Serotonin

“Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets. Andy Warhol”

OK, just wondering how much of a dose of reality we need here, especially when this is a site where people come to hopefully be entertained, and suspend their disbeliefs.

Are my scribblings a manifestation of how I want my life to be? Or how it actually is? The truth is a little from column A at times, and a little from column B . Sure, the stuff I write is more exciting and jacked-up than in real life. That’s the essential element of fiction. A story is nothing more than a story. But when it comes to a real, fulfilling, actual sex life, I take a bit of a Buddhist approach. Always seek to improve. Embrace new experiences. Always seek perfection but all the while realising that perfection is unobtainable. If you sex life doesn’t excite you in some way, even at a basic level, then you need an education!

Works with many other things in life too.

S.

“Life without sex might be safer but it would be unbearably dull.  It is the sex instinct which makes women seem beautiful, which they are once in a blue moon, and men seem wise and brave, which they never are at all.  Throttle it, denaturalize it, take it away, and human existence would be reduced to the prosaic, laborious, boresome, imbecile level of life in an anthill.  ~Henry Louis Mencken.”

One of the reasons I started writing erotic fiction, and blogging about my passion is it allows me to talk without it having such a disastrous effect on my life. I have been fired from jobs, I have lost good friends, and I have upset family members. The thing is, I have still loved every minute of it. I am unashamed and unrepentant.

Continue reading “A message for the uptight” »

Ninja Sex?

I have to admit, it’s kind of fun trying to do it quiet sometimes. Almost a challenge to see if you can make the other person make a noise. The bite and scratch marks on your body can take a while to fade though. Blame it on an angry kitty.

S.

Check this out! A friend posted this on facebook. Says what we all think from time-to-time.

Well, those of us that choose to think that is…

S.

“There’s nothing better than good sex.  But bad sex?  A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is better than bad sex.  - Billy Joel”

I have a friend who would disagree. He used to have a similar quote, which would be aimed at you at least twice a week regardless of how often you heard it, followed by the usual goatish laughter at his own joke. It went something like this:

“Sex is like pizza. Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good – Anonymous Friend”

I have to admit, I’m yet to turn both of those down. Same with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

S.

“My reaction to porn films is as follows: After the first ten minutes, I want to go home and screw. After the first 20 minutes, I never want to screw again as long as I live” – Erica Jong, Playboy Magazine, September 1975

Especially when they hang upside down from the roof, bend each other’s limbs here and there, jam the other’s head in the floor or scream the same rehearsed line over and over, in a bored tone of voice. Then again, maybe I’m just not looking at the right stuff…

Just what the hell have I been watching!?

S.

“Sex. In America an obsession. In other parts of the world a fact”

So very true. The western world has such a polarising, confused and contradictory attitude towards anything remotely sexual. Here’s a few, but no means all, of these sub-culture types:

• Sub-culture “never, ever have sex, except when we want to pop children out. Enjoying it while doing so will result in severe punishment when you die. But the rules only apply to you guys at the bottom.”
• Sub-culture “Free love man, let it all hang out. Peace, love and bean sprouts. The only problem is I smoke so much weed I’m too numb to enjoy it, and smell so bad I can’t get it.”
• Sub-culture “we love it too! Let’s use it to sell products, ram our opinions down various throats or just use it to entertain, or fuck with everyone” (I think some of that might be me).
• Subculture “we only have nice, suburban, no-frills, middle class sex once a month, on a set day, and better not make it too interesting. It’s given us two regulation, apple-cheeked children and an addiction to Valium and designer anti-depressants.” I hate these guys.

I also would like to personally thank another group for the rhythm method of contraception, without which I wouldn’t be on this earth today.

S.

After taking quite some time away from writing, and with all the distractions of my music career, plus the need to earn a living, I have decided to take this up again.

This used to be a generic wordpress-hosted site, which means I didn’t own it, but wordpress did. In return I got a free website to park my dirty scribblings on. When I started writing again, i realised I wanted to kick things up a to a new level with a professional, dedicated website to showcase my erotic fiction and musings, so here we are.

The funny thing about writing for me is that the editing process is never done. Even with reposting some of these older stories from the other website, I had to heroically restrain myself from having another crack at them and polishing even further, but hey, at some stage you just have to let them go and let a story be a story. Now that I’m back into it again, there are several newbies on the go. Once they go through the peer review machine, and I have dried my tears from all the criticism, they will be here for you to enjoy.

Bring on 2012!

S.

I was working the late shift at the general store, trying to save up for the junk that eighteen year old boys buy their girlfriends in the hope of finally getting some. My girlfriend Sandy had finally shown up just as I had hung the closed sign on the door. We were drinking the two bottles of coke I had pilfered from the fridge, when Sandy made a nice casually-worded little comment that made my heart leap in my chest and start hammering like Thor against my ribcage.

“Oh, by the way Mattie, he knows about us, he’s on his way around here shortly.”

This little gem was sprung on me in the matter-of-fact-way that other girls would use when talking about a movie they liked, or a piece of jewelry they fancied. Sandy’s a cute girl. White-blond hair, hot body, however, just not very bright. How I ended up with the stereotypical popular chick is anyone’s guess, being thin, weedy and having floppy brown hair that gives me a passing resemblance to an adolescent beagle.

“What!” I yelled, jumping up from where I sat cross-legged on the counter.

“He knows about us,” she repeated calmly in that sing-song voice some people use when instructing small children. I groaned and buried my head in my hands. “He” was Sandy’s dad, otherwise known as Ivan “Bloodthirsty” Drager, the overly protective professional wrestler who was a certifiable psychotic, in and out of the ring.

“I’m dead!” I said. “Stone, cold dead. And we haven’t even slept together or done anything yet.” Sandy rolled her baby blue eyes.

Continue reading “Sandy’s Dad” »

He was gorgeous! When I saw him I knew immediately that he was my entertainment for the day. He came out of the store with my latest CD clutched in his hands, flipping through the booklet, his brown hair tumbling onto his forehead. Being a hot, famous female rock goddess has its drawbacks. Endless autographs, endless touring and exhausting schedules. But it also has its advantages. The cities are my playground and I love cruising in my limo and interacting with my fans. At times like this I remember what my first manager said to me. “Only men sleep with groupies Gemma. Women just have stalkers.” He didn’t last long.

I leaned forward and rapped on the partition, which slid down revealing the ancient and servile features of Parker, my driver. “Pull over in front of him” I instructed. “Go up on the pavement if necessary.” Parker rolled his eyes theatrically as if to say “here we go again.” But he obligingly turned the steering wheel toward the kerb.

The fan jumped back as my limo cut him off with a screech of tires. “Watch where the fuck you’re going!” he shouted, clearly pissed at being jerked out of his fantasy, which was probably about me.

I opened the door slowly, letting him get good look at the slice of thigh I had on display. I dressed especially for these occasions. Today it was a ragged fishnet body stocking under which decidedly slutty black lingerie covered my pink nipples and pussy. Silence descended as all his protests dried up.

Continue reading “Gemma’s Playtime” »