Slipping his fingers into my wet and wanting sex,  he pulls aside my apron from behind as my ass lifts a little higher. I’m leaning over the kitchen sink. He has three fingers buried deep into my pussy; my lips are swollen with a delicious melting sensation. More. The bottle of gourmet olive oil. He spies it on the counter and reaches for it. Pressing his arousal hotly against my bare behind, he pours some of the oil into one hand and slathers my bottom up with it. The delicate perfume of olives fills the kitchen in the heat of the day. With the slippery olive oil he deftly presses his thumb— his one thumb that is wide and slightly flattened– slowly against the tender entrance of my ass. Pushing gently inside, it sinks in slow. His fingers work themselves deeper into my pussy. Deeper. He’s got a way of doing this where I can only surrender to the pleasure. I want his hardening cock inside of me too, but his hands are causing me to vibrate with excitement. I can’t think of anything else. He takes his other hand and, with the long tips of his index and second finger, circles my clit in light, little motions. He flutters his fingers back and forth, lightly, the way he taps an eggshell against a bowl. He pinches my clit and plays with it like sprinkling spices into a pot. The ache of his three fingers in my pussy and the girth of his thumb inside my ass is exquisite. I want him so much that my whole body responds to him like a pot of boiling water, simmering and rolling into heat. He has full control of my body with his hand. He kneels down on the kitchen floor, burying his face in between my legs. His hot mouth is tonguing my pussy, trailing his kiss up, spreading my cheeks open, licking, tasting. I moan with desire, clutching the Formica countertop. Being in the kitchen with him couldn’t get any hotter. His fingers stir me into a froth of lust.

When we are at dinner in a restaurant, sitting side by side, he trails his hand to my thigh, delving downward in between my legs. His fingers tempt me under the dinner table, coaxing the edge of my panties aside, teasing, just until my body bubbles with desire, so close to climax. He smiles mischievously, observing my response. He drinks his wine coolly, watches me with a sideways glance, as I try to not to show anything in my expression. He’s sly and just a bit naughty. Other diners at surrounding tables might notice. Sometimes I just don’t care, it’s so good, what he does to me with his hands.

His hands. Looking upon the shape of them sends shivers of longing through me, sensations I cannot describe. There aren’t any words that can explain the way they undo me, bit by bit, like sugar dissolving.

I watch him peel shrimp in the kitchen. He’s holding the knife steady, his index finger is pressed against the outer part of the blade. With precision, he deftly cuts along the spine of the shrimp, pink and quivering in his grip. I understand how that shrimp feels, much like the way I am when in his command. At the wooden cutting block, he conducts with his chef’s knife— he’s finely chopping fresh wide leaves of mint, frilly clumps of cilantro, his fingers nimbly mincing the green leaves into submission. He scoops the herbs into a bowl as I watch, enthralled by the way his hands take such loving care with what he is making. The watermelon and cucumber, all cubed and ready, shimmer with watery urgency. His long fingers casually shimmy among them, dipping into the bowl, tossing and dressing it with a squeeze of lime. The juice spurts into the bowl. He squeezes the lime until its pulp feathers and separates from the green rind. I notice the juice covering his fingernails, tips of his fingers, palm of his hand. It smells good and citrussy. He pulls me close and kisses me. I smell fragrant mint and juicy lime on his fingers as he touches my face. Then he’s back to preparing our meal. I delight in watching him drizzle olive oil into another bowl; stirring the dressing with the stainless whisk. He slices corn off the cob. While I stand there, barefoot in my sundress, watching him like a little girl, he smiles the faintest hint of a smile. He knows I am melting inside down to the marrow with want. My body is responding from the buttery center of my rising lust, a soufflé of creamy desire.

He sets the two dishes down on the dining table. Just a simple dish: shrimp in a dressing of olive oil, lime, honey, mint, cilantro, corn, watermelon and cucumber— the fragrance and sweetness, the pleasure. He caresses my thigh with one hand as I taste a mouthful of his creation, and suddenly, from the very core of my body, I am shuddering with some kind of mysterious reaction to the meal made aphrodisiac by his hands. I am melting with tenderness. I am noticing how he holds his fork. His index finger points into the silver handle of the fork, controlling its motion. My thoughts are percolating, the agitation in my body won’t stop. His other hand is warm and smooth against my thigh. I am shaking; my knees are gelatinous and unable to hold still. He slides his hand softly along my leg. My mouth is full of watermelon and shrimp, and I can’t stop giggling. I am so moved I want to cry from the joy. Another kind of orgasm, one coming from the depths of me, ripples from within, and all I can do is surrender to it. His eyes gleam at me like champagne glasses as he gives a fizzy smile. We eat from our dishes, and I taste slowly, savoring each mouthful. The heat of his hand and the way he made our dinner is whipping up some unknown place inside my body. A kiss with flavors of watermelon, olive oil, honey and mint on our tongues, the sea-sweetness of the pink fresh shrimp, the tang of pleasure.

Later, again, after the food, in the kitchen, his hands hug my hips close. We embrace. The warmth of his palms travels up my body, wraps in and cups around my breasts, kissing. He holds my face in his hands. The faint scent of herbs, like a magic spell from his fingertips, intoxicates me with its summery bouquet. He gazes into my eyes. I am trembling. I’m in love.

I have much to thank Violet Blue for, as she is truly a gifted sex blogger. I admire her for her style, and it is because of Violet that I discovered Cafe Glow. Thank you, Violet, for being my sex blogging muse extraordinaire.

This video of Tatiana in Ravishing is one that captured my attention as I perused the many videos made by Cafe Glow. It reminds me of the sexiness that I was surrounded by when I was a nude dancer. One of the pleasures of being a nude dancer was watching other women onstage. This video, somehow, captures that feeling for me.

>>> Tatiana in Ravishing [vignette] from CafeGlow on Vimeo <<<

Cafe Glow is artistic and exotic. I love the composition of colors and music that compliments each woman’s sensuous movement. They have Grey films, Bleu films, and Red films. Each color describes the content and temperature of the mood.

I also loved the Qream video (Kortney Kane) and Cafe Glow’s hot and erotic Tumblr blog. Here is the link for that creamy beauty in the QREAM video that’s sure to make you want to lick up some cream or make you cream, either way.

I love the visual of a woman drenched in cream… something so marvelously delicious about it.

And there’s the film noir style… Brenna in Don’t Explain…

Brenna in Don’t Explain by CafeGlow.com

(music by Billy Holiday)

Erotic … Kimama

Kimama [preview] from CafeGlow on Vimeo.

A preview of Kimama by CafeGlow.com/glow

&

Sensual… Deseo

Deseo by CafeGlow [trailer] from CafeGlow on Vimeo.

Deseo by CafeGlow

I’m drawn to her sensuality. Like a dreamy angel, her skin is opalescent, glowing with the kind of light that comes from translucent clouds filtering the sun, candles within a lantern. There is something within her that burns bright. The facade, external beauty, yet within, her mind, her soul, burns a heavenly blaze that roils in the dark sky. Sovereign Syre: ‘a different kind of sex doll’ is a tag phrase mentioned on her blog : Sans Jupe: Diary of an Erotic Model.

Her gaze into the camera, similar to Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring, invites the admirer. Yet, what stands out most of all is her mind. She’s quite an intelligent brain, and I would like to share a post from her blog, titled Marilyn:

Marilyn

There was a time when dirt and hormones covered me in a sticky film, so thick I could scrape a trail down my arm, and see my adolescence compacted into a single black arc under my fingernail. When I was thirteen the heat of my cheek withered the grass and I could press my ear into the darkness and hear the world turning on the axis of my atoms. June bugs hissed in the humid folds of my dark blond hair, dragonflies rolled their tongues along the brackish crevices of my knees. The back door creaked and framed my father like a dark knight, the sun beating his retreating silhouette into the pits of my eyes with trailing bullets of color. The wind blew the leaves together in muted applause when I rose up and pushed the bodice of my dress taught over my swollen breasts, knotted with the fibrous lumps of puberty. The neighborhood boys walked past the back gate and rolled their damp eyes over the curve of my back. The pucker of her hard lips pressed my back flat into my bed, the short bursts of their breath spread my thighs in rhythmic worship. There was a time when I spilled out of my dress like an overripe fruit tree, onto the slick pages of magazines and left behind a legacy of sticky fumbling in gas station bathrooms. Words came out of my mouth light as spun sugar, dissolving on the pillows of starry eyed orphans. I came down like an incubus on dark haired soft bellied little girls, coaxing fingers down their throats, and teaching them to turn away from their mothers ashamed. I spent so many years crouched in dark hotel rooms chasing flashes of armor across mens faces that I forgot how the slope of my own nose looked. I woke up thirty years old afraid to look in the mirror distorting me now like a body of water, bloated and blanched and floating. Lines ran down my face the echoes of hidden frowns, tears cast into the corner where no one could look. Age walled me up like an anchoress, counting pills like days, from memory, slowly hardening loneliness. The years bring me grubby fingered minions afraid the world will forget,nailing my picture to the weeping willow overhead, lips spread, arms open. Girls tucked neatly into white cotton panties wet their tender lips with crimson lipstick, and suckled on the pink marble nipple of my grave, until their affection eroded it into the coarse teat of a bitch. In the white silence, the tuning fork of death strikes the earth and shakes loose the pollen. I can hear the morning dew quiver of the web, the roping steps of the spider on the leaf. What you can’t hear. What you can’t know.

 Sovereign wrote this piece when she was 18. She says: “My English professor suggested I write a poem about what I thought it meant to be beautiful.  We started talking about Marilyn Monroe.  Like most poems that you end up liking, I wrote in about ten minutes.  It’s early and full of all the mistakes that come with doing something for the first time, but I’m fond of it, because it was the first thing I published.”

In the photographs featured from a recent photo shoot with Holly Randall, she is depicted as an urban angel with wings. Yes, she is lovely. Smoldering. Sensual gaze, reminiscent of Sophia Loren. But what I would like to see more of is her writing.  She and her beau have their website Darling House.

Happy July the 5th… I am creating some new articles for a few publications and for both blogs (Erotica du Jour and The Sensual Foodie) Plus, there have been so many things going on in my private life. My son is in baseball camp as well as ‘all stars’ league, so lots of baseball mom action: making sure he has enough water, food and rest, basically. And doing laundry. Constantly laundry. Then, my two younger girls are, well, young girls. They wake up early and refuse to go to bed (so I can write). But, I have perfected the art of banana pancakes recently, which is no small feat. Yes, I have finally mastered the ‘fluffy pancake secret’. Add bananas to that, and you have very fluffy, delicious banana pancakes. And, I have attempted to go to bed early(er) and get up early(er) although I do hit the snooze button quite often. Despite my snooze button fetish, I have promised myself that I would get into great shape this summer. Yet, waking up early for a walk/run on the beach has happened once this past week. I had hoped to do it every day, but when I don’t get to bed early enough, well, I do need my beauty rest. I weigh out the positives while I hit the snooze button. More sleep (beauty), or more exercise (fitness)? Or, more articles to post (intellectualism)? So, I hope to catch up with creating fresh and interesting articles for my love child Erotica du Jour. In an effort to make this a dynamic and sexy blog, I decided to create two new categories for your pleasure:

• Exciting News (updating you on Erotica du Jour’s ‘behind the pages’ happenings in between article posts)
• Goddess du Jour (a new “goddess” will be posted every Wednesday)

Kisses, Butterfly

If you love food, and lust over women like Nigella Lawson in the kitchen, then check out my new foodie blog, The Sensual Foodie… just click on the picture of me above covered in body sushi a la Nyotaimori, the Japanese erotic food art 女体盛り

The first food I remember tasting and feeling an overwhelming sense of pleasure  from was rice pudding. It was evening when my grandparents arrived home from a dinner out, and they thought to bring a pint of rice pudding home. I may have been about six or seven at the time. The container was treated as a magical vessel, the way my grandfather spooned the pudding out into a small bowl for my dessert. Plump raisins speckled the pudding among the creamy rice, scent of cinnamon and vanilla. The raisins burst in my mouth with juicy surprise, and the heavy cream, so voluptuous and decadent on my tongue. Such sensuality was intensely memorable, particularly at such a young age.

Rice pudding was my first sensual food experience, and then there was the bowl of fresh strawberries, chopped up and swirled into sour cream with heaping amounts of brown sugar. Such were the beginnings of my culinary taste buds. As a girl, one with wonder about magic potions, and spells cast by witches and wizards in fairy tales, the idea of an aphrodisiac captivated me.

The potion that makes one fall in love seemed the most appealing. Whether it was made by a witch or concocted in the kitchen, that concept of creating something to evoke a strong desire, and love. Inspiration and seduction, the spell cast by pots and pans, by stirring exotic spices into a pot of soup, or blending a secret ingredient into your amour’s drink, the outcome would be unbridled pleasure.

The desire for pleasure is something that is deeply embedded in human longing. We seek out pleasure in food, drink, and love. There are many aspects to pleasure, of course, from having our hair washed at the salon,  feeling the warm sun on our skin, stretching our body out in a comfortable bed after a good sleep, to making love, perhaps, in that morning or any other moment, and tasting something we truly enjoy. The idea of food as a magical substance that enhances our desires, that makes our love interest want us intensely, that inspires lovers to greater moments of passion, is an idea that has existed for centuries.

In New Orleans I knew a Voudou Priestess who had a little shop (botanica) where she gave tarot readings and dispensed love potions, spells, candles, and magical oils to her believers. I danced on Bayou St. John in celebration of the famous New Orleans Voudou Queen, Marie Laveau’s birthday. Erzulie was honored into the sacred space for the ceremony. Erzulie is the Voudou goddess of love, romance, art, passion and sex. Beauty and love are her creations. People came in seeking help with their love life. The Voudou “orisha” or “goddess” Erzulie is their version of Aphrodite, and she is called upon for love spells in particular.

The word “aphrodisiac” derives from the Goddess of Love and Sex, Aphrodite. She herself was born of the sea, emerging on a clam shell, created from sea foam. The “clam shell” has vaginal suggestions, and the sea, amniotic fluid, birthing from ‘sea foam’, which makes one think of semen. At least I think of semen when imagining sea foam.

Oysters are a known aphrodisiac, and the shells that glimmer with their opalescent promises of sexual stamina and male virility. Perhaps, then, sea cucumbers and geoducks might suffice for an obvious male aphrodisiac? Why oysters, with their feminine sexual offerings? But time has given meaning to these myths of aphrodisiacal qualities, and we don’t question the powers of the mysterious rites of sex.

Abalone, acai berry, apples, apricots, and even arugula are thought of as “aphrodisiacs”. Asparagus with its phallic spear, Avocado with its feminine vulva and center (pit) like a womb of green fecundity. Bananas are all too suggestive when eating. Basil was a Roman symbol of love. Champagne, bubbling and effervescent, inspires delight and tastes of romance, celebration. Yes, chocolate, for a multitude of reasons, is considered an aphrodisiac, without any doubt its mood-enhancing power is scientifically proven. Cherries are juicy and red, sensual to suck on, bite, turn the pit around in one’s mouth.

• Almonds a symbol of fertility throughout history. The fragrance is believed to inspire a woman’s passion.
• Anise According to Greek and Roman history, sucking on anise seed stimulates desire.
• Arugula Since the early ages, arugula and pistachio are known aphrodisiacs.
  
• Asparagus An aphrodisiac because of its phallic shape.
• Avocado The Aztecs believed avocado was a symbol of sexuality.
  
• Bananas One glance at a phallic banana, and you know why. Also rich in potassium and vitamin B which help hormone production.
• Basil Basil is said to increase libido and fertility.
  
• Beetroot: With its passionate red color, beetroot is a rich source of the mineral boron which helps produce sex hormones.
• Carrots: Men who wan a stronger libido should add carrots to their diet.
  
• Cayenne pepper: This fiery spice is known to heat the sexual drive.
  
• Chili peppers: Eating these causes the release of endorphins which are natural painkillers, and also cause the same high as extreme physical exertion. Chili peppers increase heart rate, which quickens the pulse and makes for an exciting evening.
• Champagne: A symbol of celebration, because of champagne’s tiny bubbles, the intoxicating effect of the wine is carried more quickly into the blood stream. The aromas of dry champagnes are also said to replicate the scents of female pheromones.
• Cherries: A classic symbol of love, cherries’ rich red color and burst of performance-enhancing nutrients make this a perfect fruit to have on hand for a romantic evening. Certain cherries are believed to stimulate pheromone production.
• Chocolate/cacao: The Aztecs referred to chocolate as “food of the Gods”. Chocolate contains the aphrodisiac phenyl ethylamine, which releases the same hormone as sex. It also contains the feel-good hormone serotonin and caffeine to race things up. It has more antioxidants than red wine. To really inspire your passion, you can have chocolate and red wine together.
  
• Cranberries: These little crimson berries are full of vitamin C and fiber to keep you feeling frisky.
• Garlic: The ‘heat’ in garlic is said to stir sexual desires. Used as an aphrodisiac since the Egyptians, the Romans consecrated it to Ceres, the goddess of fertility.
  
• Nutmeg: Nutmeg was highly prized by Chinese women as an aphrodisiac and Hindus used it to raise body heat and sweeten breath. In general, it evokes the warmth and comfort of home. Dangerous in large quantity as nutmeg can produce a hallucinogenic effect and health hazards. Just use it sparingly.
• Nuts: Nuts are packed with protein and a healthy source of fat, which helps produce testosterone. Nuts are cholesterol free – the perfect natural aphrodisiac.
• Pomegranate: A bright, passionate red, the pomegranate’s color suggests desire. Pomegranates were a symbol of Aphrodite. In ancient Middle Eastern cultures, this aphrodisiac fruit’s many seeds were considered a visual symbol of virility. The fruit was even recommended as a natural aphrodisiac in the Kama Sutra.
• Raspberries and strawberries: Both of these little fruits are called ‘fruit nipples’ in erotic literature and are perfect for hand feeding your lover. Strawberries were considered an aphrodisiac in ancient Rome, where they were a symbol of Venus.
• Tomatoes: Once banned by the Catholics for fear it would evoke lust in the young members of its church, the tomato was nick-named the ‘love apple’ when it arrived in Europe from South America. With its bright red color, soft flesh and sweet yet tangy flavor, maybe the tomato isn’t so innocent after all.
• Vanilla: Its power is in its aroma – before vanilla can hit the tongue, the hypothalamus, the gland that controls memory and emotion, jumps into action, evoking feelings connected with vanilla’s powerful scent. Both the scent and flavor of vanilla is believed to increase lust.

One key aphrodisiac: Cinnamon.

Cinnamon, the scent, beguiling for men in particular, and used in the greatest aphrodisiac scents: pumpkin pie and cinnamon buns.

At the top of “sexy smells” according to recent studies was both pumpkin pie and cinnamon buns. Yes, baking a pumpkin pie could be considered seduction.Want to spice up your sex life? Make homemade cinnamon buns.

There are fabulous resources available for aphrodisiac seekers like myself— one of the best books on the subject of “hunger and the psyche” is Bunny Crumpacker’s book “The Sex Life of Food” — this is my favorite book to bring along when dining alone. Imagine the curious looks I get from other diners when they observe me reading this at the table.

There is a wonderful book by Amy Reiley and Juan-Carlos Cruz called The Love Diet :

“A lifestyle plan for a healthy sex life for life, The Love Diet shares ingredients and recipes known to sustain a healthy libido as well as promote energy, mood, glowing skin and cardiovascular health.

The Love Diet is not a starvation program or crazy fad. No one food is off-limits on our plan. We just help readers understand how to reduce unhealthy ingredients and pack the diet with desired nutrients and more sustainable ingredients at the same time as delivering sensual textures and taste bud tittlating flavors.”

Figs are also an aphrodisiac. A symbol of a woman’s sex, figs are sensual, exotic.

Explore some aphrodisiacs, enjoy with your lover, or inspire yourself in the kitchen. Aphrodisiacs don’t need to apply to just romance, they can also uplift our mood, giving us a sensual experience of life and living. Create recipes using figs and other aphrodisiacs that appeal to you.

Papayas are also amazing for one’s sexual health: papaya has compounds that act as the female hormone estrogen. It has been used as a folk remedy in promoting menstruation and milk production, facilitating childbirth and increasing the female libido.

But in Guatemala, men eat papayas as an aphrodisiac. Aside from all the sexual reasons, papaya is incredibly good for our health: The milky juice that comes out from unripe papaya fruit is a good digestive aid. It stimulates the secretion of gastric juice, and is used in cases of stomach discomfort like dyspepsia. Commonly used as a cooking ingredient. the unripe or green papaya also has a digestive enzyme called papain which tenderizes meat. Papain is also used as a digestive aid and is said to have anti-inflammatory benefits.

Being healthy is sexy. We feel sexier when we are healthy also. And cooking for our lover can be an adventure, gathering the “magical” ingredients to woo our beloved, taking the time and putting love into what we make. Like Water For Chocolate is a favorite film of mine based on the novel by Laura Esquivel. My favorite scene is when Tita makes her famous “aphrodisiac” dinner of quail in rose petal sauce:

“Tita’s strong emotions become infused into her cooking and she unintentionally begins to affect the people around her through the food she prepares. After one particularly rich meal of quail in rose petal sauce flavored with Tita’s erotic thoughts of Pedro, Tita’s older sister Gertrudis becomes inflamed with lust and leaves the ranch making ravenous love with a revolutionary soldier on the back of a horse before being dumped in a brothel and subsequently disowned by her mother.”

Another book that inspires is by Isabel Allende: Aphrodite: A Memoir of the Senses—- “In this bawdy memoir-cum-cookbook, Allende has put together an apothecary of aphrodisiacs, from snake’s blood and rhinoceros horn to the more commonplace and more palatable oysters, “those seductive tears of the sea, which lend themselves to slipping from mouth to mouth like a prolonged kiss … can be purchased in bottles, but there they look like malignant tumors; in contrast, moist and turgid in their shells they suggest delicate vulvae–a prime example of food that appeals to the eye.”

“If cookbooks make up part of your library,” Allende notes, “books on eroticism should, too.”

Love magic and spells are part of ancient history.

“Eros spells” were mainly practiced by men and prostitutes in Ancient Greece. Eros spells were used to instill lust and passion into women, leading them to fulfill the man who invoked the spell.

“Love magic” was also practiced during the Renaissance period (14th to 17th centuries) and was both Christian and Pagan. It was taken quite seriously and sometimes hidden in pseudo-religious acts of candle lighting and prayer. It was also cast upon those of wealth and status, and used carefully due to the social and physical dangers involved in casting “love spells” during the Renaissance of Europe.

Tristan and Isolde is a tale that involves a “love elixir”: After defeating the Irish knight Morholt, Tristan travels to Ireland to bring back the fair Iseult for his uncle King Mark to marry. Along the way, they drink a love potion that causes the pair to fall madly in love. The story is told in many ways, and the effects of love elixir vary from tale to tale.

There was a chef I once was completely enamored with. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. A handsome, strong, tall Korean man with a sweet disposition, very shy, and a talented sushi chef. I dined at his restaurant just to eat whatever he decided to make for me. Being vegetarian, perhaps this illustrates my desire. I ate any kind of sushi, sashimi, and anything else he conjured. It was exquisite, the mystery. He served me at my table, rather than at a “sushi bar”. Kneeling at my eye level before my table, he looked at me with his penetrating eyes, and softly asked me, “What would you like tonight?” My answer could have been lusty and direct, but that would have ruined the magic. He flirted with me through food. It was as delicate as his sweet shrimp and baby lobster roll, as luxurious as his creamy sauces.

I will never forget the rainy night when I entered the warm candlelit interior of the restaurant, damp with rain. I was hungry. I had just spent several hours in my Japanese language class, and drove across the city, stomach grumbling, dizzy with hunger. The restaurant was quiet that night. Just the few waitstaff, the bartender, and me at my table. I was alone with my chef. I could see him from my table through the open space of the kitchen, in his indigo dyed yukata, his broad shoulders, his head wrapped with the same color “hachimaki” (head bandana). His face was illuminated by the indigo dyed fabric, smiling at me from the kitchen. He came out and asked me if I was especially hungry. Of course I was about to faint.  Swooning. He said, “I know just what to make for you.”

As he bustled around the kitchen, he was a magician. There was something unusual going on. The sound of the rain, droplets on the windows sparkling with the lights from neon signs, the busy street, the interior candles. glimmering. The sounds of clanging pans and stainless steel bowls. He was not wrapping rolls or cutting fish, but using the stove. I noticed the shape of his body far off in the kitchen, doing something with a pan.

He returned with a plate of the most fragile lacy crepes, pahjun, or “pajeon”, made with scallions and other julienned vegetables inside a warm thin pancake. They are also known as authentic Korean “boochoo jun” (chive pancake). They arrived by his hands before me, the glorious scent, his hands near me, our eyes met over the dish, his gaze spiced with heat. He explained that I use my hands, gesturing to my hands, a slight touch to my skin, and his fingers to his luscious mouth, he said, “just dip and eat.”

The pajeon came with a dipping sauce that was fragrant and sweet— he had made it himself. He told me it had ginger, sesame, garlic. Something sweet also. Love? Desire?

An unforgettable aphrodisiac dinner, and the memory of that rainy night.

Oh *sigh*, I am missing out on Dita Von Teese’s burlesque performance tonight. She’s at the Roxy here in Los Angeles and I did not, silly me, buy tickets. It’s sold out. But I can celebrate this Vixen du Jour, the Cointreauversial Goddess and Margadita extraordinaire lady of burlesque, Perrier lady, corsetted beauty of glittering bodices and high heels.

Last I saw Dita was a number of years ago, when she performed in Downtown Los Angeles, with Catherine D’lish. (I think it was at the Orpheum Theatre, and forgive me if I’m mistaken).

She is truly a glamourous beauty du jour, and carries herself with such elegance. Tonight, her last show in Los Angeles, at The Roxy Theatre, performing/starring in Strip Strip Hooray.

As a former burlesque dancer (myself) and in the same style, Dita inspires me to put back on my dancing heels (it’s never too late although I’m two years older than she). Yes, I have contemplated the possibility of getting back on that stage, just for fun, but for my own self-inflicted doubts and the passage of time, birthing three children and all that does to the body. Corsets help, however. Along with a little champagne and a good sense of humor.

What I loved most about the burlesque show I saw and loved way back in the summer of 2006 (perhaps?) –I count back years by the number of children I have had, and remember (like a mama) it was the summer, when my second child was a baby, and gosh darn it I cannot dredge the information out of the Google search engine, so forgive my vagueries– but— (deep breath) as I was saying, my favorite act was Dita and Catherine D’lish in the dueling martini glasses finale.

Dita Von Teese burlesque show

I love Dita Von Teese for her graceful beauty, her glamour, her spirit, and for being the burlesque goddess that she is. What a dame! What a vixen! Va-va-voom. Dita.

Cinema Erotique

A uniquely sexy website that displays beautiful, all-natural women having delicious sex. I’m so excited to have discovered this. You will be too.

Sexy, sensual, artistic, erotic. 100% Unique and Natural. Intelligent. Not your every day porn (thankfully). Erotic stories, quality photos, and unique, explicit films directed by UK born director Cherry Chapman. She does a brilliant job at displaying real erotic moments.

Beautiful, real girls, filmed with professional high def cameras, proper lighting and sound. Cinema Erotique offers up a collection of erotic feature films with a focus on plot and character development.

I have had a difficult time finding any information about director Cherry Chapman, however. All I could find out was that she was born in 1951, in the UK, studied at Eastern European Film School. She is a recluse, secretive (that explains the lack of information about Cherry), loves cinema and the erotic.

I did discover this quote by Cherry Chapman from www.oystersandchocolate.com :

“We started CINEMA EROTIQUE as we thought Porn was so un-sexy. I just don’t get it. What is so sexy about just watching people fuck?  And yet just a smile or a girl dancing can be so erotic. It is in the head, the imagination and this can be created with a bit of intelligence and creativity. We want to use all the resources at our disposal to create the most erotic films possible. Ideas, beautiful women and men, sets, lighting and good sound…”

I cannot wait to explore Cinema Erotique. Just delish!

Beautiful Agony… the unabashedly sexy website that exhibits thousands of real people having real orgasms.

Beautiful Agony is dedicated to the beauty of human orgasm. This may be the most erotic thing you have ever seen, yet the only nudity it contains is from the neck up. That’s where people are truly naked.

The videos were made in private by the contributor (and sometimes their partner). We don’t know what they’re doing, or how they are doing it, we just know it’s real and it’s sexy as hell. Make your ears blush by putting on your headphones and turning the sound to eleven.

Yes, there are free samples. Look for the ones with the red borders and the text underneath that says ‘free sample’.

New agony comes five times per week (at least).

They all have sound.
You will also find interesting snippets, interviews and outtakes.

Some “Agonees” have confess their dirty secrets, and you can watch and listen, so long as you promise not to tell. Look for the word ‘confessions’.

I’m creating my own “Beautiful Agony” submission for you to find…
of course, I will announce it soon, and then you’ll have to join to look for my orgasm video.

play windows media

play quicktime

beautifulagony.com

“Sex is a big question mark. It is something people will talk about forever.” ~Catherine Deneuve

Starlet du Jour :: She Bares All In Shocking Confessions

I was naked in bed, when the phone rang. It was the evening of my twenty-first birthday. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I lived with my girlfriend, and we were having a (secret) bi-sexual affair. No one in our little strip club knew. Jen wanted it to remain between us, because most of the girls had a crush on her. She didn’t want them to know, or all the girls that lusted after Jennifer would then vie for her attention. Perhaps.

“Hello?” I answered sleepily.

“Jennifer?” the man’s voice said.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Hey, is Jennifer there?”

“No, she’s not home yet.” I replied briskly. “Who may I say is calling?”

“Oh, this is Charlie Sheen.”

“And I’m the Queen of England,” I remark flatly. “Now, really, who is this?”

“It’s… Charlie Sheen.”

The phone muffles and I hear voices in the background. I’m naked, and it’s getting late.

I had completely forgotten about Jen’s little fling with [insert celebrity name here]. Now I realize, in that moment, yes, it was Charlie Sheen on the phone. I was rude, and began to feel regretful for being so saucy. But, in my defense, it was the night of my twenty-first birthday and I was comfortably naked in bed. I worked in the nude, and I slept in the nude. I was twenty-one.

Charlie invited me over to the [celebrity not mentioned] house, up in the hills of Los Feliz on the spur of the moment. I reluctantly accepted, threw on my best white cotton dress, and dashed out the door. I knew the area well, as I had grown up there, and this hilly neighborhood in particular was where my piano teacher lived.

There he was, Charlie Sheen, just as he stated. He stood outside, one-thirty in the morning, on the balcony of the 1930’s Spanish-style home. He watched me saunter into the living room that adjoined the balcony.

“My,” he purred smoothly, caressing my every curve with his eyes. “You remind me of a young Catherine Deneuve.” I felt Charlie’s gaze pour over me like Bailey’s Irish Cream on ice. Creamy and full of sugar. Cloying. Then I felt like a steak in the Pixar eyes of Alex the Lion, hungry on the island of Madagascar. He moved in, closer.

But I didn’t go for smooth talk. I was a stripper, after all. I just smiled my demure self away from Charlie, slowly. It was a nice compliment, as I do love Catherine Deneuve, but I wasn’t falling for it. There were other friends over at the house that night, and so…

I did have a one-night fling with a celebrity that evening. But I won’t mention their name. (Psst… it wasn’t Charlie).

I’m not unique in the way of strippers and Charlie Sheen, however, I will say, elegantly, that I just had to lure you in with hyperbole. Because I (stripper so-called) was naked in bed, talking to Charlie Sheen. (Well, alright, on the phone, about twenty years ago).

But I did not have a fling with Charlie.

I prefer other sorts of men who say little and feed me grapes.

After lovemaking, they caress me with poetic words of adoration, and then take me to a diner for pancakes. If they are going to be syrupy around me, it might as well be while eating real syrup.

Food and sex are connected. Hunger for love, desire, ravenous. The taste of his mouth, the taste of her sex, mouths and tongues, hands for gathering, breasts like (melons, apples, avocados, oranges) and lips like (sugar) moist like (fruit) and her sweet (vagina, pussy, sex, cunt) as juicy as a (plum, peach). Fruits can be feminine ex: Her sex ripe like a guava, wet with juice. Taste. It was so delicious to suck him as his (cock, penis, shaft, bamboo stalk, sex) was like tasting a (banana), and his (semen, cum) tasted like (cream, syrup, hollandaise sauce, crème chantilly, buttery fondue, vanilla custard). I am getting carried away and silly now using hollandaise sauce and fondue. Vanilla custard, however…

I can’t imagine Charlie Sheen knows how to cook. We should round the poor boy up, throw him on an Iron Chef show, and see him wallow in his own sauce. Perhaps dominatrix head chefs dressed in thigh high leather boots and incredibly sexy basques with lace, while orchestrating cooking competitions, should properly punish Lotharios like Charlie. The losers would then be farmed off to the Church of Scientology, never to cook again. What would a show like that be called? Leather Chef? Stiletto Chef?

Perhaps dominatrix head chefs dressed in thigh high leather boots and incredibly sexy basques with lace, while orchestrating cooking competitions, should properly punish Lotharios like Charlie. The losers would then be farmed off to the Church of Scientology, never to cook again. What would a show like that be called? Leather Chef? Stiletto Chef?

As in cooking, so in sex: You wouldn’t rush a butter sauce over a high flame, would you?

Some might slapdash together a meal, so there goes the fast food approach. But, that isn’t erotic, is it? I’m not saying it has to be fancy. It just has to have fresh ingredients. Thoughtful preparation. A sensualist can derive pleasure from a simple fruit on a warm summer day. The way it’s presented is paramount, a gift for the senses.

I once was enjoying an Italian dinner in Los Angeles with a girlfriend of mine. She was very sensual, but it was something she did not display. She was an antiques dealer and personally collected Utrillo prints. She loved to cook. Her sensuality was in her manner, the way she enjoyed food. I will always remember her nonchalant way of making a creamy and sublime asparagus soup. Curvy and witty, she was full of fresh enthusiasm.

After dinner at the Italian restaurant, we ordered dessert. It wasn’t a crème brulee, but vanilla custard, topped with a thin layer of chocolate fondant, poured artfully on top. It glistened with chocolate and vanilla decadence. The waiter brought the large bowl of custard, simple in a white ceramic bowl, to our table. He set it down between my friend and I, and placed two silver spoons, one in front of each of us.

My friend casually sank her spoon into the custard.

The rich chocolate layer scooped away by her spoon, revealed a creamy whiteness, flecked with vanilla bean.

The custard-laden spoon, mid-sentence, entered her mouth. Then her eyes fluttered up into her head as she savored the custard, sighing and moaning. She involuntarily flung the spoon over her shoulder, and all that we heard was her moan of delight and the clatter of the spoon hitting the tiled floor behind us. The orgasm of her mouth was sudden; she had no warning to her pleasure.

The vanilla custard with chocolate fondant was a simple bowl of extreme orgasm.

(Ah, those were the days before Yelp).

Years later, this experience, the vanilla custard, fresh in my mind, a sensory memory I will savor. *The clatter of a spoon on the floor…*