Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Good Luck With The Pie

A work in progress...
I stood in front of the apples and tried to remember which kind the recipe called for. I wondered how much it would really matter in the end. Who knew there could be so many different types of apples? Were they really all that different from each other? My hand reached out to grab a shiny green apple, but it hesitated.
“Excuse me.” His voice was raspy near my ear. Close, but not quite close enough to be creepy.
“I’m sorry,” I pulled my hand back. “I want to make a pie, but I can’t remember what kind of apples the recipe called for. I guess I’m overwhelmed by all the choices.” Shut up! You sound like a damned idiot!  I looked up and saw that the man was smirking. His grey-blue eyes twinkled good naturedly.
“Pie, huh. Do you make pie often?”
I shook my head and just stared at him like some sort of fucking dope. He was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen. He was tall, six feet at least, and his shirt matched the color of his eyes.
“Do you mind?” he reached his hand out and brushed against my arm to get to the apples.
“Huh? Oh, sorry.” I moved out of his way and stood in front of the Red Delicious apples. I picked one up and examined it for bruises. Tried to act like I knew what I was doing.
“You don’t want that kind for a pie. Too mushy and not near enough flavor.” He was holding one of those green apples. He tossed it in the air and caught it. “This is the kind you want.” He brought it to his mouth, and the apple made a snapping sound as his teeth broke the skin. He chewed a couple of times, then swallowed. “Juicy. Sour. Sweet.” He wiped a little juice off his his lower lip and sucked ever so lightly on his finger.. “Delicious.”
My throat went dry and I imagined myself pulling that apple from his hand and taking a bite from the same spot he bit. It would be like kissing without the contact. A jittery giggle escaped my throat and I forced a cough to try and get myself under control. What was wrong with me? Why was I acting like a teenager?
“Thank you.”
He stepped closer to me and smiled that amused smile again. “You should always listen to your instincts. You were right.”
Listen to my instincts? My instincts wanted to push him against the apple display and kiss him, taste the apple he had just eaten and decide for myself if that was the kind I wanted. The last thing in the world I needed to do was listen to my instincts. Snap out of it!
“Did you get what you needed?” I nodded at the empty produce bag in his hand.
“Not yet.” His eyes caught mine and held them prisoner for several long seconds before I was able to tear my gaze away.
“Oh. Okay. You just asked me to move so you could get to them, but if you don’t need these..” I reached out and grabbed an apple at random. My knees were wobbly, and I dropped it on the floor when I tried to shove it into my bag. “Shit.” I bent over to pick it up, but he beat me to it. Picked it up and put it back on the pile.
“Avoid that one. It’s bruised.” he took two green apples put them into his bag, twisted it closed and walked away. “Good luck with your pie.” he called over his shoulder just before he turned the corner.
What was that? I asked myself.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Becoming an Erotic Writer Improved My Marriage

Hi, I'm Alyssa and I write erotica.

Actually, I've just started putting my smut out there for the world at large, but I've had an active fantasy life since my teen years. In the early years of my marriage, I would write sexy stories for my husband, mostly because it turned me on to write them. The way hot sex that followed each reading wasn't such a bad thing, either. What I didn't realize at the time, so young and naive was I, that while my husband liked that I was turned on by my stories, he didn't really care that I wrote them. That makes him sound like some sort of selfish bastard, but that wasn't the case. All he really cared about was that I was turned on and feeling good about myself. That was the turn-on for him, not some imaginary characters in some imaginary situation.

The sexy part of our marriage came to a screeching halt pretty much as soon as it started. Days after our wedding, I found out I was pregnant. The hormones sometimes made for some lovely sex, but mostly I just felt too fat, ugly and achy to do much lovin'. For my honey's part, he had those normal new dad worries of hurting the baby or whatever.

After about forty-six years of pregnancy, our son was born and we were thrust into the world of parenting, and the style that most fit us was the Attachment variety. Our son co-slept with us, he nursed on demand for a really long time, and we didn't even leave him with a grandparent until he was a year and a half.  I still hadn't lost my baby weight, which made me sensitive. I used to have an eating disorder, so much of my self esteem was wrapped up in what the numbers on the scale said. The higher the number, the less I was obviously worth. So, even on the times that my honey made sexual overtures to me, I felt too worthless, ugly, fat and exhausted to do much lovin'.

And life, it continued.

Our kid got older, slept in his own room, and we had more time to be alone together. But I could never lose that baby weight. Almost twelve years later, I'm still fifty pounds heavier than I was on my wedding day, which was ten pounds too big for my anorexia-addled mind at the time. In actuality, I could stand to lose twenty pounds now. Those numbers ran in my head and did bad shit to my self-esteem. I felt too much like a beached whale to do much lovin'

And life, it still continued.

Jobs were lost, parents died, money got tight, and my husband was diagnosed with something called Peyronie's Disease. Neither of us had ever heard of this, but it's more common than we thought. The nuts and bolts of this piece of shit of a disease is that it effects the penis shaft, curving it and making erections painful. After running its course naturally, which often takes upwards of two years, the penis is different. It's smaller, less sensitive to stimuli, and can pop or bend in unnatural and painful ways. There are surgeries one can  have, but they don't always fix the issue at hand. There are remedies men can use to help the discomfort and bending, but there's nothing that can be done about the new size short of a penis pump or surgery.

So obviously this did a number on my husband's self esteem. Even though I find sex much more pleasurable now that he's shaped differently, even though I cum much more frequently than I ever did before Peyronie's, he just felt like too little of a man to do much lovin'.

And life, it kept its damn continuing.

Siblings died, moves happened, and I had a round of surgeries myself, which...yep. Made me too achy and doped up on Vicodin to do much lovin'.

It's been a hell of a ride. We're both as recovered as we'll ever be from our various issues, but the sex thing--well, that just never got back to that pre-pregnancy, early-marriage, hotness.

Until Erotica.

I still have that skinny little girl in my head, telling me that I'm ugly and fat, but I'm older than she is now, and I know she was just hurt and damaged when she was younger. My husband has always made it perfectly clear that my body is beautiful to him, but it's been so hard for me to believe and accept that as truth. Just like it's been hard for him to believe that I'm totally satisfied-- more satisfied than ever--by his penis, even though it's different from the one I married.

Over the last few years we've fumbled our way back into intimacy and we've both had plenty of fears and doubts along the way.

One day, not too long ago, I decided that I wanted to get back into writing sexy stories. But this time I wanted to do it for me, not for my husband. I felt embarrassed to tell him that I wanted to write these stories and that *gasp* I wanted to sell them. I kept it to myself for a while and refused to write a single thought down because I was afraid he'd laugh at me, that he'd tell me it was dumb, or that he'd think I was nothing more than a stripper or prostitute. As  it turned out, those thoughts never crossed his mind. He was thrilled when I told him because he'd always told me I was a good writer and I should put myself out there. So, not only was he beautifully supportive, but, he's gone out of his way to give me space to write as much as I want.

And life, it continues.

But this is a new chapter. For the first time in my life, I'm giving myself permission to tap into that sexy young thing inside me without giving her permission to harm my emotions or my body now. In writing my stories, which my husband often doesn't want to read, I'm liberating myself from the bonds I've placed on myself since I was sixteen.

www.alyssasteel.com
And liberation--It is sexy as hell. I feel sexy, I feel confident, I feel powerful. Nothing has changed in my or my husband's bodies, but suddenly I'm not afraid to admit that I'm a very sexual person and that admittance has made me confident, which has made me absolutely irresistible to him. Feeling strong and sexy has put my husband at my mercy. And guess what? That makes me feel stronger and sexier, which gives me more confidence to write which makes me feel stronger and sexier...Oh, this is a delicious, sensual, nipple nibbling, erotic circle that is so much more than just sex.

Even when we're not in bed, we're kinder to one another. We hold hands, we kiss, we hug each other in the middle of Target just because we love each other. And guess what? That extra intimacy during the day is just prolonged foreplay for both of us and we can't wait until we can devour each other again.

Becoming an Erotica Writer has not only saved our sex life, but our marriage too.

And so, when you see that couple hugging and gently smooching each other in the store, smile for them...and then go home and get in touch with your inner sex-pot. You'll wonder what took you so long.