Coyote Too

The theme for this week's Microfantasy Monday is “Games”. It was inspired by something I saw during a lovely relaxing evening last night.

They say that Tic-Tac-Toe is a game that can't be won, once you understand it. I beg to differ.

The playing area was beautiful; smooth and slightly curved, with room for two games, one on either side of the delicate crevice between. The crosses had already been laid in place; long needles which wove in and out of sight to clearly delineate the area of play. In place of X's and O's, my competitor and I held short colored needles; his black, mine blue. I moved first.

I chose the corner, of course. The lower one, nearest the damp line between the game boards. A quick thrust, and my piece was in place.

The board quivered.

He blocked, the position not so delicate in appearance, but perhaps more tender.

Somewhere I heard a soft moan.

And so the game continued. It ended in a draw of course, but to entertain ourselves, we filled in the rest of the…

As I write this I just finished an hour and a half of consulting from my hotel room. The bane and advantage of being a consultant; it's great that I can consult remotely, but sometimes it's a pain that I have to. But hey, it paid for the hotel room.

The big news though is that I now get to shower, pack, and end off to the hotel the first phase in meeting a bunch of really great people whom I've been twittering with for over a year now, but most of whom I've never met in person. Although it's certainly the case for me that the impetus for attending was getting to see my friends, we shouldn't lose sight of the the goal of this event.

This is the release party for the New York City Sex Bloggers Calendar (and no, that link is not SFW). This is the second year of an awesome event put together by Tess and Diva, whom I first met on Twitter as @urban_gypsy and @debaucheddiva. I had the pleasure of meeting them in person a few weeks ago when I was on the first stage of a multi-week road-trip…

SensualStories runs a writing exercise on Twitter. People submit phrases (from fiction, or of their own), and anyone who wishes can pick one and incorporate it into a short piece of fiction. The pieces don't have to be erotic, although they often are. She collects them and posts them on her blog for people to comment on. It's a great way to spark your writing spirit.

This time around, I chose SensualStories' phrase submission, "She hadn't imagined the sound." There are several ways to interpret the phrase, and I have no idea which she intended; I changed my own interpretation several times while writing it.

She hadn't imagined the sound from the doorway behind her; so soft that it lingered on the edges of imagination. Chills lapped across her back and trailed down her arms. A warm spark lit at her groin, blossomed into fire, spread up and across her breasts. Just one soft sound, nearly imperceptible—the parting of lips in a blown kiss—and yet it changed her life forever. She breathed…

The theme for this week's Microfantasy Monday is "Skin". This post is inspired by the incredible hyperfocus I feel when I am playing. It isn't this analytical, in fact I can't recall any distinct thoughts at all, but it is pure concentration on creating sensation.

Heavy brush of flogger on thighs.

Opens, spreads.

Sliding touch of crop on breasts.

Quivers, goosebumps.

Loud thwack of flogger on thighs.

Flinches, reddens.

Soft touch of fur on calves.

Relaxes, loosens.

Loud snick of knife by ear.

Tenses, shivers.

Sharp line of knife point beneath nipple.

Tightens, freezes.

Quick snap of crop on pussy.

Jerks, thrusts.

Toys put away until next time.

Desire, frustration.

Today's Half-Naked-Thursday is just a thumbnail, and no, that's not a computer term.

HNT is Half Naked Thursday, a Twitter game all in good fun. If you know me, feel free to ask for the password.

The theme for this week's Microfantasy Monday is "Long Distance". As usual, I'm playing fast and loose with the "micro" part of this exercise, but I'm also cheating in another way. Rather than write something original for the exercise, I decided to simply cut and paste from a chat transcript. I removed a few extraneous lines and fixed a couple typos, but otherwise I've left it alone.

If you were here, I would take a whole day to make love to you for the first time. So slow. So tender.

Describe it for me?

Describe the first time we make love?

Yes.

How can I describe a whole day?

I think it would start with a bath. Just you in the bath. Me outside, clothed. Washing you with a soft sponge. Brushing your hair.

Then I would spend along time simply kissing you. Touching you.

I would kiss your neck, your shoulders, your hair.

And then I would spend a long time just kissing your mouth. Nibbling on your lips. Thrusting my tongue inside.

I would work my way down your neck.

Pull aside the thin…

The theme for this week's Microfantasy Monday is "What’s your perfect snapshot of a lazy morning?"

The sun streamed through the windows, flowed across the room, and poured its warmth across my skin. I didn't so much waken, as slide from one dream into another; from a warm ocean of tranquility, to an even warmer ocean of sensation. The heat of the sun on my loins grew in intensity. The beams of light seemed almost liquid as they drenched my cock in waves of passion.

And then I opened my eyes in time to see you glance up at me.  Your face was filled with silent mirth, and the heat of your mouth outshone the sun.

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See here for an explanation of what MfM is.

She told me to meet her in the garden, under the full moon. "Come at midnight, and wear nothing," she had said with sternness in her voice, but a glint of laughter in her eyes. And so I found myself, stepping gingerly down aisles of corn and sunflowers, searching for my mysterious lover.

I smelled her before I saw her; the odd scent of lilacs wafting through the corn rows. She lay motionless in a clearing by a small dead tree, covered with dew-wet petals that glistened in the moonlight. They shaped and formed her curves, defining her lips, her breasts, the inviting curve of her hips. Had they fallen upon her, leaving the tree bare and lifeless? Or had they indeed formed her, molded her, transformed themselves into the living, breathing soul of the lilac tree? Those questions come to me, each time I smell the sweet scent of a lilac tree again, each time I taste a shadow of the need and desire that drew me to her that night.

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