Absent mindedly Bonita stirred the simmering broth. Then she set the timer for ten minutes. Oh, the things they could do with ten minutes of time — the commercial about the pizza delivery taking ten minutes caused a smile to cross her face—if only Bradley was here instead of out in that fishing boat. The times he spent out on the Christmas Cioppino was his livelihood and the reason their Christmas Eve always included the meal of its name sake.
But, she worried about him. The seas had become increasingly dangerous as economic conditions worsened and pirates raided, looted, and killed to feed their own needs. Bradley’s life was always on the edge.
Lately, several boats loaded with Cuban refugees had become the front for pirates. Maybe Mexican refuges had gotten the message that averting a border crossing by taking to the high seas was even more dangerous then their previous route was. Pirates cared little about the lives of those they used. Men, women even children didn’t seem to faze them as families died. Human beings only meant a means to their selfish ends. They cared even less for them then they cared for the men skippering and working those boats they robbed. A clue should be the refugees themselves. Didn’t they usually head for Florida’s shores? Why would they risk their lives in treacherous seas in over loaded boats to go farther than they needed to?
Bonita’s sense of justice, her dislike for the abuse of those powerless to protect themselves, flared. Anger replaced the passionate thoughts of Bradley and her.
Becoming a Port Authority Office helped her bring some weight to help those less fortunate, but not nearly as heavy a handed clout as she wanted to wield. If anything happened to Bradley, she would be ready to take a little vigilante revenge on the shores of California’s coast line.
The timer’s jolting jangle snapped her back to the hearty fare she was preparing and the preparation for the Christmas decorating they would engage in this evening. The traditional tree decorating party provided a much needed respite from the daily charge of eking a living from the over worked waters they combed daily. Absent mindedly Bonita stirred two cups of dry red wine into the boiling mixture, reheating it to the boiling point. She watched as ripples of heat echoed outward from the center eruption, the same ripples that touched every inch of her body as Bradley’s climax mimicked her own, exploding into ripples of pleasure moving outward from her center, dissipating at the edge to be rekindled in her center with the next thrust of his mast of pleasure, pouring over her in heated waves of thick, aromatic smells of lust reaching fruition. Feeling the flow of their love boiling inside her, she drew her attention to the large kettle before her on the stove. She carefully poured the boiling sauce over the prepared fish and crab and waited for it to return to boiling.
I want to say it started innocently enough, but that might just be a lie. It started with ulterior motives. In an attempt to change my dating karma a while ago, I started replacing the regular old underwear with the good stuff. Out went the white cotton standards; in came the plunges, the demis, the balconettes…the boy shorts, the hipsters, the cheekies. My thought was that if I felt gorgeous underneath, I'd start dating like a fiend again. That I'd have a most delicious little secret.
And I thought it was just me until a week or so ago. I met a girlfriend of mine for dinner. But, she informed me as she slid into the seat across from me, she had to go shopping for underwear. That night. After dinner. There was a date with a hottie to be had, and preparations were necessary. It wasn't exactly that she planned to show them, she explained as she folded the napkin in her lap, but she just felt powerful in them.
It's no surprise, of course, that Victoria's Secret, Fredericks, and Cacique have made billions of dollars pedaling satin and lace and bows as a prequel to sex. But were these pretty, feminine things only to be used when you knew you could hook up or make love? I contended no, given that wasn't what I used them for, or apparently, what my friends used them for. But it did make me start wondering who exactly these items were being purchased for. Was it for the boyfriend or husband, who may or may not notice? Or was it for us, for the women who were wearing them?
At least in my case, it's just for me. These days, it's not so much about changing my dating karma...it's that I like wearing pretty things. Now, it's just to know that—in the middle of a day packed full of meetings and deadlines and rush-hour traffic—I have spent a few minutes on myself to pick out something beautiful that helps me remember that I'm still girly and feminine. And if my delicious little secret helps me feel confident, if it makes me smile when I straighten a strap, then so be it.
Preparing the broth for the Cioppino infused her thoughts of the sizzling passion Aaron had brought into her life. Noel drizzled the oil into the pan. As she chopped the green pepper its pungent odor reminded her of his after shave as he devoured her mouth with his. He enveloped her lips with his warm passionate kiss as he forced his tongue between her teeth exploring her mouth.
Reluctantly, Noel jerked her mind back to the task at hand. Guest would be expecting Cioppino not her obsession with Aaron’s muscled body and amorous tales of her passion and lust for him. She scraped the chopped pepper into the pan and picked up the onion and began to reduce it to a diced white mound. As her mind transmuted the lingering strength of the onion into the strength of Aaron’s arms as he lifted her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom. Her muscles contracted in her vagina with the heat of the memories of Aaron bringing her wave after wave of orgasms.
Noel stirred the sizzling vegetable mix adding the reserved clam liquid and the crab she had cracked out of its home. Red tomatoes and tomato juice as red as the heat of the passion that blazed in her groin tugging at the memories of Aaron’s shaft sliding in and out of her juices. Her pleasure dampened her panties now as she remembered him devouring her inch by inch.
It took all her strength to break away from the memory and search the spice rack. Salt, basil, anything to get her mind off Aaron’s body and back to cooking. Bay leaf, garlic, the garlic bulb one lump of cloves needed to be divided. Cloves, balls separated by the shaft like stem. Her mind refused to obey her call to erase the lust in exchange for the recipe she tried to follow, even though she had cooked Cioppino almost as often as Christmas came and went. Why did cooking always boil with innuendos of making love. Perhaps, because she loved to cook and Aaron definitely loved to eat. They fueled each others needs and likes.
A friend of mine recently sent me an article from CNN that explained why women found men who were funny attractive. Part of it, the article explained, was that "Over the course of history, women actively look for signs that their man is intelligent, and…the ability to actively judge the situation and pull off a joke and make [one] laugh is an intelligent feat" ("Why Funny Guys Get The Babes," retrieved from CNNhealth.com on April 11, 2009). I have to say…I agreed with that. Killer blue eyes and dark hair take my breath away, but a man who is smart? Yeah. Now THAT is hot!
I set forth this morning to find an article that was similar, that explained why men would be more attracted to women who were also smart. So I googled it, yahooed it, and generally researched it into the ground. And the results? Women are just as guilty as men of making the two concepts independent of each other. And while I worship my inner dork—the one who researches flirting online instead of in person, who thinks her "grammar ninja" t-shirt is hysterically funny—I took offense that sexy and smart are still being presented as mutually exclusive. Why can't smart be hot for women, too? So, I enlisted the help of a few friends to compile a list of ideas for those of us who want to flirt and be sexy while embracing our Geek Goddess.
1. Make eyeglasses your friend. Embrace their necessity, as squinting to read something is rarely sexy. Have a conversation with a hottie where you tilt your head down just a bit and look over the glasses, flashing your gorgeous eyes at him. Take your glasses off and touch your fingers on your face near your eyes (this will get him to focus on how lovely they are!), then slowly put them back on. Or, take them off to think. And while you are thinking, tap the earpiece on your lips (which will make him pay attention to how much he'd like to kiss them).
2. Use that book in your hand to your advantage. If it's a popular title or a really interesting read, you've opened yourself up to a conversation about it, as long as you look up once in a while to smile. Or better yet, take the initiative and start the conversation yourself.
3. Work the piece of jewelry with an intriguing story behind it. A bold, funky piece of jewelry draws a lot of attention. For example, last spring I went to a jewelry making class and learned to make cuts in the focal stone, which turned out really cool. When I wear it, people usually notice it and sometimes start talking to me about it, and I already have a great story because I made it. And if you have no story, don’t forget the art of letting your fingers run over your necklace or brush against your neckline while you are talking to your hottie. It's called autoerotic touching, and according to the experts, it works quite well. Own it.
4. Ponytails CAN be sexy. They can be swept softly back, worn with heavy bangs, or adorned with cute pins or barrettes and actually look kinda pretty (and can remain a functioning staple for smart chicks). I'm guessing the old hair toss flirt trick still can work with a ponytail. And most certainly, we can still preen with a ponytail, which is a classic type of flirting that says, "Hey, here I am…making myself look gorgeous…notice me!" Brush a rogue strand of hair off your face or smooth your hair back.
5. Be confident. I know LOTS of women who are both smart and sexy…only they don't know how amazing they are. One of the sexiest things we can ever wear is an air of confidence, of assurance that we know who we are. Straighten those shoulders and look the world in the eye. Know that you are witty enough to make them laugh and keep them engaged.
Finally, try to remember that most men like smart women. While a great rack or legs that go on for miles might initially attract them, the really great guys want someone who can hold a conversation, who can keep things interesting, and who can use their wit and humor. It just never hurts to throw a bit of flirting in now and then.
Join Bridget Midway at the Phaze Books table on Saturday, April 4th from 9:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. at the first annual Charm City Fetish Fair. The event will be held at the Ramada Inn Hotel at Arundel Mills; 7253 Parkway Drive in Hanover, Maryland. She'll be signing print copies of Love My Way, Fascination Street, Original Sin and Phaze Fantasies - Volume I. For more information on this event, go to http://www.charmcityfetishfair.com/site/
Many years ago, I lived with a guy in a guesthouse on a big estate. I won't say how long ago, but the fact that we had a waterbed should give you a clue.
We liked our bed. It was heated, had padded side rails and a beautiful handmade quilt on top given to him by his grandmother. I have two, very vivid memories about this bed.
The first happened around the holidays, when this particular gentleman and I were having problems. On the verge of a breakup, actually. We went to a Christmas party thrown by my employer, and I proceeded to get totally blitzed on scotch. Yeah! Me! Only 20-something, swigging the hardstuff like it was water. I ended up on the restaurant's bathroom floor inside a locked stall. A girlfriend crawled under and dragged me out.
Somehow, my guy loaded me into the back of someone's van and took me home. I lay on that damned waterbed for two and a half days, sicker than all get out. It's a wonder I didn't die from all that alcohol poisoning. And if I moved, even the slightest muscle, that bed would swish and roll and amplify my nausea tenfold. Great memory, huh?
The other thing I remember is sex and tsunamis. Ever had sex on a non-baffled waterbed? (Baffled has nothing to do with confusion; it's just a waterbed construction with lots of "walls" inside to help control movement of water.) This was a big old bag of water. The rhythm of intimacy really got the waves going, and with them, the sound. Waterbeds, you understand, have to be "burped" periodically to get out the small bubbles that form. An unburped bed can be, well, quite noisy. I think that's enough of a visual for now.
Today, my noisy-sex-bugaboo is the electric blanket controllers that hang on the corners of the headboard. Must tether those suckers down somehow before someone takes a fatal blow to the head.
Well even if they aren't wouldn't it be interesting to incorporate one into your writing. The first trial for witchcraft in America (1648 sources tell me) was for Margaret Jones in Charlestown, Connecticut. Do you know what prompted her execution for witchcraft? There were several reasons here are 4...Think about them as you read them 1. whoever she touched with any affection or displeasure were taken with deafness, or vomiting or other violent pains or sickness.
2. She was a practicing psychic and her medicines that she confessed to using were harmless - like aniseed, liquors etc. Yet they had extraordinary violent effects on her victims (er) patients.
3. She told those who refused her psychic powers that they would never completely heal if they didn't --it was beyond comprehension of others even physicians or surgeons how this worked for her but it did. [the power of the mind is awesome]
4. Some things she foretold came to pass, other things she told to some secretly about that she could have no way of knowing were true or became true.
Now for a bit of do do do do (hear that suspense music) On the same day and hour she was executed for being a witch, "a very great tempest blew down many trees and etc. at Connecticut." Now that is spooky. But imagine the story you could build around someone like her - be it love story, romantic suspense, or paranormal romantic suspense.
"Promotion is not a sprint but a marathon...you start training slowly and build up steam." Writer's Guild Newsletter.
Erotiqué Press is the place to find erotic fiction. Our goal? To offer our readers all the sensual delights they can experience in the realm of sexual satisfaction and emotional attachment.
As a company, we share a common goal with the industry. We want to touch readers in a way that makes them feel extreme sensations and emotions. Each of our authors is hand selected, and each of them shares our vision that sex and erotica should be smart; fun; and a positive, healthy part of the human experience.
Formed on December 1, 2004, we have set a course for success, and we invite you to join the ride. Each month, we bring titillating tales of desire, passion, and of love…some based on the reality of sensuality while others sizzle with the most delicious of fantasies.
Thank you for your interest in Erotiqué Press. We look forward to pleasing you!