the idea of change. Here's a snippet, and please visit Unbound to read more--I promise, it gets steamy!

The beach was all but empty on that hot afternoon, and solitary sunbeds and umbrellas dotted the horizon. Off in the shade of the coconut palms was an open-air pavilion, a legendary stop on this largely isolated stretch of beach. They said that one massage there could change your life. The raised platform was covered with thick mats, and a bowl of sweet-smelling oil sat near the head of each one, a plumeria blossom floating gracefully across the surface. Gauzy white curtains billowed in the breeze. We sat on the edge of the platform and the quiet, tiny women washed the sugary sand from our feet. As we reclined onto our respective mats, she appeared. Her tiny black bikini suited her lithe figure, and her curly mass of auburn hair set off her fair and freckled skin. She climbed onto the mat next to me, her presence all but forgotten as I drifted, deeply relaxed by the rhythm of the waves and the soothing strokes of the masseuse.

Monday, April 22, 2013

e[lust] #45






Photo courtesy of CreativNooky

Welcome to e[lust] - 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 e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #46? Start with the newly updated rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~



Bringing Toxic Sex Toy Facts Out of the Attic

How Do I Get My Wife to Dominate Me?

I Need This



~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~

Speaking the unspeakable

#safetytipsforladies



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!

Friday, April 12, 2013

I'm Going to Give You an Orgasm

Photo courtesy of Don't I Wish
"I'm going to give you an orgasm," he said, pulling his clothes off and preparing to slip into bed.

"My butt itches," I said, the epitome of sexy.

"You need to take your pajama bottoms off. It'll be easier to scratch your butt."

I pulled them off and hugged my knees to my chest and suddenly he smacked my pussy hard.

"Owwwwww," I whined. "Even with my great cushion of hair that still hurt."

"Yeah, there is a lot of hair there. You need to do something about that...well, you don't really need to do anything about that."

And seconds later he dived beneath the covers and pushed his face between my legs. His tongue pushed against the base of my clit and then flicked upward with force. "Unnnnngggghh," I said.

"Yeah, that's what I wanted," he said, and then did it again. And again. I spread my legs wider as I felt the mini twitches that always precede my orgasm, pushed my cunt against his lips and tongue. When he sensed I was approaching climax he sealed his lips over my clit and sucked, my orgasm pouring forth.

He crawled out from under the covers and pressed his full weight against me, his cock twitching in the crook of my thigh. "I just needed to be close to you."
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