Honestly, I forgot how hot this story was until I recorded the podcast. Listen to it in iTunes or listen here online. (If you subscribe via iTunes, please take a moment to leave a rating or comment, thanks!)
I arch, buckle, scream, curve, collapse. Jay carefully wipes his hand off on a towel, then lies down next to me.
“That’s really the last time, you know,” he says sorrowfully. I rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me closer.
“I know,” I answer, trying to speak over the lump in my throat.
We’ve had our one last time for the third time now, we’re reluctant to stop. She’s come back, and he needs to know. Things are getting too complicated. It’s painful, we’ve been over every angle dozens of times, but the only solution is to stop being lovers.
“I’ll call you,” he says, and I know he will. We stand on my porch and hold each other for a long time. His arms are warm, safe. I nuzzle the space between his shoulder and neck, inhaling his earthy scent. I want to keep this next moment from happening, but it does. As Jay plants a kiss on top of my head, I feel him wipe away his own tears. This is really it, no more one-more-times. Continue reading
This week’s podcast episode is a heavy one. I really debated whether or not to even record this one. I decided I’m ultimately telling my life story and this story is a major part of who I am today. iTunes or listen here.
The special “Flattery will get you everywhere” blog edition:
Part two: Christian Madsen wrote a lovely little piece about my podcast on his blog, Story-Lab. He’s been doing a great job of reviewing my fellow adventures in alternative porn and sex writing. Read his piece on me here and be sure to check out the rest of his reviews including my favorites: Camille Crimson and Uncommon Appetites.
Are there any stories you’re wishing I would tell? I know I’ve covered lots of topics so far, but I always have more! Leave suggestions in the comments, please!
None of us have gone to bed yet,so it’s still New Year’s Eve to us. I’m not sure how I ended up here, it wasn’t planned. Someone asked if I wanted to ride along, so I did.
The table and counters are crammed with empty bottles. Sticky pink tendrils of wine from a broken bottle spread in a corner of the kitchen, threatening to creep under the refrigerator. A thin ice cold breeze wafts from the window, open just enough to let out the smoke from the pot and cigarettes that have been burning for hours.
I know some of the people here. Tony, of course, and his girlfriend Tasha. Tony and I have known each other for a long time. I used to be his boss when we worked on a summer crew at the state park. We have that comfortable kind of friendship, that watching-TV-together-with-my-feet-in-his-lap kind. In an few years, he’ll introduce me to my future ex-husband, but I’m in between boyfriends at the moment. Continue reading