Most normal people would be getting drunk right about now.

There's not even a movie I can summon the patience to watch. Texas Chainsaw Massacre doesn't scare me. There was a novelty to it, I got it the first time, I have no wish to see it again. It's pretty boring. "Halloween" is boring, the music and her screeching just takes away any scare factor. These are all good movies, I just don't have it in me to be scared by them. Creeped out, not scared. I tried Martin, because of the association between vampirism and rape, in particular in Martin's case but I don't like the quality of that film. Even if I watched these movies with a friend or relative, we'd just have a laugh, neither of us would be scared.

Don't get me started on The Excorsist. It's too hilarious. I think it was either the book to this or The Devil's Advocate..actually probably both that got me startled at night, good I wanted that, but have you ever seen the movie Devil's Advocate? Keanu Reeves? Are you having a laugh? And I keep waiting for Al Pacino to burst out with hoo ah!

But I did get creeped out tonight and I'll not complain there isn't enough provocation in that sense. I got sent an email which made me nauseous. It was teen girls complete with crooked teeth and braces topless. It was so so disgusting. The photos also looked fake, and they just looked so creepy and odd, creeply smiles, creepy eyes and creepy stuck from someone else's bodies. Ew. It's the first time I've ever seen something like this and it's going to haunt me, but not in a good horror movie way, in a bloody gee thanks a lot for sending me some shit which you should have just kept to yourself you DISGUSTING PAEDOPHILE way.


My ideal Halloween would be to have someone around to visit a graveyard with me. Yes. True. It'd be pitch dark and we'd have a bottle of alcohol and just be freezing and talking.

The place where I live, there's no houses. So there's no trick or treating. It's just pub brawls and I don't feel like even going anywhere near that area when I'm on my own. I want silence. Silence is the best. I have it now. And that's probably why I'm kind of smiling writing this. It adds to my never mind graveyard, even the corner of a field fantasy under a tree. Drunk. Fucked. Without consent. Slapped. Spanked. Twisted. All orchestrated by Master.

"When the rape fantasy becomes a reality." This woman angered me.

http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-girl-talk-when-rape-fantasy-becomes-reality/

"Two weeks ago, my gentle and loving boyfriend of three months held me down and forced me to have sex with him against my will, and then told me I had asked for it. And technically, he was right.

Jacob and I had only been dating about a month and a half when I intimated that I had a rape fantasy. Over the years, I’d had my share of experience with role-playing and rough sex. I vividly recall a male friend of mine in college telling me that I had a distinct air of “sexual prey” about me, and me thinking that this was a huge compliment. Being dominated and playing the innocent who secretly wasn’t had been my currency and had guided the sexual dynamic I forged with partners for the last 10 years. But only for the last few months had I allowed myself to entertain what I considered to be the final frontier— a simulated rape.

The problem, of course, was that since we’d never discussed it, his decision to enact it without any prior dialogue, without my consent, robbed me of the control that would’ve made it a rape fantasy rather than an out-and-out rape.

Growing up as I did in an era where the phrase “no means no” was seared into my brain from grade school on, I was nervous about revealing my dirty secret to Jacob, worried I’d scare off my relatively naïve partner or make him think I was sick. I was relieved and excited when he told me he would be into trying it out. From there, the content of our emails, texts and video chats became decidedly faux-rapey, as I told him how I wanted him to hold me down, force my legs apart and screw me even as I begged him to stop. It was foreplay, and it got me incredibly hot. In my mind, it was still very much in the realm of fantasy, and I was secure in knowing that if and when I decided to take things to the next level—i.e., act out the fantasy—the inevitable and, for me, dreaded conversation involving safe words and boundaries (things I’d always associated with schoolmarms and humorless girls who’d read too much Third Wave feminism) would have to happen.

I never got the chance to have that conversation before things went horribly wrong. To celebrate Jacob’s birthday, I’d booked us a room in a fancy hotel, where we’d proceeded to make very quick work of every surface in the first few hours of our stay. Late that night, we returned home from a tame evening out, both totally sober. We’d been arguing intermittently and there was a strange vibe between us when I flounced onto the overstuffed bed in my underwear, pouting petulantly. As he crawled on top of me, I rather sternly informed him that I didn’t want to have sex with him. To my horror, he got a menacing look on his face and ignored my protests. I knew after a few misguided attempts to block him from entering me that he thought what was happening was drastically different from what I knew to be taking place. To him, this was the fantasy I’d been talking about. To me, it was not. The problem, of course, was that since we’d never discussed it, his decision to enact it without any prior dialogue, without my consent, robbed me of the control that would’ve made it a rape fantasy rather than an out-and-out rape.

As the knowledge of what was happening dawned on me and the seconds crawled by, I made the decision to lay as mute and motionless as possible, to drive home the point that it wasn’t, in fact, what I wanted and I wasn’t enjoying what he was doing. I was worried that fighting back would only make him think I was play-acting all the more, and I didn’t feel imperiled enough to try to hurt him in the service of getting him to stop. When it was over, I lay there, shaken. When I finally sat up, I whispered to Jacob that what happened wasn’t what he thought happened. And it was then that what might feasibly have been dealt with as simply an unfortunate miscommunication (a very unfortunate one) took on the weight of an irrevocable transgression. Horrified at the suggestion that he’d misread my signals and overtaken me, Jacob began to lash out. He insisted that I was to blame, that I’d made him into a monster and led him down the road to ruin by suggesting the fantasy in the first place. He furiously maintained that despite what I said, I could’ve stopped him. I could’ve uttered the magic words that would’ve made him know I was serious, that I wanted him to stop, that this was not, in fact, my fantasy. But because I didn’t, I was, as he eloquently put it, asking for it.

If this had happened to any one of my friends, indeed any woman I know, I’d have been the first to rail against any sort of “blame the victim” stance. But knowing what I know about my own reticence to set concrete limits, not out of laziness but out of sheer spite for what I’d always thought was a lame, overwrought, touchy-feely set of principles, I can’t assuage myself fully from blame.

In the days and hours and weeks since that night in the hotel room, I fought hard to make Jacob understand that I didn’t blame him entirely for what happened. I knew I’d failed to explain my boundaries to him, but the incident itself wasn’t what had upset me as much as his single-minded belief that I and I alone was responsible for the f**k-up. His lack of compassion and empathy proved to me that he wasn’t the sort of person I could rely on when things got, as it were, rough. Maybe with the right person, the relationship could’ve recovered from such a catastrophic misunderstanding. But I’ll never know. I’ll never let such a catastrophic misunderstanding happen again."


I think why it infuriates me, why this woman Anouk infuriates me, is what she has written. It's part fairytale and then part recounting of a disaster. I feel like I've been given half the story when all the story is needed. I also find it difficult to not judge someone who looks down on safewords to the extent she does. Granted not every sexual relationship has a safe word but she looks down on them so flippantly with a sentence like, "involving safe words and boundaries (things I’d always associated with schoolmarms and humorless girls who’d read too much Third Wave feminism)."

She comes across as the kind of woman I actually hate; using your sexuality as a currency. She comes across as fake, "I vividly recall a male friend of mine in college telling me that I had a distinct air of “sexual prey” about me, and me thinking that this was a huge compliment. Being dominated and playing the innocent who secretly wasn’t had been my currency and had guided the sexual dynamic I forged with partners for the last 10 years."

What happened to her was rape no doubt from what she describes later on.

It's also the worst case scenerio of a woman who's too into role play, not naive or innocent, but actually someone who had her own play turned visciously on her.

I think Jacob reacted from guilt and I think he was very, very nervous about this whole thing. I'm not justifying his actions. I could well be wrong about him also. The fact is he raped her and he shows no remorse. I also think he's going to be messed up forever.

Some comments are about our culture. Blame the victim. And related to that, some are about this "We’d been arguing intermittently and there was a strange vibe between us when I flounced onto the overstuffed bed in my underwear, pouting petulantly." I understand people's judgement about this but to me it's not about what she is or isn't wearing or actually even her behaviour, she was edgy and we can all act dumb when we're edgy but it's about the fact that like I say we're looking at her as a human being and so far we're seeing someone who's been through a hell but also someone that some commentators and myself have problems with as a person. She's putting herself out there and we're judging. In my opinion this was rape, this was wrong, it hurt her a lot and despite my judgement, these three things remain facts. I have sympathy for her.

"Sit on your hands, Rosie"

I am glad to post about Lissa Matthews newest book, Cracklin Rosie. Her blog is http://lissamatthews.com/blog/ and she posts snippets of her books on there beforehand as well. She's one of my favourite authors, everytime I read her book I send her a message.

Her books are so intense, they have a lot of emotional depth as well as erotica. They also have a lyricism and the people are very real and not at all quaint. My favourite part of Lissa's newest, is Decker our hero not giving up. He absolutely claims our heroine, Rosie, she's pretty much his from the start and she's a real woman who needs a real man. I know people have a problem with that word, real. By real, I mean someone without frills and has dimensions that we're allowed to see. I've read books where the heroine has resistance to the hero but this one is better because it's real and it doesn't go into cariacture.

Lissa writing speaks for itself so I wil leave you with a blurb, two excerpts and a link. Happy Halloween for tomorrow!

"Blurb:

A tool for every job. A belt for every occasion…

Blue Jeans and Hard Hats, Book 2

Food is Rosie’s life, and life is good. She loves it, makes it, serves it in her diner, writes about it in her blog, and she’s happy. At least until a storm puts a rather large tree limb through her roof, and a sex-in-a-tool-belt roofer on top of her cabin.

But that’s not where she wants him. No, she wants him behind her with a strip of leather in his hand. That’s what makes her edgy—vulnerability is not her style. Except the more prickly she gets with him, the more he turns on the charm.

Decker arrives in Blue Ridge, Georgia, with nothing on his mind but a job and some new scenery. His legendary patience is tested from the first moment he meets sharp-tongued Rosie. She’s got hips that sway, non-stop curves and a mouth that needs to be filled with things that are much sweeter than vinegar.

A few singe-worthy kisses, and Decker uncovers passions that will likely earn her every red stripe she’s begging for. And Rosie discovers Decker’s got a hunger burning deep inside to give her anything and everything she needs. Maybe even…forever.

Warning: Between the sheets of this book you’ll find a twist on a decadent southern dessert, sweet rose wine, picnic table sexiness, truck sex, a man who knows how to give a spanking and a woman who knows how to bend over a hot yummy lap.

Mmm. Mmm. Mmm!

I hope y’all enjoy this book. It’s a little longer than Sweet Caroline. It’s a little darker, as some have put it. There’s a little bit of power play going on, but as in all my books, it’s subtle. I like subtle.

Rosie is feisty. Decker is hot. They are firecrackers together."




"“You want me to get his order?”

Rosie glanced at Decker who was staring at her. Evidently, Caroline had picked up on Rosie wanting more than to live vicariously through her and Buck, too. She shifted her gaze back to Betsy, her partner at the counter this morning. “No, I’ll get to him. Eventually.”

Problem wasn’t her getting to him. Problem was him getting to her. And the longer he remained in Blue Ridge, the more he got to her. She’d just admitted to wanting him, just told him she couldn’t sleep because of him. She shouldn’t be admitting things like that. She knew deep down it wasn’t going to deter him, either. Hell no, it was only to make him more determined.

“You sure? I don’t mind. Thinkin’ I might like to get more than his order.”

Rosie would be irritated if it was anyone else, but Betsy was pushing sixty-five. She winked at the other waitress. “Go for it then, Bets. He might be into cougars.”

Betsy laughed. “You bad girl. That man is young enough to be my son. Sadly, I don’t think he comes in here to see me. I believe he’s only got eyes for you.”

Yes, Rosie knew that to be true. He did. And it sucked. He was still staring at her, too, smiling. She didn’t know his friend Buck all that well, but at the moment, she wanted to kill him for asking Decker to come and work on her house. Which in turn would lead to her wanting to kill Caroline because Rosie had no doubt the other woman had mentioned it to Buck. Yeah, mass murder all around.

“He’s a good one.”

Rosie snorted. “How do you know that?”

“I can just tell. You know, my Bert proposed to me three days after we met. The heart knows.”

“So your heart knows that the roofer is what? A good man?”

“Yes. But more importantly, your heart knows it, too.”

“Things don’t happen like that anymore, Bets.”

“Oh, girl, please. The heart is the same. The feelings are the same. The details may be different, but in the end the heart knows. He’s one of the good ones. He’s one of the few worthy ones. Now, are you gonna go get his order or…?

“I’m going. I’m going. You drive a hard bargain. You know that?”

“That’s my job. You’re the granddaughter I never had. Now scoot and stop giving that young man such a hard time.”

Rosie stuck her tongue out at the grandmother she never had and made her way to the other end of the counter. It just wasn’t as easy as Betsy made it sound. Rosie wished it were, but… She shook her head and glared at Decker. “You want the usual? To go?”

“Nope. I’m not in a hurry this morning.”

Of course not. “Well, we’re pretty busy, so how about I get it all bagged up for you anyway and you can give up your seat for another customer. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You’re not being very hospitable, Rosie. Might have to talk to your manager.”

It’s not that she didn’t want him around. It’s that she wanted him around too much. It threw her off her game. She didn’t know how to handle a man’s interest like his. Hell, she didn’t know how to handle her own interest in him. She was thirty-seven years old and had never come across a man as potent as him—straight sun-streaked brown hair to his collar, black-rimmed glasses with skulls on the frames, dark chocolate eyes, and tattoos. He had tattoos up and down his back. She’d seen him once without his shirt and stared and drooled like a damn fool. He was gorgeous. At least to her. Most people in town gave him a wide berth until he smiled at them. Then they warmed up, shaking his hand, talking to him, making him feel welcome and at home in their little community. She didn’t want him feeling at home here. She wanted him to go home, back to wherever he came from.

And speaking of that damned smile of his. It was very disarming and melted every woman, even ones older than Betsy, into a puddle. He had eyes for only one woman though.

Why couldn’t he have been one of those overweight, beer-bellied, crack-showing blue-collar guys? It would have made life lately so much easier.

“I am the manager.”

Then there was the megawatt grin. His teeth were pearly white in his tan face, straight and beautiful. Could teeth be beautiful?

“Well, isn’t that fortunate for you? Not to mention, I never said I was anything close to a gentleman.”

He hadn’t, but she knew he was. He opened doors for little old ladies. He shook hands with little old men. He smiled, made small talk with people, and she knew he’d give his last dollar to anyone that might need it. He had that bad-boy look yes, but he was a gentleman through and through. It sucked. Why couldn’t he be a jerk? “Seriously, Decker, what can I get you? We are busy, and I just…I don’t like you.”

“So you were lying out at the truck?”

“No I wasn’t lying. I don’t lie.” At least not to anyone but herself. “I said I wanted you. I said nothing at all about liking you.”

“Ouch.” He placed a hand over his heart as though he really was wounded. “If I believed you that would sting. But, lucky for you, I don’t and my feelings are tougher than that. I can withstand the abuse. Especially now that I know the truth.”

Of course he could take it. She’d been dishing it out to him since he arrived at her cabin and he’d been smiling all the while. There was no way she’d be able to win with him. She was going to lose her heart and in the end, she was the one that would bear the wound. “What do you want from me?”

“For starters, how about dinner? A little kindness maybe? And some conversation.”

“That’s it?” She knew that wasn’t it. She didn’t want that to be it. She wanted there to be so much more.

“Well, I said for starters.”"

Available to buy at http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/cracklin-rosie

K's excerpt,

"She sat across from him, tense, nervous, fiddling with the menu, the napkin, the edge of the table. She checked the salt and pepper shakers, the half-full ketchup bottle and frowned. She looked around then immediately looked back down when she noticed people looking in their direction.

“Sit on your hands, Rosie.”

“What?” Her wide blue gaze snapped up to his face.

“Sit on your hands. Now.”

“Why?”

“Because you won’t calm down and relax. So, I’ll say it one more time before I come and do it for you. Sit on your hands. One under each cheek.”
Decker didn’t think she would do it but after a few minutes of her looking all around and her teeth worrying her bottom lip, she rocked on the seat as she slid one hand then the other under her bottom.

Her face was bright red, and she was staring a hole right through the middle of his chest. “Rosie, look at me.”

“I am.”

She was. Literal little brat. “Look at my face.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, she did as he asked. There was heat mixed with uncertainty mixed with that ever-present sliver of defiance. He was growing to love that part of her. It made her need for spankings and sexual teasing all the more fun, and watching her walls crumble and fall when she began pleading for the orgasms… Yeah, he was growing to love all those things about her.

“Tell me something you enjoy about owning the diner and don’t look away from my face.”

“The freedom of not working for anyone else.”

That was easy enough. “How so?”

“Well… When I was in culinary school, I had to work to pay rent and such and since I’d worked in the diner all my life, I worked in a restaurant. They were open twenty-four hours so my schedule was pretty flexible around school. I hated being at the whim of someone else though. Working here was different because I was practically running the place during high school, but working down in Atlanta, having someone to report to, having to follow their rules, and their schedules and not having any say about anything... I just hated it. I knew then I would want my own business. I didn’t know it was going to be the diner, but I knew I’d want to work for myself.”

“Why don’t you spank yourself?”

The question caught her completely off guard exactly as he’d intended. Those blue orbs widened again and she was speechless, her mouth opening and closing with nothing coming from between her lips. Betsy, their waitress, chose just that moment to bring their plates. The older woman was boisterous and kind and at the diner as much as Rosie was. She was always giving him an appraising eye, too, flirting with him. He liked it and flirted right back with her, even though she was old enough to be his grandmother. He wanted Rosie to see him as a guy, as a fun guy. He didn’t want her to see him as a threat to her world and if he could win Betsy over, well, maybe she’d put in a good, encouraging word for him.

The woman’s gaze shifted back and forth between Decker and Rosie, twinkling the whole time. She was full of mischief and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she knew his feelings and intentions with Rosie and was firmly in his corner. “Is there anything else I can get you two?”

“I’m set,” Decker beamed, looked down at his plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and fried okra. “Though more tea might be good. Oh and I’m gonna want dessert.”

“Sugar, you can have anything your little heart desires.”

“Don’t encourage him, Bets.”

“Oh hush, now. I don’t know why I shouldn’t. He’s perfectly harmless.”

“Harmless, my ass.”

Decker smirked at the glowering look Rosie gave both he and Betsy. “I think we’re good here for a bit, Betsy.”

“You just holler if that changes.”

She moved on to the other customers at other tables in their section, and Decker turned his attention back to his date. “Chicken and dumplings? I don’t think I’ve ever had that.”

“Seriously? Never?”

“Nope. Mind if I snag a bite?”

“Can I move my hands from under my ass?”

“Yep. I’m proud of you by the way for keeping them there and for asking to remove them.”

“Yeah well…I’m going to wash them now.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I just bet you will.”

She slid out of the booth and as she started to walk by, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Kiss me.”

“What? Here?”

“Yes, here. Kiss me.”

“Decker…”

“I’m not letting you go until you do.” She looked around. The nervousness was back, and she was thrown off kilter. He both loved it and felt bad about it, but she needed to get over this hesitation about them being in public together. “Kiss me, Rosie.”

“Oh all right,” she sighed. She leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“No. Not good enough.”

She sighed again and when he tugged on her arm, she leaned in again and kissed him for real this time. It was eerily similar to the kiss he’d given her here in the diner a few days before. There was no tongue, but there was heat and intent and he could live with that. “Good girl,” he whispered against her lips. “Go wash your hands. Dinner’s getting cold.”"

Controversy.

That's a pretty controversial book cover. It's definitely a child. Not a child dressing up but a child as a child and then to read a book where the man is obsessed with this child, Lolita, we're on dangerous territory. I've seen a movie adaptation of Lolita, I've read a little from the book. The books I admire are Anneke Jacob's As She's Told, not just when I'm feeling naughty, books that push because they're written by people who are talented, not just vomiting out sentences for shock value like that Marie Claire bitch (google it).

Only last week there was a photoshoot of two young women from Glee which caused controversy. And it only took a shot of one placing her hand on the other's clothed arse to have some people shouting. I'm completely against homophobia. To me, you can call it outrage at two "young girls" (the actresses are both in their twenties) but I say if you have a problem with one woman's hand on the other's arse, you're a homophobe, the kind who thinks it's not appropriate to have any kind of homosexuality on tv before watershed. Well excuse them for not being straight fine upstanding citizens in your eyes. What will upset your high standards next? Perhaps the fact it's okay to have Natalie Portman in a movie where she's how old, five,?, holding a gun but it's sensationalist to see her kiss another woman when she's nearly 30 now probably.

The rest of the Glee photoshoot had jock with a heart Finn in the middle of the colourful, candy, yes Lolita esque type of photoshoot. But someone said there is a difference between the Lolita thing and paedophilia and a difference between a woman dressing up in knee high socks and a young girl..and a man who isn't a closet paedophile should be able to differentiate. I have newfound respect when I read the late Kurt Cobain replied to the record company when they asked him to erase the privates of the baby in the water on Nevermind, to put a sticker over the privates saying that if this offends you must be a closet paedophile.

And, the jock from Glee was fully clothed whereas the women weren't and apparently it's equality between the sexes when the men are undressed too. Uh huh.

There's not one erotica book I have read which doesn't have an element of taboo. Sex, desire, and why limit it to fantasy if it's between two consenting adults, I'll come on to the adult word in a minute, is not politically correct. I would much rather read a book that pushes me than one which is merely just arousing.

Have you heard about a movie called Great Balls of Fire? Dennis Quaid plays Jerry Lee Lewis who did that famous song, you'll know when you hear those words, and Winona Ryder plays the young girl he marries. She was his "first cousin once removed" but the point I am making is she was 15 and it caused a scandal. He was 23. That're pretty huge right there, enough to make people shriek but had he been 33, it would have added shriek. I don't know their relationship, perhaps she was like the character Lolita, perhaps she was even the opposite. Whether I think this is right or wrong depends on things which I don't know about those two.

But I know Lolita from the book and movie. I know the first time the man Humbert sees her and what he describes. I know he uses the words nymphets and childlike. And I know some people will cry over what they haven't yet read. Right. Wrong. This is freedom of expression. Vladimir Nobokov had written a book about obsession and his beautiful articulation drew me in. So I don't particularly care about right and wrong in a book. And, if Nobokov was more like Humbert than we'll ever know, then I won't defend him but I won't demand society shouldn't know about Lolita. It's one of those books that sort of makes me even more alive.

Don't worry, I don't get women either.

On the one hand some women say they want variation in models but those same women will turn their noses up and block their minds and say why are they sticking HER in our face and she's not got the face to model. It's not even rude, it's intolerant and forget about fair/unfair, they just will never be happy.

Look if some one bothers you that much, just don't look. Yet, you insist on looking again and just continuing to show yourself up.

For the record, I'm 5ft 2, clearly not a model and I don't have aspirations to be but I don't get intimidated by 6ft women in magazines who have different bone structures, hair and what have you to me because I believe I'm as beautiful as they are, I'm just not a model, that's all it is. I don't need a magazine to tell me I'm doing okay looks wise, I believe in myself enough, If I pick up a magazine once in a while, it's for the pretty pictures and I can see they are just that and pretty to me is broad. Disabled. Plus size. Black. Petite. Sharp chin. Round chin. It's all out there and it should be out there and why should it not be out there in magazines too?

And I know some women and men can only look up to or admire certain characteristics, it doesn't bother me, it's their thing.

Pretty by Kate Mikkai

Pretty

When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother “What will I be? Will I be pretty? ” Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? What comes next? Oh right, will I be rich which is almost pretty depending on where you shop. And the pretty question infects from conception passing blood and breath into cells. The word hangs from our mothers’ hearts in a shrill of fluorescent floodlight of worry.

“Will I be wanted? Worthy? Pretty? But puberty left me this funhouse mirror dry add: teeth set at science fiction angles, crooked nose, face donkey-long, and pox-marked where the hormones went finger-painting my poor mother.

“How could this happen? You’ll have porcelain skin as soon as we can see a dermatologist.” “You sucked your thumb. That’s why your teeth look like that! ” “You were hit in the face with a Frisbee when you were six, otherwise your nose would have been fine! ”

Don’t worry; we will get it all fixed she would say, grasping my face, twisting it this way and that as if it were a cabbage she might buy. But, this is not about her. Not her fault she, too, was raised to believe the greatest asset she could bestow upon her awkward little girl was a marketable appearance.

By sixteen I was pickled by ointments, medications, peroxides. Teeth corralled into steel prongs, laying in a hospital bed. Face packed with gauze, cushioning the brand new nose the surgeon had carved.

Belly gorged on two pints of my own blood I had swallowed under anesthesia, and every convulsive twist, like my body screaming at me from the inside out “What did you let them do to you? ” All the while, this never ending chorus groaning on and on like the IV needle dripping liquid beauty into my blood.

“Will I be pretty? ” Will I be pretty like my mother, unwrapping the gift wrap to reveal the bouquet of daughter her $10,000 bought her? Pretty? Pretty.

And now I have not seen my own face in ten years. I have not seen my own face in ten years, but this is not about me! This is about the self-mutilating circus we have painted ourselves clowns in. About women who will prowl thirty stores in six malls to find the right cocktail dress, but haven’t a clue where to find fulfillment or how to wear joy, wandering through life shackled to a shopping bag, beneath those two pretty syllables.

This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, “Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? , ” I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer no.

The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters. You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing, but you will never be merely “pretty.”

Katie Makkai


You really have to look up her video where shes performing this on youtube. It's BRILLIANT. I got this from Kitty Thomas' wordpress blog. Kitty also write an honest post about "pretty." I like that word. Pretty is a pretty word. It sounds pretty. When someone calls you pretty, it's nice and when someone special calls you pretty, it's beautiful. It's just the value placed on it by yes, you will always hear this word from me, society. Like Kitty writes and like Kate is making a point, you can trawl stores looking for the perfect cocktail dress and you can to the grocery store and you're supposed to be on show. You are on show, people can see you but sexuality comes from inside. If you're going out to fetch a pint of milk without make up or you got caught in the rain, you should NEVER feel inferior about yourself.

BAD!

I would love to keep this blog a hot bed of sexual excitement, however look at this http://www.amazon.co.uk/Secretary-Various/dp/B00006L3OV/ref=sr_1_3?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid=1287958218&sr=1-3

FORTY NINE POUNDS FOR A NEW CD?!

I know this is a cult movie...

And I'd pay for a used cd but I wouldn't pay 18 pounds for it. You can get two hardcover books for that price.

Let's just say I'm currently writing this listening to the "Main Title" in its entireity and it's not from the cd nor amazon sample. I think the pricing is absolutely ridiculous and nauseating. These people are dicks.

I have, however, the comfort of this to get me through; http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Return-to-the-Chateau/Pauline-Reage/e/9780345394651/?itm=3&USRI=return+to+the+chateu

Well, for Christmas (at three quarters the price listed on BN I may add!) along with my beloved Comfort Food hardcover.

(& did you notice the "Yes, Sir" book?)

Hogtied and helpless. A story I am writing, more added.

I thought it best to post the story from the start each time I add more to it. Rather than having a link to the previous part of the story. That way, we may just have wandered into some sort of organised system here. Oh look bang on midnight.


This story is dedicated to Sir.

I woke up suspended 6ft in air. I couldn’t move. When I looked up, I saw the sky swirling around me. I had a sudden chest pain, I was petrified, but I couldn’t speak. I was in a strange place. I had been kidnapped, my hands and feet were tied up, my mouth was gagged. As of this moment, I was being carried over a stranger’s shoulder.

I smelled something unfamiliar which made me feel sick though the cloth in my mouth. I puked up all over the stranger’s shoulder. I felt something big manhandle my weak, queasy body, and I was now like a jelly in someone’s arms, someone who was strange, being held over a sink. My head was shoved towards water. It was running and it was cold. It was relief.

I felt my face being touched, underneath my mouth, I could now make out that male fingers were wiping me. I breathed in and in that moment felt a jolt. Still tied, I was plonked onto a kitchen chair. How I didn’t fall, I don’t know. Something harsh gripped my hair. My head was being pulled up by my hair. I heard a scraping sound. My eyes were forced to make contact with a strange man sitting opposite me.


I was..angry? Angry should have been the correct feeling. I ANGRILY studied his face. The stupidity of it was that I hoped to get an answer. Why are you doing this to me? How much at your mercy am I?

The gag around my mouth was loosened. I kept looking at the stranger. My lips felt swollen. I swallowed. If I could move, I would have fetched myself a drink of water. Ice cold water is what I needed. Craved. But I was tied up everywhere but my mouth. When I looked down, my legs were tied to my knees, to my cunt, to my breasts, to my neck and to my fists. I could shake my head so the cloth gag was loose.

“Get it over with” was on my lips as my body was shoved on the table. Instead I could only yelp with pain. I felt a sharp smack on my bottom. ANGRILY, I knew that I was COMPLETELY at his mercy.

I thought there was going to be a knife. Either death or freedom from my binds. Instead, I felt tighter. I started hyperventilating. I felt a hand on my face. I pressed into it. Mercy. NO. He slapped my cheek. My head turned to one side out of surprise and pain. I started to cry and my breath came out thick and fast. My head was pulled upward again. Lips touched mine. He was going to kiss me. Please. NO. I got spit in my mouth. I lifted my eyes towards him. I felt like a whore.


It dawned on me that I was going to be treated like a whore. I was going to get raped. I was going to have his cock fucking the consent away, my cunt to be a whore for his cock. I listened out to any small sound, grasping at it, it was a clue as to what was going to happen to me next. I had almost lost my life once, drowning but I never became afraid of water. But I was afraid of being unsupported and balancing at a height and I know that that contributed to only a few meagre attempts that I made to struggle in my binds and attempt to throw my body off the table. I wasn‘t so afraid that I would rather get raped than throw my helpless, tied body off and feel that short fall to the ground. Whatever was going on in my head I couldn’t explain, instead I just listened.

The anticipation chilled me. I had forgotten about my heat beating violently. There was nothing at this moment I could control.

“Smell.” I lifted my eyes up to my a finger. I smelled it. I had no choice. “This is what I smell like.” He leaned down so I could see his lips.

I could cry. I could fake cry. Surely I could fake cry when my life was in danger. He was turning this into some delicious sex fantasy to him and I felt that he was going to take his time to enjoy it, that there was some sensuality in this for him. I wanted to know what was to happen. I wanted to say, just tell me what is going to happen next. So that I could know and be prepared. I’d take the smack, the sudden hit to my face. But my mind was also wanting to block some of this out by distancing myself as an observer. It’s stupid but I looked at the ceiling lights above me, I knew that I liked the room, humour linked to danger.

This Christmas, Comfort Food.

I'm very happy that Kitty Thomas' Comfort Food is now available to buy in hardcover. It will be the ONLY kinky book I own in hard cover. It's available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble (BN are doing it cheaper). As I'm not in America and have to wait about a fortnight before I get it, as something that would make me happy as a sort of conquest is that I will ask this person who says they are not getting me anything to do with sex at all ever (!) as a present, to buy the book that changed my life for Christmas. And when I get it, I can just imagine being a little fetishy over the cover, you know trying to bend it a little, smell it..

I've signed up to Kitty Thomas' newsletters and she says that her next book Guilty Pleasures is going to be available in December. Comfort Food created a bit of a storm, it got people talking, it provoked and it also in its non conventional extremely intense way woo-ed people. So I am looking forward to Guilty Pleasures in December!

Teaser book descrip of Comfort Food

BOOK DESCRIPTION: Emily Vargas has been taken captive. As part of his conditioning methods, her captor refuses to speak to her, knowing how much she craves human contact. He's far too beautiful to be a monster. Combined with his lack of violence toward her, this has her walking a fine line at the edge of sanity. Told in the first person from Emily's perspective, Comfort Food explores what happens when all expectations of pleasure and pain are turned upside down, as whips become comfort and chicken soup becomes punishment. DISCLAIMER: This is not a story about consensual BDSM. This is a story about "actual" slavery. If reading an erotic story without safewords makes you uncomfortable, this is not the book for you. This is a work of fiction, and the author does not endorse or condone any behavior done to another human being without their consent. REVIEWS: " . . . dark, provocative, and glaringly honest . . ." H. Turley, Reader "Disturbing, twisted, and just plain weird . . . " Amy, GoodReads Reviewer " . . . an intelligently written, well-researched and very erotic exploration of the extremity of power dynamics . . . It's refreshing to read someone brave enough to tackle erotic themes that are truly taboo and seldom published." - Remittance Girl, Reader and author of "Gaijin" and other erotic novellas "They are a match made in a twisted sort of hell. I don't, as a rule, like erotica, but I'm likely to check out Ms. Thomas' future work just to see how far she can push the envelope." - A Taste For Ebooks, Review Blog

Amazon.

It's a mad world this internet. I love it but..

Don't say in comments what you wouldn't to someone's face.

It's very simple. Being very aware of internet bullying campaigns, youtube, facebook, there are people who are absolutely viscious. Fair enough you don't like something or someone but to use language like I would run her over and kick her (actually where they said they would kick her- I'm not going to print, it's too degrading but you can guess), I don't care how annoying their appearance or persona is, how are YOU even human? Having a blog, you can take things further, you can write paragraphs and talk about things on YOUR space but the internet also acts a great shield, the abuser suffers no real remorse for their actions.

Do you think sisterhood exists? Is it exclusive to some?

I'm thinking just leave the question as it is. My own opinion is that whilst I'm obviously human, I care about things that other people care about, I find it's really about how you take any treatment given to you and I find rising above it, NOT ignoring helps. If I write I have felt excluded it will come across as nothing but a VICTIM stamp and a plea for attention. So I won't go there. The reason I ask the question is just I feel and I see around me, hypocrisy, judgement and basically non sisterhood between women. I've always despised the bitchy nature that seems to be associated with women, fact is I think men are equally as guilty. I don't hate other women, I don't hate men, I don't feel it necessary to even place my trust in them as a whole, in general, I'm not cynical about them, I think people generalise and underestimate too much- but that's just it I think women underestimate others. Not just me. I mean in general. There's too much judgement I feel. I wish it was like childhood in a way, you know when you were 3 and you sat and played with anyone, I wish that innocence wasn't replaced by cynicism because I really don't think it's been replaced by knowledge.

There's an exclusion which is more so in some races and so called cultures, there's a lot of stupidity too, like skin colours in your own race. How light you are or how dark.

The jealousy argument is void as I don't think that it's a reason for being a fuck to someone. Like I say I mean this in general. I am cryptic when I need to be but if I have to say something, I will go ahead and say it, I'm not afraid of dropping names because I'd say the same thing to their face. Sad thing is the cliche of looking your "enemy" in the eyes isn't true..you only get more animosity. But that's a whole other post, probably entitled "Is respect completely dead?"

And I wonder just how much judgement comes with support? Can support between women be unconditional?

"Today I found something beautiful and decided to break it."

"I wanted to see it shatter in my hand and crumble at my feet. Her name is Emily Vargas. She's bright and educated and stunning. Articulate. She'll want someone to talk to her."

Comfort Food by Kitty Thomas.


I like that but not this


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ey09JR0cRh0


I'd like to add a few more words to this post, an explanation maybe if I feel I need to, in the future.

Worth a read.

The first link is for something I read about bullying. I found it to be relatively non apologetic, as opposed to some accounts which quite frankly anger me. Why are YOU calling yourself a "weird kid" when the bully is the weird kid and they're a sociopath, I don't care what age they. Bullying is not acceptable and the bullshit continues about it being tough love, the norm and a way of working out your social status. Stop already. It's WEIRD, STRANGE, MAD to pick on someone.

http://wickedwitchofwest.blogspot.com/2010/10/heres-what-i-read-about-bullying.html


The second link has my own thoughts. http://wickedwitchofwest.blogspot.com/2010/10/i-read-something-today-about-bullying.html

I'm not the real author of Kinky.

*snort* Sorry, here's some links to my other blog.

http://wickedwitchofwest.blogspot.com/2010/10/movie-time.html

http://wickedwitchofwest.blogspot.com/2010/10/hair.html

I happen to quite like Mondays.

Something good always happens.

I started looking at Black Lace Publishing yesterday. I once read something about this woman in the country, maybe Wild in the Country,?!, and then something about a woman who was boss of all these men. I still remember "Wild In The Country," there's two men, one who's semi game keeper from Lady Chatterley's Lover without the social conscious and the other man was more enigmatic but she wasn't as sexually attracted to him at first, he was polite, posh, not as animalistic- or obviously animalistic. Anyway, I wish I kept the book, you can tell when something is written by a british author provided they don't sell out, Victoria Blisse, Charlotte Stein, these authors have a way with words.

Too bad about the aftertaste of yesterday's post eh.

I promise I won't do this again.

It's deeply unsettling but also when you detach your stomach from the rest of your body, actually very funny so I thought I would share.



"Cherie was an incredible strength during those months. She knew her own life was about to change and for her it was equally frightening, in some ways even more so [...]


However, that night she cradled me in her arms and soothed me; told me what I needed to be told; strengthened me; made me feel that what I was about to do was right. I had no doubt that I had to go for it, but I needed the reassurance and, above all, the emotional ballast.

In many ways, I am very emotionally self-sufficient; in some ways, too much so. I make emotional commitment because it comes naturally to me. But I fear it also; fear the loss of control and the fact that the consequences of caring can be painful; fear the dependence; perhaps fear learning the lesson, from love that goes wrong, that human nature is frail and unreliable after all.

On that night of 12 May 1994, I needed that love Cherie gave me, selfishly. I devoured it to give me strength, I was an animal following my instinct, knowing I would need every ounce of emotional power and resilience to cope with what lay ahead. I was exhilarated, afraid and determined, in roughly equal quantities."

From Tony Blair's memoir A Journey, published by Hutchinson


So this is from an article which wasnt that great a read in my opinion. I feel it's only telling a quarter of the story and as usual we're going around in circles. http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/oct/16/sex-disappearing-from-novels

Dear Tallie. A letter of longing from Captain Boa.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Weekend naughty read for you all.

I haven't bought a book for weeks but this one I just bought and read. It's by one of my favourite authors and people, Amarinda Jones. The ebook is called Bad Girl and that title and cover are seductive as it is, what made me go ahead and buy it so late in my evening, was the excerpt. It's a hot, sex tease of an excerpt, full of wicked words and explicit actions, a sexy woman and a man who we have an inkling wants more than just to fuck her, he wants to posess, own her and have her as his.

What I loved about the book is that I got to read about a strong heroine who had many thoughts and emotions at this stage in their relationship and that Amarinda writes so beautifully that you can see her dimensions and never think, oh I can't relate to this, no matter that you think the heroine is different to you or the fact that the story is not your story, Ms Jones is a great writer and the book gave me that feeling when you read good Erotica; you're excited, you're interested but you're also INTO it. I had planned to read an Annabelle Joseph book or At Her Captain's Command ("cum slut."Fuck yes.I'll explain the injoke later) but this one by Amarinda, I'm going to have another read again tonight after reading it once already. It's very, very GOOD.

The book also contains a stupendously hot alley scene, words like cunt and suck are mentioned, and oh well, maybe another time, eh. *smile*


Blurb:
For six months Kealea and Christopher have been lovers, while consensually enjoying multiple partners. For a while it worked for Kealea. She wanted no commitment, and she craved the excitement and thrill of being taken by each new lover. But it’s not enough. She wants forever with Christopher. How can she make him realize there’s so much more to be enjoyed than wild sex?

Christopher shares Kealea’s desires, but he’s not sure how to change what they have into what they both crave. What if everything changes? Sex has always been easy, but loving could unleash consequences neither of them can handle. What is he to do? When another man shows interest in Kealea, Christopher knows he must make a move, or lose the woman he loves…for good.

Be Warned: multiple partners, menage sex, anal sex, bondage, public exhibition.

Adult Excerpt: (be warned)

“You’re a bad girl. I saw what you did.”

“I can do what I like.” Kealea drew in a shallow breath as she fought the restrictive feeling of being trapped by rope. She was naked and it wasn’t the first time Christopher tied her up. She was on her hands and knees, her forearms roped to her upper thighs. With her head bowed down in submission, her ass was exposed and vulnerable to whatever he chose to do.

She jumped as Christopher smacked her bare flesh—hard.

Kealea squinted, willing herself not to moan. Christopher knew she loved being spanked. It was both a joy and a punishment for her. There was something so raw and primal that appealed to her, being in this wicked position. The heat of his palm, the sound of the slap and the sting of his hand sent a wild rush of excitement coursing through her veins. The punishment was fighting the urge to enjoy it.

Smack! Smack!

Kealea bit her lower lip. She knew what this was about. He was jealous, and lately it was a common occurrence. But that wasn’t her problem. Either Christopher should declare he wanted Kealea for himself or let her go on choosing those men that amused her without questioning her actions. Knowing he didn’t believe in monogamy was fine. She had always known what their relationship would be like, and entered it with both eyes open. Christopher slept with whomever he pleased and Kealea did the same. They had a mutual understanding, but lately a tension lurked between them she couldn’t shake.

I’ll be damned if I’ll be held accountable for my actions when he’s doing the same or worse. “You don’t own me.”

Christopher’s hand strayed in between her butt cheeks. “Don’t I, baby?”

“No—we’re free agents.” They had been for six months. While they always came back to the other, both of them indulged in liaisons. On the whole, Kealea enjoyed her diverse sexual encounters. But of late, she wanted more. Maybe he finally understands. Maybe that moment with Hutch pushed him into realization. Maybe…

“Nothing is free.” His finger touched her anus. Kealea closed her eyes. Her legs were so tightly bound, the pressure of his finger invading her small opening was intense. Hot. Perfect. Keep pushing. That’s what Christopher liked to do. He enjoyed pushing her past her comfort zone and making her come like no other man could.

“You knew I was watching you.” He dropped down on his haunches.

Yes, she did. Kealea knew what Christopher was like. She squirmed and raised her ass to meet his hand. “You and I…” Kealea hesitated. What was the right word to explain their relationship?

Christopher continued working his finger inside her. “Yes, what?”

“We’re complicated.” Yeah, that was it. “And messy and bad.” So bad it was good.

Christopher leaned over her body and whispered in her ear. “But you like being bad.”

Yes. His hot, hard, naked body teased her flesh. Kealea wanted his body slammed down on her not hovering above. “I want more.”

“What?”

If he had to ask now, Kealea knew he didn’t get her at all. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Christopher’s voice was soft and low in her ear. “How little we know each other, baby.” He then removed his hand and lifted up from her. “You have to pay a penalty.”

Kealea shivered. He gave the best punishments. “For what?”

“For being a bad girl.” He slapped her ass one last time. “Daniel, come in here.”

Her head jerked up. “I don’t want anyone but you.” Couldn’t he see the reasons behind why she acted the way he did?

“Liar.” Christopher’s smile was thin and tight.

He was right of course. By himself, Christopher was sexually amazing. With another, it added the cherry.

“Please Chris…” Kealea wasn’t sure what she was begging for. More? Less? Faster?

“You should have thought of that before you fucked the other man.” His hand came down on her ass two more times. “You’re a bad girl.”

Oh yes. Kealea awaited her punishment.

http://www.evernightpublishing.com/bad-girl.html

It really is like noise sometimes.

http://wickedwitchofwest.blogspot.com/2010/10/too-much-self-importance.html

Oh you wicked dream.

Mostly my dreams are strange and random. Not epic, just very weird, very much a mix of things. I don't analyse them for that reason but I had a dream last night which involved Slow Burn and Lulu. It was implied that I sold copies. Doesn't it sound like I am some egotistical ambitious first time author who REALLY wants her book to sell? At least just one copy! (Maybe I don't get informed if my book sells a copy).

I didn't think I would sell more than one copy when I self published last week. And I'm not so naive as to think one person is going to read the book and spread the word on the internet. I didn't write Comfort Food, my book is not as good, hey I know what I wrote, but when I sent out invitations to my page on facebook (I know, I know) which I did to promote the book, and I got people liking the page, I know some of it is out of the fact I am a facebook friend and these people are happy for me, but I wonder what it's going to take for someone to click on the links on that page and click buy.

I'm perfectly happy in being honest about my feelings on this. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's a slap in the face to have a book out there just not selling, but it defeats the purpose. You see, I want someone to read my book. I write as a hobby but I don't self publish as a hobby. To be frank, far from it.

I loved seeing my book in a simple book format, the cover of the book is very basic and not a cover I would chosen, it was an automated cover but just seeing my story all put together and to be read like a book, I was a little proud of the work and time I put in.

I'm still going to write, I'm still proud of what I wrote and what I write now, the differences and the improvements I have yet to accomplish because I know my strengths and weaknesses but I have had people compliment my writing and saying I SHOULD publish, in particular Slow burn, to which I have always said meh and now I know there is not much point in publishing, sure I haven't given up on the fact Slow Burn may sell one copy by this time next year, and even the fact that it may one day build a reputation..but I'm also cynical. A bit bitter. Mills and Boon, big companies, they have a formula, I was once hoping to publish under them because I bought my Erotica from them and I feel proud of what they did for me.. but I felt there were too many guidelines. I had to tweak my work too much. And I know typing that on here means I will never get to publish for them but I'm not in this to make money. As naive and idealistic as that sounds, I'm not about making money. And I can add that I just want to change things but in the world we live in, people will just laugh at that. That's fine but I will always be honest and I believe in submitting my thoughts onto this blog, I don't have a problem in the world knowing things about me, especially when it comes to a minor heartbreak I'm going through at the moment, as trite as it sounds.

It's the fact that when I write, I want to be read, you know? And it seems like it's okay to have it up free on my blog which makes my blog feel cheap, you can compliment me on a post or send me a message but you can't buy my book, that sort of thing, that's what is running through my mind.

I will keep writing because part of the reason I don't want to change my books to fit in with the guidelines of some publishing companies is that I don't believe in the stories they are selling and I don't believe in giving the readers what they want. I believe in putting something out there that's inside you- and then going from there. That's my main motivation for writing and since I started, it's been about just being honest, not selling out or buying into one idea or selling it- one hero, the stereotypical hero- not that that's not someone else's truth but the vast majority of books are about a Fabio- still. To me, it actually makes me ashamed to be a woman. Really. I'm being serious. And I wanted to change that. But see, the hope I have in doing that is rapidly diminishing day by day, and part of that is because I haven't sold a copy of my book, and yes I know it's early days, I've been through that on this post but also because when authors who have been around for longer than me and have publishing contracts with companies, it makes me feel the big divide between me and them. Not that they are "better" than me, more worthy than me, I don't have self esteem issues, although they are better writers, their work reads as a better written story, again in the past when I have tried to be honest, it comes across as "deprication", no it's me being honest, but because it feels like I'm being drowned out and it's about the companies and the power and the reputations.

Story of O. And questions regarding Return to the Chateau, of the non did Pauline Reage write this variety.

Yes she wrote Return and I wrote O to piss my mother off.

So there we have it.

One thing that I can't get out of my mind, is when O is on the boat to a party, wearing an Owl mask with that beautiful music and the moonlight and wind on her body covered by a simple garment. O looks so free, so graceful, so submissive. I must have mentioned the word free a few times whenever I talk about O, or even submission in general, I suppose by free I mean non repressed, not oppressed. I can't speak about whether she is free because she is no longer human as quoted from someone and also because she is a sexual slave now and she has disengaged from herself. I need to go back to the book and this post is about a few of my thoughts regarding the movie Histoire De O.

Critics talk about glamourising. Movies glamourise guns and they glamourise drugs. Things that are not supposed to be glamourised. But they also glamourise prostituion and sex. O is not about prostitution no matter what a critic will say,and like I have said before no one in their sane mind watches Pretty Woman and then joins a hooker agency.

But there is no reason BDSM should remain seedy. Or "wrong." As if it is like shooting someone or taking heroine. Or even infedility. So if BDSM is glamourised, so be it. For me the movie has moments of beauty and a style that is glamourous no doubt but certainly we see O's pain when she is whipped. When she shakes her head, that comes across as real. I don't feel it is selling BDSM, but the ending of the movie, taking it further than where O is at Sir Stephen's total command and will at the party in her owl mask, and contuining on to her talking to Sir Stephen about Jacqueline's induction at the Chateau ..it goes back to the love theme. I quote from someone else, in love are we, any of us, the Dominant or the submissive ever free?

And it seems like O is more palatable if it is a love story. She is doing this for Rene and then Sir Stephen. She wouldn't just become a sexual slave "just like that," it must be for love! But I'm not going to take issue with the author's idea and with the film maker's ending or even the reason the story of O came into existence.

I enjoyed the movie but for Jacqueline. I think the actress who played Jac has probably the most exquisite bone structure and facial features that I have seen on screen but she was dull. Now perhaps she is like that in the book but I watched this movie called The Image which is based on a somewhat classic BDSM book and the young woman there is a model, a pretty object and a submissive, but the actress who played her was quite good. I just couldn't care less about Jac. One thing I liked was the fact she was no questions asked submissive and I took that in that way rather than the fact that her face just couldn't show us any emotions if it tried. Sorry to sound bitchy but come on O is a little in love with Jac..I as the audience shouldn't be left to wonder how the heck this could possibly be, it would be like falling in love with your favourite Barbie. There's no depth and O I could relate to despite what the critics of the story say, as a woman of depth.

My favourite parts of the movie are the ending I'm on the fence about even though adaptations should have their freedom and the beginning of the movie. The two beginnings. O's journey to total submission and obeying her lover Rene. The beginning and end mark the two points in her journey so far where O has evolved into a sexual slave.

There's a philosophy, another one, that total posession is to give away because you know you can do that, that O is Rene's property, he possesses her completely so he can give her away..to Sir Stephen. Baring in mind, Stephen is no stranger to Rene.

So no more questioning motives, why is O doing this, why is Rene doing this, who is Sir Stephen beyond the older male and Dominant figure, what is the story of O really about...I watched a movie about a woman's journey into becoming a sexual slave. I don't know how accurate it is but I know it wasn't inaccurate and that the actress who played O had grace and charisma. And there was style mixed with substance. It's not like the book, the book is grittier but it wasn't a stupid movie. I liked it as much as The Image because it wasn't The Secretary, because O and The Image is about submission in terms of slavery, in terms of slavery over love in the sense they are both not conventional stories and I'm bored of The Secretary and I'm bored with even the lesser conventional love stories. I'm no cynic and I believe in love, I will fall in love fully I know it, but I'm worried about the importance people place on it, as if we have no worth without it, but that's for another time.

Now, I am interested and curious about Return of Chateau. I have read reviews which say it's more disengaged, the author of O can not have written this! But, I am all the more curious to read a book which is about sexual slavery. Perhaps O is not written well...perhaps the author thinks she has no personality because she is a sexual slave..oh that just makes me more curious because I really have to read it and see a journey of a sexual slave. How has O changed in her personality? And I want to believe that what has been written is that O has changed in her personality but the world has misunderstood a strong sexual slave girl for an disinterested, bored left over of a character. I want to believe someone wrote a sequel in which they gave an account of sexual slavery, full with imperfect characters except the character of O, who knows who she is and will carry on in her mission and the world unless they live it will continue to relate abuse to sexual slavery and unworthiness. As for Sir Stephen, does he leave O? And is this the book that has the "other ending" to O? Where she kills herself seeing as she is no longer Sir Stephen's slave.

Now I'm taking a step back. My book Slow burn is available from Amazon Kindle

My job is done now.

Here are the links if you are interested. You should be able to get a preview/excerpt/sample on amazon if you click on send sample. IF not there is a link to an excerpt on Lulu and on my facebook page and on this blog. I'm very sorry there is no image for this book. I did try my best as you know.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0046A9MFE

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0046A9MFE

Thank you for your interest and that's me done with regards to Slow Burn. I have material for a sequel but I will only publish that if there is enough interest in this book. I can rest my eyes a bit now!

Vampires cheer me up.

I should make myself a tshirt that says that.

In between having a strange bug virus and looking at amazon first thing in the morning thinking oh I don't have the strength just now (regarding my book) I've been in need of something other than Story of O. (I'll come back to that another time).

I want to watch a Hammer Horror movie. I want to see Christopher Lee and his numerous nymph vampirises. I want to see red, red blood and sharp teeth poking out of a mouth just after Lee says something in a dead posh voice!

There was a time I could watch such a movie or even.. Countess Dracula. There was a softness and sensuality even in the harshness and the women had personality in their looks, some had pencil thin eyebrows, nearly all had heaving bosoms and big hair and they were a million times better and than the all too knowing imitators today. I could sense the vulnerability and I could sense the evil in them.

Just before I went to sleep yesterday,I was listening to that song Flightless Bird American Mouth. I always feel how fittingly it is used in Twilight and how fitting it is to the characters Bella and Edward. It's atmospheric, powerful and playful all at the same time. Twilight takes care of some of my need for sensual vampires. I'm not into The Vampire Diaries although I will give True Blood a chance, I at least like the kooky vibe to it.

"No one will surrender tonight. But I won't give in. I know what I want."


"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.

What a stupid lamb.

What a sick masochistic lion."

Bella is the fragile human and Edward the dominant vampire. There are so many metaphors and subtext in Twilight that never fail to make me smile. The conversation about the lion and the lamb. The knowledge that Edward could easily destroy Bella. In fact, in Twilight it just so happens Bella's blood is the most potent to Edward. He has to struggle against that all the time, suppress his need to just break her. And no doubt he could break her. When I read their first sex scene in the Twilight series, I literally went back again and again to where the bed Edward fucks Bella in is destroyed, the wood, the pillows, the quilt, the sheets, unusable again; Edward is suppressing his violent need to fuck Bella to the extent she's no longer human. Hmm, it's delicious. I don't know about love, but Stephanie Meyer has managed to more than sneak in posession and its power to even the superficial, shallow youth today.

Excerpt from Slow Burn.

Available to buy for two quid from http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/slow-burn/12994621

Excerpt from Slow Burn

Mel walked through the corridor hearing whispers of “oh my god that new police man” and “he’s fit“, snorting to herself. The girls in their twenties at this college became 14 year olds for any idiot in trousers.

“What do you think Melinda?” Sarah got right in her face and laughed. “Would he tempt the sweet innocent little virgin here?” She crooned mockingly.

“Not after you get your grubby paws on him. And my name is M E L A N I E.” She spoke each letter clearly and loudly treating Sarah like the idiot she was.

Sarah laughed. It was a dumb imitation of a witches cackle. But then again dumb imitation was all Sarah was. Mel ignored her and straightened her body.

“Virgin” What a joke. If anyone really knew what she was like..if anyone took the time to get to know her they’d be shocked. She…oh but she couldn’t get into that now.

The Headmaster came out of his room. He was talking with another guy..oh hello..

“Melanie..a word please.”

Shit what now! Why the fuck was everyone so against her? She kept to herself but was always in some sort of trouble.

“Hi” It was the police man person.

It took her a substantial effort not to say it back. She looked ..by accident..straight into his eyes. They were big and grey..just stunning. She felt her pulse speed up but she ignored him. Not even giving him a smile. It’s not like he perved over her but she wouldn’t be a bimbo. Not now anyway.

“Take a seat.” The Head said to her. He was such a prissy thing. He was a tall guy, quite broad too and he knew some of the girls liked his build but she hated him. You know it stopped being cool to soak up female attention like a pathetic bitch quite a long while ago. But then judging by his hair he was still living in the 80’s.

She was surprised to see police guy come back in this room. He brought a chair with him.

“I’m Detective Stevens” He extended his hand towards her. Closing her fingers around his hand, he shook it gently and she did the same to his. He was firm, gentle, strong. Fucking best handshake ever.

“Melanie Hawes.” She caught his gaze on her. She could imagine him being pretty popular. He had charm. It wasn’t in your face..he just seemed.. nice.

She saw him sit down. He had quite a sturdy body, his uniform was neatly put together but he still looked cool. He had curlyish brown hair, his features somehow strong and gentle at the same time. Well, she wasn’t a poet..I suppose you could say he was kind of “hot.”

She looked at his badges as the Head asked her something about fitting in.

They had this conversation twice now. Yes SHE really should do more to fit in blah blah blah.

She looked at the prude..some men faked being sexy and some were just naturally sexy. Detective Stevens ..she could tell he was just in touch with his sexuality. She just knew.

“We’ve been asking other students this,” Detective Sexy smiled at her, “Melanie, where were you last Friday after your last class?”

Say my name against my neck as you screw me against the wall. Yeah she really did think that. It almost made her giggle. Fucking giggle.

“Melanie?” So he was persistent. She would have to use firm and gentle again.. and throw in intelligent to describe his voice.

“Ermm“ Let’s see “I went to the library after Chemistry class and I must have been there till ..6 I would say..then I..went to my locker..and then I went home.” She didn’t exactly know why she drew that sentence out that much.

“I’ve been hearing rumours to the contrary” She heard Head Master Weird-Fuck move his chair forward.

Have you indeed?

“Yes Sir?” She kept her tone professional.

“You were seen walking the corridor just after 7.”

“Just after 7?”

“7-15 to be precise.”

Oh screw him. And not in that way either.

“The doors close at 7.”

“No.” The idiot said condescendingly.

“Yes they do. “ She said passionately. “I had to wait for my ride outside once bang on 7.”

“Not on a Friday.”

Fuck.

She was confused. How could this happen? “Seen walking in the corridor at 7” ??

“Could you leave us two?” It was the Detective. He said it to the Headmaster. She would have smirked had this not been serious.

She looked straight ahead at the Detective who was watching the Head walk out. She saw he was being professional, wanting to keep this private. She saw every flicker of his eye..as the door handle clicked..he only now looked at her.

She didn’t feel angry with him. Nor uncomfortable. But she was confused.

“I’m sorry about this.” He said to her. Sorry? Was this normally how Detectives spoke?

“Are you going to lock me up?” Shit. Why the fuck did she say that?!

He laughed.

“Not even if you’re guilty…and that won’t be my job” He winked at her. It wasn’t sleazy from him, just friendly.

He got up. She saw him lift his chair slightly. He walked towards her side of the desk carrying his chair. She saw the veins in his forearm. She saw he actually wasn’t that tall. That must have been why she looked into his eyes as she walked past him earlier.

“When you finished Chemistry did you go to the library straight away?” He asked her.

“Yes.”

“And you stayed in the library for how long again?”

“I would say until 6.”

“You wear a watch?”

“Yes.”

“May I see?”

She stretched her arm out. His fingers stayed on her wrist slightly as he saw the face of her watch.

“Thank you.” He said as he moved his fingers away.

Rest your arm she thought.

“After the library,” He cleared his throat “where did you go?”

“I went to my locker.”

Fuck. She had the full force of his gaze on her face. Why was she feeling hot and wet from just this?

She looked at him and blushed. It was just a reaction she guessed. And Holy God almighty he blushed too. It wasn’t just the top of his cheeks. It didn’t make him look any less manly but it did make her start breathing heavily.

She didn’t know how to breathe when he asked her “What did you do at your locker?”

“I collected my books for the weekend. Mathematics and Physics.” Normally her memory was pathetic but all this adrenaline or whatever rushing through was making her mind work like a miracle.

“Say that again.”

“Ssorry?”

His eyes went to her lips. “I couldn’t quite get you the first time. Say it again.”

But her voice wasn’t that breathy..considering the circumstances.

“I collected my Mathematics and Physics books for the weekend.”

She heard his breath hitch because for some reason she had actually moved her chair towards him.

“Melanie, what did you do next?” His voice was lower. It was.

“I closed the door of my locker” She meant to sound cheeky. “I turned my key” She leaned forward. “I waited until it made a click.”

“Then?” He wasn’t phased. And it was spoken against her face. His lips almost touched hers.

“Then..” When she moved her lips she could have taken his. She could have leaned further forward..”I dropped my books..I bent down. To pick my books up.”

“What did you do after you picked your books up?”

Damn.

“I..walked along the corridor. I walked to the door. I left the building.” She whispered.

“Did you see the time?”

“No. Sir. But it would have only been till up to quarter past 6 at the most.”

“Call me Michael.”

Damn. Cute name but he didn’t pick up on the “Sir” either.

“That will be all Melanie.” He leaned forward even more ..almost as if he meant to kiss the top of her head.

She didn’t kiss him as she wanted to. She just wanted to kiss him, it was inexplicable really. She wanted to do a whole lot fucking more to him but he was a stubborn one. He would have to make the first move. She would have to change her panties every time at this rate, so hot wet and sticky was she from his interrogation.

But he sat watching her, not even moving. She got up and saw his gaze go up her body. He really could have just kissed any part of it that he wished. Any. Especially..

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She felt like some Goddess with him looking at her so earnestly like that.

“Tomorrow? Why?” Her voice sounded a little ragged.

“It’s standard procedure. “He then got up and she saw him straighten his clothes. No matter how cool and comfortable he was, he had some trouble tying to be professional she thought.

She could have complained. So she did. “Why is it standard procedure? Or is it just for me?”

He stopped straightening his shirt.

“I just need to know more details. From everyone. We’ve ran out of time today. You should get to your next class anyway.”

She looked him over. Liar. But she didn’t say anything. Instead she smiled the sweetest smile she could, “What time tomorrow?”

“You’ll be informed.”

She walked up to him. His eyes literally sparked. Dumb word but it was a fucking spark.

“Tomorrow then, Michael.” God this felt good. Fuck reality, she would play bad girl to his detective. She walked out the door, to put it bluntly she needed to touch herself imagining his eyes on her but she wouldn’t go to the bathroom. She WOULD go to class.

Buying Slow Burn on e book whether on computer or kindle

Here's the thing,

If you go on Lulu publishing and do a search for Slow burn (or Slow Burn) Pallavi Agarwal under ebooks you will get my book. I only have a copy and paste link and am unable to upload any click and buy tab here on my blog or a clickable link.

http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/slow-burn/12994621

Although the price of the book is now 2 uk pounds - it may still come up as 2.99 on the search, which is incorrect.

I have tried my utmost best to put a preview on there but it's just not happening and why should you buy the book if you don't have an excerpt? I have contacted the publishers and am waiting a response. Meanwhile, I have put a link on my product on lulu to a blog post where you can read a preview for Slowburn. (The post above this one).

I have a facebook page, search pallavi agarwal new erotica author and there is a preview, image, proper price, everything there. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Pallavi-Agarwal-new-Erotica-writer/160033077360005

Either tomorrow or day after, if you go on amazon, if you go on the kindle section, and do the same search, amazon uk or international, you should be able to buy Slow Burn for 3 US dollars and the appropriate UK price (they calculate according to the US price). I have tried to put an image but no luck there. I will try again and then send amazon an email. I will put up the link only once it's available to buy with or without the image. You're just going to have to imagine a sexy man and woman for now!

It was very easy to upload my ebook but it took me hours daily on both sites to try and get the small details such as excerpt and image and when it doesn't happen , one wonders if one should just bang on a Big Company's door and risk "you must tone this down" or editing to lose what you like. It's been a headache with no benefits so far, initially I was happy my book was out there, now I know no one has bought it even though they said they would and my facebook page has had some interest (I sent out invites lol)and I started with this book as I had received messages saying I am amazing/they can't stop thinking about the book.

However does self publishing work?

I do so love it when thoughts are provoked.

"The pressure put on men to be initiators, yet avoid seeming creepy or aggressive leads to an unpleasant double bind. After all, the same gross cultural pressures that make women into objects force men into instigators; how many women do you know who proposed to their husbands? So how can a man express hi...s sexual needs without being tarred as a creep? After all, the point of promoting sex-positive attitudes is for everyone to be able to be open about their needs and desires, right?"

Unfortunately it's a big bummer that I can't read the whole article due to a tech hitch but this has been taken from literotica. I got an update from these people. I actually posted them a story but I don't think in the 5 years that have gone by it's been published on Lit. *throws rattle* Or it has and my username was something so casually perverted, I can't remember it and therefore searching for the story (the title being something very casually perverted) would be too much for me.

Now, there are some men, and I have seen this, who will look at young girls in a short skirts and just look, I have actually watched them looking and they continue to be on their little mission.

I'm not saying that as soon as we reach 18, hey it's okay, we're women, we know it all, pretty much this is a developing thing and there are girls who are mature for their age, genuinly not just putting on an act, but there is something in me that says, okay under 18 with a man say in his twenties even, a little creepy. That's probably the societal conditioning in me and yet I won't glare at such a couple and act all wronged for the whole of womankind, afterall individuals are indviduals.


"There she is; short skirt on nice legs, tight blouse and a pretty bra, "fuck me" heels and a smile. She's dancing around in the room, with a real wiggle.

She looks great.

But when a chap "rises to the bait" of this provocatively-dressed female, he can be accused of all manner of things unpleasant, sometimes in Court, and it is often quoted that what the female wears has nothing to do with it. He thinks she's giving "Come and get me" signals. She says "No it ain't".
This causes no end of confusion and has led to some weird trials in the UK."

If I were to put on a short skirt, tight blouse and wear a pretty bra and I did it just for me and with no intention of attracting male attention, just for argument's sake, it's incredibly naive of me to assume that no man wouldn't be just a bit more into me. Like it or not, intentional or not, you put your body on display in some sort of way and I mean that as a compliment and not as some grandma tut tutting, then you're going to get male attention to an extent. Men are going to want to look at you and thinking about you in sexual situations. They're probably going to want to feel you up sooner or later. Of course if a man just walks up to you and starts to pinch your arse, he is a creep. Why? There are boundaries.

Some men will say wearing a short skirt and a tight blouse means you should expect to be raped, as if you have comitted the crime whereas obviously it's only the man who has raped you who has comitted the crime.

There is a strong line and you know when that line has been crossed but a real creep doesn't care about that at any point. No remorse. No nothing.

Then, there's a desire from some women to have a man in their lives who is alpha and dominant. People say in fiction these men are heroes whereas in reality, they are creeps. But are they? I think about certain things I have read in fiction, and put myself in that situation, imagining it. I would feel the same as the heroine, angry. But in the story the man shows plenty of humanity, there is actually no rape. So, the men are alpha and dominant and their actions are left of center, not conventional but they are not creepy men.

It's become a thing to just call a man who eyes up a woman in a short skirt, oh "creep," "pervert." But you have to wonder when another man walks past the same woman, if he hasn't noticed as much of the woman's legs as the men beforehand.

There's also this thing of look but don't touch. I'm not big into sticking your tits in someone's face and then shoving em away and say uh uh uh. That's a total sex tease. That doesn't justify rape. Nothing justifies rape but in society, it seems we can have a naked woman on a magazine with gigantic boobs and sticking out her arse doggy style and it's okay to "express your sexuality" by reading a magazine, but that's all you should do? I'm also not big into saying ooh yeah I just sang a song called Hit Me Baby or Don't Cha (lol; sp!) and I feel so empowered.

There is a way to talk to women, not these mythical creatures as it turns out, but human beings also with a sex drive, also with wants, needs, different sides, personalities amomgst us, flesh and blood, feelings and thoughts, submissive, dominant or neither much, all of us are different, which does not require manipulation, an act of any sort.

I believe men and women SHOULD be honest about their sexuality though it's fucking hard to be so sometimes, and they can be if they develop a sense of humour but most of all have some manners. You don't have to feel like you're too nice for women. Just don't bother with the women and if it seems most women aren't into you, it's not your time. Write. Live. Do something but don't become bitter and start calling women bitches or sluts.