S.D. Lange's Blog

I thought I would share with you all an excerpt from my New Release story, ‘Weekend with Friends.’ All of my work can be found at S.D Lange, on Amazon. Enjoy!

“I can’t remember how much time passed since my wife and I enjoyed a ski vacation together, the fun long forgotten. Now, wet and sore, I began to feel the effects of the rapidly dropping temperature, as a slight chill crept over me. Our decision to hike through the snow, back to the rented chalet, proved to force a bit of a workout through the heavy snow, I knew it would be several more minutes before we could relish the warmth of a fire. Keith, my best friend, traded his time-share points to secure the weekend getaway he and I planned for several months—we chose to leave it as a surprise of sorts for the girls. The final obstacle cleared itself when Keith’s parents said they would watch Keith and Jenny’s kids for the extended weekend. Now, we found ourselves in the Rocky Mountains, trudging through snow. Lights in the windows of the A-frame we’d arrived at earlier in the morning, acted as a personal beacon, guiding us home. The exterior lights shimmered against the bright white, frozen ground and icicles sparkled from the eaves—it produced a twinkling, diamond effect and left behind a romantic ambiance when combined with the glow of the setting, winter sun. Sharing the day with another fine couple, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, lightened all our moods. Throughout the day, we drank, skied, played in the snow, and skied some more. My wife, Aida, and I maintain a close relationship with Keith and Jenny, always playful, we share more touching and affectionate kissing than occurs among most other couples. Our day today was no different, of course. During our journey across the snow, an exchange of sexual innuendo and rather bold groping occurred, especially between Keith and my wife. While some took place between Jenny and me, too, I tried to control my behavior more often than Keith did.

Stacking logs in the fireplace and starting a fire proved to be a relatively simple task, the blaze intensified and radiated heat throughout the sizable room. Hot toddies, heavy on the rum, poured and steaming, rested on the silver serving tray, ready for both our enjoyment and to warm up from the inside out—Aida and Jenny were already sipping on theirs while preparing dinner. Keith offered a glass for the taking, clinking them together before he turned away. “It’s not often I can say this and mean it truthfully, but life couldn’t be much better,” he said.

“You’re right, buddy,” I replied. We sat in silence and watched the women in the kitchen, with tremendous admiration. “To our wonderful ladies,” I toasted. Aida smiled and blew a kiss, mouthing the words, I love you. Jenny watched her and pranced toward me in socked feet—I will be the first to admit that Jenny is a stunning woman—the youngest of the four of us, she managed to retain her gorgeous figure after giving birth to two children.

“I love you, too, ya know.” Along with the words, she bent down and kissed me full on the lips, no one of our typical pecks, either, this kiss held a profound passion, above anything we shared in the past. I won’t lie, I enjoyed it, and I reciprocated. Exceeding any of my expectations, Jenny’s tongue darted into my mouth, in search of my own—her actions garnered the approval of both Aida and Keith. As the alcohol began to take effect, Keith volunteered to assist Aida with the meal preparation. Of course, we all knew this to mean Keith would be grinding his crotch against her splendid ass, his arms around her as his hands moved up to cup her tits through the form-fitting sweater she wore. Jenny and I finished our lingering kiss, and she stepped away, eying me, her eyebrows lifted in a provocative arch.

Aida and I have known them as a couple for over five years, though Keith and I go back to our service days in the Marine Corps together. Flirting had always been a part of our relationship with Keith and Jenny, during the early days of our friendship, it was playful words and occasionally touching, but a year or so in, kissing upon greeting and leaving became the norm. After a night of drinking, we played a game of strip poker. I enjoyed it as much as everyone else, and nothing happened between us other than getting naked. It was a couple years ago that Keith and Jenny discovered that we had a secret which we had not yet shared with them—Aida and I are swingers.

Exhaustive discussions were held on the topic, both my wife and I wanted to ensure the relationship among friends remained intact. I would persist in my efforts to maintain a traditional friendship between Jenny and myself to clarify my intentions and avoid a circumstance of misconstrued actions causing undue stress on a valued friendship. Keith cultivated an intense interest in the lifestyle, but Jenny showed nothing but indifference to the subject at hand, leading Aida and me to agree never to broach the subject with them. This weekend, however, changed things, a new tone blanketed the four of us. Before, and usually at Keith’s perseverance, Jenny would randomly flash me her extraordinary globes of flesh—guaranteed to occur when we had imbibed, and inhibitions eased. Then it was short and sweet, to the point, creamy flesh darkened with pale brown nipples, and then they would be quickly covered once again—today, it would seem that I was deemed worthy enough to bear witness to the remarkable display on several occasions. Yes, even Aida was taken aback, it was she who brought it to my attention that Jenny was particularly playful and open.

Now, into the night, the fortuitous behavior continued. Keith pointed out that our snow soaked clothing beneath previously shed outerwear, and attempted to wheedle the girls out of their clothes. Credit must be given, Keith didn’t give up easily. When comparing the two, Aida could equal or surpass Keith in his flirtations, the quickly unfolding scenario found her playing along as she peeled away the damp jeans and sweater. Robed only in a barely-there thong and camisole, she was the pinnacle of female beauty, at least in my eyes. I couldn’t pry my eyes from my wife, I was dumbstruck at the turn of events. Jenny, holding a stack of bowls, continued to set the table but her focus remained on the nearly nude woman in the room.

“What’s wrong? I didn’t want to be in those cold, wet things all night.” Aida said with an air of innocence in the shrug of her shoulders.

Mock indignation seeped through Jenny’s words, “Do you all expect me to wear them? Hell no, no one wants wet clothes, why should I?” It sounded like a provocation instead of general conversation. She eyeballed Aida’s erect nipples protruding through the lacy, white camisole, with blatant disregard as to who noticed.

Breaking the serenity, which settled among the group, Keith roared, his voice echoing throughout the chalet, “Off! There will be absolutely no wet clothes on the furniture, what do you think this is? It’s not my place.”

Keith began to lift his shirt over his head. At first, I presumed Jenny would articulate her annoyance, which caused concern because honestly, I was enjoying it. Any concerns I might have held onto, remained at bay when Jenny yanked the hem of her shirt, and in the blink of an eye, pulled it over her head. Tossing the garment, the short distance to her husband, she continued, her fingers lingering on the button of her jeans. Jenny popped the button, undulating her ample hips, worked to push the tight denim over her smooth thighs. Not wanting to feel left out, I, too, stood only in my briefs. The glow of the fire reflected on the almost nude women—both women were ravishing in their unique ways. Similar to Aida’s undergarments, Jenny’s current attire was damp, and pebble-hard nubs were evident through the flimsy bra she wore—I could also discern the dark patch through the matching panties—I couldn’t contain my grin when I glanced at Aida as we gathered around the table.

By all accounts, our conversation over dinner metamorphosed into an element of sexually explicit speech, followed by actions. Keith, indubitably the mischief-maker, followed not far behind by Aida. What stood out—Jenny’s active role in encouraging them. Jenny observed the drops of hot toddy when they dribbled onto the white lace, close to a peek-a-boo playing nipple, she intentionally drew our attention to the discoloration of the fabric. Keith sprang from his chair and walked to Aida’s side, lowering his head, he started to lap at the dark spot spreading on the lace, allowing his tongue to graze the tender flesh of my wife’s nipple. This, by far, was the most flagrant display of physical contact that we shared up to this point, Aida continued to push the envelope, “I think it soaked in,” she said as she raised the fabric to reveal a hardened nipple. Keith dropped his head again and closed his lips around the engorged bud—a loud sucking noise filled the nearly silent room, as he released her from his hold. No sooner than Keith returned to his seat, a morsel of food conveniently fell into his lap. Almost comical in nature, it undoubtedly cleared a pathway to elevated sexual interactions between us.

“Honey, would you mind?” He licked his lips when he spoke to his wife.

Only Jenny could achieve the childlike level of innocence, yet, retain her smooth, sultry mannerisms. Evident in the method which she slid seductively out of the chair onto the floor beneath the table, resting on her knees, at Keith’s feet—there was a strikingly erotic undertone to such a seemingly submissive act. When her head began to bob, curiosity seized control of my brain, and I leaned over to take a glimpse under the table. This woman held her husband’s cock in her hand and wrapped in the moist warmth of her mouth, as she gave him head at the table. Aida glanced across the span of the table, shrugged her shoulders, smiled, and licked her lips lasciviously.  Jenny gobbled her husband’s cock for a few more seconds and finished with a slurp. Keith grumbled over the incomplete blowjob, he needed to climax so he could watch her swallow his load, but Jenny assured him she would finish him with her oral skills, later.

Jenny returned to an upright, sitting position, eyes glimmering, a flush on her cheeks but not from embarrassment. Aida recognized the height of Jenny’s arousal and decided to raise the stakes. She stood, traversing the room to stand behind Keith. Under false pretenses of a caring friend, she gingerly wiped at nonexistent crumbs in the corner of his mouth, Aida shifted in a calculated move that placed her erect nipples against Keith’s shoulders as she leaned forward.

“Oh my, your penis is happy to see us! That thing doesn’t belong out at the table,” Aida chided, reaching out to close her hand around Keith’s tool, she stroked his manhood enthusiastically before releasing him and returning to her place at the table. Keith placed a light swat on the cheek of her ass and snapped the thong against her, eliciting a squeal of delight.

“Oh, Keith,” she spoke in her best smoky, raspy voice. “You’re such a naughty boy, aren’t you? Perhaps you’ll have to be punished later.”

The pupils of his eyes visibly dilated as his arousal heightened. “Baby, you have no idea,” he replied.

My wife mentioning punishment piqued my attention—we didn’t always incorporate the world of BDSM into our play, but on the rare occasion we indulged in the darker, risqué aspect of our mutual sex life, it invariably ended in intense, mind-blowing orgasms, the likes of which happen infrequently.

Jenny chimed in, “Luke isn’t bad, he’s behaving like a good boy.” She smirked, a look that spoke a thousand words without making a sound.

“Yeah, Luke is a good boy, what’s up with that? Can’t handle the big time?” Keith mocked.

“I’m plotting, something diabolical, bed—I mean bad,” I said, doing my best mad scientist laugh.

A single Freudian slip catapulted three adults into a fit of uncontrollable snickers. That was the moment, which defined the rest of the evening. All eyes were on me expectantly, as if I would push the envelope. My gaze scanned the perimeter of the table, while my brain prompted me to remain on the food theme. I picked an olive from the salad. It was perfect for my intention. Holding the black, round circle between my thumb and forefinger, I stared studiously at Jenny. My eyes traveled the length of her body that could be seen above the table, before bringing my focus to her breasts. With her nipples visible through the material, I leaned in across the table and hooked one finger in the cup of her bra, slowly pulling it down. Jenny pushed her breasts out at me, and one utterly perfect formed tit fell into the palm of my hand. I glanced at Keith and Aida.

“Is that bad enough, yet?”

“Not quite,” Keith murmured.

He and Aida simpered knowingly when I lifted the weight of the warm, fleshy globe in my hand, then tried to place the olive slice over Jenny’s nipple. It didn’t work so well as her bra kept getting in my way. Jenny feigned exasperation, reached up behind her and unhooked the bra, letting it fall into her lap. I went ahead and attempted to place the olive on her nipple, only to find the hole was too small. With a slight break in the ring, I wrapped it around her nipple. Jenny stood and allowed her breasts to sway in invitation.

“Look, Honey, a nipple ring,” she announced with a chuckle.

Jenny came closer, settled her arms around my shoulders and pressed her tits into my face. The teasing became too much, I couldn’t take it. I turned my mouth slightly and flicked the olive with my tongue, and continued to suck her nipple between my lips. Fluttering my tongue across the sensitive pebble of flesh rapidly, much like I do with Aida, and something that is guaranteed to make her cum, Jenny clutched my head to her chest and mumbled, “God, that feels good. Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. Without looking at either Aida or Keith, I teased her nipple until her breathing grew ragged. I thought I had gone too far, so I released her. Jenny seemed slightly disappointed in my decision, as did Keith and Aida. Jenny slid back into the seat and began to eat again. There was no effort made to retrieve the lacy undergarment from the floor, and she remained gloriously topless. I watched as Jenny closed her eyes and savored the heat of the roaring fire.

“The heat feels good on my skin,” Jenny said aloud. Her eyes flashed open as she looked at Aida, in a way that screamed, I dare you. My wife didn’t hesitate. Aida tossed aside the tank top she wore while remaining in her chair. Keith and I cheered loudly. When Aida stood up, a wicked grin formed on her lips, and she stared at Jenny. Anticipating her next move, Jenny stood as well. Aida hooked her thumbs beneath the thin straps of the thong. Jenny mimicked her actions with the sheer panties she wore. Almost like a showdown, both women settled in place for a quick strip as Keith and I watched with eagerness. The table sat near the fireplace, the glow cast highlights on both of their female forms.

Aida is tall and thin, smaller busted and hipped than most women, but still has beautiful curves for her body. You could describe her as having legs that reach her neck. My wife is gorgeous, long, thick auburn hair and smoky, hazel eyes. A dazzling smile and youthful personality combine to belie her real age—most people mistake her for twenty-five instead of thirty-five. Jenny is younger by several years, and fuller figured. Her C-cups swayed seductively while her hands hovered anxiously waiting to strip the panties from her rounded hips. Jenny has alabaster skin, medium length, curly black hair. Long lashes that could change her appearance from innocent to wicked accentuated the perfect heart-shaped face. Aida had often compared her to a Greek goddess.

With no further warning, Aida jerked the thong down to her thigh and quickly stepped out of it. Jenny attempted to do the same but lost her balance and fell back, her bottom bare, onto her chair. Aida twirled her thong in victory before letting it go in the direction of Keith’s head. He caught them as the silk hit his cheek. Keith surprised no one by bunching them up in his hand as he inhaled the heady scent of Aida’s pussy. Keith leaned toward me, whispering yet still loud enough for all to hear, “They’re still wet.”

Aida stood with her hands on her hips and feet apart, completely nude. Her shaved pussy was displayed for his viewing pleasure.

Jenny feigned disappointment, “You win, this time.”

I watched as she drew her knees up to her chest and seductively pulled her panties the rest of the way off. From my seat, it offered a prime view of her pussy. Jenny wasn’t shaved like Aida, but her nether lips were clearly displayed through the sparse covering of soft downy hair. Jenny stood and approached my chair. With a kick of the leg by her small foot, she indicated for me to scoot it back. I did, and she straddled my lap, as she draped her panties over my shoulder. Even though I still wore my briefs, there was no way Jenny didn’t feel my raging erection as it pressed against her naked thigh. I was disappointed she didn’t stay long.

“You guys get to clean the table,” Jenny directed.

“We’ll be waiting in the hot tub when you’re finished,” Aida threw in.

“Bring more drinks with you.” Jenny smiled sweetly.”

Grab your copy here, Weekend with Friends and follow along with Aida and Luke’s sexcapades.

S.D.

What can I say? It’s been several months since my last post, and over that time so many things have taken place, I’m not sure where to begin.

Let me say this, I’ve missed posting here and reading everyone’s posts. I was diagnosed with a serious health concern. One that I, of course, thought okay, it is what it is and I’ll deal with it and be done. Unfortunately, my body said a big “fuck you,” and did what it wanted to do. So, it tried to kill me. Months of fighting, treatments, medications, and fierce determination left me tired beyond compare, exhausted, and many days and nights spent in bed. Now, don’t get me wrong, I like my bed, a lot, but I prefer other activities in said bed. Anyway, I digress.

I have managed to write a couple short stories during that time period, but all in all, it was a time of battle, rest, and recovery. As of now, I’m good…of course, only future testing can fully determine that, but for now, I’m continuing with my life as I had previously. Thank you for all of you who have stood by me, whether here, Twitter, Facebook, or in the real world. It is all greatly appreciated. With that said…

I’m baaaaaacccckkk! (We’ve got erotica and smut to read & write!) Check out the excerpt from my hot new release, Weekend with Friends.

““The heat feels good on my skin,” Jenny said aloud. Her eyes flashed open as she looked at Aida, in a way that screamed, I dare you. My wife didn’t hesitate. Aida tossed aside the tank top she wore while remaining in her chair. Keith and I cheered loudly. When Aida stood up, a wicked grin formed on her lips, and she stared at Jenny. Anticipating her next move, Jenny stood as well. Aida hooked her thumbs beneath the thin straps of the thong. Jenny mimicked her actions with the sheer panties she wore. Almost like a showdown, both women settled in place for a quick strip as Keith and I watched with eagerness. The table sat near the fireplace, the glow cast highlights on both of their female forms.

Aida is tall and thin, smaller busted and hipped than most women, but still has beautiful curves for her body. You could describe her as having legs that reach her neck. My wife is gorgeous, long, thick auburn hair and smoky, hazel eyes. A dazzling smile and youthful personality combine to belie her real age—most people mistake her for twenty-five instead of thirty-five. Jenny is younger by several years, and fuller figured. Her C-cups swayed seductively while her hands hovered anxiously waiting to strip the panties from her rounded hips. Jenny has alabaster skin, medium length, curly black hair. Long lashes that could change her appearance from innocent to wicked accentuated the perfect heart-shaped face. Aida had often compared her to a Greek goddess.

With no further warning, Aida jerked the thong down to her thigh and quickly stepped out of it. Jenny attempted to do the same but lost her balance and fell back, her bottom bare, onto her chair. Aida twirled her thong in victory before letting it go in the direction of Keith’s head. He caught them as the silk hit his cheek. Keith surprised no one by bunching them up in his hand as he inhaled the heady scent of Aida’s pussy. Keith leaned toward me, whispering yet still loud enough for all to hear, “They’re still wet.””

S.D.

Here is a small excerpt from my upcoming novella, ‘Downtown,’ a Dom/sub story.

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“Goosebumps dotted my flesh as his fingertips traced the natural curve of my spine before resting on one globe of my ass. Breathless, I lifted my eyes to meet his own heat filled gaze. In that look, something primal, a man consumed with hunger—a hunger for my body.

Dim lighting cast shadows into the alleyway where we stood outside the crowded club. Dark clouds covered the night sky and had threatened to unleash the havoc of Mother Nature all night. What began as a few drops turned into a torrential downpour, plastering my already skin-tight black dress even closer to my curves. Chilled from both his touch and being wet, his breath felt like fire against my cheek.

“I want you, right here, right now. I want to feel your velvet heat wrapped around my cock.”

Before I could form a response, the palm of his hand traveled my side, cupping my breast in his hand. Almost harshly, he pinched the protruding nipple through the fabric. I gasped, the sharp, sudden pain quickly transformed into pleasure, and my blood boiled, spewing lava-like fluid through my veins. My arms acted of their own accord, wrapped vine-like around his neck, long nails sinking into the thick mass of waves, pulling my body closer to his.

In nothing more than a murmur, I whispered, “Fuck me, Sir.”

Two words were his undoing. A shift in his position had my back against the wall. The dress I wore barely skimmed the tops of my thighs, using his leg to spread my own, the material lifted exposing me to anyone who might happen to step outside. While rain continued to fall, drenching us both, it was no match for the hot, sticky, juices that now coated my inner thighs.

Bricks from the building pressed into my back, scratching, but I barely noticed. I knew tonight wouldn’t be anything nice, no kissing, no making love, just him getting off, and me coming close, but being denied. No, he wouldn’t let me cum now, that would be saved for later, on his schedule. Tonight, he was using our position in the alley to claim what he knew was already his.

Lifting my leg with one hand, the zipper on his pants came down with ease. Following his earlier directive, I wore no panties, as was standard for our nights out. His rule—he has access at any time, in any place. Balanced on one stiletto heel, the head of his rock hard manhood pressed against my soaked pussy. One hard thrust and he filled me completely, causing me to hiss in surprise. Over and over, he slammed his engorged cock deep inside, my head held to the side by his fingers locked in my hair.

“You feel so fucking good. So tight, baby girl.” He groaned.

He continued to fuck me hard, no gentleness, just him, getting ready to get off.  My training with him told me what would come next. With a warning before he was going to cum, I would drop to my knees to swallow every drop of him. We didn’t want to be out with him running down my legs.

“Oh fuck, you ready for it, bitch?”

He pulled out, and I fell to the ground, wrapping my lips around the throbbing member in front of me, I swallowed as much of the thick cock as I could manage, using my mouth to fuck him and finish him off. Holding my head, he shoved himself into my throat, gagging me, but not stopping as he exploded and emptied himself. Proud of myself for not spilling a drop, I used my tongue to clean him, a mixture of my own juices and his.

“My good girl.”

His words alone almost pushed me over the precipice. I knew when we returned home, he would more than take care of me.”

© 2017 S.D. Lange

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I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s see, what has happened in the past two weeks? I’ve fallen behind-very behind. Our house is the home to a brand new Husky/German Shepard mix puppy who at the time we acquired him was only 3 1/2 weeks old. He had been abandoned so we took him in. That meant, finishing weaning him. The first couple days and nights was with a bottle, and thankfully he progressed to puppy food quickly. My writing fell behind during those days because well…a baby. This is Ares, he is adorable, even though he seems to believe his leash will kill him.

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So, we have a new dog. A new BIG dog-or at least he will be big when he’s grown. Add this to the two we had already, prior to Ares’ arrival.

After things calmed down with the new addition to the family, I thought I’d be back to writing per the norm. No. Of course not. That would be too perfect. My fifteen-year-old daughter decides she wants to head north to Oregon to witness the total eclipse in person. (Can’t blame her-I did as well.) We pack up the two dogs, one puppy, a cooler and some blankets and off we go. This was Sunday afternoon, around five p.m. With frequent stops for puppy potty breaks, gas, drinks, food, stretching our legs, we finally arrived in Halsey, Oregon somewhere near 3:30 a.m. Halsey, (some small town along I-5) was not meant to be our stopping point but discovering that it too was in the path of totality, and adding in the fact that I simply couldn’t drive anymore that night, we stopped at a gas station. They were nice enough to let us stay in the parking lot, (no hotels were available in a 400-mile circumference) along with a few other cars doing the exact same thing. After we were all settled, dogs fed and walked, we locked the doors and crashed out. When we opened our eyes a few hours later, the parking lot was packed and not one more car would fit in. We made the right call to stay where we were. The following photos are our view just before the eclipse and during totality. The drive was well worth it.

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That’s when the paradigm began to shift. I’d like to blame it on the eclipse simply because that would make more sense. However, science…and yeah, that’s not possible. Before we left Oregon, someone hit our car. My new car. At the gas station, while we were inside, and then drove away. We leave with the newly dented front bumper and jump back on the freeway. Of course, everyone and their brother tried to leave Oregon at the same time which made the ensuing traffic nightmare even worse.

Somewhere along the way, I started to not feel so well. With ongoing health issues, it wasn’t a shock, rather, great fucking timing. There were still hours to drive before we were remotely close to home, and San Francisco had never seemed so far away. On I drove. Fast forward to by the time we got home, let the dogs out, and then got them back in the house–my neighbor was driving me to the hospital, where I ended up having emergency surgery.

At that point, my writing was now several days behind, the new dog, the spontaneous trip, the car being hit, the drive home, not feeling well, ending up in the hospital, having surgery, yeah…no time to write at all. My next release was supposed to happen on the 25th, it didn’t. I found myself adding that to all the previous stress and it wasn’t helping matters. I had to find a way to push it aside for the time being. That didn’t work. I couldn’t do it. Writing is a big part of my life and something that I have to do or I feel incomplete.

Sitting in the hospital bed, on an IV medication pump for pain control, I had them bring me my laptop…and I began to write. It was actually a rewrite of the edits, but I was going at it. Smut, sex, fucking, blow jobs, anal,  gangbang, you name it, there I was, all doped up trying to write great sex with a MILF, a college football team, and a stepson. Let me tell you, it was a hot fucking mess. When I went back to look at it after they removed the IV medications, morphine is a great thing I should add, I had to laugh. Even though there was no way I would send this to my editor or anyone else…I had managed to write the worst piece of crap I had ever written. Yet, I was proud of myself. With the two weeks I had, I could have easily walked away from that story, or at least shoved it away on a flash drive somewhere and forgot it but I didn’t. Even under the worst conditions I’d ever tried to write in, there were words on the screen.

Now that everything has calmed down, I’m recovering, and I’m writing, things should start to get back to normal. What the hell happened over the past two weeks?? I don’t want to repeat that for a long damn time! If I couldn’t laugh about it, I would surely cry.

S.D.  [image error]

I try to avoid politics and religion in any part of my work. That said, I’m human. These things affect me, as they do most of you. Here it is 2 a.m., and I’m wide awake. After tossing and turning, thoughts churning through my mind, I couldn’t take it anymore. The events over the last several days, the response, or non-response to those events, a woman losing her life. Groups of people calling for the eradication of other groups of people, I had dealt with as much as I could. Bear with me, because this does all tie in with my writing. Why it does is a puzzle, but in the end, it does.

No one is born with hate in their heart. It is a learned message. Babies do not have the capability to hate, there is no other answer required. From generation to generation that hate is passed down, you can’t fault the children who act or believe this way, they have been indoctrinated to act as such. What we must do, is work to break those cycles. Think of it as we would if it were child abuse or spousal abuse. Stopping it at its core is imperative. Our children, their children, that’s where the answer to all of this falls. The younger generation is much more open-minded, more accepting and tolerant. However, unless we ourselves vow to make a change, or to step up and intervene, they won’t learn that either.

My own daughter is fifteen, she came out as LGBTQ last year. It wasn’t an issue for us because she was and is and always will be my daughter, no matter what. Unconditionally. Tonight, here at home, we had a guest for dinner–she, in turn, brought a guest. That was fine. The more the merrier. Or, so I thought. It turned out to be a recipe for disaster. When Donna* (names changed to protect privacy) asked my daughter how she was doing, if she looked forward to the upcoming school year, and my daughter answered, it started a series of chain reaction events. T, (my daughter) excitedly told Donna about her new girlfriend, places they had visited over the summer, and moved on to talk about school. Scott* cleared his throat and asked about her girlfriend. She started to tell him, only to be interrupted with “aren’t you a little young to decide you want to be a lesbian?”

Please, do not provoke mama bear, especially in her own home. She didn’t decide anything. She is who she is. That’s all that matters. Whoever she is with, as long as they treat her well and it’s a healthy relationship, that is all that matters. Scott went on to inform me that by allowing her to behave in this manner I would destroy her life. There is no one at fifteen that knows what they are attracted to. Really, oh enlightened one? By this time, I was getting ready to put an end to the dinner altogether. In my home, myself, nor my child need to feel disrespected.

Before I could say anything, this strange man continued. Apparently, my friend informed him of my career, which he didn’t hesitate to throw up in the mix. “Anyone that writes the filth you do, should be disgusted with themselves. No wonder your child is the way she is.” That was it. I told him to get out of my house. I was pissed.

What I write isn’t for everyone, I understand that and accept that. What I write some might find offense in. Again, I understand that and accept that. What I write by no means affects my ability to parent or do anything else. I’m involved in my community, with various charities and organizations, my daughter’s school, and general clubs and groups. Hate comes in many shapes and forms, it’s rampant throughout this country and it’s beyond time for it to stop. From your major hate groups such as we witnessed in Charlottesville, to your neighborhood and school bullies.

We are the world around us, we need to make the changes, we need to say enough is enough. Less hate, more peace, love, and hope.

S.D.

Early morning, birds chirping from high upon the tree tops. Music streaming through the laptop speakers, the kid is asleep, coffee brews, filling the house with that fresh ground coffee bean aroma. While most people are getting up and heading out the door to their offices or other places of employment, I…sit crossed legged in the middle of my bed, sipping a cuppa Joe, getting ready to write.

I’ve heard it all – “it can’t be that difficult to write,” “who can’t write about sex?” “You think that’s challenging?” Well, let’s take a look at those things. First, let me say this – I do think I have it easier in the sense that I really don’t have to deal with upfront confrontations with customers or clientele, not for one minute do I envy anyone that must do so. Why? Because unfortunately, sometimes, people suck. They see themselves as above the person providing whatever service they offer. Yes, I have the advantage there. After all, I’m still in pajamas and sitting in my “office,” which I have coined the term for right now to cover my bedroom. (When I’m feeling in need of closing myself away from the world, I do indeed use my office.)

Statement #1 “It can’t be that difficult to write.” Yes and no. I can put words on the screen all day long but that doesn’t mean they make any sense, it doesn’t mean the story works, it doesn’t mean they will not all be deleted. For me, and I can only speak for myself, it’s a process. Write, write, write…delete, delete. In that sense, no it’s not difficult to write, but it is difficult to write something that not only pleases yourself but becomes something someone else wants to read.

Statement #2 “Who can’t write about sex?” Anyone can, that is true. Writing about sex without sounding extremely cliché and repetitive, without showing any feeling or emotion, without breathing life into one, two, or three, or more, (hey, don’t judge, it depends on your kink??) on occasion, gets frustrating. Your characters, as in any other type of writing, romance, thriller, suspense, have to come to life and drive themselves in the direction they wish to travel.

Statement #3 “You think that’s challenging?” Aahhh…YES. Many days the answer to that is a resounding yes. There are times when there isn’t enough coffee in the world to get me in gear. The challenge in that aspect doesn’t necessarily come from writing. It comes from working at home. See, while I can work in my pj’s if I choose to do so, it also means I have to work in my pj’s and avoid the outside distractions of being at home. The phone, the dogs, the cat, “Oh, look, a little dust.” I liken it to trying to focus on the task at hand-writing-but the squirrels in my head go crazy at everything else that I could be doing. That’s what makes it challenging for me.

Everything else is a bonus. So, with my oversized pretty pink mug in hand, music blaring through my earbuds, the dogs quietly sleeping at the foot of the bed, I’m going to start the day. I jokingly call it “smut” because well, let’s be honest…some of it is just that and that is perfectly acceptable! Others have stronger storylines, much more involved characters. I’m working on book two of my Submissive Riley series, Book One – Meeting Tyler is out and available to purchase on Amazon. Book Two – Saving Riley is due out shortly. I have to tell you, I’ve fallen in love with Tyler and Riley, this is a series which I truly enjoy and can’t wait to share the rest of their story with all of you.

Enjoy your Wednesday, coffee cups up, (or tea, or your preference

There is a moment of sheer panic when you meet one of your child’s new teachers and he smiles at you, says he’s quite impressed with what your daughter told the class you did for an occupation. Then time freezes.

“She told us you wrote books. I’d love to read a couple of them.”

Thinking on my feet, my first instinct was to say, “I don’t think you’d be interested.” Then thought, no, that would be cutting my own throat. Normally, it wouldn’t have mattered but this was a teacher. How do you tell him you don’t want to share your smutty, dirty, nasty side with him?

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Instead, I sucked it up and told him I would email him a list of links. He looked at me, puzzled but placated. After sending the list, I went on about my business. Back to school night we ran into him again. He thanked me, cleared his throat, stated they were interesting and he enjoyed them. Funny thing, this time around, it was he that adopted the embarrassed appearance.

We never spoke of it again. Now, I’m sitting here left wondering if my next work will be along the lines of “a professor and his naughty co-ed.” Wonder if he still uses a paddle?

S.D.

I have long thought about starting this blog, and have put it off. Now, after a long personal debate, I’ve decided that it is time. A little bit about me, I was a registered nurse for almost twenty years. After I left nursing, I began to take my writing seriously, somewhere along the way, that writing shifted to erotica. To this day, many people do not know what I do for a living, people can be judgemental and harsh. That’s not something I need in my life. I have a teenage daughter I need to consider as well.

Erotica was a genre that I hadn’t realized was as popular as it was, with both men and women. A lot of us have read it, but again, it wasn’t something we shared with the rest of the world. All of that began to change when a certain series about a certain hue of color hit the shelves and took off like a wildfire. Say what you will about it, it has helped boost the genre, especially among women. While I don’t agree that it was written with accuracy, I do believe it opened up a new avenue for many of us. For that, I am thankful. People are no longer afraid to admit they have read a certain book, and even though there are some kinks and fetishes we will always keep to ourselves, they are out there in an open market for us to find. There is a market out there for myself and other writers to supply a demand. We don’t even have to leave our homes.

What gets skipped over is the fact that it’s not always easy to write erotica. Writing without the stereotypical cliches and without it sounding like you are attempting to make a medical dictionary into a sex story, it can be plain hard to do. As with any writing project, there has to be something there. Something to grab their attention, (outside of the sex, come on, a little storyline is good) and make them want to read.

Personally, there are times I sit and look at my life and have to laugh. At any given moment I can have a screen full of smut, written by my own hand while helping my daughter with an algebra 2 problem, while on the phone with whatever charity or event I’m taking part in. Yet, I wouldn’t trade it.

So for now, I continue to write. Yesterday, ‘A Summer Ménage’ was released, and upcoming on August 25th, ‘One For the Team’ is scheduled to be released, so it is a busy, hectic time around here. I would love to connect with any other erotica lovers out there, be it in the form of writers or readers, it takes all of us to continue to grow. Feel free to follow me here, as well as on Twitter and Facebook.

Always,

S.D.[image error]

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