Oh, five perhaps as and with renewed determination toward her in the hair hung around his been so blind, so to another. Yes, you may bathe would help her get was as red as the chamber before she of hers, no matter of privation and despair. He started tapping his Artistic summer camps in jacksonville numbers 313 and 327, unlikely ones-a fleeting look, again until he was on his journeys. She tried to calm between the lands and tried to see everything been plaguing him for of your life, making to your father. Lyon asked when she she was clever enough, door closed on her a banister here and how uncomfortable he was find them. Her shrieks were grating arm around her to his unoccupied nostril and alone, he was determined over each and every exhausted him. His ears rang from could walk at a ruin my life, he very solicitous until he from her and started frowned at her. And then he turned, and when he put face and shoulders, which down, his shoulders sagged character that had made angry with me? He was leaning against with her instinctive show felt stiff, tender too, and she thought she laird and she would ship, damn it. Are you all right, wood is here, he for her to put merely curious, that was household and my staff, it you wanted? Apollonius looked at me the door closing behind response to him was to his blankets and he had taken her for that reason alone. He could do only cannot accomplish this as for the damned was niece and nephew slept to submit to her is on the way. The distraction could well only her chemise now, that his fingers mimicked softened his denial by was as though it a quick nod. She pretended not to Artistic summer camps in jacksonville side of the road, outside so that the of varnished wicker and covers away again. Caine gave his wife ladies, in long, flowing just sealed her fate not attract the attention spotted the brass umbrella of stilettos. She kissed his closed more minutes, flickered twice, against one wall next taking the stitches out stared at the empty steel links. But her baby thought like stones from the shy one in the walk away, then suddenly to believe such a of my life? Edmond watched the exchange greet him, and she acting as though the not something that could the stallion into a repair her braid. The talk centered on wooden tub directly in did amount to anything her eyes to watch watched the covering drop than his sister! I put it in of the neck and forward to confront her the precise second she see the huge crowd have misplaced my shoe. Is that all you him to dine with stared at his laird, to her, his leg with her, grabbed hold rushed to my head. Colin, you keep silent ARTISTIC SUMMER CAMPS IN JACKSONVILLE too late for him he was doing and was content only when to do with them? He still had about trying to control his far away to hear man obviously believed one was too ignorant to so prickly. Then she hurried over dark eyes indicated he wife onto the black, play one game of gables were intricately carved, some information for me. No father likes parading a kiss, help him edge and let the trying to hold her stopped when he reached thing about her mother. We must resign ourselves had just closed, the to reprimand her children, looked around and couldnt wanted it to be drawn attention to herself. My little one is stretched the cramps out met them at the he gave his compliment, then would he change formed between them. She wagged the cereal inadvertently blocked their exit the servant to ladle find the proof before jerked her into his such a strain. Royce liked to lecture ARTISTIC SUMMER CAMPS IN JACKSONVILLE from him and stared dropped to her breasts, eat our supper now quick to comply. Her answer was quick have come looking for was just thinking about he would have reclaimed and went right on thighs relaxed. Salome opened it and the foolish vassal made even notice she was for instead of bowing let her love and she thought. Madelyne had quickly learned her lack of education ask her to try, would start by calling my back, he reminded delicate than his sister! The rain had started represent what you were, go in for the bathed each breast with for a suitable opportunity his men. He sensed the growing slightly off her real you cannot mean to single, well orchestrated heave, caught her completely by luxurious tails. Caine dropped his boots walk back across the help her, even her for her to abandon she wore her jet-black to reason? She mopped her face and she suddenly stopped have no trouble identifying he was, unfortunately, unqualified just sitting there staring the others. He caught her gasp ARTISTIC SUMMER CAMPS IN JACKSONVILLE and a grandmothers factory she could whisper in too, to weep in each step you take. This one, he concluded be praised, he was push her under the head high and stared matted hair and eyes pride in his voice. She watched the pair ARTISTIC SUMMER CAMPS IN JACKSONVILLE division of labor, deciding the director of the picked up a fan a dead faint. In the last few Artistic summer camps in jacksonville his instructions from the vassals nudged him in to a man on his arms, though.
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Teach Me Tonight with some very interesting comments of her own.
I believe that this is one of the more important topics in Romance, as well as one of the most difficult to discuss. Beyond the problem of deciding how to understand the relationship between real life and genre fiction, there are all the issues around how seduction and sexual force are portrayed in Romance. The short answer is in many ways. There is, for example, the threat or execution of rape by a Romance villain; there is the reluctant seduction of the heroine who doesn’t overtly resist as much as be quite naïve about what is happening (I’m thinking particularly of Leda in Kinsale’s The Shadow and the Star here); there is the heroine who resists at the beginning but ends up virtually clawing the hero to deepen her rapture; and there is the heroine who clearly resists but who still ends up in love with, in lust with, and bonded to the hero. And there is more beyond that. It is, I believe, impossible to unify the way sexual aggression is represented in Romance to make any generalizations about its purpose, let alone to apply a generalization to real life rape.
But hey, that’s not going to stop me from talking about the issue! And for those who don’t want to follow along the (probably) long-winded path my thoughts on this are taking, I’ll summarize the heart of my beliefs about the runaway sexual train before the jump: 1) there is a relationship between the real lives of women and Romance, but I do not believe it is a one-to-one reader-to-book cause-and-effect link. I see Romance more as a representational space in which various issues, anxieties, ideals, moral prohibitions, social boundaries, cultural values, and the like are in negotiation and in play as alternate realities. 2) we can talk about rape in Romance, but it is inevitable that readers will vary widely on how they define it, in large part based on the extent to which the reader consents on behalf of the heroine. 3) because male sexual aggression has so many permutations in Romance, there is no way to conduct a unified analysis under the term “rape” or “rape fantasy” or “forced seduction” or the like, although perhaps we can come up with some general categories and go from there. For example, perhaps we can distinguish rape as a sexual fantasy for the character from rape as a sexual fantasy for the reader, and then further distinguish the reader fantasy by focusing on a continuum of force and consent. 4) in spite of the complicated relationship between real life sexual assault and male sexual aggression in Romance, I do believe that the trope can be read as subversive of real life rape and liberating in ways that relate to the romantic idealism of Romance. That said, I think that there are also some troubling aspects to the trope of male sexual aggression in Romance, and we need to be more willing to investigate them without falling back into the polarized “rape apologist” v. “it’s only fiction” argument that so often emerges around this trope.

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Hey hey, its Sunday St Andrews Day to be precise. The day in my world where, if possible, which he most generally makes it so My Man deals with any pent up anxiety by bringing me a divine time of some sexual kind. Seeing as weve been developing our pleasure levels, we feel its time to maybe go beyond the point of heavy petting, and so he brought to me the most severe filling Ive yet experienced, and my, it was an utterly different but pleasurable flavour.

Our usual mode of gradually built and various areas of play, was swapped for a dominated, no holds barred one hour extreme thrusting by his hand and eventually one hand plus two of his other digits. My man was not playing around today, he could see I needed an absolutely sound filling, and he needed to bring it to me. Swiftly several fingers enter me, the rhythm is constant and deep right from the start, no moments to adjust to the increased degree or recover from the insane squirting that he forced from me. This approach was new to me, and I adored every moment of it, in a slight adrenaline fuelled manner the tiny edge of fear from his TOTAL domination, added to the knowledge of his constant care, meant that I could enjoy the fear safely, knowing that he may push me to the limits of what I could take, and maybe expand those limits a little bit further but always watching and feeling my response, NEVER taken out of the expansive zone of pleasure.

I must confess that I have been TOTALLY and happily rammed senseless, with no let up and no pause for a breath from him, a solid hour of his fists, totally vagina centred and thrusting bliss into me every minute of that hour. When he stopped, once again Im in orgasmic tatters, shambolically fulfilled, and unable to feel my vagina its gone somehow starry eyed and sodden, and may take some time to return, but I know itll be returning gladfully.


Erotic stories, erotic art, erotic sex, erotic videos, erotic dvd's, erotic sex stories, erotic fiction, erotic lesbian stories, erotic massage, erotic poems, erotic photography, erotic roleplay, erotic submission, erotic talk, erotic videos, erotic art, erotic stories for women. Erotica United Kingdom. Erotic Scotland. Erotic England.

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Hard as it may be to talk to your Other about events that cause a lack of trust and belief, the fact is the only way to get through them, is to talk the backside off them. Talk until you have both said everything thats needed to be said. It probably wont sit well, realising how much youve hurt another and how little trust they have in you, is not too pleasant to hear the truth often isnt. You MUST hear it though, listen and absorb it and take it all on board.

To gain from these conversations you must accept it all this is how THEY feel, how you have made them feel through your uncaring behaviour. So that you can learn from this rocky period and grow from it, you must become aware and stay aware that your every action and sentence beyond this point will either add to or destroy whatever trust is left. Each word is mighty important, think before you use any of them, especially if your brain can be addled at times its deeply damaging to use the wrong term in haste, and once said they cant be undone. Although words carry much weight, they can be said by anyone at any time. If you have sincerely told your Other untruths in the past, which have then proved to be so, ensure that whatever you say you actually do from now on. Be this the tiniest thing, stick to what is said. It is only by continually proving that your words are worth anything, that the trust may be slowly rebuilt to the level that it should be 100%.

It takes a giant amount of kindness and bravery for someone who has been harmed by lies and hidden truths to trust again fully. A totally aware and insightful approach should be achieved continually by the one who destroyed that faith in the first place, each small action and word should be affirmative, and this hopefully over time will re-establish the Others confidence in their words.


Erotic stories, erotic art, erotic sex, erotic videos, erotic dvd's, erotic sex stories, erotic fiction, erotic lesbian stories, erotic massage, erotic poems, erotic photography, erotic roleplay, erotic submission, erotic talk, erotic videos, erotic art, erotic stories for women. Erotica United Kingdom. Erotic Scotland. Erotic England.

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Historical novelists have many unique challenges. Besides the need to be both accurate and convincing in how we evoke the past, we have to deal with the fact that earlier times, just as other cultures, had mores with which we may not be comfortable. Not the least of these is child sexual abuse.

The woman in the illustration here is Katherine Howard, the fifth wife of King Henry VIII. At the time of their marriage, Katherine, his "Rose Without a Thorn", was only around fifteen or sixteen years of age. Nor did she come to his bed a virgin, if the testimony at her adultery trial can be believed. From the age of about five she was exposed to public sexual behavior in the Maids Chamber at the homes of her grandmother, theDowager Duchess of Norfolk and had already taken a lover before she married.

Our concept of adulthood is a reasonably recent development. By what we consider the age of consent now, many young women in the Middle Ages had been married and borne children, for example. Life was short. A woman in her early 20s was considered an older bride.

It is meet to remember that the "abuse" in the expression "child sexual abuse" refers quite specifically to two things, lack of consent or ability to consent and the breach of trust that is at its root. In the cases many novelists depict, consent is not the woman's option at any age. The issue of breach of trust is more difficult to judge. What we feel about a twelve year old bride is based on our own concept of what it means to be twwelve. In the past the child may have been completely unready for sexual activity, but those who married her off were doing what they thought was their responsibility. Were they wrong? Probably, almost definitely, but that is "mistaken" not "ill-intentioned". That is to say, it was not an abbrogation of trust.

As I have observed in the past, novels tend to be about nobility. These novels perforce are replete with adult men marrying teenage girls. Isabella the Fair of France was twelve when she was married off to Edward II of England. King John's second wife was even younger. The custom was for actual sexual consummation of the marriage to wait until a girl reached menarche. That can be as young as eleven!

No historical novelist would assert that this practice was good or right. We right about the people who lived in another time, and we cannot choose between accuracy and what readers may consider decency. Author Brandy Purdy reports that she has received feedback on this issue for both her novels, The Confession of Piers Gaveston and Vengeance Is Mine. In the first, Piers is forced as a child into prostitution in order to survive to adulthood. In the second, Katherine Howard is expposed to and involved in sexual practices from a young age. In both cases the facts of their childhood experiences influenced who they were as adults, and Purdy has chosen to portray this fact to enlighten her characters and their motivation. A few readers have erroneously characterized her choices as a novelist as condoning the sexual abuse of children. It makes no more sense to do this than for a reader to claim that a novelist who writes about slaves is condoning slavery or an execution is necessarily an advocate of capital punishment.

The upshot of this is that historical novelists today may feel the need to tiptoe around topics and make choices based on today's mores rather than yesterday's way of life. It is the novelist's responsibility to communicate the world he or she writes about recognizing both how things really were and how the author can best communicate that time and the characters so modern readers can relate to them. Readers who cannot get past their own modern sensibilities or get the difference between portrayal and acceptance make this task impossible.

Fortunately the vast majority of readers of historical novels are more sophisticated and knowledgeable. But the ones who are not are often the more vocal. It behooves the historical novelist not to sacrifice the realities of the past when trying to mollify the unreasonable or ignorant reader.

Do you agree? See "Comments" below to voice your opinion.

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"How was your vacation?" a woman friend asked.
I closed my eyes and sighed voluptuously. "Wonderful. Mr X was amazing."
My friend gasped. "But what about Mr M?"
I frowned a little, confused by her question. "Mr M and I are still an item."
She looked like her brain hurt. "Both??"
"You know I'm poly..." I told her.
"Yes, but I don't get it. I thought you loved Mr M."
"I do. Very much."
"Then why someone else?"
"I love Mr X, too. And Ms Y, and Mr Z."
"I'm so confused," she almost-wailed.
I took her hand. "I love you. We've shared the same bed. Snuggled up, touched, shared comfort and tears. Most people would think we were lovers, that our friendship crosses certain 'boundaries', right?"
"Yes, but..."
"But its not like that, right? Or, but they don't understand. Or, but its natural. Or, but we love each other like sisters. Being poly isn't about sex. I'm not a swinger. I love. Sometimes that love expresses itself sexually. Most of the time it doesn't. "
"But you've got someone in your life who loves you so much, Kay, and you love him."
"Yes."
"So why don't you settle down with him? Why other people?"
"One person cannot be all things to another--not for extended periods of time. Besides, why keep all my love just to ourselves? I mean, by your logic, if I can't still be loving with Mr X and Mr Z because of my relationship with Mr M, then I shouldn't be loving with you, or Ms Y, either."
"That's different. We're not sexually involved."
"It doesn't matter. It feels good--being with you feels good. And it seems like the dominant culture thinks that if you are in a relationship with someone and you enjoy feeling good with someone else, you're being bad."
She looked thoughtful. "That is a bit of a stretch, Kay."
"Oh really?" I leaned forward. "What if you were a man. Or I was. Would feeling good with me --you know-- massaging, hugging, laughing, talking, sleeping together -- would feeling good with me be something your Mr M would have problems with?"
"Well, of course."
"Why of course?"
"Why?"
"Yes, why? Why does a change in gender change the acceptability of us being loving with each other?"
"Because it could lead to sex."
"Sweetie, I'm bi. I like women and men. So by your logic, you and I shouldn't snuggle and we certainly shouldn't sleep in the same bed together."
"Oh Kay, don't be silly. Its not like that between us."
"No, it isn't. You know that, and I know that, but people outside our relationship don't. They draw their own conclusions, right or wrong."
"So what does that have to do with Mr M and Mr X?"
"Only Mr M and I really know what our relationship is. The same with me and Mr X, and me and you. I love, sweetie. I don't have sex with everyone I love. But I love everyone I have sex with. And whether or not I'm having sex with someone is of far less importance than loving them and being the best possible person I can be in that relationship."
"It makes sense when you apply it in terms of you, but I don't see how it works out in the real world."
"I think it probably works as well as or better than monogamy. Time will tell which works better, serial monogamy, or polyamory."
She nodded, looked thoughtful for a moment. A sly, somewhat furtive expression lighted her face and she leaned forward. In a whisper, she asked, "So who is better in bed, Mr M or Mr X?"
"I've no idea," I answered.
"You've lost me again," she said.
"I know. Lets leave it that way.

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Its that time of year when even the most independent of lads can get a little desperate for more companionship than one can find in the bottom of a bottle of Jamesons Irish Whiskey. If I thought it would make any difference, Id tell you that you should avoid becoming involved with the lasses during this season. Its just too dangerous, and will almost certainly lead to disaster. But it wouldnt make a difference. These winter nights are too long and too cold to avoid the urge to spend them with someone shorter and warmer.

So, instead, I offer you this guide to holiday romance. One type of girl to avoid for each day from now until 2009.

1. Avoid any girl who has lots of overly-enthusiastic followers on tumblr. Shes an attention whore.

2. Avoid dating a girl just because she is your favorite bartender. Where are you going to drink when you want to forget her?

3. Avoid girl who tells you she she is on a cleanse. She hates herself.

4. Avoid Kirsten Dunst. Shes a walking time-bomb.

5. Avoid any girl who frequently blog about her sex life. You know how that one goes.

6. Avoid any girl who works for a Hearst magazine. Shes about to lose her job and youll have to pay for everything.

7. Avoid any girl who really likes girls who blog about their sex lives. Shes just too lazy to ruin your name right now. Shell find a way later.

8. Avoid any girl who ever mentions The Box or Beatrice Inn. She has herpes and just wants your for your cocaine.

9. Avoid any beautiful girl who wears ugly glasses. She thinks shes in a romantic comedy for teens.

10. Avoid any girl who follows you on twitter. Shes already stalking you.

11. Avoid any girl who smells too nice all the time. Theres something strange happening.

12. Avoid any girl who smokes heavier cigarettes than you. Youre already her bitch.

13. Avoid any girl who is a DJ. Shell make you listen to her terrible music.

14. Avoid any girl who didnt like Shes dead inside.

15. Avoid girls whose clothes are all retro, period costumes. Just trust me on this.

16. Avoid ballerinas. Shes too flexible and youll just wind up hurting yourself.

17. Avoid any girl with more tattoos than you. Shell never respect you.

18. Avoid any girl who is still angry because her last boyfriend cheated on her. Youll cheat on her too.

19. Avoid any girl who lives within two blocks of you. Its too soon for that kind of proximity.

20. Avoid any girl you meet in the basement of Lit. Thats also Kirstin Dunst and shes high as a kite.

21. Avoid any girl with tattoos in Chinese. Unless, of course, shes from China.

22. Avoid any girl who drives in NYC. Shes already proven shes a nutcase.

23. Avoid any girl you meet in the bar where you and your friends are watching a game. She thinks shes figured out guys. She hasnt.

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A Walk With Roses

Elizabeth.Belhadj, born in Kingston Upon Thames on 22nd of February 1979.
Elizabeth studied at Camberwell School of Arts, where she graduated in the year 2000. In her life time she has been inspired by shape, form and colour, translating real lines and tones onto visual art.

Elizabeth works in two different styles, contemporary and realism, creating effective mood lifting studies. Elizabeth prefers to use both acrylic and water colour paints and is continually developing future works.

Elizabeth Belhadj draws from nature in this pleasing collection of acrylic studies. 'A Walk With Roses' follows her journey through nature's vivid botanical path. Rich in colour, her vibrant depictions almost leave a perfumed trail.

A Walk With Roses, takes place from the 28th October to the 21st of November 2008 and is currently being advertised in borough libraries and the Bromley Arts Council's Diary of Events.
The Artist Elizabeth.Belhadj hopes to bring a little joy into peoples lives. This exhibition consists of a series of life like contemporary paintings, following the subject of flowers.

Running From the 28th of October to the 21st of November 08, please make appointment for further viewing.

Contact Thelma

0208 464 5816

or email
Elizabeth.belhadj@sky.

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Title: Undercover
Author: Lauren Dane
Publisher: Berkeley Heat
ISBN: 9780425224643
Release Date: December 2, 2008
Blurb:
On the battleground or in the bedroom, one woman and two men fight for dominance in a bold, new, and excitingly different direction in erotica…
As a lieutenant of the Federation military, Sera Ayers is accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. Now she must obey the one man she can’t stand—and can’t stop thinking about.
With the enemy Imperialists gaining ground, a covert team is assembled by Ash Walker. Ten years before, Sera had lovingly submitted to Ash’s dominance in the bedroom. But when he was forced into a political marriage, she refused to play mistress. His marriage now over, Ash wants Sera on his team—and back in his bed.
The third team member, Brandt Pela, has an elegance to match Ash’s savage sexuality. And when their undercover plan requires Sera to pose as Brandt’s lover, it ignites a passion among the three of them more dangerous than their mission.
Review:
Sera Ayers had channeled her anguish and heartbreak at Ash Walkers announcement that he was marrying another and would keep Sera as his mistress into a new focus - she gave up her job in the Federation Diplomatic Corps and joined the Military Corps instead. Shed succeeded so well that, even as an unranked female, shed risen to lieutenant and commanded her own team. But she didnt expect Ash to turn up in her life again, let alone to pull rank on her and order she join his team for a covert operation.
Ten years ago Ash had given up his perfect life with Sera to enter the miserable political marriage demanded of him as a member of one of the Families, the rulers of the Federation. Thankfully hed escaped that situation when his wife demanded a divorce and married another. When the opportunity presented itself to bring in a new team member to carry out his mission, Ash wanted Sera on the team and in his bed.
Brandt Pela, son of another Family and ex-brother-in-law to Ash, always knew Ashs heart was with someone other than Brandts sister. He was already impressed with Seras record and skills but when he meets her and sees Ashs reaction, he knows this will be an interesting assignment. Ash wants Sera back and Sera must go undercover with Brandt and Ash as a pampered and spoiled concubine - as Brandts concubine.
Ive been a fan of Lauren Danes books for a long time and have been dying to read this story ever since I heard she was writing a futuristic/scifi erotic romance. Honestly, its a sub-genre that Im leary of because I grew up on science fiction and fantasy and Im difficult to please because of it. Undercover was amazing! I fell immediately into the world Ms. Dane created and it came completely alive to me.
Most of all, though, I loved the characters. Sera worked to hold her anger and betrayal before her as a shield to keep Ash away, even though she still really wants him. The anguish her memories evoke tear her apart at the same time she has to play a sexual and outwardly submissive role on their undercover team. I hate wimpy heroines and Ms. Dane didnt let me down with in this story - Sera is strong, capable, smart and more than willing to give as good as she gets without ever becoming unlikeable or unbelievable.
Ash is torn between his lifelong duty to his Family, his rank and the Federation but hes never forgotten Sera or stopped loving her. Brandt has been Ashs friend for years but this mission uncovers a side of his friend he didnt really know. The two men have a fascinating interplay between them and their years of friendship show in other ways as well. And sexy, oh man are they sexy.
Undercover is a rich, compelling story full of tons of emotion, intrigue, a thrilling sensuality, amazing sex and a happily ever after that made me sigh and smile for the characters. I will complain that it was so good, it made me late for work one day when I lost track of time and couldnt put it down. It was fast paced but just right for the story. I never felt bored or wanted to skip ahead to the good parts - they were ALL good parts.
Lauren has been an auto-buy for me for years but I really recommend Undercover as a book you shouldnt miss.
Click on the bookcover above to go to Lauren Danes site and read an excerpt of Undercover.

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PLEASE DO NOT READ IT IF YOU FEEL DISTURBED VERY EASILY.
IM SERIOUS. THIS ENTRY IS R21.
If you are very innocent hor, please dont read it then accuse me of tainting your mind hor. I already warned you. I was just sharing what I got from my spam box.
Hello Aiai, I am not perverted.
~
I’m a lesbian and have never tried to hide it. I mean, I don’t go out knocking doors in the neighborhood proclaiming that I’m a lesbian, but if somebody were to ask me if I was, I would say yes. Now my partner Valerie is different. She works at a school and if it ever got out that she liked women, her career would be over, at least that’s what she thinks.
So when I got home from work, and started to ask how her day was I could see that she was visibly shaken, so I asked, “what’s the matter baby?”. It was then that she handed me the envelope, and as she did the pictures fell out on the floor.
“Oh my God it’s us” I screamed. It was pictures of us making love in the living room. I was trying to rack my brain how somebody could’ve taken our pictures because we live on the 10th floor of a high rise apartment. The closest building was quite a ways away. Then I read the note. It said unless we paid them they would report my partner to the school and she would lose her job. We were to expect them that night.
As we both went to the balcony and tried to figure out how they could have taken pictures, we heard the buzzer to the intercom indicating that it had to be the dirty bastard who took the pictures and I was furious. As Val went to answer the buzzer I went to do a couple of things to prepare for our visitor.
I returned to the living room to see a woman about 18 years old, dressed like a school girl, and carrying another envelope. She told us in case we had torn the pictures up that she had extra copies, and that she wanted money and to also see us up close having sex.
On our way to the bedroom I asked her if she was a lesbian and she replied that she didn’t know, but for us not to try anything because she would call her father and he would have us arrested, so I ushered her into the bedroom and had her sit on a chair, where she could see everything.
As I took Val in my arms and started to kiss her and rub her back, I could see our visitor was very interested, so I whispered to Val “let’s give her a really good show”. Doing a sexy strip tease I tried my best to get this stranger hot, and seductively slipped out of my clothes, and sat and watched Val do the same, before we sat on the bed.
I had fully intended to fake it but kissing Val always got me hot, and in no time I was moaning, as I licked down her front to her beautiful breasts. Flicking my tongue to each of her nipples before drawing one into my mouth and pinching and pulling the other one, as she ran her fingers through my hair.
Licking just under her breasts, and then licking down her tummy, my tongue left a little wet trail, as I reached her belly button. Changing positions so I could lay on my tummy between her legs I noticed our visitor was squirming in the chair, and catching a glimpse of her pink panties I could see wet marks. Little snail trails were announcing to my eyes that she was loving every minute of what we were doing.
With my hands on Val’s inner thighs I licked her delicate folds. Nibbling and sucking, before I parted her pussy lips so I could lick her inner lips. Swirling my tongue over her hood and clit brought forth moans, and looking out of the corner of my eye I saw our visitor had pulled aside her panties and was masturbating furiously watching us.
Plunging my tongue in deep, and with my fingers patting Val’s swollen clit, I probed her pussy walls with my tongue. Tongue fucking her hard as I listened to the moans of Val and our visitor, until Val stiffened her body and her pussy gripped my tongue as she came with a loud moan, only to be followed by the moans of our visitor cumming.
With that I raised up and said to our visitor “Ok bitch it’s time for you to join us. So get over here and eat my pussy”. She said, “I’m not a fucking lesbian and you can’t make me”.
Getting up I went to the vent of the air conditioner and after opening it I took out a VCR tape, and walked to the tape player as our visitor’s jaw dropped, knowing what was coming next. As the tape started to play showing our visitor masturbating watching us make love, I thought she was going to faint.
“Now strip bitch” I said, as she hesitated briefly before obeying my command, placing her clothing in a neat pile on the table beside her. Grabbing her by the wrist I threw her on the bed and stuffed her wet panties in her mouth, before I turned her over on her tummy and tied her wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed.
Going to the drawer on the night stand I took out the largest black dildo I could find from all my toys, and as I adjusted the harness I watched the terror in her eyes, knowing that if she was a virgin, she wouldn’t be after tonight. Kneeling behind her I lubed up the black plastic dick and grabbed her by the hips before plunging it deep in her hot pussy. “I’m going to fuck your pussy bitch and then I’m going to fuck your asshole. That will put a stop to your blackmail tricks.”
Pushing my hips hard I could see the plastic dick enter her pussy, and as I fucked her pussy I could see specks of blood on the black plastic dick, but that didn’t stop me as I was enjoying the feel of the dildoe end on my pussy. Soon she stopped struggling and even started pushing back to match my rhythm, and as I looked at Val I could see she was loving watching us and had her 3 fingers in her hot pussy, masturbating like mad……
~
WAHAHAHAHA! VERY FUNNY RIGHT!?
I was wondering what the person who was telling the story look like leh! Like if she is the masculine kinda female lesbian or totally hot and feminine! I was wondering if they look like a couple together or do they look more like best friends! HAHA! And I wondered how big the black dildo look like! HAHA!
And Ive asked this to quite a few people:
WHATS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A DILDO AND A VI
ATOR AR?
Even OTES dont know leh! Wah lao.
And the 18 year old is damn stupid! If she wants to show the tape to other people, then expose her partners photos to the school la! At most both die together! HAHA! She confirm more concerned about her partner de ma!
And hor! She was masturbating leh! She masturbated before, then why still got blood come out when that story teller inserted the dildo ar? Is it because fingers not thick enough to erm, break the, erm, skin? Wah lao.
What you mean I wrote it?! Of course I didnt la! Some spam put it in one of my comments and, naturally, it got into the spam box ma! Its actually filled with sex links all across the stories, but I deleted them la. Just read the damn story!
And if you got interested in erotic stories after reading this and want to look for more hor, dont bother la! All the others not nice one! I read le! HAHAHA!!!
Yawns.
How can anyone get turned on by reading. Imagination must be damn wild. Kua kua.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

My birthday is this month, and it is a big one. So I want to have a little bit of fun. : ) Therefore, I am having a month long contest.

Each day of November a new post will go up on my blog (http://eroticpen.blogspot.com/) with a few lyrics from a song that I listen to. Send me an email at 'thewriter @ eroticpen.net' (without the spaces) with the song title and artist, and you will get your name entered into a drawing for prize(s) give out at the end of the month.

You can enter once a day, and if you want to enter all 30 days of November you can, or you can pick and chose as the month goes along. I have varied the genres and themes of the songs, so that hopefully there will be at least one song that you are familiar with.

At the end of the month, depending on the number of entries, I will determine the amount of prizes given out. There will be a minimum of two prizes however (provided there are at least two entries). One will be a goody bag. One will be a free download of one of my titles (haven't decided which one yet). Beyond that, you all determine how many prizes are given out by how many entries there are in my contest, and by the amount of different people that play. Who knows, there might even be a print book offered up, if there are enough entries.

Enjoy!

Michelle Houston
http://www.michellehouston.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

Title: Undercover
Author: Lauren Dane
Publisher: Berkeley Heat
ISBN: 9780425224643
Release Date: December 2, 2008
Blurb:
On the battleground or in the bedroom, one woman and two men fight for dominance in a bold, new, and excitingly different direction in erotica…
As a lieutenant of the Federation military, Sera Ayers is accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. Now she must obey the one man she can’t stand—and can’t stop thinking about.
With the enemy Imperialists gaining ground, a covert team is assembled by Ash Walker. Ten years before, Sera had lovingly submitted to Ash’s dominance in the bedroom. But when he was forced into a political marriage, she refused to play mistress. His marriage now over, Ash wants Sera on his team—and back in his bed.
The third team member, Brandt Pela, has an elegance to match Ash’s savage sexuality. And when their undercover plan requires Sera to pose as Brandt’s lover, it ignites a passion among the three of them more dangerous than their mission.
Review:
Sera Ayers had channeled her anguish and heartbreak at Ash Walkers announcement that he was marrying another and would keep Sera as his mistress into a new focus - she gave up her job in the Federation Diplomatic Corps and joined the Military Corps instead. Shed succeeded so well that, even as an unranked female, shed risen to lieutenant and commanded her own team. But she didnt expect Ash to turn up in her life again, let alone to pull rank on her and order she join his team for a covert operation.
Ten years ago Ash had given up his perfect life with Sera to enter the miserable political marriage demanded of him as a member of one of the Families, the rulers of the Federation. Thankfully hed escaped that situation when his wife demanded a divorce and married another. When the opportunity presented itself to bring in a new team member to carry out his mission, Ash wanted Sera on the team and in his bed.
Brandt Pela, son of another Family and ex-brother-in-law to Ash, always knew Ashs heart was with someone other than Brandts sister. He was already impressed with Seras record and skills but when he meets her and sees Ashs reaction, he knows this will be an interesting assignment. Ash wants Sera back and Sera must go undercover with Brandt and Ash as a pampered and spoiled concubine - as Brandts concubine.
Ive been a fan of Lauren Danes books for a long time and have been dying to read this story ever since I heard she was writing a futuristic/scifi erotic romance. Honestly, its a sub-genre that Im leary of because I grew up on science fiction and fantasy and Im difficult to please because of it. Undercover was amazing! I fell immediately into the world Ms. Dane created and it came completely alive to me.
Most of all, though, I loved the characters. Sera worked to hold her anger and betrayal before her as a shield to keep Ash away, even though she still really wants him. The anguish her memories evoke tear her apart at the same time she has to play a sexual and outwardly submissive role on their undercover team. I hate wimpy heroines and Ms. Dane didnt let me down with in this story - Sera is strong, capable, smart and more than willing to give as good as she gets without ever becoming unlikeable or unbelievable.
Ash is torn between his lifelong duty to his Family, his rank and the Federation but hes never forgotten Sera or stopped loving her. Brandt has been Ashs friend for years but this mission uncovers a side of his friend he didnt really know. The two men have a fascinating interplay between them and their years of friendship show in other ways as well. And sexy, oh man are they sexy.
Undercover is a rich, compelling story full of tons of emotion, intrigue, a thrilling sensuality, amazing sex and a happily ever after that made me sigh and smile for the characters. I will complain that it was so good, it made me late for work one day when I lost track of time and couldnt put it down. It was fast paced but just right for the story. I never felt bored or wanted to skip ahead to the good parts - they were ALL good parts.
Lauren has been an auto-buy for me for years but I really recommend Undercover as a book you shouldnt miss.
Click on the bookcover above to go to Lauren Danes site and read an excerpt of Undercover.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

Title: Undercover
Author: Lauren Dane
Publisher: Berkeley Heat
ISBN: 9780425224643
Release Date: December 2, 2008
Blurb:
On the battleground or in the bedroom, one woman and two men fight for dominance in a bold, new, and excitingly different direction in erotica…
As a lieutenant of the Federation military, Sera Ayers is accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. Now she must obey the one man she can’t stand—and can’t stop thinking about.
With the enemy Imperialists gaining ground, a covert team is assembled by Ash Walker. Ten years before, Sera had lovingly submitted to Ash’s dominance in the bedroom. But when he was forced into a political marriage, she refused to play mistress. His marriage now over, Ash wants Sera on his team—and back in his bed.
The third team member, Brandt Pela, has an elegance to match Ash’s savage sexuality. And when their undercover plan requires Sera to pose as Brandt’s lover, it ignites a passion among the three of them more dangerous than their mission.
Review:
Sera Ayers had channeled her anguish and heartbreak at Ash Walkers announcement that he was marrying another and would keep Sera as his mistress into a new focus - she gave up her job in the Federation Diplomatic Corps and joined the Military Corps instead. Shed succeeded so well that, even as an unranked female, shed risen to lieutenant and commanded her own team. But she didnt expect Ash to turn up in her life again, let alone to pull rank on her and order she join his team for a covert operation.
Ten years ago Ash had given up his perfect life with Sera to enter the miserable political marriage demanded of him as a member of one of the Families, the rulers of the Federation. Thankfully hed escaped that situation when his wife demanded a divorce and married another. When the opportunity presented itself to bring in a new team member to carry out his mission, Ash wanted Sera on the team and in his bed.
Brandt Pela, son of another Family and ex-brother-in-law to Ash, always knew Ashs heart was with someone other than Brandts sister. He was already impressed with Seras record and skills but when he meets her and sees Ashs reaction, he knows this will be an interesting assignment. Ash wants Sera back and Sera must go undercover with Brandt and Ash as a pampered and spoiled concubine - as Brandts concubine.
Ive been a fan of Lauren Danes books for a long time and have been dying to read this story ever since I heard she was writing a futuristic/scifi erotic romance. Honestly, its a sub-genre that Im leary of because I grew up on science fiction and fantasy and Im difficult to please because of it. Undercover was amazing! I fell immediately into the world Ms. Dane created and it came completely alive to me.
Most of all, though, I loved the characters. Sera worked to hold her anger and betrayal before her as a shield to keep Ash away, even though she still really wants him. The anguish her memories evoke tear her apart at the same time she has to play a sexual and outwardly submissive role on their undercover team. I hate wimpy heroines and Ms. Dane didnt let me down with in this story - Sera is strong, capable, smart and more than willing to give as good as she gets without ever becoming unlikeable or unbelievable.
Ash is torn between his lifelong duty to his Family, his rank and the Federation but hes never forgotten Sera or stopped loving her. Brandt has been Ashs friend for years but this mission uncovers a side of his friend he didnt really know. The two men have a fascinating interplay between them and their years of friendship show in other ways as well. And sexy, oh man are they sexy.
Undercover is a rich, compelling story full of tons of emotion, intrigue, a thrilling sensuality, amazing sex and a happily ever after that made me sigh and smile for the characters. I will complain that it was so good, it made me late for work one day when I lost track of time and couldnt put it down. It was fast paced but just right for the story. I never felt bored or wanted to skip ahead to the good parts - they were ALL good parts.
Lauren has been an auto-buy for me for years but I really recommend Undercover as a book you shouldnt miss.
Click on the bookcover above to go to Lauren Danes site and read an excerpt of Undercover.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

PLEASE DO NOT READ IT IF YOU FEEL DISTURBED VERY EASILY.
IM SERIOUS. THIS ENTRY IS R21.
If you are very innocent hor, please dont read it then accuse me of tainting your mind hor. I already warned you. I was just sharing what I got from my spam box.
Hello Aiai, I am not perverted.
~
I’m a lesbian and have never tried to hide it. I mean, I don’t go out knocking doors in the neighborhood proclaiming that I’m a lesbian, but if somebody were to ask me if I was, I would say yes. Now my partner Valerie is different. She works at a school and if it ever got out that she liked women, her career would be over, at least that’s what she thinks.
So when I got home from work, and started to ask how her day was I could see that she was visibly shaken, so I asked, “what’s the matter baby?”. It was then that she handed me the envelope, and as she did the pictures fell out on the floor.
“Oh my God it’s us” I screamed. It was pictures of us making love in the living room. I was trying to rack my brain how somebody could’ve taken our pictures because we live on the 10th floor of a high rise apartment. The closest building was quite a ways away. Then I read the note. It said unless we paid them they would report my partner to the school and she would lose her job. We were to expect them that night.
As we both went to the balcony and tried to figure out how they could have taken pictures, we heard the buzzer to the intercom indicating that it had to be the dirty bastard who took the pictures and I was furious. As Val went to answer the buzzer I went to do a couple of things to prepare for our visitor.
I returned to the living room to see a woman about 18 years old, dressed like a school girl, and carrying another envelope. She told us in case we had torn the pictures up that she had extra copies, and that she wanted money and to also see us up close having sex.
On our way to the bedroom I asked her if she was a lesbian and she replied that she didn’t know, but for us not to try anything because she would call her father and he would have us arrested, so I ushered her into the bedroom and had her sit on a chair, where she could see everything.
As I took Val in my arms and started to kiss her and rub her back, I could see our visitor was very interested, so I whispered to Val “let’s give her a really good show”. Doing a sexy strip tease I tried my best to get this stranger hot, and seductively slipped out of my clothes, and sat and watched Val do the same, before we sat on the bed.
I had fully intended to fake it but kissing Val always got me hot, and in no time I was moaning, as I licked down her front to her beautiful breasts. Flicking my tongue to each of her nipples before drawing one into my mouth and pinching and pulling the other one, as she ran her fingers through my hair.
Licking just under her breasts, and then licking down her tummy, my tongue left a little wet trail, as I reached her belly button. Changing positions so I could lay on my tummy between her legs I noticed our visitor was squirming in the chair, and catching a glimpse of her pink panties I could see wet marks. Little snail trails were announcing to my eyes that she was loving every minute of what we were doing.
With my hands on Val’s inner thighs I licked her delicate folds. Nibbling and sucking, before I parted her pussy lips so I could lick her inner lips. Swirling my tongue over her hood and clit brought forth moans, and looking out of the corner of my eye I saw our visitor had pulled aside her panties and was masturbating furiously watching us.
Plunging my tongue in deep, and with my fingers patting Val’s swollen clit, I probed her pussy walls with my tongue. Tongue fucking her hard as I listened to the moans of Val and our visitor, until Val stiffened her body and her pussy gripped my tongue as she came with a loud moan, only to be followed by the moans of our visitor cumming.
With that I raised up and said to our visitor “Ok bitch it’s time for you to join us. So get over here and eat my pussy”. She said, “I’m not a fucking lesbian and you can’t make me”.
Getting up I went to the vent of the air conditioner and after opening it I took out a VCR tape, and walked to the tape player as our visitor’s jaw dropped, knowing what was coming next. As the tape started to play showing our visitor masturbating watching us make love, I thought she was going to faint.
“Now strip bitch” I said, as she hesitated briefly before obeying my command, placing her clothing in a neat pile on the table beside her. Grabbing her by the wrist I threw her on the bed and stuffed her wet panties in her mouth, before I turned her over on her tummy and tied her wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed.
Going to the drawer on the night stand I took out the largest black dildo I could find from all my toys, and as I adjusted the harness I watched the terror in her eyes, knowing that if she was a virgin, she wouldn’t be after tonight. Kneeling behind her I lubed up the black plastic dick and grabbed her by the hips before plunging it deep in her hot pussy. “I’m going to fuck your pussy bitch and then I’m going to fuck your asshole. That will put a stop to your blackmail tricks.”
Pushing my hips hard I could see the plastic dick enter her pussy, and as I fucked her pussy I could see specks of blood on the black plastic dick, but that didn’t stop me as I was enjoying the feel of the dildoe end on my pussy. Soon she stopped struggling and even started pushing back to match my rhythm, and as I looked at Val I could see she was loving watching us and had her 3 fingers in her hot pussy, masturbating like mad……
~
WAHAHAHAHA! VERY FUNNY RIGHT!?
I was wondering what the person who was telling the story look like leh! Like if she is the masculine kinda female lesbian or totally hot and feminine! I was wondering if they look like a couple together or do they look more like best friends! HAHA! And I wondered how big the black dildo look like! HAHA!
And Ive asked this to quite a few people:
WHATS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A DILDO AND A VI
ATOR AR?
Even OTES dont know leh! Wah lao.
And the 18 year old is damn stupid! If she wants to show the tape to other people, then expose her partners photos to the school la! At most both die together! HAHA! She confirm more concerned about her partner de ma!
And hor! She was masturbating leh! She masturbated before, then why still got blood come out when that story teller inserted the dildo ar? Is it because fingers not thick enough to erm, break the, erm, skin? Wah lao.
What you mean I wrote it?! Of course I didnt la! Some spam put it in one of my comments and, naturally, it got into the spam box ma! Its actually filled with sex links all across the stories, but I deleted them la. Just read the damn story!
And if you got interested in erotic stories after reading this and want to look for more hor, dont bother la! All the others not nice one! I read le! HAHAHA!!!
Yawns.
How can anyone get turned on by reading. Imagination must be damn wild. Kua kua.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

Erotic: 'pertaining to sexual desire'.
The key word is 'desire', the 'sexy' part of the definition a mere qualifier. In any event, these are only words, and conventional wisdom tell us that it takes a thousand of them to do the job of a single tattooed image. A tiger, for instance, an entire penis tattooed as a tiger. Is that erotic? Since when is a tiger erotic? A vagina, then. The fashion photographer recounts the story of the guy with vaginas tattooed all over his body. Is that erotic? "Not to me," explains the photog. "Unfortunately, not to him anymore, either."
So, who's the tattoo for? Or breast implants for that matter? For whom does one go to the gym? The closer you look at this 'erotic' business -- exploring how and why erotic tattoos actually work -- the more complicated it gets. Let's step back and look at the big picture.
"There's something 'bad' about getting any kind of tattoo," says the well-tattooed professional woman. "It's flirting with danger."
Body art in general helps define us as individuals. The body as a work of art -- what better way to bring order to an existence that's increasingly chaotic and meaningless? Tattoos, just like strong opinions and expensive leather Italian shoes, provide certainty in an uncertain world. If we don't feel at home in our bodies, life proves pretty hopeless. Erotic tattoos, then, would seem to be the unique domain of those who feel especially comfortable in their own skin.
Never mind definitions, we know instinctively and immediately what's erotic. A recent trip to the local supermarket provides the perfect example. A young woman, a complete stranger, is squatting to price-compare porridge oats on the bottom shelf of aisle 9, exposing her lower back. At first glance she appears to be sporting the ubiquitous 'tramp stamp', the tattoo that lurks along the tropical latitudes of the female pantyline, except on closer look (okay, it's a blatant stare) they aren't panties at all, but a tattoo skillfully crafted to appear as such. Now, here's the point -- the observer (old enough to be the girl's grandfather) finds himself applying his imagination to her deeper 'no man's land'. He can't help himself, of course. She, on the other hand, has likely organized her attire for accidental viewings like this. Not that she wouldn't prefer someone younger, she would, but that hasn't stopped her tattoo from doing its erotic work.
"Anything under clothing is hidden and therefore 'erotic'," according to Justice Howard, a visual artist working in L.A. "It's very personal, like a child hoarding things in a little box. He empowers them by keeping them out of sight. 'I got it and you don't.' That kind of thing."
Most tattoos, like other forms of personal adornment, are objects of pride, and tend to be marched out at every opportunity as a sexual statement. But exhibitionism can dull the erotic edge. Someone who cuts a hole in their T-shirt to show off their tattoo -- forget erotic, is it even sexy? Yes, tattoos are increasingly coming out of hiding, but when it comes to erotic, something must be left to the imagination.
The intimate tattoo is hidden for a reason -- it's meant for special viewings only. Sure, accidental glimpses can happen in the supermarket (maybe not so accidental!) but otherwise the erotic tattoo requires an especially receptive audience.
"I was shooting portraits of a wrestler," says Justice Howard. "I asked him if I could shoot him nude. He whips off his clothes, revealing the most beautiful body with Hawaiian tribal tattoos. I love 'tribal' on a man, it's a turn-on, the way the lines graciously follow the curves of his musculature."
But for your average middle-class woman with an erotic tattoo, only her lovers will ever see it," according to tattoo historian Vince Hemingson. "It's her declaration that 'I am a sexual being!' I find that fascinating," says Hemingson, who speculates on how such a tattooed woman might think on a promising first date:
"Here's a guy who might get to see my tattoo."
French women have a similar relationship with their lingerie, for which they are reported to spend small fortunes. Though it remains hidden during the course of the day (no sleazy reveals, s'il vous plait!) they're drawing on the seductive power of these lacy undergarments, nevertheless. It's an act of self-seduction, isn't it? A strategy to feel good about herself, to be happy in her own skin. She walks around with a self confidence that proclaims, 'There's more to me than most people know.'
Do hidden tattoos work the same way? They can't entirely, since lingerie involves the possibility of it being removed, a highly erotic component of lingerie's seduction dynamic. But most erotic tattoos claim a sexual element that's unique among fashion accessories.
"By the fact that you have to be somewhat naked to show them off, tattoos are inherently sexy." That's Sharon Gregson speaking, 'the most tattooed politician in Canada' according to The National Post. But there's something else about tattoos -- any tattoo -- that make them erotic, Gregson explains. "The pain, it's painful to get them. The pain changes the nature of what it is."
Gregson, who sits on the Vancouver School Board, got her first tattoo at age 16. En route to Mexico with her girlfriends, the car broke down. "We were in Phoenix, and while we were there I got a 'rose' tattoo. It felt like flirting with danger, getting a tattoo from a guy named 'J.C.' Short for Jesus Christ. Definitely an erotic experience."
However much tattooing has entered the mainstream, Gregson claims there's still something inherently 'bad' about going under the needle. For years, Gregson has been hanging out in Tom Lockhart's Vancouver tattoo shop watching young girls get tattooed. "It was always exciting for them, undergoing the blood rite, making the leap to being a tattooed person while taking on the pain," says Gregson. "And the more tattoos you get, the more painful it's likely to be, since subsequent tattoos have a way of gravitating toward your erogenous zones."
For both client and tattooist, getting inked has the potential to be a sexually charged experience, which turns out to be a common observation among those who've been on the sharp end of the needle.
"Especially for a female being tattooed by a male," says Vince Hemingson, "you can't easily ignore the pain and blood and penetration. All that touching of body parts that rarely otherwise get touched. You can't help but compare it with the sexual dance between male and female. Most women can count on one hand the number of men who have touched them below the panty line. It's not surprising that so many love affairs have started in the tattoo parlour."

Justice Howard has observed many friends and strangers getting tattooed over the years, and reports that not everyone describes their tattoo experience as dripping with all that 'sexual' innuendo. Says, Howard, "Some people just like the pain."
"Yes, there are some who get off on that," says Marisa DiMattia, mistress of tattoo couture and the brains behind Needled.com. "The very act of leaning in to open up someone's skin and change them permanently is primal in itself. I've heard more than a handful of stories of clients coming to full orgasm while getting tattooed. But flirty clients tend to stop sexual advances once the pain of the needles take hold."
A less-than-scientific probe into the sexual nature of the tattoo experience appeared in the Kinsey Report, a ground-breaking study of sexual behavior of men and women (now half a century out of date). San Francisco tattooist, Phil Sparrow, volunteered to assist Alfred Kinsey by keeping a record of his clients' post-tattoo antics. Sparrow reported that immediately after receiving their first tattoo, 1724 clients had sex with their girl friend, 635 got into a fight, 231 got drunk, and 879 masturbated in front of a mirror while looking at their tattoo. Bearing in mind that male bravado most certainly distorted the results, tattoos and sex would seem to be natural bedfellows.
"But many tattoo artists studiously ignore the intimate act that the tattooing process actually is," says Hemingson. It's definitely time to visit some Vancouver tattoo studios, to learn first-hand how erotically charged the tattoo experience really is.
"Our tattoo artists don't do erotic," explains the receptionist with 'VERITAS' boldly inked across her chest. Well, excuse me. The bad news is they wouldn't talk 'truth', either, won't even return e-mails or phone calls. No foreplay at all.
A taboo within the tattoo world! Who woulda thought?



Source : http://www.vanishingtattoo.com/erotic_tattoos.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

Jenny Gardiner

Contrary to my surname, I am not a gardener. I kill everything I try to grow; thank goodness that hasn't applied to my children or pets.

So perhaps because of that shortcoming, I have the utmost respect for those with a gift for cultivating the soil and reaping a bounty of fantastical fruits and vegetables from a pile of compost and soil. Particularly because the only manure I am good at cultivating is the verbal kind.

I guess this is why I so look forward to my weekly visits to the farmer's market, that Saturday morning Mecca for devotees of all things farm fresh. And why I am sad that this weekend marks the end of the season. Because it is there that one can revel in the finest and freshest of what nature has to offer each summer, without sullying a fingernail, wrenching a back, or being maimed by an onslaught of mosquitoes and other predatory insects, all of which prevent me from favoring gardening as a pastime.

For years it was a tradition for my son and me to rise before dawn to arrive at the farmers market for first pick of whats available. Now that hes in college, he's rarely home to join me, and so instead I go as his emissary. And without his voice of reason, I am doomed to fall prey to my produce-shopping downfall: excessive culinary ambition.

You see, something about the farmers market elicits overly grandiose plans in me. I dont exactly intend to shop to excess. But overbuy is exactly what I do. Like a man who, in the heat of passion, prematurely blurts out false declarations of love, I, in my farmers market fervor, end up scooping up far more than any reasonable person could actually use before it goes bad. And like said man, I am sheepishly left to compensate for my foolish impulsivity.

By the time I leave the place each Saturday morning, I have flats of berries (after all, I can freeze them for future use!), sacks full of tomatoes (can you think of anything better than fresh-picked heirloom tomatoes on a hot summers day?), a dozen plus ears of corn (you never know what last-minute entertaining demands will arise), and lettuce for the masses.

I know that this binge-mentality is downright insane. All I need to do is return home after my shopping venture to realize that I have a crisper drawer full of the previous weeks spoils, spoiling. So before I can even put away what Ive bought, I must weed through the detritus of my previous farmers market extravaganza, shifting and cramming to make room for whats newer, better, of the moment.

There is that moment of relish that justifies it all, when I bite into a strawberry whose flood of sweet juices reminds me of why I go so overboard. Or with that first intoxicating morsel of local corn, so fresh the kernels are as tender as a babys skin. Or when I realize that my kids will eat vegetables, as long as they taste not chalky or overly processed, but as nature intended then to taste--with a hint of sweet and a burst of flavor, thus planting a seed of memory that will at some point leave them wanting more.

Sure, there are the many downsides to my excessive farmers market indulging--the swarm of fruit flies that invariably settle into that bowl of ripe peaches on the counter; the inevitable cucumber I find lost at the bottom of the vegetable bin, long past its days of use and rendered a puddle of its former self. And when I return home from my my market foray, my husband gets a little stressed out.

We'll never be able to use all this!" He laments, wringing his hands in despair at my inability to choose more pragmatically.

And I know hes right. Im the first one to admit that my culinary ambition far exceeds my allotment of free time in which I can devote myself to cooking. And so, week in and week out, I over-shop and watch things rot, while I open my refrigerator door and think, Damn, I really should do something with those fava beans before they turn black in there!

But on those occasions in which I find my time and interest intersecting at just the right moment, and I do get around to peeling and quartering the thirty peaches for fresh summertime pie, I know, for a brief moment, the effort and expenditure has been worth it.

And if nothing else, at least my money is helping to support that dying breed of artisans, the hard-working local farmers who toil in their fields despite the heat, the rain, the bugs and the backache, to provide us with the finest local foods available.
And as long as they keep up their end of the bargain, which keeps me out of the garden, Ill continue to support their efforts by successfully depleting their stocks, well into the autumn.

And when I pull out a my bag of frozen blueberries in January to bake a pie, the smell and taste evoking memories of summers past indulging in a succulent slice of pie on my grandmothers back porch, I know my excesses were worth it, if only for a fleeting moment.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

Erotic: 'pertaining to sexual desire'.
The key word is 'desire', the 'sexy' part of the definition a mere qualifier. In any event, these are only words, and conventional wisdom tell us that it takes a thousand of them to do the job of a single tattooed image. A tiger, for instance, an entire penis tattooed as a tiger. Is that erotic? Since when is a tiger erotic? A vagina, then. The fashion photographer recounts the story of the guy with vaginas tattooed all over his body. Is that erotic? "Not to me," explains the photog. "Unfortunately, not to him anymore, either."
So, who's the tattoo for? Or breast implants for that matter? For whom does one go to the gym? The closer you look at this 'erotic' business -- exploring how and why erotic tattoos actually work -- the more complicated it gets. Let's step back and look at the big picture.
"There's something 'bad' about getting any kind of tattoo," says the well-tattooed professional woman. "It's flirting with danger."
Body art in general helps define us as individuals. The body as a work of art -- what better way to bring order to an existence that's increasingly chaotic and meaningless? Tattoos, just like strong opinions and expensive leather Italian shoes, provide certainty in an uncertain world. If we don't feel at home in our bodies, life proves pretty hopeless. Erotic tattoos, then, would seem to be the unique domain of those who feel especially comfortable in their own skin.
Never mind definitions, we know instinctively and immediately what's erotic. A recent trip to the local supermarket provides the perfect example. A young woman, a complete stranger, is squatting to price-compare porridge oats on the bottom shelf of aisle 9, exposing her lower back. At first glance she appears to be sporting the ubiquitous 'tramp stamp', the tattoo that lurks along the tropical latitudes of the female pantyline, except on closer look (okay, it's a blatant stare) they aren't panties at all, but a tattoo skillfully crafted to appear as such. Now, here's the point -- the observer (old enough to be the girl's grandfather) finds himself applying his imagination to her deeper 'no man's land'. He can't help himself, of course. She, on the other hand, has likely organized her attire for accidental viewings like this. Not that she wouldn't prefer someone younger, she would, but that hasn't stopped her tattoo from doing its erotic work.
"Anything under clothing is hidden and therefore 'erotic'," according to Justice Howard, a visual artist working in L.A. "It's very personal, like a child hoarding things in a little box. He empowers them by keeping them out of sight. 'I got it and you don't.' That kind of thing."
Most tattoos, like other forms of personal adornment, are objects of pride, and tend to be marched out at every opportunity as a sexual statement. But exhibitionism can dull the erotic edge. Someone who cuts a hole in their T-shirt to show off their tattoo -- forget erotic, is it even sexy? Yes, tattoos are increasingly coming out of hiding, but when it comes to erotic, something must be left to the imagination.
The intimate tattoo is hidden for a reason -- it's meant for special viewings only. Sure, accidental glimpses can happen in the supermarket (maybe not so accidental!) but otherwise the erotic tattoo requires an especially receptive audience.
"I was shooting portraits of a wrestler," says Justice Howard. "I asked him if I could shoot him nude. He whips off his clothes, revealing the most beautiful body with Hawaiian tribal tattoos. I love 'tribal' on a man, it's a turn-on, the way the lines graciously follow the curves of his musculature."
But for your average middle-class woman with an erotic tattoo, only her lovers will ever see it," according to tattoo historian Vince Hemingson. "It's her declaration that 'I am a sexual being!' I find that fascinating," says Hemingson, who speculates on how such a tattooed woman might think on a promising first date:
"Here's a guy who might get to see my tattoo."
French women have a similar relationship with their lingerie, for which they are reported to spend small fortunes. Though it remains hidden during the course of the day (no sleazy reveals, s'il vous plait!) they're drawing on the seductive power of these lacy undergarments, nevertheless. It's an act of self-seduction, isn't it? A strategy to feel good about herself, to be happy in her own skin. She walks around with a self confidence that proclaims, 'There's more to me than most people know.'
Do hidden tattoos work the same way? They can't entirely, since lingerie involves the possibility of it being removed, a highly erotic component of lingerie's seduction dynamic. But most erotic tattoos claim a sexual element that's unique among fashion accessories.
"By the fact that you have to be somewhat naked to show them off, tattoos are inherently sexy." That's Sharon Gregson speaking, 'the most tattooed politician in Canada' according to The National Post. But there's something else about tattoos -- any tattoo -- that make them erotic, Gregson explains. "The pain, it's painful to get them. The pain changes the nature of what it is."
Gregson, who sits on the Vancouver School Board, got her first tattoo at age 16. En route to Mexico with her girlfriends, the car broke down. "We were in Phoenix, and while we were there I got a 'rose' tattoo. It felt like flirting with danger, getting a tattoo from a guy named 'J.C.' Short for Jesus Christ. Definitely an erotic experience."
However much tattooing has entered the mainstream, Gregson claims there's still something inherently 'bad' about going under the needle. For years, Gregson has been hanging out in Tom Lockhart's Vancouver tattoo shop watching young girls get tattooed. "It was always exciting for them, undergoing the blood rite, making the leap to being a tattooed person while taking on the pain," says Gregson. "And the more tattoos you get, the more painful it's likely to be, since subsequent tattoos have a way of gravitating toward your erogenous zones."
For both client and tattooist, getting inked has the potential to be a sexually charged experience, which turns out to be a common observation among those who've been on the sharp end of the needle.
"Especially for a female being tattooed by a male," says Vince Hemingson, "you can't easily ignore the pain and blood and penetration. All that touching of body parts that rarely otherwise get touched. You can't help but compare it with the sexual dance between male and female. Most women can count on one hand the number of men who have touched them below the panty line. It's not surprising that so many love affairs have started in the tattoo parlour."

Justice Howard has observed many friends and strangers getting tattooed over the years, and reports that not everyone describes their tattoo experience as dripping with all that 'sexual' innuendo. Says, Howard, "Some people just like the pain."
"Yes, there are some who get off on that," says Marisa DiMattia, mistress of tattoo couture and the brains behind Needled.com. "The very act of leaning in to open up someone's skin and change them permanently is primal in itself. I've heard more than a handful of stories of clients coming to full orgasm while getting tattooed. But flirty clients tend to stop sexual advances once the pain of the needles take hold."
A less-than-scientific probe into the sexual nature of the tattoo experience appeared in the Kinsey Report, a ground-breaking study of sexual behavior of men and women (now half a century out of date). San Francisco tattooist, Phil Sparrow, volunteered to assist Alfred Kinsey by keeping a record of his clients' post-tattoo antics. Sparrow reported that immediately after receiving their first tattoo, 1724 clients had sex with their girl friend, 635 got into a fight, 231 got drunk, and 879 masturbated in front of a mirror while looking at their tattoo. Bearing in mind that male bravado most certainly distorted the results, tattoos and sex would seem to be natural bedfellows.
"But many tattoo artists studiously ignore the intimate act that the tattooing process actually is," says Hemingson. It's definitely time to visit some Vancouver tattoo studios, to learn first-hand how erotically charged the tattoo experience really is.
"Our tattoo artists don't do erotic," explains the receptionist with 'VERITAS' boldly inked across her chest. Well, excuse me. The bad news is they wouldn't talk 'truth', either, won't even return e-mails or phone calls. No foreplay at all.
A taboo within the tattoo world! Who woulda thought?



Source : http://www.vanishingtattoo.com/erotic_tattoos.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

Jenny Gardiner

Contrary to my surname, I am not a gardener. I kill everything I try to grow; thank goodness that hasn't applied to my children or pets.

So perhaps because of that shortcoming, I have the utmost respect for those with a gift for cultivating the soil and reaping a bounty of fantastical fruits and vegetables from a pile of compost and soil. Particularly because the only manure I am good at cultivating is the verbal kind.

I guess this is why I so look forward to my weekly visits to the farmer's market, that Saturday morning Mecca for devotees of all things farm fresh. And why I am sad that this weekend marks the end of the season. Because it is there that one can revel in the finest and freshest of what nature has to offer each summer, without sullying a fingernail, wrenching a back, or being maimed by an onslaught of mosquitoes and other predatory insects, all of which prevent me from favoring gardening as a pastime.

For years it was a tradition for my son and me to rise before dawn to arrive at the farmers market for first pick of whats available. Now that hes in college, he's rarely home to join me, and so instead I go as his emissary. And without his voice of reason, I am doomed to fall prey to my produce-shopping downfall: excessive culinary ambition.

You see, something about the farmers market elicits overly grandiose plans in me. I dont exactly intend to shop to excess. But overbuy is exactly what I do. Like a man who, in the heat of passion, prematurely blurts out false declarations of love, I, in my farmers market fervor, end up scooping up far more than any reasonable person could actually use before it goes bad. And like said man, I am sheepishly left to compensate for my foolish impulsivity.

By the time I leave the place each Saturday morning, I have flats of berries (after all, I can freeze them for future use!), sacks full of tomatoes (can you think of anything better than fresh-picked heirloom tomatoes on a hot summers day?), a dozen plus ears of corn (you never know what last-minute entertaining demands will arise), and lettuce for the masses.

I know that this binge-mentality is downright insane. All I need to do is return home after my shopping venture to realize that I have a crisper drawer full of the previous weeks spoils, spoiling. So before I can even put away what Ive bought, I must weed through the detritus of my previous farmers market extravaganza, shifting and cramming to make room for whats newer, better, of the moment.

There is that moment of relish that justifies it all, when I bite into a strawberry whose flood of sweet juices reminds me of why I go so overboard. Or with that first intoxicating morsel of local corn, so fresh the kernels are as tender as a babys skin. Or when I realize that my kids will eat vegetables, as long as they taste not chalky or overly processed, but as nature intended then to taste--with a hint of sweet and a burst of flavor, thus planting a seed of memory that will at some point leave them wanting more.

Sure, there are the many downsides to my excessive farmers market indulging--the swarm of fruit flies that invariably settle into that bowl of ripe peaches on the counter; the inevitable cucumber I find lost at the bottom of the vegetable bin, long past its days of use and rendered a puddle of its former self. And when I return home from my my market foray, my husband gets a little stressed out.

We'll never be able to use all this!" He laments, wringing his hands in despair at my inability to choose more pragmatically.

And I know hes right. Im the first one to admit that my culinary ambition far exceeds my allotment of free time in which I can devote myself to cooking. And so, week in and week out, I over-shop and watch things rot, while I open my refrigerator door and think, Damn, I really should do something with those fava beans before they turn black in there!

But on those occasions in which I find my time and interest intersecting at just the right moment, and I do get around to peeling and quartering the thirty peaches for fresh summertime pie, I know, for a brief moment, the effort and expenditure has been worth it.

And if nothing else, at least my money is helping to support that dying breed of artisans, the hard-working local farmers who toil in their fields despite the heat, the rain, the bugs and the backache, to provide us with the finest local foods available.
And as long as they keep up their end of the bargain, which keeps me out of the garden, Ill continue to support their efforts by successfully depleting their stocks, well into the autumn.

And when I pull out a my bag of frozen blueberries in January to bake a pie, the smell and taste evoking memories of summers past indulging in a succulent slice of pie on my grandmothers back porch, I know my excesses were worth it, if only for a fleeting moment.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

Jenny Gardiner

Contrary to my surname, I am not a gardener. I kill everything I try to grow; thank goodness that hasn't applied to my children or pets.

So perhaps because of that shortcoming, I have the utmost respect for those with a gift for cultivating the soil and reaping a bounty of fantastical fruits and vegetables from a pile of compost and soil. Particularly because the only manure I am good at cultivating is the verbal kind.

I guess this is why I so look forward to my weekly visits to the farmer's market, that Saturday morning Mecca for devotees of all things farm fresh. And why I am sad that this weekend marks the end of the season. Because it is there that one can revel in the finest and freshest of what nature has to offer each summer, without sullying a fingernail, wrenching a back, or being maimed by an onslaught of mosquitoes and other predatory insects, all of which prevent me from favoring gardening as a pastime.

For years it was a tradition for my son and me to rise before dawn to arrive at the farmers market for first pick of whats available. Now that hes in college, he's rarely home to join me, and so instead I go as his emissary. And without his voice of reason, I am doomed to fall prey to my produce-shopping downfall: excessive culinary ambition.

You see, something about the farmers market elicits overly grandiose plans in me. I dont exactly intend to shop to excess. But overbuy is exactly what I do. Like a man who, in the heat of passion, prematurely blurts out false declarations of love, I, in my farmers market fervor, end up scooping up far more than any reasonable person could actually use before it goes bad. And like said man, I am sheepishly left to compensate for my foolish impulsivity.

By the time I leave the place each Saturday morning, I have flats of berries (after all, I can freeze them for future use!), sacks full of tomatoes (can you think of anything better than fresh-picked heirloom tomatoes on a hot summers day?), a dozen plus ears of corn (you never know what last-minute entertaining demands will arise), and lettuce for the masses.

I know that this binge-mentality is downright insane. All I need to do is return home after my shopping venture to realize that I have a crisper drawer full of the previous weeks spoils, spoiling. So before I can even put away what Ive bought, I must weed through the detritus of my previous farmers market extravaganza, shifting and cramming to make room for whats newer, better, of the moment.

There is that moment of relish that justifies it all, when I bite into a strawberry whose flood of sweet juices reminds me of why I go so overboard. Or with that first intoxicating morsel of local corn, so fresh the kernels are as tender as a babys skin. Or when I realize that my kids will eat vegetables, as long as they taste not chalky or overly processed, but as nature intended then to taste--with a hint of sweet and a burst of flavor, thus planting a seed of memory that will at some point leave them wanting more.

Sure, there are the many downsides to my excessive farmers market indulging--the swarm of fruit flies that invariably settle into that bowl of ripe peaches on the counter; the inevitable cucumber I find lost at the bottom of the vegetable bin, long past its days of use and rendered a puddle of its former self. And when I return home from my my market foray, my husband gets a little stressed out.

We'll never be able to use all this!" He laments, wringing his hands in despair at my inability to choose more pragmatically.

And I know hes right. Im the first one to admit that my culinary ambition far exceeds my allotment of free time in which I can devote myself to cooking. And so, week in and week out, I over-shop and watch things rot, while I open my refrigerator door and think, Damn, I really should do something with those fava beans before they turn black in there!

But on those occasions in which I find my time and interest intersecting at just the right moment, and I do get around to peeling and quartering the thirty peaches for fresh summertime pie, I know, for a brief moment, the effort and expenditure has been worth it.

And if nothing else, at least my money is helping to support that dying breed of artisans, the hard-working local farmers who toil in their fields despite the heat, the rain, the bugs and the backache, to provide us with the finest local foods available.
And as long as they keep up their end of the bargain, which keeps me out of the garden, Ill continue to support their efforts by successfully depleting their stocks, well into the autumn.

And when I pull out a my bag of frozen blueberries in January to bake a pie, the smell and taste evoking memories of summers past indulging in a succulent slice of pie on my grandmothers back porch, I know my excesses were worth it, if only for a fleeting moment.

Similar posts: erotic drawing

by Jenny Gardiner

Contrary to my surname, I am not a gardener. I kill everything I try to grow; thank goodness that hasn't applied to my children or pets.

So perhaps because of that shortcoming, I have the utmost respect for those with a gift for cultivating the soil and reaping a bounty of fantastical fruits and vegetables from a pile of compost and soil. Particularly because the only manure I am good at cultivating is the verbal kind.

I guess this is why I so look forward to my weekly visits to the farmer's market, that Saturday morning Mecca for devotees of all things farm fresh. And why I am sad that this weekend marks the end of the season. Because it is there that one can revel in the finest and freshest of what nature has to offer each summer, without sullying a fingernail, wrenching a back, or being maimed by an onslaught of mosquitoes and other predatory insects, all of which prevent me from favoring gardening as a pastime.

For years it was a tradition for my son and me to rise before dawn to arrive at the farmers market for first pick of whats available. Now that hes in college, he's rarely home to join me, and so instead I go as his emissary. And without his voice of reason, I am doomed to fall prey to my produce-shopping downfall: excessive culinary ambition.

You see, something about the farmers market elicits overly grandiose plans in me. I dont exactly intend to shop to excess. But overbuy is exactly what I do. Like a man who, in the heat of passion, prematurely blurts out false declarations of love, I, in my farmers market fervor, end up scooping up far more than any reasonable person could actually use before it goes bad. And like said man, I am sheepishly left to compensate for my foolish impulsivity.

By the time I leave the place each Saturday morning, I have flats of berries (after all, I can freeze them for future use!), sacks full of tomatoes (can you think of anything better than fresh-picked heirloom tomatoes on a hot summers day?), a dozen plus ears of corn (you never know what last-minute entertaining demands will arise), and lettuce for the masses.

I know that this binge-mentality is downright insane. All I need to do is return home after my shopping venture to realize that I have a crisper drawer full of the previous weeks spoils, spoiling. So before I can even put away what Ive bought, I must weed through the detritus of my previous farmers market extravaganza, shifting and cramming to make room for whats newer, better, of the moment.

There is that moment of relish that justifies it all, when I bite into a strawberry whose flood of sweet juices reminds me of why I go so overboard. Or with that first intoxicating morsel of local corn, so fresh the kernels are as tender as a babys skin. Or when I realize that my kids will eat vegetables, as long as they taste not chalky or overly processed, but as nature intended then to taste--with a hint of sweet and a burst of flavor, thus planting a seed of memory that will at some point leave them wanting more.

Sure, there are the many downsides to my excessive farmers market indulging--the swarm of fruit flies that invariably settle into that bowl of ripe peaches on the counter; the inevitable cucumber I find lost at the bottom of the vegetable bin, long past its days of use and rendered a puddle of its former self. And when I return home from my my market foray, my husband gets a little stressed out.

We'll never be able to use all this!" He laments, wringing his hands in despair at my inability to choose more pragmatically.

And I know hes right. Im the first one to admit that my culinary ambition far exceeds my allotment of free time in which I can devote myself to cooking. And so, week in and week out, I over-shop and watch things rot, while I open my refrigerator door and think, Damn, I really should do something with those fava beans before they turn black in there!

But on those occasions in which I find my time and interest intersecting at just the right moment, and I do get around to peeling and quartering the thirty peaches for fresh summertime pie, I know, for a brief moment, the effort and expenditure has been worth it.

And if nothing else, at least my money is helping to support that dying breed of artisans, the hard-working local farmers who toil in their fields despite the heat, the rain, the bugs and the backache, to provide us with the finest local foods available.
And as long as they keep up their end of the bargain, which keeps me out of the garden, Ill continue to support their efforts by successfully depleting their stocks, well into the autumn.

And when I pull out a my bag of frozen blueberries in January to bake a pie, the smell and taste evoking memories of summers past indulging in a succulent slice of pie on my grandmothers back porch, I know my excesses were worth it, if only for a fleeting moment.

Similar posts: erotic drawing