Posts tagged Rachel Kramer Bussel

September 9th: what a day. Facebook memories lets me know that historically it’s been a day of drastic change. All those years ago my first visit to Portlandwhen the Priest and I decided to move here.  Two years ago my doing what felt like my first “real” erotica reading along side Rachel Kramer Bussel.  I was so nervous I could barely stand let alone hold the mic. My return to Portland last year after having visited the Midwest for the first time in 6 years, with the realization that as much as I love some of the people there, I don't belong in Wisconsin because my chosen family and everything I love is here in Portland.

Big, crazy hard days. And last Friday was no different.

I started the day terrified, curled up around Mr Right having not slept. Instead I spent the night listening to him breathe, enjoying the rare role swap of me watching him at rest.  My arm around him, hand on his heart feeling his body at ease while my restless brain turned over endlessly.  But still I felt thankful that in all this madness at the very least I have a quality partner in crime, one thing in my life I’m pretty sure about.

Someone to hold me when I can’t be strong.   Someone to tie me up and torment me with tickles interspersed with deep kisses to bring some sweetness to a long day.  Someone who shows me his art and enjoys mine.  Someone who loves the whole rope thing as much as I do, who never rolls his eyes when I get out my jute.

He tried his best to exhaust me the night before.  Applying hands and mouth and rope until we were both sweaty and spent. His body temporarily distracting me from the pain and uncertainty in my head but not able to force me into rest.  So I breathed in the smell of our sex on his back as I worried all night.

Would I have the ovaries to stand up to my current evil workplace boss?  Would I be able to stand up for myself and ask for what I was worth from the new boss?  Would I ever have a job that left me with enough energy to peruse my book related business in my off times?  How could everything be on the verge of being alright and feel this scary?

Mr Right woke with a start to my alarm and reflexively pulled me close, calming the sadness inside me slightly.  I at least felt strong enough to face my boss so I sent him the message I’d been dreading and treated myself to relaxing into Mr Right’s embrace, so warm and close.  But the anxiety weasel that inhabited me then wouldn’t let me be at ease so I turned to face Mr Right, looking at his sleepy smile.    

“You were the roly poley one last night.”

I nod and he kisses my forehead.  If I didn’t have the brick wall of fear and faux toughness up so high, that tenderness would be enough to break me into tears.  Instead I smile and pet his curls.  “I’m scared. Everything could be so good soon but right now the up in the air-ness is driving me crazy.  I couldn’t sleep at all.”

He holds my face.  “I’m here for you.  I care tons for you.  I think it will be great.”

My wall crumbles and I cuddle him as tight as possible until he gets up to make us coffee.  Just as I’m getting ready to send a scary, salary negotiation email to the job I want, my soon to be new boss writes to say he thought it over and will give me my original offer.  And my current boss is uncharacteristically kind when I talk to him.  Everything will be okay!

I celebrate the death of brain weasels by taking my coffee in one hand and Mr Right’s booty in the other.  We play hooky for the morning and get brunch where Mr Right promptly learns that more amusing than drunk Emily or sex high Emily is sleep deprived Emily.  He just sits across from me with an eye brow raised while taking in my random explosions of weird story telling.

All dolled up for a date with myself.

All dolled up for a date with myself.

Afterwards he goes into work and I head home to finalize the new job and therefore a new better less stressful life.  I get a haircut.  I treat myself to dinner where the host seats me in the single ladies reading alone on a Friday night section.  Where it isn’t until the other lady gets up to leave that we realize we know each other from the writing community.  That would explain her great taste in reading material.  But what a small world.

I further treat myself to a movie at a theater in a neighborhood I never go to.  My ex lives 5 blocks away and previously running into him would have been untenable, but I don’t care about running into him anymore.  That part of my life is over, I've moved on.  After all my life now is great! And the new era is only just beginning; you better believe I celebrated all weekend with rope and snuggles.

Dirty Dates

The latest anthology to contain one of my dirty stories is now out on shelves and in e-book format! Dirty Dates edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel is full of stories of long time lovers spicing thing up by sharing their forbidden fantasies.  My contribution is "Magic Words"  in which a woman and her lover explore the power that one little word can contain.

I'm not going to ruin the surprise by telling you what that word is but I will share with you a sexy little snippet of the story and the photo that inspired it. 

My photographer friend, Otto and I have gone on some pretty filthy adventures for his camera.  On this particular day he was kind enough to humor my lust for older men in shiny shoes and ties by playing my Dirty Uncle Otto. I sat in his lap in my argyle knee socks and photo magic happened. He's a professional and a gentleman but I left that shoot so hot and bothered I had to write a story to recover.

If you enjoy the excerpt please consider buying a copy of the book.  If you're near Portland, I'll even sign it for you!  And if you need sexy photos taken, may I recommend otto_phokuz.

Excerpt from "Magic Words"

"His voice is low and controlled, a late night radio deejay purring into the airwaves. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul, Lolita...” I can't help but giggle at his choice of reading material, nor can I resist being swept away while listening to him read.

He stops and I hear the book being closed, followed by the further unlatching of his pants and belt. “Come sit on my lap.”

He reaches his arm out to guide me as I turn, eagerly moving to sit facing him. He shakes his head, giving me the “turn around” gesture again. Not wanting to displease him, I turn and wait, a bit disappointed I wasn’t even given an opportunity to see that part of him I’ve been longing for all afternoon.

“Sit,” he says, using my hips to guide me backwards. Convinced this will lead to more chaste reading of Nabokov, I’m surprised when he stops me just above his lap. I feel him adjusting himself. “Sit in my lap properly.”

I’m not sure what he means until I realize he’s using one hand to guide me lower while the other holds his cock steady, pointing in the direction of my pussy as an offering. The moment his cock touches my lips I realize how warm and inviting he feels. I can’t contain myself another second as I slide down the length of him in a rush. Once fully inside me, he grasps my hips, keeping me from moving. “There, that's better.”

He wraps his arms around me, holding me close, and kisses my neck. His cock is so hard it's almost painful; this only makes me crave him more. Small noises fall from my lips—moans, cooing and wordless begging—so desperate for him that I'm not even sure what I'm pleading for.

“Shhh,” he whispers in my ear. “Shh, darling, it's okay.” He continues to hold me still; the lack of moving while so absolutely full of him is torture. I so badly want him to fuck me that I'm unsure how long I can endure this.

He reaches for the book, using his strength to hold my back against his chest with his other hand so I can't move. He reads, this time quieter and closer to my ear, like a bedtime story. “There might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child...”

He holds me tight to his body as he reads, only letting go for one brief moment to adjust my skirt so that it covers my lap. He drapes it modestly over my thighs so it would appear to anyone watching as if I’m merely sharing the chair with him.

I give into the situation, enjoying the wickedness of his cock being inside me while hearing a story."