Tag Archives: erotica

Excerpt #2 “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”

Okay, here’s another excerpt that I don’t think is too extreme.  But please be advised that it is sexually explicit, it deals with subject matter that some readers could find offensive and it won’t be suitable for everybody. Thanks, gang!

Please excuse any typos. It is still in progress. Okay! Have a great night.

Approx. 4 1/2 pages

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Excerpt from “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”
© 2020 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

He drove the truck back out to the edge of town, where it was dark and quiet, and he parked it in his usual spot. He lit a cigarette and he drank his Coke and he sat back and stared out the windshield, just letting his dick get hard.

She’d blushed. She’d really blushed. He knew without doubt what that meant. She’d been thinking about it. It might be better not to rush her – then she’d be really good to go, be open to all kinds of suggestions. So far, she’d liked every one of his dirty ideas.

“That is one dirty girl,” he said quietly.

The first date, he’d driven the truck out here to the edge of town after the movie and they’d kissed in the front seat of the truck and she was so polite. So shy – he was surprised when she let him fondle one of her tits while they kissed. But she had on that bra that was like armor – the kind that made her tits stand up in points. He couldn’t feel anything that felt anything like a breast through that thing.

He smoked his cigarette now and remembered. How shy she’d been, still was – it had made him get so hard.

“Do you mind,” he had said haltingly. “I don’t want to offend you, but do you think it would be okay to take that thing off?”

“What thing?” she asked, startled.

“That thing under your blouse. I can’t feel anything.”

She stared at him and blushed. “You mean my bra?” she said quietly.

“Would it be okay? You could put your blouse right back on – just take that bra off.”

She stared at him and nervously bit her lip. She’s a total virgin, he realized then.

“I won’t look,” he said. “If you don’t want me to.”

She stared at him, saying nothing, but not looking away. Not at all. “Should I help you?” he asked.

Again, she just stared at him, not looking away.  So he reached over and began to unbutton her blouse. Right away she’d started breathing funny, not trying to stop him. So he’d simply unbuttoned the blouse, very methodically, and then helped her out of it. She sat there then, in her tight skirt and that armor of a bra that had no straps at all. It simply held up her tits with more elastic than he’d ever seen – but it was very pretty, very grown-up-woman looking. And her hair was pulled back neatly in that bow. She looked so pretty like that, that he decided to kiss her again, while she was just wearing that sexy bra.

He held the back of her head and they opened their mouths, their tongues mashing together – real kissing. Her, just in that skirt and bra. And her heavy breathing was very telling. He didn’t even ask her – he just felt behind her and unhooked it and let it come right off.

God, her breasts were beautiful – big and full and weighing down on that slender rib cage. He went right back to kissing her – didn’t bother offering her the blouse back. He wanted to get a good feel of those tits while they kissed. And she’d let him do it – let him feel her tits and even squeeze them. Her kisses got very passionate, then.

“I don’t want to be rude,” he said. “But your tits are beautiful. They are. I bet everybody tells you that.”

“No one’s ever seen them before,” she replied quietly.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m the only one?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, let me tell you – they’re beautiful.” Then he took both of her breasts between in his hands, gently squeezed them close together and then leaned down and kissed each of her nipples. She gasped. “Really beautiful,” he said. Then he kissed each nipple again. Then lightly licked each of them, just on the tips of the nipples. They had gotten erect. Oh god, she was saying so softly, with each kiss, each lick. Oh god.

Without asking her if it would be okay, he began sucking on one of the nipples, while very lightly rubbing his thumb over the other one at the same time. Her “oh gods” filled the front seat of the truck then, and he saw her pelvis begin to squirm on the seat.

It wasn’t long before she’d unzipped her skirt and wiggled out of it. And there had been those complicated panty-things with the garters that attached to her stockings. He’d seen those things before – they almost looked like girdles, but not quite. He hated those things – they were so complicated. But there she sat, in the front seat of his truck, a dim glow coming from the radio dial, darkness everywhere else. And her beautiful breasts hanging down, and that girdle-type thing, like still more armor, and those stockings attached to it, like they meant business.

He didn’t have to ask if she was a virgin; he knew. He said, plain and simple, “Don’t worry. Nothing we ever do together is going to ruin you. I promise. Any doctor on Earth would pass you with flying colors, if it ever came to that. So just don’t ever worry. Okay?”

The obvious relief she felt was what seemed to underlie her willingness to let him remove her stockings. And to lie down flat on the seat when he asked her to. And to let him get between her legs, even though he had no intention of removing the remaining vestige of her armor. He already knew from experience with other girls, that the crotch of that thing was cotton – soft cotton. And he was content to kiss her through the cotton fabric – just kiss her through the fabric, down there between her legs.

He discovered right away, of course, that her crotch was soaking – she had soaked right through the cotton.  He didn’t bring it to her attention, he simply made a note of it. And he also made a note of how widely she spread her legs apart for those kisses down there. And he noted to himself the little gasps she made when he ran his tongue lightly on her skin right at the edges of the elastic leg openings of the panties. And although he couldn’t tell for sure if he’d found her clit or not, he kissed all over the area where he knew it generally was.

And when he thought she was going to faint for lack of air, he told her that he didn’t want to get carried away and that they should probably think about getting her back to her apartment.

Which only meant that on the next date, they’d skipped the movie entirely – went straight out to the edge of town and parked. He’d already seen, before she’d gotten into the truck, that her legs were bare in those high heels. No stockings. Which also meant that the complicated girdle-thing was going to be gone now, too. And he was right.

The crazy armored-bra was still there, but he didn’t mind that so much because it was pretty and it held that unbelievable delight of her big tits spilling out when it came off of her, because they were packed in there so tight.

When her bra was off, and she’d slid out of her tight skirt, and was there in the front seat wearing just her high heels and a pair of very pretty lacy panties – the kind of panties he could easily get off of her if he wanted to; that’s when he pulled her onto his lap, letting her straddle him while they kissed. Keeping her panties in place. Making her wonder if he was gonna kiss her down there again. But most importantly, letting her feel his hard cock that was making a tent in his trousers. Letting her feel it right down there between her legs.

“Do you want to see it?” he finally said, knowing that it was making her nervous to be straddling it like that while they kissed. He was rubbing it up against her down there and he was so hard.

She looked at him but was too shy to make eye contact for too long.

When she didn’t answer, he said, “How about, I show you mine and then you show me yours? What do you say?”

It was clear from the look on her face – an excitement she tried to conceal – that she liked that idea a lot.

He helped her off of his lap, unbuckled his belt, undid his trousers, and then slid them down enough so that she could see the whole package. And again, he could tell just by looking at her face that she’d never seen a cock before, let alone an erect one.

“You wanna touch it?” he asked. “Or does that scare you?”

She didn’t reply right away.

He reached up and gently brushed a finger tip over one of her nipples. He could see that she was awful nervous now – that the presence of his cock was getting her in over her head. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he said, still rubbing the tip of her nipple. It had gotten erect. She was starting to breathe funny. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you want to lean over and give it a kiss, then I’ll do the same for you. This time, we’ll take down your panties – I’ll kiss you all over down there.”

Oh. She let out the softest moan. He didn’t let up on that nipple.

“What do you think? Are you brave enough? Just a kiss.”

“Okay,” she finally said. And when she leaned over to kiss his cock, her boobs hung down and he squeezed one of them. And then stroked the nipple. And when her soft lips pressed against his cock, she let out another little moan because her nipple had gotten so stiff and so tender.

Such pretty tits, he whispered to her. So pretty. I just love squeezing ‘em.  And he squeezed it some more. And she moaned some more. Kiss it again, he encouraged her. Just all over it. Just kiss it. It’s okay. You’re doing just fine.

Her kisses were so light, so timid, that it felt incredibly exciting. He got so hard. But she wouldn’t get near where his cock turned into his balls. She steered clear of that. And he didn’t want to push her. Instead, he lifted his cock straight up and said, “Just kiss the very tip of it, okay? Just the tip.”

“But it’s wet there,” she said, sitting up again.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be wet where I’m gonna be kissing you, right?”

She glanced at him then, like she could not believe her ears.

“Right?” he said. Over this little point, he was not gonna let her off the hook. He was gonna make her answer the question. He stroked her nipple again and looked her in the eye. “It gets wet down there, right?”

She finally answered him. “Yes.”

“It’s probably wet right now, right?”

She wouldn’t answer.

He put his finger under her chin and then lifted it and made her look at him. “Right? It’s wet right now.”

“Yes.”

“Come on, then. Just a quick kiss,” he said, wiggling his cock a little and winking at her. “That wet stuff just means it likes you. And then we’ll take a look at what you’ve got.”

It had clearly appealed to her – that trade-off. She’d leaned over again and kissed the very tip of his cock, right where the pre-cum had oozed out – and she’d even licked it off her lips, where the pre-cum had gotten them wet.

And so he’d kept his word and they took a good long look at her, down where she’d gotten so wet, and he’d let her feel his lips on her clit, then feel his tongue there, too.

He stubbed out his cigarette now and drank his Coke. His dick always got so hard just thinking about her – he didn’t even have to touch it.

But when he did touch it… Oh. He sighed out loud. The pictures in his head got so dirty then. The things he thought about making her do.

She’ll do it, too, he said quietly to himself. She does everything I tell her to do.

He unzipped his trousers now and slid his cock out, just enough to gently tug on it – just enough to fill his head with the pictures.

*     *     *

Thursday night finally arrived and he waited for her out in front of her apartment building. When she came out of the front door, he saw that she was not wearing a tight skirt this time – she was wearing a gently pleated one. Loose and flowing; summery. And she wore a midriff top; it tied under her ample breasts which he could tell were not packed inside a bra – again. More and more, she was dressing like someone who was ready to get undressed as easily as possible.

He got out of the truck to go kiss her hello and to open her door for her.

When he kissed her, he lightly ran a hand down over her rear end. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to scoot clear of the unasked-for caress. Best yet, the material of her skirt was silky; he could feel her behind through it. It almost felt like she wasn’t wearing underpants… He let his hand linger on her behind a moment longer, kissed her again and then looked her in the eye. She smiled shyly at him and looked away.

That’s when he knew.

He pulled her up close to him to give her a big kiss, a real kiss – not just a quick peck on the lips. And he used it as an excuse to hold her with both his hands down there, holding her rear end through the loose silky fabric of her skirt. Her ass was as loose under that skirt as her tits were inside of the midriff top.

“Oh my goodness,” he said quietly, between kisses. “You’re not wearing panties tonight.” He groaned into the kiss now, and he took a firm hold of those ass cheeks in both his hands.

She pulled gently away from his kiss, and said, “Not right here.” And he realized that he was already hard.

He quickly opened the passenger door for her and watched her slide up into the front seat.

As he walked back around to the driver’s side door, he thought to himself that she might just be ready. She might be more ready for him than she even knew.

They hardly exchanged a word on the drive out to the edge of town. But the air inside the truck felt electrified. He was rock-hard inside his trousers and he didn’t even care if it showed.

When they parked in their usual spot and he turned off the motor, he said, “Do you mind if I do something a little forward?”

She studied his face warily. “I don’t know – what did you want to do?”

“You just sit there for a minute. I’m gonna come around to your side.”

He got out of the truck, went back around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Just sit there a second,” he told her, and then he opened the glove compartment and made doubly sure the Vaseline was in there.

He watched her watching him. He saw her notice the little tub of Vaseline; saw that her breathing was getting uneven. To him, she was an open book: She’d really liked what had happened to her the other night, had probably been reliving it in her head, over and over. He’d known other girls like her – girls who had wound up really liking it up the backdoor – but none of them had gotten him as excited as she did.

“I just want to remind you,” he said, “that anything that happens between us is just between us, and we won’t ever do anything that any doctor anywhere could find out about – okay?”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I trust you.”

“Good,” he said, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the mouth. “I really like you.”

“I like you, too.”

He gently squeezed one of her breasts through the midriff, then began to untie it. She didn’t stop him; she watched him do it. When it was untied, he unbuttoned the four little buttons and pulled it open. She was really breathing heavy when her breasts – loose and free and soft and so full – spilled out into the warm night air.

He helped her take the little top off completely, watching those big tits bounce and jiggle as she maneuvered herself out of it. With the passenger door open, the little overhead light was shining bright. And as she sat there in the front seat, topless in that silky skirt, her bare legs leading down to those pretty high heels, he said, “How about we do something a little more grown up tonight? What do you think? You feel like growing up a little tonight?”

She got nervous again. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you.”

He helped her slide out of the front seat, turned her around and had her lean over, so that those naked breasts were pressed flat against the leather seat. He lifted her skirt and there it was – her round, white and very naked ass, no panties at all; and those long naked legs and those high heels making her legs seem even longer. In this position, she looked a lot like Shelley. Only prettier, and somehow brand new.

She got tense right away. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing you won’t like – come on. You can relax.”

He leaned down and planted kisses all over her bottom. And right away, she did relax.

Then he squatted down, parted her ass cheeks and, like he’d done with Shelley, began licking her asshole. She gasped and, on reflex, tried to clench her cheeks closed but he kept them spread. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “It’s just us.” And he licked the tiny hole; patiently and methodically. Keeping those cheeks of hers spread. Winning her over.  When she parted her legs, repositioning those high heels more firmly on the ground, he knew it was going to be a big night for her. A big one. Because once she’d parted her legs like that, he could easily see that her pussy was wet. She was thoroughly enjoying it.

To win her confidence even more, he pulled open her pussy lips and found her clit and licked it, too. And he listened to her moan, watched her ass arch up good and high. He always steered clear of her little pussy hole, though; only went for the clit – never put a finger up her there, never even touched it with his tongue. But he could see plain as day that she was a virgin, all right. Really tight. The guy who ended up marrying her would have his work cut out for him on that wedding night, he knew that for certain.

But he also knew for certain that it wasn’t gonna be him – he had his own work cut out for him, the kind of work that no future-intended of hers ever needed to find out about.

He stood up and got the little tub of Vaseline from out of the glove compartment, and he saw how her ass stayed arched up high, how she tried to keep herself open, how her legs were rigid with anticipation. She really wanted that finger up her ass again. He was going to comply.

He scooped the Vaseline from the tub and smeared it on her asshole, getting a lot of it up inside the hole now, too – a lot of it. “It feels like so much,” she said.

“This way we don’t have to stop and have to keep getting more. In fact, do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Hold yourself open down here for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, hold your cheeks open – so that I can get that hole good and greased up. Come on,” he encouraged her, knowing she was getting shy again. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve already seen it. Just help me out a little.”

To his delight, she reached both of her hands behind her and pulled her cheeks open.

He was ready to burst out of his trousers. “Oh god, you look so pretty doing that,” he told her quietly, as he smeared even more Vaseline right in the opening of her asshole. “I wish I could take a picture of you right now and sell it; you know? Guys the world over would die to see how pretty you look like this.”

And he wasn’t saying it to win her over now – he meant it. She looked so dirty, holding her ass cheeks apart, showing that tight asshole, the wet pussy peeking out right underneath it. So dirty, and yet so pretty, too.

Then he wedged himself up beside her on the front seat and said quietly, “Keep holding yourself just like that, okay?”

“Okay,” she said – her voice just a wisp of breath. She was clearly getting very aroused.

Then in one synchronized motion, he grabbed a hold of her ponytail in that pretty bow, pulled her head back and slid his middle finger right up her ass. Right at the same moment – and she was clearly overcome with lust. In just that instant. That quick.

Oh god,” she cried sweetly. “Oh my god.”

She had all the signs of a girl in heat. She kept her ass cheeks spread open, kept her ass arched up high, letting her hair be pulled way back – she wasn’t fighting him at all. Not in any way. And when he let that finger of his fuck her ass slow and deep – nothing rough, nothing quick, just in and out, in and out – the moans that came out of her, came from someplace very deep.

Oh god, she sighed out breathlessly. Oh yes. Oh god.

He kept a slow steady rhythm with his finger – in and out. They had all the time in the world.

When he did finally ease his finger out of her ass, there she was: still holding her ass cheeks open, her legs spread, her ass arched, and not for a moment asking him to let go of his grip on her hair. He said to her quietly, “You know that you’re a very dirty girl, don’t you?”

Mm hm, she agreed softly.

“Say it out loud, I want to hear you. Say: ‘I’m a very dirty girl’.”

“I’m a very dirty girl,” she said quietly.

He gave her ponytail a firm tug, “Louder – so I can really hear you.”

“I’m a very dirty girl,” she said more loudly.

“Louder,” he said, really yanking on her hair.

“I’m a very dirty girl!” she said, as two of his fingers pushed right up her asshole. “Oh, god!” she cried out.

“Go on, say it – keep saying it. I really wanna hear you.” He kept a tight grip on her hair, her head pulling way back now, as his two fingers fucked her asshole hard and deep.

“I’m a very dirty girl!” she cried loudly, still holding her ass cheeks open. “A dirty girl. A very dirty girl! Oh god. Oh god. A dirty girl. I’m a very dirty girl!” While his fingers fucked her and fucked her.

She was the best girl he ever had. She really was such a dirty girl.

He let go of her hair finally and eased his fingers out of her asshole. Then she rested her face down on the front seat and looked up at him. She was still holding her ass cheeks open – she didn’t even seem aware that she was still doing that.

Excerpt from “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”
© 2020 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

Getting There

I think the full moon is making my brain a muddled mess today.

I keep puttering around, doing weird stuff.  Sort of sticking to my morning routine, sort of not. I even sat down here to post to the blog, totally forgetting that I hadn’t even done yoga yet, so I came to the unexpected decision that I’m not working out today. Even though I’m wearing my little “do yoga” outfit as I type this.

I also decided that I had to do laundry today — it was suddenly imperative. So I put the dirty clothes in the washer and there was maybe a half an inch of clothes! I sort of stared at it, wondering why I was so hellbent to do laundry, then I went ahead and started the machine anyway.

And even the trash pick-up truck seems to be acting strangely this morning. I’ve seen them drive by my house 3 times already, but they haven’t picked up my trash yet — they’re going on a whole different route. Which is incredibly weird because we have about 6 streets here in Crazeysburg, so why on Earth would you suddenly need a new route, you know? Is it more efficient to drive past people’s houses 3 times?

Not sure what’s going on there. But part of me immediately panics when I see them pass me by, thinking that I forgot to pay the trash pick-up bill again. But they seem to just be driving strangely today.  So before I call them up and lose my fucking mind on the phone, I’ll just wait and see what happens.

Okay, well, yesterday evening, we came SO CLOSE to ordering the test proof for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. The print-preview machine was grinding out the proofing copy over at Amazon, it took forever, but when it was finally finished, the cover art was a fraction of a hair’s breadth too big for the template.

And this was after just a whole big long line of things yesterday that had already exasperated Valerie in trying to get the cover art, within the template specs, to me so that I could upload it. So it was disappointing. But we are almost there, gang.

I already know I don’t like some of the aspects of the layout of the text (well, 2 things), but they are super minor, and the next time around, I know better than to type an entire manuscript into a Beta-testing template. So on we go, right?

And another weird thing — suddenly, this morning, Instagram has started putting people I don’t even know at the top of my feed, putting the posts of people I actually do know, down lower in the feed. Of the 13,704 people I now follow on Instagram, I know maybe 4 of those people, so I would really like to have their posts at the top of my feed, since right now, I don’t have time to hang out scrolling on Instagram; I want to see only my favorite posts at the top of the page and then get off Instagram, because I need every spare moment right now to sit here and quietly lose my mind.

Actually, one of the downsides of letting go of my private Instagram account and making it a public one, is that now I have way too many people that I’m following. And the people I really did enjoy following for such a  long time,  almost never come up in my feed anymore. Yesterday, I saw a post from Benmont Tench and it was the first post of his that I’d seen in, literally, months. And he’s someone who posts all day long. I used to see him first thing in the morning and then last thing at night, and his posts were always funny, charming, etc.  And I really loved his posts. (He was the life-long piano player for Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers.)

Oh, which reminds me. Today is the anniversary of the death of Conway Savage, who was the piano player for Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds for a really long time. Nick Cave wrote an amusing tribute to him in his Red Hand Files for today. You can read it here.

Okay, well. I’m hoping today will be productive, even though I am clearly in this strangely befuddled mindset. I had wanted to drive into town today to do something very important but now I’m wondering if getting into the car and driving 95 miles an hour today is the best idea. I guess we’ll just find out.

I’m just in one of those weird spaces where life feels intensely unmanageable. I know it will pass…

I’m going to leave you today with Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ version of “Stagger Lee”, because for some reason, I always really liked Conway Savage in this video. Well, I like everybody in this video. I just love this video. I’ve posted it here before, of course, but here it is again.  I hope you have a good Wednesday– enjoy that full moon (btw, they just picked up my trash! So if I lose my fucking mind today, it won’t be while I’m on the phone talking to the trash pick-up people). Okay. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.

Another New Adventure in Pussyland!!

Oh jeez, people — you know?

No, I’m still not done with the new erotic short story, but we’re getting there. Yesterday was all about spending 7 hours streamlining a page and a half of text down to one and a half paragraphs.

That kind of thing — it takes forever, it taxes the brain, but it is really worth it once it’s done. But that kind of focusing takes a lot out of me, and while it’s going on, I have to battle with the feeling that the whole story is insane and why am I even writing it?

That kind of unproductive thinking leads nowhere productive.

But “Half-Moon Bride” is just one of those stories that I rarely write , wherein the sole reason it exists is to be erotic. There is only the flimsiest story arc (a wedding night). And the alleged character arc only serves as the vehicle to tell the flimsy story — we have the half-moon bride herself, who is the “female” hermaphrodite because she only grows her male appendage (minus any testicles) on the full moon (a half-moon futanari). Otherwise, she’s entirely female.

Whereas the “male” hermaphrodite, a man of enormous proportions in every imaginable way, completely larger-than-life (the Oracle who lives in the palace up in the mountains — whatever the heck that really means), is what’s called a “full-package futanari” — he has it all, all the time. Fully male, fully female.

So the only “character arc” is for the female, who starts out sheltered, naive, clueless, and virginal in every way. She finds out that she’s not only a half-moon futa, but also who she’s the intended bride of, on the same day.  And then her character makes the fretful but wonderful journey from “naive, clueless and virginal” to a little less naive and clueless, as every imaginable aspect of her virginity is done away with — quite rapturously — on her wedding night. (And I guarantee you, I only wish that either one of my wedding nights had been even a fraction as rapturous as the half-moon bride’s is. Jesus.)

And since these are two hermaphrodites getting married, there is truly an amazing number of ways in which this young woman is a virgin. (And it is my humble job, as the lowly yet often celebrated writer, to unburden her of every single one.)

Anyway, it is really, really fun. And it often makes me laugh, but it is also just filthy as hell, with no real reason for existing except to be filthy as hell.

Although, actually, in reality, the story was “inspired” by the real-life person of Peter Freuchen, who was both a large and larger-than-life Danish explorer in the early-to-mid 20th Century. (You can read about him here — he truly had an amazing life as an anthropologist and an Arctic explorer, starting back in 1906.)

Here he is, with his 3rd wife, a Danish writer and editor for Vogue and Harper’s  fashion magazines. (They met in America in the 1940s.)

An Irving Penn Portrait for the Coldest Days of Winter: “Peter and Dagmar Freuchen” | The New Yorker
Photo by Irving Penn

So you can see the “gigantic proportions” I am referring to. Why I made them hermaphrodites is anyone’s guess. But honestly, you don’t have to be me to look at those two and wonder what certain personal things were like, right??? What the possible challenges were…

So anyway. For some reason, I’m using a sort of archaic and formal language for the story, as well. Which tends to make it even stranger.  (Words like vagina, testicles, rectum, vulva, eventually give way to words like cock and pussy, once she goes from naive to a little less naive in the course of her wedding night.) (She has to stay at least somewhat naive, though, throughout, otherwise the D/s aspects of the story just don’t work.)

And there you have it — the utterly intense and insane world I am steeped in for hours and hours and hours at a time, every day, for something like 10 days running, so far. So I’m sort of exhausted.

Meanwhile, last evening, I went to bed sort of early. Not to sleep, really, just to hang out on the bed, listen to music and collapse. And while I was lying there, the blond guy on the blue motorcycle, zoomed by twice. God, is he lovely — his energy (see yesterday’s post). But it made me feel wistful — thinking of all the things I had hoped would work out in my life, but didn’t. (Primarily, two marriages, no children.)

And for some reason, I had decided to listen to Tom Petty & the Heartbreaker’s Live Anthology (2009) while hanging out on my bed.  When I drove into town yesterday morning, I was listening to the live version of “Learning to Fly” from off that album and it is just incredibly gorgeous. So I decided to listen to the whole album, while lying in bed as the sun was going down, forgetting that the reason I don’t usually listen to that album, is because 2 summers ago, when I fell in love with the man who died, we listened to Live Anthology constantly while making love.

I guess I don’t have to say that I was suddenly flooded with memories, and then I realized September is upon us, which marks the 2nd anniversary of his death, so I just got really, really, really sad.  Just sobbing for a little while. I miss him so much. And those songs — the music, it just brought it all so vividly back to life.  It just all came out — those things I miss so much that I try never to think about or to dwell on. It all just smacked right into me, and I had not been expecting it at all.

I eventually stopped crying, because I felt like his spirit came into the room. I really did feel it. And I know that I have to figure out some way for the future that is ahead of me, for however long is left — for it to just be okay. That something good could still be waiting for me, somewhere. (Perhaps not a wedding night like the half-moon bride’s, but something comparably rapturous!) And in the meantime, I will simply continue to write.

Beginning, once again, with today.

So, Nick Cave’s Cave Things announced another new “coming soon” product this morning. (And these Polaroid-thingies sell out immediately once they get posted, folks, so if you want one, you should probably just stay poised on the website indefinitely for its release and then immediately hit the purchase button. I don’t remember how much they cost, but they’re not cheap.)

All righty!! So I’m going to get started here. My printer ink arrives today, so that’s pretty darned exciting! I hope you have a terrific Tuesday, wherever it leads you. Thanks for visiting, gang.  I leave you with the live version of  “Have Love, Will Travel” from the Live Anthology and you can fill in your own rapturous boudoir memories, if you so choose!! Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya.

“Have Love, Will Travel”

You never had a chance, did you baby
So good-looking, so insecure
And now you say you can’t remember
When the lines you drew began to blur

Yeah, when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

Maggie’s still trying to rope a tornado
Joe’s in the backyard trying to keep things simple
And the lonely dj’s diggin’ a ditch
Trying to keep the flames from the temple

Oh, and if perhaps I lose you
In the smoke down the road
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

How about a cheer for all those bad girls
And all the boys that play that rock and roll
They love it like you love Jesus
It does the same thing to their souls

And when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know that it’s all right

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

© 2002 Tom Petty

Welcome to Bizarro Land!

Okay, so. Yesterday produced about 4000 more words on the new erotic short story, “Half-Moon Bride.” And I’m still nowhere near done.

So that means that once again, today, I will be spending unending hours writing intensely erotic stuff about 2 hermaphrodites on their wedding night. Not a topic that I ever dreamed I would spend even a moment’s time thinking about, let alone carefully crafting.

I’m still having a blast doing it, but it is so fucking strange. Mostly because I have no clue where this story is coming from.

Anyway.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that the summer that I was 14, my boyfriend — with whom I was incredibly obsessed — was killed in an accident. And today marks the 46th anniversary of his death.

Even though it’s really sunny out right this minute, it is supposed to thunderstorm most of the day, and the drive to the cemetery is an hour each way. So I have decided not to go to the grave today, and just stay home and work on the short story.

I do honestly believe he visited me this morning, when I was down at my kitchen table, writing in my Inner Being journals. He came through with a few sentences, even though I wasn’t asking him to, or anything. But I do think he really did that. When I was a lot younger, he would sometimes visit me in spirit, but I was too young to have any frame of reference for that kind of thing back then and so it would terrify me. Nowadays, I’m used to that kind of thing, but he doesn’t visit me, ever. He’s been gone such a long time. So I certainly wasn’t expecting anything today, and yet I do think it happened.

He basically said that Life is not what it seems to be, and to remember what was beautiful, and to focus on what’s coming, don’t look back.

So I think he might have also been saying to leave sad things like graves alone for today, and work on a story that’s making me feel happy, instead.

Well, when I went back upstairs with my coffee, I went to the storage closet and got out my yearbooks from Junior High School (they call it Middle School nowadays, but back then, it was Junior High). And even though High School yearbooks are what most people keep & treasure & all that, for some reason (well, partly because I hated High School), I have no yearbooks left from High School but all 3 of the ones from Junior High.

Two of them have photos of Greg in them and those are now the only photos I have of him. I have moved so many times in the 46 years that  he’s been gone.

So here he is — in the full length one, he is 14. He was really tall, but you can’t tell from the photo. You can’t really tell much at all from the photo because he seems to have been in the middle of laughing.

And then there’s a yearbook photo of me from the same year, at age 12. I’m in the 7th grade. (Where my hair is longer)

And then in the other photo of him, he is 15 (graduating Junior High that year,  so that’s why his photo is more “formal”.) And he will be dead a few months later.

Then me, that same year, at age 13. When it became extremely fashionable to have really thin eyebrows!

I did have a real fondness for plaid palazzo pants back then, too…

Greg 1973

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MJL  12 years old

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Greg 1974

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MJL 13 years old

Anyway, there it is — all that’s left, really, from those brief years.

They were awful, by the way — worst years of my life. If you have read Letter #2, “A Beach to His Waves,” from my in-progress memoir, Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, Greg is the boy I was writing about there.

It is best to try to remember what was beautiful from back then and let the rest go and just face forward. So that’s what I’m going to do.

Okay, that’s it for today. Have a good Thursday. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’ll leave you with sacred music. John Rutter conducting the Cambridge Singers, “All Things Bright & Beautiful,” one of my favorite hymns, and my very favorite version of it. Enjoy. I love you guys, see ya!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Refrain:
All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful,
the Lord God made them all.

1 Each little flow’r that opens,
each little bird that sings,
he made their glowing colors,
he made their tiny wings. [Refrain]

2 The purple-headed mountain,
the river running by,
the sunset, and the morning
that brightens up the sky. [Refrain]

3 The cold wind in the winter,
the pleasant summer sun,
the ripe fruits in the garden,
he made them, ev’ry one. [Refrain]

4 The tall trees in the greenwood,
the meadows where we play,
the flowers by the water
we gather ev’ry day. [Refrain]

5 He gave us eyes to see them,
and lips that we might tell
how great is God Almighty,
who has made all things well. [Refrain]

© 1848 Cecil Frances Alexander (Words)

Dear Diary, Yet Again, Life Continues to Astound and Amaze!!

Wow, I got more great writing done on that new erotic short story yesterday, gang. (See yesterday’s post re: “Half-Moon Bride“) It’s evidently going to be a longer short story — maybe 10,000 words or so? Maybe more? I’m going to try to finish it today, but I honestly have no clue. Everything about this story seems to be coming to me from out of nowhere, so I’m just flowing with it!!

I can say that it is making me really happy. I’m having a lot of fun with it. And even though I have an overall, general idea of where it’s heading, I can’t really say for sure how we will get there. But in the meantime, it’s a great ride.

I think we are all finished with the cover layout for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. So now I guess we put it all together and I order a test print. That’s exciting, because even if it needs some tweaks or fixes (they usually do), it will be such a joy to have that novel in my hands finally as an actual printed book.  It feels like it’s taken forever for that to happen. (Although, in reality, it’s probably the same length of time it took, in the old days, for traditional publishers to print my books, and in some cases, this has been way shorter. Still. I feels like forever.)

So I’m really happy.  And then we will move forward with all the rest of it. After I give Valerie maybe, I don’t know — a 5 minute break?

Okay. Well, yesterday was all about rain and torrential downpours for a change. But today — so far — it’s back to being a sunny day.  And there was indeed a schoolbus back in the neighborhood, early this morning. So here’s hoping we can just move on.  I am just so ready to be over it. I’ll wear my mask when I’m supposed to wear it, but other than that, I’m done with it. Done looking at the numbers. Done worrying about it. Done wondering where it’s heading and when it will stop.

I don’t know about you, but psychologically, I simply need to move on and make decisions based on a (new) normal life. It’s been 5 fucking months already, at least out here around Muskingum County.

So, in that vein, I’m going to finish up the laundry and get down to work on the short story here. I know this is a brief post, but all I’m really focused on right now is the short story.

I hope you have a great Wednesday underway, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m going to leave you with something I’ve posted here before, but I totally love it and it was the first song that popped into my head at breakfast this morning — Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, doing a live cover of an old Dave Clark 5 hit, “Anyway You Want It.” (The best kind of lover to have, in my opinion!!)

This is the version off of the Live Anthology (the song was recorded on June 11, 1983, at a concert in Irvine California). There are a couple of bootleg albums out there, too, that have great versions of this song. But I haven’t posted this version to the blog before, so enjoy! It is such a great upbeat song for a great upbeat kinda morning. All righty! Have a great Wednesday. I love you guys. See ya.

Who the Heck Knows Anything, Right??

So much for working on Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town yesterday.

For some unknown yet delightful reason, I suddenly began writing a new erotic short story yesterday — I didn’t even know it was lurking in there, even though I do want to write more erotic short stories (see yesterday’s post). I came back from the market, put the groceries away, sat down at my desk and suddenly, the story was there.

It’s maybe almost halfway finished. I’m already at 4000 words. (I know! So odd, right? How stories will just suddenly come. Aside from speaking with Valerie for a bit yesterday, I was working on the short story for 9 hours, and will be working on it all day today, too.)

And what’s even all-out weirder is that it’s a futanari story. Futanari is now pretty much only a hentai porn term for hermaphrodites (generally: extremely sexy females who also have huge cocks) (in hentai animation). But it used to be more of a Japanese folklore term, a long  long time ago.

But anyway, I am not into futanari porn.  I find androgyny sort of appealing, a tiny bit, maybe,  but not enough to think I would ever in a million years write about it erotically. Ever.

And yet… 4000 words later, I’m not even halfway done.

So strange. But I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

The story is titled “Half-Moon Bride”. In Japanese folklore, a “half-moon” futanari was someone of one sex who switched sexes on the full moon. So I’m guessing you can kinda see where the bride on this particular wedding night is headed…. (and our poor bride has no idea what she is yet, but as luck would have it, she’s marrying a full-futa and so he/she is going to be able to help her out with that.)

I won’t go into any more of the details. Obviously, it’s hardcore fantasy erotica which is not the kind of erotica I usually write. So everything, on every level of this story, has been a complete surprise to me.

Well, okey-dokey.

The trip into town yesterday was illuminating. With school starting back this week, the grocery store was empty. However, the Home Depot parking lot next door to it was jammed. And some of the more breakfast-type restaurants were busy again (by social distancing standards). But, overall, lots less cars on the streets.

Going back to school seems to still change everything, with or without COVID. It just signals: Fall is coming. (And yet, it’s still August…)

Anyway. Life’s good.

Valerie and I are just about ready to sign off on the cover layout for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. And then I can order my test print and see if I’m happy or not. I still have to format the ePub file, but once I do that, the eBook will be published, too.

So we are almost there.

Well, I’m going to get started here today. I hope you are having a truly terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world!! I leave you with a song I have posted here before — one of my favorite songs by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, “Do You Love Me (Part 2),” from that truly amazing album Let Love In from 1994 (which seems like yesterday, but my higher math skills assure me it was 26 years ago… wtf???). However, in case you missed it the last time I posted it, here it is again!! So enjoy and thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

“Do You Love Me? (Part 2)”

Onward! And Onward! And Onward I go
Where no man before could be bothered to go
Till the soles of my shoes are shot full of holes
And it’s all downhill with a bullet
This ramblin’ and rovin’ has taken its course
I’m grazing with the dinosaurs and the dear old horses
And the city streets crack and a great hole forces
Me down with my soapbox, my pulpit
The theatre ceiling is silver star-spangled
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

There’s a man in the theatre with girlish eyes
Who’s holding my childhood to ransom
On the screen there’s a death, there’s a rustle of cloth
And a sickly voice calling me handsome
There’s a man in the theatre with sly girlish eyes
On the screen there’s an ape, a gorilla
There’s a groan, there’s a cough, there’s a rustle of cloth
And a voice that stinks of death and vanilla
This is a secret, mauled and mangled
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

The walls of the ceiling are painted in blood
The lights go down, the red curtains come apart
The room is full of smoke and dialogue I know by heart
And the coins in my pocket jingle-jangle
As the great screen crackled and popped
The clock of my boyhood was wound down and stopped
And my handsome little body oddly propped
And my trousers right down to my ankles
Yes, it’s onward! And upward!
And I’m off to find love
Do you love me? If you do, I’m thankful

This city is an ogre squatting by the river
It gives life but it takes it away, my youth
There comes a time when you just cannot deliver
This is a fact. This is a stone cold truth.
Do you love me?
I love you, handsome
But do you love me?
Yes, I love you, you are handsome
Amongst the cogs and the wires, my youth
Vanilla breath and handsome apes with girlish eyes
Dreams that roam between truth and untruth
Memories that become monstrous lies
So onward! And Onward! And Onward I go!
Onward! And Upward! And I’m off to find love
With blue-black braclets on my wrists and ankles
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

© 1994 Nick Cave