Dress a certain way. Talk a certain way. Behave a certain way and you’re deemed a good girl or a good time girl.
A lady in the street but a freak in the bed? However the old concept that good girls don’t is played out and tired. In 2019 why shouldn’t a woman be able to have her cake and eat it too?
Women are expected to fit into boxes though, we wear labels and if you’re unlucky enough to be branded with the dreaded scarlet letter it’s often something that sticks with you no matter what you do to shake it.
The reverse is also true. Don’t like sex? Or at least don’t advertise that you like sex? Then you’re frigid. Like sex too much and you’re a prude. Is it any wonder that a lot of women spend their lives unfulfilled and unsatisfied? They are too busy trying to be all things. Wife, Mother, Business Woman, Sex kitten.
Is it better to own your sexuality? To know your body and say this is what turns me on? In the age of #metoo and amid the abortion debates and what feels like an endless attack on women’s rights I would argue that it is better.
I would argue that it’s vital that all women know their worth don’t settle for less and be proud to live in your truth.
My fingertips tingle with the urge to touch you.
You make me want to sin.
Goosebumps on my skin. The idea of you makes me shiver.
Thoughts of you consume and like a moth to your flame I’m captivated. You’re poison to my soul I shouldn’t drink you down, but I can’t swallow fast enough.
There’s a place inside me where my demons live they corrode me and yet when you’re here they are silent. A blissful reprieve from the harshness of reality and like a drug I could fall into an addiction to you.
It’s the worst. Let me say it again THE WORST.
Picture a brick wall every time you try to put words on paper. My characters aren’t even talking to each other never mind talking to me. Someone said just write. Put your hands on the keyboard and just write, and I’ve tried oh man have I tried.
Let me tell you it isn’t for lack of ideas. I have one character ready to submit to her alpha and another ready for adventures in the sex club.
I’ve tried everything I can think of meditation, relaxation, writing on a schedule word association and nothing.
Now that’s not to say that I can’t write a provocative sex scene but how do you get to happily ever after when your focused on breathing and survival\?
How do you beat the brick wall?
Hey, it’s been an exciting weekend. I’m currently exploring publishing on Amazon and some print on demand options.
It’s been exciting to see the books take shape on different platforms. So now we wait the required 72 hours to determine if they are acceptable for publishing.
Still no word on my new work that I submitted at the end of February, but it could take several weeks to hear back on that front.
Well, February was a month filled with a ton of fun and excitement for me, and I say that while being only slightly sarcastic. It was certainly a busy month filled with a lot of personal and professional struggles.
The month started off with a bang, picture me in the hospital sporting four brand new holes in my abdomen. Recovering from emergency surgery. So not how I planned to end January and start February.
What followed was a very subdued birthday celebration. I can honestly say I don’t feel older or wiser.
I am happy to announce that I ended my very long very dry writing spell. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again it’s very difficult to writer happily ever afters when your personal life is going through turmoil and upheaval.
February ends with a new book proposal submission. Something I worked very hard on and am proud to submit for consideration. Cross your fingers and your toes and anything else that will cross.
Stay tuned I’ll provide an update when I can.
She kneels, waiting for him. Waiting to give herself over to his desire. She longs for the way he’ll take charge. She craves the way he’ll touch her.
She doesn’t speak of what goes on behind closed doors. She knows if you saw her on her knees eager to please him you wouldn’t understand the peace it brings her. You would see the slut, the whore anxious to be used, but there is beauty in her submission a quiet strength.
Her will doesn’t cease to exist when she steps into this space. She merely yields it to him and trusts that he will keep it safe.
Her submission is a gift she has granted. It is hers and hers alone to give.
You can’t see the grace with which she kneels there and so, you will never understand the strength it takes to bend her will to his, to wait in patience, silence and anticipation. You will never know the joy that sings though her nerve endings at first contact when they begin.
Do we live in a world of excess? Most would say yes. So what’s enough? is it a fixed amount or is it a sliding scale that varies from person to person.
What’s enough pain?
Do you sacrifice to avoid hurting someone else when you’ve reached your limit? Do you willingly put on blinders and shove what you’re feeling deep down inside where it never sees the light again?
And if you do when is that enough?
What do you do when you’re stuck between loving the potential of what could have been and the reality of what will never be?