Archive for the ‘and all who sail in her’ Category

Suzanne Portnoy recently acquired a Kindle and rather fell in love with the format. She’s asked a few of her favorite sex bloggers to contribute to a new erotic magazine she edits, available on only by subscription on Kindle. I’m among the contributors, who include some really fine smutmongers. Here are the details:

SexBlogyssey is a Kindle-only compilation of the best erotic blogging, bringing together smart, smutty writing from both sides of the Atlantic. Our contributors write about real experiences and their real lives, with a little fantasy/fiction thrown into the mix. We regularly publish new material, drawing on both new writing and the archives of our contributing bloggers.

SexBlogyssey was created by Suzanne Portnoy, author of a popular but now-retired blog describing her double life as a middle-aged single mother and entertainment publicist with a lively swinging lifestyle on the side. Other contributors include Jefferson, Bad Influence Girl, Joanne Cake, Todger Talk, Kitty Stryker, Mon Mouth, Elegant Slut, among others.

You can purchase a subscription here.

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I take a break from describing my rampant and flourishing love life to talk about my real life.

Not that my love life is not my real life, you understand. It is.

But even for the most sex-kittenish and elegant of Elegant Sluts, the world goes pear-shaped once in a while. Tempers fray, nerves frazzle. Things go generally horribly horribly wrong. Pre-menstrual stress becomes pre-menstrual raging Godzilla, fire-breathing and everything.

It’s quite a spectacle. 

I am the first to admit that i have neurotic tendencies — for which I devoutly and frequently thank my dear not-quite-sainted mother — and this, naturellement, does not help matters.

Few see me when i get this way. Mostly because i don’t let them. Chinks in my armour are not things I’d want to display to the faint of heart. Not pretty. Besides, even if i allow said chinks to be visible, rare is the person who can perceive them for what they really are, and more importantly, from where they originate.

Rare… but not extinct.


He takes his hand and places it over my heart. Not a boob grab — although god knows, it wouldn’t have been the first time if it had been. He takes his comforting warm hand and lays it on me, and looks deep into my eyes.

“Do you feel that? The warmth? The calming effect?”

I look up at him, drinking in the sight of how his eyes still twinkle, despite the seriousness underlying his intentions. Noting the love within them, and — yes, still, even after hours of togetherness — a healthy hint of lust. I love looking at him. The image of how he appears when he looks down at me that way is imprinted on my brain…

“I feel it, yes.”

“Remember it. Remember how it feels. Internalize the feeling, and recall it when you feel the iceberg rise in your chest. The warmth will help melt the ice.”

I swallow the moment deep into myself, and vow intently to try to remember this, despite my atrocious memory.


My day is over, and i sit back and finally relax. Tears of suppressed frustration, combined with tears of relief at the surrounding silence overwhelm me and slide down my cheeks.

I remember his hand, and I am calm.

Not extinct indeed.

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