Tag Archives: sex
4 Mar

I knew she was trouble from the moment she walked through my door. Her kind of woman always meant trouble. Long blond hair flowed over her bare shoulders. Endless legs extended by expensive stilettos and a designer dress that cost more than a year of my rent. Back in the days I could afford rent, since I was sleeping in the office these days. She stared down disapproving of my feet on the desk. It probably wasn’t ladylike enough for her taste.

“Can I help you?” I asked pulling out two whiskey tumblers and a bottle of Scotch. Cheap shit, barely aged past three years, but it was all I could afford at the moment. Something told me my fortunes were about to change.

“I’m looking for T. Kane, P.I.” she said.

“How can I help you?” I poured her a glass of whiskey before pouring one for myself. “Take a load off.”

“You’re Kane?” she asked with a mixture of surprise and disgust.

“Tina Kane, at your service. Sorry if I don’t meet your standard, but not all of us can marry rich,” I downed my whiskey.

“Marry rich?” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t have to come here if I married rich.”

She gave the chair an apprehensive look clearly debating whether she should sit down.

“I cleaned that chair about a year ago after Fat Joe sweat all over it. It’s probably the cleanest thing in the office now,” I said.

She sat on the edge of the seat, careful not to let her skin touch any part of it.

“I actually came to you, because my husband is cheating,” she wrung her hands. I poured myself another glass and waited in silence for her to continue. “I didn’t marry rich, but he did. If I divorce him without legitimate grounds for divorce I’ll lose half my estate.”

“So what do you want me to do?” I asked.

“I need you to follow him and get proof. My whole estate’s on the line, so you can expect to be well rewarded,” she said.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” I drained my glass again.

“He’s out playing golf now, so I brought his day planner. This way you can have an idea of his schedule,” she pulled a leather bound agenda from her purse.

I flipped through the pages to today’s date. Her husband’s messy handwriting covered the page.

“I see you’re meeting him for lunch tomorrow,” I pointed at the entry.

“No, not that I know of,” she peered at the entry.

“Meeting with wife, it says,” I insisted.

“I’m not meeting him tomorrow,” she said looking genuinely confused.

“Well, then I guess I’ll go and find out what he’ll be doing at Sand Hotel,” I said leaning back in my chair.

“You’re the expert,” she said her voice riddled with doubt. “I’d better head back and put his planner where I found it before he gets back from his game. Here’s my card, let me know if you need anything.”

She gave me her card and put the agenda back in her purse before leaving. I watched her hips sway through the sheer fabric of her white dress. The fabric was snug around her tight rear and I was sure she wasn’t wearing any panties. Absently, I imagined how she would look under her designer dress. She was probably soft and smooth, covered in all kinds of creams to make her even softer and smoother. I’ve always wanted to sleep with a rich woman and make their snooty face contort into ugly expressions of uncontrolled desire. I shook my head, pushing the images of her naked body out of my mind.

She had left her glass of whiskey untouched, so I downed it. No use letting it go to waste, even if it was the cheap shit.

Snap a couple of pictures of the cheating bastard and then cash in. If only life was always this easy.

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5 places I thought it was hot to have sex, but were not

12 Nov

I’ve been gone a while, but don’t blame me. I was deep under the covers in a place where my line of work is frowned upon. I feel like James Bond, telling my tells of sexual deviation. In any case all this, made me think of the places I’ve had sex over the years and though I expected some of them to be extreme turn ons they turned out to be… disappointing to say the least.

5. Work  

To be honest, I’d always imagined this as sexy. Nothing naughtier than being paid to be an accountant while actually banging in the bathroom. Does this technically make me a prostitute? I am technically being paid for having sex? Or is it being paid while having sex? Is that a real distinction? In any case, when I actually arrive at the office and sit at the cubicle (Yes, I used to sit at a cubicle, right across from you) my libido goes into hiding. There are no muscular men walking shirtless around my office. Their mostly middle aged men with bellies starting to show. Even when an attractive manager would come to visit the smell of arrogance and inflated self-importance would put me off.

4. Public park

The notion of taking your clothes off and dancing in the rain was popular way before Ricky Martin suggested it, but I can tell you that this is horribly overrated. On a dark dank night, I was walking home through the park with my lover. We ducked under the trees to shelter from the rain. Passion overtook us. When we were done I was dirty, and not in the way that you like. I woke up with a runny nose and a cold the next day. Not hot.

Also, I’m pretty sure their was a hobo masturbating while he was watching us.

3. Airplane

The mile high club is a legend. Shooting through the sky in a cock with wings, does make me completely wet. So I sit in the plane hoping that the hunky steward is straight (oh bad bad stereotyping Juliana!) the rumbling of jet engines revving me up, only to completely crash at the moment of truth. Unless I get my own private jet, it looks like the mile high club is out of reach for me. The smell of urine (and whatever else) and the contortionist poses needed to pull off the sex at 10 000 meters ain’t for this lady.

2. Childhood bedroom

As a young teen living with my parents, I thought a lot about sex, but rarely got any. I thought it would be a good idea to bring my lover back into my parents house and to the bed where I used to sleep. I broke the bed and my parents had a talk with me about not bringing boys into the house. I’m an adult! They can’t tell me what to do!!! OMG!

1. Jail

Just not cool.

It’s not the Sex, It’s the Lover

17 Sep

” It is not sex that gives the pleasure, but the lover. “

Marge Piercy

After a long absence I’m back to provide you with my weekly thoughts on sex.

I find that many men have an obsession with techniques. They flip me around and bend me into all kinds of positions. I’m a flexible girl, so I don’t particularly mind it. What I mind is their smugness afterwards. Just because they managed to drill me while doing a handstand doesn’t make the sex great. Sure, every girls should try out handstand guy, because… awesome, but on the other hand it could never be more than a one night stand.

Although, I will never forget handstand man and that yoga instructor, they were not the best sex I’ve ever had. I’ve had my mind blown during the perfectly innocent missionary position. (A position that the church has given a bad name might I add). When you feel that the man is there in the moment with you, lost in the rhythm of your breath, intoxicated and entranced by the scent of your body, that is the sex I remember. There is no golden technique that can equal a man, who is a lover, not a machine.

If I wanted a machine, I would buy one, honey.

Hot Wheels: Handcuffed – Teaser

20 Aug

I loved the open road and not only for the tingling sensations between my legs provoked by the rumbling of Esmeralda’s 600 horse power engine beneath me. Esmeralda was my several ton vibrator and I rode her every day. She was my truck.

Today, I pushed her a little harder than normal. The surge of her engines sent ripples of pleasure rushing through me. I was cruising fast and resisted the urge to slide my hand into my pants to add a little bit of extra stimulus. Speeding over the highway in slick conditions, I couldn’t afford to get distracted. The pleasant hum of Esmeralda’s engine was enough for me now. Teasing me enough to keep me awake, but not completely distracted.

Joel’s knife lay beside me. I stroked the leather hilt, it was hard and smooth. I recalled the night we had met where he had greeted me with that Southern accent. His body wrapped me up each curve fitting with jigsaw precision. My hand slid between my legs as I remembered his hesitant surprise as I guided him to my other entrance. I pressed through my jeans. My concentration could handle it. He slid inside me with a gasp of surprise, squeezed by the virginal tightness of my behind. I hoped to corrupt him by taking him on his first foray into the forbidden, but he had remained his naïve self. He left me flowers before we left. I threw them out immediately, but I can’t even remember the last time someone had given me flowers.

My blood was pumping now, spreading the heat from between my legs to the tips of my limbs. The vibrations of Esmeralda’s engine never letting me quite come down. I unzipped my jean shorts. It couldn’t hurt to get a little more distracted. There was no one on the road. I slipped my fingers inside myself with a sigh of relief. I was slick and warm as thoughts of Joel and Esmeralda’s vibrations had been teasing me for miles. I moaned at the solid pressure of my fingers inside me. I trembled involuntarily as I curled my fingers to better reach my favorite spot.

I wanted more inside me, I wanted Joel inside me. I reached for his knife and covered the hilt with the juices on my hand before sliding the hilt between my legs. I rubbed it against me and when I felt it glide along the slippery edges of my lips, I forced the whole hilt in. I groaned in a throaty expression of pleasure. Each indentation on the hilt, meant for the fingers to grip it more comfortably, sent a shock of ecstasy up my spine. My hair stood on edge and my heart throbbed as the speed of hummingbird wings.

Never had I put anything like this inside me. A knife! What was I thinking? I looked down to see the blade sticking out between my legs. My head swam a little, tipsy from the cocktail of fear and pleasure.

Sirens and flashing lights made me tighten my grip around the hilt. In my rear view mirrors a police car shot out from behind a billboard advertisement and followed me. I checked my speedometer and cursed myself for being so stupid. I grabbed the blade delicately between my index finger and thumb and pulled it out slowly. Again the ribbed hilt gave me tiny little rhythmic shocks on the way out. I placed Joel’s knife in the glove compartment. I zipped up my jeans and pulled over. I looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes still sparkled with desire. There was not enough time to come down. It didn’t help that I’ve had fantasies of sleeping with a cop ever since the first time I was handcuffed.

The cop knocked on the door.

‘Please step out of the vehicle, sir,’ he said.

His jaw dropped when he saw me step out of the truck and I had to contain a giggle. He was everything you expect from a traffic cop. He had a mustache that accentuated his perpetual frown and mirrored aviators hiding his eyes. Muscular forearms stuck out from under his short sleeved uniform. He stood tall and confident, a hand casually resting on his holster.

‘License and registration please,’ he said after he recovered his composure and shut his mouth.

‘One second let me get it from my glove compartment,’ I said. I climbed back up and reached for the glove compartment. I made sure to lean over and arch my back to give the officer a got look at my round ass. My jean shorts tightened between my legs, as I bent over to get my license and registration.

I handed the papers to the cop who examined them with a poker face, any expression hidden behind the mustache and sunglasses.

‘Do you know why I pulled you over?’ he asked finally.

‘I don’t know officer Miller,’ I said in my best impression of innocent. Innocent was hard to portray and I didn’t keep it up for long, ‘You were looking for something pink?’

Officer Miller’s composure broke and he burst out laughing.

‘No,’ he said removing his sunglasses and wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. ‘I pulled you over because you were speeding, Mrs. Creamer.’

‘Miss Creamer,’ I corrected him. ‘I’m not married.’

‘You were speeding, Miss Creamer,’ he confirmed. ‘Is there a reason you were speeding? In hurry to get somewhere?’

‘No hurry, I was just a little distracted,’ I said.

‘I hope you weren’t talking on your cell phone,’ he said.

‘No, I wasn’t,’ I assured him. ‘I was masturbating.’

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Sperm Essentials – 5 things to know about sperm

13 Aug

Not many people are indifferent to sperm. You either love it, or you hate it. But let’s face it, most of us are pretty ignorant about much else except how it tastes and that they are notorious for causing babies. Since I prefer the naked and nude, I think its time to expose sperm.


5. Longevity

No, sperm cannot grant you immortality. Although, many theories point the humanities obsession with the sucking of bodily fluids has been translated into vampires. However, sperm itself might last longer than you expect. Inside a woman sperm can survive for up to 5 days. Latin-american tele-novelas have whole sub-plots based on this fact. That and also that your brother is probably adopted, so its OK to fall in love with him. Maybe wait for the conclusive evidence first…


4. Skin

So although sperm is not the key to eternal youth (Unless subjected to secret alchemical rituals known only to Madonna and that granny gymnast) it can make you look younger by eliminating wrinkles. The proteins in the sperm tighten the skin, plus the minerals contained in semen such as zinc and potassium are good for your skin anyway. It is the perfect facial. Next time save your money and skip the beauty parlor and just ask your lover for a treatment. It’s much more fun and way cheaper. Who can afford not to have sperm on their face in this economy?


3. Taste

Some people love it sweet, some salty, and a few love it spicy. The taste of sperm is customizable. What a man eats affects the taste of his sperm. So gentlemen, consider your diet. I’ve heard that pineapple juice results in an excellent flavor, but I encourage you to experiment.


2. Speed

If you think the Olympics swimmers are impressive you should have the utmost respect for the little swimmers as they can reach speeds up to 43 miles per hour at ejaculation. For those of you rolling your eyes thinking that is not impressive. That means an ejaculation on the street would violate the speed limit in residential areas. Although your ejaculation was caught on the traffic cam, the speeding ticket is probably the least of your worries.


the price of ignorance. 


1. Some sperm is female

Sperm is often seen as a symbol of masculinity, after all there is little more masculine than sperm. Turns out, sperm can be female as well.  Female sperm is slower but stronger and male sperm is faster but weaker. Sound familiar?


I hope you all leave today’s post slightly more informed and a little more aware of the little wonders. If you’re an expert on sperm, we’d all be happy to hear more about it! And by “all” I mean me.

Medusa’s Lover – Free Erotica this Sunday, 5 August

1 Aug

It’s my birthday this Sunday. Rather than receive a gift myself, I’m going to give a gift.

Medusa’s Lover – My most recent sexy short story will be free this Sunday August 5th. Be sure to download your free copy.

lust is blind.


Just to whet your appetite here’s a little preview.


Medusa’s Lover

The mirror revealed a beautiful woman. My hair flowed in waves over my shoulders, it shone with a million tiny stars. My flawless skin coated the ample curves of my body. I hated it. Clothes served no purpose. No one that saw me survived. I let them die with a final glimpse of my untethered beauty and yet all that registered on their petrified faces was horror.


I clawed at my face, the pain searing my cheeks, but the gashes healed as fast as I created them. I screamed in frustration for the millionth time. It was no use.


The mirror was the only one in my palace I hadn’t ground into sand. One as lonely as myself needs some form of company, even if it is my odious own.


I walked through my palace resting my hands on the balustrade of my balcony. My eyes kept to the cracked and dusty floors. I avoided the horror etched on the stone statues that decorated my house. Their faces were forever imprinted in my mind. I did not need to look up to see them.


Heroes, all of them. Come to slay the monster. Me.


Only one of them had not come to slay me. His statue stood beside me.


He smiled at me, his eyes wide with surprise as his finger pulled aside his blindfold. I had turned away to admire the sunset and when I turned back he was turned to stone.


“You foolish boy,” I said. At least his face was not contorted in horror. His stone lips were shiny and worn from the kisses I would give him every night before I would go to sleep.


I wrapped by arms around him. My fingers scoured his body, lingering in the parts I used to love the most. His neck, the muscles of his back, but they were beginning to crumble at my touch. His solid frame had been reassuring when he was alive, but now I longed to touch soft flesh. Something alive.


The sea was visible from my balcony. In the valley beneath my palace I could see the city below. The sunset bathed it in an orange hue. Soon it would glow with the lights of their torches.


In the distance a figure approached my palace with determined steps. Even from this distance his sword shone through the mist that rose up from the valley. My heart raced with excitement. Another hero come to destroy me. I delighted at the prospect of my own destruction and the imminent end to my loneliness.


I observed him as he entered my expansive garden. The trees and flowers the only living thing I had touched in centuries. He edged his way under the imposing stone gate, sword drawn and muscles tensed. Sweat made his body glisten in the setting sun. He spun around, swinging his sword at the sound of rustling behind him. A small hedgehog that tried to scurry across the path froze in front of him. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He smiled, but his crooked smile faded as he came ever nearer to my door.


I hurried down the stairs to hide behind the door. I didn’t want him to see me. I feared him not. On the contrary, I wished him to succeed.


The thick muscles of his bare legs tensed with each slow, deliberate step. He stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Like all those who came to slay me, he was a paragon of masculinity. A towering giant among men, with broad shoulders and limbs as thick as tree trunks. His sandaled footsteps fell on the floor as silently as a cat’s. It was difficult to tell where his golden skin started and where his breastplate ended. They flowed seamlessly into each other. He carried a golden Spartan shield.


“Don’t turn around,” I whispered. “If you do you can be sure it will be your death.”


He froze. A flesh statue, in the midst of a stone menagerie.


“I don’t want you to die,” I said. “I want to help you.”


“Are you going to lead me to the monster?” he asked.


“Lead you to the monster? I am the monster,” I said. My voice always put them off. They never expected a woman’s voice. They expected the shrill shrieks of a mindless beast with serpents instead of hair. I knew what they said about me in the village.


He shifted his shield slowly with the movements of a man cornered by an unpredictable and dangerous wild animal. He examined my golden reflection on his shield.


“But you’re just a woman,” he said. His posture relaxed.


“Don’t turn around,” I warned him. He stiffened again. “What did you expect?”


“Snakes for hair, demonic eyes, scaly skin, but not this,” he said.


“This?” I asked.


“You’re gorgeous. A rival to Athena herself,” he said.


I smiled. Athena’s jealousy was the very reason I suffered this horrid curse. I was happy to give my head to this man, “Listen to me carefully, hero. I do not want to hurt you. Are you listening?”


He nodded, shaking the plumes on his golden helmet.


“I’m going to walk and stand behind you. Watch me if you like in your shield. You can be sure it is not a trick. When I tell you I am ready, you will close your eyes and swing the blade round. Do you understand?” I asked.


Again, he nodded his understanding.


My bare feet glided the few steps left between us, leaving footsteps behind in the dust of crumbled statues. His muscles tensed as he watched my approach in his shield.


He was so alive. He smelled of fresh sweat and the grass he had crushed underfoot in the garden. Heat emanated from him. It had been so long since I had felt the heat of another living being. His broad chest heaved with each breath. His skin had little droplets of sweat. Did I even remember what skin felt like?


I reached to touch him. One last taste. Death would shortly follow.


More here.

The Importance of Trimming Your Hair

9 Jul

Hair isn’t the first thing that pops into your mind when you think about sex. Unless you have some sort of a weird hair fetish. Which is totally cool and you’re welcome to elaborate in the comments.

In fact, I’m quite partial to a little hair pulling myself. The gentle tug on my scalp almost forces my hair to stand on end. And then when a man takes me from behind and grips me by the hair, there is some primal instinct inside me that is unleashed. I arch my back and then pull him deep inside me as he hold me by the hair. It’s as if the cave-woman inside of me awakens. And the cave-woman is loud. She moans and screams and begs for more, for harder, for faster, but I digress. That wasn’t the hair I wanted to talk about today. Enough about the drapes, on to the carpet.

Hair comes into play in so many ways. Although there is something to say for the occasional furry bits. I think we have to face the fact that Chewbacca never got the girl.

I’m all for the musky scent of a real man or woman. I believe that smell is an often overlooked stimulus, during sex. The salty smell of sweat and semen, might sound a bit vulgar and many of you may wince, but you can’t deny this is the perfume of love. The original L’amour.  An irresistible aphrodisiac, Aphrodite herself was born immersed in the sensual scent of salt and semen. The origins of the Greek goddess of love and pleasure are no accident.

I don’t want to be drowned in the sea of froth from which Aphrodite rose. I want to ride the wave and float upon its currents. To do that, Chewbacca may need to make a few sacrifices, calm the seas for smooth sailing as it were.

Those that are covered in hair, must not despair, for there is so much more they can do to make themselves fair. The clay from which they were crafted can be molded into so many different shapes.

Hair has been a classic method of expression, from the punks to the metal-heads, to Christiano Ronaldo. There is just so much your hair can express. Do not limit it to the hair on your head. Use your furry gift to express yourself.



proud to be an American.


To breath in the perfume of love, I must be able to breathe, not be smothered in impenetrable bush.

Hair or no hair? That is the question.

How do you feel about it?

You’re doing it wrong: Polygamy

25 Jun

I’m like a traveling machine: when I’m not having sex or writing about having sex, I’m traveling.

I know what you’re thinking. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for travel. And you’d be right. Still I manage to squeeze in a trip on a giant winged dildo every once in a while.

A year ago, I was a part of a discussion concerning the merits of polygamy with an African chief. It all started with the subject of marriage, which is a far safer topic than politics or religion. Unless you get proposed to. Er. Not that that has happened to me.

One of my friends, a man complained that one woman was enough trouble by herself.

The Africa chief blinked in confusion and said, “You know. I hear that a lot from Western men. The problem is you’re doing it wrong.”

Each woman had their own household. Do NOT put them together in one house.

Flava Flav knows its all about time management

I agreed with the African chief. We’re doing it wrong.

So I proceeded to propose the way I would do it. I proposed that women should also be able to have multiple husbands as long as she can provide them with their own household. See? I don’t want to take away the potential for multiple partners, but if we’re going to do it that way, I want in on the action. Equality doesn’t necessarily mean I want to take it all away, but I do want the same options and opportunities.

see? isn’t this much better?

Felt Tips, Coming 12-12-12

11 Jun

Mark your Calendars! Juliana Sliema is in an anthology edited by Tifanny Reisz, author of The Siren!

Since she put it so eloquently I will quote her, “Please congratulate all our fine FELT TIPS writers when you see them on Twitter. They donated their time and talents to this charity anthology. Because of them, some kids who couldn’t afford new school supplies and some down-on-their-luck parents who can’t afford work clothes will be getting a hand from our one-handed read.”

you want me to do what with the phone?

Check out the list of talented authors in the table of contents I plucked from her blog post:



Jenny Lyn – Indelible

Karen Booth – Taking Dictation

Karen Stivali – Hard at Work

Heather Cole – The Saint of Office Hell

Blacksilk – Of Silver, Sin, and School Desks

Brittany Lawrence – Mine

Eric Andrew Satchwill – What Is It, Suzie?

Gwen Marie Porter – My New Office Chair

Amber Lin – Proof

Jason Darrick – Stapled

Kelly Jamieson – Getting Down to Business

AmyBeth Inverness – In the Closet

Rebecca Stewart – Special Delivery

Marie Wright – The Drawing

Sopphey Vance – Down to the Point

Lynne Silver – Doing it Write

Jillian Boyd – Mark Me

Shoshanna Evers – Tape

Alyssa Linn Palmer – Vee

Sandra Bunino – The Fountain Pen

Antonio Angelo – Trust Me

Lela Gwenn – Whiteboard

Xander Grimm – The Night Shift

Kiki Snow – The Benefits of Multitasking

R. Brennan – Routine Maintenance

Maxine Marsh – The Boss

Cara Ellyn – Private Message

Erin Danielle – All Marked Up

Lucy Felthouse – A Stroke of Peach

Anya Winter – The Server

Diana Cruz – A Rough Night at the Office

Emily Cale – A Planned Encounter

Patricia Correll – Theo’s Donation

Morgan Sierra – The Motion of the Ocean

Candice Bundy – Open Rack

K Fish – The Antique

Memory Scarlett – Silky & Silvered

Michelle Ribaric – All Work & No Play

Stella Harris – Turnabout

Juliana Sliema – Caught

Jade Adkins – Embrace the Strength Inside

Amanda Fletcher – What Happens at STAPLES

Allie Sanders – Love Letters

Tiffany Reisz – Teacher’s Pet

So like I said, remember the date (shouldn’t be too hard) and do contribute to charity with your clean hand. 😉

Are eBooks Sexy?

28 May

When I see a man with a dog-eared copy of Animal Farm or 1984, I confess to getting a little wet and warm. The blood rushes through my body and causes pulsations in my core. I usually spot the book before the man, so my arousal sometimes leaves my body feeling very confused. Confusion is fun, though. I’m confused about my sexuality, but that makes the world twice as sexual for me.

gotta be careful with all that hotness in the library.

eBooks are great. You can carry a library in your pocket and leave plenty of space in your pants for vibrators and other toys. They feel slick and clean. In the end, reading an eBook is like masturbating. It gets you where you need to go, without much hassle. A paper book on the other hand, is something that you can touch and caress and bend into better positions. You can get dirty with a paper book in a way that you can’t with an eReader. If you turn a page with your fingers slick with arousal, the paper is forever marked with your loving caress.

On the other hand, if you get you’re eReader wet with your juices, you can just wipe it off.

Maybe an eReader is better after all…

And you my dear sexy readers, what say you?

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