Friday, August 26, 2016

It's Not About Sex (#eroica #desire #genre)

passionate woman

Anyone who has read my blog posts will know that I have a bit of a problem with genre labels. My own work doesn't fit into neat pigeonholes, and often, the fiction I enjoy most is just as stubborn. I've found that the best books frequently defy categorization – or create new genres, which is basically the same thing.

Advocates of labeling claim that assigning books to particular genres helps readers find what they like. I'd argue that it's just as likely to discourage readers from picking up something new that they might actually love.

If you had to pin me down, though, I guess I’d label what I write most often as “erotica”. Of course, this is the kiss of death from a marketing perspective. Many readers have the (mistaken) idea that a book that calls itself erotica will include constant, graphic sex. Some people think that this also implies an absence of plot. I sigh when I encounter this sort of attitude, which seems to be to be quite wrong.

You want my opinion? (Well, of course you do, or you wouldn't be reading my post...) I think that erotica is not about sex, per se. Erotica is fiction that focuses on the experience of sexual desire. Sexual desire may be a concomitant or precursor to physical sexual activity, but it doesn't have to be. Desire in its many variants (arousal, lust, love, obsession) is fundamentally an emotional state or process. Thus, it's theoretically possible to write erotica that contains no overt sex at all. (More on this below.)

Conversely, a story that includes graphic sex does not deserve to be called erotica unless the author is primarily concerned with the characters' feelings about their encounters, and how those feelings affect the non-sexual aspects of the characters' lives. To the extent that sex is treated as a mindless, instinctual activity, a response to a stimulus that brings relief like a sneeze, it does not (in my view) merit the term erotic.

I've been a member of the Erotica Readers & Writers Association for more than a decade. ERWA has a list called Storytime, where members share their erotic fiction (and poetry) and ask for critiques. I don't participate in Storytime now – I just don't have the time – but the three or four years that I did had a powerful influence on my own writing.

In any case, I still recall one story that was posted on Storytime – at least ten years ago. I don't remember who wrote it, though I recall that it was a man. The main – indeed, the only – character is a soldier, staying in a cheap rented room somewhere, maybe Paris. A woman lives in the next room; the walls are thin. Night after night he listens to the sounds she makes coupling with her lover. He finds himself terribly aroused by this unseen female. He masturbates to her cries. He fantasizes about meeting her, about taking her lover's place. His obsession grows, his desire is unbearable, yet he still can't find the courage to knock on her door. Finally, one day, she's gone – the room next door is empty.

I found this story to be one of the most erotic pieces I've ever read. There was no sex involved, or at least none that involved the object of desire. Yet the tale managed to convey such a sense of yearning, a desperate, intense need – manufactured entirely out of the soldier's imagination.

That story (I really wish I still had a copy) has become my touchstone for erotica. I enjoy writing about sex, but like the soldier, it's the idea of sex that really turns me on. I've experimented, trying to write (and sell) erotica that keeps the physical side of sex to an absolute minimum. One story that falls into that category is “Stroke”, which originally appeared in Please Sir: Erotic Storiesof Female Submission, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. The male protagonist is a Dom who's bedridden in a rehab facility, partially paralyzed by a stroke. The heroine is his nurse, who suffers from kinky fantasies her boyfriend labels as sick and shameful. The dominant manages to fulfill Cassie's fantasies, without ever touching her.

~~~

"Look at me." His tone was softer but no less firm. I raised my eyes to his, which were the startling blue of glacial ice. I shivered and burned. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Yes, Sir," he corrected me. My nipples tightened inside my bra.

"Yes, Sir." Just his voice was enough to make me ache.

"What's your name?"

"Cassie, Sir. Cassie Leonard."

"Don't look away, Cassie. Look at me. Do you know who I am?"

"No, Sir. I just started at Lindenwood this week. Before that I was in the rehab department at Miriam Hospital."

"My slaves call me Master Jonathan."

My earlobes, my nipples, my fingertips, all seemed to catch fire. I wanted to sink through the floor. I didn't want him to see how his words excited me.

But he did see. I stared at my hands, knuckles white from gripping the rail.

"You have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I do." An image of Ryan rose in my mind, his brown curls and uneven grin, muscled chest and hard thighs. I did love him, truly I did, with his quirky humor, his gentle fingers and his boyish ardor. He was a fine young man. My mother approved of him.

"He doesn't satisfy you." It was a statement, not a question. Tears of remembered frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. "Why not, Cassie? Is his cock too small?"

I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with a stranger, a patient, a half-paralyzed man forty years older than I was. I stole a glance at Dr. Carver. His mouth was firm but his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth.

"No, Sir. His cock is fine." Ryan was justifiably proud of his meaty hard-ons.

"What is it then? Is he a selfish lover? Does he come too quickly for you?"

Guilt washed over me. Ryan would happily spend hours licking my pussy and fingering me, trying to get me off. The only way I could manage it was to think about scenes from the kinky porn I hid from him. Whippings and spankings, gags and handcuffs, all the clichés that I couldn't stop myself from wanting.

"Well? Tell me, Cassie. What do you need that he doesn't provide? What do you want?"

My mouth filled with cotton. I couldn't speak. I was acutely aware of my rigid nipples pressing against the starched fabric of my uniform. My clit pulsed like a sore tooth inside my sodden panties.

"Cassie, I'm waiting." His sternness sent electricity shimmering through my limbs. "Don't disappoint me."

I dared a glance at his face. His left eyelid drooped slightly. His eyes snared mine. I couldn't look away. One eyebrow arched in an unspoken question.

"I—um—I want him to, uh, to do things to me. That he doesn't want to do.” I tried to break away from his gaze, but the force of his will held me.

Things?” He sounded amused. A fresh wave of hot, wet shame swamped my body. “What sort of things?”

Uh—tie me up. Spank me. Use me. Treat me like his slave.” It all came out in a rush, the desires I'd never shared with anyone except Ryan. Even then, I'd only shown him the tip of the iceberg, the least perverted of my needs. “He wouldn't, though. He was shocked when I told him. Disgusted. Said that I had a filthy mind.” The tears that had gathered earlier spilled out over my cheeks.

I imagine that you do, little one, delightfully filthy.” His voice was a caress, soothing and seductive. “I knew that right away, just from your reactions to my voice. Your deepest desire is to submit to a strong master, isn't it?”

Yes—Sir.” I felt relief, now that I'd admitted my secret. He at least didn't seem to condemn me.

You want to be beaten and buggered, shackled to the bed and split open by a huge cock. You want to bath in your master's come, maybe even his piss. To be forced to service his friends.”

It was thrilling and horrible, listening to him enumerating my darkest fantasies out loud. My clit felt the size of a ripe plum, swollen and juicy, ready to burst. I nodded, still finding it difficult to expose myself so completely.

I will do those things for you, if you'd like.”

You?” The suggestion startled me enough that I forgot the honorific, but he seemed to forgive my lapse. I searched his handsome, ravaged face. “How...?”

Don't underestimate me, girl. I may not be the Dom I once was, but I can still make you burn for my touch. I can still make you beg.” He snagged the button on the end of its cord and raised himself to full sitting position. He moved more smoothly and easily than before. “Remove your clothing.” 

~~~ 

No sex at all in this story. Just overwhelming sexual need. Is it erotic? I think so. And I suppose at some level it is about sex – the kind of sex that happens in the mind.

I really do subscribe to the philosophy summarized by my tag line. Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac. For me, erotica deals, first and foremost, with the mental and emotional aspects of desire. The physical stuff is optional.



Thursday, August 25, 2016

Defragmenting Daniel: The Organ Scrubber by Jason Werbeloff (#scifi #thrller #giveaway @JasonWerbeloff)



Blurb


7 stolen organs.
1 vengeful victim.
A gruesome sci-fi thriller.

Organ scrubbing was a bloody job, but somebody had to do it. Daniel, an orphan from the Gutter, was put to work scrubbing kidneys at aged twelve. The job had its perks: a warm bed, Law and Order reruns, and an all-you-can-eat Mopane worm buffet.

Until the Orphanage stole Daniel’s parts, and sold them on the organ market.

Now Daniel has grown up, and yearns to become whole again. The cybernetic organ replacements just aren’t the same – he needs his parts back. But the new owners of his organs won’t give them up. Not without a fight.

Just how far will Daniel go to regain his missing pieces? And how much more of himself will he lose along the way?

Defragmenting Daniel is a cyberpunk crime thriller that will unnerve you. Every part of you.

A work of great imagination. Powerful and gripping.”
A stark and moving experience.”
ReadersFavorite.com, 5 Star Review


Excerpt

The sun beat down on the crown of Daniel’s mop of thick, black hair. The hanging smoke in the air thickened. His left eye cried. His lungs protested, spasming as he penetrated deeper into the warzone. About a hundred yards into New Settlers Ways, the sweet stink of burning flesh competed with the smoke. Daniel remembered that smell from the operating theatre, when they’d removed his amygdala. But it was stronger here. Omnidirectional. As though the entire area were a seeping wound, and the sun its surgeon.

Daniel tried to count. To find sevens in the chaos. But the buildings weren’t in rows or columns. There was no order here.

We had you cleaned

We had you eat

He rubbed his eye. Tried to bury the memory of the song.

We love your toes

We love your meat

Odin crawled out of the rucksack and perched on Daniel’s shoulder. They surveyed the destruction together. Daniel could hardly feel the cat’s claws burrowing into his clavicle.

No good,” said Daniel, echoing the old shopkeeper.

He walked over to one of the mounds of rubble. Heat radiating from the stones baked his cheeks.

Odin meowed. Dug his claws deeper into Daniel’s chest.

What do you want here?” called out a voice.

Odin darted into the satchel as Daniel whirled around. His cybernetic knee grinded with the sudden turn.

You have no business here,” said a man. He wore a holey t-shirt and a week-long beard. His eyes were swollen. Frantic.

I’m looking for Porcu–”

We don’t need your help,” hissed the Holey Man.

I’m not here to help. I’m looking for Porcuperry Road.”

You PeoPle …” The man spat his P’s “… from up north think you better than us. What with your implanted parts and such.” He nosed the air in the general direction of Daniel’s cybernetic knee.

Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I don’t like my knee. I’d rather have my original.”

The filthy man’s eyes snapped back to Daniel’s face. “What’s that you say?”

The Orphanage took my parts to pay my debt. I never wanted the replacements they gave me.” Daniel flexed his leg. The joint wheezed as he lowered it slowly to the earth.

Hmmm.” The Holey Man stroked his grizzled chin. He had a gash along the bottom of his arm. Were those maggots wiggling along the edges? The man needed a good scrub of Rejek.

What was it you’re looking for?” asked the Holey Man.

84 Porcuperry Road.”

Porcuperry was … fi-si-seven blocks down.”

Daniel’s heart quickened. He eyed the broken streets. Doubted he’d be able to make out city blocks in this mess.

The man sighed. “I’ll take you.” He turned on his feet and walked off, not waiting to see if Daniel followed.

About the Author

Human. Male. From an obscure planet in the Milky Way Galaxy. Sci-fi novelist with a PhD in philosophy. Likes chocolates, Labradors, and zombies (not necessarily in that order). Werbeloff spends his days constructing thought experiments, while trying to muster enough guilt to go to the gym.

He's written two novels, Hedon and The Solace Pill, and the short story anthology, Obsidian Worlds. His books will make your brain hurt. And you'll come back for more.

Subscribe to his newsletter to receive a free novel, and a lifetime of free and discounted stories: http://smarturl.it/werbeloff

**Amazon Author Page – http://smarturl.it/AuthWerbeloff - download all of Werbeloff's fiction from Amazon.

**Newsletter – http://smarturl.it/werbeloff - subscribe to get The Solace Pill free, as well as VIP access to Werbeloff's latest fiction.

**Sound Cloud – http://soundcloud.com/jason-werbeloff/ - listen to stories from Obsidian Worlds narrated by the inimitable Marc Ryan Rees.

**Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7340789 - read and submit reviews of Werbeloff’s fiction.

**Facebook http://www.facebook.com/solaceseries and Twitter https://twitter.com/JasonWerbeloff – follow Werbeloff for release date information on upcoming shorts and novels.

**Website - http://www.jasonwerbeloff.com/ - read about the author, and the philosophy behind his fiction.

Purchase link for Defragmenting Daniel: The Organ Scrubber - The book will be free on Amazon for 4 days, August 24 – 27 2016.



The Organ Scrubber is the first fragment of the Defragmenting Daniel trilogy:

Fragment 1 – The Organ Scrubber
Fragment 2 – The Face in a Jar
Fragment 3 – The Boy Without a Heart

Jason is giving away a $15 bookstore gift certificate as part of his tour. And don't forget to download your free copy of the book!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Book Blast: Unchained Melody by Cynthia Roberts (#romance #giveaway #fate @cynthiasromance)


Unchained Melody cover

Blurb

Pamela Landers had it all, a senior partnership with a top law firm, expensive car, and a luxurious condo. What she desired most was a loving husband, children and a life filled with precious memories that would comfort her through her golden years.

Funny how fate has a way of steering you down that path where dreams really can come true. When Pamela encounters Gavin Templeton along her journey, she has some life-altering decisions to make that eventually lead her to happily ever after.

Excerpt

Nice to meet you, Mr. Templeton. I’ve been trying to get to Sugar Run for the past two years, but …” she paused. “I just don’t know how to say no to my boss.”  

He chuckled and pointed her way.

Well, good for you. All work and no play … well, you know the rest.” He interjected.

Then she thought. I’ll be damned. She knew that name. Everyone knew the Templeton name. She was rather titillated by his attention. The Templeton’s, were quite known in the Northeast. Not only was Sugar Run a rather luxurious five-star resort, but his family had acquired over fifty acres of prime lakefront property and started developing it into one of the most eloquent gated communities that would offer luxurious 2-3-bedroom town homes, a 9-hole golf course, and private country club.
The cleft in his chin was more prominent when he smiled and it pleased her to know she was the cause of the sparkle in his eyes.

And, please, call me Gavin.”

Her voice shook a little. “Pamela Landers … my name, that is and, thank you for sharing your table.”

The waitress arrived, took both of their orders, and refilled their coffee cups.

So, tell me Pamela, what line of work occupies your every waking moment?”

Law,” she answered. “My niche is wrongful death.”

The look that registered on his face made her wonder, if the legal field was something he found distasteful. She did not know why, but she wanted his approval. His opinion of her somehow mattered.

Do you ski, Gavin?”

Not an Olympic hopeful mind you, but I manage to make it to the bottom without breaking my neck.”

Pamela giggled.

His cell phone went off and he excused himself, as he rose and moved from the table. He was only gone for a matter of moments. When he returned to the table and rejoined her, he asked the waitress to bring him the check right away.

Pamela tried to hide her disappointment.

Pressing business?” She asked, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

Gavin’s was evident as he sighed heavily. “I’m afraid so. There’s something I must attend to in Ashbury that needs my attention.” He rose and handed the waitress two twenty-dollar bills and told her to keep the change.

Pamela shook her head and raised her hand to argue but, he waved it off.

Please, it was my pleasure to meet you.” His smile was warm and genuine. “Perhaps, you’ll join me for a cocktail this evening. I’ll send a note to your room.”

Pamela returned his smile. “Um, that would be nice,” she waved her finger at him, “but, the drinks are on me or, it’s a no.”

Gavin reached for her hand, and drew it to his lips, and stroked it tenderly with his thumb. “How can I refuse? Until later this evening then.” He bowed slightly and turned to exit.

Pamela was exuberant as she watched him leave, appreciating how well the jeans he was wearing fit around a rather nice tight ass and well-muscled thighs. Pamela relaxed and played back their meeting in her mind. Talk about fate … it was all rather unexpected and the immediate attraction she felt for him was even more surprising. She looked down at the thick, crisp waffles on her plate and began devouring them with a hunger that was as strong as her desire to meet up with the dashing and charming owner of Sugar Run.

About Cynthia

My love of reading romance fiction goes back to those early years when I was raising a young family. It wasn't until much later in life I actually took up the pen to write my first historical romance, Wind Warrior. I really don't fit into one specific niche. Once a story starts to flow, it's only then I know what genre/sub-genre it will fit under.

I have only one regret, and that is not getting to this point in my career much sooner, rather than later. Life has a way of setting up road blocks, which for me, was supposed to work out that way. Because of those detours, I have become a more passionate and expressive writer, allowing me to create the kind of raw human emotion I want my readership to feel.

It is my hope you walk away with not just an entertaining read, but the importance in knowing, "Without imaginationand dreams, we lose the excitement of wonderful possibilities."

Connect with Cynthia

Website:

http://www.romanceauthorcynthiaroberts.com/


Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/Cynthia.Roberts.Author


Google+:

https://plus.google.com/100112528079816795315/posts/p/pub


Twitter:

https://twitter.com/cynthiasromance


Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/romauthorcroberts/


Pinterest:

https://www.pinterest.com/RomanceCynthia/



Buy Links

Amazon:

http://amzn.to/2be6ECx


BN:

iBooks:

Kobo:

The book is on sale for only $0.99 for a limited time on ALL of the ABOVE formats.


*For Smashwords, please use Coupon Code: AN23P

Cynthia will be awarding the first six E-books in the Love Song Standards Series to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter during the tour.

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Review Tuesday : Neptune and Surf by Marilyn Jaye Lewis (#reviewtuesday #erotica #literature)


Neptune and Surf cover


Neptune and Surf by Marilyn Jaye Lewis
Blue Moon Books, 2012

Sex is not simple. Marilyn Jaye Lewis' story collection, Neptune and Surf, offers readers a rich and wildly imaginative sampling of sexual shenanigans: public couplings, steamy birchings, violent ravishments, lewd tenderness. There is the soapy buggery of the pregnant woman in the shower; the butch nun's strap-on penetration of her recalcitrant pupil as her victim recites New Testament verses; even a lasciviously-inclined Great Dane.

What is most impressive about this book is the skill with which Ms. Lewis navigates the complex emotional landscape of sexuality. Her characters wander from shame to lust, from confusion to power, from anger to love, drawn to the flesh but never with complete understanding. Her nuanced portraits make the stories believable, even when the plots seem extreme or contrived. The shy, horny black sailor, the tough but tender-hearted half-Chinese hooker, the self-indulgent gangster's moll, these people linger in the reader's mind long after the details of their erotic encounters have faded.

Ms. Lewis' style is crisp and evocative. One smells the popcorn at Coney Island, hears the snap of the birch cane, shivers with Victoria, exposed and violated on the bridge above the swirling winter
river. The shortest of the three tales in the volume, "Gianni's Girl", is switch-blade sharp, laced with seductive danger. The deadpan dialogue crackles with barely suppressed violence. The plots of the
two novellas, "Neptune and Surf" and "The Merry Cure", use numerous temporal shifts which Ms. Lewis handles deftly, with admirable clarity. On the other hand, a more linear treatment might have made these stories even more effective. By the time the reader reaches the climax of "The Merry Cure", she has experienced so many thrilling trips to the past that the present feels a bit flat.

The sexual scenarios are inventive and explicit, described with eloquence and grace even at their most raw. Occasionally, one has the sense that a flashback or daydream is gratuitous, interjected purely for the purpose of adding yet another sex scene. In most cases, though, the sex unfolds organically, propelled by the psychologies and histories of the participants. Even within a single scene, there may be many moods, as the emotional balance shifts and mutates. Gentleness morphs to savagery. Terror melts to passionate arousal. The effect can be a bit overwhelming, leaving the reader with damp and breathless, head spinning.

That is the nature of sex, though. It touches us at every level. It makes us dizzy. It awakens our fears and insecurities, delusions and creativity. In the erotic realm we are both beastly and divine, and sometimes both at once. Ms. Lewis' work captures this truth, with sympathy and considerable craft.

Monday, August 22, 2016

In Nigeria, Romance Enhances Literacy (#feminism #romance #literacy)



A few days ago I happened on this fascinating article, about the huge popularity of romance novels in Nigeria. There's a different piece about the same phenomenon here at the BBC.

It's really worth taking a few minutes to read these stories, but the gist is that women have started to produce a flood of romantic tales in the local Hausa language, which have become so hugely popular that they're having an effect on culture and values. In particular, young women are starting to realize and object to some of the oppressive aspects of their traditional roles, such as forced marriage, child marriage and unequal ability to initiate divorce. Even more exciting (for me) was the fact that in a country with one of the lowest female literacy rates in the world, girls are learning to read, just so that they can access these romance books.

Stories like this give me hope. They also convince me that despite the disdain with which Western literary culture treats romance, the genre has both an enduring, world-wide appeal and a positive social impact.

Keep writing!

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Sunday Snog 240: Wild About That Thing (#MFM #interracial #blues)




It’s Sunday again — time for another sizzling kiss excerpt.

I am still trying to figure out what happened with my Sunday Snog post last week. As of today (Saturday the 20th), I’d gotten nearly 11,000 views on that post. Uh—not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but my posts normally get between 200 and 400 hits. What the heck is going on?

The only thing I could figure out is that maybe the hashtag #interracial was what pulled in readers. Now, even though I’ve written quite a few relationships between black and white characters, I am definitely ambivalent about labeling my stories “interracial”. That seems exploitative to me. When I put characters of different races together, it’s not because I think it’s intrinsically “hot” for a black guy to be with a white woman, or vice versa. My characters may be black or white, Asian or European, but that’s just what they are. Their racial, ethnic and cultural backgrounds tend to be far too complex to encapsulate in a simple label.

Still, I’m trying an experiment, using the same hashtag for this post, which includes an excerpt from another “interracial” ménage story, Wild About That Thing. Here’s the blurb:

There's more than one way to beat the blues.

Two things are important to Ruby Jones: her teenage son and her struggling club, the Crossroads Blues Bar. Her love life comes as a distant third, despite the efforts of Zeke Chambers to convince her otherwise. Zeke's the lead singer in her house band, a devoted friend, and an occasional lover. He can drive her wild with desire, but can't get her to make a commitment. Deserted by her cheating ex-husband, Ruby's determined she's going to make it on her own. She's hot-blooded like her bluesman daddy, happy to satisfy her physical cravings, but she's not about to let any man into her heart.

The stranger who takes the stage on the Crossroads open mike night upsets the delicate balance in Ruby's world. Remy Saint-Michel inspires irrational, irresistible lust as well as inexplicable sympathy. Overwhelmed, confused, guilty and worried about her prized independence, Ruby decides that the only way to deal with her two lovers is to push them both away. Zeke and Remy, though, have other ideas.

I’ve got an X-rated excerpt below that includes a passionate kiss. After you’ve read it, I hope you’ll click over to Victoria’s place, for more sexy Sunday Snogs!

****

He slept beside her, his breathing deep and even. A complex perfume hung in the air of her small bedroom—sweat and semen, pussy and sandalwood incense.

She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to think. She just wanted to lie there with her lover within reach and the rest of the world far away. Being with Zeke seemed to be the only thing that brought her this kind of comfort. She loved Isaiah dearly and enjoyed his company, but in her son’s presence she could never quite banish her worries.

The thought of her son roused her. She leaned over to peer at the alarm clock. When she saw the time, she sighed and gave Zeke a gentle shake.

Wake up, baby. You’ve gotta go.”

In one smooth motion, Zeke rolled towards her and gathered her into his arms. Her breasts flattened against his furry chest. “Let me stay, hon,” he murmured, nuzzling the sweet spot under her ear. His thickening cock prodded at the sticky juncture of her thighs. “It’s still early…”

Nearly six,” Ruby replied, relaxing into his embrace despite herself. “Isaiah will be up soon. You know how I feel.”

You feel wonderful,” Zeke replied, kneading her breast with one hand while wriggling the other between their bodies, down to her pussy. Ruby sucked in her breath as his fingers slipped inside her folds to stroke her clit. “And I can make you feel even better…”

Zeke…” she began. He stopped her objections with a deep kiss. His moustache tickled her upper lip. She tasted the bourbon he drank between sets. She loved his soft, lush mouth—she couldn’t pretend otherwise. The leisurely way his tongue played with hers suggested that he’d be happy doing nothing but kissing her forever.

You don’t really want me to go,” he continued when they broke for air. “You’re soaking wet, and your clit—” Ruby moaned as he flicked the swollen nub with one calloused digit. “—your clit is like a little marble.”

Yes… Oh, God, yes…”

Zeke reared up and settled back onto his heels, his fingers still dancing between her legs. “You couldn’t wait to get my clothes off earlier,” he commented. It was true. As soon as the club closed, Ruby had practically dragged him up the stairs to her apartment. “But I can tell you haven’t had enough yet.”

No—yes—wait—oh!”

Zeke grasped one of her thighs in each meaty hand and pulled her open. Then he bent and swept his tongue along her cleft. Pleasure shuddered through her. She arched up, wanting more. Her lover teased her, flicking back and forth between her swollen lips, but avoiding contact with her clit. She thrashed underneath him, desperate for direct stimulation.

Please…please, baby…”

Finally he took pity on her. He burrowed his face into her pussy and sucked hard. Lightning shot up her spine. Tension coiled inside her. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she forced his head deeper into her drenched cunt and ground her clit against his nose.

His teeth nipped the aching bud of flesh. The tiny pain cut her free. Pleasure welled up from her depths and spilled over. His strong hands held her fast, splayed and vulnerable, as she jerked against his still-lapping tongue.

Before the last sparkles of sensation faded, his cock was at her entrance. He drove into her still-quivering cunt, hot and hard. Her muscles clenched around his bulk and a new climax seized her, sharper and deeper than the one before.

Zeke didn’t let her rest. He pounded into her again and again, just the way she liked, so fierce she thought he’d split her open. As he thrust, a third come gathered, like thunderheads on the distant horizon. 
 

Saturday, August 20, 2016

Commitment — One Day at a Time (#marriage #addiction #commitment)

Wedding Garter

He's a chic lit cliché: the guy who can't commit. He loves the heroine, truly he does, and they're clearly compatible, in bed and out, but somehow he can't quite take that step. He can't make himself pop the question and join his life with hers happily ever after, 'til death do us part.

Actually, it's not a literary myth. My sister's husband was like that. It took five years, two breakups and some therapy before they finally tied the knot. I'm not ridiculing him. It was a painful and difficult process for him to get to that point. Commitment often is.

However, if you don't commit, you go through life skimming the surface, flitting from one person or activity to another, never experiencing the depth and beauty that's available. Commitment brings emotional and spiritual rewards that are well worth the pain.

The general understanding is that “commitment” is a kind of transition, a phase change, a final stepping over some line. Before you make a commitment, you're in one place. After the act, you are someplace else altogether. You commit and then you breathe a sigh of relief. That's over.

That's not the way it works, in my experience.

As I've shared before on this blog, I was anorexic in my late teens. After the acute phase was over and I returned to college, I still had anything but a normal relationship with food. I still weighed myself daily. I binged on calorie-free items like cantaloupe, cabbage and popcorn (without butter). I felt guilty whenever I ate a real meal.

To try and cope with these behaviors and feelings, I joined OvereatersAnonymous. OA is a twelve step program modeled on AA for people who have food-related disorders or addictions. I already knew something about how AA worked, as my mom was a recovered alcoholic. The first of the twelve steps, revised for the OA context, reads: “We admitted that we were powerless over food, that our lives had become unmanageable.” That was me. I wasn't overweight, but food was using up way too much of my mental and emotional energy.

In AA, you make a commitment to stay sober, to abstain from drinking alcohol. No one forces you to do this, by the way. You can come to AA forever and keep drinking; the heart of the program is that you, personally, must decide to become sober. Of course one can't abstain from food. The OA equivalent of sobriety, called “abstinence” is to eat three healthy meals a day with nothing in-between.

I made a commitment to abstinence. I tried to stop my bizarre food behaviors. I tried to release the fear of getting fat. It wasn't as easy as it might sound.

One motto of the twelve step approach is “One day at a time”. The idea is that if you tried to commit to never drinking again, ever, that would seem totally impossible. You would sabotage yourself before you even began. So, wisely, the twelve step approach advises that you simply commit to being sober (or abstinent) today. Today is all you have anyway. You could be dead tomorrow. So don't worry about what you're going to do in the future, or how you're going to survive. Focus on where you are. Focus on now. Make a commitment for today and let tomorrow take care of itself.

Simplistic as it sounds, this approach seems to work.

I've come to believe that this is the essence of all commitment. I've been married more than 34 years now—even though I never expected that I'd marry at all. It's true that my marriage is a bit atypical: we have no children, we are professional colleagues as well as mates, in our younger days we were not sexually exclusive. I suspect my marriage is easier than those of many of my readers. Still, there are times when I get fed up with my DH and really want to walk out, slamming the door behind me. (I'm sure he feels the same about me every now and again.) Or I worry about the future, as we are both getting older (and he is eleven years older than I). How will I manage if I have to be his caretaker instead of his companion and co-conspirator (as we promised in our wedding vows)?

Then I stop myself. I remember that I've made a commitment to love him, share my life with him, take responsibility for him, as he does for me. But I don't need to think about forever. I only need to reassert my commitment now, today.

This is the way that all good marriages are built, in my opinion. One day at a time. Commitment is not a single act, but a process to be repeated each day. That makes it easier—and in realistically, making a commitment today is all we can ever do.