The Wet Misadventures Of One Miss Tempani Jones : Episode 2

Tempani sat exhaustedly at her desk. She’d already had quite the day and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

The orgasms (and they are certainly orgasms…plural) that Tempani experiences are quite intense. Waves of pleasure flow through her, every fibre in her body alive to the heightened state of arousal.

They are not the sort of orgasm one has where they can simply go ‘that was nice’ before popping off to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

These orgasms exhaust Tempani and as she stared out of her office window at the rain she questioned whether she would have the strength to make it back home.

Despite her post-orgasmic fatigue she had coped remarkably well at the very important meeting. Indeed, the very important client and his entourage seemed pleasantly transfixed as Tempani delivered here presentation with professional aplomb.

The only time she slightly hesitated was when a raindrop still clinging to her damp hair fell. Like a horny harbinger of ecstasy it spied Tempani’s bare hand resting on the large glass conference room table.

This dirty little drop only had only one goal in mind. It could see Tempani’s finger just waiting. Were the lines in the knuckle smiling at it? Teasing it to descend faster, to fulfil its deviant destiny by sensually splashing down on to that smooth skin and bringing with it the mother of all climaxes.

Yet despite what promise this singular speck of satisfaction held it would fail in its true purpose. With Tempani’s skin in sight and pleasure only moments away she moved her hand to gesture at the screen. The raindrop splashed inconsequentially on the glass table.

Tempani turned to glance at the raindrop that lay lifeless on the table, it’s promise of pleasure unfulfilled. It was at that moment her brain decided to add some unhelpful commentary;

“Cor! Imagine what would have happened if that had hit you? Best of luck trying to show exponential growth in a line graph while having a full on orgasm”

This momentarily caused Tempani to lose her focus but she was able to regain her composure and complete the very important meeting without incident or interruption from any more perverted little raindrops.

When the meeting was over she exchanged final pleasantries with the very important client and returned to her office. Following a brief discussion with her assistant where she asked if she wouldn’t mind popping out and buying an umbrella and a new pair of tights, Tempani closed the door and collapsed in her chair thoroughly exhausted.

The company that Tempani worked for occupied the fifth floor of a modern building in Central London. The abundance of glass meant the architect was not a big fan of privacy and any passengers travelling on the train track that ran adjacent to the building would have a clear view of her.

She would often stare out across the impressive London skyline, it helped her focus but on this day her view was distorted by the rain that lashed against the glass.

The rain was heavy and the way it hit the window made Tempani believe that it was trying to break the glass to get to her. The sound of the rain splashing against the glass seemed to hiss ‘We are not finished with you’.

She moved closer to the window and stared at the droplets that formed on the glass with impatient haste. It was probably her exhaustion but Tempani thought the rain reacted to her. The rain found its journey blocked by a transparent obstacle it slipped and slithered across the pane desperate to reach her. Deciding that strength lay in numbers it grouped together forming a larger stream. Tempani dreamily traced their futile attempt with her finger.

She would write about the events of that morning when she got home in her ‘Rain Journal’. It was a book that Tempani had started when she first realised about this condition. The hope behind the journal was that it would provide some answers as to what was happening. Yet over ten years of entries and it was nothing more than an anthology of questions, frustrations and awkward encounters.

Her gift/curse/affliction (Tempani would delete as applicable depending on her mood) first revealed itself shortly after puberty. An unexpected downpour during a hockey game led to a thoroughly embarrassed Tempani, numerous raised eyebrows from her class mates and the strong suggestion to her parents from the ex-Nun head teacher that they should consider an exorcism.

Several other incidents are recorded in this journal before a two page acceptance that the rain does in fact cause orgasms (the word orgasm is underlined and highlighted).

What follows are a number of experiments and theories, some of which have proven to be useful. Perhaps the most notable is that it is just rain that causes this reaction and not water. Baths, showers, swimming pools have no sensual impact upon Tempani at all. However, a record of a day trip to Clacton-On-Sea establishes that the sea is very much a no go area. Tempani then spends a number of unnecessary pages theorising whether this means rivers as well and when she might end up in a river, concluding that this probably applies to lakes also and repeating the process.

In amongst the reminders of rain induced orgasms are pages entitled ‘Practical Tips’. Here Tempani bullets points in a variety of different coloured felt tips steps she could take to mitigate the consequence of coming into contact with rain.

Page 7 for instance is the reason why if you asked anyone who went to her school ‘Do you remember Tempani Jones?’ they would reply without hesitation ‘Oh you mean the girl who came to school wearing a poncho carrying an umbrella’.

A melancholic theme of this journal is the bleak look that a young Tempani has on living with this bizarre gift. An attractive and previously outgoing, happy-go-lucky girl slowly becomes more recluse. It is, should you require a reference, on Page 12 of her journal where she happens upon a semi-permanent solution to her troubles – Not go out.

Whilst she reluctantly accepts that her education requires leaving the house she justifies limiting social interaction with a graph, the accuracy of which may be suspect but one can at least admire the pretty colours she chose to use.

Effectively withdrawing from society has its consequence that Tempani painfully reflects upon. Her parents, still reeling from their daughter’s very public sexual awakening, may have been happy she was not sneaking off to see boys but very disappointed she would feign illness to escape a picnic arranged for Aunt Margaret’s 80th birthday.

Whilst she still maintained a core group of friends she had little desire to extend it, her theory was the less people she interacted with the less chance of witnesses of any storm based sauciness. However, even her closest friends would not often invite her to places citing the reason that they didn’t think she’d want to come, it nonetheless frustrated Tempani that she was deprived the opportunity to say no.

Withdrawn and isolated Tempani found the only suitable distraction was her education and with very little distraction she thrived. University beckoned and with it a set of new challenges.

The move from teenager to womanhood is marked in the journal with a declaration that she must live a normal life. It is a mission statement to herself that she would not hide away any longer. Despite this new found resolve she still maintained some of the usual precautions – avoiding large groups and where possible outdoor activities.

Her commitment to leading a more normal life extended to no longer resisting the advances of those who found her attractive. At school she had dismissed any possibility of having a boyfriend finding the notion to be ridiculous (with or without her affliction) but she could not deny her curiosity and desire to indulge ‘in that sort of thing’ (this is also highlighted and underlined).

Her first experience was with Tom after one boozy night at a local pub. His wish of how he wanted to end that evening was made clear before Tempani had even ordered her first rum and Coke. After a number of drinks they ended back in his room for an evening that Tempani would describe in her journal as ‘absolutely fucking terrible’.

To be fair it would be wrong to simply lay all blame at Tom’s drunken fumblings because as Tempani recognised this disappointing liaison led to a scientific discovery – Only the rain could arouse her.

Masturbation was something that Tempani never really considered doing. Why would she? Why put all that effort in if you could simply stick your head out the window and let the rain give you a mind blowing orgasm.

Despite all her ‘experiments’ Tempani had never tried out manual stimulation. Had she done so she would have quickly realised she felt no arousal whatsoever. Instead, this discovery was left to Tom.

Admittedly his technique of prodding at her like he was entering his PIN number at a cash point was not the most masterful way of doing it but it really wouldn’t have mattered. Tempani could feel nothing. She just lay there trying her best to encourage the increasingly frustrated Tom.

However no amount of rubbing would produce any sign of arousal and the faux deep breathing Tempina did to give the impression she was sexually excited started to make her seem like she was asthmatic.

“What’s a matter with you?” Tom said, the alcohol doing little to help control his emotions.

Tempani abruptly stopped that line of questioning by giving Tom a lack lustre handjob resulting in him unemotionally depositing himself over her belly. At least Tempani could put ‘Semen’ on her list of wet things that don’t cause orgasms.

After this non event Tempani spent perhaps too much time trying to make herself manually have an orgasm. Despite her technique being far more refined than Tom’s the result was the same – nothing, not the slightest hint of arousal.

She even tried sex toys but this just resulted in a one page, double sided rant in her journal that she was fifty pounds down and wasted loads of batteries.

Tempani later theorised that perhaps she was cured but the unfortunate consequence of that cure was that all sexual desire had been removed from her. Although she was only twenty she already felt she had a lifetime of orgasms and probably could live with that.

Her awkward experience with Tom happened as England entered a long spell of dry weather and the glorious sun matched her equally glorious mood. She felt free of this curse and threw herself fully back into life by attending many social events.

It was at an outdoor music festival (a previous no go event for Tempani) that she met Ethan. Their relationship blossomed slowly and whilst there was clear sexual chemistry between them Tempani was in no rush to take things to the next level.

No longer concerned with rain the journal entries changed to her theories on how she could possibly keep a man when he would not be able to sexually please her.

She mused on the possibility that a mix of blowjobs, handjobs and any other jobs she could think of would keep them more than satisfied but the problem would arise when they wished to reciprocate. Even the best lover in the world would not be able to make Tempani the slightest bit aroused and guys seem to take that personally.

Within the journal is a whole essay on the possibility of a platonic relationship. They certainly exist and Tempani was in no doubt that there were plenty of couples enjoying such companionship.

What she didn’t know is how does a relationship become platonic. Even at a young age she knew guys do not approach you in bars and say ‘Fancy coming back to my place for a nice platonic relationship’. How do you even raise it? When is it socially acceptable?

“Darling I just want you to know I am going to suck your cock but other than that our relationship is strictly platonic’.

Despite her insecure scribblings Tempani very much enjoyed the company of Ethan and they began to spend quite a lot of time together. Heavy petting on the sofa would not lead to anything more intimate than awkward silence. Ethan masking his erection wondering how to get her in the bedroom and Tempani wondering if now is the right time to say ‘Hey let’s go platonic’.

Despite the awkwardness they continued to see each other even indulging in such pursuits as jogs around the local park (something that Tempani would have normally avoided and not just because of the rain).

During these jogs there would be impromptu races which would lead to flirtatious attempts to trip each other up. As they lined up to start their next race Tempani kissed Ethan on the cheek and said ‘Catch me if you can.’ They both laughed as he chased her round the park, Tempani took a hard right into the wooded area where Ethan found her resting against a tree.

“You caught me” she said, smiling but clearly out of breath.

“What’s my prize?” Ethan replied advancing towards her.

“Come here and I’ll show you”.

Ethan approached Tempani, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her in close as they started to kiss. Above them storm clouds were forming and light drizzle fell hesitantly from the sky.

The leaves of the tree protected them from rainfall but the hissing sound it made alerted Tempani to its presence.

She looked up at the dark clouds that menacingly filled the sky. Normally she would be feeling a sense of panic at this sight, desperately looking to escape the rain or at the very least find somewhere to privately submit to the pleasure it would bring.

But now she was cured. She had no fear. As Ethan nuzzled at the nape of her neck she smirked at the clouds , a teasing smile to entice a jealous reaction from an ex-lover.

The clouds did react throwing down more rain at the kissing couple, ensuring this time it was harder so the weak barrier of leaves would provide no protection.

Drops landed on Tempani as she nibbled on Ethan’s earlobe. As the rain trickled down her cheek she began to experience something she thought lost forever. Within moments her body began to tingle, her heartbeat quickened and her breathing became shallow.

Tempani pulled Ethan into her, his arousal could be felt poking through his shorts. She grabbed his hand and put in between her legs, the dampness already seeping through her jogging bottoms.

She gripped the band of his shorts and tugged them down releasing his cock which she took in her hand and began to stroke.

“Fucking Hell Temps!” he moaned as he slightly pulled away to look at her.

She stared back at him. Tempani could feel the orgasm beginning to build, it was only a matter of time before she would be experiencing the full force. Drunk with arousal she had the presence of mind to bring Ethan along for this wild ride.

The reality, of course, was she didn’t need him. Nothing he would be doing aided her arousal, the rain had that totally covered.

Pulling down her jogging bottoms while Ethan hastily struggled with putting a condom on she purred impatiently ‘Hurry up and fuck me!’

Tempani did all she could to delay this inevitable orgasm. Ethan had to be inside when it happened otherwise she’d be experiencing the same sexual awkwardness as she did with Tom, albeit at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Tempani stifled a moan of pleasure, keeping it at the back of her throat which she only released as Ethan’s cock slid inside with ease.

Once he had entered her Tempani fully submitted to the pleasure that only the rain could provide. Pressed against the tree she wildly bucked and slammed down on Ethan’s hard cock.

Any intention for Ethan to be involved in this orgasm disappeared, Tempani was lost in the throes of it so much so that Ethan could have quite simply ejaculated followed by doing a few laps of the park and Tempani would not have even known he had gone.

When she later reflected on this liaison in her journal she would be unable to recall whether she felt Ethan’s cock inside her. She would remember from holding it in her hand that it was thick and certainly above average size but whatever it was doing as she welcomed wave after wave of blissful pleasure you would have to ask Ethan.

To be fair Tempani would make a particular point of complimenting Ethan on his athletic prowess. With her fingernails dug firmly in his shoulders and convulsing wildly in his manly grip, she was impressed he managed to stay standing throughout.

At some point when there was a small respite before the rain demanded another orgasm from Tempani, she heard Ethan moan, his buttocks thrust wildly before he nuzzled into her. She presumed this was his orgasm but any weakening of his grip was met by Tempani tightening hers. She hooked her legs round his, gripped his neck and welcomed yet another orgasm.

You see, as Tempani recognised at Page 52 of her journal, the rain controls her pleasure. It decides when it is enough and often it’s desire to cause Tempani pleasure was insatiable.

The final climatic wave dripped through her body, turning every nerve into pressure points of pleasure. Perhaps Ethan was of some use after all, she could feel his fingers on her side that caused her to roar out the final orgasm. Exhausted and spent she gently lowered herself down and rested wearily against the tree.

Despite her lack of concern throughout for Ethan he seemed to have enjoyed this unexpected frolic in the forest as he addressed his assessment to the exhausted Tempani

“Oh wow! Fuck! Wow! What the fuck just happened. Wow!”

Whilst Tempani would have loved to indulge in a debrief with Ethan she needed to get out of the rain and get dry. Another thing she had learned about the rain is she only has a post-orgasm immunity for a short period (Page 13 of the Journal – The Didn’t Towel Dry Your Hair Properly Incident)

“Let’s go” she said smiling before running back to the car as best she could with weak legs so she could get dry.

Tempani knew that after this any suggestion of a platonic relationship was off the table. Throughout her journal she would often reflect on the lessons learned with this liaison.

The first lesson was she could have a sexual relationship with a partner, it just needed to be raining when she did. What follows in the journal are a number of prints out showing the average rainfall in England as well as certain specific cities.

On average it rains 156 days and Tempani reckoned that was more than enough sex per year to keep anyone happy.

A flaw in this plan was that it never rained at a suitable frequency to make this viable. Firstly it can often rain for a full week and she did not know if her body could cope with a week’s worth of the orgasms that the rain provided.

Secondly, England had experienced more lengthier periods of dry weather. Often weather presenters would be eager to reveal a month being the driest ever on record. Whilst this suited Tempani’s health and prevented her just becoming a mess of liquid on the floor it was not great for sustaining a relationship.

For example, the storm that brought such a passionate encounter between Tempani and Ethan was a brief interlude before England was once again basked in hot dry weather.

One can forgive Ethan for wanting to experience as soon as possible what he did in those woods and Tempani could only keep him at bay for so long before a frost formed over their relationship.

This caused Tempani to revert back to the beginning of her journal and opting for a life of withdrawal and isolation.

Tempani often mused in her journal about Ethan and others. Wondering what their sex life is like with others. She questioned whether she is being fair to them. After all, a woman having wild multiple orgasms on their cock may give them a sense of achievement they have not strictly earned.

She imagined Ethan sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands after some unsatisfying love making

“Seriously love it must be you cos I once had this girl literally explode on my cock”

Yet despite these misgivings Ethan would not be the last to experience Tempani’s rain induced sex sessions. Each one recorded for posterity in her journal with the conclusion ‘I never learn my lesson.’

Tempani broke her hypnotic gaze at the rain that still relentlessly tried to pursue her through the glass. She turned to her desk where her phone was vibrating. She picked it up and saw that Danny had messaged her.

Danny was the latest to show Tempani some affection. They had met a few months earlier at a rather dull conference she was forced to attend. She regretted that the conference took place on a particularly sunny day because a wet session with Danny would have livened things up. Nevertheless they stayed in contact and had been out for some perfectly platonic dates.

Fancy going out tonight the message read.

Tempani looked back out of the window at the storm clouds that showed no sign of relenting. She scrolled through the many Weather apps she had installed which confirmed rain was forecast all night.

Absolutely!!! She replied.

Some time later Tempani Jones would write in her journal that she never learns her lesson.

The Wet Misadventures of One Miss Tempani Jones

There is nothing unusual about a rainy day in London, especially in October.

The pavements full of workers on their way to the office, jostling for position with their tiny black umbrellas, grumpily making way for the one who ploughs through the bustling crowd with his oversized golfing umbrella.

The previous night’s takeaway boxes mangle into paper mache works of art against the side of the pavement. A solitary paper cup not wishing to be part of this impromptu abstract sculpture attempts to escape down the dirty stream, it’s journey disturbed by a black cab ferrying a passenger whose new haircut is worth paying the disproportionate fare to preserve.

The paper cup perseveres in its determination to reach the mystery of the drain it spies in the distance and the promise of a magical journey into the unknown.

In its haste the paper cup becomes entangled with a newspaper but it has little time to dwell on whatever horror is the main headline of the day.

Such is the determination of this adventurous little cup it fails to notice the oncoming bus with its large wipers that dismiss the raindrops with arrogant glee.

Yet fortune is on the side of this intrepid cup as the stream which carries it towards its final destination quickens with the increasing rainfall, pushing it safely past the advancing wheels of the bus. The cup spins to reflect upon this closest of calls as it watches the wheels of the bus brush up against the pavement.

The cup is now mere moments away from completing its journey, the wrought iron finishing line agonisingly close. Suddenly a gust of wind striving to reclaim the attention from the rain in this storm picks up the little cup, lifting it high up into the air. It’s goal that had been so close fades into the distance. Is it a raindrop that drips from the lid as it spins uncontrollably in the air or a tear of a dream unfulfilled?

Quickly bored with its newly found plaything the wind unceremoniously dumps the cup in a nearby alley. There it rests, defeated. It takes one final melancholic roll as it concedes to be forever forgotten. The hopes of what wonders lay beyond that drain disappear as it rests still.

Yet our broken cup was not alone in that alley on that particular morning. Had the cup just found the strength to roll one final time it would have hit a patent leather kitten heel shoe.

That shoe belonged to one Miss Tempani Jones. And she was about to have an orgasm.

Now a woman pleasuring herself down an alley is a relatively rare occurrence, even in London. Rarer still at 8.30 a.m. on a Thursday morning.

To be fair to Tempani she certainly had not intended on being down an alley pleasuring herself. It was not part of her normal morning routine, she was not some kinky exhibitionist getting a quick thrill. Nor was she filming a brief video to later upload to a porn site. This was very much an unplanned masturbatory pitstop on her way to work.

Equally it would be unfair of us to judge the location Tempani had chosen for this impromptu orgasm. We can all sit in moral judgement offering alternatives such as doing it at home before she left or the toilet cubicles at work, to even maybe not doing it at all. But this was all out of her control.

Tempani loved being in control. Her life was dictated by precise routines each specifically designed to ensure she would not find herself leaning up against a wall knuckle deep in her own pussy, especially before she has even been able to buy her usual Espresso Macchiato.

So what events conspired to make poor Tempani have no option but to satisfy herself on that stormy Thursday morning?

The previous evening had been beautifully mundane, the sort of day that isn’t even worth registering as a memory. Yet when Tempani reflects on her unusual start to her Thursday morning she would realise events of the previous day were more malevolent than she had assumed.

Firstly, her very important meeting that was scheduled for 9.30 a.m. with a very important client was moved forward to 8.30 a.m. This did not trouble Tempani who would simply get the earlier train to work. She would not wish to blame this very important client for why she was finger fucking herself in the alley, he was after all very important and this contract would see her with a nice bonus. She did however hope he had his worst performance on the golf course ever.

On her walk home from the train station that Wednesday the strap on her large leather tote bag snapped. Tempani loved this bag, it was just the right size to keep all the items she may require at any given time, including the small umbrella she always ensured she had on her person. You will see the relevance of that umbrella later.

Nevertheless given the stories she had read about how these fashion items are made she certainly would not be looking to blame her awkward Thursday on whatever poor soul made the tote bag.

Her Wednesday evening was spent drinking wine and preparing for her very important meeting. It was the pleading sound of the notification alert on her phone that interrupted her work to demand she upgrades to the latest operating system. Tempani was more than happy for her phone to be busy doing other things so not to disturb her further from her work.

Yet what Tempani did not know is that a minor glitch caused by an error in the code would mean all her alarms would be reset. The consequence of this is that on Thursday Tempani would wake up late. Waking up late was not part of Tempani’s routine and she was more than happy to throw shade at the software engineer in California that caused her to oversleep.

Rather than her relaxed morning routine Tempani found herself on that particular Thursday morning rushing around. There was to be no relaxing shower instead she found herself cleaning her teeth whilst rubbing shampoo in her hair; the hope was this newly discovered method of efficiency would claw back some lost time.

Instead of taking time to pick out her work outfit she instead hurriedly dressed in whatever she could find, laddering two pairs of tights before triumphantly hopping into the third pair without consequence.

There would be no time to sit and have that first cup of coffee in the morning while she watched the news, paying particular attention to the weather report. Instead she quickly grabbed her replacement bag, a smaller black handbag, rushing to check the contents before slipping on her heels and hurrying out the flat.

As she hurriedly clipped-clopped in comedic fashion towards the train station her focus was more on not breaking an ankle than the clouds that begun to form in the sky.

While waiting on the platform Tempani was more absorbed with telling her assistant on the phone all what she had to do than to the clouds that had now begun to turn sinisterly dark.

It was when she only a few stops away from Charing Cross that she happened to look up from her phone and see the first drops of rain hit the dirty train window.

Calmly, Tempani reached for her handbag to seek the reassurance she had her umbrella. Her relaxed searched became more and more frantic as the realisation dawned on her that her umbrella was still very much at home, housed as it always was inside her now broken tote bag. Yet even after it became obvious she did not possess an umbrella she continued the futile search, even rifling through the most smallest of pockets in the hope she might find it there.

Don’t panic Tempani it may just be a little drizzle she told herself. A rumble of thunder seemed to answer her back “Fuck you! I’m more than that”.

As the train slowly pulled into Charing Cross she hesitantly stood up. Her gaze was drawn to the gentleman who had been sitting opposite her who was in possession of an umbrella.

“Excuse me? I don’t suppose I could borrow your umbrella” she asked, ensuring she fluttered her eyelids as she pleaded to his chivalrous nature.

The gentleman just looked at her in absolute disgust before leaving the train (Tempani would later wish this gentleman experienced a disappointing sexual encounter for his refusal to give up his umbrella). She slowly followed the other commuters down the platform and onto the concourse.

There are a number of shops located within Charing Cross station purporting to cater for the needs of the weary worker, yet on this particular day not one had any umbrellas for sale.

Tempani stood in the archway and looked out on to The Strand. Normally there would be plenty of taxis waiting but the weather had meant these were in high demand. She opted to wait for either a taxi to come to her rescue or for there to be a miraculous break in the weather.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and noted the time. 8.15 a.m. It would take her at least ten minutes walk to get to work. She decided to wait a little longer, hopping on either foot in impatience.

Each minute that passed was agonising. She couldn’t be late for this very important meeting. Every time she checked her phone her brain would offer up an image of the very important client walking out of the office with his golf clubs in tow. Or her Boss disapprovingly shaking his head as she walked through the entrance before making her do the walk of shame to clear out her office.

Fuck it. Tempani decided she could wait no longer. Pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her hand she grabbed a free newspaper, held it over her head and made a run for it.

Now you may be wondering what Tempani’s deal is with rain. After all unless you happen to be the Wicked Witch of the West it really can’t hurt you. Indeed, the rain didn’t hurt Tempani – on the contrary, it made her horny.

When we say horny we are not talking just a little frisky. Whilst the mere presence of rain does heighten her senses it’s more what happens when one single raindrop touches her skin. Should that happen Tempani experiences waves of pleasure. The more rain that hits her the more intense the pleasure is. It’s like each raindrop is a mini vibrator specifically designed to create the most arousal possible.

So when Tempani decided to rush out into the rain with just a newspaper as protection she was not risking bodily harm, she was risking having a full blown orgasm in the middle of London during rush hour.

To be fair to Tempani she made a good effort of avoiding the rain. Perhaps she may have even been able to make it without incident were it not for the driver of the Audi (someone who she blamed unreservedly for the events of that Thursday morning) who decided driving at speed through a puddle was an appropriate way to confirm his masculinity.

In her attempt to dodge the mini tsunami she dropped the newspaper that had been protecting her exposing her forehead to the arousal inducing raindrops.

Tempani was able to quickly duck into a doorway for cover but she knew by now that it only took one raindrop to bring on the feelings of intense arousal. She could feel her nipples harden underneath her bra. Between her legs began to mimic the dampness of her forehead.

She couldn’t stay there in the doorway and allow the rain to do it’s thing. Not only were customers coming in and out of the shop and might say something about the smartly dressed woman having a loud orgasm but time was running out for her to get to the very important meeting.

Stifling a moan of pleasure she yanked her jacket over the head and continued her journey to work. The jacket was tight over her head making it difficult to see, plus the occasional pang of pleasure would make her legs suddenly go weak and with it an instinctive groan of arousal would follow.

To the passer by it would have looked as if Tempani was on her way to audition for the lead role in some porn parody of a horror movie. Eventually she made it to her office which was an attractive glass fronted building her firm shared with a number of other companies.

Now something else you need to know about Tempani’s ‘gift’ is that the pleasure she experiences will not subside until she has had a complete orgasm. Many times previously she has rushed indoors after getting caught in the rain, although drying herself manically with a towel did little to prevent her experiencing the complete climax.

Fortunately for Tempani there is a small alley which separates her more modern place of work with one of London’s many Victorian buildings. Avoiding meeting any work colleagues she rushed into the alley and no longer fought off the pleasure the rain was determined to bring.

Now you will recall when we first met Tempani in this alley her fingers were deep inside her. It is a legitimate question to ask why, if the rain does all the work, would she be needing to put in any effort of her own.

Well, she entered the alley at precisely 8.30 a.m. when her very important meeting was due to start. Even in the throes of pleasure Tempani had the presence of mind to believe that a bit of manual assistance would bring about this disruptive orgasm quicker.

Had she not done so and put her very important meeting ahead of her very real pleasure then she would have been in the midst of a complete and blissful orgasm before she even got to third slide of her PowerPoint presentation. She feared shouting at the very important client “Oh fuck! Yes! More” may come across as a tad over enthusiastic.

Within a few moments and with the assistance of her fingers Tempani welcomed the much needed orgasm. As this was an orgasm borne more out of necessity than want she was not willing to indulge in the full pleasure experience.

No sooner had she felt that wave of intense pleasure flow through her body and her vagina begin to contract as if it was trying to applaud happily, she was pulling up her tights and adjusting her skirt before running round to the entrance of the building.

Waiting in the foyer was her assistant who took one look at Tempani and asked “Did you get caught in the rain?”

“Yeh a little” replied Tempani, still experiencing the final throes of her orgasm.

“Anyway. The meeting is about to start” said her assistant moving towards where the lifts were located.

Tempani took a moment to collect her thoughts and ensure all the rain induced pleasure was firmly out of her system.

“You coming?” asked the assistant.

“Yeh I am.” replied Tempani “Just give me one more moment.”

The Chastity Of Selina

Epiphanies.

They’re a wonderful thing. That blissful sense of realisation that sweeps across us bringing much needed clarity; a bright light that breaks through the darkness which has kept us static for so long.

They can happen often and occur when we least expect it, whether it be while walking the dog , having a shower or just commuting to work.

My particular epiphany happened to occur at quite an awkward moment; it was whilst on my knees. As much as I would like to say I was praying for some divine intervention the reality was quite different.

Although I may have mumbled ‘God just hurry up’ , it was not directed at some omnipotent higher power but instead to the guy who had spent the good part of ten minutes happily, albeit disappointingly, thrusting into my mouth.

He had positioned ourselves in front of a full length mirror and was engaged in some exaggerated hip swivelling punctuated by husky moans of ‘yeh’ that made me wonder if he had asthma.

You want me to massage your balls or just pass you your inhaler

It was a cheeky curiosity that made me look in the mirror. This was not the first time I had indulged in some reflective randiness and I was used to seeing who stared back.

It was Her….Lina. It was always Her. That lustful thirst of hers never satisfied.

Yet strangely on this occasion when I looked it wasn’t her… it was me; and I didn’t like it, not one single bit.

I immediately pushed the guy away releasing his saliva coated cock from my mouth and stood up.

“What the fuck!” he exclaimed.

“Yeh. We’re done. I’m going home” I replied

“But I’m not finished”

I walked towards the door and turned towards him “Ain’t my problem. Have a wank and stop moaning”.

I left to the sounds of him calling me a bitch, whore and a slut. Names I’d been called so many times they hardly registered anymore.

Now I would love to say this is the end of the story. Conclude this final, yet brief confession with the words “And Selina realised the error of her ways and became a Nun. She was last seen living on a mountain in Switzerland having probably saved some kids from Nazis.”

Yet that’s not how it ends. Far from it. My brain, clearly harbouring some ambition to be a Reality TV host chose my journey home to show me my ‘Best Bits’.

A carefully edited compilation of every quickie, tug and suck before returning to the studio for comment. My only reply was ‘No that was Lina’. A preposterous excuse that was starting to wear thin.

By the time I got home my brain had changed from TV Host to Annoying Friend Who Wants To Tell You Everything You Did On A Drunken Night.

As I drifted in and out of conscious they were there perched on the edge of my bed.

And then there was time you did this.

When I woke in the morning with a heavy head it followed me round my flat

And what about when you….

I was due to pop round to my friend’s Pru house for coffee. Whilst I contemplated cancelling I thought perhaps listening to her drone on about the renovations she had just completed in her house would prevent my brain from pulling out the bell of shame.

Blowjobs – SHAME!

Handjobs – SHAME!

Quickies up against the side of the chip shop – SHAME!

Whatever it was you were doing at that club – SHAME!

With my head full of painful fog, as if all my hangovers had returned for a repeat performance, I wearily made my way round to Pru’s house.

I must have not been looking my best when I arrived because the moment she saw me she asked “Are you okay?”

I gave the automatic response of saying I was fine. It was my default setting like my very own Out of Office response.

I’m sorry Selina is not available right now she’s presently in turmoil as the fabric of her fragile life unravels but she wants you to know she’s doing just fine. Please leave a message after the primal scream.

Normally, my friends would just accept my short declaration that I was fine and we would get on with our day. I am certain they didn’t believe it for a second and would try and tease it out of me by sporadically asking me again but my wall was up and standing firm.

However, this time, it was different. As I gave my stock answer of ‘I’m fine’ I made eye contact with Pru, whose expression was one of sympathy tinged with a school mistress ‘I ain’t falling for that bullshit anymore’ look.

Did she know? Was seeing her new duck egg bathroom a ruse for some intervention?When I walked in would all my ex-lovers be sat there ready to pass judgement? Is that why she got an extension done?

Whatever the reason as I held Pru’s gaze the wall came tumbling down and I cried. A lot.

While Pru and I are best friends she is also the one I have clashed with the most. We are two totally different people. She is organised, precise and graceful. It had been a regular topic of discussion as to how someone as chaotic as I could form an ever lasting friendship with her. I guess we just balance out the universe.

She was also a qualified psychiatrist and despite her best efforts to avoid doing it we often found ourselves being psychoanalysed.

“Selina do you think your desire for another gin is to mask some deep rooted issue stemming from your childhood’

“Pru you always do this . It’s your round. Get the fucking drinks in”

However, for once, I was glad I knew a psychiatrist. As I embarked on telling her my sordid tale I was unsure whether I was speaking with Pru the Psychiatrist or Pru the Friend but she listened. Occasionally she would steer the conversation with an odd question and I did see her write stuff down, although unsure what it said.

Buy more paint for the hallway

Get a new friend

I told her everything; about my over bearing compulsion I had to engage in sexual activity, how it made me feel and, of course, about Lina. It felt weird to be saying this all out loud and even as I heard myself talk my brain chimed in with ‘Oh you are fucking crazy’.

To her credit Pru was thankfully not judgemental. She never once interrupted me with a ‘what the fuck!’. She didn’t suddenly wrestle me to the ground and shove a crucifix in my face chanting ‘The Lord beseech you leave this girl’.

When I finally finished, my eyes red from crying and my voice hoarse, Pru calmly wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

“I’m going to suggest a colleague of mine sees you” she said

“What for” I replied

“I think you are bipolar” she said, rather matter-of-factly.

“Well I’m bisexual so it makes sense. I am learning a new language to get the full set” I replied with a smile, which quickly disappeared when met with Pru’s stern expression.

“This is serious Sel. I believe you also have what is known as Hypersexuality”

“Oooh sounds like a superpower” I joked but stopped from exploring the possibility I may be one of the X-Men by a look from Pru.

“But why do I have to see someone else? Why can’t you help me?”

Having asked the question I then paid no attention to the answer, preoccupied with the revelation I had some weird sexual compulsion.

Anyhow Pru’s reasoning was ‘something something I wouldn’t take it seriously something something too close something something conflict of interest something something’

However, I persisted “Pru I’m not going to talk to a stranger. I will listen to you. I promise. Just help me. Please. Tell me what to do”

She cocked her head to one side sympathetically “Well firstly you should stop seeing that side of you….this Lina… as a completely different person.”

“So setting up a Twitter account for her was a bad idea?”

Something something dissociative

“And you need to stop engaging in any sexual activity”

“Done” I replied boldly without much thought “Easy peasy. The virtuous life of a virgin from here on in for me.”

“And that goes for masturbation too”

“Fuck off Pru!”

“See! This is why you need to see my colleague” she exclaimed.

“I’d tell him to fuck off as well. What about a little masturbation?”

“Sel!”

“No toys. Just fingers. A little play”

“Sel!”

“A quick rub? No sexy thoughts I’ll just rely on friction”

“SELINA!! I think we are getting a little distracted by discussing masturbation”

“You were the one who brought it up. It does mean I’ll have to cancel my Catwoman comics subscription now…..”

Something something you’re definitely seeing my colleague.

When I left Pru’s house (after an extended farewell to check we were still friends) I felt good. A weight had certainly been lifted. The dark fog that had circled in my mind had cleared. I had purpose, a new start and for the first time ever I felt I was in control.

My mood was a complete juxtaposition to how I begun the morning. I put my earphones in and scrolled through my phone to play some music.

That morning the music was simply a tool to drown out the storm that raged in my mind, but now it was a compliment to my mood. A soundtrack to celebrate a new start. I scrolled through the playlists and settled on some random Pop. I laid my head back on the seat of the train and closed my eyes as Don’t You (Forget About Me) played.

In the days that followed life was good. I woke each morning feeling elated and that stayed with me throughout the day. Pru still checked in on me, a psychological halfway house before I could meet with her colleague.

Something something Bipolar something something manic something something moods

I’d even started to question if I needed to see her colleague at all and went about my life as if the events that had culminated in me sobbing in a heap in my friend’s newly installed kitchen were very much a thing of the past.

I had made a few changes to my lifestyle. I no longer went out drinking every day after work and when I went out with my besties I found myself leaving early. Pru would always be the first to leave and often we just wave her off before declaring this is where the real fun can begin. But I found myself getting up with her and announcing that I may have an early night.

Oddly, it was this behaviour that prompted my friend Mel to ask me if I was okay. Clearly, my vacant expression, the tired look and disappearing off with random strangers had not previously been a cause of concern for her.

I even begun to not go out every weekend and stayed in to have what I declared to be ‘Me Time’ although absent the masturbation which I continued to argue with Pru is something I should be doing.

Then one Friday night I was sat alone in my flat, half watching Netflix and half congratulating myself with solving my mental health issues with zero therapy and medication when I suddenly received an unexpected visit. A visit from a most unwelcome guest who I had assumed had permanently gone.

Let’s Go Out And Play!

Lina’s arrival surprised me. Normally she appeared accompanied by a cacophony of noise as if she was emerging from the very bowels of hell riding a chariot. There was little that was subtle about her but I had been too wrapped up in premature self congratulations to hear her triumphant return.

I’m horny. Let’s find someone

I tried to ignore her but she persisted. Her demands would cut through the sound of the TV I turned up to try and drown her out.

Her piercing demands echoed around in my head bringing with it the darkness that Lina bathed in. I knew what she wanted and I knew she would not stop until she got it.

Let’s go find someone. You’ll feel better.

I felt deflated. The sound of her in my head a depressing reminder that I couldn’t win. She’d always be there.

This is how it was. How it’s always been. Lina holding my head hostage until she got what she desired. Despite my new beginnings I knew I did not have the strength to defeat her and contemplated relenting, after all what harm could be caused by just allowing her to have that one final carnal feast.

I didn’t even really have to move, one text and I could have the appropriate suitor for Lina at my door. I could hear her purr in anticipation as she encouraged me to scroll through my phone.

She salivated like someone choosing their ideal takeaway;

Not that one – we want it dirty

No we had an Indian the other week

How about a mixed starter for variety?

As I delayed giving Lina what she wanted a glimmer of an idea shone meekly through the darkness that swirled inside my head. Maybe I could beat her? But I needed confirmation it would work.

I stopped scrolling through my contacts and pressed call. But it was not to summons a horny guy who would satisfy Lina, instead it was to speak to someone who Lina absolutely despised.

“Hey Pru… sorry to trouble you. Do you have a moment”

“A little busy Sel. It’s our anniversary and we are having a get together”

“Oh sorry to disturb but ….. Wait ….. you’re having a party and I wasn’t invited?”

Something something you slept with my brother-in-law something something his wife is there

“Anyway” I continued “I’m gonna masturbate. Just checking that’s cool. Gotta go. Bye. Oh…. Happy Anniversary”

I tossed the phone and laid back on the sofa and let my hand slide down my body, my fingers slipping inside my panties. I let out an instinctive moan as my finger tips touched my clit, embracing it like I was welcoming back an old friend.

I closed my eyes and let my fingers explore between my legs with the same enthusiasm as a dog let off a leash on an open field.

Throughout my self exploration I could feel Lina, on top of me, her nails dug deep into my breasts leaning over and offering alternatives to what could currently be inside me other than my fingers.

Whenever I heard her voice demanding to be fed I dove my fingers deeper inside.

Satisfy Me

I moved my other hand between my legs and began furiously rubbing my clit whilst my other disappeared deep inside me.

Not like this. Let’s do it properly.

I closed my eyes tight and tried to block out Lina but even the damp slapping of my fingers working away between my legs seemed to be on her side, calling out her lusty demand.

Let’s Fuck. Let’s Fuck. Let’s Fuck.

I could feel my orgasm begin to build up. It would not be a climax to a wonderful fantasy, I had resolved this would be the conclusion to a nightmare. As my body begun to shudder this was to be my final act of defiance against Lina. She was not getting what she wants. Not tonight. Not ever.

The increase of my arousal acted as a shield to Lina’s onslaught. I was in a place that I rarely visited, a pleasure palace where only I can be. Lina dug her nails deeper into my breasts, desperately trying to pull me out of this horny haven and into her domain of depravity. But with every pinch of my erect nipple I countered by pushing my fingers deeper inside me. I writhed on the sofa as this horny tug of war continued.

With a few final wet advances of my finger I let out a roar…. a huge Fuck You Lina shriek… I shook as I absorbed this defiant orgasm, sending electric pulses throughout my body to finally cleanse me of all things Lina.

I laid still on the sofa, wet, exhausted, breathing deeply. It was silent. Blissful silence. No darkness invaded my mind. It was over. Lina was gone. She was finally gone.

So we’re going out to fuck now?

Bollocks! Plan B – offer Lina out for a fight in a junk yard.

The intensity of my orgasm had left me drained. I rolled wearily off the sofa And precariously padded to the bedroom flopping face first onto the bed.

Lina was there, perched on the edge still repeating over and over her demands. But I was too tired to listen.

Something Something hard from behind

Rather than leaving me susceptible to her insistence my exhaustion gave me the unexpected power to ignore her. As I closed my eyes I resolved I would ignore her tomorrow, and the day after and the day after that. The only flaw in my plan was whether I would have to continuously masturbate myself into oblivion each time. That might get awkward.

I am interested about switching energy supplier but can you just wait there while I go aggressively masturbate otherwise this could end up with us having reckless sex.

Before I welcomed the solitude of sleep my brain offered a solution. Normally it was my worst enemy but feeling sorry for me it offered one final moment of clarity, a simple declaration that it had always been an ally. My mind presented to me the conclusion to the epiphany that had begun on my knees sucking some undeserved penis.

You are Lina

That night when I had looked in the mirror I was reminded that I was Lina. But I hadn’t fully appreciated the final part, the bit where I released the cock from my mouth, stood up and walked away. I chose to do that.

I chose.

It was the absent conclusion that had been shrouded in shame for so long but now rose shining brightly in my mind.

I am You.

Lina’s voice drifted away as my eyes became heavy. In the silence that remained lingered a simple realisation. I don’t have to listen to her anymore.

I am Selina………And I am in control.

************

EXT. A BAR IN LONDON – NIGHT

It is raining. The glow of the bar sign reflects off a puddle in the road which is disturbed when a black cab drives past. We see two people run towards the entrance of the bar , their long coats pulled over their heads to shield them from the rain. As they open the door to bar the low hum of the patrons inside can be briefly heard.

INT. BAR – NIGHT

We move in between the people standing in the bar. It is busy. The majority are dressed in business attire indicating they have just left work for a drink. There is no music just the consistent din of chatter and laughter.

We reach the corner of the bar where we find SELINA , 29 , blonde, cockney, sitting on a stool. She is smartly dressed, her hair is slightly wet indicating that she has not long been there. Her nylon legs are crossed, her heels tapping against the leg of the stool. She sips on a gin and tonic as she studies her phone, smirking as if she had just tweeted something non-sensical for attention.

Her attention is drawn to RANDOM GUY, mid twenties , staggeringly attractive who is stood next to her waiting to be served. They make eye contact and she smiles at him.

RANDOM GUY

What do you have to do to get served here?

SELINA

Showing them your tits helps I find

Random Guy smiles a handsome smile

RANDOM GUY

I might go somewhere that’s a little easier to get served. Don’t suppose you want to join me?

Selina smiles and stares into the ridiculously handsome eyes of Random Guy. She delays her answer.

SELINA

Nah. Thank you but I am with someone. Will you excuse me?

We watch as Selina stands up, swigs down the remainder of her drink and we follow her as she walks towards the Ladies Toilet.

INT. BAR – LADIES TOILETSNIGHT

We see Selina standing at the sinks applying lipstick in the mirror. Another woman finishes washing her hands before leaving the toilet talking loudly with her friend. Selina is alone.

She looks down as she puts her lipstick back in her handbag. She looks back up into the mirror and stares cheekily at her reflection.

SELINA

You shut the fuck up!

~Fin~

The Randomness Of Selina : Year 2 Day 20 – Erotica Writers Don’t Want To Fuck You

I’ve mentioned it before but it appears some aren’t getting the message.

So, for the benefit of the people at the back let me repeat myself

Erotica writers don’t want to fuck you.

I should just have to stop there and say no more. After all, erotica is a legitimate literary genre then basically you are asking an author for sex.

That really isn’t good form. I mean you might have the opportunity to meet your favourite author at a bookshop. You will probably say to them what the story meant to you, get the book signed and that’s it.

You wouldn’t pause and say ‘Aaand so you fancy nipping out the back for a quickie.’

Yet that it exactly what erotica authors have to deal with on a daily basis, and it can be exhausting.

Many will receive messages that go something like this

– Just read your story. You’re a great writer.

– Thank you very much.

– The sex scenes were so hot.

– Thank you

– I got very aroused

– Okay

– I’m still hard now so…..

Look I know there is a growing sense of entitlement with consumers of entertainment but this really takes it to the extreme.

These horny guys are basically saying ‘How dare you arrange words in a carefully constructed sentence which has led to me having an erection. You are now responsible for it!’

It doesn’t happen in other genres. I stand to be corrected but I doubt that Stephen King gets loads of messages that says ‘That story was really scary. Now you must come round my house, check under my bed and sing my a lullaby until I’m asleep.’

There is a horrifically incorrect assumption that because a female erotica writer writes about sex she must be very much up for it.

If you honestly believe that then get your hand off your dick and listen up – erotica is mainly the work of glorious fiction. They are stories not invitations.

Writers like to engage with readers. It allows them to grow and improve. They just don’t want to see your dick with a request to fuck it.

Respect the writer’s boundaries. Unless a writer has in her bio ‘will fuck for reviews’ then understand the obvious etiquette.

Do not get sleazy in her DMs. Do not assume because they write about sex they are happy to talk about it in detail while you have a cheeky wank.

Just be normal. Just read their work, say if you liked it and leave it there.

We clear?

The Thoughts Of Selina II : Violence Good. Sex Bad

Following on from my Opinion on the present state of the Erotica genre I wanted to explore a little further a particular theme surrounding that.

I absolutely love Star Wars but fun fact after watching the entire saga you would have witnessed the death of trillions of people.

But that’s okay because it’s never really gratuitous. Sure genocide occurs, millions of people wiped out but it’s ‘oh well. When they going to start shooting stormtroopers again?’

The body count for The Fast and The Furious franchise runs into the hundreds. The violence in those movies are undeniably gratuitous, they add nothing to the storyline and only serves to makes those scenes more action packed.

But gratuitous doesn’t mean explicit. It’s comic book violence and is totally acceptable. Plus a lot of them were bad guys and deserved to die.

Yet movies such as Kick Ass and any Tarantino film contain gruesome scenes of violence. They are depicted in such a way that it leads very little to the imagination.

Indeed often they are both gratuitous and explicit. Yet these movies are lauded as being fantastic works of art, scoring highly on Rotten Tomatoes.

These random acts of gratuitous explicit violence are not limited to movies and are also a plot device in both comic books and literature.

But these are harmless action and adventure stories. We don’t need to know the socio-economic reasons which led a particular person to become a henchman for some evil bastard. He speaks with a foreign accent , he’s got a gun, he deserves to die.

That’s right isn’t it? It’s just a bit of fun. These scenes are infrequent and whilst not necessary they are, after all, exciting…..Lighten up it’s escapism.

And I would agree. There are far more qualified people around to comment on the reasons for our desensitisation to violence and it’s not the point of this opinion.

My point is, if it’s okay with violence then why don’t we have the same attitude towards sex?

Romance or chick lit stories often opt for the ‘Star Wars Implied Genocide Method’. We lead up to the sex but never really see it.

Just as we never saw all the kids playing on Alderaan before it was obliterated or witness janitor Clive’s final day before retirement on the Death Star, dreaming of spending more time with his grandchildren before Luke blew him up.

In a lot of thrillers and chick lit the main character may be having frequent gratuitous sex. But that is still okay because it’s not explicit, right?

Yet the moment you describe in detail the natural act of lovemaking and dare to mention words like ‘cock’ or ‘pussy’. The Erotica label is slapped on it and you are banished to the corner.

(Well that’s not exactly true – if you are an independent author you’ll be punished. The differing attitude towards mainstream authors is a whole other story.)

Look I get that some readers don’t like sex scenes. But that’s not the point. I don’t like Thomas Hardy novels, it doesn’t mean I’m advocating banishing all his work from ever being found on internet searches.

We all have our own preferences and tolerances of what we read and watch. Yet as previously discussed Erotica is automatically labelled as wrong. Dirty. Disgusting.

You want to watch a guy kill hundreds of people (including scores of collateral damage) then grab a beer and settle down. You want to watch people have sex then please leave town you depraved monster.

There is a continuing movement to push ‘porn’ further into the dark recesses of the web. If Governments get their way it will become more and more difficult to watch porn. Those who write under the erotica category are and will continue to find themselves caught up with this apparent cleansing of the internet.

However, on the likes of YouTube all the gratuitous explicit violent scenes from these mainstream movies are just a click away.

Sorry Explicit Sex Scene is blocked but you may wish to watch Top Ten Best Gruesome Action Movie Deaths Of All Time.

Violence good. Sex bad.

Yet sex is the most natural thing in the world. As I write this people are having sex. As you read this people are having sex.

Whilst I accept that there are also acts of violence being carried out at the same time, what is so wrong with escaping to a place where people are having sex?

Why is it fine that you can freely and without judgement enter a world where non-descript prostitutes are murdered as a cheap plot device, yet to explicitly describe the growing sexual relationship of a couple is disgusting.

And if you dare make that couple the same sex….Boy, have you crossed a line. Away with you must go, you purveyor of absolute filth.

Well written ‘erotica’ explores something that can’t be achieved by implied sex – how that person feels at the time.

Whether it be positive thoughts of desire, lust, happiness and passion or more negative concerns such as disgust or regret, they form part of the story. It maybe explicit but it’s not gratuitous. It is an exploration of their character.

If it’s justified to show explicit violence to further a plot then the same courtesy has to be extended to sex scenes.

Whilst some will include an explicit sex scene just to simply evoke arousal that cannot be said of every story that features an explicit sex scene. Yet the likes of Amazon will, for the sole reason it is simply explicit, banish it to the dark corners of it’s site.

The truth is everyone thinks about sex. People are rightly curious about sex and well written ‘erotica’ can provide some comfort, offer some answers; Rather than send them down the rabbit hole of depravity it can help them process their own emotions and attitudes towards sex. It is a positive thing.

Being positive about our sexuality is something that should be encouraged and not hidden away in the corner.

At some point in our lives we will all have been curious about sex. The same cannot be said for being curious about standing on a moving bus and taking out two vehicles with a rocket launcher.

If you are curious about that then you really need to be having sex.

The Thoughts Of Selina I: The Future Of Erotica & The Need For A Purge

In my continuing quest to make this blog a wonderful place to be I thought I would occasionally throw in the odd opinion about some topic.

For my opening attempt I want to look at the current state of Erotica.

Those writing in this genre are having a bit of a hard time recently with the forums for their work seemingly burying it as deep as they possibly can.

If this continues then it will be so difficult to find an erotica writer’s writing. This would be for the simple reason it has a bit of sex in it.

Erotica has enjoyed a bit of a golden period mainly in part to a combination of the phenomenon of Fifty Shades and Amazon KDP.

Fifty Shades was a huge success and no one can take that away from the author – well done to her. But let’s be honest, it’s a bit rubbish. A repetitive diatribe of grammatically incorrect erotic cliche. In short, she’s done alright but in the long term has done the genre more harm than good.

I have no doubt that people sitting at home thought ‘I can do that’ because certainly Fifty Shades is hardly an unobtainable literary masterpiece. Yet that has proven to be a problem.

Scores of wannabe writers with not much respect for the genre looking to make a quick buck with some crudely written smut

With Amazon KDP it provided those people the opportunity to do that. But the unforeseen consequence of tapping into this phenomenon is there is a lot of noise. That makes it difficult for any indie author with a great story to get heard.

It’s hard for a self published author. They have to do everything – writing, cover art and their own marketing often with the most limited of budget.

So I offer this thought what if Amazon etc just did away with the Erotica category. Even further that erotica or smut were not terms to be used to describe a book.

It would be terrible, right? How would you find your target audience?

In my opinion I think it would be the best thing that could happen.

Firstly it would do away with the dabblers. Those cluttering up the bandwidth with poorly written erotica short stories that really are nothing more than crudely created sex scenes.

A purge would leave those who actually want to do this, who care about writing, who are good at it still standing.

The massive problem with Amazon KDP is nothing goes out of print. There’s too much choice and consumers don’t like that and so opt for the safety of the mainstream.

If it were up to me I would have all ebooks published have a shelf life which when expired would have to be renewed by the author.

Thousands and thousands of stories keep entering the system and never go away.

Imagine walking into a book shop where every book ever written was published – a delight for some but a horror for the vast majority. They simply would not know where to start.

Secondly, should there even be an erotica category? What actually is it?

Well, erotica has many definitions but loosely it is a work of art designed to be sexually arousing.

So those one sex scene short stories I was talking about , yeh they are probably erotica but does that term apply to anything that may have an explicit sex scene in it?

That can’t be right. If you’re a guy and get a boner to a James Patterson sexy thriller is he now erotica?

I am proudly part of a community on Twitter of some of the most talented indie author who largely write under the erotica category.

I certainly do not speak for them but I would guess that a large number of them publish under erotica for fear of falling foul of the strict guidelines on content.

But are they writing erotica? No. They write romance, thrillers, horrors, sci-fi. Yet their stories include explicit sex scenes and so banished to the dark corner of Amazon they must go.

My current story A Song Of Tyler & Bryce begun life as a satire that those authors are labelled as inappropriate and hid away yet George RR Martin is lauded for stories that include incest, under age sex and plentiful non consensual sex.

If an indie author wrote those themes in a modern day setting they would be punished. Yet set it in fake olden times it’s perfectly acceptable.

I would also add that not once following the non-consensual sex does Martin ever explore how the woman may be feeling. Yet the big bad band of erotica writers dare to tell you what is on her mind before, during and after sex and they find themselves banished to the corner.

Whilst we could get angry about the injustice of this ludicrous hypocrisy I believe we should take note.

I refuse to accept that this world is made up of nothing but prudes. Mainstream literature, TV and film is littered with sex scenes. Overall society doesn’t seem to have a problem with sex.

You watch any HBO drama and the main characters are banging away whenever they can. Yet that wins Emmy’s

I believe it’s time to recategorise our work. If it is set in fake olden times it’s Fantasy. Modern Day it’s romance. A dark twist it’s a thriller or horror. They’re fucking in space it’s Sci-Fi.

Yes put the warnings that it contains explicit scenes (that would make you a better person than George RR Martin), change your cover to make it more, shall we say, user friendly.

If indeed there is a battle looming then prepare now. Play them at their own game.

If you are reading this and thinking but all I have to sell my book is a hot sex scene, then you may struggle if this trend continues (and I would suggest it’s only going to get worse).

But review your work, revise it. That’s the beauty of Amazon KDP etc your story can evolve.

Ask yourself can I add some scenes leading up to the explicit sex. In other words make it more mainstream.

Because Amazon etc cannot censor you for having an explicit sex scene. It’s a slippery slope that would have to include mainstream authors (including one Mr Martin) so it’s never going to happen.

My advice is to welcome a purge. Let’s encourage a reduction of noise and get your stories out there where they should be. Not buried because of some archaic categorisation but available to read.

Rightly or wrongly there is still a stigma about erotica – that it is cheap, nasty, dirty.

That is not how I view the stories I have read. They are well plotted, thought provoking with strong characters who are often female.

Yes they have explicit sex in it. But so fucking what. So does Game of Thrones.

The Saving of Selina 

Six months. That is how long I was with Keith, checking off the items  from his naughty bucket list.

I was feeling rather upbeat about this arrangement. I had seen the list, we had agreed upon which ones I would do plus Keith had promised it would be more than just sex.

On that front he was certainly true to his word, treating me to lavish meals, nights out at the theatre and whatever else I cared to ask for. I even managed to drag him along to a comic convention, where he spent most of the time gazing at the variety of cosplayers before promptly amending his sex bucket list.

Keith ,I don’t remember ‘ must be dressed as Batgirl’ on this one?’

It wasn’t the case that he would take me out somewhere as a reward for a sterling sexual performance. Indeed, sometimes he just wanted to have my company during a meal.

No Keith, a guy buys me dinner then I suck his cock..Thats how it works, right?’ 

Whilst it was all rather gentlemanly of him I was concerned that he was becoming too attached. That was certainly something I wished to avoid. I had no intention of being a slutty stepmother to someone who was the same age as me.

No matter how kind, attentive and considerate Keith may have been I was not after any relationship. Although he was showing me how a guy should treat a girl I was more focused on seeing through my part of the deal. I was determined that neither of us would renege on our agreement; even if regular lunch at the Savoy was quite pleasant.

The first of Keith’s fantasies to be fulfilled was to have sex in his office. He had it all planned; indeed, Keith would often brief me as to expectations of the fantasy. I did not mind,  as such was his innocent charm,  I found it mildly amusing as he bumbled over describing the sex act he wanted performed. Sometimes, I would play dumb or pretend I hadn’t heard something so he’d have to repeat it again.

The only slight downside to Keith’s pre-sex briefings (or pervy priming as I affectionately referred to them) was that the events lacked an element of spontaneity.

So when I arrived in his office,  wearing a long overcoat to disguise the fact that underneath was nothing more than bra, panties and stockings, I was immediately struck by how empty and tidy his desk was.

Keith had confirmed during the briefing that were going to have sex on his desk.  Clearly, he had spent the time when everyone else had gone home to put everything neatly away.

There was to be no passionate sweeping of papers as we ripped each other’s clothes off.  No, it was all choreographed to the point I had expected to see markings on the desk like some horny game of Twister.

Sorry, does my left buttock go here?’

Nevertheless the creator of these fantasies was having a wonderful time. I had reconciled previously that I would never experience true sexual pleasure. My role in all this was to facilitate someone else’s carnal desires and I was genuinely happy with that arrangement.

If I hadn’t been performing these well planned erotic adventures I would be having some random guy between my legs for no other reason than I felt compelled to do so. This was far more pleasant.

Of course such was my reliance on Keith’s briefings that I didn’t really do much thinking for myself. So as he got his breath back following his orgasm he suggested we go have some dinner.

“But I’m just in my underwear Keith” I pointed out.

“Oh” he replied “Did you not bring a change of clothes?”

As the months went on I felt the happiest I had been for a long time. My mind was flourishing in the brightness, having been stifled for so long under the dark clouds that had consumed me.

When I was with Keith I did not experience any feelings of anger, disgust or frustration that had led to culmination of the storm clouds and the manifestation of that feeling of numbness.

Perhaps the only slight frustration I felt was during one of Keith’s bucket list fantasies when he wanted to have sex whilst his favourite jazz tune played.

Once I had got past the distraction of whether the piano was actually  being played correctly, it all seemed to go a little chaotic.

Keith seemed determined to have sex with me to the rhythm of the music, yet there seemed to be no actual rhythm. Cymbals would crash and trumpets blare which sounded like a cat being strangled. Keith’s movements inside me replicated the cacophony of chaos that filled the room. If someone had been watching they would be forgiven in thinking that this fifty year old was having a fit.

The fantasy had been to make love to this one particular tune but after twenty minutes of random crash, bangs and wallops I brought Keith, who was happily humming away, closer to me and whispered

“Hun I think this is a different tune?”

Without breaking from his haphazard rhythm he replied “No. Still the same one.”

That evening I certainly had admiration for Keith’s stamina but cannot say that I had a new found love for jazz.

The final bucket list fantasy was left purposely to last, not by me but by Keith. I never asked why, perhaps he wanted to end our time together with a bang. Keith wanted to get a little kinky.

I was unsurprised that this particular fantasy would appear on the list; around that time it was all the rage. Thousands of sexually repressed British people were showing how much they loved their partner by tieing them up and whacking them.

I had been tied up before but rarely made a habit of it. Although I had no control over my compulsion to have random sex I still retained some semblance of intelligence. I was not suddenly going to let a guy I had just met tie me up so I could not escape, or at the very least kick him in the balls. But I had been with Keith for months, he was kind and I trusted him.

My arse had been spanked countless times during sex and some of my one nighters would get a little rough. Nevertheless, Keith was a gentle soul and doubted he could hurt me.

Therefore I had agreed to this particular fantasy expecting that this would all be performed rather half-heartedly and that Keith would lose interest halfway through and just revert back to normal sex.

However he had planned this quite methodically and wanted to insert a little roleplay into this fantasy. Here was where we encountered the first problem.

I had grown up in comic book stores and had listened to numerous heated discussions about plot holes and the problem with retcons.

I would never participate in such discussions but clearly some of the fanboy ranting must have rubbed off on me because I was unhappy with the plot of Keith’s fantasy.

“So you will be a naughty secretary that I punish for making mistakes.” said Keith.

I stifled a giggle as I watched Keith describe his naughty idea in such a bumbling manner. However, I felt this storyline needed to be clarified.

“Wait. What sort of mistakes?” I enquired.

Keith was not expecting any enquiry into the detail of his fantasy and stuttered his response “Ermmm.. You know, not filing properly, late.. That sort of stuff.”

“So I’m incompetent?” I replied

“Well.. Yes I guess you are.”

“So not naughty just incompetent.” I stated.

“Well… No.. You’re naughty and incompetent” bumbled Keith.

“Not doing the filing properly and that does not make me naughty it makes me shit at my job.”

Keith went to say something but I continued “I mean if I can’t do my job properly then you give me warnings… training… notify HR… Not fucking flog me. That’s not in the Company Manual”

“HR don’t know and you are too concerned about keeping your job to say anything to anyone.” Keith said, desperately trying to maintain the simplicity of this fantasy.

“Fuck off. My job is to do filing. You start threatening to spank me cos I’m shit at it.. I’ll bloody leave straight away.”

Keith smiled trying to find a compromise  “Look let’s just say I am a kinky boss that likes to punish poor workers that way.”

“Did you do that to Roger when he broke the photocopier?” I replied.

“Who’s Roger?” Keith asked, looking a little confused.

“Just someone I added to this scenario to give it some realism”

Keith held his hands up “There is no Roger.”

“He’s got a wife and two kids you know” I added

“SELINA!” Keith exclaimed before smiling and calmly he replied “OK you’re not incompetent just slutty and you make these mistakes purposely  to get me to punish you. ”

“So why don’t I just ask you to spank me?” I suggested.

“Excuse me?” asked Keith.

“Rather than just pretend to be shit at my job why don’t I just bend over your desk and say ‘spank me big boy'”

“Because….” Keith thought for a moment, sighed and went and got a drink.

The evening of the fantasy I emerged from the bathroom wearing black thigh high stockings and a basque, all finished off with a choker.  If there were any doubt what Keith intended to do then the fact my bare arse was clearly on show was a bit of a giveaway.

“I don’t think this is really suitable office attire, Keith” I said.

“We’ve moved on from that scenario now.” he replied.

Since my geeky necessity for plot perfection Keith had not shared with me the details of his new revised fantasy. My ex Steven used to do that a lot but Keith was kinder and gentler. I was certain I had nothing to worry about. At the end of the day I was simply submitting myself to a guy I’ve known for just a few months holding a paddle in his hand.

There was a pillar that separated his lounge from the hallway and Keith chose that location to tie me up.  Facing the pillar he begun to bind my hands and ankles.

“Oh… We need a safe word” he said.

“How about ‘Stop fucking hitting me you wanker'” I suggested.

Ignoring my comment he provided the name of one of his favourite Jazz musicians as our safe word.

With me bound and nowhere to go Keith stalked round me. He was naked save for a silk robe that did little to hide his modesty.

” You’ve been a bad girl.” He offered that cliché in a rather unconvincing way but followed it up with a crack of the paddle on my bare buttocks.

It was at that moment of the hard leather colliding with my soft skin that I realised something.  It was something I had not really thought about. All the rough sex and scrapes I had gotten into in my life it had never occurred to me until that moment.

I don’t like pain.

THWACK!!

I really don’t like pain.

“Fuckin’ Hell Keith” I screamed

“Yeh you like that don’t you? You naughty girl” he replied, now in full role play mode.

“No it fucking hurts” I screamed with  tears forming in my eyes.

But Keith did not relent and why would he? This was his fantasy and I hadn’t said the safe word.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Pride was not the reason I didn’t scream out the safe word. Nor was it because I was enjoying it; having my arse beaten was definitely not my idea of a fun Friday night.  However determined I was to fulfill Keith’s fantasies I had no hesitation in calling it off.

No, the reason I did not was because I wasn’t paying attention when he told me. I probably should have written it down but that was difficult on account of my hands being tied up at the time.

For all Keith knew my cries of pain were an act; an exaggerated performance to bring to life his fantasy.  He wanted to punish me for being slutty.  He wanted to punish me for being incompetent and failing to do the most basic things in life correctly. Art imitating life. Perhaps there were  reasons I wasn’t shouting out the safe word.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

My buttocks stung and the soreness of my skin made each whack more painful. Keith was relentless, his normal kind demeanour had transformed into something more sinister. Was he trying to really hurt me? Or was he simply performing a role. Just all part of the make believe.

As I stood there, bound, being flogged an image flashed through my mind. It was an image that I had become familiar with but which had been absent from my mind for the entire duration of the  relationship with Keith.

It was of the dark towering behemoth. The one that would lead me towards that final descent into the dark abyss of nothingness.

At the start of our relationship I had contemplated whether Keith could be that final liason but had quickly dismissed that thought. He was kind and his bumbling nature had been disarming.

Yet, although I had no control over my compulsion which had seen me engage in all manner of sexual activity, I had always been careful never to leave myself in a position of vulnerability where I would be unable to resist the advances of the mystery monster that haunted my dreams. But I found myself bound, unable to move, unable to run. I was totally at the mercy of another.

I could sense the sinister black clouds forming, ready to erase the brightness of my mind that I had enjoyed the past few months. No doubt Lina would be riding the roaring gloom like a lustful valkyrie; crashes of thunder would ring out in my head to signal her return.

I closed my eyes as Keith continued to punish me. I had submitted to whatever Keith intended to do next. Would he hurt me? I mean really hurt me. Use me in whatever way he desired with no consideration of myself.

This was to be our final time together…..a final liaison. Bound tightly I could not see behind me. Dare I try to look? To see that once gentle face now contorted in an expression of dark lustful malevolence. His skin reddening from the exertion of the brutality he was delivering.

With tears running down my face I closed my eyes once more willing  the numbness that the dark clouds would provide to arrive.

Then the beating stopped. I stood there in silence, my breath in sync with the throbbing of my skin.  Why had he stopped? Was this the calm before the actual storm?  Then he spoke, the comforting bumbling tones a juxtaposition of the image of the raging punisher I had fixed in my mind.

“Well I must say this isn’t at all what I imagined” he said “Not at all. I am rather disappointed and really don’t see what the fuss is all about”

I let out a laugh which was more an exclamation of relief. “You not aroused then Keith?” I asked.

“Not in the slightest. I do hope I did not hurt you in pursuing this ridiculous fantasy” he said as he begun to untie me.

“No… Just stings a little” I replied.

Free of restraint I watched Keith slump mournfully into an armchair. Our final time had not been the event he had hoped for. He realised that was it, the end of the deal, time to go our separate ways.

Even I could not end it on such a sour note.  There was a element of pride there. The Fantasy Giver was not about to bow out on a loss. But also I had become rather fond of Keith.

I dropped to my knees and begun to slowly crawl towards Keith.

“Selina what are you doing?” he exclaimed.

I did not respond, just continued my slow, sultry journey to his lap where I took his flaccid penis in my hand guiding it towards my lips.

I looked up at Keith as I felt him grow hard inside my warm mouth. His look was one of confusion… Just what I like!

I sucked on his expanding meat until he was about to explode, all the while my eyes were fixed on his, watching the bewildered enjoyment he was experiencing. This is how Selina says goodbye… Or is that more Lina’s style.

I stood up and straddled Keith lowering myself onto his wet cock. He gripped my buttocks that were raw from the beating they had taken. A sharp intake of breath accompanied my descent onto his aroused member.

Keith buried his face into my pert breasts as I slid up and down upon him. It was raw and it was passionate. No briefing. No priming. Just instinctive spontaneous sex.  This aroused Keith more than perhaps he wanted. His orgasm came quick hard. He shook and in the final throes of his passionate release I swore he muttered “I love you.”

In that moment I probably could have said the same.  Keith was not to be my downfall. He was not my foe determined to destroy me, he was my saviour.

Instead of dragging me down into that dark pit of despair he had jumped in and plucked me out. He was my white knight, not so much in shining armour but in pinstripes.

Rather than confirm my ultimate destruction and sentence me to a lifetime of soul sapping numbness he had, through his kindness, banished those clouds.

Keith was a decent man. An honest man. So why would I not tell him I love him and carry on with the relationship?

What is that old cliché? It’s not you it’s me?  There was nothing wrong with Keith but there sure as hell was something wrong with me.

Despite the best efforts of the pinstriped warrior fragments of the darkness he rescued me from remained. Small reminders as to what I had done, what I was like, what I was capable of.

Lina would return; I had no doubt about that. I didn’t want Keith to meet her, he certainly did not deserve that. She would have no regard for his feelings and lay waste to his beautiful kind manner.

If I told him I loved him it would make what would follow harder. That moment I would callously and cruelly hurt him for no other reason than I was bored. To respond to his gestures of kindness with a numb indifference. That was not fair. He deserved better.

He had saved me and in return I had given him everything he wanted.  They had been a happy six months  and it was probably best to keep them that way.

So I could not tell him I loved him. It was time to move on and my parting words as I slid down his cock one final time were simple;

“Thank You”

Did you enjoy? Feel free to pop back to my Place and take a look around.

The Deal of Selina 

It was inevitable that I would have sex with Keith.

Firstly, ever since bumping into me, he had shown the requisite interest which, in recent times, had been enough to allow any man between my legs.

Secondly, following my failed encounter with the young guy in the toilet cubicle I had felt that burning compulsion to have sex.  I needed it. Not for any pleasure but to restore the numbness before those dark storm clouds once again consumed me.

Such was this need I did not care that Keith was twice my age. It had gotten to the stage in the frenzied feeding of my compulsion that I was willing to not be that picky.

Not that there was much wrong with Keith.  The grey flecks in his hair gave him that distinguished look and whilst time was starting to show on his lined face he was clearly quite handsome. I just hoped his cock worked. I had given a clear indication at least 30 minutes beforehand that we would be having sex in case he needed to go take a little blue pill.

By the end of the night I was inside his luxurious flat and he was inside me. It was a passionate encounter with Keith a mixture of enthusiasm and hesitancy. It was as if one part of his brain refused to accept that he was having sex with a much younger pretty girl. The other half seemed to be unsure whether he should be doing anything different.

Whether chemically induced or not he was hard and for my part I had just wanted him deep inside me. The dark clouds had been forming in my mind and I was in no mood to experience any of the malevolent shame they intended to strike down upon me.

Keith’s stamina surprised me. Perhaps unfairly I had assumed that it would be over in a matter of minutes or that he might just keel over. There was one moment when I looked at his face which was red, glistening with sweat, all contorted in the weirdest expression, I actually thought Keith might be having a heart attack. Turned out I was witnessing his orgasm face.  A furious combination of thrusts that defied his age followed then a satisfied moan before rolling off, all sweating and panting.

Normally, as soon as it was over I would be on my feet getting dressed and making a hasty exit. I continued to be haunted by this image, that had invaded my dreams, of a dark figure. He signified my final liaison. Therefore I tended not to stick around the guy’s house, just in case he was a psychopath.

However with Keith something felt different. The storm clouds had gone. Usually there would be some remnant of the dark swirl but instead I felt normal. I felt drunk… . I felt Keith’s arm slide across as me as he snuggled up.

Woatheretiger. Selinadoesn‘t cuddle. 

But I did not protest I just allowed my heavy eyes to close as I fell into a gentle slumber.

I awoke the next morning alone in the bed. My head hurt but it was a pain I welcomed. It was not caused by the ravages of the darkness but by the vast quantities of alcohol I had consumed the night before. I had a hangover.  Whilst it made every movement hurt I much preferred this to the numbness I had become accustomed to.

“I’m Alive!” I said internally before taking four attempts to actually get out of the bed.

I stood naked in some stranger’s bedroom and it was a dilemma I had not experienced in a while. Do I put on last night’s clothes? I picked them up from the floor, which took longer than it should have; every time I bent down the floor seemed to sink further away from me.

When I finally retrieved my clothes they smelt of last night – alcohol, cigarettes, sex. The accumulated scent made me feel nauseous. I was of course fully prepared to take the walk of shame home in yesterday’s outfit but another drawback of the hangover was my throat felt dry and I could certainly do with a coffee. I had no idea where my aging lover was. I didn’t really know where I was.

I spied on a chair a neatly pressed shirt which, along with my panties, I slipped on. This certainly should give him no funny ideas. When I finally reached the kitchen, Keith was at the stove cooking up some scrambled eggs. He had the air of a fifty year old that had just spent the night fucking someone younger. He was humming away to some awful jazz tune as he spied me;

“Ahh Selina. Good Morning to you” he exclaimed, stuttering a little as he noted what I was wearing.

He gestured to a round table for me to sit where he brought me some orange juice and the nectar of the Gods….. a coffee.

“I am making some scrambled eggs if you fancy some or there are some croissants on the table” he spoke in a posh accent, a hint of nervousness underlined each word.  He was like one of those kind yet bumbling British characters that Colin Firth always seems to play.

Keeping eye contact with him I grabbed a croissant and bit off the end, chewing suspiciously like I was some feral girl who had spent my life in some woods being raised by wolves. Keith would be the kindly gentleman who would teach me the ways of the human folk.  Alternatively, he could be the evil hunter intent of having me mounted on his wall as a prized catch. I opted for the former because Colin Firth only plays good guys, doesn’t he?

He joined me at the table with a steaming pile of scrambled eggs which he lavishly spread on my plate. Sitting down opposite  he flicked through the newspaper while still humming that incessant jazz tune.  I ate in silence. He didn’t look at me, just read his paper pausing only to take a bite of his breakfast.  He managed to do this all without breaking tune.

“Selina I’m thinking of taking a drive in the countryside this afternoon” he said suddenly without looking up from the paper “I wondered if you care to join me?..  There’s a lovely pub there who do a wonderful Ploughman’s lunch.”

He looked up at me for my answer just at the point I was devouring a massive spoonful of scrambled eggs.

Whydoguysalwayswanttoaskmequestionswhenmymouthisfull?!

I nodded my agreement. I maybe should have given it some more thought but I wanted Keith to return to his paper before egg spilled out of my mouth.

“Delightful” he said looking back down at his newspaper “Of course we will swing  round yours so you can change.”

The drive to the pub was silent, well apart from Keith humming away to jazz music. I was preoccupied with a thought;

I have just agreed to get in a car with a complete stranger and drive through woodland to the middle of nowhere.

Despite the fact I may have voluntarily consented to my demise I actually felt calm. There was something wonderfully disarming about Keith. His bumbling British manner put me at ease and I felt he was more Kind Keith than Killer Keith.

At the pub he generously bought me lunch and despite the remnants of my hangover still lingering I washed it down with several beers.   Keith was more than happy to tell me about his life.  He was a Partner in a big city law firm. I would tell you more about that but I kind of switched off whilst he was telling me….. something something corporate something.

He was presently going through a divorce and he had a daughter the same age as me; we both looked awkwardly away when he revealed that fun fact.  He asked me about myself and I was cagey at first to reveal too much but such was his innocent charm I found I told him more than I had intended.

I was going to end the brief summary of my life with the fact that I really hate being bludgeoned to death in the middle of a woods. You know, just in case. Yet I felt totally safe with Keith the only unease that was building was that it felt like a date. Was I dating a fifty year old? Did he think it was a date?

It was around this point that he finally raised our sexual antics from the previous night.

“Selina I must say last night was amazing” he begun “I know it would be foolish of me to believe you would want to do it again…Would you?”

He paused looking at me for some response but I was eating a chocolate cheesecake.

Again with answering questions whilst my mouth is full!

Still devouring the cheesecake and unable to respond I just smiled, Keith took the opportunity to continue.

“Well anyway at least that’s something I can cross off my list”

I gulped down the mouthful of dessert and replied “You have a list?”

“Oh yes” he said rather boldly “A bucket list. Do you not have one?”

I giggled whilst picking at the remnants of chocolate on my plate “No. Anyway I thought they were just about skydiving and visiting pyramids.”

A bashful smile spread across his face as he responded “Well mine was like that,  but there were a few.. carnal things I put on there.”

“A few?” I said raising an eyebrow “Like what?”

“Well… erm..” he bumbled “I can show you the list.. If you like?”

He picked up his phone and after a few taps on his screen he slid it towards me. I looked down to see all neatly presented Keith’s Bucket List.

I scanned through the dull ones like motor car racing until I got to the juicy portion.  I looked up at Keith who stared at me nervously as I flicked through the list.

“Done… Done… Not done..” I said as I scrolled through  “Don’t know what that is…. and you shouldn’t even be thinking that one let alone writing it down you dirty bastard.’

I looked up at Keith who had the expression of a school kid who was agonisingly waiting for his Teacher to mark his homework.

He gave a nervous smile and said “So? What do you think?”

I was unsure how to respond, unclear if he expected me to give feedback on each individual one.

“Yeh, they’re cool.” I answered nonchalantly “Although number 12… Wrong.. Just wrong.”

Keith let out a nervous laugh and replied “Well at least thanks to you I can cross one off the list.”

“I didn’t see one that said fuck a girl half your age.” I retorted.

More nervous laughter from Keith as he replied “No but a one night stand was.” He took a sip from his glass of red wine before continuing “I’d like to do a few more on that list …..with you”

I was rather taken back by his sudden boldness. I  had endured what seemed a lifetime of bumbling and indecision before he ordered his lunch, which turned out to be exactly what he always ordered,  yet here he was making a very direct request.

It was this directness  which caught me a little off guard. I had expected him to try and have sex with me again, I would have been offended if he hadn’t. Yet I was at a loss on how to respond and just raised an eyebrow.

Concerned he may have offended me Keith returned to his more familiar bumbling nature.

“I mean you of course do not have to. It wouldn’t just be sex.. I’d buy you things.. You know.. Treat you.”

“I’m not a whore Keith” I replied, a mischievous half-smile on my face.

“No.. No.. You most certainly are not.. What I mean is we can go out” he said, floundering for the right words “You know, like dinner or a show and if you fancied doing something off the list then…. we can”

Before I could respond he added “But only if you want to.. No pressure.” For good measure he concluded with “And you wouldn’t be a whore.”

I smiled and contemplated his offer. I had no idea why but being in Keith’s presence made the storm clouds stay away.  Maybe I could do with a holiday from the numbness. It had been a bad year and I was clinging on by a thread. Perhaps indulging in Keith’s list of lust would help me hold on that little bit longer.

I had no intention of ‘dating’ Keith and would have to be careful not to let him become too attached. It would be good for both of us. I can step out of the darkness for a short while and Keith… well he gets his naughty fantasies fulfilled.

Isn’t that how it all began? This desire to please others, to make their fantasies come true. Selina The Fantasy Giver – that’s what I used to call myself but recently it had just been Lina.  She had been thriving in the darkness and what it compelled me to do. I concluded there was nothing wrong with the offer Keith had presented me with.

“Okay.” I said “I’m up for that.”

His face lit up not quite sure if I had agreed to his proposal. “Really?” he exclaimed “Well now that is rather pleasant.”

“But not number twelve.” I pointed out.

“No. Well we can discuss the ones you are happy to do.” He replied.

I smiled and went back to finishing the last of my cheesecake, glancing over at Keith who had the expression of a child who had just been told he can have all the toys in the shop.

For my part I felt happy. Not that giddy happiness someone may have when first embarking on a relationship. It wasn’t going to be like that. It was most certainly not a relationship.

It just felt good to be the Fantasy Giver again and this time I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for. Here it was before me in Times New Roman font, all nicely underlined and arranged.  There could be no misunderstandings. No mistakes. Plus by the sounds of it I was going to get well fed for my effort.

It was a good deal and you only make good deals with good people.

I mean who else is there to make a deal with?

With the deal done, will Keith be my saviour? Find out here

The Treat of Selina : Eve

There will be another chapter of my life very soon but as it’s Halloween and I missed posting a blog last week. Here is a little devilish short I wrote for Halloween. 

There is a urban legend in this town about a woman called Eve.

Little is known about who she was although some people say she just suddenly showed up in town one day, her family moving here in mysterious circumstances. Others reckon she was the daughter of that crazy woman who lives up by the forest. It don’t really matter. 

Her description changes depending on who you ask. Some say she was blonde, other brunette although the most common description is of a redhead with the most perfect emerald eyes you have ever seen.

Whoever tells you this tale there is no doubting she was pretty and caught the eye of many men. Yet she never gave in to their advances. Eve, you see, was a virgin and whatever her reasons she wanted to keep it that way. 

The folk who remember her describe her as being a quiet girl…a little strange even. She pretty much kept herself to herself. At school she would often sit alone… Yet she was so darn pretty it was difficult for guys to leave her alone. 

There was this one guy who never gave up. Would try everything he could to get with Eve. Whether through sheer persistence or charm he managed to get her to agree accompanying him to a Halloween party.

She must have been eighteen at the time and it was agreed they would meet at his house. So there she was at his front door dressed as some sort of sexy witch; others say it might have been a devil or even a fairy but you get the idea. 

Anyway, turns out there was no party, this guy just wanted to get Eve alone. He didn’t force her to do anything, you see as it turned out Eve had rather fallen for this guy. She was in love with him. 

He was handsome and had shown her kindness so when he suggested they should have sex… well.. Eve felt she was giving her virginity to her one true love. 

It sounds a little sappy but Eve was a bit of a romantic and she had been saving herself for that one special person. Her virginity was to be that guy’s treat.

They had sex. It was afterwards when they were getting dressed  she kissed him and asked if he loved her with all his heart. 

Turns out, however charming this guy may have been, he was a bit of a dick and he just laughed saying something like “No. It’s just sex.’

Well now poor Eve was devastated. She’d just giving her one true gift to someone who most certainly did not deserve it. In tears she ran out of the house. Neighbours reported hear her crying “You tricked me.”

 By this time it must have been the dead of night. You know how cold those October nights get in this town. 

We’ll,  this all took place before cell phones so poor Eve, distressed as she was,  had to walk all the way home. It must have been a good two miles.

She never made it home. 

The Police searched for her. Even the town all came out looking but no one ever found her. Before long everyone had forgotten about Eve and what may have happened to her. 

Then on the fifth anniversary of her disappearance strange things started to occur. People say that as Halloween drew to a close those who were mean of heart would hear a knock on the door. A slow three taps. It was Eve and she would say “Treat me or Trick me”……. 

“Wait. Wait. Wait.. Have you come up with this lame story ‘cos I was mean to those trick and treaters earlier” laughed Marvin down the mouthpiece of his headset. 

“No” replied his friend, Leo “The legend is true. You gonna let me finish it.”

“Forget it man. It’s getting late. You suck at this game and you suck at telling stories. Night.”

Marvin turned off his games console and closed his eyes.

Tap. Tap. Tap 

He awoke unsure if that knocking was on his front door.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

It was definitely his door. Too lazy to get out of bed he bellowed “Who’s there?”  

There was no answer just another Tap. Tap. Tap. 

He checked the time, it was way too late for anymore trick or treaters. Besides he had scared most of them away. 

Annoyed that his slumber had been disturbed. He let out a large breath as he lifted himself out of his bed, padding heavily to the door.  Whoever it was knocking at this unearthly hour would be getting the full force of his fury. 

He hesitated opening the door. He didn’t have a spy hole and therefore had no idea who was on the other side. 

Tap. Tap. Tap

Marvin jumped a little at the sound of knocking. “Who’s there?” he asked, his voice wavering slightly. 

“Trick me or Treat me” came the feint reply from behind the door. 

Marvin only caught the words ‘trick’ and ‘treat’ and presumed the delicate voice must be that of a child. 

“Fuck off. You little shit” he responded and went to go back to his bed. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“I said FUCK OFF” bellowed Marvin. 

There was silence and satisfied he would not be disturbed further he walked towards his bedroom. 

Tap. Tap. Tap

In a rage Marvin strode towards the door and yanking down the handle he was fully prepared to give whoever it was on the other side his full fury. 

As he opened the door he was faced not with an obnoxious child but a beautiful woman.

She had  fiery red hair, emerald eyes and wore a witches costume; stripey stockings, ankle boots and short skirt all finished off with a pointy hat. 

Eve? Surely not. It was a trick. 

Marvin began to laugh. He had no idea how Leo had done it but he must be congratulated for effort. 

With a smirk on his face Marvin looked at ‘Eve’. 

“Trick me or Treat me” she asked. 

Marvin had not let Leo finish the rest of the story but it was obvious the correct answer was ‘Treat Me’. That’s what made his stupid story so lame. Who would say ‘Trick’? 

“Treat you” Marvin replied with a smile. 

Eve immediately kissed him which Marvin gratefully received.  Women did not kiss him often and although he knew this had all been arranged as a joke by Leo he would take it. 

Eve broke away the kiss and walked towards his bedroom. She looked back and gestured for him to follow. 

Marvin followed her and once there she indicated for him to climb on the bed. He was waiting for the punchline to come but it didn’t. 

If this was to be an elaborate practical joke then he was unsure how having his penis in Eve’s mouth became part of it. Not that he was complaining he had never found himself in a woman’s mouth before. 

He enjoyed it and grew hard. She stopped sucking him and sat astride him, lowering herself upon his small but firm manhood. She slid up and down, her nails digging into his fatty chest.

Marvin had no idea how much this was costing Leo or indeed when the inevitable joke would occur. Maybe he was just being a good friend. Either way Marvin was going to enjoy it while he could. 

She grabbed his hands and moved them up to her breasts so he could fondle them whilst she continued to ride him. 

Marvin had never been inside a woman before. It was warm and he could feel the wetness on his cock as she continued to slam down upon him. 

He was in heaven and did not want this pleasurable experience to end. Although he doubted he could last much longer inside such a beauty. 

.…. Of course most guys always agree to Treat her and once they do she gladly gives them her body. I mean we are talking about the best sex you have ever had… 

Marvin was close to orgasm. He wished he had more staying power  but the pleasure was becoming too much. 

… When the guy is about to orgasm Eve leans in and whispers.. 

“Do you love me?” 

Marvin nodded enthusiastically. There was no one he loved more than this beauty on top of him. 

“With all your heart?” 

…. That’s what she asks next. The guy is having so much fun they’d agree to anything. You see she learned where she went wrong before.  She asked the guy after sex, once he got what he wanted….

Marvin nodded and let out at breathless ‘Yes. Yes. Yes’. At that moment he could not be happier. The world could end now for all he cared. 

... You see in all those years she was left heartbroken and humiliated, she regretted not asking the question sooner.

She knows now to ask it just before that point of release. When the guy’s passion, lust, desire is all building up inside him. 

Eve believed that this is the point when the human spirit is at its most honest. When heart and mind become one organ pumping honesty through the body. 

You see, separately the mind can play tricks and the heart when working alone does not always know what it wants. But together,  that shows the true essence of a person. 

It’s then, just at the moment when the consequence of a guy’s passion is about to flow that she reaches in. Buries her hand deep inside the chest and pulls out the still beating but truthful heart of the guy….