Sex and Satisfaction, Too!

Fruit and vegetable markets are just so sexy. I went wild at Monterey Market on Friday, filling my cart with fresh local corn, orange bell peppers, blushing Blenheim apricots, an orange-flesh honeydew melon, a local cantaloupe that had an irresistibly lovely fragrance, plump cherries that are still under $2 a pound and very tasty (I tried one), Kika's Farms plump, red strawberries at ninety-eight cents a pint (the lower the price, the higher the season). Who can resist all of that perfect sun-ripened sweetness of July fruit? Add to that organic peaches and figs in my organic farm box and our house was overflowing with juicy bounty. My mouth was already watering when the mail arrived to deliver the best treat of all: my contributor's copy of Xcite's Sex and Satisfaction 2, edited by Miranda Forbes.

Not only is the male cover boy juicy in himself--and obviously ready to get wet--the stories inside are positively delicious. I'm sandwiched between Carmel Lockyer, who writes a very sexy tale involving "The Pirates," and Jeremy Edwards, whose "Moistened by Mercer" puts a whole new spin on the usually boring task of copying documents at the office. To finish up the anthology, Sommer Marsden serves up a very sweet three-way dessert with her "Girl Crush."

My story "Saint Valentine," celebrates the sensual appeal of a Green Party, Buddhist vegan. I confess I find left-leaning, spiritually-minded men very intriguing. Fortunately they grow wild in my part of the world, including my very own backyard! The story also includes an aphrodisiac dinner, the menu of which I will include for your food porn pleasure. "I expected seitan and sprouts, but Justin serves me a lavish salad of organic greens, porcini risotto, and a subtly earthy Barbera. Dessert is almost decadent: four different bars of fair-trade dark chocolate that Justin suggests we taste in a flight like wine." The "tasting" also involves lots of kissing, so don't think vegans don't have a sensual side.

In the mood for more? Well, I always want my visitors to have their sex and their satisfaction, too.

An excerpt from "Saint Valentine":

The problem is that I’ve fallen in love with a vegan.

To be honest, it’s more ‘in lust.’ I met Justin two months ago when he joined our theatre troupe as the lighting director. I flirt with him outrageously, but that is my specialty. On stage I play the vamps, the lusty barmaids, the whorehouse madams in crimson bustiers. All the roles a full-figured temptress plays to perfection. Justin flirts back, but I sense a reserve, as if he means to stay above life’s coarser urges. After rehearsal, when we all go off to the pub to polish off pitchers of beer and potato skins with bacon and sour cream, Justin takes a seat at the end of the table and sips a single glass of red wine.

Though I chug and gobble with the rest of them, I secretly admire my vegan saint. I find his willingness to deny himself carnal gratification for a higher principle unbearably sexy. But, because I really am a bad girl at heart, I also want to defile his purity, pull him down onto my hot, rumpled sheets for a fleshly feast that lasts for nights on end.

Which is probably why I couldn’t get up the nerve to ask him out—good, old-fashioned Catholic-girl guilt.

Fortunately, Justin is a Buddhist.

‘Would you like to come to my place for dinner Thursday night?’ He pops the question as I’m lounging backstage, waiting for my next scene.

‘That’s Valentine’s Day,’ I say, without thinking.

‘Yes. Do you have other plans?’

Nothing I couldn’t cancel to get a mouthful of you. That’s what I think, what I say is, ‘I was just planning to hang out at home hoping a prince would ride by with some chocolate and roses.’

‘You’re not going to let candy corporations and florists brainwash you with their profit-making fantasies, are you?’ He smiles, but I sense he’s not really kidding.

‘It just so happens I like chocolate and flowers. I even buy them for myself now and then,’ I say, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Of course, you probably think I’m a dupe of consumer capitalism with my silly dreams.’

He holds my gaze steadily for what seems like forever. His eyes flicker with a tiny golden flame, warming me, melting me. I realise I haven’t breathed in quite some time.

‘Well,’ he says finally, ‘I hope a wholesome, organic meal with a nice wine will be an acceptable alternative to that propaganda.’

I swallow and nod, strangely at a loss for words. But although I’m acting like a love-sick female, in one tiny corner of my mind, I’m still as clear and calculating as ever. Why not accept his invitation? There’s a risk Justin might spend the night lecturing me on organic farming techniques and corporate manipulation of consumers, but there’s an upside, too. It’s also my golden chance to slither my way inside his monk’s cell--and hopefully his bed. With temptations of the flesh so near, even he might find it impossible to resist my generous charms.

Instead temptation comes to visit me in my bed. That night I dream I’m lying on my back on some kind of stone slab, my thighs spread wide like a virgin sacrifice. Justin stands before me, wearing priestly black and a serene smile. Then his gaze falls to my pussy, swollen and exposed, and suddenly the smile stretches into satyr’s leer. I try to sit up or at least pull my gauzy shift down to cover myself, but I discover I’m bound to the slab, totally at his mercy.

My pussy tingles and throbs and a warm wetness trickles under my thighs. I know I’m shamefully aroused down there, and Justin knows it, too. He’s staring at me with glowing eyes and licking his lips with a moist red tongue. Just then liquid dribbles from the corner of his mouth, not drool but something opalescent and viscous like jism. He bends to taste my offering, grinning and slobbering, and in spite of myself my hips arch up to meet him. I know his terrible transformation from saint to sinner is my fault. Though my body is twitching and trembling in anticipation of that nimble tongue on my secret lips, a scream rises in my chest—Stop! You don’t eat meat!—but no sound comes.

I wake up drenched in sweat, troubled, but undeniably horny. Dipping my hand between my legs to masturbate, I pretend my finger is Justin’s greedy tongue, lapping and licking with devotion. I imagine him kneeling down there between my legs, his head bobbing slightly as he works me over. I hear the click of my wet flesh as he feasts, savor the vision of him pausing to smile up at me to whisper—delicious--his lips and chin shimmering with my juices in the moonlight. When I climax, I make plenty of noise, partly because it’s hot jilling off to the thought of Justin’s mouth on my pussy, partly to reassure myself dreams don’t always come true.

Then again, sometimes they do.

Spicy Secrets for a Busy Porn Day

It's Spicy Sunday and this week Sommer Marsden is celebrating what to my mind is the sexiest spice--cumin. Cumin smells like sweaty men to me and sweaty men are my very favorite flavor. So slide on over to Sommer's to learn the secrets of her favorite "Busy Porn Day" dinner. Scoops of spices, unctuous oils, sensual massages, flaming corn, the most hedonist way to drink wine and many more sensual pleasures await.

Are you comin'?

Is Bigger Better "Down There"?

Happy Hump Day, everyone! This is an especially happy hump day because my cheeky little report on a cute Japanese folklore figure with extra large...ahem, male endowments...is being featured on Sommer Marsden's "Hump Day Heresy" feature at her always-titillating Smut Girl blog. Pop on over for some eye-popping photos--and do not miss that woodblock print!

A word of warning: Once you learn about the tanuki, the word "money bags" will never be the same again.

MY Dirty Monday

One of the best parts of Monday for me is popping over to Sommer Marsden’s Smut Girl blog to check out her latest review of sex toys. Sommer’s blog is not a bad place to spend the other days of the week, too—she’s guaranteed to satisfy you over and over again. And nothing gets my heart going pitter-patter faster than the sight of "Sommer Marsden" in the table of contents of the newest erotica anthology. That’s because I know her stories are always funny and always hot, hot, hot.

Just like this hot-el flash that Sommer so graciously shared to make our Monday very dirty indeed. Today’s refreshments in Suite 69? One of those high-protein energy bars that you cram into your mouth when you need physical stamina, but don’t really have time to eat a meal. Because you’ve got something important to do during your lunch hour….

The dizzying, this-isn't-quite-my-real-life-but-it’s-gorgeous-and-I-can't-get-enough photo is again courtesy of the talented Nikki Magennis.

Temporary Amnesia by Sommer Marsden

I. Will. Not. Do. This...

I count the words off in my head, measuring them against each tap of my heels on the marble. I smile at the bellhop and resume my internal chant.

I call the elevator still convinced I will turn back.

I enter with the key that was delivered to my office today. I. Will. Not. Do. This.

I can hear the shower running. I go into the bathroom and start to take my clothes off. With each item I discard, I say the words in my mind. The words suddenly mutate. I. Cannot. Do. This.

“This is the last time,” I say out loud as I step in.

Liar.

“I know.”

And then he’s on his knees, running that fabulous tongue along the seam of my ass. From asshole to the small of my back. My eyes roll back, and I try to remember what I have said. This. Is. The. Last. Time.

Then his fingers are in me. Two to start—that’s how ready I am. A third joins the fray. That tongue is still there. Working its magic and it all starts to grow fuzzy around the edges.

I plant my hands on the cold marble, suck in the dense air while fingers are replaced by cock. And I see that he is just as ready for me. He is just as willing to forget. To bend time. To welcome the shift in reality.

When we move together, I ignore the glint of the diamond on my hand or the sheen of the band that matches. Forget that reality. Forget that this is the last time I will do this. And that hitch in my throat that tells me I’m about to come makes me welcome the temporary amnesia all the more.

The Feast of Dreams

By the time you have a few decades on you, you tend to get a little cynical about dreams. They seldom come true and if they do, it’s not quite the way you expected.

But sometimes, the realization of a dream turns out better than you could ever imagine. This is exactly what happened at the imaginary progressive feast, a romp through cyberspace with an amazingly generous group of erotica-writing pleasure lovers. When fearless chef and fellow foodie Kirsten Monroe and I started weaving our plans for a blog-hopping dinner, I expected a good party, given the caliber of volunteers who agreed to spend a day cooking, pouring tongue-loosening beverages and entertaining a crowd of commenters.

“Good party” doesn’t begin to describe it. What we got was a finger-licking fabulous bacchanal that took us around the world (in more ways than one), satisfying every urge with lovely views, delicious prose and sparkling inspiration for the writing life. Each host created a gathering that somehow expressed her or his character perfectly, and I’d say the sum of the parts made for a truly memorable symphony of a whole.

Frankly, I’m still floating in pleasant exhaustion from all the kissing, skinny-dipping, howling at the moon and confessing of deep dark secrets. It’s hard to believe that last week at this time I was pouring sake for eighty visitors while we enjoyed a dance recital and nibbled sesame-roasted pumpkin, all the while discussing sex manuals and other dirty books! One week later, the sensualists’ blog progressive dinner is but a memory…. but wait, actually it’s not because thanks to the wonders of the blogosphere, it will live on forever, each delicious course preserved in perpetuity, each host offering the same enchanting music, conversation and succulent goodies whenever a new guest shows up at the door.

And so I wanted to give a quick recap of each fabulous party if you missed it the first time around or want to revisit. I know I will, again and again, for after all, a memory is not so different from a dream….

Here’s a summary of our Sensual and Provocative Progressive Dinner ala Blog:

Sunday January 25--Amuse-bouche

Our first host, Craig Sorensen, started us off to a slow, sweet, sensual beginning in a cozy cabin in a snow-drifted forest where we amused our bouches with Sapporo beer and a plate of Sea Scallops and Bay Fritters, followed by Potato Poppers and Chili Rondeaux. These savories came in couplets, to be tasted, then tasted again a deux in a lingering kiss to the strains of "Lipstick Traces" by Michael Schenker. And indeed with a partner the flavors of these well-crafted dishes was more intriguing and complex. Craig's topic for discussion was, appropriately, kisses. First kisses, memorable kisses, the language of kisses. After my husband and I came back from the cabin we kissed a lot, enjoying each with new awareness, a pleasure that still lingers.

Monday January 26—Appetizer

After Craig got our lips tingling, Shanna Germain took charge of our fingers as we made our own appetizers with figs, goat cheese and prosciutto, a "hands-on" experience indeed. Appropriately, the discussion turned to the erotic power of hands, the electric shock of hands brushing “by accident,” the intoxication of caresses...and why it is everything tastes better with pork!
Wednesday January 28--Soup

The ever-effervescent Jeremy Edwards and his co-host Helia Brookes welcomed us TV-style, in color-coordinated outfits, and they needed no laugh track to keep us chuckling. Over glasses of Fishnet Creek Old Vine Zinfandel, we stretched out our stocking-clad legs and sipped a voluptuous and spicy mushroom soup, perfect for a winter's day. The talk turned to literature and our earliest erotic influences. Our hosts asked us: "Do you remember moments of puzzlement, growing understanding, or arousal from reading? Did you ask an adult or a friend about it, or keep it as your secret? Did you have favorite passages you revisited for the pleasure they brought?" Click on over to the soup course to share in the confessions.

Thursday January 29—Fish

Neve Black whisked us off to Roxanne’s Brazilian Bungalow, the home of her literary alter-ego who’s sampled the bedroom skills of every man in the zodiac. During this South American idyll we listened to Astrud Gilberto sing “The Girl from Ipanema” as we sipped Caipirinhas and sampled spicy swordfish muqueca. Neve and Roxanne nudged us into a little reminiscence. “What's been your most memorable sexual zodiac sun sign experience?" In my case, I didn’t know where to begin….

Friday January 30--Meat Entrée

I knew my co-host, Kirsten Monroe, would know exactly what to do with raw flesh and I was not disappointed. With the click of the mouse we traveled from the beach to the Mojave Desert. The dress code was "naked" and before she womaned the blazing grill, Kirsten mesmerized us with a podcast of the story of “How the Mango Became Sweet.” Appetites aroused, we dug in to spice-rubbed lamb chops with chipotle cherry Pinot sauce and Peruvian Potato Dumplings with Tomato & Chile Mole Ragout, all perfectly complemented by some Torii Mor Pinot and Temptation Zin. Then Hell on Heels Burlesque Review took the stage in a memorable display of the art of pasties while we, too, exposed desires deeper than flesh when Kirsten queried: "What are your most dangerous and delicious wishes as an eroticist, as a writer? What is your Holy Grail as an artist?" I for one discovered desires I didn't even know I had.
Saturday, January 31--Vegetarian entrée

Our next stop? Right here at Sex, Food, and Writing, or rather this was our point of departure for our journey to elegant Kyoto to sample some of Japan's uplifting Buddhist temple cuisine. Fine sake, a performance by geiko from Pontocho, and a taste of tofu with mushrooms and roasted pumpkin helped us adhere to The Middle Way. After dinner, we lounged in our yukata and perused erotic books from the eighteenth century, which were once given as wedding gifts to wealthy young ladies to instruct them in the marital arts. (That's "marital" not "martial"!) Our topic for discussion? "Where and when did you encounter your first “how to do the deed” book? Do you have a favorite? Ones you find fitting for critique? Which sex manuals are on your bookshelf right now?" What would your answers be?
Monday, February 2--Salad

Next we put on our pink sequins and tuxes for a trip to Emerald’s Green Light District to give a boost to our stamina with some spinach salad full of goodies like yellow tomatoes, cranberries and pine nuts--served in green glass bowls, of course. To the accompaniment of “Any Colour You Like” by Pink Floyd we sipped Whaling Banshees and contemplated two lovely views by the magic of the blogosphere—one of flowers in bloom, the other of a forest dressed in snow. Our blood racing with the elixir of nature's bounty, Emerald turned the conversation to the seasons: "Which season do you find sexiest? Any particular one? Do you feel like the seasons influence your sexual experience? Seasonal memories you want to share? Or if you’re feeling ambitious, tell me what you think is sexy about each season." Join us for some of the most poetic writing of the feast amidst the greenery.
Tuesday, February 3—Dessert

A confession--as much as I enjoyed every feast, every nibble of nourishment, a little voice was always whispering, save room for dessert! Sommer Marsden satisfied my desires to perfection with her multiple desserts, multiple obsessions and a wonderfully engaging discussion of fantasy fucks. I had a long list to begin with and added a few after indulging in heirloom cheesecake, Perfect Peanut Clusters (to compliment the perfect lovers) and Popcorn Cake for the kid in us all. Who is your fantasy fuck? You don't have to limit yourself to one--none of us did....
Wednesday, February 4--Truffles and Whisky

By the last course, we were all basking in the afterglow of indulgence and our host Nikki Magennis chose the perfect way to cater to our needs. She welcomed us to bonny Castle Comeagain in the wilds of Scotland--all men in kilts please (which was a mouthwatering vision in itself with so many lads of Scottish descent among us). As we lounged by the fire, to the sounds of gentle guitar music and poetry, comely serfs massaged our feast-weary shoulders. Nikki poured us coffee, which we could spike with a smooth, honey-flavoured Balvenie from Speyside. I took my whisky neat, and suddenly felt energized to help make heart-shaped cherry brandy truffles and crystallized cape gooseberries, which I popped into guests' mouths with abandon. Between bites we considered questions that served as the fitting conclusion to our feast, yet looked forward to further pleasures as well: "What does the future hold for erotica? What would you like to see happen, in the genre itself and in your own work? Look into the flames and tell me what you see …." Ghosts, shadows, dreams, come join our discussion with some of your own.

And now, bellies full, libidos satisfied, I want thank you all, hosts, guests (both quiet and chatty) and fellow sensualists for a truly fabulous feast!

Multiple Desserts, Multiple Lovers....

Listen, you won't be surprised to hear that while I was drooling and dreaming about each and every stop on our fabulous blog feast, a little voice inside my head was always purring "and then you'll get to have dessert, ooooh...." Sure, there was a wee chance I'd be disappointed because my fantasies about sweet things are so wild and elaborate. Still my heart started beating a bit faster this morning when I rolled out of bed and clicked on over to Sommer Marsden's blog for a peek at today's feast.

I'm not disappointed.

Sommer calls herself the "queen of multiples." Multiple orgasms, multiple obsessions, multiple desserts.

Were we separated at birth?

I'm going to go now because it's hard to write with my mouth full, but do join us for an orgy of delight: a dessert for the kid at heart, a dessert for the nibbler who likes sweet and salty combined, and a dessert for the traditional nosher. And we haven't even gotten to the more fleshly delights and naughty secrets....