Iconic Playboy

I’ve just started watching the docudrama American Playboy: The Hugh Hefner story and I was surprised by his very ordinary early life. I think we’ve all known a guy like the young Hugh – shy, awkward and deep thinking.

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I have to applaud his commitment to shine a light on the necessity and normalcy of sex in the repressed and puritanical era of the 1950s, when ‘doctors refused contraceptives to single women and the Hollywood production code dictated separate beds for married couples’. Continue reading

marathon lovemaking sessions and an e-book sale

So… as I’ve been editing my 130,000 word novel (which I have now finished and am about to send off for a structural edit). Part of the process was reducing (or removing) some of the more intense or ‘unsuitable’ love scenes. One of the scenes I cut back was at the sensual ‘climax’ of the story, the first time my heroine her dark and damaged Champagne producer give in to their lust.

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Describing each act in a night of lovemaking was a bit extreme, so I removed the little one in the middle, and edited the rest down to their scintillating essence.

Circumstances have my lovers sharing a one bedroom cottage at Henri’s vineyard, but instead of arguing about who gets the bed, they fall in to it together.

One day I hope you’ll read my debut work of sensual women’s fiction, to read the scenes that made the cut, but for now, here’s a little tease…

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The Little Death

I have a confession to make: I adore drinking wine – white or red – and have been a fan of rosé, especially the dry varieties, for many years. As a lover of most things French and sensual, on a recent mini break to Queensland’s ‘granite belt’, I couldn’t resist ordering the La Petite Mort Rosé from a restaurant wine list.

The cool, high country and decomposed granite soils of the area make for unique and excellent wines – the label got my attention, andthe wine did not disappoint!

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http://www.lapetitemort.com.au/

As I was drinking, my curiosity sparked and I did a little digging about the origins of the term ‘La Petite Mort’. The little death as a metaphor for orgasm is fairly mainstream, and has been used as a title for many things, including restaurants and a ballet, and is referenced widely in music lyrics.

The term was in use as early as the 16th century, originally referring to a fainting fit, later enlarged to include ‘nervous spasm’. More recently the term has been used to describe a sexual orgasm as a spiritual as well as physical release, an orgasm so intense it feels like an out of body experience; the feeling of having expended life force, of having died a little.

Surely, a little warm death is even better? (sung beautifully by Stringmansassy):

La petite mort is commonly used in literature, although not always in a sexual way (i.e. Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles) and literary critic Roland Barthes used the term to describe the experience of reading great literature.

I’m sure I’ll find a way to slip it into my writing…

I’ll leave you with a beautiful but sad song…

a tout a l’heure…

Foot fetish or foot appreciation?

To some, the sight of a well-tended, attractive foot is a huge turn-on. Why is it that a high arch, elegant toes, foot jewellery and/or sexy shoes can turn a normally sensible person into a slavering sex slave?

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There are a few theories, but this is the one I particularly like:

According to the neuroscientiststhe part of the brain that relates to the genitalia and feet are located next to one other in the brain’s body image map, which can lead to some crossed wiring. The neurons in the brain that have to do with sensations in the foot are ‘neural neighbours’ to the neurons that have to do with sensations in the sexual areas. The theory is that the ‘couriers’ in the nervous system get crossed, which is why feet can be so erotic.

Other researchers have found the smell of feet is arousing  to some – the natural odour of feet can act like pheromones.

For men, interest in pretty peds may be because they don’t typically spend any time on their own feet, whereas women often make an effort to make theirs look attractive. The arches and natural curves of the woman’s foot can be as arousing as any feminine curve.

Then there’s ‘cue theory’ or imprinting – childhood experiences which may have a direct effect on a person’s erotic attraction to feet. Foot cues could originate from a very young age – as young as when a child is crawling, when they may see their mother’s feet more than any other part of her body. Thus, a foot can become associated with the positive feelings of a nurturing mother.

Ogi Ogas, a neuroscientist and co-author of A Billion Wicked Thoughts, explains, “Following cue theory, during a man’s critical period of sexual desire formation, his innate foot cue makes him more likely to pay attention to feet and makes him more receptive to foot-related stimuli. If through chance or culture he is then exposed to a strong foot-related experience—a woman sticking her foot in a thirteen-year-old’s face or watching your first girlfriend slowly unroll her black stockings—then the foot-related details of the experience are more likely to get imprinted.”

 

I can definitely appreciate how a lovely foot can be a turn-on, but from what I understand, having a fetish means that in order to be fully sexually aroused, you need to focus on one body part. In the case of podophilia, a foot fetish, the body part/s involved are the feet.

But there’s no reason you couldn’t call your love of a beautifully tended foot a fetish, if that’s what turns you on 😉

And if feet are your man’s Achilles heel, here are some positions he’ll love:

http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/positions/g8659598/foot-fetish-sex-positions/

Jade egg as a writing aid?

It’s been a few months since my jade egg arrived, but I wanted to give my body some time to adjust before I wrote of my experiences.

I can’t be entirely sure of the physical changes since my egg and I first became acquainted, except that in the beginning, the muscles of my vaginal canal could only hold my egg for half an hour or so before my internal muscles tired. The time increased steadily and I quickly found I could go about my normal life with my egg inside. Now I can hold it indefinitely without trying, or being conscious of its presence. I assume from that change that my muscles have become stronger and more toned – and with very little effort.

The most noticeable difference though, is associated with creativity. If I am writing, by using my egg, I find the words flow easier and faster, and if I am having trouble connecting with my creativity (I wouldn’t call it writers block, more like constriction), with my egg as my companion, the connection opens immediately and ideas and words flow without hesitation.

Increased and better access to my creativity was not one of the benefits I expected, but it was an extremely welcome one. Now, after reading Naomi Wolf’s book “Vagina” and learning of the link between orgasm and creativity, I realise I should have expected any improved connection with my sexuality and increased sexual energy, could only benefit my creative process.

A direct line to my muse? I wouldn’t want to be presumptuous, but what a thought!

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Orgasms… the extremes some women will go to

There’s no denying orgasms are one of life’s more pleasurable – and for many of us, accessible – experiences. But if it wasn’t a simple pleasure? How far would you go to experience the sweet, if short, release of orgasm?

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These days genital plastic surgery is quite common, to make us look prettier ‘down there’ or in an attempt to make orgasm easier to achieve. The removal of the clitoral hood has been popular since the Victorians believed it to be superfluous and that exposing the glans clitoris would make women more responsive.

In fact, the hood is made up of erogenous tissue – it is a pleasure receptor in itself and protects the often too-sensitive clitoris (direct pressure can be painful), diffusing it’s sensitivity so sex can be a pleasurable, not an uncomfortable activity. And why would you willingly remove even a small piece of the organ packed with nerve endings, present in the body for the sole purpose of pleasure? Without it, wouldn’t we just be depriving ourselves of part of our erogenous anatomy? Continue reading

jade eggs… love stones… yoni eggs

The first time I heard of a jade egg was while attending a weekend tantra workshop last year. The mysterious little object was mentioned in whispered tones while the presenter was speaking, so although I got the gist of where it went (inside the vaginal canal), I wasn’t really sure what one did with it when it was there or the many benefits of having/using one.

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So, I finally did some research and came across the wonderful Tamra Mercieca who hooked me with these historical and erotic facts:

“The Jade Egg has been around for some 5000 years originating in ancient China, where Queens and mistresses of the most powerful nobles used it internally to strengthen the vaginal canal. Legend has it that the Taoist practice was a secret kept only in the Royal Palace so the ladies of privilege could maintain their youthful beauty, vitality and sexuality as they matured into old age.” Continue reading

editing erotic scenes

I have just begun the final edit on one of my novels, which began its life as an erotic romance. I am re-working it as women’s fiction with erotic elements, and some of the scenes need to be cut or heavily edited, like the one below (with an added embellishment at the end).

The novel is set in Paris. Henri is a French businessman; Lilianne is a suburban divorcée, visiting from Melbourne, Australia in search of her mother.

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“I hope you don’t mind ma chérie, Maree is on her way up.” Disappointment at the idea of company was evident in Henri’s voice.

He’d been a perfect gentleman during dinner, charming and attentive, but the thrill when our gazes met was less than civilized.

Henri’s privileged background was so different to my own suburban upbringing, but the chemistry between us was indiscriminate. The lightest touch of his fingertips on my lower back as he pulled out my chair at the beginning of the meal had me yearning for more contact. The heated lust in his eyes whenever he found an excuse to brush my skin proved him a conspirator in our attraction.

Was I hoping this gorgeous man would seduce me? Could I protect my barely healed heart if I ended up in his bed?

It would be all too easy to follow wherever the night led: I was already in his home, an apartment that reflected the sleek, understated charm of its owner. Continue reading