Spent yesterday indulging in a little football. Early in the afternoon some friends and I were in the stands cheering for some of our students. Finally perfect football weather -- chilly but but bearable, overcast and windy.
But it was nice to get home later to watch my alma mater play on TV. Warmed up with some hot chocolate. Then curled up in a team sweatshirt and some panties under a blanket and rooted for all I was worth. Great game, even though we lost in the final minutes. Also discovered there's a naked football league. Who knew? Think girls are allowed? Today: back to work...new stories in the works, one set in the 1960s. Also, I've started on my first erotic novel. Have I lost my mind?
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he days are become colder where I live, and shorter. I miss warm afternoons on my back porch, lying in a chaise lounge looking up at the trees and the blue sky beyond, a thin sheen of sweat on my body. I don't like to be sweaty, exactly, but I do like the way my body makes itself a little slick as a means of cooling off. Human bodies are amazing things. I was watching the HBO series Sharp Objects this past week, a gripping drama on many levels. Bodies matter there, particularly the main character's body. I always get a little excited when I see that "N" for nudity at the beginning of a show. I guess I never outgrew the little thrill I got on the rare occasions as a child when I saw someone on TV or in a move naked. Not sure if I am more the voyeur, wanting to see such things, or the exhibitionist, wanting to be on screen with naked with millions watching. This particular series didn't have a lot of nudity, but what was there was interesting. The main character (played by Amy Adams) has a compulsion to carve on her own body, and at several moments we would see that body, a kind of work of art, covered in markings -- words, symbols. She was embarrassed by these mostly, spending a lot of time and energy trying to hide them, but I found them all strangely erotic. Oh, and I almost forgot... My newest book is out at Amazon. It's called "Soccer Slut," and you can find it here: I'd love to hear what you think, and any story ideas you might have to get me going on my next book. Leave me a comment! If you're following my posts, you might remembered I mentioned a certain new faculty member that caught my eye the first week of classes. Turns out he has a girlfriend -- long distance, so one never knows...in the meantime, we've bonded over a little Maker's Mark.
Still working on my soccer story, but getting close to finishing, working on the "end" if you will. Should be up by the Friday...thanks for hanging with me in the meantime. So, after a two year absence, I'm finding it so hard to keep up with both academia and my erotic fiction, but I want you to know I am hard at work on my next story. It involves a soccer player named Macy who goes looking for a pick-up game one night and finds all the action she can handle.
Here's a little taste... She’d been sure her assets would see her through to the next level – a spot on the women’s national team. It had stunned her when they hadn’t. She’d been so certain the school could never cut the girl who brought them both wins and ticket sales. She’d sat in the coach’s office, in fact, her mouth hanging open as he delivered the news. “I’m sorry, Macy. It’s going to hurt this team more than you know, but my hands are tied.” Her tears hadn’t helped. She’d considered offering up something more – a look at the body beneath her jersey and shin guards – but she knew it wasn’t likely to help matters. Coach Jacobs had seem most of them in one state of undress or another at various times – you couldn’t coach a major women’s soccer team and not encounter girls in towels or less wandering about the multi-million dollar practice facility. She knew for a fact that at least two of the girls took pride in being naked outside the locker room as often as they could possibly get away with it. A blowjob might have made a difference, but she wasn’t sure anything beyond sex would actually get the job done, and she just wasn’t willing to go that far. Besides, she had been sure they’d relent. She’d sat by the phone all weekend waiting for the call: “We’ll find a way to work with you, even with the low GPA.” Let me know what you think...AND...I'm always looking for new story ideas, if you happen to have any suggestions. I know, I know...I've got no excuse for my absence...perhaps I need to be...punished?
In all seriousness, I have to apologize for being away for so long. Unfortunately it was...unavoidable. But I'm back now and back to work -- both my day job and my, um, avocation. Things in the land of academia are good: we have a new hire here, an expert on Shakespeare studies: let's call him J. Anyway, J. and I have already had a fascinating conversation on the sexual innuendos to be found in Hamlet. It's still early, but I'll keep all of you posted on how things progress. In the meantime, I'm at work on a story that takes place on the soccer field where, by the end, everyone has had a chance to score. I'll be posting it by the end of the week. In the meantime, if you'd like to let me how you missed me, or maybe if you've got a story suggestion, I'd be excited to hear from you. Well, the day finally came this past Monday: back to school for another nine months. For those of you who haven't had a chance to check out my biography, I teach literature and writing at a small midwest college when I'm not writing steamy romances.
Sadly, that means I'll be around a little less often, at least until December. But no worry: my cute little feet aren't gone for good, and I'll check in on all of you from time to time and let you know what I'm working on. And anyway, I find that spending my time among all these earnest new freshman helps fuel my sexual imagination. For now, I'll leave you with something to keep your imagination warm until I return. Not me, but a reasonable facsimile... I needed a new roof. Long story. But the short, more interesting version is, yesterday there were sweaty muscular roofers crawling all over my roof, using all sorts of tools: hammers, shingle knives, electric nail guns. As it happens, my upstairs bathroom offers a nice view of the roof and yesterday of the eight or ten men on it. Now, despite my stories, I'm a particular sort of girl, so I definitely pulled the shade before I pulled down my panties. Even so, it was sort of nice imagining all of them out there, sort of surrounding me really, as I scrubbed up all my most intimate spots. I thought about the old Marilyn Monroe movie, The Seven Year Itch -- it's the one where the subway wind blows Marilyn's skirt up. She's in New York, in the middle of a heat wave, and takes a nice cold bath to cool off. Of course, she's bothered by a drip from the faucet and sticks her big toe up there to block it. And, of course, her toe gets stuck. As she tells her downstairs neighbor later, the plumber who came to help her out seemed especially delighted to be of assistance. It got me thinking about those nice roofers, and imagining what might happen if one of them were to miss his step and come crashing through my bathroom window. I think I know just the one I would have preferred to make that mistake, the one with the longish dark bangs who smiled at me this morning as they were beginning work. I can't help but imagine that all that glass might have left him with some minor scrapes. What choice would I have had but to cut my shower short, wrap my towel around me as best I could and run for the first aid kit down the hall. Of course, it's not easy to apply bandages and hold a towel up at the same time. And clumsy me, I feel certain it would slip out of my hands sooner or later. Would I have touched that bulging spot in his pants as I tried to catch myself? Who can say? Would I have apologized as he looked me up and down, taking in those clean intimate spots? Absolutely. Might he have moved quietly behind me as I reached down for that towel, catching me unawares and given me a memorable afternoon while all his friends out on the roof gathered round to watch? I've said too much. And anyway, I'm the kind of girl who pulls her shades before she drops her panties. Over the past week I've been watching director Lars Von Trier's double film, Nymphomaniac. Lars Von Trier, if you don't know, is the director behind such artistic films as Dogville, Breaking the Waves, Melancholia, and Dancer in the Dark. This particularly film features Stellan Skarsgard and Charlotte Gainsbourg. I've always found Skarsgard rather handsome in a down to earth sense. I'm a huge fan of Gsinbourg's: she's always impressed me as an actress willing to take risks. The film's incredibly steamy, though set within the context of a fascinating conversation/ meditation on how we judge our own behaviors. It has certainly left me with some ideas for future stories. There are a number of explicit scenes, in fact. Trier says most of these were actually digitally created, certainly an impressive feat. Gainsbourg's is double penetrated, for instance, by two black men, a scene that's every bit as explicit as any porn you've ever watched. And yet it was apparently all digitally created. It certainly fooled me. Which makes you wonder where movies might head in future days. If such scenes are possible can we expect more "explict but non-explicit" movies? Or is explicit explicit, even if it isn't actually "real" and didn't actually "happen." Even so, there are some scenes that simply can't have been faked, such as a young girl's blowjob and swallow on a train ride. There are a handful of these films out there now featuring explicit sex -- Shortbus, for instance. Maybe I'm a nympho of some sort myself, but I'm definitely of the opinion that there should be more of these, not simply because they add spice to our lives but because they seem to offer an important new dimension on the notion of cinema and acting. What do you think? Anyone come across this pair of films, or others? A new book out this week. I've been working a little on billionaires and college girls. Let me know what you think!
Available now at Amazon. So here's the final chapter in the story. I think I mentioned before, I originally called this "Love in the 80s," and it was a chapter in the Total Cyberslut series. Somehow it never quite seemed to fit there, but I hope it's finally found a home here.
Please take the time to let me know what you think, and visit my author's page at Amazon for more great stories. I don’t know what made her finally decide to give in and fuck me. We had both turned 18, and I think that might have been part of it. Or the fact that we’d been dating now for over a year. We still had arguments about whether or not to have sex, but for the time being I was reasonably content to go on eating her out and getting the occasional blowjob (one of the best nights of my life was the night she sucked me in the backseat of my car until I came in her mouth. She swallowed every drop). I was so surprised when it happened. We were at a basketball game, and she was all decked out in team colors, complete with cute white skirt that was about as long as the middle of her thigh. We’d been flirting all evening, even with our friends around. She’d whispered to me that if I would go under the bleachers she’d give me a show. She wasn’t lying. As soon as I got down there in the dark, she wriggled around so her skirt was up and he ass was plainly visible through the slats, a pair of tight pink panties, squeezed between the roundness of her bottom. Somehow, I still don’t know how, she managed to quickly bring a hand down to those panties and pull them aside so I could plainly see her pussy and ass, framed in the light of the arena against the dark beneath the stands. Eventually the show ended, but I couldn’t go back up right away because I was just too stiff, and while I was waiting for my hard on to subside suddenly she was there, next to me in the dark. She kissed me, her tongue so soft and wet against mine. She put her hand down, on my cock and rubbed it through the fabric of my jeans. All I could think was that she must really have gotten wound up somehow. Maybe showing off had been the thing that did it. I couldn’t have been more shocked, though, when her hands went to her waist and pulled her sweater up over her head. [I’m coming again now. I hope you fuck her. I’m still imagining it’s you, but now I’m thinking about you now, your 45 year old dick going in and out of me. It feels so good. Fuck her hard.] Before I could think, she had taken off her bra and dropped it beside her. Instinctively I moved closer to her, partly to touch her, but partly to shield her from the possibility she might be seen. She put a hand in my chest to keep me away. Then, as she kept her eyes locked on mine, she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to a puddle at her feet. Quickly, maybe so she wouldn’t talk herself out of it, she grinned, put her fingers in the waistband of her panties and pushed them down to her ankles. Stepping out of them, she lay down on the gym floor, her bare ass against the wooden floorboards, and crooked her finger at me. Looking up she used one foot to pry the shoe of the other and kicked it aside, using her other bare foot to take of the second shoe. I have no idea how she got her socks off. As I unzipped my own jeans and slid them down my legs, she put a finger to her lips, reminding me to stay quiet, as though I needed to be reminded. I was shaking I was so terrified, but that seemed to have no effect on my cock which was as hard as it had ever been. As the crowd cheered for a particularly spectacular play, I lay down on top of her, most of my clothes still on, but her naked skin so soft beneath me. The only thing I can remember seeing is the white of her body as she lay there, so pale she was visible even in the dark underneath the stands. My hard cock lay against her belly, my balls nestled against the lips of her cunt. I went to kiss her, but again she moved her head to the side just slightly and, whispered in my ear, “I want you to make love to me, Nick.” She took my cock firmly in her hand and made sure the head of it was right at her opening. Then she held me as I slowly entered her. She closed her eyes, as she often did when we were playing, and arched her hips towards me until I was all the way in. Then, very slowly we began to move, me pushing forward just as she did, and then moving out. I wanted to come so badly. To this day I don’t know how I didn’t during those first couple of thrusts. But the thing that made me come the most was when she came, and I held on, knowing my explosion would be far greater if I could make that happen. The crowd continued its intermittent cheers, as our rhythm became faster and faster. I was absolutely sure someone would hear. I kept thinking that if anyone were to catch us there’d be absolutely no way out of it. We were clearly fucking, but even if somehow we managed to stop quickly and pretend we were just making out, there she was on the floor, completely nude. We’d only be able to admit what we were up to and accept the punishment and humiliation that would certainly come. She was as good as her word about keeping quiet. Her breathing began to become heavier and heavier, but to her credit she never made a sound beyond what I was sure was the loudspeaker volume sound of the boards creaking beneath us. She stopped in mid-thrust in fact, holding me hard against her, and in that moment, all her muscles tense, I began to come as well, every bit of the sperm inside me shooting up into her warm wet cunt. We didn’t move for maybe a minute or two, both of us coming hard and feeling the other one come but too terrified to move an inch. Then, slowly we relaxed and I slid out of her, jizz still pumping out of my cock a little at a time. She stood up, and, almost shyly, began to dress herself again: her bra, her sweater, her shirt. She sat down on the floor and slid on her socks and shoes. I watched, waiting for her to slide her panties back up, a final tease now that she had satisfied me. Instead, she picked them lightly from the floor and put them in my hand. Then, bending to me, she kissed me lightly on the check, nuzzled her head on my shoulder, and whispered once more: “Stay here a little longer.” I did as she asked, standing there, basking in the glow of what had just happened and feeling more than a little lightheaded. When at last I looked back up, she had re-positioned herself in the stands, among our friends. She had managed to hike her skirt up again, and this time there was no need to move her panties aside, as they were in my hand. I stared up at the whiteness of her pussy, the tight little asshole, wisps of curly black hair. And as I stood there, looking up, I saw one small drop of my own come drop from her pussy to the hardwood floor in front of me. The End |
AuthorMy name's Emily Ashford, and I write literary erotica. Archives
December 2018
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