Today's the day I try to say something worthwhile and pertinent to writing. I hope you check it out and enjoy. Happy Wednesday!

The Writer's Retreat

Wild West

However much I complain about my job, the boss is cool. He rides a beautiful Harley and has a very open mind. My father sent me a funny email and I'm forwarding my supervisor this picture with the caption that he needs one:

Thirteen reasons I should have stayed home from work today:

1. It’s raining, and my muse thrives on rainy weather

2. Imagining a beautiful exchange between two fictional characters, I would have preferred to keep daydreaming in bed until the urge to write the scene forced me to get up

3. I’m actually in a good mood and should let my work-from-home partner enjoy this side for a change

4. My Thursday 13 list wasn’t already written as I’d wrongfully thought (a blog post is in the pipe for another topic– duh) and I could concentrate better away from here

5. The day job isn’t any fun

6. The one and only street out of my neighborhood was blocked by a fire truck due to a fallen tree (unfortunately, the fireman waved me on before I came to my senses and went home)

7. A constant stream of emails distract my attention from the fiction I’d rather be writing

8. Painting on my home’s interior is done and tons of artwork needs re-hung

9. Three cats would rather have me there

10. The floor needs vacuumed and I won’t want to do it by day’s end

11. My daily Japanese lesson could be done with a cat on the lap instead of sitting in my car or the company break room

12. It’s noisy here and I like things quiet (music in my ear keeps me somewhat sane)

13. To bastardize a quote my dad taught me about fishing, “A slow day of writing beats a good day at the office”

I hope that, wherever you are, you have a good Thursday!

Writer's Retreat Blog Post

Today I expounded upon the type of gaff that I sometimes feel alone in being able to achieve. Click for a laugh and I hope you'll share experiences of your own...

Writer's Retreat Blog

Thursday Thirteen

I have a whimsical list of music on my PG-13 blog today...

Darla M. Sands

I'm proud to promote a fellow Romance Diva!

Eden Bradley's story in the Smutketeers' Wasteland anthology, Book Three: THE BREEDER, is out now! Buy it now at MBAM or on Amazon!

In 2012, the world came to a grinding halt as radiation hit from a massive solar storm. Crops died, animals perished, cities fell and humans became little more than beasts themselves. Under the threat of starvation, civility was reduced to mere memory. Only the strongest men survived, and physically weaker women and children wasted to nothingness.

More than a century later, humanity struggles in the desert Wasteland that was left. The solar radiation rendered most women infertile, and the population dwindles more with each year that passes. Scattered up and down coasts, isolated cities eke out an existence from fishing, foraging and hunting for what little game remains. Outside the city walls, men face the threat of pirates and raiders.

Few women remain, divided into four classes—Wanderers, Whores, Breeders and Priestesses. They are as reviled as they are worshiped, a commodity any man must pay to touch.

There is only one rule in the Wasteland—survive.

Book One: THE WANDERER — Crystal Jordan, May 4, 2010
Book Two: THE WHORE — Lilli Feisty, May 11, 2010
Book Three: THE BREEDER — Eden Bradley, May 18, 2010
Book Four: THE PRIESTESS — R.G. Alexander, May 25, 2010

THE BREEDER, Book Three in the Wasteland Series

Destined to serve the desires of an entire city, all she wants is one man. Or maybe two…


Wasteland, Book 3

Born to the Temple, Nitara knows the Great Goddess’s plan for her: to bring life into what is left of an arid and wasted Earth. Since puberty she has been trained to arouse and titillate, to ensure the continuation of the human race.
As is the custom, the man captured for her is strong of blood, though considered little more than a wild animal. Yet when she looks into his eyes, she sees no primitive creature, but the man whose face and hands haunt her sensual dreams.
For Akaash, a hunter and warrior, it’s his shame that he will be sacrificed to a goddess he doesn’t believe in, for a people who are not his own, leaving behind his Wanderer clan—and his bonded lover, Dhatri. Locked in the bowels of the Temple, he has a month to ponder his fate, all while falling helplessly under the spell of the virgin temptress who will soon take his life.
With each tortuously erotic encounter, however, Akaash realizes that Nitara is as much a prisoner as he. If he can just get a message out to Dhatri, there may be a slim chance both of them can escape…

* * *
You can find the entire Wasteland series at Samhain, and you can buy THE BREEDER there, or on Amazon! And visit the Smutketeers blog for excerpts, contests and more!

Happy Tuesday!

Today is mine for posting on my group's blog. Come on over for a bit of rambling and a book review...

Neuroses in Little Japan

One Line Wonders

These pithy quotes might come from a book, a movie, or even one of my story tidbits that I'm daring enough to humbly share. Today's is from a great piece of sci fi fiction:

"..Pete and Leo never could agree about nothing, not even how to die."
- Mel Keegan's "Narc 3: Scorpio"

The NARC series (Narcotics and Riot Control) is comprised of compelling futuristic stories featuring a great gay couple of iconic status. Stone and Kevin Jarrat have a relationship that is to die for, and jobs that might take that next turn for them. I highly recommend the series.

I'm published!

Granted, my e-book is freely available for downloads, but it was given away prior and therefore, I feel, unethical for me to attempt selling. And it's for a good cause, to promote traffic on Mel Keegan's wiki site, The GLBT Bookshelf! The man kindly put together my humble story with a beautiful cover by Jade. If you're interested in great, gay oriented fiction, come on over for some great titles! Please stop by and support our various artists:

Free Gay Reads

Below you'll find an excerpt. First, I need to rectify an error. I neglected to credit any of the wonderful folks who aid and inspire my writing. Special thanks to Dilo Keith, A. Catherine Noon, Nikki Memmott, Evilynne, and Myladymystere! You've all improved my writing (any and all shortcomings are mine alone). For anyone not listed, please forgive my need for brevity!

Now, meet Michael Blanc, Corporate Stress Reliever by trade and optimist by choice. He knows all too well that life can throw rotten fruit in your face. In 2186, Michael makes the most of just desserts. Employed as confidante and lover to those that make up the whipped cream topping on that big apple pie, New York, New York, Michael has survived the whipping and now nibbles a nice, big slice of the pie.

Excerpt from "Memoirs of a Corporate Stress Reliever":

“Dance.”

I can do that. At a convenient drum beat I throw back my shoulders. Stiffened arms let the bolero glide off. Curled fingers catch the inner seam of the left lapel, saving that article from the floor.

So, he wants me to keep the hat, normally the first thing tossed. Most guys go gaga over my hair. Mr. X likes hats. I like Mr. X. Ergo, the cover stays on my head.

Stepping back from his spot on the mattress gives me the necessary room. Spinning a three-quarter turn to my right, I drape the jacket over my far shoulder and swivel my head down. The only part of unclothed skin visible to him is my chin and lips, which I lick. I hear his moan below the music.

I turn to fling the jacket onto a corner chair and, facing the far wall, fold in half with one hand handing my cap in place to blow him a kiss from between my calves. I straighten, rolling my spine in a wave that only ends when I stare at the ceiling. I shiver plainly for his witness and drop my gaze straight to the wall once more.

Whirling 180 degrees, I stop on a dime and try not to gawk. There’s a line of naked skin showing almost to his groin, the expensive robe gapped. Swallowing hard, I grind my hips against empty air, leather-clad fingers unbuttoning my shirt. Lower body never still, I kick off my shoes and dance on bare feet.

I’m breathing heavy enough to pant and it’s not from exertion, my body too conditioned. What takes my wind is the memory of things he’s done with this body – things he’ll soon repeat.

“Stop.”

I’ve pulled my shirttail out and undone the first button of my fly. I stop, chest and stomach heaving, though there is no perspiration on my skin. The auto-climate directs a cooling flow of air upon me.

“Room,” he addresses the monitor AI. “Auto-air off. Authorization code 59784.”

The breeze ended, moisture instantaneously beads my breast. Smirking, he tells me to begin again.

“I want to lick the sweat off that beautiful body. Keep your shirt. Get rid of the pants.”

Once they’re on the rug out of my way, I reach inside my shirt. He knows I’m pinching the nipple but the miniscule teat is so hard that it can’t engorge beyond what the first touch of leather finds. I raise my face and close my eyes, other hand tugging the curls down my neck.

I’m goading him into touching me himself. I give him bedroom eyes and wet my upper lip. He’s so on edge I can virtually feel those hands and mouth on me in anticipation.

Mr. X rises quickly, his robe billowing behind him. He’s upon me, somehow losing that wrap between the bed and where I stand. The fabric collapses on the floor to be forgotten. Gripping my waist is a gentle but firm hand. I am irrefutably his.

He yanks the shirt off one shoulder and slicks his palm across my drenched pectorals. I watch breathlessly. A wide, soft mouth finds one rosy nub. I don’t need cosmetics for color there. It’s plain, tingling flesh he suckles.

His touch finds my silk briefs. The loose outer layer feels like liquid over the skin-tight lining of stretchable cotton. He comments on it, squeezing my ass.

“Are these new? Nice.”

I’m glad he doesn’t expect an answer. He laughs softly, a pure and happy sound over his impact upon my faculties. The front panel of the custom underwear is no longer slack, my erection straining to get out. His hands haven’t even brushed over my loins. It’s obvious I could not withstand much.

“It’s been too long. Let’s make up for lost time.”

I hope this whets your appetite. A less steamy snippet is up on my Darla M. Sands blog. Happy reading!

Thursday Thirteen ~ The Joys of Writing

Thirteen Reasons I Write

1. Escapism – better than movies and even books, internal fantasies can be visited virtually anywhere and anytime; I carry pen and paper whenever possible

2. Characters –protagonists drive my plots, taking on a life of his or her own in the process, and are often my company of choice

3. World Building – while lately discovering the joy of alien peoples and places, I find that generating any sort of alternate reality is immensely rewarding

4. Research – obviously educational, typically entertaining, this frequently plants the seed for new ideas as an added side benefit

5. Sex – I wrote erotica in my journals before ever having heard the term; later, rediscovering vivid tell of youthful exploits inspired my creative writing and this is still my favorite subject

6. Liaisons – it's imperative to add how daydreaming sexual encounters never gets old and those I will never experience (for whatever reason) provide especially compelling challenges

7. Travel – a journey into prose shows me wondrous sights without the stress and expense of an actual vacation

8. Memories – it’s amazing what experiences I recall, savoring some before truth is spun to weave fact into fiction

9. Kodak Moments – reading what I’ve composed about an incident, real or pretend, stimulates a more intense response than the majority of photographs (inspirational images are like the icing on the cake)

10. Limitless – sorry to sound cliché, but my unbound consciousness soars during the process of storytelling

11. Music – unlike cinema and television, my second favorite activity happens to be extremely compatible with this great passion, which brings to mind the next item

12. Passion – I can explore the most desirous or debased emotions known to humankind, all confined within my relatively harmless psyche

13. Sanity – it’s cheaper than therapy and a heck of a lot more fun

Friday Funny

In place of a ficlet piece, I decided to share a laugh. Be warned that I'm notorious for being way behind the curve on jokes. Hence, this might be really old and I just don't have a clue. Since I won't see you rolling your eyes if this joke is actually older than the internet, here goes...

A husband and wife were watching a television program about psychology. As an aside, he mentioned that he didn't believe in so-called "mixed emotions". She offered to prove the existence and he agreed.

"I can tell you something that will make you both the happiest and the saddest you've ever felt in your life."

"All right," he agreed, "give it a shot."

"You have a bigger penis than every single one of your friends."

Flash Fiction Friday ~ Touch the Sky

Touch the Sky

The sunlight glittered – diamonds on the water. I reached behind blindly and Skyler took my hand. The boat bobbed in the playful waves and I was having a wonderful time. My fishing line disappeared in the glare. Skyler’s warm hand left mine and I sensed him turning toward the voice of our hired skipper.

“Here’s your rod, Skyler, all ready to catch some fish. I know those wahoo are out there.”

Rod.

I snorted gleefully at the double entendre as the man handed my young lover the baited rig. Sky had earlier whispered to me that he wouldn’t mind a nibble from Captain Steve, fish be damned. Usually so masculine, Skyler hammed up a homosexual queen act to the other male’s vast discomfiture.

“I don’t know how you can handle touching those nasty fish bits, Steven,” Skyler lisped. “Now, put it on a rice patty and give me a pair of chopsticks – then I’ll pop it in my mouth in a heartbeat. I’d swallow one of your morsels whole without even chewing.”

Casting with his pinkies stuck absurdly out in mid air, he cracked me up. I swallowed a snort. Captain Steve cleared his throat and looked to me, carefully reseating his cap on a mostly bald head. I recalled Sky’s comical remark of what that inferred about the man’s testosterone level and nearly snorted again.

“So, Karen, where are you and Skyler from? Your accent sounds Midwest.”

“Oh, you don’t want to know those boring, old facts! Honestly, Stevie,” Sky scolded, batting pretty eyes over his shoulder, “wouldn’t you rather know where I’m willing to go?”

That brought me to flat-out guffaw. I felt the need to say something, though, before the fellow abandoned ship and swam for the distant shore.

“Don’t let him get to you, Steve. Skyler won’t bite.”

“I will if you ask, Stevie,” Skyler corrected lasciviously.

“Fish! I got a fish!”

I began cranking the handle furiously, fighting for every yard of dripping nylon. Our haul quickly met the local limit, the professional fisherman every bit as good as advertised. He appeared grateful when Sky and I agreed to return to shore early rather than turn the excursion into a sightseeing trip. Until my dying day, I’ll believe Captain Steve Felder remained convinced that Skyler Robinson and I, the considerably older Karen Foster, were pals instead of lovers.

And like my adventurous, bisexual stud, I would have enjoyed initiating a graphic demonstration including the handsome native. Unfortunately, Steve acted as straight as an arrow, so uncomfortable with Skyler’s initial flirtation that the younger man ramped up his act upon Steve out of sheer perversion.

So far, I’d only dreamed of sharing Sky with another man. During this vacation, I’d planned to rectify that. We both had, until his sometime fuck buddy backed out on coming along. I couldn’t blame Ron, who received a job offer that kept him home. Ron promised that his intention to be in a Skyler/Karen sandwich would still stand when we returned, so I simply enjoyed sharing the resort atmosphere with Skyler.

We talked about what to do with the rest of our week during the long drive back to our hotel and stood now on the pristine sand behind the place, soaking up the last of the autumn sun. Our wahoo steaks were in the freezer except for the fish we planned to fry for dinner. My eyes were glued to the smooth, golden skin of Sky’s neck, my arms around his slender middle. One long arm lifted, a pointed finger directing my gaze up and out.

“Look, Karen. Whales!”

On this most Eastern edge of the United States, the sun set earlier than in our town. The nearness of sunset made clouds over the ocean merge with the water on the horizon. Mist from the animals’ blow holes appeared magical.

“It looks like they’re touching the sky.”

“Not as nicely as you are.”

Snickering at his joke, I sighed over the hot silk of his back under my kiss. He took my hand and pushed it down to the waistband of his swimming trunks.

“Are you ready to go in?”

“I’m ready for you to, Karen.”

I knew what Skyler meant. He let me do things to his body that I never conceived before meeting him. My ex-husband would be appalled. Bearing my teeth, I nipped the sensitive slope of his shoulder.

Thrilled, I felt him go a little wobbly. My bite left off and I rubbed the chill skin of his arms.

“You’re cold!”

“A little.”

Skyler’s flesh always felt warm to the touch. Alarm edged out my persistent arousal.

“Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Well, I’m hungry. That’s probably why I’m freezing.”

Struggling with a lifelong weight problem, I lost several pounds mainly by replacing my appetite for junk food with one for sex. I tended to forget that a growing young man needed to eat much more than a middle-aged woman.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“It just didn’t occur to me. I had a great time today, Karen.”

“Me, too. Let’s get you fed.”

“Okay.”

He grinned, his smile bright in the gloaming. I resolved to make him a giant salad with boiled eggs and sardines, an odd quirk he picked up as a kid. We’d boiled eggs for breakfast and I’d set one back. Sky didn’t know that I also brought a few tins of fish from home. While he showered, I cut vegetables and tossed them with chunks of egg and pieces of sardine. Fish for both courses? Who cared? He was a growing boy who needed his protein.

Wearing just the towel, Sky earned an immediate growl of approval. A more perfect human being could only have been carved out of marble. After the meal, he definitely needed to be naked.

“Sit. Eat.”

“My favorite!”

“I even remembered your garlic dressing,” I bragged, pulling an unopened bottle from among the few groceries in the cabinet.

I insisted he dig in while the fish fried. The nuggets quickly turning crunchy and dark, I drained excess oil onto paper towels. Placing the heaping plate in the middle of the table, I sat to sample his dressing with my simple lettuce and tomato salad.

“You better be careful, Karen, or I’m going to get used to this,” he warned.

I merely grinned, more than a little nervous about the implication. Getting to know Skyler instigated much-needed change in my life, one afternoon in his arms lending me the courage to call an end to a bad marriage. Spending time with him continued to give me immense joy and he professed to feeling the same. Nonetheless, Skyler Robinson, barely in his twenties, belonged with someone his own age. Even teasing about any permanence gave me butterflies.

What would I do when the time came to let him go? Taking this trip together suddenly struck me as terribly wrong. Having Ron along gave the vacation the dynamics of three buddies on a college break or something, another fantasy for someone who never attended university. So far, the trip smacked of a honeymoon much of the time.

“Karen, why so glum? You’re not worried about eating the wahoo just because it’s fried. Are you? I wish you wouldn’t obsess about your figure.”

“Actually, your figure is my obsession,” I retorted.

The young man pounded down hot fish and warmed hushpuppies leftover from dinner the night before. All the while, he shot furtive glances across the table. My levity long since fallen flat, I betrayed the seriousness of my concern by picking at my food. At least Sky had not professed loving me, I reminded myself.

“You know, Ron didn’t really get a job.”

“What?! Why would he lie? Oh,” I groaned, “he doesn’t really want to be with me. I feel like an idiot.”

“No! You’ve got it all wrong. He does! And the idea of him and you together in my bed is still a fantasy of mine. Honest!”

“Then why?”

“Because this is our first vacation, Karen. I wanted this one to be special – just the two of us.”

“First” vacation, implying that there would be others to come. My well-meaning intention remained to bow out of his life before I fell completely in love with him. As time went on, that inevitable event loomed more closely than I cared to admit.

“Hey, I don’t mean to freak you out. I’m not proposing marriage or anything. Okay? I’m not even sure I ever want that, so just relax and let me make love to you.”

“Here?”

“Now.”

“Yes.”

He leaned over the corner of the table and kissed me. Horseradish from the cocktail sauce he liked made his supple tongue taste tingly. I gasped when Skyler’s hand spread my knees and slid up my thigh. Without warning, he manhandled my chair back and around to face him. Sky dropped to his knees between my legs. The towel fell to the floor, his fingers hooked my hips, and his cock bounced against the inside of my knee as he pulled my butt to the edge of the dinette chair.

“Pull your swimsuit out of the way. I’m going to fuck you. Let me in.”

I obeyed, holding the Lycra with my left hand and spreading slick outer lips open with the other. Just as he already knew, being around him served as perpetual foreplay, my sex wet from the inside out. A twinge from a vigorous bout the night before gave way to the pleasure of being filled. With his erection pumping into me, I moved my right hand to feel the muscles of his back working.

Moaning incoherently, I bit back the damnable three words ringing in my head.

I love you.

~the end~

Confucius say...

At a local restaurant serving both Chinese and Japanese cuisine, I received a fortune cookie after my sushi lunch the other day. Thanks to a friend of mine, I learned to add the words “in bed” after the inscription. With that in mind, read what tidbit I found in my recent dessert:

A man’s best possession is a sympathetic wife.

Exciting News

If you’ve made it to Sand Castles, I want to thank you for reading. On my family friendly companion blog I have shared some great news!

Darla M. Sands

I hope you’re having a blessed day!

Flash Fiction Friday ~ Blue Sky

Blue Sky

“Watcha drinkin’?”

I knew it would be tea, Skyler’s drink of choice, and simply prompted inane chatter to get him talking. His spirits seemed somehow down the last few times we met. Down in spirit only, Sky maintained a youthful vigor that never failed to rouse him for energetic bouts of sex.

“Chai.” That one word carried zero inflection – bad sign.

“Let me guess, you added plenty of milk and sugar so it tastes just like that drink at India Palace.”

“Yeah.” Glum, he sounded damn near pouty. “That place we went to once.”

“That’s all? Really? We should go again.”

Silence.

“Look, you know I enjoy going out with you, Sky. Perhaps we don’t do that enough.”

“I understand. We can’t exactly screw in public.”

Ouch.

“Look, I’m not very good at talking about feelings,” I started apologetically.

“No kidding, Karen,” Skyler interjected.

Okay, now I was a little mad. While not a pleasant state of mind, this didn’t necessarily bode ill. Twenty years ago, I would have started a disproportionately heated argument, maybe thrown something breakable at the wall, and stormed out until my desire lured me to attempt reconciliation.

Since my stormy youth, I’d learned to control my temper. Surviving an ugly divorce only deepened the well of calm and this edge of anger actually sharpened my awareness. I decided to take of advantage of the fact and engage him in obviously necessary conversation. Dismissing his insult as a judiciously earned cheap shot, I tightened the belt of the borrowed bathrobe, sat in the chair opposite his sofa, and leaned forward in study of him, elbows on knees.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, downright petulant, “except you always come to my place.”

Ah.

He moved out of his parents’ house a few months prior, finding a near-ghostly roommate who conveniently worked the exact opposite of Skyler’s grocery store shift. They split the cost of this cramped apartment located over a sandwich shop. Sky’s tiny, shabby bedroom always smelled of freshly baked bread. Amusingly, his roommate traded from their initially decided rooms because he hadn’t been able to tolerate the yeasty fragrance.

While I rented a much nicer place immediately upon my marital separation, this smaller space carried a decidedly youthful flavor. Cast-off furniture and milk crate bookcases fostered my fantasy of being twenty-something rather than middle-aged. Out of embarrassment, I failed to impart this fact to Skyler.

“You think I’m hiding something by not inviting you over, Skyler? We can go there right now. Just let me find my underwear,” I wisecracked, attempting levity.

Not returning the desired smile, he retorted, “That’s not it, really. I mean, sort of, but let me ask you a question. Karen, did you even bring your guitar?”

“It’s in the car,” I answered, perplexed and slightly ashamed by the original, adulterous lie his query evoked.

This affair commenced before my divorce, guitar lessons serving as my excuse to see Skyler. I sometimes laughed out loud at my absurd logic. Every check written for my “music teacher” coincided with a damning motel credit card charge since he still lived in his childhood family home. However, the only one needing mollified turned out to be me, my ex drunkenly confessing to multiple infidelities before our drama concluded.

Watching Sky set his mug on a drink coaster featuring a popular anime character nearly made me snort. His effort protected a scratched and battered end table that looked older than I felt on my worst days. Skyler’s serious brow beneath gel-spiked, black hair leeched my amusement.

“Why even bother? And why keep paying me for these non-existent lessons?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. Was it out of habit? While sort of true, the excuse made no sense. A curious image came into focus unexpectedly – Skyler standing on a street corner until a trolling car stopped and a randy driver opened the door. How could I have been so stupid? The painful truth crashing down, I responded with nervous inquiry.

“Do I make you feel like a whore, Sky?”

“Maybe a little, Karen,” he sniffed. “Yeah.”

Sitting up at his confirmation, Skyler’s deep brown eyes darted everywhere but my face. They appeared suspiciously glassy. I teared up in miserable sympathy. Sky alone succeeded in making me cry in all the long years since my grandmama’s death. For all his tough, hard rocker exterior, Skyler bore emotions closer to the surface than anyone I’d ever met.

Apparently in concession to the losing battle, he met my gaze and allowed a tear to slide down his cheek, making no attempt to blot the spill. A determined set to his features squared an already masculine jaw. Not for the first time, I distractingly imagined this admitted bisexual performing amorous acts upon one of his male companions.

“You don’t seem interested enough to ask, Karen, but I don’t need your money. I’m doing just fine between my serious students, working at the deli, and WR’s gigs.”

WR, or Weeping Razor, found increasing success at a heavy metal club and still I hadn’t gone to see a single performance. We both knew I would appreciate their style, too. Talking about music bonded us over a grocery store deli counter long before sex came into the equation.

“That’s great,” I extolled uncomfortably.

Unable to fathom attending a Weeping Razor show, I knew my presence would stick out like a sore thumb in such a young crowd. Contrary to what one might think, however, that notoriety didn’t normally bother me. I attended plenty of other shows, yet the difference of dating someone on the stage gave me a weird feeling.

I figured Skyler would either understandably ignore me in his guitar hero persona or make me look like a cradle robber on his toned arm. Or worse, kids would mistake me for the musician’s mother. None of those options appealed and, again, I failed to proclaim this embarrassing truth.

Bringing me back into the awkward moment, Skyler picked up my check and rent the paper in two. He didn’t stop there, shredding the payment into confetti falling to the dingy carpet. Wiping the back of one elegant hand across his face, Sky smeared the kohl around his eye. The cosmetic became almost permanent from repeated applications. He made a conscious effort to remove traces prior to clocking in to his regular, mundane occupation.

Hurt shimmering over long lashes, he looked vulnerable. Sky also appeared abused, for lack of a better word. The term “tasty” came unbidden to my mind.

Now, I’m as abhorred by mistreatment as any healthy human being. All the same, powerful lust flooded my system. My vision narrowed to the dragon tattoo uncoiling from the haphazard cover of a dangerously loosened towel. Most of his skin remained damp from our recent, quick shower.

“Karen?”

I pounced, the robe opening as I ripped away his terry cloth wrap and fit my tongue between juicy lips. In my mind, possibilities for my next move multiplied by his recent admission. This boy liked to be tied up on occasion and the notion didn’t repulse me.

Raising my head, I barked a laugh at his dazed expression. Curled fingers raked against the back of his skull, manicured nails scratching lightly. Twisting the short hairs, I pulled his head into the sofa cushion and whispered against his throat.

“Go to the bed and wait for me.”

“What will you be doing?” His voice sounded choked. “You’re not going to get your instrument. Are you?”

“Why not? I really do want to learn more chords. After I’m done playing your body, some relaxing music lessons might be nice.”

Not willing to dive into tricky bondage without foreknowledge, I soon had Skyler comfortably in the bed. One wrist tied to his headboard, I used a scarf from my purse. I don’t recall my justification for putting one, let alone two, in the bag, but a second blindfolded him silkily as opposed to the rougher bathrobe belt. A gag out of the question, I wanted to hear him sing his pleasure.

Sky didn’t disappoint, melodiously humming my name with soft directions and erotic obscenities at every lick and caress. Lips and fingertips touched everywhere but the engorged sex swaying over his trim belly.

“Damn, Karen.” A sinuous writhe. “A little lower, Karen.” A ring of muscle tightened on a finger wetted by my mouth. “Oh! Yeah, Karen, fuck my ass, just like that.”

“Is this what you do for your male lovers? Or are you more likely to be the receiver?”

“Promise me dinner and a movie and I’ll tell you,” he panted.

“You drive a hard bargain. Agreed,” I readily acceded. “Talk, Sky.”

As his halting speech began, I sucked a nearly hairless globe into my mouth, my shoulders spreading his thighs. I moaned at his words. Sky trilled a compliment at the vibration my vocalization caused.

And still he talked, telling of his first homosexual encounter and subsequent exploration of various carnal pleasures, some of which I could only dream. Imagining my finger experienced the liquid velvet squeeze using very differently wired nerves, I underwent a small, empty orgasm. That proved enough to end my neglect of his cock.

I unrolled a condom onto his erection using recently acquired expertise, then tore a few strands of hair out of his scalp via anxious removal of the satin blindfold. He swore and I snickered apology.

“That’s okay. I like that you’re more comfortable with your body.”

He could tell I wanted him to watch me riding him. Not telling of my recent weight loss, I think the fact he didn’t notice rather intrigued as opposed to disappointing me. Only much later, when we were spent and drowsy, his faintly marked wrist recently freed and draped over my waist, did he admit the truth.

“I can tell you lost weight. While I’m glad you’re happy, I don’t want you to think I love your body any more now than before,” he muttered, adorably smug and sleepy. “Okay, Karen?”

“Sky?”

“Yeah.”

“I love that about you.” To be sure he still lay awake, I repeated, “Sky?”

“Yeah.” Serious eyes opening at my tone, he stirred and asked, “What?”

“As long as we’re safe about it as can be, I still think we should see other people. But I’m going to try harder at not feeling foolish in public. It’s not that I’m ashamed of you. Far from it. But what people must think of me makes me uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, Karen, on a few conditions.”

“Like what?”

“Guitar lessons this evening, then we go to India Palace for dinner. Afterward, we’re going to your place so we can smell incense instead of baked goods. And tomorrow, you’re mine all day. It is Sunday, after all, and I don’t have to work.”

“Yes, you do. Tomorrow night, at least,” I pronounced fretfully.

“True. And tomorrow night, at the club, you’re my special guest.”

“Agreed,” I sighed, turning my face to hide hotly blushing cheeks against the cool inside of his upper arm.

He whooped victoriously, amusingly understanding of my nervous gesture. I nipped sensitive skin to cut his hoot short with a yelp of minor pain. Then I grinned, drifting to easy sleep.

~the end~

I Said Supper Club, Not Fight Club

I guess you could say I’m extraordinarily lucky. After all, my partner and I don’t argue like some people we know. We have either plenty or none of the usual suspects:

Money, kids, and sex

I’ll let you decide which is which in the none vs. plenty categories.

When there is disagreement, it takes a completely and annoyingly frivolous form – food. Tempers genuinely flare over the, “What’s for dinner?” and staying in as opposed to eating out quandary. The first query sounding innocent enough, my hackles now rise to be asked what I'm hungry for. Our initial problem lies in the fact that I often don’t care one iota what I eat. I’ve been known to say I wish my nutrition could be administered through an IV so that I didn’t have to stop writing.

Unfortunately, “I don’t care” isn’t an adequate answer no matter how many times it’s repeated as I’m forced to play “twenty questions”. Asking for a direct opinion in response earns me a quibbling, “It’s up to you.”

One evening, I replied to that by heating a package of frozen vegetables, the closest my interest comes to cooking these days. Instantly harangued and ultimately guilted into dining out, I did not much enjoy my meal or the company that night.

More recently, I received curt but ambiguous answer to my genuine desire for Thai cuisine. “I’m working.”

Perplexed, I said, “I don’t mean to be a pest and I’ll leave you alone to work, but what exactly does that mean?”

The reply was snapped readily over a slumped shoulder. Angrily slit eyes made me take a step back, mentally if not physically. “It means I’m working!”

“So, does that mean we’re staying in tonight?”

“Yes!”

On the way to the kitchen in order to stuff my face with the handiest leftovers, I grumbled, “Was that so fucking hard?”

For good measure, I shut my partner’s office door and cranked up some heavy Japanese rock.

Now I ask you, what trips your argument trigger? Inquiring minds want to know.

Thursday Thirteen ~ Delicious Scents

Thirteen fragrances that turn me on:

Carnations
Cardamom
Vanilla
Drakkar Noir
Patchouli
Sandalwood
Cedar
Ocean breezes
Half & Half Tobacco in the can
Pine
Barrel-aged rum
Lilacs
Mr. Bubble bubblebath

For the fun of it, on my Darla M. Sands blog you can find the opposing, obnoxious odors, here:

Darla M. Sands

Flash Fiction Friday ~ The Sky's the Limit

The Sky’s the Limit

“The usual?”

“Yeah. A half pound of the Swiss and the same of the honey ham, please. Medium slice is fine.”

I didn’t know anything about the young man behind the counter except that he worked part time and played guitar for a local heavy metal band. He’d told me after noticing the ubiquitous headphones clapped over my ears. He must have been half my age. Fortunately, I didn’t have a son to make that vulgar comparison and enjoyed an uncomplicated attraction to the kid. Amazed at our similar taste in music, he once jotted a note spelling out the title of a Norwegian black metal band he recommended. I’d been flattered, the band was good, and his pleasure at my later admission brightened my entire week.

“You can’t beat ham and cheese. Right, Karen?” Addressing my astonishment, he added, “That is your name.”

“Are you clairvoyant?”

“No, not psychic,” he refuted, laughing, “I cheated. I asked the checkout people. You’re here every Sunday, Karen. Someone was bound to remember from your credit card.”

Trying not to panic, I spoke from a gentler era, retorting, “Then you have me at a disadvantage, sir.”

“I’m sorry. My name’s Skyler,” the young man offered, catching on to my archaic inference impressively fast. “My friends call me Sky.”

“Nice to meet you, Sky. I like the name.”

“Thanks. I used to think it made me sound like a girl. Now I think it’s kind of cool. Different. You know? Like you.”

Never one to blush, I swallowed hard. Nobody would ever mistake him for a girl. Honest, friendly amusement twinkled in his dark chocolate eyes, the brow over the right showing the glint of silver. Piercings never tuned me on until I noted his. Eyebrow adornment and earrings made me wonder what metal might exist under the butcher’s apron and conservative, collared shirt.

Skyler didn’t move to fill my order and I became embarrassed by his scrutiny. My short skirt, probably too young for me, drew his eyes to my legs. I relied on their shapeliness to take notice from the few extra pounds about my waist.

“Your meat,” I stammered, trying to get him moving.

He didn’t snicker, much to his credit. If anything, he looked at me more intently.

I felt like a carefree girl instead of a middle aged, nine-to-five drone with a flailing marriage and a ranch-style house in the suburbs. Those periods of refreshment lingered after a chat with him, snippets of conversation in the time he took to run a deli slicer.

My mouth dried to a desert watching the muscles of his back through a layer of fabric. I imagined him swimming to get that body. Would he wear those ugly, huge shorts so popular at the local lake? I hoped not.

To my surprise, I found out a few days later. Thinking about Sky every day, fibbing when my husband inquired as to what was on my mind, I decided to call in sick and go for a swim. That intimate caress of water and the fantastic feeling of virtual flight through the current sent me out of the house early. I expected few people on the manmade beach, just the way I liked it. Later, swimming laps would be a battle against speed boat wake and splashing kids.

My theory turned out to be half right. The flocking hordes didn’t consist of humans, but scores of Canada geese. I headed the other direction and saw a sole sunbather stretching on a blanket as I topped a rise. I dropped my tote and choked noisily on my sour candy.

Skyler. He was naked.

I recognized him by the Asian dragon on his forearm, and stared as tapered fingers dragged a towel from his eyes. Probably hoping this interloper had not noticed his state of undress, he draped the fabric over his midsection and sat up.

Spiky black hair dripped water on a neck turned crimson with apparent mortification. Sensing my stare, he turned his head. A flash of annoyance faded instantly as those lips wrapped around a toothy smile.

“Karen!”

I grabbed the nylon tote dumped at my feet and turned, fishing out my phone to answer an imaginary call.

“Hello.” Desperately heading for the parking lot, I spoke as if to my laid-back employer. “What does it take to get a day off?” Sighing, I resigned, “Sure, I can be there in a half hour. I just need to go home and change my clothes, Jack.”

“Karen,” Sky spoke in my ear. “Your phone didn’t ring.”

“I had it on vibrate,” I fibbed, continuing to walk.

A damp hand closed over my upper arm. Shocked, I spun around. A green and gold serpent, the mythical Ouroboros, circled a navel centered by an emerald stud. One hand held the towel, drooping off his left hip where a mate to the blue dragon emerged, shimmering in the sun. Its scales of orange and red must have been a bitch to keep so bright. How often must they require touchups? He chuckled and I realized that my eyes failed to reach his face.

“I make you nervous.”

“No,” I lied. “Nice tattoos.”

“Thanks. You know, I don’t think you should ignore this serendipity. Come swim with me. I won’t bite – promise.”

Shit. I didn’t want to take off my outer beachwear and contrast myself with his youthfully slim perfection. I also didn’t want to leave. My wedding ring sat in a box at the house for the last several months, the honest excuse being that I didn’t want the germs that accumulate under the jewelry.

“I’m married, Sky.”

“Meaning you can’t swim with another man?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I have grapes,” he coaxed in a singsong voice. “Come on. They’re in your cart every time I see you. Have you had breakfast?”

I couldn’t believe this conversation. Shaking my head to indicate I'd not eaten, I let him take my hand. This had to be an elaborate joke.

“I should go.”

“No. You should relax. I’m not going to lie. I’ve often wondered what it would be like with an older woman. Then I met you. And now we’re here. It’s fate.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Tell me you haven’t thought about me the same way. Besides, my parents cheat on one another all the time and it saved their marriage.”

The one thing my husband stipulated when we started dating had been that any straying meant the end of us. Granted, that us no longer existed. I sometimes wondered why we bothered to stay together, chalking it up to laziness.

“Why are you doing this? You must have a string of girlfriends.”

“More boyfriends, actually. I’m bi.”

“Shit,” I swore involuntarily, feeling wobbly with an onslaught of arousal.

Letting go my hand, he stepped back with a brief grimace. Sky thought his lifestyle sickened me.

“You stay. I’ll go. Enjoy your swim.”

“No. It’s not what you think. Picturing you with another guy just gave me fantasy material for the rest of my life.”

“Seriously? I’m used to the other reaction, but I decided you should know up front. I get tested regularly and I’m clean.”

“This is a dream. Isn’t it?”

Encouraged by his chuckle, I let myself be led to where Skyler’s little cooler sat on the sand. Smart man, he owned a sturdy one with a snap closure. These geese were incorrigible thieves.

He sat with the towel covering him and patted the blanket. I sat, shells about the cowl neckline of my poncho-style swimsuit cover clicking while I settled on one hip, legs curled to the side.

“That’s a really cool robe. Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know anymore. It’s probably older than you.”

“Don’t talk like that. I’ll bet I’m older than you think.”

“Twenty-three?”

Snorting, he shook his head. Gelled peaks didn’t move on his head. Sky opened the cooler and drew out a tub of fruit. A neatly matched set held carrots and celery, perhaps some sort of dip.

“Sorry. I feel bad, now. I’m twenty-one. Not so long ago I got mistaken for seventeen.”

I didn’t mention that my garment was, indeed, older. Sky smiled and I no longer cared. Seventeen seemed an absurdly low guess, at least; I could smell his aftershave and knew that a hint of beard developed under that porcelain skin before his shift at the grocery store ended.

“So, are you going to college?”

“No,” he sternly announced, surprising me. “We are not having that kind of conversation. No boring talk about what my major is and what my plans are for the future. I have a better question.”

“Oh?”

“Will you let me feed you grapes mouth to mouth?”

“I shouldn’t…”

He didn’t let me finish. The juicy globes were delicious, made more so by his tongue pushing them between my lips. A thousand questions raced through my mind. Accusations might be the better word, in fact, yet I couldn’t stop my hands from drifting to his shoulders, slightly greasy with sunscreen.

When the grapes ran out, he frowned like a little boy. I didn’t mind. It gave me a chance to catch my breath and study Sky’s face.

“Are you real?”

“Yeah! I just like living life instead of wishing I’d seen the ocean or kissed a certain boy. Or girl,” he added, tilting his head.

“I guess you don’t mind a woman on the heavier side,” I judged, looking down my torso as he clucked disapproval. “What kind of boys do you like?”

“Ooh, now, that’s a good question. The idea really turns you on. Huh? Kissing you revved my engine, lady, no matter how hard you want to be on yourself. See?”

Lifting his towel, I saw a decidedly curved, narrow penis pointing toward his belly. No metal there, just stiff flesh. I dropped my hand from his shoulder and stroked his velvet skin tentatively. Sky’s night-dark eyes closed and opened as I released him. My bravado shocked me.

“Karen, can we go somewhere more private?” Licking his lips, he confessed, “I’ve been busted for indecent exposure here and don’t need to get into more trouble.”

Knowing agreement opened a door I could never properly close, I contended, “We can’t go to my house. My husband works from home. Where would you suggest? Do you live with your folks?”

Making a face as he nodded, he again reminded me of a little kid. He could have almost passed for seventeen with that wrinkled nose and pouty grimace.

“You probably think it’s pathetic.”

“Not if you’re happy. You want adventure, and working a fulltime job to pay the mortgage puts a definite damper on that.”

Sky leaned close, lips trapping mine sans fruit. He tasted sweeter than grapes and I hummed acclaim.

“It’s the pineapple juice,” he explained intuitively.

“What?”

“My last boyfriend taught me the trick of drinking a full glass of pineapple juice every day. It gets into your system and sweetens everything.”

“Everything,” my throat clicked upon echoing his remark.

“Everything,” Sky repeated, smiling lasciviously.

I feared for a moment I might swallow my tongue. Fighting the urge to lower him to the ground and find out right then and there how tasty Sky’s juice might be, I remembered a lodge in the last town on the way here. We’d best use condoms, anyway, and there just so happened to be a drug store next to the motel.

Huskily, I asked, “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t have one. I hitchhiked.”

“Sky! That’s not safe.”

“Yeah,” Skyler agreed casually. “Blow jobs have gotten me out of a few jams.”

Shaking my head, I cursed again. He just hooted, letting me in on the joke by pointing to an old motorcycle.

We were almost to my car by this time, the bike hidden by a dumpster. Inside a wide, leather saddlebag he exchanged the cooler for clothing and shoes. Sky tugged on a second skin of faded denim.

He stopped to pick a cigarette butt off the bottom of his bare soul, scuffed sneakers dangling from a hooked finger by ratty shoelaces. I vowed to get him into a shower before bed. Even as that wisdom came to mind I marveled at my nonchalant acceptance without stopping for any heavy soul searching.

Sky parked next to my car after following me to the town’s sole inn. Waving, he walked next door, having already offered to pick up some drugstore items. I went inside to secure a room. Not anticipating an argument with the hotel desk clerk, the morning hour never occurred to me as an obstacle. My patience proved much shorter than my funds.

“We’re tired from a long drive,” I storied. “Just bill me for last night and tonight. Will that do?”

She blinked at me, taken off guard by my generous solution. Then she nodded, stuttering, and I realized her speech impairment took the form of Skyler’s approach. He’d donned a ragged shirt advertising a brand of guitar amplifiers and the battered shoes without socks. A curiously hefty pharmacy bag dangled from his wrist. Sky looked like sex on a stick, scruffy apparel especially intriguing with the rock star hair.

“You don’t have the room yet, Karen? I’m dying for a bath. I bought bubble soap, too,” he announced, producing the item.

I eyed the bottle approvingly. This would be much better than a shower. Clacking my credit card on the counter, I rolled my eyes to indicate that I’d explain the delay later.

“That will be eighty - four dollars.”

In a stage whisper, Skyler asked, “For one night?”

“Don’t worry,” I advised. “I’ve got it covered.”

Somehow, we never got around to explanations. Sky insinuated himself in my arms the moment elevator doors closed. Tongue in my mouth, he ground slim hips against me so my knees quaked.

Sky’s hand found my waist and I denied my temptation to move his touch to somewhere less out-of-shape. He seemed to sense this, nonetheless.

Pulling back his head, he warned, “I won’t let some silly self-consciousness of yours ruin this. I’m going to love your body, in all the ways that matter.”

Then he cradled the back of my head from the hard wall and kissed me like no man before. Just the prior evening, my judgmental spouse announced that he couldn’t imagine having sex again until I lost weight. Skyler obviously didn’t share the opinion.

It took me three tries to manage the key card and open the door. Sky bumping into my backside distracted me, hair pulled aside so his lips could tickle sensitive nerves in my neck. He worked my fabric belt out of the knot and wrapped the cotton strip around his wrist evocatively.

In room 308, Sky’s shirt hit the floor while his shoe rolled to a stop in the closet against its mate. He unsnapped the bubble soap bottle and tossed the cotton belt on the bed. Pants unbuttoned, the tip of his erection showed naked above what I considered a very dangerous zipper.

“I’ll start a bath. Then I’m going to undress you, Karen. Why don’t you see if you can tune in a decent station?”

A part of me urged escape, to dart out the door. He didn’t give me the opportunity, spiky crown catching my wary eyes as he peered around the doorway.

“It’s awfully quiet in here. Why didn’t you turn on the radio?”

“Just a little stunned, I guess. I can do better than the radio.”

Letting my beach bag slide to the carpet, I bent down for the waterproof docking station for my music player. I quickly found the ideal playlist featuring suggestive lyrics and erotic drum beats.

“Cool toy. Now, come here.”

Slipping off my sandals, I walked to him dutifully. With the mostly open jeans showcasing his vitally alive form, I couldn’t resist.

Sky wasted no time in lifting off my white outer garment and tossing it over a luggage rack. A knuckle slipped under the shoulder strap of my one-piece suit. His other hand went to my side.

“You’re so warm,” Sky praised.

“You, too.”

“Not really. That’s one reason for the bath.”

“But your skin feels almost hot.”

“I run high, Karen. In truth, I should have worn a jacket on the bike. I’m practically frozen to the bone. Well, the internal ones,” he joked breathily, my cautious grip holding him and opening his zipper the rest of the way.

Without warning, Sky’s right index finger twisted the elastic nylon and shifted my shoulder strap over far enough to expose the uppermost swell of breast. Left hand fingertips brushed the skin and I tossed my head back. I breathed deep his compliments between almost suffocating kisses.

He swayed me in an intimate dance backward to the bathroom. Along the way, he somehow peeled off my swimsuit and his jeans before we stepped into the tub. His hands washed me and himself with languid caresses. Bubbles and heat and Skyler proved to be a dizzying combination. He helped me stand for a quick rinse under the shower spray.

Somehow, his hair stayed the same while mine wilted in the steam. I made a foggy mental note to ask what brand styling products he used, forgetting immediately as he ran his fingers over my scalp and a few hoarse words praised the softness of my locks.

I squeaked when he lifted me. In five steps, Sky arrived at the bed and dropped me on the comforter.

“I want you. Now. Enough foreplay.”

Incisors sparkling in the gloom, his teeth tore open a foil packet. The latex rolled over his length one moment and then his body fitted overtop mine on the mattress. Feeling the lubrication of the rubber, I took his hand to show how readily my own moisture accumulated. He groaned and slid his fingers between my legs repeatedly, torturous as cunnilingus without penetration.

“Please, don’t make me wait. I want to feel you inside me, Sky.”

“Guide me in.”

Unable to keep my eyes open, I let my hands explore as we moved together. His ink looked so alive in the morning sunshine that I expected the pictures to have a texture. Almost startled that they felt as silky smooth as the rest of his skin, I found Sky’s words even more shocking.

“Let’s go to the balcony. I want the world to see how beautiful you are.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Maybe. I also want to stop briefly so I can make this last. You don’t have anywhere you need to be. Do you?”

“Yes, Sky. Right here. I needed this so badly,” I slurred drunkenly.

“Need-ed? Karen, honey, we’ve barely started.”

“Oh, good. No exhibitionism, though. Okay? You seeing me is about all I can handle at this point.”

“I wish you’d stop talking like that. It’s probably wise to give it a skip, though. Eh? This is a major intersection. Let’s go to the bathroom.”

“Bathroom?”

“Yeah. There’s a really big mirror in there and a countertop where I can take you standing up.”

Only ever imagining sex on any surface other than a bed with my unadventurous spouse, I readily agreed. Sky treated me like a precious possession, sitting me down on towels arranged for my comfort.

The narrow room allowed me to leverage the balls of my feet up high, legs relaxed. I liked the way he watched us joining together. That probably triggered my orgasm as much as the sensation of his body meeting mine and pulling back slowly, maintaining the barest entry until his rhythm started into me again.

Only countless minutes and several used condoms later did we talk in more than grunts and moans. I needed to get home. He had a private guitar lesson.

“It pays my car insurance and gets me out of the house. What I make at the store is being saved for that boring future I don’t want to talk about.”

“Then we don’t have to. But sign me up for weekly lessons.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. We’ll arrange to meet somewhere. I might even bring a guitar,” I teased.

“I’d like that.”

My husband wouldn’t. I needed to make a momentous confession when I got home. Rather than fearful, a future without that scowling critic suddenly opened endless possibilities to my imagination.

~the end~

Flash Fiction Friday

Come on over for a short read to celebrate the start of the weekend. I hope you enjoy!

Darla M. Sands

Thursday Thirteen ~ Joys of Summer

Today, local temperatures are predicted to be eighty degrees Fahrenheit, an unseasonable heat wave. This inspired me to celebrate the coming of summer. I don’t particularly care for hot weather save one bonus – half-naked men.

As little as a bare arm hanging out of an open pickup window has been known to nearly send me off the road. Here are specific descriptions of my favorite male body parts.

1. Nose - inexplicably, I adore one with character, often translated as a hawk-like Romanesque proboscis

2. Neck - long, preferably under a well-kept cascade of hair

3. Hands – broad, slender, rough, smooth, as long as his knuckles aren’t hairy I like to imagine how they might feel

4. Arms – see above, changing “hairy” to “excessively hirsute”

5. Feet – here, it’s all about slim appendages, especially bared above a ragged denim hem or neatly cuffed suit pants

6. Tummy - that span on a flat-bellied young man between his navel and the waistband of his shorts, especially the denim cutoffs I sadly never see anymore

7. Lips – make them shapely, moist, and parted to emit incoherent sounds of pleasure

8. Shoulders – smooth and not obscenely broad, think runner instead of linebacker

9. Voice – mellifluous, never loud and definitely not overused; an accent is nice but not necessary and, for that matter, English speaking is optional

10. Legs – long and lean with a dusting of hair

11. Back – scars and tattoos can be interesting to contemplate, hairless is a must

12. Chest – I’ve admittedly become a convert to the waxed, metro-sexual look; it’s nice to think of a guy taking time to groom himself, or perhaps needing a little help

13. Ass – I had to mention this, though all I want to picture at the moment is an Asian male in sweet repose with a sheet barely covering his slender curves and that tauntingly shadowed cleft (Thanks again, Dilo)