There is a strangely masochistic exercise that wine bloggers participate in each month – the Monthly Wine Writing Challenge. It’s a hotly contested fight between bloggers for bragging rights, a bump in site visits, the right to show an image on their site that they are a winner (if I could figure out how to put that on my site, I would – ’cause I’m a winner, baby), and an excuse to open something really, really nice to celebrate victory. Oh, there are a lot of losers and the losers do not, as is de rigueur these days, get a medal for just participating. The winner gets to choose the theme for the following month. Last month’s ‘challenge’ was won by Ted masquerading as The Drunken Cyclist and he chose “Pleasure” as a theme.
When I was in first year university, the writers at Newsday, feeling that anyone could write a porn, er, erotic novel, decided that they would write such a work by each writing a chapter with no knowledge of what the other writers were doing aside from there being one main character. They would then pull all the chapters together and publish it under a nom de plume – Penelope Ashe – without declaring that it was a farce. The book’s title? Naked Came The Stranger. It was hilarious and did pass for a serious attempt at erotica. Years later someone else did the same thing and called it Fifty Shades of Grey. Probably amounted to nothing. Right?
Well back then, the guys in my little suite of rooms in res, decided we were going to similarly write an erotic novel too. Each guy would write a chapter. Mine starred Stavrous Popitlouse a Greek voyeur and his young, sexually inexperienced understudy Gloria Minx. It was dark and chronicled the struggles of ………..
What does this have to do with the theme? Well, erotica is pleasurable if it’s done right even though most of us wouldn’t admit it. And, here we go.
This Last Saturday in February
She had seen him downstairs with the others a thousand times. He had always remained quiet and aloof as she approached. That didn’t fool her; she knew he was playing hard to get. Underneath it all, his power beckoned her. But it never seemed the right moment to choose him for her pleasure. She chose others instead to sate her desires. Why did she hesitate? So many times before she had thought that she had found ‘the one’ only to get distracted with his individual traits and nuances – his body, his nose. In those moments, she didn’t allow herself to get lost in fleeting ecstasy rather she was distracted by it. Be it the lingering tastes in her mouth from her partner’s core or the later task of analyzing and populating her personal journal with tales of conquest.
In his case, she just knew that he demanded her full attention – no reflection on past conquests, just full surrender to him. Could she ever commit to total subjugation? It frightened her and it also excited her. Control had been hers but what would happen if she let go? Her body ached when she considered that possibility.
The last Saturday in February in 2016 was a cold day. She had decided that she would crawl inside her solitary world and reflect on her loves, her life, her needs. But, she couldn’t concentrate. In front of the roaring fire, her loose clothing felt constraining. She tore off her sweater, her toque. She was on fire. She could feel his heat – his allure was calling her downstairs. As the wind rattled the dining room windows, she fought with her inner demons. Why? Why couldn’t she resist him? What hold did he have on her very soul? Why now? What did this day, the last Saturday in February, have to do with her unbridled lust for him? What would she lose by being one with him, surrendering to his perfection?
She rose from her chair, kicked off her slippers to feel the cool of the tile floor on her naked feet. And, she slowly descended the basement stairs with lights off. She didn’t need the naked glare of the swinging light bulb (that’s ‘naked’ twice now) to know where he hid – urging her to find him. In the dark, she reached out among all the others; communicating to him with her touch, and then tenderly grasped his naked (3 ‘naked’s) waist with her shaking fingers and pulled him to her quickly in a violent act of need. He could not possibly understand her lust. Or, could he? As they ascended the stairs together, her heartbeat accelerated. It was pounding in her ears, her silkily clad breast heaving, throbbing, throbbing. Oh yeah it was throbbing, baby.
Her arousal increased seemingly beyond her physical control. How could she stop the throbbing (promise I won’t use ‘throbbing’ again)? Her hand brushed across the sweat on the nape of his neck. She could feel his power even then. She sensed his taut muscularity, his stoney resolve, the seductive potential of his unfettered explosion in her mouth. Oh, he had remained cool and aloof so long that she had trouble concentrating on the task ahead. She was yearning to taste his juices. How would she open him up to her need? She must.
But she paused. Then what? What would this conquest leave? No more possibilities of a moment with him. No what ifs. No more mysterious ‘him’. It would be done. Over. She would know him and he would be gone as all the others before him. Her fantasies of what could be – gone.
Oh hell, she pushed on – possessed. Held him close. Felt him hard and stiff against her cool skin. She knew that he could sense her need. She had bared her very self to him and he was teasing her, taunting her.And then she became impatient. She wanted to dominate him, own him, consume him. She violently ripped the blood red covering off his neck. But how to open him to her advances? He wanted it too.
Editorial Note: The protagonist’s knowledge of the target’s participation is portrayed in this account as consensual for literary purposes. Those at home should seek and gain clear consent before violating the seal of their prospective partner. No means No. OK, where were we? Oh yeah.
Say no more. Say no more.
She grasped his neck and forced (read editorial note above) her steel device into his mouth subjecting him to her need. Twisting, twisting with no complaint from him – just a tantalizing squeak, squeak – sweaty, slippery acquiescence to her desires. Her heart raced, her lips wetted in anticipation. She needed him inside her. Then she tugged on him, tugged again and then a gasp from him. YES, YES, NOW! She couldn’t hold out any longer. She needed to find her climax. She tilted him to her mouth. His essence poured out over her.
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed to reveal two bodies entwined as one. She let out a low throaty sigh as she realized her goal. He was inside her! He was hers! “Oh my”.
As she lay back exhausted, emotionally and physically spent on this night she strangely didn’t feel alone. There was a sensation that others across the globe had that night experienced the same thing as herself. But then again, let’s face it. It’s pretty well chronicled what a great bottle of white Burgundy can do for a woman on a cold night. Who the hell needs a man?
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