“Leave of Abscence”

Is what I’m taking, ladies and gents, but never fear, it’s not a permanent thing, it’s a “now” thing. I could come back next month, next week, hell, tomorrow even, I haven’t a clue.

There is no one reason why I’ve decided to go silent for a bit and I’m sure all the nay-sayers of the world will assume that there’s some jaded reason hidden behind all the things I’m “not” saying that’s brought me to this place, but that isn’t the case, not nearly. What is the case, is that my creativity, my imagination and my desire to write have been eluding me as of late and rather than force myself to write something just for the sake of writing, I’ve decided to take a decompression period. A mini-vacation, if you will.

Well, until we meet again, play nice and be wonderful to each other. See you on the flip side.

Oh, how time flies…

When I started “Salacious Desires”–a year ago this month, can you believe that? Time sure flies when you’re having fun (and well, even when you’re not)–my reasons were vast, my intentions were good and my situation was, for lack of a better phrase, complexly simple. And for the most part, it still is. Sure, there have been changes–some good, some bad–in me, in my life, in my marriage–pretty much everywhere–and if I’m being honest, I’m not sorry for any of those changes, even the ones that hurt my heart. Why? Because life, while fascinating and wonderful, isn’t all starlight and moonbeams and it certainly isn’t a walk in the park, it’s tragic and blissful and somber and playful and dispiriting and thrilling–it’s a roller coaster of emotions I want to ride again and again and again, so how can I be sorry for taking that ride, even when it hurts? I can‘t.

But as “Salacious Desires” moves out of its first year and into its second, I don’t want to talk about the changes–good or bad–this year has brought me because some are entirely too personal to recount here and some I’ve already brought to light. So instead of hashing and rehashing all the changes, discoveries, memories and milestones that have occurred in my life since I started this blog, I’ve decided to do something a bit different.

So to commemorate the birth of “Salacious Desires”, I give you 50 things (in no particular order, meaning, I‘m all over the place, but that‘s me–scatterbrained) about SD that you probably don’t know and more than likely could have gone the rest of your life without knowing.

Enjoy.

~*~

1. I was born under the astrological sign Leo–a fixed, fire sign ruled by the sun. I can, in typical Leo fashion, be very stubborn, ridiculously lazy, overly dramatic and insufferably arrogant. But I can be warm, gentle, loving and loyal too.

2. I share my birthday with Percy Bysshe Shelley, who wrote “Love’s Philosophy”, one of my favorite poems.

3. The year? Well, I’m not sharing, a girl’s gotta have some secrets, yes? But I imagine I’m either younger or older than you think. Anyone care to guess?

4. Because there’s some slight confusion as to my “status”, I am still married, but we are and have been separated for quite some time.

5. And yes, my husband knows about my relationship with Dane–there are no secrets, lies or deception between any of us.

6. I have one child of the male species, who happens to be the love of my life. And though, when I was younger, I wanted a whole houseful of happy little children, I do believe I’ve changed my mind.

7. I hate the sun, but I love the beach, hence the reason I typically only go there at night. Besides, it’s so much more enchanting to gaze at the stars twinkling overhead as the heady scent of the ocean intoxicates me and the soft, almost sultry sound of the surf kisses the shore. Sigh.

8. I have an odd affection for wind chimes, which makes absolutely no sense because in the middle of the night, when they get to chiming madly, they keep me awake. But no matter, I think they’re beautiful.

9. I love sunflowers, lots and lots of sunflowers. And lilies. And purple roses.

10. I love to read all kinds of things, but I’m a sucker for a good romance or a nail biting murder mystery.

11. I don’t do mornings. Seriously. I detest them–the birds chirping, the sun slipping through the slats on the curtains, blah, blah, blah… Ugh. No thanks.

12. My favorite color is emerald green, but baby blue does it for me too.

13. And I don’t particularly look good in either of those colors, earth tones are more my style.

14. I’m blonde–everywhere, from top to bottom.

15. And I love it because when I get lazy (which is often) and neglect to shave my legs, no ones the wiser.

16. I’m addicted to coffee–I can’t live without it.

17. I can’t cook.

18. But I can bake with the best of them. Anybody want some cookies? Or perhaps you’d like some brownies? A cake? No problem.

19. I lost my virginity in the front seat of a Buick Century when I was a naïve 16 year old girl and it was the messiest, most awkward, anticlimactic experience of my life.

20. I stayed with my 1st lover until I was 18 and the poor boy never did figure out how to make me come, not for lack of trying though.

21. Nor did my 2nd, 3rd, 5th and 6th lovers. No orgasms for SD (well, none that weren’t self-induced). Sucked to be me.

22. My 4th lover (who happens to be the man I ended up marrying) is, to date, the only man who has been able to physically make me come.

(Pop Quiz: Let’s see who was paying attention… How many lovers (of the male species) has SD had?)

23. But Dane, my love, has made me come (soft, hard, intense, toe curling, sheet grabbing, hip arching orgasms) countless times and he’s yet to physically touch me. Sigh. The mind can be a powerful thing.

24. I have been intimate with a woman, only once, but it was one of the most sensual sexual experiences I’ve had. I absolutely must do it again sometime and I know just the woman I’d love to help me out with that.

25. I’ve never had a threesome of any kind (not in reality anyway), and mores the pity on that because it looks like it’d be great fun.

26. But I did graciously lend my mouth to this lovely lady who thought it’d be a cool idea if we simultaneously blew her boyfriend. And that was great fun.

27. I love being taken from behind, it’s one of my favorite positions, and for reasons that elude me, it seriously turns me on if you (lightly) spank me while you‘re doing it.

28. I have a slightly odd penchant for hot candle wax too. I dunno?

29. I’m short, annoyingly so.

30. My eyes are hazel, but they tend to stay more towards the green side of the color spectrum.

31. I love my feet, seriously, I do. They’re tiny and cute and look great in flip flops or sandals or nothing.

32. And I absolutely love having my toes sucked (don’t ask, I have no clue).

33. Oh, and having my hair pulled, but not hard–softly, gently… yes, just like that. Mmm.

34. I have a filthy, nasty, dirty mouth and while I know it’s not ladylike, I don’t particularly care.

35. I’m somewhat boisterous during sex, but I’m not a talker more of a moaner.

36. I love to sing, but since I can’t sing without damaging peoples sensitive ears, I typically keep it to showers and solo car rides.

37. I cry noisy, loud and often, it’s a wonderful stress reliever.

38. My taste in music is wide and varied, but lately I’ve been stuck on these sappy, overly sentimental love songs.

39. And this would be because as jaded as I like to insinuate I am, I’m really just a hopeless romantic.

40. I’m more than a little obsessed with greeting cards–I love the damn things. I popped into Hallmark last weekend to pick up a card for my mom, my sister and Dane’s wife and what should have been a simple, fairly quick card run turned into and hour and a half of “Oohing and Aahing” over a bunch of sappy cards.

41. And bookmarks too. I have so many bookmarks, I could open up my own damn store, but it’s not my fault really, I mean, if they wouldn’t make the silly things so bloody cute, I wouldn’t be tempted to buy them.

42. I adore glittery things–lip gloss, body lotion, shower gel, body spray, the list goes on…

43. I hate (hate, hate, hate) beer, but I love (love, love, love) mixed drinks (particularly Midori Sours). YUM.

44. And since I can’t hold my alcohol for shit, I get a bit lax with my inhibitions and my mouth when I’ve had more than a couple drinks. And I swear, alcohol’s better than truth serum.

45. I’m a Democrat, but in conversation, I avoid sticky (or more accurately most) political issues because when it comes to politics people are all over the map and if your belief, opinion (what have you) is so far OFF the map that it annoys me, I tend to get bitchy about it.

46. When I was itty bitty, I wanted to be a nurse and then a teacher and then an actress and then a writer, but ironically, I’m non of the above.

47. What I am (as unexciting as it is) is an administrative assistant. Yee Haw.

48. I love blue eyes, they’re so beautiful and bewitching, they make me melt.

49. I’m a snuggler. I love to hold and be held.

50. And making out is, by far, my favorite thing to do. If done right, I could spend hours (literally) losing myself in a kiss. It’s so yummy and good.

~*~

So there you have it. And if I inadvertently skipped a number or miscounted, no problems, we’ll just blame it on the fact that I’m blonde AND scatterbrained.

Before I wrap this up, I’d like to say thanks to all of you who pass through here daily (whether you ever choose to speak up or are more comfortable to simply lurk) for sticking with me because without you, I’d just be talking to myself and what fun is that? You’re all super-fantastic!

And Dane, whom I love so very very much (you know, back in September, I told him that I wasn’t “in love” with him, but (and I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to take a leaping run in the other direction), I can’t say that anymore–I am) and is, without question, one of the best friends I’ve ever had and Jeff, my sweet sweet friend, who’s been there for me selflessly through both good and bad times without fail and Nina, who is not only unabashedly sexy, but is one kickass friend as well. I love the three of you emphatically. I truly do. Thank you for everything.

Alright, enough with the sappy stuff, I’m out.

Vulnerability…

…in my opinion, is a two sided coin.

On the one side, you’ve got people who have absolutely no concept how difficult it is to push past that wall of vulnerability your waning sense of self confidence has erected and put yourself out there, be it emotionally or physically, when it would be just as easy to hide behind that wall for fear of emotional injury, whether it be rejection or an off-handed comment that may or may not be innocently given, but is none the less hurtful. And on the other side, you’ve got those people who understand perfectly how very hard it is because they live their lives behind that wall and the mere thought of stepping out from behind it leaves their palms sweaty and their hearts racing. I typically fall into the latter of those two sides.

In my last post Freya commented that, “We can be our own worst critics, can’t we?” And there are no truer words. I know that I am, without question, my own worst critic in everything I do, from writing all the way down to the image that stares back at me in the mirror.

The lovely Freya also said, “We have to love ourselves first, which is so difficult in a world where the idea is virtually unobtainable by all but the slimmest margin of woman.” And she’s absolutely right, as is the delectable Nina who said, “All of us are forced to be so self critical of our beautiful bodies because society has decided that a woman is not attractive unless she looks like some mans vision of the perfect female specimen.”

With those odds, it’s hard not to be our own worst critics and harder still to move past that wall of vulnerability we’ve erected, but yet there are those of us who occasionally throw caution to the wind and step out from behind that wall. And it’s those who humble me because I understand the risks.

I don’t kid myself into thinking that the things I write or the feelings I express here will touch or move everyone who passes through here on a daily basis, I imagine a good amount of people skim through my words and move onto the next blog or site without feeling anything at all, but when something I’ve written does touch someone to the point that they feel confident enough to step out from behind their own personal wall, it’s an incredible feeling.

With that thought in mind, and her permission, of course, I’d like to share an e-mail I recieved from Amy of South Coast Pleasure yesterday…

SD,

Your vulnerability moved me. Your photograph touched me. I am not Gay or Lesbian. I am not a writer either. I feel that sensuality is neither male/female or straight/gay. It just is. So here I am returning to you a bit of my vulnerability.

Fingers. Fingers that gently lift the fabric of your gown to reveal the luscious area of desire.

Fingers. Fingers that gently press against the flatness of your tummy, the center, the beginning, oh, the softness of your skin.

Fingers. Fingers that point down, down, down urging, wanting, needing to touch more.

Fingers, my fingers reach, touch to explore, drawn by the power of your beautiful sexuality.

Fingers, my fingers flirt with the silky black material that separates my touch from the soft warm home of your womaness.

Fingers, fingers that find their way to the depths of your physical sensuality. Deep, inside, warm, wet, moving, throbbing, thrusting, orgasmic.

Fingers.

I found this incredibly beautiful. Not only that she’d share such a personal piece of herself with me, but because allowing some of my own vulnerability to slip through allowed her to share some of her own vulnerability with me as well, and now with you.

Thank you, Amy.

And though I’ve already told her this, I think it merits mentioning here–you don’t have to be a writer to write, you just have to feel and as long as anything you write is written with feeling, there’s beauty in it.

Last but certainly not least, I want to say thank you to everyone who left a comment on my last post.

OdalisqueK–I think you look fine too, sweetheart.

Nina–Size is no matter, I’ll take a handful of your luscious flesh any day. And you know that I find you exquisite and oh so beautiful, don’t you?

AAG–I think you’re gorgeous too. Sincerely, I do.

Dane–I try not to care what others think of my physical self and with a good amount of people, I don’t particularly, but because I love you, I do care what you think. Always. Thank you, darling.

Freya–As are you, gorgeous! And I’ll echo your sentiment, I said so. So it must be true.

Jeff–That is such a beautiful quote you left in my comments and I thank you for adding it, my friend! And that lovely gift you gave Dane and I on your blog last night made me weepy (a good weepy). You are a prince and I adore you, you know?

Sasha–Yes, I do believe you have a point! And you’re a sexy temptress yourself, sweetness, you truly are.

Be gentle with me, it’s my first time…

My ex-roommate (her and I no longer share living space but are still the best of friends) likes to taunt and tease me mercilessly because, as she puts it, I’m too insecure with my body to reveal or exhibit myself, which she thinks is silly because while I am a big girl, I’m not an unattractive one. I object to her taunts as I’ve posted a picture of my breasts twice, but as much as I object, in a very real way, she’s right. I admit it, I hate the way I look. And not liking the way you look breeds insecurity, it’s a vicious cycle, but one I’m fairly sure many women go through at various times in their life.

If I looked as she does…

There certainly wouldn’t be a problem. But sadly, the gods of shapeliness haven’t been that kind to me. Mores the pity, but what am I going to do?

Anyhow, since she vehemently insists that I’m too insecure to post a picture of myself that I feel would leave me vulnerable to negative criticism, I’m hellbent on proving her wrong (the bitch).

So because she said I wouldn’t do it–this is me, it’s only a small part of me, mind you, but it is the part of me that I’m most insecure about.

And I want to say that as a bigger than average woman, I know how hard it is to put yourself out there for fear of insults or worse rejection, but honestly, some of the most beautiful women I’ve met are women that, by most, would be considered overweight. Big can absolutely be beautiful, and I have the utmost respect for those women who know and embrace that. And even bigger respect for men who do.

Who’s sexy? He’s sexy? She’s sexy? You’re sexy?

I’m sexy?

Well, of course I am. But honestly, what do I know?

And really, what is it that defines sexy, anyway?

Is it the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he laughs? Or maybe it’s the way her cheek slightly dimples on one side when she smiles? Perhaps it’s the light tremor in his voice when your hands slide over his flesh? Or the way her china doll skin subtly flushes when she’s aroused? The color of his eyes? The curve of her lips?

What is it that makes someone sexy to you? Tell me, I must know (for purely educational purposes, of course).

Internet Stalkers…

They’re a rancid bunch, aren’t they?

But unfortunately for all of us, they are out there. And the sad scary fact is that with little more than a tap of the keys, and a click of the mouse, they can seriously fuck with our lives.

Internet stalkers (be they someone we know personally or someone that for one reason or another has become fixated on us) don’t discriminate, we’re all vulnerable. And because we are, we need to stick together to support and protect one another in whatever capacity we can.

Not gone…

Just processing, reflecting and working to get life back where it needs to be.

I’ll be back.

(Non) Salacious Desires interrupts your regularly scheduled program…

Hmm, it’s come to my attention that Salacious Desires hasn’t been so “salacious” as of late, has she?

And for that, I do apologize.

You see, for reasons I can’t quite fathom, my libido has been a tad off kilter lately and sadly, it’s been a bit detrimental where matters of intimacy are concerned. I don’t know, it feels like I’ve somehow gotten trapped on one of those crazy, unpredidictible rollercoaster rides (you know the ones with all those nonsensical yet thrilling dips and turns) and I just can’t make up my mind which dip or turn on this sexual thrill ride I’d like to take. So instead, I’ve been idly sitting all strapped in nice and tight with no clue which direction I want this ride to go. It’s crazy I know, but there are times when the sex isn’t as prominent in my house as I’d like it to be and then there are times when the sex could be more prominent but I just don’t want it to be. It appears that I’m in a “just don’t want it to be” phase at the moment.

But I’ve been thinking that it’s not quite fair that all of you lovely people should have to suffer while I work on getting my ass back in gear. I briefly thought about turning my house over to someone else while I wade through the minefield that is my dying libido but then again, it’s not exactly fair to toss my keys at some poor unsuspecting soul and expect them to take over as lady (or gentleman) of the manor, now is it? (Although if someone wants to contribute by all means, let me know as I’m in a bit of a sexual jam here. LOL). So, without expecting someone to move in and take up residence, I’ve decided that instead of discussing all the sex I’m not currently having, I’ll turn the tables a bit and just open it up to whatever the heck is on my mind.

Stay tuned. This could get interesting…

The beauty of a kiss.

The moment eternal - just that and no more -
When ecstasy’s utmost we clutch at the core
While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut, and lips meet!
– Robert Browning

What’s more lovely than a kiss?

Soft and sensual… Light and playful…. Raw and unhibited….

Kissing in any form is one of the most intimate and beautiful acts two people can share.

I ran up the door, opened the stairs, said my pajamas and put on my prayers - turned off my bed, tumbled into my light, and all because he kissed me good-night! — Author Unknown

Memories are a tricky thing and what our mind chooses to retain has always intrigued me. Some memories are so bright, they’re practically alive while others simply fade to black as if they never happened at all. Why is that, I wonder?

My first kiss is one of those bright memories that remains beautifully alive in my mind. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can still see it… feel it… taste it… as if it happened yesterday. We were both fourteen and completely innocent in matters of sex but with innocence comes that reckless streak of curiousity that tempts you to cross the line and shatter that small sphere of purity. So, we giggled and fumbled our way through a chaste meeting of lips and tongues that was so amazingly sweet in it’s naivete that nothing I’ve experienced since has touched me the way that first simple kiss did. Her lips were soft as they covered mine, her tongue unsure as it tentatively brushed against mine and it was beautiful. There was no more than a few fumbling kisses that day but as our curiousity piqued and the desire to explore our sexuality unfolded there was more. She was my first and I was hers. Maybe one day I’ll tell you about it.

Do you remember your first kiss?

And I’m feelin’ just fine.

This week started out on a sour note.

I woke up yesterday morning feeling funky, completely disconnected from everything around me, like I was stuck on some kooky autopilot, just going through the motions, just following the routine — shower, dress, feed the child, make lunches, take the child to school, battle with traffic — but nothing really touched me. It was somewhat surreal. I knew that work was going to be brutal and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed, bury myself under the covers and hide in lonely seclusion until this weird funk passed. But that wasn’t to be.

Work was a bitch and by 5 o’clock, I was ready to physically hurt somebody. Somehow, I’d managed to work myself out of autopilot but I was still in a funk. I was tired, cranky, argumentative and well, just downright mean. I wanted… no, I needed to decompress. The need to close myself off was like an itch in desperate need of scratching. But that wasn’t to be.

Family obligations. God, just the thought of sitting at a table in a fancy, overcrowded restaurant surrounded by various relatives was enough to have my stomach clutching (and not in a good way).

“We don’t have to go babe. We’ll tell them you’re not feeling well.”

“No, we’ll go. We promised and [the child] is looking forward to it.”

But I didn’t want to go. I would’ve sold my soul to get out of it guilt free. But that wasn’t to be.

Dinner was lively, the food was excellent, the child was a blur of excitement over the impending sleepover at Grandma’s but I was miserable. I vaguely wondered if anyone around me besides A could sense my misery but honestly, I didn’t care. I was there, wasn’t I?

My sister was sitting across from me and managed to willfully coerce me into conversation. Though my heart wasn’t in it, I was trying to keep up when I felt a wave of heat fan across my earlobe.

“I want to lick your pussy.”

It was no more than a breathy whisper but it reverberated through my head like the clash of cymbals. My mind went well and truly blank.

“…doesn’t she?”

I stared across the table at my sister like a deer caught in the headlights. What the hell was she saying?

“Hmm? I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“[relative's name], doesn’t she look great?”

“Huh? Oh… oh, yeah… great.”

I felt a slight flutter, nothing more than a featherlight touch really, inch slowly up my thigh.

“You’re so fucking sexy, it’s driving me crazy sitting here with you when all I want to do is bury my face in your cunt and lap up all that salty sweetness.”

Well… Fuck Me…

“… can’t … blah, blah, blah … here … blah, blah, blah … amazing … blah, blah, blah … don’t you think?”

Closer… closer… closer… the fingers inching up my thigh stopped to trace the sensitive crease between thigh and pelvis and…

“SD!?!”

“What? What?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Listening? To you? What?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Matter? Who? Huh?”

The fingertips slid back and forth, softly tracing the crease… over and over and over again, “Your skin is so soft… so fucking soft. Feel my fingers baby? That’s where I’d start with my tongue, licking and sucking my way to your beautiful pussy.”

Oh for the love of…

“SD, are you okay?”

“Okay? Me? Yeah, yeah I’m–” …the fingers — those wicked, evil, sinful fingers — slid underneath my panties, slipping through the slick folds to tease my entrance before dipping inside… “OH GOD.”

The breath beating against my ear was choppy now, “Fuck, you’re so wet. I want you… here… now.”

My sister jumped up and leaned across the table, “What? What happened? Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Fine. I’m fine.” I managed to say without panting like a bitch in heat.

Oh please, I can’t… you were fucking me with your fingers, thrusting in and out of me while my sister stared holes through me.

“You’re not fine. What’s going on.”

“She’s fine.” Your voice was smooth as spun silk, you’d never know by your tone that your fingers were buried deep inside me… destroying me, “She’s fine. Sit down. She’s just a bit distracted today.”

Well, that’s the understatement of the year.

My sister focused on me and by the smirk that the spread across her mouth, I had a gut feeling she knew exactly what you were doing underneath the table.

She cleared her throat and bit back a giggle, “Okay, if you say so.”

” ‘Kay troops, time to hit the road.” My mother’s voice rang through the air and I felt your fingers slip out of me.

You drug your sticky fingers up my arm, my shoulder, my neck, my cheek and stopped to rub them softly across my lips. Oh, you evil, evil man. I fought the urge to wrap my tongue around your fingers and pull them into my mouth. I parted my lips slightly and ran the very tip of my tongue across your fingers and I could taste myself on you. Mmm.

The goodbyes were a blur, I don’t remember who I spoke to, what I said… all I remembered were your whispered words and the feeling of your fingers thrusting in and out of me. We got into the car and I folded my hands meekly in my lap while you pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. As soon as we were on the road, all bets were off. I dove into your pants like a kid in a candy store, wrapping my hand tightly around your cock. With one hand on the wheel, you slid your hand across the seat and worked your way into my panties.

I stroked. You fingered.

How we made it home without causing a major accident remains a mystery to me but somehow we made it. You pulled into the driveway and slammed the car into park.

“Now. Right Now.”

I reclined the seat back and you were across the car… on me, in me …before I could draw a breath. I lifted my leg up and lost a shoe but was too lost in the moment to give a fuck. I dug my foot into the dashboard for support and thrust my hips downward, our pelvises slapping together as you thrust upward.

We stopped thinking… the neighbors — fuck ‘em, the dog barking — fuck it, the security lights — fuck ‘em. We were too lost in each other to care about that trivial shit.

Lips, teeth, tongue, limbs… all a glorious tangle. It was a hot, wet, slippery slide of bodies and fuck, it felt good.

Sometime later, as I limped into the house my clothes a jumbled mess and one shoe missing, I felt a euphoric sense of contentment wash through me.

Ahhh.

So, it’s Tuesday and I’m feeling just fine. Just fine, indeed.