It was my great fortune to be noticed by a lively blog for authors and people who work with them, orchestrated by a bona fide “resource” in the book business. This compendium voices book-community interests. I recommend it for indie author-publishers, and book consumers no matter age or station.
I’ve included a bit of sexotic text below, just by way of example. This is an excerpt from Stoner’s Bone of Contention (The Weightless Joint) — intended for mature audiences with open minds. Potcentric, sexotic fictional memoir.
The double-tub with jets and shower hoses was a statement piece, hidden elements like thick insulation and sound baffling were part of the simple luxury of the bedroom suite, the one-armed long couch had crisp fitted slipcovers of washable fabric, there were area rugs (suited to bare bottoms) sitting on top of room rugs (suitable for bare feet) offsetting easy-mop hardwoods and tile pavilions. There were two double bedrooms, four guest beds, because even with one guest there can be the sex bed(s) and the sleep bed(s), there is the option to stop one phase and begin another without the mundane chore of immediate cleanup.
Janna drank sips of bourbon all night long, while I sucked up little hits of pot. It was not our intention to get wasted because the sex was too good to blur. We took breaks, replenished ourselves, we readjusted our framework. Janna gave as good as she got, we overheated from time to time, so ardent that we added too much fuel to the fire. I’d see her eyes glaze and realize I’d been pounding into her with my own eyes closed for a long long time before I looked down and saw her stunned and finished. I eased up, backed off, made the sad decision to disengage and shoot it like a firework.
That private retreat was the only single family dwelling I owned in the city, it was maintained by a different contractor and not part of my property management business. Part of my decision about Janna took this into consideration because I had not allowed these two elements to cross. My party life was my own, I withdrew from the work-a-day world reassured my real stuff had been insured, monitored, was waiting for me. Lead me to the luxurious linen and sturdy furniture. Layers of window coverings from sheer to blackout: I had designed window shades that snapped to the sill. Each bedroom and the smoking den were ventilated by silent fans, with slim radiators featuring artsy dials setting low to high, and dimmers on the light switches; this was a polypurpose place.
The availability of four double beds led to many combinations of guests so the rooms were filled with sensual memories. Someone like Janna meant so much more because she shared it with me and turned it to her advantage. She understood how cute she looked tummy-down on the ottoman so I could stare, stupefied, at her flaring ass then track the crack to her darkness. Eventually she’d lean on her forearms, straightening her legs to rise then bending her knees to settle in for round two of teasing. More of her hints were exposed but nothing… tangible. I felt her promise.
She put this show on in the smoking den, so I could toke along, phases settling one atop another until she grabbed her own ass cheeks and pried them open, pulled them up-out-back to show me my ultimate target, commanding me to take aim.
She wanted what I wanted, good hot balling, letting the carnal rule, laughing when I growled up into her pussy as I twisted her tits, feeling her buck and knowing I’d be mounting her soon, not yet, but soon, so I was all the more serious about heating her up. Nothing gleams like a wet cunny, weeping with the desire to be filled, crying for cock. Not all women ever get to feel that reckless joy but Janna had no qualms about sharing this most extreme hunger for sensation. She didn’t care if it wasn’t pretty, because it was so fucking real. We got off on each other, on our slamming tight and rocking back, we had matching parts and similar intent. She meant to control me through my cock and I intended to let her.
She did me, she let me and made me and prevented me, forestalled and goosed me, those were just her ways of communicating to my preverbal brain to stay on task, this was not about me coming but about me fucking her and riding her and turning her over to re-enter from some other angle. I knew I would come, later, I would spill into her waiting void, but not yet, and not just once.