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This weekend my online life and physical life will collide. My travels will yield more than a much-needed escape from my daily grind, but also an in-person meeting with blogger. Perhaps more than one.

It’s exciting in a way that makes my heart race. I know the world won’t implode because I’m crossing this barrier. But wow…

This. Weekend.

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Checking In

“I want to look at you and wink from across the room,” he said to her, “and catch you quickly lick your lower lip, followed by a brief smirk before you turn back to the check in desk, your worn tapestry luggage at your side.”
She smiled her almost smirk at his words.

“You do it in a way that causes your ass to wiggle at me,” he continued, “just a hint of what’s to come later. The desk manager offers you the key, and me the paired one and we walk towards the elevator—you two and a half steps ahead. The way you walk, it’s sex-chocolate-coffee-strawberries-scotch-wood smoke-sea salt personified, in front of me.”

She caught her breath at that. 

“Sinuously, where only I can see—there’s nobody else around this late at night, each step showing a different angle of your leg, your hip rising slightly, your butt dimpling just the slightest. I want to walk more slowly, keeping you in view. Eyes riveted on your back… your legs… your ass.”
She frowned, considered whether or not her rear had dimples. And pondered whether or not that was a good thing. 

“The elevator door chimes open and you turn to me, beckoning in with a flip of your hair and a glimpse of light in your eye. A hope? A command? No, that light is a promise.”
She is beginning to see the light. 

My Loves

To all whom I have loved through my life, to those who have come and gone, to those who still remain, to the many who have a space in my admittedly very large heart, I send out into the universe my happy Valentine’s Day love to you. I hope you are warm. And safe. I dream that you have someone dear by your side or at least in your thoughts. Ladies, I want your man to cherish you. And men, your woman to admire you. For both, more than anything, I wish you love. And joy. And even if just for a night, contentment.

Love Always,

Two Years

It just hit me. Right this moment, two years ago, the Australian was telling me he loved me. After meeting me only just that morning and spending a magical day together.

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” he said as we lay naked discovering each other’s bodies. “How is it I feel this way? How can I love you after less than a day?”

Yes. I can still play back his words in my head. But I went all day not realizing it was my silent anniversary. The day I will forever remember as the day I fell. The day that I wouldn’t ever undo. The day the I lost my jadedness. The day that led to the shattering of my heart. The day.

I might have missed it if someone hadn’t reminded me that Valentine’s Day was fast approaching. Funny thing is, a reader friend asked me today if I was ok. He remembered. But I didn’t. I just emailed back that I was great but swamped at work. And didn’t give it a second thought.

But now I am thinking about it. And there’s still a sting. A bearable one to be sure. But a wincingly sweet melancholy. Wherever you are, dear man who turned my world upside down, I still love you. And I believe what you said to me when we parted for the last time, “Though we can’t be together, never forget that there is someone in Australia who loves you deeply. For always.”

Tantric Massage

You can go lower, I thought, as the large, strong hands of my masseur ran over my collarbones toward my clavicle. But no, he pulled the slipping sheet up over my breasts, tucked them in nice and safe, and began focusing on my arms. Continue reading

The Beast’s Enigma

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He taps something deep within her. A mystery she ponders in the last moments of the day. He is an enigma, like looking at a reflection’s reflection’s reflection. There are moments when he comes so close she can feel his breath on the back of her neck as he inhales her scent, her spirit. But she doesn’t dare turn. She just has to be.

tapping the deep

A battle rages in him, one she wants him to win. She doesn’t want to be his downfall. She just wants to know him, dark and scary parts and all. She has no right to this. No claim. So she must put aside her baser desires for his sake.

Legs squeeze together as she suppresses her very sex. A ragged breath is drawn. There will be no ravaging of her body. He will not split her open, quake her foundations and take that slightly cocky smirk off her doe-eyed face. Oh how the mighty have fallen, she imagined him saying tenderly afterwards, as she trembled and shied away.

The yearning is still there. But she must form it into something else. And will. Because she wants his peace more than she wants his body. So, as she rests on the cold, hard bench of her thoughts, hope is found. No… her lips, fingers, arms, legs, breasts and cunt won’t be the safe refuge in which he will find respite. For in those things nothing waits for him but turmoil.

But within the careful boundaries of friendship they both can find what they seek. This way the demons won’t be able to find a way in. There will be no room for fear—that innate terror of not being able to meet the expectations one so desperately wants to meet. Because now there are no expectations. Only acceptance.

And so she dreams. She lets in the beast, the wild and dangerous thing she doesn’t understand. He’s translucent, a fog. With guttural growls he lashes out, the serrated commando knife coming so close that she feels the whoosh of air as it passes over. She closes her eyes and the corners of her mouth turn up, revealing a ghost of a dimple. And he is left pondering the mystery. Why isn’t she afraid? Why is she smiling?

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Dark Horse

I want to consume. To possess. To invade to the point of near obsession. And admitting that is rather dark. It’s not my “nice” side.

I want to be distracting to the point of neglect of regular and important responsibilities.

I want to thunder through your thoughts and leave a stampede of desire. My whispers a tonic and toxin that enflame and sooth in unison.

I want to be the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to you. The best, because I want it to be incomparably great. Beyond description. And the worst because you can’t have me permanently. Because if I am anything, I am transient.

I think that’s why I like the lyrics below so much.

Dark Horse – By Katy Perry

I knew you were
You were gonna come to me
And here you are
But you better choose carefully
‘Cause I, I’m capable of anything
Of anything and everything

Make me your Aphrodite
Make me your one and only
Don’t make me your enemy, your enemy, your enemy

So you wanna play with magic
Boy, you should know what you’re falling for
Baby do you dare to do this?
Cause I’m coming at you like a dark horse
Are you ready for, ready for
A perfect storm, perfect storm

Cause once you’re mine, once you’re mine
There’s no going back

Mark my words
This love will make you levitate
Like a bird
Like a bird without a cage
But down to earth
If you choose to walk away, don’t walk away

 It’s in the palm of your hand now baby
It’s a yes or no, no maybe
So just be sure before you give it all to me
All to me, give it all to me

 Cause I’m coming at you like a dark horse

Dark Horse

Meeting a Reader

I’ve been toying with the idea of meeting a reader. A male reader. Like a cat with a mouse I bat the thought back and forth between the paws of my mind. Sometimes I let it scurry off, feigning a loss in interest. But then, before it’s too out of reach, I nab it by the tail and drag in back into my clutches.

It’s not the first time this fantasy has played in prismatic Technicolor across my internal silver screen. In the almost two years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve discovered that very real and intense relationships can develop with people across the country, heck… across oceans! And while getting together with someone in person because of the blog (the incomparable Hyacinth – eat your hearts out y’all) is something I’ve done, crossing over into meeting one of the opposite sex is a whole other barrel of proverbial monkeys.

In the past, when I thought I had a trip coming up to Beatnik’s neck of the woods, I imagined waiting in a coffee shop, sipping on a carefully crafted latte, reading a book and waiting for him to walk through the door. He would glance around, still not sure whom he was looking for as I hadn’t shared a picture of my face. And then, at last, eye contact. And just like that, the hazy digital interaction would cross over into reality. But the trip never happened. And nor did the meeting.

I’m not part of the online dating community. And I’ve never been on a blind date. So this is very new territory for me. But because of how I am, who I am, and what I write, sex is a part of the equation. A major part. And quite frankly, it’s thrilling.

Tickets haven’t been purchased yet, but dates are being considered. Yes, of course, I’ve left myself an out. It’s understood that if either one of us doesn’t feel completely comfortable then the meeting will take a platonic course. However, if both parties are comfortable… oh the tales I will have to tell you then.

meeting a reader


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