Samhain Salutations!

I thought we'd start our round up with a vampire... those are fangs on either side of her mouth, aren't they?

Followed by a scene that you probably don't see played out in church very often. At least, not by the Anglicans.

And, finally, one which is just plain silly. Happy Halloween, everyone!

Braid the Raven Hair

Rearranging some bookshelves today, and lost in the dreamscapes of Kushiel's Dart, my beloved old copy of Gilbert & Sullivan fell open to a few lines that obviously meant a lot to me once, and still strike a chord today.

And so, in the interests of things that 99% of this blog's regular readers probably don't care a hoot about... well, not here, anyway...

BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR
Braid the raven hair,
Weave the supple tress,
Deck the maiden fair
In her loveliness;
Paint the pretty face,
Dye the coral lip,
Emphasise the grace
Of her ladyship!

On target!

Just one of those lucky shots!

The Bad Girl's Sweet Kiss

THE WAIT IS FINALLY OVER!

The e-mailman came calling today and, hot off the presses, clutched in his sweaty little cyber hand, a copy of THE BAD GIRL'S SWEET KISS, an anthology of oral sex stories (of course) compiled by Chrissie Bentley and featuring no less than four contributions from me... three verses, including the title poem, and a short piece of prose.

The e-book is available now from Xcite Books, price 2.99 in UK money, and also features stories and verse by CHRISSIE BENTLEY, ANGEL PROPPS, SANDRA W, GARLAND,
JANINE WADDINGTON, JENNIFER O’DONNELL, MARION MORE, KAREN, REENA DUFFY, ELEANOR POWELL, ELIZABETH COLDWELL, DORLA MOOREHOUSE, BL MORTICIA, OLIVIA LONDON, JULIA JONES, ALLISON WONDERLAND, SHADOW MANDOLL, LISA GREENE, PAUL MANDRAKE, GISELLE RENARDE, CIARA DALLAS, IVANNA CAMELOT, CLARICE CLIQUE,BEVERLY MARSH, MARIE CARLSON,
SOPHIE ORLEE, JOSEPHINE MYLES, ASHLEIGH LAKE and LARRY.

I haven't even started to read yet, so I can't tell you any more... so maybe you should just trot off and buy your own copy.

Breakfast Time

I have a friend, a very dear friend, who woke me up this morning with the news that she has a Pavlovian Pussy. That the mention of a certain name, the thought of a certain face, the memory of a certain night, are all it takes to set her pussy salivating uncontrollably, no matter where or when it happens.

It’s a sensation that we are all familiar with, whether we choose to use a term for it or not. A smell, a taste… and not necessarily immediately sexual ones, either. The smell of the perfume I was wearing the first time I met her, the feel of the purse I was carrying as I fumbled for my keys, the candy bar we shared for breakfast the next day, because someone had neglected to do any shopping that week and was living off vending machines till her next day off.

Other things. A picture that I’d posted on my blog a few days earlier… one that I love for a lot of very private reasons, all of which she repeated when she remarked upon it herself. I look at the picture now and I don’t see the imagery that drew me to it in the first place; I hear her voice outlining a love that in turn leads into a fantasy that I thought was mine alone. And Pavlov’s Pussy salivates.

Certain songs, certain sounds, certain textures and, most of all, certain words. Because, beyond all and every physical, visual and sensorial stimulus that we consider play a major part in attracting us to someone, and particularly once the initial impact of those things has waned, the power of the word is the one that holds me spellbound, because it is a power that shifts, drifts and changes as many times as there are words in the language.

Today, the word… well, words… is “Pavlovian Pussy.” Tomorrow it or they might be something else entirely. And all I have to do is listen for them.

Meanwhile, back in the real world...

There's this really strange overlap occurring... regular readers will know that I discovered the world of Second Life a few weeks back; personal acquaintances will know that I've more or less become hopelessly addicted to it; and a handful of especially close friends will know better than to try and stage an intervention, because now they've all got sucked into it as well. Whatever did we do with our lives before computers came long to replace them?



Anyway... the overlap. What a weird feeling it is, when someone walks into the club where my SL alias, the immortally named Jennys Willful, works, and says they were directed here by my blog. Reality lurches into fantasy and some incredible conversations have ensued. But what about when people I know only in Second Life start turning up in reality, commenting on blog posts and generally joining in the fun?

I love it, of course. But sometimes when I go to bed, and those drifting-into-sleep visions start swirling around my head, that's when the friends I've made in one place really start to become people I know in others. And the last thought before I fall asleep leaves me wondering whether the stranger I fell in lust with tonight really did walk up to me in that club I was at earlier? Or is she just a figment of somebody else's computer's imagination?



One day, somebody will be publishing a long socio-psychological discourse on the long-term effects that a second life has had on the ways we inter-act with one another. They may already have started, and I look forward to reading it.

In the meantime, in a reality that is studded with political correctness, and nobody dares say what they really think or feel for fear of being slapped with a harrassment lawsuit, there is something SO refreshing about having a cute guy, or girl, or elf or vampire or dragon or cat or any of the thousands of other sentient permutations that roam the virtual world, walk up and ask the only question that any of us really want to be asked.

"Hey sexy, wanna fuck?"

A picture so good you can almost taste it

Sometimes, a photograph just makes your toes curl and your mouth water, and this is one of them.

My friends at We Are The People... posted this picture a few weeks ago, and if I didn't have to worry about neighbors looking in through the window, I'd have had it blown up and framed lifesize on my wall. Instead, I'll make do with it as a screensaver.

Guys I'd Really Like to Suck (GIRLS)

A guy whose cock is so huge that, at first, I don't think I'll even be able to get my mouth around him. So fat that I'm sure that my jaw will snap. But so delicious that I'm willing to die trying.

I slick his shaft with spit, soak his flesh while I wet my lips, lick every inch of him and then slowly, gently, let my lips shape around his tip, feel my jaw relax and my mouth grow wider... it might take a while, but who wants to rush a job like this?

Because once I've got him... he's there to stay.

Until I'm ready to let him go. Or come....

Role reversal

On my knees and dreaming

We kiss and slowly she pushes my head down her body, slowly unbuttoning her blouse as my mouth moves towards her breasts. I part the fabric and kiss first one, then the other - I suck her nipples but she is impatient; she is unbuttoned to the waist now and her fingers are on the waistband of her pants.

I kiss down, teasing the firm flesh of her belly, slipping my tongue inside her navel, my eyes closed as I drink in the beauty of her taste and fragrance. I hear the soft hiss of her zip and the gentle pressure of her hand as it pushes me further.

And I gasp as my mouth meets hardness, not hair; strength, not softness; prick, not pussy; and I wonder, as I suck her inside me, how it would feel to be a guy in this position, bedding a beautiful babe for the first time, going through all the usual preliminaries, the foreplay, the feeling, the building of desire - and then finding cock, not cunt, at the end of the rainbow?

The thought excites me, thrills me, fills me with the need to be filled by her, and I open my throat and my jaw wide and I plunge, feeling her in my throat, plunging and pushing, burying her pubes in my cheeks and pumping me, her hands on either side of my head as she fucks, and I fuck her back because we both need the same thing now. And when we get it - what a beautiful, wonderful way to drown.