Time for noms.

I think I will bake cookies this evening.

Travel picture of the day.

I was missing Istanbul this morning. So here is a picture to remind me of that magical place.

This is part of the Sultan's bath in the Topkapi Palace. Water would fill the marble basin, then the bather uses a dipping bowl to pour the water all over himself. That way, the basin and the water remains clean, even after scrubbing.

Other wonderful Turkish things:
A most unusual movie with Peter Ustinov and Melina Mercouri (Love her name!) as part of a jewel heist from the Topkapi Palace.

The Turkish Bath. I firmly believe that it could bring world peace. And Apple Tea is good for everything that ails you.

Another Muse.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Elvis Presley!

Elvis is a Muse because he represents fearlessness to me. He danced in ways that frightened people, but he did it anyway. Even when he was miserable and drugged out, he still tried to be himself.

Viva Las Elvis!

The Muse.

Portrait of me as a Muse, by Michael Baxter

I could pull my History Geek Cred out and talk about the Nine Muses of Classical Greece*, but today I'm going to talk about something more immediate.

Who are your Muses? With whom do you collaborate and attempt to inspire?

I could list all my Muses, but instead, I'm going to talk about just one.

Meet Michael Baxter, the world's foremost photographer of Belly Dance. Michael is, in short, a genius. He is a feminist, a visionary of light, and an old school geek. (He and The Charming Man are also dear friends).

Go ahead, follow the link. I'll be here when you come back from looking at the links.


No, I mean it. Go look at them. :)

Michael's love of dance, music, light, and myth  have inspired me since we met in 2008. I had never seen a photographer able to photograph all shapes, sizes, and colors with such ease and joy. We've since corresponded and shot photos together. He makes us see ourselves as we truly are.

I had truly terrible body image issues until I met him. I knew that I wasn't a hideously scarred Two-Face, but I never knew in what way I was attractive. He showed me my own goofy, playful charm.

Since learning this from Michael, I try to take all my characters on a voyage of self discovery to find their beauty. I try to show all my friends how beautiful they are, what they might not see about themselves. I am inspired to be kinder, more patient (not easy for me), and share the light that Michael has shown me.

I hope he will inspire you, too, with his skill with color, setting, and bringing dreams alive.

*All right, I couldn't help myself.

Calliope: Epic poetry. Emblem: Writing tablet (Too bad such a cool chick got stuck with such a hideous instrument)
Clio: History, Scrolls
Erato: Love_poetry: Cithara
Euterpe:Lyric Poetry, Aulos
Melpomene: Tragedy,Tragic mask<
Polyhymnia: Sacred poetry,Veil
Terpsichore: Choral Dance and song, Lyre
Thalia:Comedy, Comic mask<
Urania: Astronomy, compass

The meat of the matter.

In romance and erotica writing, the men have large penises. I've not read a story about a man's thin or short cock, even though every single heterosexual woman out there knows that they come in all shapes and sizes.  And every single one is capable of bringing great pleasure. Not only that, we also know that too-big cocks can hurt.

So why the obsession?  After reading Nancy Friday for many years, I culled the following theories:

1. Fantasies are symbolic of what someone wants in their life. A dream of a big penis, a huge, giant monster that fills you up and satisfies you - well. Sounds like a shout for MORE MORE MORE, doesn't it?

2.That MORE MORE MORE isn't just about sex. It's about wanting more excitement, more time to relax, more ease and just plain more fun. Nothing represents a really great day better than a big, hard penis.

3. It's also a bit of a boast - "I'm such a powerful woman, it takes something powerful to satiate me and please me."

4. That shout of MORE can also represent frustration with the "Good Girl" role - you know, the one where a woman is shamed if she initiates, shares her fantasies, is experimental, or just plain curious. Talk about a rebellion! Desire for more starts every revolution, even a small one where an individual simply wants the freedom to read what she truly wants.

Those are my theories. What are yours?

The best intentions

I was going to post my next archetype in my series, but it's actually a little sunny out! So instead, I'm going to post something naughty and go enjoy the sun. I hope you enjoy this untitled snippet between two unnamed fantasy people.

****

His cock, not quite fully hard yet, fitted her mouth completely. When he was erect, she couldn’t fit him all the way. She wrapped her fist around the base of his penis.

She had unseemly large hands for a woman, but her fingers still did not meet, his girth was so great. Her jaw stretched to her outermost limit as she gobbled his smooth, hard cock.

She sucked on his head, licked his shaft, teased his balls with her fingers and tongue. His thick body hair scraped her tongue as she barely brushed the tips of the curls with her tongue. He jumped and shivered. She flung her arm across his thighs and drew him deeply in to her mouth, over and over.

“Enough,” he growled. He flipped her over to her back. “Give me this.” He shoved her thighs wide apart, his hands holding her down. He breathed on her pussy, long and deep, as if she were something exquisite to eat. His sweet, sweet tongue descended to her body. Expecting a firm, direct stab to her clit, she squealed when he licked her labia with a flat, wide tongue. He petted her pussy, coaxing her lips to widen for him. Once she was moaning and writhing under him, he finally touched her clitoris.

Her throat pulled tight. Her body curled in, her abdomen pulling her head off the pillow. The sensations coiled in her hyper-sensitized organ. Tighter and tighter she squeezed, her face pulled in a nearly painful rictus. Could she make it? Would he take her there?

With a clever twist of his mouth, everything exploded. Her body uncoiled violently, her back arching. Her hands grasped the headboard. The metal sang in time with her screams as the unending crests over took her.

Merciless, he sucked every drop from her pussy, every moan and cry inflamed him further until his cock skin nearly split.

She lay, panting and heaving, tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes. He put her legs on top of his shoulders. He knelt between her legs and fitted the head of his erection inside her swollen, twitching vagina. He pushed.

She screamed again.

He pumped inside her clinging walls. He licked her smooth legs as they rested against his neck. Her hands flew over his body, touching his nipples, but still too shy to pinch. He kissed her calf.

He met her slack face, had she ever looked so abandoned and relaxed? He had to feel her on top of him.

He tucked his legs and tipped backwards. He rolled them until she was on top of him. A quick leg stretch, and she was riding him.

As he slammed her up and down on him, he wiggled his finger to her no-longer-hidden treasure. Her hair whipped back and forth.

With a huge ripple, she came again. This time, she took him over the edge, too.