classical nude

This is the picture that I used for my avatar. It is called Classical Nude, from Seredin on deviantArt. I just thought it was so beautiful, and a wonderful take on the classical nude.

good hard fuck

There's this site I am on, where one of the vets is a cold hard bitch. Seriously. She's sweet to who she wants to be sweet to, but she basically guilts people into not talking to those she hates. She is absolutely horrid, and drives me insane. In this case, I've pretty much never made an effort to talk to her- not really anyway.

I was talking to a few friends from the site about her, and one of them said- 'You know what she needs? A good hard fuck." None of us had ever heard this particular girl say that, though it wasn't the first time she shocked us. We laughed about it, and all agreed this was true.

What is it that makes us say that people need a good hard fuck? And why is it that that is so pleasing to say? Just the words, good hard fuck, feel great to say, and after uttering them you feel you've accomplished something.

I think they should start doling out 'good hard fuck's in psychiatric centres or something. It seems like a lot of our society could go for one these days. I know I could. Speaking of...

*pulls boyfriend to bed*
XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Vellie and Claire

Trevelyan woke slowly. He had trouble focusing and trouble remembering where he was. For a moment he thought he was again in Pesha and that the canopy over head was Nyssa's bed.

But as he turned his head and saw the stone wallls and the heavy oak of the bed – no gilding – he remembered it all. For all that he had trouble remembering where he was, he knew that his head rested upon a firm, female breast. He turned to look up to see Claire holding him against her ample bosom, and he could feel his body between her legs. She was sleeping, but at his movement, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

And as naturally as day follows night, he put his hand on her breast and kissed her neck.

Claire closed her eyes for a moment, feeling his lips on her neck. Without having any idea what she was doing, she moved her legs and Trevelyan rolled on top of her. She could feel the hard maleness of him on her body. He had changed from a sick child to a hungry man in an instant.

His lilps moved up her neck to her ear. He took the lobe between his teeth and Claire arched her neck as his hand caressed and massaged her breast.

His hand moved down her side to her waist, over her hip, to her thigh.

Then suddenly, his hand came up again. He roughly took her chin in his hand and turned her to look at him. It was as though he were demanding that she know who he was, that she see him not as a friend, not as a sick child, but as Trevelyan.

That, my dears, is the first thing I ever read that made me feel flustered and heady and wanting for something I'd never dreamed of. I was out in the garage one day, searching through boxes and chests to see what I could find, as I often did. I found a paperback, edges frayed and papers stained, looked over the description on the back, and tucked it under my arm so I'd be sure to take it inside. Never did I imagine what its pages could contain.

This simple, clear writing is from The Duchess, by Jude Deveraux. It is the only book of hers, I believe, that I have ever read. Even so, it is one of my favourites, and I have yet to find a novel that is quite as dear, save for Mr. Wilde's infamous works. I just might post my very first sex chapter ever, which is later on in the same book. We shall see ^.^

apologies

To those of you who once read my blog, I am sorry. I ducked out, and haven't been back since. I've missed blogging, though. So here I am again.