Short Strokes: NEAR and Dear

Saturday, January 31, 2015 No comments
Another piece from my writing class that had been under consideration but that has now been rejected.  It's also another one off meaning at the moment I have no where to go with it in my head.  I need to finish another series and get to editing The Alphabet Game now that I have it back from Lorelei Logsdon who edited it in under a week as opposed to the last go round that stretched on for months and gave me next to squat for my trouble.  New laptop is finally all set up so both of those are on tap for the coming weeks.

N.E.A.R. and Dear

Jamaica Knox was bored as usual.  Her bronze skin glistened a bit as she watched the sun reflecting off the polish on her toes.  Her breasts were still taut and full but there was no one there to appreciate them.  It was just her and grandmother alone in a large rambling home.  At 20, she hadn’t seen much of the world outside of her family estate.  She stood on her front porch staring out at nothing really.  She draped her 5’4’’ inch frame on the porch swing and let her hair swing in the breeze.  This is how she spent most of her time when she wasn’t daydreaming about what her life might be like somewhere else, anywhere else.  There had to be more than a porch swing on a wraparound porch in the middle of an isolated fortress.  

The closest neighbors were over five miles away.  They were older and their kids had all left home years ago.  Leaving was a common theme around the area.  Her grandmother was fixed on her perch in the living room watching 21st century television and her parents were off on yet another adventure.  Jennifer and Samuel Knox had been her first dose of leaving and longing.  Her parents had thankfully blended together after the identified mate ritual but that was partially because they shared a desire for something more.  They raised her and loved her dearly but as soon they had reached their obligatory time as parents they packed up, promised to check in and left the planet on the first thing smoking.  They had spent very little time at home since she had turned sixteen. 
There was little for her to fear at this point.  Crime had been eradicated on all of the outer world planets.  Most illness could be addressed at home via their medical pods and there hadn’t been a natural disaster, famine, or war in over three centuries.  Part of that was due to the last major conflict that happened 2057 on OE.  No one really discussed the dismantling of Original Earth.  When most of what had been the Middle East had been bombed into oblivion apparently the leaders of the rest of the planet decided it was time to relocate before they got even more out of hand.  Frightened citizens from every major and minor nation boarded long range shuttles and headed out into the darkness of space.  Her ancestors had chosen one of the more isolated settlements and thus she was safe, healthy, bright, and bored out of her skull for the moment on the lovely planet New Earth Associated Resettlement.  

Jamaica had always called it NEAR like the other people her age.  They had never experienced a bad day in their lives.  Neither had OE since the mass exodus.  Apparently relocating hundreds of millions of citizens had caused those there to calm the heck down.  It wasn’t the panacea of most of the off Earth settlements but generally speaking they were doing well.  The ozone layer had been repaired, famine had been a long ago thing that most people had no tangible experience of, there were plenty of jobs and homes and whatever else interested them.  The thing that made Jamaica envious though was the residents of OE were able to do things that were explicitly banned on NEAR.  There was no freedom to just be and explore and let your curiosity run wild.  Kissing a classmate in junior high could get you expelled if they weren’t your identified mate.  What she wouldn’t have done to spend one day at home with the memory of someone’s kiss on her lips.

The settlement leaders kept everything in order by restricting every option they could possibly have.  Food options were directed towards their honed palettes, meant to provide nourishment but not enjoyment.  Clothing tended to arrive in the colors their pupils dilated most to when they were witnessed, functional and comfortable, but nothing that got them excited.  Music was designed to make you feel good and keep you calm, nothing more, nothing less.  And sex outside of a recognized arranged partnership was expressly forbidden.  No foreplay, no anticipation of meeting your lover, just your identified mate and prescribed life.  If you broke the fraternization rule at all you could be shunned by everyone or “reprogrammed” if your mistake was deemed minor.  Grandma Joan had been reprogrammed for experimenting with a neighborhood girl.  Jamaica’s parents, especially her mother, had learned from Grandma Joan’s mistake. They never did anything to violate the rules of NEAR but they had abandoned her here to go explore the universe and one of the things that had been leaked in one of the old Earth entertainment that was readily supplied.  Jamaica hadn’t yet learned what motivation could come from longing.  Even if she had, no matter how interesting it might have been, she couldn’t act on it—at least not without being very careful and very private.

Her grandfather hadn’t been as careful as he needed to be so he packed up eventually as well.  Grandpa Steven had left not long after her parents.  He felt as though he had done his time in hell and he wanted to live out the last years of his life anywhere that felt more real, to see what pleasures and undiscovered things the universe had left to offer him.  He wanted to kiss a woman who wasn’t his wife.  He wanted to lounge around and watch what was referred to as pornography but just appeared to be racy movies from before the OE conflict.  So he disappeared days before the reprogramming was set to commence.  That left her and Grandma Joan alone unless her friends or siblings stopped by.  As long as food was ready on schedule and Jamaica was there to eat with her, Joan largely ignored Jamaica.  That was helpful because it allowed Jamaica the freedom to explore without fear of reprisal from the only family member who hadn’t abandoned her to chase their own need fulfilment. 
A few months shy of her twenty-first birthday Jamaica ventured out one night with friends after Joan had gone up to her bedroom.  Her friends from secondary school had told her about a growing underground scene that was nothing like their daily experience.  There were allegedly all manner of decadent things to explore, from the food to the people.  They promised her that her senses would be overwhelmed and she would never be the same again.  Jamaica was sure that it felt more clandestine than it really was but she wanted to do anything but spend another night alone taking an unnecessarily long bubble bath and going to bed.  They journeyed out to a massive expanse of desert and stood on the edge of a large lake.  This was the way of NEAR, create a vast empty space, pretty but abandoned, then adorn it with an equally pretty but out of place thing.  She hadn’t been to OE but she was almost positive there would be not be very many ten mile wide lakes in the epicenter of a desert.  Still it was captivating.  That juxtaposition of natural and unnatural gave birth to the hidden world she was about to enter.  A voice emerged from the darkness.

“Please leave any traces of your real identity in your vehicle.  Be sure to enable the masking cloak that was provided to you so that your car is not spotted randomly in the area by overseers.  When you are ready please step on the platform.”

As soon as the voice stopped speaking a burnished silver disc emerged from the sand.  They stepped onto it and began to disappear beneath the sand.  Jamaica panicked briefly, thinking that the sand would fall in on them but her friend Denise convinced her they would be all right.  She tapped on the clear glass tube surrounding them and hugged Jamaica.  When they finally made it to the street level of the underground Jamaica was caught off guard by what she saw.  Music was blaring from a number of what appeared to be nightclubs styled after 21st century buildings.  There were a few cars scattered about that you could drive through the city streets.  And then Jamaica saw something that captured her attention and she went running full steam towards the entrance.  Her friends looked at each other and then back in her general direction before shaking their heads and walking another direction.  George broke the silence first.

“Who comes here and gets excited about a book store?”

It didn’t make sense to anyone else as they went to explore what was available and intriguing to their senses.  Jamaica nearly tripped through the door.  There were books, actual books, not digital maps or touch screens.  She fingered through a few pages before the lone other shopper noticed her.  She went from aisle to aisle, touching, giggling, getting oddly aroused by the smell of the old paper between the bindings.  She had always been fascinated by the concept of books when she was a small child.  She only saw them on what counted as their television but the fact that people seemed so enraptured by what was on those pages had always captivated her.  She was so lost in her exploration that she didn’t realize that anyone was following her or even in the store.  As she rounded a corner towards the racier fare, her companion finally spoke.

“Excuse me, I hope I didn’t frighten you.  My name is Arthur.  I had to speak because I haven’t seen anyone here in the year I’ve been exploring this place.” 

Arthur was just shy of six feet tall and wiry.  His skin was a smooth rich chocolate color and she found herself wanting to lick it to see what he tasted like.  As she continued to look at him she thought he was handsome and his voice felt like it was hugging her when he spoke.  His face was partially covered by a full thick beard that she was intrigued by.  She wanted to touch it but felt that would be intrusive.  He looked strong and she just wanted to fall into his arms.  She felt a stirring in her body that was both foreign and welcome. She let out a quick gasp and then laughed at herself.  What could really happen in a bookstore?  “My name is Jamaica.  I’ve never seen a book in person so I had to stop in.  I hope I wasn’t interrupting you.”

They both smiled and realized that if they never wanted to see each other in the store they wouldn’t have to.  It was fairly large and if you were tucked in one corner wouldn’t notice anyone else come or go.  But yet here they were, staring at one another like they were slices of birthday cake, one of the few indulgences that had been held over from OE.  And so it was that Arthur found his Jamaica.  They spent the next few hours talking. He showed her the books he really liked and thought she might as well.  Shakespeare, Anne Rice, Hemingway, Vonnegut and then all of the girly fiction he had worked through, some of it better than others.  She found it fascinating that he wasn’t overtly hitting on her and he was amazed any halfway attractive young woman was in a bookstore.
They were heading towards the front entrance when her friends stumbled through the door looking disheveled.  She didn’t want to ask what they had been up to but took it as a cue that it was probably time to go.  She looked back at Arthur and they exchanged another generous smile. 

“Until next time, my dear sweet Jamaica.”  He bent over at the waist and gave her a generous flourish of his right arm.

She smiled and was dragged out of the store by her companions.  As they ascended back to the desert lake, they pummeled her with questions.  Who was he?  What had they been doing? Did she really spend the last few hours playing with dusty old books?  What kind of person comes here without hoping to do something illegal?  They couldn’t possibly understand what had just happened to her.  At that moment, neither could she, but it was the beginning of the rest of her life.

She had ventured back many times both with her friends and alone over the next six months.  Each time she headed to the bookstore looking for Arthur.  She found him more often than she didn’t but on the days she was there alone she found a corner chair and thumbed the pages as fast as she could.  Some nights they ended up in tangled in each other’s arms while one of them attempted to read their chosen novel between kisses.  She was feeling adventurous one night and explore the love and sexuality tomes while she had the store to herself.  As her eyes scanned pages, she felt her body react in ways it hadn’t completely before now.  Her breath was catching in her throat a bit and her nipples were becoming tight against her red and white polka dotted sundress.  She pulled her skirt around her waist and took off her panties as she compared her sex to that on the pages.  The women in the drawings looked to be enjoying themselves, especially when they were connected to another body physically but she had never contemplated what it would feel like before that night.  She redressed quickly and went home to a fitful aroused dream.

In it, Arthur was there, hugged close to her back and completely naked.  She could feel his erection against her thigh was beginning to throb.  Feeling totally out of sorts, she reached between her legs and guided him inside of her.  She mewed as he broke through another level of her resistance.  She moaned softly and began to cry as he moved gently inside of her wetness.  He bit into her shoulder as she arched back against his body.  They continued to rock together for a bit until his fingers sought out her clit and twirled it between his fingers.  She bucked against him as her orgasm overtook her.  He smiled in her ear and whispered, “Sweet honey.”  She awoke with stickiness between her thighs and wanted nothing more than to get back to their store.

He was there waiting for her.  He lit up after seeing her come through the door but suddenly started looking serious as she moved towards him.  She pulled the book she had been glancing through off the shelf and showed him what she had been reading, The New Joy of Sex.

“Have you done this before Arthur?” she asked as she flipped to one of the more complicated pairings.  She was urgent, insistent, and nearly feral even though she hadn’t really understood the concept of lust until she met him.

He shook his head no.  “I haven’t been that adventurous yet Jamaica.  Yes, I’ve had sex but it wasn’t as intense as people made it out to be.  Maybe you have to be invested in the person for it to be better.”

She stepped closer to him and cocked her head to the side before she asked her next question.  “Are you invested in me, Arthur?”  Before he could speak again she kissed him.  Deeper than any of their other kisses had been and long enough that both of their bodies began to warm up.  He pushed her away for a moment and asked if she was sure that she wanted to go further. 

She responded by unzipping her dress and asking him to help her step out of it.  She led him to a storeroom they had found a few weeks back when they got tired of being in the main storefront.  On a completely out of place leather sofa she waited naked while he undressed.  She motioned for him to sit on the sofa next to her and she watched his erection twitch in the cold air as he did so.  Her eyes got large and her hands reached out for his dick impulsively.  She stroked him gently, letting her fingers dance around the tip.  He felt like nothing that had been in her hands before.  More give than the only thing she could think of like it but still harder and more urgent than she could have imagined.  His breath started to become ragged as she explored him with all the curiosity of a young child.  They were nimble and soft and she seemed insistent on making him rigid.  When she was satisfied with her machinations she climbed into his lap.

She slid down onto him as slowly as he had entered her in her dream.  The pressure was amazing.  She felt full, light, bursting with energy and like she was floating at the same time.  Her walls clenched around his shaft and she felt a tug that she had never experienced before.  His mouth found her nipples and added to the heat that was creeping over her body.  The pressure got more intense, which made her hips pick up their pace.  Soon she was gyrating on him like she was unhinged and she had her first orgasm.  As the shudders racked her body, Arthur held her close and repeated the words from her dream.  And so it was that Jamaica was bonded to Arthur. 

Each time they met after that they would read, explore the sexuality or erotica sections and then act out whatever caught their attention.  They changed positions, locations and orifices at will.  The first time she took him in her mouth he almost exploded immediately and she lapped at his juices like they were the only thing promising her salvation.  When he let his mouth explore her folds, she trembled and shook so much he was afraid he had broken her.  Her orgasm was so long and loud that they both looked sheepish when it was over.  Sheepish and horny as a dog in heat, touching each other was the only thing that seemed to extinguish the fire. They tried as often as they could to exhaust one another. 

They were in the throes of a steamy and intense session when the sirens went off.  Initially she thought they were in her head and meant her body was going to explode from the inside out.  When she heard the screams they broke away from each other and got dressed in a rush.  They barely made it out of the bookstore before they were separated from one another.  Guards were shoving them towards separate holding areas for processing.  The lights went dark and suddenly they were rushed into the emergency pods.  Jamaica made it home without being stopped but she had no idea what had become of Arthur and what would happen to anyone they had captured underground.

The invasion of their underground cell hadn’t been a fluke.  A young man had fled after impregnating a girl he had met there.  This wouldn’t have been a major issue except she was the daughter of the undersecretary of the Defense Ministry, Chairman Louis Paulson.  He had not taken the news well that his oldest child was pregnant and had been traipsing around underground violating the edicts of NEAR.  He turned her over to the scientists that handled the reprogramming and let them violate her brain until they had found the location of the cell.  She had essentially been lobotomized as a result.  Never one to accept the blame, like all of the NEAR leaders, he had launched a full out assault on the underground dwellings.

Chairman Paulson spent the next eight months eradicating what the nightly propaganda called, “the most insidious ill that has ever plagued our peaceful planet.”  Each underground cell they found was raided and destroyed.  It was dismantled on the local news and the dissidents’ names and faces were periodically shown on the screen as well.  Dissidents were anyone that deemed to try to enjoy a life that was not part of their script.  Those that were captured were isolated and reprogrammed to the point they may not recall their past lives.  They had to restore balance became the rallying cry of the government.  Eventually a curfew was imposed so that it became illegal to be anywhere other than your domicile after dark.  Life that had already been heavily controlled slowly began to be no life at all.

The fact that there was now no safe place and no safe way to indulge in anything remotely pleasurable was starting to cause a series of riots.  Apparently, those cells had allowed the residents of NEAR to burn off those baser instincts without derailing the settlement.  A quickie in the movie theater meant a husband wasn’t overly aggressive with his wife.  Being able to sing in an underground nightclub had meant quite a few housewives could release their artistic urges without drawing scrutiny  Without those outlets there was initially a growing sense of unrest.  Neighbors were short with one another.  Classmates were fracturing over minor debates.  All at once it seemed there was a palpable anger and the tiny cracks began to splinter the foundation of NEAR.  There was vandalism, a rash of break-ins and even a few fights.  Local propaganda blamed new immigrants and unruly young people but they were not fooling anyone who was paying attention.  And then like a wildfire she read about in the bookstore, the revolt spread in record time.

Those that had escaped the raids had formed a loosely organized but well planned and well-funded rebellion.  They had targeted a few key areas to penetrate and hoped to topple things from the inside.  The dissidents had infiltrated the government forces, news outlets, transportation companies and the programmers.  They put hackers in key roles and let them loose.  It admittedly wasn’t hard to hack the systems because they assumed no one could ever get into their ranks without arousing suspicion.  Once they were in place they altered troop schedules, changed delivery routes and content, and began sanctioning those that had enacted the new regulations that were destroying life on NEAR.  Minor infractions in those ranks meant dismissal and potentially reprogramming.  Most were spared that treat except Chairman Paulson.  The nightly news opened with his guilty sentence and a live reprogramming.  Some watching had been horrified by the procedure which was part of the plan.  The truth of the matter was they just didn’t want to leave him as a potential threat in the future. 

For two months, the revolution held together tightly.  The NEAR power structure had been overrun and they were mostly in hiding.  And the people were unhinged in their lust.  There were parties and music that made you hyper and horny and sleepy and sad.  There were decadent foods that made you moan when it passed your lips and luxurious clothes to wear that felt like soft caresses whenever you warn them.  And most of all there were bodies coupling and uncoupling at will all over NEAR.  Jamaica hoped it meant she was going to be united with Arthur but at no time did she see him on the news or in the streets.  The worst part though was that as quickly as the rebellion had stormed up and took over the remote planet it had come to fall apart. 

They were not geared to run a planet.  There was some benefit to the NEAR officials. Even if they had been sapping the enjoyment of life they understood the ins and outs of keeping them all fed and safe.  The rampant overindulgence had proven to be just as problematic as not being able to indulge at all.  The rebellion leaders were smart enough to know there had to be some balance.  Either extreme was too much for NEAR to handle long-term.  So very quickly and quietly NEAR leaders and the revolution forces began meeting.  They spent months hashing out a way that each side could come away with some of what they wanted without the looming threat of more unrest. 

The result of those meetings was a treaty that allowed heavily regulated exploration of one’s base desires.  The nightclubs looked much better under moonlight.  The bookstores were plentiful even though largely unused.  The parks and lakes were not randomly placed and were stimulating on multiple levels.  However, the most radical change was the dismantling of the forced partnering programs.  That had been a tradeoff but you were allowed to pick your mate until you reached the age of 29.  At that point if you had not done so then you agreed to have a partner selected for you.  That dismantling also led to the rise of a burgeoning legalized sex industry. 

And that is where Jamaica found herself tonight.  She was sitting in the business office of her club.  She had spent months locating and decorating a Victorian styled home to make it into a den of iniquities to borrow a phrase from one of the novels she had devoured during her time underground.  She had spent the last few weeks selecting men and women to help the customers act out their desire when they visited.  Each had been trained using the old sex guides she had first perused with Arthur.  The thought of him still sent a chill up her spine but it had been over a year since she’d seen him and she wasn’t sure what to think about him now. 

The club had opened successfully and was proving to be a popular enterprise.  She had been excited about the opportunity to indulge in the carnal activities as well but after a few months she realized that while her staff and the patrons were interesting they never gave her the same charge as Arthur could.  She decided to focus on making sure that the club was never in violation of the treaty but she quit taking clients over time.  When one of her bookers started stalking her, Jamaica decided to listen to what was causing Nadene to become so distressed.  Nadene kept insisting that a client wouldn’t go away until he met Jamaica.  He wouldn’t say why, only that he had heard she was running the best club in the area and he wanted to meet the owner.  Jamaica didn’t want to call the authorities because she didn’t want the club to come under scrutiny.  There was an uneasy agreement to leave the clubs alone provided there was no trouble.  Jamaica finally stopped Nadene’s ramblings and asked where the man was. 

Jamaica made her way to the oversized bedroom with the library attached and entered quietly.  “I understand that you wanted to meet the owner before you departed,” her voice was soft and tired.

“Yes I did, I’ve been looking for someone I lost a while back and was hoping it might be you.”

Her body felt his words and it started a familiar two step in her brain.  He moved across the room to her slowly, masking the heat that was drawing them back together.  Soon enough Arthur was wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close to him.  She looked up at him and then kissed him hesitantly because she didn’t want to wake up if she was dreaming.  The kiss became a dance for power which she happily lost.  He sat in the oversized desk chair and asked her to strip.  She had picked up a few tricks in their time apart and by the time she was naked she noticed the sizable bulge in his pants.  She knelt in front of him and pulled him free of his clothing.  Her eyes locked on his as she took him in her mouth and slowly suckled on him.  The sensations were so much more pleasurable without the fear of being exiled looming over the encounter.  She licked up and down his shaft while planting tiny kisses along the way.  She was enraptured by the taste of him, salty and warm and pulsing against her tongue.  When he could take no more he pulled her up by her hair and spun her around so that she was laying on the generous oak desk. 

She knocked over the decorations as he pushed inside of her.  They moaned in unison and fell back into step with each other after a few strokes.  She bucked against him as he tangled his hand more deeply in her hair while pressing down on the small of her back with the other.  She knew she wasn’t dreaming but she was convinced she might be high.  Her body hadn’t been fully alive since they were separated.  But now he was here, he had found her and she was a volcano on the verge of erupting.  Instead of holding off and hoping they weren’t discovered, she came hard and often.  He held off much longer than she thought he would but then collapsed on top of her.  She giggled to herself and he was momentarily confused.

“You always seduce me surrounded by books,” she stated, her voice tinged with a smile and cracking from exhaustion. 


Small Moments

Tuesday, January 27, 2015 No comments
As I was walking across the courtyard from one building to the next today I was struck by something. I am genuinely amazingly happy. Happy with my life in some many ways that I couldn't really enumerate them all and be eloquent but I'll shoot for a few and see how it goes.

I was happy that as I took that stroll that I wasn't breathing heavy and trying to flee inside of the building. I was enjoying the cold. I was enjoying the freshness in the air. I was enjoying the sound of my boots on the slightly slushy sidewalks. I was just enjoying a moment in my own mind and what did that mean for the rest of my day. It wasn't going to change things dramatically but inhaling and exhaling newness was kinda stellar.

It made me think about other things that are somewhat new for me like eating well AND working out at the same time. I could do one or the other easily enough but my brain would go of course you can have that delicious foot long hotdog you just killed it in the gym. Or you haven't been to the gym lately make sure those salads are prepped. Truth of the matter is I wasn't as committed to me as I need to be. I may have need accountability but in the last now three months I have dropped just shy of 33 pounds. To be honest short of improvements in how I feel I don't see it as much as other people do. That seems to be normal though. My pants and belts are saying bitch please but I haven't lost and kept off this much weight in a while. I have to see if I can keep it up. For now though, I feel good about life and this journey and what is in store for the near future--like round two of the pinup photos.
And in what some will consider to be a minor miracle I had an epiphany of sorts. Sexy isn't just a size four body in a size two outfit gyrating on any body that comes nearby. Attractive isn't just the stereotypical sense. What intrigues people can be wholly different and that maybe just maybe I might be a source of intrigue. Now if you had asked me to explain that to others I'm so there. Make them believe they are desirable--give me 10 minutes and a laptop and I will have them thinking they are a much better written, with depth and fucking sexier version of Christian Gray...dipped in chocolate of course. But me believing that about myself yeah wasn't really in the cards. I had great moment a few weeks ago when it finally dawned on me it's difficult at best to see yourself the way other people do. Even when people would tell me I was whatever (cute sexy hot fuckable take you pick) I would just assume it was because they were trying to get me naked. And while some may have been others were really trying to express to me that I was what they wanted and I just couldn't accept it. I can't say that men don't ever say things they don't really mean. I can say that I'm accepting that when people say it to me now I'm finally willing to listen. With that in mind here are some not quite coded messages for people that may be intrigued enough to have read this far down.

Mr. Wolf I have no idea what will be ahead but you are a treat and a delight and you should let other people know the sides of you that make me smile and slightly cower in fear.

Mr. Dastardly I miss you and all of the crazy ish we used to talk about. Some days I hate things went the way they did and other days I know they had to for whatever reason. Stop being Houdini and say hello once in a while. Plus you still owe me a date.

Mr. Dutchman you make me lust in ways I didn't know were possible and that makes my brain short circuit every now and then. I hope our paths cross soon.

Mr. Prince you're adorable in a very sexual way. The things I could do with you lol.

Mr. Muse there are days I literally have no words for what appears before my eyes. I'm sure the things that run through my brain immediately after words are likely illegal in some states and countries. I'd love to get arrested.

Ms. Lady and the spoons that love her, you're FUNNY and I appreciate your soul bearing. I won't try to molest you but I might squeeze your boobs--just saying.

Ms. Lady I've known forever, you know since Mariah and ODB were apparently sharing pacifiers. Don't disappear as you keep exploring the world. And let me know if you find someone to wear those nipple shields. Someone should have pretty boobs damn it.

Mr. Revere I had such high hopes for you but yeah you just aren't reliable. Such a damn shame though. I haven't had time altering sex with anyone since you. That could be a good thing though I'm sure that's how you lull unsuspecting uteri into housing your babies.
Life is good at the moment. I am happy and the air is still quite fresh. Not to mention that Salted Caramel Orville Redenbacher popcorn is off the freaking chain.


Epiphanies: When Kinky Meets Geeky

Friday, January 23, 2015 1 comment
Disclaimer:  this could be long and rambling.  I meant to write this post when I got home on Sunday but I was missing my bed, sleeping, and eating regularly so I skipped it.  And then I could have done it on Monday but I was doing work stuff and well then the week go away from me.  Now that I'm semi settled and a few hours away from setting up my new computer I figured I should write.

Last week I spent most of the week out of town at a conference for my profession.  It was good, I got to see old professors and network and learn stuff to take back to my classes.  I know not everyone feels as such but those kinds of conference re-energize me and make me excited about doing what I do.  It was much needed and it was good to get out of the snow for a while. 

And for once I allowed my kinky life to invade that space.  It wasn't obvious and you didn't have supersonic ears you probably didn't hear that life after the sessions ended but it was there for a change.  Short of the built in play day it didn't really overlap the way I thought it might.  From 9 to 5 I did my thing and then from 5 to 9 I was done repeatedly with a few moments left to sleep.  I can't say it would have been as smooth had I been tied up and hurt instead of fucked into a stupor over and over again but I guess I will figure that out sooner or later now that I have had this experience and know that I don't drip in obvious kinky delight the next day.  Even the bdsm session I sat in on didn't give much away short of me knowing the lifestyle name of one of the people quoted in the session. 

I am sure you may wonder why this is notable.  Well I typically am pretty maniacal about my kink and vanilla life mixing.  Not everyone can keep secrets and not out you even inadvertently.  So I'm at a place where I can trust people enough not to violate my privacy but it won't happen every time I'm doing the grown up lady stuff.  Or maybe I'm just much more comfortable with my kink life and know that all things considered it's pretty much just another relational style and nothing more.

So it was eventful and uneventful at the same time.  Save the midnight booty call nothing of note happened.  And really you don't really want to know about the midnight booty call lol.  Be back sooner than later.


Short Stokes: Molasses Makes Me Horny

Sunday, January 11, 2015 No comments
I wrote this as part of my writing class with Rachel Kramer Bussel on (next class starts February 12 if you are interested).  I am working on turning others into multiple part stories but this one was somewhat of a one off.  If you enjoy it please let me know.  If you weren't impressed let me know that too.  And if you are wondering yes, molasses based since can make me kinda moist lol.

Molasses Makes Me Horny

For the first time in a very long time she was going to be spending the holidays alone.  While it might have depressed her in years past, this year it was a gift that she couldn’t possibly begin to express gratitude for.  Her brother and his family were heading off for a skiing vacation.  Her mother was going to a family gathering out of state and that meant when she got home tonight Denise Jacobs would be thoroughly, wonderfully alone, with no plans to do anything but cook and enjoy the next few weeks of silence.  She was naturally introverted when she wasn’t in “go” mode at work.  It didn’t help that she felt very out of place socially with her coworkers most days.  She was a single thirty-something, almost forty-something, round in most of the right places woman with no actual plans to settle down or do more than enjoy her life as it was and they generally were settled and overrun with children. Being able to really rest from all the family and work things and let her mind recharge was on the top of her list of things to do. 

She had been envisioning the time alone throughout the last day of grading, meetings, impromptu parties and other pre-winter break minutiae.  Denise had grabbed enough supplies to be well stocked through whatever cooking binges she went on for at least a few days so there was no need to get out into the rush of last minute shoppers.  She hated the press of people looking over the last bunch of celery, always a sad ingredient which smelled oddly of wet pungent grass.  The fact that it was slick to the touch whenever she grabbed a bunch to make dressing for the family always turned her stomach.  Denise might like a slick stalk in her hand but it definitely wasn’t coming from the veggie section at the grocery store.  The thought of slick stalks made her smirk to herself and then release a deep sigh. Her current paramour, Steven Morris, was tied up with family and work obligations so they would not be hooking up for rug burn, full bellies and Batman related viewing.  They’d see each other next month and the time alone would allow her to keep working on her recipes before they saw one another again.

Denise cranked up the volume on the radio and headed for home.  She fantasized about which dessert she wanted to make first.  Imagined the taste of one creamy confection after the next making her moan with delight as she swallowed it.  Gingersnap crumble cupcakes or gingerbread ice cream?  The ice cream base needed more time to set up but baking several dozen cupcakes after that detailed recipe would be a pain.  Either way she could smell the scent of molasses invading her kitchen.  Strong and woody, it made the whole house feel more warm and homey to her.  Tasting it was always delightful for her even though others didn’t get her fascination with the flavors.  Biting into one of the unusual cookies always produced a tangy sharp sweet mouthful before tossing it into the food processor or ice cream maker.  The scent would linger long enough for her to let her mind wander.  She’d be able to close her eyes and be transported to her grandmother’s kitchen, not measuring a thing but being able to visually gauge what should be in her mixing bowl.  She hadn’t paid much attention to her grandmother’s directive that the way to a man’s heart was his stomach.  For Denise, the way to a man’s heart had always been multiple orgasms but the cooking most definitely helped.  She smiled again and decided to wear the Santa Vespa apron over her pajamas when she began the baking ritual.  

By the time she pulled into the garage and lowered the whisper soft door behind her, she was almost giddy that no one would be around to watch her overindulge in goodies and roasted duck and pasta and rolls and whatever else she could think of while she was on her own.  She might hit the gym during the gluttony but her plan was solely to enjoy every bit of food that entered her mouth.  She had been so completely enthralled with her plans that she didn’t immediately notice that lingering scent of molasses in the air as she entered the house.  It hit her completely when she rounded the corner and was greeted by a most unwelcome sight.  There was her boyfriend of the last two years with her recipe book out on the counter and her kitchen was totally and completely wrecked.  He smiled at her and tried to look optimistic about whatever monstrosity he had been arranging but all that could be said for certain was a bag of gingersnaps was destroyed.  Her unsalted real butter was hacked to bits and there was flour nearly everywhere.  Her smile vanished.  She wasn’t angry, necessarily, but overtaking her kitchen was a major violation for Denise.  Especially when he clearly didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

He tried to explain what his plan had been.  “Honey before you get upset, well more upset, let me say that I knew you would be tired and hungry and maybe lonely so I wanted to surprise you.  I was going to grab takeout after you got here but wanted the house to be smelling like a bakery when you walked in the door and you could start with dessert while I ran out to grab dinner.”  He paused trying to asses her mood before he continued rambling. 

He was going to have dessert waiting for her and then he was going to grab some take out from P.F. Chang’s after she got settled in from work: crispy honey shrimp, shrimp fried rice, plain lo mein and chicken lettuce wraps for them to share.  He went to the recipes she had mentioned several times over the last few weeks and didn’t realize how much work was involved in making ice cream or making cupcakes that didn’t taste like crap.  He was on batch number two as the first had been inedible.  He was pulling out the first pan of the second batch and they didn’t look any better than the first had been.  She stopped Steven from talking and dropped her bag on the sofa.  She rubbed her fingers against her temples briefly and then took inventory of what was now missing from her holiday food festival.  She made a quick list and sent him off in the direction of the closest store and offered to call in the order for takeout but he agreed to do it all while she restored her kitchen.  She cleaned up in silence and tried to find the humor in a six foot two inch computer programmer attempting to navigate a fairly detailed cupcake recipe on his own.  However, she wasn’t laughing and couldn’t bring herself to even smile.  She sighed deeply as she dumped the remains of his efforts into the garbage in the garage.  She went inside to shower and get ready for the unexpected company.  While she was underneath the water, an idea came to her and she decided to run with it.  A brief nod to grandma’s wisdom but with Denise’s spin on it, of course.

She appreciated that he had arranged to sneak in and surprise her for a few days.  She knew he had probably observed her moving around the kitchen easily as they chatted and watched tv that he assumed it would be a simple process to prepare something for her.  Turns out he was great at sneaking but bad at baking.  She smiled for the first time that evening at the thought of him trying to measure a teaspoon of anything and a generous helping of something else.  He meant well and she had to recognize that but oh no more kitchen violations.  She’d work on that later though.  After so many years together, he thought he knew her tastes and desires even better than she knew them but she was still capable of surprising him.  Another of those surprises was awaiting him when he returned to her place in full mea culpa mode.

She had slipped into one of her vintage shapewear pieces.  If it hadn’t been so form hugging one may have called it a slip but it was essentially a full body girdle that pushed her breasts up, flattened her stomach and made her bottom a lacey round mound that he struggled not to touch.  She had loosely pinned her hair up into curls with a few tendrils falling loosely around her neck.  She smelled of lavender body wash and Daisy Dream by Marc Jacobs.  Her feet were in a pair of black Mary Janes and that Santa Vespa apron was wrapped around her torso.  With her cat eye glasses, she was the perfect fifties seductress and he hopped to follow her commands.  The food was placed on the table waiting.  The replacement ingredients were all assembled on the countertop and she was slipping an apron around his waist.

“First things first, if you want to bake in this kitchen you need to be covered up so that you don’t make a mess,” she winked at him and then walked over to the recipe book she had propped up on a stand.  “Follow my instructions and we’ll make something sweet together tonight.”
He relaxed as he saw the warm smile light up her face.  He melted the butter slowly in the microwave, as directed.  It smelled less like the oily goo that melted margarine put off.  It reminded Steven of waffles and that fresh light smell the butter would have when it melted quickly against the sugary crust.  It slid out of the dish and into the mixing bowl in a plop. “Is that alright?” he asked, hesitant each step of the way after the earlier fiasco. With another smile, she assured him it was. Before he knew it she had added the sugar and eggs and whipped up a nice frothy base that looked like frosting but she warned him not to taste, since it did not have much flavor yet.  She poured in vanilla without attempting to measure it, inhaling deeply a few times like she was trying to coat her lungs with the nutty flavor.  She turned the mixer back on to blend the ingredients and he watched as her behind moved in time to a beat only she could hear. 

“Maybe I should more time with you in the kitchen from now on.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen your butt sway to whatever beat you are rocking to now.  I like it.” 
“You may be allowed to as long as you are a good student tonight.  Now on to your next task Mr. Morris.  Grab the bag of gingersnaps and crunch them up with your hands.”  He looked at her waiting for her stamp of approval at his now full bowl of broken cookies.  She kissed him on the cheek and gave him his next step, “See the black machine at the end of the counter?  Dump them in there and keep hitting the pulse button until they are nice and crumbly like the brown sugar sitting there next to the bowl.”  

“Are you sure this is right,” he asked concerned about the amount of crumbled up cookie was in the machine as he watched her while she added flour and made sure the stove was at the right temperature.  

She smiled and nodded as she lined the freshly cleaned muffin tin with paper cups and, after removing the oversized glass bowl from the mixer she gradually worked in the crushed cookies with a wooden spoon.  When the concoction looked ready, she stuck a finger in and slowly closed her eyes as she sucked the molasses tinted cupcake batter off her digit.  He must have been staring harder than he realized, because she giggled as she repeated the procedure, her gaze on his, then mimicked that she would be handing a taste to him before smearing it on her neck.  

She worried that the scents on her body would overwhelm the taste of the cupcake batter but she didn’t get long to dwell on that fact before he had latched onto her neck and was sucking for dear life.  For the first time since she saw her kitchen destroyed her body was happy to see Steven.  Being tied up in his arms as his nibbled on her neck was intoxicating.  They could leave the baking for later but the batter would be useless.  She prepared to push him away and finish the dessert before he hit her sweet spot.  Her giggle broke her concentration long enough to get them both to focus on the task at hand.

She stated that she never had such a willing kitchen assistant and she had to think about how to reward his patience and his dedication.  He replied that if she couldn’t think of anything he had a few suggestions of his own.  “I could just cover you in the rest of the batter and see how long it took you to become soft and creamy.”  They briefly paused as their words settled in and then were back to work with renewed purpose.

The pans were filled in record time thanks to the scooper and her motivated assistant.  There was always a tiny bit of extra batter left and she figured they should put it to good use while they waited for the cupcakes to finish baking.  “Sit down in that chair,” she demanded, and as he now always planned to do when in the kitchen with Denise, he immediately obeyed. Her soft fingers brushed his skin as she helped him take off that apron, his shirt and pants.  She’d assumed he’d be nude underneath both and was surprised by his boxer briefs, but didn’t dwell on the needless obstacle.  She slid the briefs down quickly and straddled him so that her breasts were pressing into his chest.  Denise was sure he hadn’t noticed that she was sans panties but eventually she’d tell on herself if things went as planned.  She dipped her free hand into the batter and trailed a deep v pattern onto his neck and chest.  His voice caught as her tongue made contact with the trail of sugary goodness and then suckled onto his skin.  Her tongue repeated the pattern over and over again until he was sticky but mostly clean, his rumbling noises getting deeper the more she licked. Those sounds were music to her ears.  

His resolve to let Denise rule her kitchen melted when she was done tracing the path of frosting with that hot pink tongue. His aggressive side took over as he murmured in her ear, “You do know how much I love being catered to but I kind of have to devour you now.” He pinned her arms behind her back with one hand, then untied and removed the apron so he could get to her body before freeing her breasts from the binding material.  There wasn’t enough batter or room between them to dip her breasts into the bowl so he coated her nipples with dollops of batter and fastened his mouth to the dark thick buds.  She gasped as her body gave in to the sensations his mouth was sending through her body.  Her head fell back and her eyes shut tightly.  Her molasses dreams entwined with the feeling of a hot wet mouth on her breasts and the scent of honey and soy and sautéed rice and noodles.  All of which were sitting abandoned on the table.  Well she wasn’t hungry for Asian confections at the moment anyway.

Any need to be in charge had vanished, replaced with the need for him alone.  Had he not been such a bad baker they would be enjoying dinner now and settling in for a round of movies.  She guessed it was an even trade off at this point.  She had worn lingerie like this more than once.  He was often frustrated trying to pull it all off and he had no patience for that this evening.  He pulled the fabric up over her ass and let it rest on her hips.  He was preparing to pull off her panties when he noticed she wasn’t wearing any—even better.  He grinned at her as he stood up with her wrapped around his waist and planted her in the seat.  He slowly plastered the remaining batter on her inner thighs completely avoiding her pussy.  His mouth licked and prodded her thighs until she was trembling and trying to pull his tongue into her wetness.   He only obliged because he was wondering if the sugary goodness on his tongue would pair well with her juices.

She was grinding against his face, making slow circles with her hips, when the timer beeped on the oven.  They both paused long enough to look at one another as if to ask, what now?  He didn’t want another batch of cupcakes to be thrown into the graveyard of baked goods that was her trash.  She didn’t want to move, either, but he broke free first.  He stood up and started walking towards her bedroom.  

“Take everything out of the stove and meet me in bed.  Oh, and just wear the apron and heels to bed okay, dear?”

She giggled again as she haphazardly arranged three pans of cupcakes on the top of the stove.  One press of the button and the oven was turned off.  She wiggled out of the girdle slowly so as not to rip it.  She paused long enough to tie the apron around her waist.  The familiar scent of molasses suffused her nostrils as the cupcakes came out of the oven.  However, when she closed her eyes, this time there was no hint of grandma’s kitchen.  There was only one person on her mind tonight. She made it back to the bedroom and smiled at her naked companion.  He was laying on his back on her bed and signaled for her to resume her position on his tongue.  She happily obliged but turned to face his toes.  She moaned as his tongue immediately got to work, diving right into her center as if no time had passed. She reached down to stroke his dick and smiled again.  She had gotten that slick stalk in her hands after all.

© red velvet 2014