
You can see more of me here:
More Sinful Sunday here:
connecting the dots by editing & writing erotica
This is not exactly a letter, but it is being typed on a vintage typewriter! This is a flash of the flash I wrote for Tabitha Rayne’s Self-Love Hop–where you can win a Ruby Glow that she designed!!!–and my own Friday Flash meme. There is a lot more sexy reading at both of those places as well! Here is my teaser:
But every line she typed made her think of him, made her want to infuse him in between the lines. She imagined her fingers running through his hair, her lips on his warm skin taking in his temperature. Parting her lips, she sucked on his neck and gripped his scalp which she did instinctively and he liked.
The last time she thought this while writing, she touched her own neck and dipped her finger in the hollow there. She let her fingers travel down over the soft skin of her breast and the divide between them. Then lower to the divide between her legs, which shortened her writing time because she could not type with one hand.
But this time she was smarter, she took out her new toy.
You can read the entire post here, and read more My Sexy Saturday here!
Don’t forget you can win a Ruby glow here!
My friend Camilla Saly has an exciting new anthology coming out with my publisher Riverdale Avenue Books, which I wrote this post about a few months ago. The Morris-Jumel Mansion has a special place in Camilla’s heart, as well as its once mistress Eliza Jumel…who happens to be a namesake for the Eliza in my Wicked Wednesday series! I invited Camilla to come tell us all about the magic of Eliza Jumel and the history of her home, which will take place front and center in her anthology!
I fall more and more in love with Eliza the more I get to know her: Eliza Jumel, I mean, owner of the house on the hill, the Morris-Jumel Mansion.
Eliza’s house is at 65 Jumel Terrace, right behind St. Nicholas Avenue, a few steps from the 163rd Street C-Train stop in Washington Heights. When I say it is Eliza’s house, I don’t mean it was Eliza’s house. I mean it is Eliza’s house – it still is. She may have been dead since 1865, but it is as much Eliza’s house as it ever was.
Whenever I go there, I give a gracious greeting and a courteous farewell, ask permission or pardon when necessary and make sure to mind my p’s and q’s. I know she is watching.
Children see Eliza more easily than adults do. I feel her presence at each visit, but they’ve seen her. Even as recently as a few months ago school children saw her move a candlestick across a mantelpiece without anyone touching it. The Mansion is surrounded by a lovely, small park: the only remaining portion of her original 130 acres, and Eliza has been known to chastise children who are playing loudly in her grounds, showing herself at the balcony, calling for them to “shut up!” when they become too boisterous. She expects that children should mind their manners. She conveys a clear message to us moderns about what she feels is acceptable behavior, and what is not.
My husband Mark and I were married at the Morris-Jumel Mansion in the summer of 2015. The date of our wedding fell, incidentally, on the day of the duel between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. On our day we reserved a chair in a place of honor for Eliza Jumel. Her story was part of our ceremony, and we provided details about her life in our wedding program. We felt honored and proud that Eliza would share her house with us for the afternoon.
Eliza Jumel was a brave, sexual, powerful woman who dared, uncompromisingly, to be herself at a time when women rarely did so. She was sexual, smart, business savvy and eccentric, long before American society would begin to recognize a woman’s right to political, social and sexual self-agency.
Let me tell you a little more about her. Eliza Jumel was born Eliza “Betsey” Bowen in a Providence, Rhode Island brothel, to Phebe Kelley Bowen on April 7, 1775. Her mother’s madam was a free Black woman, and Eliza grew up “in the life.” At seventeen, Betsey Bowen was illiterate. Upon her reappearance in New York City a few years later, she both read and wrote in French and English. After a brief career on the stage as what today we would call an “extra,” she gained the reputation as “Manhattan’s greatest beauty.” Soon she met French merchant Stephen Jumel, twenty-five years her senior. Jumel’s fortune came from selling fine wines from France to the American colonies. She lived “in sin” with Jumel as his mistress for four years, until, fearing abandonment, she feigned illness, and, in a deathbed seduction scene straight out of a romance novel, begged her lover as a “last request” to make her “an honest woman.” He succumbed, married her, and the next morning Eliza sprung out of bed, her illness ‘miraculously’ healed. With her marriage to Stephen Jumel in 1804 she gained legitimacy, but despite her beauty and wealth she was repeatedly rejected by New York society, who knew of her checkered past.
In 1810 the Jumels purchased the Morris house on Harlem’s Heights. Built by Roger Morris in 1765, a Royalist to the British Crown, the house was abandoned by the Morris Family, who fled the United States when New York began to heat up with the stirrings of Revolutionary War. Subsequently, it quartered General George Washington during the Battle of Harlem Heights, from whence he commanded his troops. It also took a brief turn as an inn, and, in the early days of the US Government, was a gathering place for many of the “Founding Fathers.”
The Jumels travelled back and forth to France, and Stephen remained there at length, while Eliza returned to New York and the mansion with Stephen Jumel’s power of attorney as a “femme sole,” a special status usually afforded to unmarried women, wherein she had the right to own property and make contracts in her own name. Once in New York, through power of attorney, she entitled herself to all profit and control of the entire Jumel estate. With great business acumen, Eliza bought and sold real estate, tripling the Jumel fortune. In 1832, Stephen Jumel died in an accident. Fourteen months after her husband’s death, Eliza Jumel married the controversial former United States Vice President Aaron Burr. She married to increase her stature by marrying the former vice president and “founding father;” he married for access to her fortune. Burr squandered Eliza’s money with alarming rapacity. Eliza filed for divorce in 1834, utilizing the suspicion of adultery as cause—an action that prompted one historian to marvel, “Nothing more vividly revealed her business ability than the efficiency with which she got rid of Burr.” The divorce was granted on September 14, 1836, the day of Burr’s death. Madame Jumel lived the rest of her life in the mansion, where her increasing eccentricities gained her notoriety throughout the countryside. She died there in 1865 at the age of 90.
An almost life-sized portrait is prominently displayed inside the mansion of Madame Eliza Jumel. It gives an unmistakable fierceness and strength to her countenance. You surely wouldn’t want to cross her, but despite that no-nonsense appearance, throughout her life she showed great compassion, adopting her sister’s children, and employing Anne Northrop, wife of Solomon Northrop (12 Years A Slave), and providing a place in the house for her and her children while Anne’s husband was imprisoned. Eliza Jumel was anti-slavery and pro women’s rights. In life, she was flamboyant, sexual, smart, and uncompromisingly herself: an empowered woman, a strong woman, a kindred spirit.
CALL FOR STORY SUBMISSIONS:
It is with a great sense of gratitude to Mme. Jumel that I find myself editor of an anthology of paranormal romance and fantasy fiction based on her home, the Morris-Jumel Mansion, Manhattan’s oldest house.
Requirements:
The stories must prominently feature the Morris-Jumel Mansion, in the past, the present, future, or in an alternate universe, and may include its historical inhabitants (including Madame Eliza Jumel, Stephen Jumel, Aaron Burr, and other Revolutionary War and pre-Revolutionary War characters, slaves and servants), the Mansion’s visitors, fictional or otherwise, and/or hauntings, visitations, or supernatural beings (including angels, devils, werewolves, vampires, etc), with elements of time-travel, science fiction, erotica/romance, paranormal, steampunk, or gaslamp fantasy.
The deadline for story submissions is June 30th. For more specifics about the anthology, click here. For information about visiting the Mansion, which is now a museum, click here. I am also happy to personally provide a tour of the Mansion to any potential story-contributor who wishes to visit. For any questions, or to schedule a tour, I can be reached at mjmanthology@gmail.com.
Bio: Camilla Saly is a lifelong New Yorker, writer and educator. Her writing has been published in numerous magazines and websites under a pseudonym. Newly retired from teaching, she continues to write and edit, and looks forward to publishing under her own name. Camilla lives in Harlem with her husband Mark, one bad cat, and one good cat.
Visit my calls for submission page for Camilla’s call and others. If you have one you want there, let me know!
Josephine made her drink over as Fiona had asked her to, but it was no stronger than it had been in the first place. Fiona leaned over the drink, and stared at Josephine’s waist. Josephine did not move from before her, and she was not sure why she had come there or what she wanted.
They were interrupted by a musical interlude, as the sax player who was there for the night started to play for the audience of the two of them.
“What are you doing here?” Josephine asked her.
Fiona shrugged and twisted herself around on her stool, to look at the sax player. Especially his mouth of the sax. She licked her lips, and looked up at Josephine.
“I want to taste you.”
Josephine pushed out her stomach, and Fiona caressed it when she tuned around to face her.
“I am not a toy for you and your girlfriend.”
Fiona slipped her finger inside of Josephine’s blouse which gaped at her stomach.
“If I had seen you first, and I was not with Alice? I would have known what you taste like. I would have known everything about you.”
Josephine took Fiona’s hand in hers.
“You assume that I would have let you…”
“You would have, no one ever tells me no…”
Fiona picked up Josephine’s e-cigarette, looking at her as a challenge.
“No one tells me no either,” Josephine said, picking up her e-cigarette in response to the challenge. Both of them stood there looking at each other, as the musical interlude continued.
“What time do you get off tonight?” fiona asked, when the music stopped.
“The same time as I usually do,” Josephine grinned.
Fiona stayed the rest of her shift, through all of the music interludes and left the bar with Josephine after her replacement. When the night air hit them in a rush, Fiona was startled when Josephine asked her to get into her car. Josephine had placed her hand on her thigh, as the sounds of sax filled the back of their taxi…
I am dedicated to using all the verbs from the verb list created by Richard Serra—you can find the list here. Last time I used “shorten,” today I am using “twist.”

More musical interludes here:
It was rare that she wrote a scene with a lover in mind, but she really could not get him out of her mind. When she wrote a scene, sexy thoughts of him fluidly came between her fingertips and the keyboard. Her keyboard had an app that functioned as a typewriter, which felt very retro and she liked that. When she typed on it, she felt like an old-fashioned writer.
But every line she typed made her think of him, made her want to infuse him in between the lines. She imagined her fingers running through his hair, her lips on his warm skin taking in his temperature. Parting her lips, she sucked on his neck and gripped his scalp which she did instinctively and he liked.
The last time she thought this while writing, she touched her own neck and dipped her finger in the hollow there. She let her fingers travel down over the soft skin of her breast and the divide between them. Then lower to the divide between her legs, which shortened her writing time because she could not type with one hand.
But this time she was smarter, she took out her new toy. The Ruby Glow (for a chance to win one, click below!!!)–she loved it especially for its beautiful pink color. Now when she typed, if she thought too much about him, her pretty pink toy was between her legs for some hands-off fun.
And she would be able to continue typing away!
She returned to the first love scene between her characters. As soon as her fingers touched the keyboard, it was like a jolt of electricity went through her. If she raised her dress, she was pretty sure between her legs would be aglow. The sensation from having the toy between her legs made her think of him all the more, wishing he was making her feel like that. Resting her fingers on the home keys, she subtly pressed herself against the toy. Her fingers gripped her thigh, as if it were his scalp and she dragged her fingers against her skin like she would his hair.
She caressed the keyboard. There was such a difference with a hands-free orgasm. None of her own come on her fingers, and she would type her scene as soon as her clit stopped twitching. As if nothing had taken place, although he moved like electricity through her memory, and she ached for him…
I am dedicated to using all the verbs from the verb list created by Richard Serra—you can find the list here. Last time I used “bend,” today I am using “shorten.”
More Friday Flash here:
Nichy woke up with her hand between her legs, breathless and gasping for air. Her body was damp, and she wondered if she had masturbated while she was asleep. With her eyes slit open, she pressed her lips to Tyler’s back.
It was almost a thank you.
Watching him make out with Gavin had been so arousing, her clit twitched without her even touching it. Just her inner thigh rubbing against it, was enough to send her into a tailspin. Was it because she knew what each of those set of lips were like, why she was so especially turned on? Or that they were both in suits? Their suits in varied disarray, as they progressed into heavier and heavier petting. Gavin liked kissing–Nichy knew that. He liked his throat kissed which Tyler found out quickly—Tyler was very good at detecting hot spots…
She and Renee embraced harder, watching them. Tyler tugged at Gavin’s tie, like a leash to pull him closer to him so they could kiss deeper. Gavin’s fingers slipped in between the buttons of Tyler’s dress shirt, and Tyler pressed himself closer to Gavin. Gavin liked eye contact, so he pulled away and smiled at Tyler. Tyler never one to be distracted by a curveball, smiled back and rubbed his nose against Gavin’s.
“I can almost predict what they are going to do next!” she whispered to Renee.
“Me too! I know exactly what Gavin will do, he is more predictable than Tyler.”
Not moving her eyes from Gavin and Tyler—who had resumed kissing and pulled at each other’s clothes—Nichy took in what Renee said. Her clit tightened when Tyler unzipped Gavin’s pants. When Gavin unzipped Tyler’s pants, he gasped.
“You don’t wear underwear?” Gavin asked him.
“Nope, never have,” Tyler grinned. “Not even when I was a kid.”
Gavin caressed Tyler, and Nichy salivated as she watched him move in response to Gavin’s touch.
“You got to know Gavin very well then…” Nichy was almost surprised she had said this aloud, as she whispered to Renee.
“He was not exactly a stranger to me!” Renee giggled. “and I understand what you saw in him. Being in bed with him is dreamy!”
Nichy was not sure how to respond. Even though she loved Tyler, being with Renee and Gavin had been sweet moments that she was not sure she wanted to talk about. Would she have conversations with Gavin about how Renee tasted next?
But then she was distracted by Tyler and Gavin again. They were just kissing and touching each other, but it was so damned hot! Gavin kept up with Tyler, kissing his neck which Nichy knew was Tyler’s hot spot. Tyler slumped against the couch, and caressed Gavin’s stomach as Gavin sucked at his neck. Nichy got so hot at the idea of him leaving a mark there…
When she remembered this, she looked at Tyler’s neck in the dark right then and could see the smudge of a bruise on his neck which she kissed over and over again.
More Masturbation Monday here:
About Kinky Love Notes
Pictures are often painted with words. Lust, love, desire, and kink are no exception. Instead of lines and lines of prose to express need and want, Kayla Lords uses simple poetry. Within these pages, you’ll find haikus, couplets, and free verse with one thing in common: notes of the sensuous pleasure, kinky fun, and power exchange found between a Dominant and a submissive.
Excerpts from Kinky Love Notes
The Things You Do To Me
Waiting patiently
For you. Hot and wet, dripping.
Anticipating.
You make me feel things
In every nerve ending.
Don’t stop. Give me more.
You belong to me.
The taste of you imprinted
On my tongue always.
***
Please, Sir?
Collar me,
Cuff me,
Restrain me,
Blindfold me,
Want me.
Please, Sir?
Spank me,
Paddle me,
Flog me,
Bruise me,
Mark me.
Please, Sir?
Bite me,
Finger me,
Fuck me,
Take me,
Use me.
Please, Sir?
Stroke me,
Hold me,
Kiss me,
Soothe me,
Love me.
Please, Sir?
I know you want more of Kayla’s poems, here’s where you can get your copy:
Amazon: http://mybook.to/KLN
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1qkrscT
iBooks: http://apple.co/1qLwQGN
Smashwords: http://bit.ly/1Q3LtJL
Kayla Lords Bio

Kayla Lords is a kinky submissive, an erotic author, a sex blogger, and a podcaster. She writes about BDSM and kink from a loving and realistic view. This is her first book of poetry, erotic or otherwise. She also is a regular contributor to Kinkly, Fetish.com, Fuck.com, and Submissive Guide.
Follow Kayla Lords
Website: http://kaylalords.com
Amazon: http://author.to/KaylaLords
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/KaylaLords
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KaylaLordsAuthor
Google+: http://plus.google.com/+KaylaLords
Tumblr: http://a-sexual-being.tumblr.com
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/kaylalords1/

My friend Exposing 40 reminded me it has been one year since my first Sinful Sunday post, which was quite a leap for me…see her leap here. And see a plethora of her photography and mine, along with The Other Livvy and Kilted Wookie on my photography blog Click Click 365.
More Sinful Sunday here:
Fiona would not bend. She had asked Alice to leave, and she was not going to change her mind. No one could fault her. But after a milestone birthday, Fiona looked older than her age. She looked in the mirror, and saw the dark circles under her eyes. The deep shadows hid her anxiety.
“Fi?”
Fiona turned around, the spotlights around the mirror were unforgiving. She looked at Alice.
Alice walked toward her. Fiona hated it, but her body was filled with desire. Her head had not bended, but her body did.
As many times as she had been the one who played around on a boyfriend or girlfriend, how could she fault Alice? Even she had noticed this Josephine, at the auction house. She had noticed the voluptuous bartender…but this time it was not her that cheated. This time she was the one who was cheated on.
“I never meant to hurt you…”
Fiona stared at Alice, silent and cautious.
“No one ever means to hurt anyone, do they?” she replied coldly.
Alice frowned, and moved closer. Fiona wanted to step back, but she did not.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Alice repeated. “and I do not want to go. This is my home, you are my home.”
“This is my home, and I want you to go!” Fiona picked up her keys from the sink. “When I come back, I want you gone…”
She walked out of the apartment, and immediately hailed a cab. Her next move was risky, but she had to make it.
When she walked into the bar, Josephine was staring out emptily toward the door. Fiona saw her bite her lip when she recognized her, as she sashayed over to a stool.
“I need something strong, can you whip up something strong for me?” she asked the other woman.
Josephine stared at her, still chewing on her lip. Fiona smiled to herself, she loved having the upper hand.
“Of course, that is my job. What is your poison?”
“Whiskey,” Fiona answered, and pulled her e-cigarette out of her pocket. “This is okay?”
“More than okay,” Josephine smiled, picking up her own from behind the bar.
Fiona smiled back, as she inhaled. She watched Josephine make her drink with a lot of different elements. When she shook the drink, Fiona could not help but admire her full breasts that shook as well, and seemed to threaten the buttons of her blouse.
“Here, this is my own favorite, tell me what you think?”
Josephine leaned over, and Fiona stared into her blouse. She drank the cocktail like water, not even feeling the bite, while she looked at the bartender.
“Not strong enough,” she lied, and Josephine smiled.
“Why are you here?”
Fiona bit her own lip.
“Because I want to know what my girlfriend sees in you…”
Josephine picked up her e-cigarette, and studied her.
“What, you want to fuck me? You want to know what I taste like? I mean really? What are you asking?”
Fiona was not sure what she was asking, as she pushed her glass forward.
“Make me another one. Stronger…”
Josephine smirked, and took her glass.
“Whatever you want…”
I am dedicated to using all the verbs from the verb list created by Richard Serra—you can find the list here. Last time I used “store,” today I am using “bend.”
More Wicked Wednesday here:
photo by f dot leonora
It is with so much pleasure that I host Delilah Night! Delilah is a writer’s writer, every time I read something of hers I am moved, and want to run my fingers over her words. She is also such a cornerstone of the community, she engages with everyone and I am honored to consider her a friend. Read below to be blown away by her like I have been–and a chance to win her latest!!!
I’m so excited to be on your blog today, Leonora! I’ve gotten to know Leonora on my blog and in the Twitterverse, and she is a delightful friend. I always look forward to seeing you in my feed! If you’re not following her photography 365 blog, you should be! I hope your readers will enjoy my post, and stick around for the contest!
For my guest posts this week (check out Malin James’s blog on Thursday!) I thought it would be fun to talk about how much of myself and my husband can be found in the characters of Meg and RJ.

Ways in which Meg and I are similar
Ways in which Meg and I are nothing alike.

*Exclusive Excerpt*
Angkor Wat was such a massive temple complex that, even with hundreds of other tourists on site, Meg and RJ were often alone as they explored. Rather than enter the main temple through the front entrance, they walked along the left outer wall. Their footsteps echoed as they wandered along a covered gallery. The wall on their left was covered in a bas relief carving depicting a battle scene. Lines of marching soldiers looked as though they might step out of the stone at any moment. Generals directed them from the backs of elephants. Meg stroked the trunk of an elephant, her finger following a gleaming path made by countless fingers before hers. Small, sporadic chunks of the image were missing, leaving only scarred stone where art had once thrived. The right side of the gallery was open to the elements, supported by a series of columns, allowing a cooling breeze to provide a brief respite from the intense heat outside.
“The holes?” RJ asked, his voice barely above a murmur.
“Thieves. My guidebook said the missing pieces had inscriptions that people thought held magical powers. It’s also why there are so many missing or headless statues, too. At least they couldn’t steal all of the wall carvings.”
The geometry of the empty hallway they’d just walked down with its repeating doorways, dark stone carvings on one side, and the light filtering in between the columns opposite, called to her.
Click. Chiaroscuro.
“Show me?”
Tilting the camera so they could both see the screen, Meg pressed a button to bring the picture back up.
“I just saw doorways. How did you see that, Meg?” RJ asked.
“That’s because you glance and I watch,” she answered.
“So you’re saying I should take more time to see what’s right in front of me before I move on too quickly?”
Meg switched her camera back to shooting mode. “I was talking about photography.”
“So was I.” His expression was neutral.
Sure you were.

You never forget your first love…
Meg and RJ were passionately in love. But that was six years and a broken engagement ago.
Meg has only one day in Siem Reap, Cambodia, before she must leave for her sister’s wedding in Bali. She fulfills her dream of taking a photograph of the sun rising behind Angkor Wat, one of the oldest temples in the world. But her joy is short-lived when she turns around to see RJ standing behind her.
RJ threw himself into work after Meg ended their relationship. He’s built a successful business, but it’s a hollow victory. He’s come to Siem Reap to win back the woman he’s never stopped loving. But first he has to convince her to spend the day with him.
Meg is as physically attracted to RJ as she ever was. Maybe the secret to finally getting over him is a one day only, no strings attached fling.
Can RJ win Meg back, or will she love him and leave him?
Capturing the Moment is on sale everywhere!
Bio
After 30 years of snowy New England winters, Delilah Night moved to steamy Southeast Asia. While she doesn’t miss shoveling snow, she does miss shopping for bargains at Target.
In 2014, Delilah visited Cambodia for the first time and fell in love with Siem Reap. Many of her misadventures from that vacation (including the one with the monkey) made their way into this story.
Connect with Delilah on her blog, Twitter, or Facebook
Contest—Win a free copy of Capturing the Moment!
Which fictional character do you most identify with? Leave a comment, and I’ll pick a winner on Monday, May 9, 2016.