A brand-new sticky note, that I meant to post awhile ago. As I was posting for Elust…I remembered! Still thankful for Jade A. Waters for reminding me I used to do these…You can read another one that I wrote, and a lot more sexiness in this edition of Elust with a gorgeous, gorgeous photo from Exposing 40!!!
She moved closer to him made her way into the nooks between him and the dresser she wanted to be the center of his universe, to be the center of him, to invade his aura. He let her in, she was allowed inside him, inside of him. Their eyes locked, her lips soft and parted not for a kiss but for the air between them.
Photo courtesy of Exposing 40
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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~
Always Coming Second
THREESOME – the card game
~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~
The #500words Project ~ 2
~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~
No Eligible Posts
*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
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!
Finally A Prostitute
Ms. Mona’s Online Dating School for Dudes
Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish
BDSM is Not My Source for Life.
Pure and Simple
Discussing Consent & Scene Negotiation
Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
All for one, or one for all…
He haunts me.
Oh no, I’m not.
the shoot begins
Raylene’s pain does not matter
White Tee Shirt
Body Talk and Sexual Health
Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor
A Kink Couple Fantasize About the Waitstaff
I have not written a sticky note in forever, but I was texting my friend Jade A. Waters (who is blogging an AMAZING poetry series right now), and she mentioned that she thought my handwriting on my previous notes was neat…so I figured I would pick up where I left off…
She wrapped her legs about him as soon as he walked in the door. Ran like a gymnast for a mount determined and wrapped her legs about him. He caught her ease and a smile, and rubbed his cheek to hers, holding her ass like a one would a child. And she clung to him, her face pressed to his cheek, the stubble on his face as familiar to her as the hair on her own body. She rubbed her cheek against him the world beautiful from his arms.
More Sticky Notes here.
I wrote this on the way to the Sexual Health Expo…
Vicky had not even allowed herself to think abut him in her most secret thoughts. But three gin cocktails in, she was no longer so controlled. Alex was taken, but she could not resist anymore in her uninhibited state half lying on a glorious loveseat at the vintage bar, she could not resist the idea of parting her knees – she did actually, the softness of her own skin to skin contact sending prickling waves of excitement to her core. But Alex slipped between her knees in her thoughts and she wrapped her arms about her arms and threw him unto (flipped paper) the loveseat for his skin…
I have not done a sticky note in over a year. Charlie has been doing them lately, with much nicer postcards as I would expect from her! But I saw my blank pink stickies in my wallet, and became inspired by the cut on my finger which I acquired today in a much less romantic way!!! As I started to write, a Paris train ticket slipped out from between the pages…
…so this is for Charlie, go read her stories.
she looked down at (the) perfect triangle shaped cut on her finger now. she looked out at emptiness, well france outside of paris. just wide, wide areas of green and people actually living their daily lives. she sucked on the cut from closing his cufflink…
So here is one from Paris…I could not resist writing from my table at a favorite café, and there were story ideas exploding all around me!
It was warmer in Paris than she had expected. She stopped in front of their café and she knew she looked good, because several men had paused to say “Bonjour,” while she was walking by. Getting out of the Parisian taxi, reminded her that she used to smoke and that she would resume as she always did in Paris. But sitting at the café in their corner, she was not thinking about cigarettes or anything else really…except him…
Yesterday, I wrote this inspired by a wedge that I saw on subway tracks the day before yesterday. Tamsin Flowers shared with me that she always wondered how shoes ended up on the highway…my character had one more shoe, so I decided to explore that…
Her bare feet were on the dashboard. It was pitch black outside, except for the stars that were piercing white almost like the sun. She was being a bit of a monster. A spoiled child really, daring him again. He did, threw her other wedge out of the car and onto the highway. Every time she saw stray shoes on subway tracks, trees or highways, she wondered how they got there. Once a bully snatched her new mary jane from her foot and hid it. Her mother was so mad at her, did not care that she had been bullied. Now she was bullying and hoping to be bullied now in a grownup way.
photo by f dot leonora
I was waiting on the subway platform, looked down on the tracks and instead of a rat…there was a woman’s single wedge. I curled over–carefully–to take a picture. I knew it was going to be a sticky, but not how it would manifest. The pen I wrote with was choppy at best, but I always type it out for you so…
The tattoo said “Monster.” She could not believe that someone would have a tattoo that telling if it was true. Looking at her wedge on the subway tracks, she herself wedged against the filthy column and him her thoughts were readjusted. Her bare foot on his shoe, so she did not have to step on the even filthier platform. Her hand on his bare chest not out of affection, but necessity to balance. She’d dared him to, he did. Disbelief filled her but secretly, she liked that he’d put her in that precarious position. A game like adolescents would play, but they were not. Her desire rose…
photo by f dot leonora
This is inspired originally by Blacksilk–the entire concept. This particular note is inspired by the rain, and facts true and false. I executed it because of the lovely, lovely, lovely Marie Rebelle, who runs Wicked Wednesday and so inspired my last post too…
Transcript: the missing word is a caveat of writing on the train.
i don’t care if i get (wet). you don’t he says. i don’t. she opened the door where literally buckets fell on her of rain she had lingered with him until the sky darkened and the drops were thick before buckets, buckets poured on her. it was outside without looking back that she felt him, not the rain, but him and what it had been like to linger with him using the premise of the fear of rain to stay even though he did want her to go but she had to in the pouring rain except the rain was him.
photo of sticky note taken on the lap of f dot leonora while on the train
I had an idea for a story last night, one that mixed horror and erotica. It seemed a good idea to start with a story on a sticky note a la Being Blacksilk, to whet my appetite. Plus last night, I had unexpected inspiration from Twitter to start really brainstorming something…
Conveniently it is raining today, and I have a gorgeous picture I saw on Tumblr in mind to put me in the mood…This is a very rough draft on a pink sticky note below…typos included!
She had outdone herself. Her taste in men was always particularly bad: an assortment of creative types, overzealous creative types, addictive personalities, semi-abusive–she had been lucky to get out of that. And now, now, she smiled as the rain beat against the windows of the car and on its roof like a melody she must observe. now she was heading to a motel to meet a man whose online darkness was so sparkling. he told her he’d do things to her she would be ashamed she asked for. It was all part of the game. He said he could kill her.
Ever since I read Being Blacksilk’s post on post-it size stories, I keep my pink stickies in my bag, hoping that I will be able to come up with a story to fit its tiny pages. Generally with me it is never a lack of desire to write, it is just that the words do not always come pouring from me. It must have been pouring rain outside this morning however, because the thunder literally woke me up. It was so loud, it took me a second to realize what it was. A text later rejogged my memory, and I dug down in my purse for my pad. I started with thunder, and the rest followed…transcription of my relatively neat print below…
She could not sleep through a storm, the smallest sounds put her off. The thunder woke her up. She had not slept on the plane and even the soft hotel bed was not going to help her. The flight to New York had been fraught with a lot of things racing through her mind like a horse race without mint juleps. She drank wine on the plane whenever it was offered. Very tipsy, she’d hoped the alcohol would lull her into rest. But her mind could not rest. He was on top of her as if he were there.