Text Play Contest with C. Margery Kempe

What sound does your mobile make when you have a message? Do you have a special sound for a special someone? Or does it just vibrate discretely?

C. Margery Kempe here and I have a new Naughty Nibble out this week called TEXT PLAY and it has a somewhat different take on texting, sexting and social media. Natalia runs into her old boyfriend Andrei on Facebook and flirts shamelessly, but when he wants to take it further, she's reluctant to tell him what she's realised about her own needs. She's afraid that he will find her too freaky -- or worse, that he won't have the courage to do what she needs.

What she needs is a firm hand. Natalia spends her days telling everyone around her what to do and when to do it. It turns her on to feel completely controlled -- and even punished!

I find one of the things that people don't understand about dominance and submission play is that it has nothing whatsoever to do with strength and weakness. It's all about trust. When you're going to extremes, trust is essential. Building it is the hard part, and that's what makes Natalia nervous. Here's a snippet from the story:

Feeling like a teen again, she turned on the chat function and the words flew between them. He was in Norwich, she in London. He had been married and divorced to a woman named Marilyn; she had been with Bryan for nearly five years. Andrei worked with computers, Natalia continued her life in public relations. They were both doing well. They were both unattached.

Give me your mobile number.

Why did she hesitate? Natalia tapped her fingers on the keyboard without pressing the keys. Everything was so complicated. The things she'd discovered about her own libido, the things Bryan couldn't or wouldn't do—they were the reasons she'd kicked him out. I know what I want. Natalia looked at Andrei's picture again. I just don't know if you will want to do them.

In the end, she sent the number, determined she would not wait for him to call. Natalia had just squeezed some dishwashing liquid into the sink when her phone buzzed. Hmm, a message not a call. Coward! But she had a broad grin when she turned off the water to go pick up the phone.

After all this time, the tiny print on the screen said, I still enjoy you.

"That's because I'm wonderful," Natalia said as she typed the letters in with her thumbs, "It's a pity you didn't figure it out sooner." She clicked the button to send the text, satisfaction filling her head. It was no less than the truth.

Natalia looked at the sink full of dishes. Screw it! She grabbed the phone and went into the sitting room. It was already vibrating and chiming before she flopped into her most comfy chair.

I was an idiot: weak and foolish.

Natalia drew in a deep breath. She would let him know right up front where she was: no sense in getting her hopes up if he was going to disappoint. She'd had too much of that as it was. "Are you any stronger now?" She whispered the words as she typed. "Because I need someone strong: someone who can bring me to my knees."

A longer pause ensued this time before his response. Natalia had begun to think she should turn on the television or at least the radio when the phone went off again.

On your knees? Now there's a tempting picture. Yum.

Natalia certainly thought so. The image of herself ordered to her knees always filled her with a special thrill. "Are you strong enough to put me there?" she typed, cursing at her typos and correcting the spelling. Her lust was getting the better of her, addling her brain again. It had been far too long since she'd had the prospect of a yummy fuck ahead of her. The trip down memory lane fueled her fantasy.

Another chime. So how would you be dressed in this little scenario?

:-D

You'll have to get the story to find out what happens. Or win a copy here today! How can you win? Tell me some fantasy you haven't yet made real and I'll pick the best one as winner. Then I'll demand you make it happen, LOL. Okay, I can't do that, but let's hear them.

Making Love

There are a lot of euphemisms, synonyms, and slang terms devoted to the sex act, especially as it appears in print. “Having sex,” “bumping uglies,” “doing the nasty.” And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, to say nothing of some of the more "printable" ones.

The one that sets my teeth on edge the most is “making love.” This particular poetic description conjures up images of two people “chastely” enjoying each others' bodies while rose petals rain from the ceiling, little diapered cherubs float aloft playing soft harp music, and they whisper tender declarations of undying love.

(Insert record scratch sound effect here.)

Yes, I also deal in sarcasm.
In reality, sex is a sweaty, sticky, wet, messy business. During a truly erotic encounter, the cerebral cortex shuts off. There’s literally no room for conscious thought. Part of this is because the blood that permits our brains to operate is rerouted to other areas, which then take over all “thinking.” This is why a guy with an erection is unlikely to be capable of intellectual speech. The lights are on, but no one’s home; the little head is doing all his thinking for him. If you can get a grunt out of him at that moment, you’ve got about all the reasoned discourse you can expect until the Viagra wears off.

At the moment of orgasm, it is utterly absurd to believe anyone capable of thinking about the PTA meeting tomorrow, or the conference with the kids’ principal next week. If you’ve ever had a truly intense and satisfying orgasm, you know that until the spasms subside, you can’t do anything but sit back and enjoy the psychedelic explosion of white noise in your mind. At the end of a vigorous and truly sexy interlude, neither participant should be able to do anything but look at the ceiling and gasp. A mumbled “I love you” might, and I say might, be made out among the panting, but that’s as far as that goes.

Is that to say that making love is impossible? Certainly not. There are those times when you start off slow, with lots of foreplay, taking your cues and pleasure as much from your partner’s responses as your own. It is even possible to make love to yourself, and no matter what Dr. Freud may have said on the subject, there’s nothing wrong with that. You can’t truly please someone else unless you know how to please yourself and what the “hot spots” for YOU are.

But such episodes, although intense, are also rare. Sensuality and seduction take a backseat to the animal urge to mate. As “civilized” people, we may not want to admit it, but when those juices get flowing, we haven’t advanced one single day since the first caveman. I know women who will personally trip a man they want, beat him to the ground, and have their way with him. There are men who secretly wish the mating rituals harkened back to a simpler time: a “thunk” on the head, a nice nap, and he’s there waiting for you when you wake up. Men have to exercise a bit more discretion with this line of thinking, though: at best the unfortunate male will be branded a Neanderthal. At worst, he’ll have to be very careful how he handles his soap in the shower.

So why do we, as romance writers, make such a primal act so frilly?

Because it deserves it. There’s plenty of porn out there, if all you want to do is get your rocks off. We want you to feel. We want you to remember why, in the best of all possible worlds, you first kissed this person you’re with today. We want you to remember what it was about that person that made you trust them with all your insecurities and inadequacies, remove your clothing, and present yourself without hesitation, barriers, or fear to them.

We strive to recall that sweet, nostalgic feeling of the first time that pain and awkwardness were no longer an issue and both partners took and gave of themselves freely, with confidence and desire. The first heated “I love you” whispered in that moment when both partners were striving toward mutual release. And the tender embrace afterward, when it didn’t matter a damn about the sweat or the wet spot on the bed, as long as they could stay as close as possible without the erotic connection. 
To simplify that little ramble, we want to remind our reader that the expression of sensuality is more than inserting Tab A in Slot B. There's more to sex than a series of neurochemical and physiological responses which facilitate the placing of Tab A in Slot B. And there's more to love than merely sex. Sex is the dessert which completes the menu, but without the meal that precedes it, cheesecake, delicious as it is, will never truly satisfy on its own.

If we've done our job properly, you, as the reader, will remember these things. Or, if you haven’t been fortunate enough to experience this for yourself, maybe you’ll seek it out for yourself. Once the rapture subsides and your brain comes back on line, we hope, you’ll lay there in the dark and your lover’s warm embrace and think, “So that’s what they meant!”

We couldn’t ask for a better review than that.

Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne

The Slick and Easy Way to Hook Up

And no, this isn’t a guide to scoring in bars or anywhere else. Since I
might have attracted a few hopeful studs with the title, before I continue—to quote Joey Tribbiani...

“How you doin’?”






All right, just so we’re clear, I’m talking fiction. Picture this:

Johnny rested his hip against the bar, idly tracing odd shapes on the worn wood counter with the condensation from his beer. A long day straddled on a beam under the hot sun nailing down planks had left him parched and sore. He should have gone home, rubbed lotion on his burns, and crashed on the sofa with some rotgut.

Instead he’d let his baser brains drag him here to watch the pretty young things that had passed the construction site flirt with every rough neck in the bar. Worse thing was, the way the girls laughed jarred his teeth worse than a drill bit grazing a steel girder. Just imagining one of the two under him, squealing in pleasure made his head throb.

Hell, I’m not that horny.

The light scent of fresh clipped green things drifted over the aroma of bar brew and tobacco, so unexpected and sweet he inhaled deep before he turned.

Karen, the daughter of the guy who sold fancy flowers for weddings and such. He’d seen her before. Cute little thing, just back from some relief effort in the jungle—or so he’d heard. Looked like she’d helped her dad around the shop. She sure smelled good.

And if she hadn’t changed in the years she’d been gone, she was nice and quiet.
He slid closer to her and whispered in her ear. “Are your legs tired, honey? Because you've been...”

All right, cut!

Decent scene, normal guy, might even be sexy as hell. But I don’t want him to get the girl. I’m groaning and rolling my eyes already. If she so much as gives him the time of day, I’m hoping she gets some kind of VD.

Okay, not really, but I won’t enjoy them getting together either. Maybe it’s just me, but if I’m going to fall for a quick seduction, it’s got to be handled right. As a writer I know that for readers to fall in love with an erotic hero they have to be convinced that he could seduce them.

Now I’m gonna list 5 ways you can help your intense, alpha hero get the girl. Now.

1. He needs to look in her eyes.

Anyone that says ‘duh’ gets chained to the wall for all our sexy cover models to use so be careful.

Eye contact is often used all wrong. It’s slipped in with dialogue, but if you’re in the head of a male on the prowl, he needs to spend some time observing those big blue eyes he’s trapped under his dark gaze. Are her pupils dilated? (if you’re a writer and you don’t know what that means, please look it up. It’s important) Is she blinking fast? Does she look away and back?

These are clues. Your man needs to know how to use them. He must study his prey.

2. He can’t think about wanting to sit her on the bar and screw her silly—not yet anyway.

Everything in his posture should say he’s content to be where he is, just watching her. If she’s not interested, she’ll leave. But if she’s stayed this long, he’s got one last shot before she’s out of hearing.

3. Now, he may speak.

The words must be chosen carefully, but not seem to be. And they must imply several things. I’m interested, but not desperate. It’s your move. (Of course, if she’s a submissive or a dome and they’re in a BDSM club, the conversation will be a little different, but you can use the basics).

4. Read body language.

If she’s inviting him in, he better not miss it. A little shift forward, the way her legs cross, where the tips are pointed. Is she licking her lips? Has her breathing changed?

5. Now the kiss.

Time to show your hand, buddy. The right kind of kiss can overwhelm all sense of right and wrong and make a girl do naughty things.

Unless he’s caught himself a naughty girl. Then the stakes change. But we’ll save that for another lesson. Imagine the scene above with Johnny taking the time to look at Karen, give her a moment to see that he’s only interested in her, ask her about the flower shop and mention how much he likes the fresh scents clinging to her. Her lashes lower, but she’s breathing fast.

Then he takes her mouth, slow, gentle at first, then firm and deep when she presses against him.

Now he can screw her on the bar and I won’t be disgusted by her. So long as I get my turn. ;)

And now, let me introduce myself (saved this for last because I’m not as interesting as Johnny’s sex life). I am Bianca Sommerland, author of Erotic Fantasies that often includes ménages or polyamory. I also read—a lot—and this post comes not only from what I’ve learned as a writer, but what I expect as a reader. Feel free to disagree, in your head or in the nifty comments box below.

You can learn more about me and my books here I'm No Angel Authors Blog. I’ll return to the Noble Author’s Blog April 1st to talk writing and sex.

Have a great weekend. It’s been a pleasure.