Massage Plus or FBST

You open the door to find a Long hallway complete with red carpet and at the quiet thud of the door behind you a face appears from the kitchen. “Welcome” she says as she comes around the corner. A thin black robe conceals the majority of the young woman but you can see her soft legs invitingly peeking from the hem and her open, welcoming face. “I’ve been looking forward to this all morning. Would you like tea, coffee, water, or perhaps something a bit warmer?” she says with a wink. You know from last time there is always something around to warm your belly.

The shower is hot and you begin to relax already, memory and anticipation melding together like spices into mulled wine. When you emerge from the bathroom clad in a big fluffy towel she greets you again with a chaste kiss and a mug of warm comfort. Soft French jazz coming from behind a closed door holds promise as the two of you sit on the couch to sip your drinks and catch up, establish sore spots, and enjoy a little face time.

The sheets on the table are smooth and cool. The candles on the shelves warm and make the room glow as if you’re in a dream. The oil on your back is slick and the hands are soft but firm. The conversation drifts in and out as your muscles begin to release the tension of holiday shopping and the stresses of work. You catch a glimpse in the mirrors of a face, a leg, the smooth curve of her bosom or hip as she moves around you, helping you stretch and relax, the oil drizzling across your back and spilling onto the sheets.

With a few words and a naughty little smile she lets you know you’re ready. Before the relaxation wears off, you’re lying on your back, enjoying as your arousal rises under her skilled and playful hands. There’s a look in her eye that tells you she likes it. She loves watching as you respond to her touch as much as she did when it was designed to soothe and relax. There is a rhythm to it, a cresting wave you can watch in the muscles and the eyes, the sound of someone enjoying themselves, totally selfish, absorbed, pampered, pleasured. The wave crests in a moment of slick, dirty, gorgeous release and after taking a moment to regain your senses, you open your eyes to a satisfied grin, a warm cloth, and a moment of closeness in the afterglow. The rest of your body is well attended; arms and hands, shoulders and feet all receiving her talented and well-schooled ministrations.

The shower after is relaxed, a moment to remember and savor the best parts. You emerge to a drink refreshed to keep you warm and hydrated and a kiss, less chaste than before. You are warm and safe and sexy. Those knots you’ve been trying to work out for ages have been calmed for a while and the endorphins from the final rush add to the glow. You savor those last few moments, looking forward to floating through the rest of the day and to the next time you can treat yourself to ninety minutes of warm, firm, sensual heaven. You chat of trifles and promise to come back soon, back to the hands waiting to warm you and that naughty little smile, waiting to devour you 😉

Or maybe next time you choose a higher energy option. Instead of a slow, soft greeting you find your lips and lap occupied within moments of opening the door. You’re reminded of that high school girlfriend; a good little Christian girl with a sinful appetite. You never quite went too far but even through her jeans she used you shamelessly. You lose your clothes with no delay and chase her to the table. Firm hands and full body strokes are less relaxing, more teasing teasing as you feel breasts, lips, and fingertips sliding across slippery skin and roaming into all sorts of naughty places. You can feel her weight as you become her personal jungle gym, knees and hips joining hands and arms to knead and tease, prolonging your arousal. Sweet nothings drift to your ears and your hot breath makes you both shiver. It’s been both forever and no time at all when her weight gently slips off of you and it’s time to roll to your back. You turn over and the sight is a welter of curves, smoldering eye contact, and the candles shining on thick streams of coconut oil. Breath, breasts, arms, hands, belly, and thighs all create their own sensations as she rides you and shares deep, long kisses. Your breath rises high and fast together. This isn’t your ordinary sensual massage, this is the closest thing to sex you can find without actually having it. You move together and the resultant mess is a sign of your satisfaction. You have time, still, to relax and receive some deep therapeutic bodywork on your hands and feet before washing off the aftermath and dressing again. If you’ve chosen to stay long enough there may even be time for round two, but that’s up to the mood and the moment. Next time you’ll have to opt for the relaxation style again; you’ve got to save your strength for this high energy seduction.

Pant(ie)s!!

First, a nod to one of my favorite musical artists of all time: Jonathan Coulton

I have to wear a uniform at work. Up until recently it was: black shoes, black tights, black pencil skirt tailored to mid thigh, black suit jacket and baggy blue undershirt. Tights. Every. Night. Now I don’t have a problem with tights. I have quite a number of them in varying colors, textures, patterns, and levels of sexpot but wearing boring black tights eight hours a day, five days a week, 52 weeks a year… it gets old. Last week was glorious. Last week we got pants. This is a huge accomplishment for our manager who has been lobbying on behalf of the women here for several years against the stodgy sensibilities of the owners. Women can’t wear pants because… well, we’re women! We are also not allowed to actually tend bar, but that’s not a formal restriction, it’s just how the owners like it and… well, that’s another story.

Right now the story is of the pants! We are supposed to purchase our new pants from Macy’s but I, as a denizen of the night, am not often downtown when the store is open and so have been wearing yoga pants to work. It is glorious. I’m sure it’s highly inappropriate because boy do they cling to the backside, but it’s so freeing and relaxing. They are even high waisted so I can tuck my shirt in which is more than I can say for the Macy’s fashion work pants. Of course the butt-hugging nature of the yoga pants means boy-shorts or lacy panties only, to avoid lines and maintain an illusion of decorum. This brings me to my metaphysical revelation of the day: wedgies can be fucking hot.

Wedgies? I know, weird, but hear me out, ok? The word wedgie is awful and not sexy at all. It comes with connotations of middle school bullying, streaks, and that uncomfortable tickle that must. be. satisfied. However, as I walk around my little castle behind the desk I notice that my sexy gray lacy panties are hugging my soft round cheeks very well. I am acutely aware that, were I not wearing pants, the bottom of my bottom would show, that little ass shelf made by a woman’s finely rounded tush when she stands with legs straight and back arched. The mild discomfort of the lace tracing little crescents atop my moon reminds me with every step that under my clothes I look sexy as hell. I’m a little seductive demon in gray and I know it. The knowledge is sexy and it shows in my face and my walk. I don’t much like thongs, but I can absolutely understand now why they make women feel sexy. When I feel that little string tickling my rosebud, I know my apple is in the eye of every man in the room and the lust is palpable. So when you think ‘aren’t they uncomfortable?’ the answer is yes, they are delightfully, sexily uncomfortable and that’s why we wear them.

I think I may buy a few more pairs this week 😉

The Last Policeman

I finished another post apocalyptic science fiction novel recently called “The Last Policeman” and really enjoyed it. The last book I finished was, while not exactly disappointing, not as engaging as it could have been. TLP is a human interest story if ever there was one. The premise is suggested in the title: there is an impending doom, an asteroid heading towards Earth. Several Km across, it will if not destroy at least severely limit all life on earth, specially human life and definitely life as we know it. The exact date the asteroid will impact is already known, though the place is not revealed until later in the novel, but the impending doom is more of a backdrop than a plot point. This story is a mystery, a murder staged as a suicide at a time when suicide is a popular choice across the board. The character is a detective, recently promoted due to… losses in the force. He is young, but has good instincts and has not left his post, not for anything. The atmosphere is a combination of pre-apocalyptic and charmingly mundane.

The plot, the mystery, is not particularly original. The culprit is somewhat easy to figure out and the steps the detective takes are about par for the course for a mystery. What truly sets this novel apart is the human aspect. What happens when you have six months left? What if everyone on the whole earth has only six months left? What happens when everyone in the world decides to pursue their ‘bucket list’ and leave their work and family behind? They are called ‘bucket listers’ in the novel and are the reason for many vacancies in the ranks of business and industry. Those who stay behind do so because they already are where they want to spend the rest of their lives, they are too scared to run off, or they don’t have the resources to do so. Emergency laws are enacted authorizing the death penalty for drug related crimes while at the same time illegal drug use skyrockets. Marijuana is decriminalized in the hopes that harder drugs will be less desirable. Our hero has to deal with mundane results of extraordinary circumstances, for example being unable to access criminal records from Colorado because there has been some sort of rioting that destroyed critical infrastructure. The local McDonalds is no longer affiliated with the franchise because it collapsed. The government tries to reign in inflation with price controls but the detective casually leaves a thousand dollar tip. It’s the day-to-day life of a man who feels like doing the right thing, set in between the lives of people facing the end of their world. The juxtaposition of our protagonist’s almost disregard for the impending disaster and the rest of the world’s insanity is both bizarre and thought provoking. It’s not only a question of what would you do, but the certainty that life can go on despite whatever else threatens it.

The plot does have some interesting and unexpected twists, and more deaths than I had anticipated. The novel covers the span of a week or so meaning the reader doesn’t get to see the asteroid hit, we don’t see the end of the world, we just see a bit of it. As usual with science fiction it’s not the plot as much as the universe that most interests me. The more mundane the activities of our hero the more humanized the impending doom and people’s reaction to it. I feel as though I’m not getting the feeling across very well. It would be like calmly filing paperwork on the top floor of the first tower on 9/11: nothing on the floor will ever be seen by another human being. It doesn’t matter if the paperwork gets filed, but you do it because it’s what you do, and it makes you feel better. It’s almost comical the level of calm detachment the detective has about the end of the world and it’s absolutely the most interesting part of the book.

It’s an easy read, and not very long as scifi novels go. I would recommend this novel both for its thought provoking power and for its sheer entertainment value. The writing is clear and engaging, pacing is good, and the little details add a sense of the philosophical. Overall a good read.

Law and Order

In lieu of books, recently, I’ve been watching old reruns of Law and Order, the very first ones from the nineties. Aside from the pure novelty/ memory of nineties hairstyles, clothes, and music, the show confronts social issues that the current iterations tend to skirt in favor of socially cleaner, but gorier material. The first few episodes cover race relations, abortion, and prostitution, to name a few. I love the way the show not only confronts these issues, but makes them messy and draws out the detective’s own beliefs during the investigations. The episode I’d like to talk about today is the one concerning a high class prostitution ring.

The detectives find a man, apparently mugged but alive in a park in New York. He dies in the hospital and it is discovered that he had a heart attack, likely previous to the blow to the head they found him with. A little sleuthing and they uncover ‘Poppy Catering’ a very expensive escort agency. I mean high end; five hundred an hour in the nineties seems high to me. The mistress is a famous young woman from old blood who mentors young women and tries to teach them how to be high class women and ‘gives them a future’ but what the detectives uncover and the prosecuting attorney point out, quite angrily, I might add, is that while the young women are routinely tested for STIs, any who turn up positive are kicked to the curb and none of the men were informed. It was the gross negligence that won the murder case and that causes outrage in the courtroom and in my own mind. We know how easy it is to contract such things, in this case it was the socially volatile AIDS virus, and also how easy it is to take simple precautions. What outraged me the most was 1: the mistress’s decision to allow unprotected sex in her brothel and 2: her failure to require testing of the men in the case of unprotected sex. That just seems like a bad business practice, much less callous disregard for safety. Watching the prosecuting attorney ream into the young woman at the height of her pride and watching her face fall as he points out that with the one and one half million dollars she made in the previous year, she failed to truly take care of what she called her little family. The realization that she was a monster, not because of her encouraging prostitution, but because of her selfish haughtiness took the wind from her sails. I love it when the villain realizes they’re screwed, don’t you? That moment when they finally realize that they are wrong.

I found it interesting that the episode used the illegality of prostitution as a tool to find true immorality, instead of making the ‘moral’ of the episode be the evils of sex work. The young lady at the center of the story, not the madame, is portrayed as not exactly helpless but not exactly fully culpable either. The young woman, Jolene, reminds me of a provider I know here in Seattle, with an elegant bearing, a calm surety, and a wisdom both youthful and mature. When she discovers that she has contracted the AIDS virus we watch her as hope slips away in a matter of seconds. We all know it was in essence a death sentence at that time and in fact another episode later addresses the issue of AIDS and suicide in the current social context. It seems that, while the madame was on the surface a mother to her little brood, she allowed her greed and arrogance destroy the lives and health of young women who had few choices and took the one that seemed so tempting. I can empathize with their decisions. Even if I were not as open to sexual experimentation and variety as I am, the ability to make as much in an hour as my friends make in a week is tempting and could easily sway many a young woman, were the option attractive enough. I think that’s what is giving our line of work such a bad name now. The threat of human trafficking and coercion, while inflated, is real and unfortunate. Be it your economic situation or another person, this business is an intimate one and only the best of actresses could fake it convincingly enough. Without approaching sex work with an open mind and a healthy attitude towards oneself and towards sex it can be intimidating and frightening and dangerous. I hate to think how a woman would feel about sex if she were reduced to a mechanical creature, dispensing it at the behest of another whether for money or social pressure. This is why I love this show: it provokes thought about a complex issue without simply painting it black and whit, right and wrong. It delves into motivation and complex causes and we get to see the responses of the detectives as they investigate crimes against people they may or may not sympathize with. I’m excited to get back to it and watch some more. TV just isn’t the same anymore :/

Prepare yourselves: winter is coming

I wrote a while ago about riding my bicycle home on a Sunday morning. The silence and the desertedness of the streets was enchanting at that point. This last Sunday morning I had a whole different experience of a sleeping city. No longer reveling in the sweet summer heat, lingering even through the night, she begins to shiver as soon as the sun goes down and the morning light doesn’t bring heat so much as a harshness. The sounds of the bus engines are that wracking cough I hear from the boxes in the department store entryways. The harsh glare of the rising sun no longer washes across the land but instead strikes the frozen ground with fierce blows.

The bus trundled up towards the freeway, its contents bundled in layers to ward off the cold. We each kept to ourselves, for the most part. I felt alone, but comfortable in my cocoon of solitude until the silence, previously only broken by the coughing engine and icy ‘bing’ of the bell was shattered by the most visceral, gutteral, inhuman yell. But it wasn’t only a yell, it was a grunt with the volume of a yell. The man in the seat behind me had for some reason been divested of speech, or the ability to pull the cable lining the top edges of the windows and had instead decided to convey his intent to disembark with this screaming roar. I felt as if warm, dusty filth had descended on me in an invisible layer. The protective solitude I had enjoyed was shattered by a man obviously capable of harming me and unpredictably free of social constraint. As the rest of us watched from the safety of peripheral vision, he marched to the back door of the bus where he turned to face the rear and bestowed another of his diaphragm cracking grunts on those few riders taking refuge in the back seats. Another wave of dust and metaphorical ooze dripped like a warm egg down my scalp and shoulders. I shivered and finally noticed the other passengers. Nearly a dozen men, lonely as me, bundled up in drab colors. Already unnerved by the disturbed man behind me, everyone else seemed a threat. The next twenty minutes were almost painful. I tried to forget, tried to distract myself but the memory of this sound, an animal sound from a human throat, stuck with me and sent shivers down my spine until I was able to get home and fall into a deep sleep.

I love my city, but sometimes she can be a harsh, scary bitch.

The Unincorporated Man

With classes nearly finished I found time to read a science fiction novel given to me by one of my delightful gentleman friends. It’s called ‘The Unincorporated Man’ and is written by brothers Dani and Eytan Kollin. As a first novel it is… fabulous. And interesting, and a little confusing. There are similarities to Heinlein’s ‘Stranger in a Strange Land’ but mostly in structure and basic story arc: it’s essentially a two-part book with the first half exploring how a stranger from the past fits into the world he wakes up in and the second half following his adventures getting the world to fit his personality. There will be spoilers here so if that bothers you, you may want to skip this review until you’ve read the book.

The main character, Justin Cord, is a wealthy older businessman, widower, and cancer patient living in the early twenty first century. He spends his billions on a suspension unit that will freeze him until such time as he can be safely revived. Because he distrusts the world, he has himself hidden in an empty mine, entrusts his faithful assistant to administer his affairs, and has all record of his tomb and efforts to defeat death erased. Three hundred years later he is revived into a society that has developed nanotechnology, eliminated aging, can revive any deaths provided there is minimal brain damage, and has terraformed several planets, the moon, and the asteroid belt. This, of course, is all expected: these are the technological wonders we dream of and would not be surprised to discover were we able to travel centuries into the future. What is unexpected, however, is the social change.

Every child, at birth, is incorporated. They are given seventy five thousand shares of themselves, their parents are given twenty thousand, and the government is given five thousand making a total one hundred percent. In order to fund education and pay for medical costs, a person sells shares of him or  herself to raise money. The shareholders are then able to exercise certain rights over the incorporated person. These include the right to do a psychological evaluation (nanobots essentially rebuild your nervous system should they deem it necessary), the right to audit your assets and, in the case of a person who holds fifty percent or less, dictate which school you attend, job you hold, and where you live. Corporations have their own currency, private companies provide the services that in our era are under the jurisdiction of the government such as public defense, utilities, courtroom proceedings, and most transportation, though roads and a few other things are still the government’s job. It is a utopia in that no one ages, most people don’t die, everyone has access to adequate food and shelter, and people are generally entertained. They’re happy and content and many are essentially slaves.

Into this world comes steely eyed, blue blooded, free and brave Justin Cord who spends the first half of the novel learning why, exactly, he can’t fall in love with Neela, why people are content with corporate ownership of each other, how to interact with his ‘avatar’, why virtual reality is prohibited, how nanotechnology works and how to use it, and the history of the grand collapse of society shortly after he was entombed. It is interesting and entertaining. The reader experiences along with Justin the delights of fast travel, gourmet food, technology that changes anything into anything else, and huge new buildings.

The second half of the novel begins at Mardi Gras. This holiday has become a system-wide week of insanity. It’s the week where anything goes. During this week people get body modifications so thorough that a woman can actually be a succubus, complete with functioning wings and tail, and a man can be a spider with a spinneret and eight long, hairy legs. Justin and Neela finally consummate their passion and Justin finally decides that he wants to start a movement to end incorporation, or at least make it voluntary. What follows is a series of physical and legal battles against the premier corporation and it’s primary underling, Hektor Sambianco, over Justin’s lack of incorporation

Though Justin becomes an instant celebrity, he is also an instant enemy of all who believe incorporation is critical to a functioning society. The major players in the heroic drama come and go. Hektor’s fortunes rise, fall, rise, fall, skyrocket, are nearly assassinated, and then float off into the mist of the sequel, so we must read it to find out how he continues to go after Justin. ‘The Chairman’ is a mysterious figure who often seems to work against Justin but is ultimately an ally. Even the underlings play a dangerous game of deception against each other to throw everyone off balance. In all this chaos, a revolution breaks out, terrorists begin attacking, new foes rise and fall in a dozen pages, our hero nearly changes his mind, then becomes firm in his convictions, then wavers again. For a short time I actually wanted him to give in, to incorporate, and to find out it’s not as bad as he thinks it is. I’ve never rooted for the bad guy before, but one conversation between Hektor and Justin is so compelling that I wouldn’t have been surprised, may even have been pleased at the turnabout, had Justin given up and become part of this strange land.

I’ve always enjoyed watching new universes unfold in the minds of authors. I love seeing the characters they devise, the worlds they share, and their imagining of what humanity might do when confronted with certain circumstances. In that this novel rises admirably. It is a new and interesting concept, this personal incorporation thing, and it makes a certain sense. If I own a share in your stock, I get part of what you make. Ok, what if you fall ill? It’s in my best interest that you get well again as soon as possible. What if you are not content and your productivity suffers? It’s in my best interest that you have some way to feel better, say bringing your family with you to a remote assignment. In theory, incorporation takes the interest we have in ourselves and uses it to make us responsible for each other. In reality, it turns minority shareholders into slaves, subject to the desires of their stockholders. It is this that Justin sees and this that The Chairman has observed over his lifetime.

The concept is thought provoking, the characters are down to earth and the pacing is fast enough that in one night I read nearly half the book, because I had to know what happened next! However, the last few chapters seemed rushed, forced, and a little too neat. The reader is left with a few loose ends, but we are promised a sequel so no worries on that. What does worry me is the sheer number of times the reader is thrown back and forth in ideology once we get near the end of the novel. Justin ‘wavers’ and considers what the opposition has to say. The opponents come out of the woodwork but the read is given too much, too soon. We meet them, know their personality, and then they are removed from the novel all in a chapter or two, it seemed like. Plus there’s this whole side plot of the avatars having gained sentience and influencing humanity with only one of the billions of people figuring out they are self aware. It’s… a bit too full of plot devices. It would have been well served by a bit of streamlining, or by having all those twists and turns actually end with a climax other than the patent “hero gets the girl and leads a revolution which the reader can essentially assume he will win.” Overall recommended but wouldn’t read it twice.

I’m less inclined to read the second novel in the series as I am to read more of the novels given to me a few weeks ago. I’m trying for one review a week but we’ll see. With school nearly finished I should have less guilty time and more actually free time.

I’ve Been a Busy Girl

Over the last few months I’ve been working on certification to sell real estate in Washington, mentally preparing to move (again), having three wisdom teeth removed (and discovering the joys of Oxycodone), hosting friends for a few days, trying new recipes and making business plans, and just generally staying busy.

The classes are delightful. Online forums are a big part of the class experience and I love that. There have been some touchy issues such as imminent domain and adverse possession (squatter’s rights, for the uninitiated) which are always fun to talk about. Some people, especially in the land of the free, home of the brave, are fiercely possessive of their hard won right to own and use land however they see fit. I include myself in that, but that fierce possessiveness leads to some intensely reactive ranting. People don’t like it when it is pointed out that they are reacting to a situation which is nearly impossible. That happened a few times: someone would answer the question of the week by posting a short rant about how they ‘can’t believe this still happens’ and ‘imagine that happening to you! how dare people?’ and I would reply with ‘you realize the amount of negligence necessary for this to happen, right? It’s fairly obvious you haven’t read the coursework for this discussion since it eliminates the situation you’re so angry about.’ and sit back and wait for…. nothing. No one replies because 1 they don’t have to and 2 there’s nothing dignified to be said to that. You find it all over the internet but in a class their grade relies on their behavior so there is at least some decorum. It did make that part of class more enjoyable.

Aside from feeling superior about myself in class (an unsavory habit, but hard to break :-P), I spent a lot of time learning really good stuff. I’m sure most of my readers are or have been homeowners so you already know all about qualifying for a mortgage, contingencies, liens, and all the minutiae that go along with property ownership and management. I’m hoping to have my license by the end of the year so I can start 2014 with a new plan and a new agenda.

There’s an interesting thing about free time I’ve noticed, that’s actually quite irritating when there are things to be done. Free time isn’t really relaxing until the things that need doing are done. Say I have an assignment due. The hour spent Redditing before completing the assignment is vastly inferior than the hour after the assignment is complete. This means that I don’t feel like I have as much free time as I actually do, because it takes two hours to get things done when they should take one. It makes me feel as though I’ve been far busier than I really have been. It’s also taken a long time to get back into the swing of school so I’m spending time catching up instead of getting ahead which can be problematic.

In the meantime I’ve been truly enjoying participating on the Review Board (www.thereviewboard.net) in some of the more recent discussions. I was ecstatic to see people encouraging each other to post reviews of new and local providers. The best way to encourage the kind of content you want to see is to post it in the first place. Maybe more of us local ladies should make a bigger deal out of reviews, the kind of reviews we want to read about ourselves. Perhaps a bottle of nice wine and some extra time for indulgence as a natural reward for public acknowledgement of our skills and talents. I think I may make that a policy once I have that incall space set up 😛 keep your eyes peeled for those kinds of updates.

I’m in a scattered mood at the moment so I apologize for the scattered nature of this little update.

Sweet Tooth and Shop Girl

I just finished a book called Sweet Tooth, written by Ian McEwan. He wrote the book Atonement also which is a film I absolutely loved so I had high hopes. They were not fulfilled.

The book describes itself as kind of a coming of age, a tale of lies and romance and spying and whatever else they put on the dustjacket. I found it a tale of youthful angst, foolishness, and not even any kind of moral to justify the foolishness and conceit of his main characters. The book opens on a young woman, Serena, just finishing secondary school in Britain during the Cold War. She is somewhat aimless, in a relationship with a man she can’t satisfy but who is content to love hew physically, and wholly self indulgent. She begins a relationship with an older professor and becomes the mistress until after graduation. He finds her a job with MI6, leaves her, and allows her to essentially find her own way. All this is punctuated by long, self indulgent monologues about the suspected motives of other characters that I personally found to increase Serena’s arrogance. It reminds me of a British Twilight: a Mary Jane with little to no personality, inexplicably loved by everyone she meets and who never has a real obstacle to overcome in the entire novel. The second half of the novel follows Serena through a promotion she didn’t earn and a relationship based on dishonesty which culminates in a contrived plot twist that is supposed to make the reader suddenly empathize with her and realize that the whole time her arrogance is justified because she’s been right about everything. It was one of the most difficult books to force myself to finish since Les Meserable and didn’t have the epic story line or the moral outrage to hold the reader’s interest. Overall I found it to be shallow and condescending.

I did find one literary device to be interesting: When Serena is preparing to solicit a young writer to write for the government, she reads his short stories as part of her handling of an undercover agent. We are treated to a summary of his short stories, complete with italicized lines drawn from this supposedly inspired writer. I found the use of passages from the book to be a good way to draw me in and help me develop interest in the short stories which I felt were far more interesting than Sweet Tooth as a whole. I also found her analysis of her relationship with this author/secret government agent interesting when she compared herself to characters in stories he had written. She thinks things like “He did x like the character in his story” and uses the stories as a window into this young man as she develops a deeper love for him.

I compared it to another book I read some time ago called Shop Girl, written by Steve Martin. My first shock at that book was finding out that he is not only an accomplished actor, but a skilled writer and also talented banjo player. Neat guy. Anyway, the reason I compare the books is that they are both about young women in relationships with both older men and then younger men later on. They are both about a young woman’s formative years and they both are from her perspective, written by men. Where Sweet Tooth felt as though it was wishful thinking by an older man wishing he had the love of a young woman and pretending he understood them, Shop Girl felt more like it was written by a father, to other fathers, showing them that a young, independent woman can have relationships with whomever she chooses and, while they may not be perfect or seemly, they can be happy and good and a learning experience.

Shop girl opens in a quiet department store in the glove section with a young bored girl named Mirabelle leaning on the counter, watching people in cosmetics. It’s familiar, mundane, made special only by the presence of this girl and her few customers. Mirabelle and Serena share an aimlessness and interest in an older man followed by an interest in one of the same age.The older lovers, a professor in Serena’s case and a businessman in Mirabelle’s, are purported to be wise, they take care of the young women, genuinely love them, but don’t end the relationships well in either case. The young lovers, a musician for Mirabelle and a writer for Serena, are a bit daft, mildly charming, broke, and redeem themselves in the end. Both young women have some sort of learning experiences, but Serena seems to be simply proven right at every turn while Mirabelle actually does some character building and ends the novella a different person than she started as.

The more I write about it the more I feel that is my problem with Sweet Tooth: everyone is so damn right all the time. The older lover is right to end the relationship the way he did, even though it was emotionally destructive: it’s ok in the end. Serena was right to lie to her agent, even though it was really rough, int he end it was the right thing to do. Her jealous rival was right to drive wedges into her relationship because it all worked out in the end and we’re all right and smug as shit about it. It’s as if McEwan didn’t want to do any actual character development so he just introduced stock characters at the appropriate times. Shop girl is a tenth the length, has three main characters and half a dozen supporting roles, and tells a far fuller, more complex, touching, and real story than Sweet Tooth.

Welcome the Rain

The weather has finally turned. The sky is steely blue, fluffy with clouds and misty with that rain that’s not ahrd enough to warrant an umbrella, but just cold and damp enough that the drops tapping the tops of my breasts are uncomfortably noticeable. The day is finished. I’ve completed the tasks that might take me outside for the day and what little else needs doing requires energy I do not have. I like the dark. I prefer being in the dark when alone. It’s cozy and chill enough that I’m constantly wrapped up in that fuzzy sweater I appropriated from your closet a while back. I’m wearing it now. The neck is wide enough that my collar bone shows and the thin strap of my camisole is visible. Below the sweater I’m wearing loose workout pants and fuzzy pink slippers to protect from the cold kitchen floor. The dishes are done and while I hate to make more, hot cocoa is on the agenda. The patter of the rain against the window and the gentle rolling boil of the kettle are all the soundtrack I need to enjoy this kind of weather. I think about lighting a fire but I’m too lazy; I’ll wait until you get home for that. Instead I take my cocoa upstairs where the heat has risen to fill the loft with warmth. There’s even some lingering scent of apple pie from yesterday when I left you to your devices and you produces a masterpiece. Perhaps I’ll have a small slice. Later. Right now my goal is bed and warmth.

I’ve slipped between the sheets and chosen the book I want. It’s my dirty little secret: a book of erotica I found at a second hand store. It’s cheesy and smarmy but between the lines I insert my own life and adventures. The slender, gentle hands of the musician/lover become your hands in my mind and the gentle banter between the Mary Jane and her lover become the tease, the laughter we’ve shared so often. The insertion of my own life makes the steamy scenes all the more real for me 😉

The cat is napping near my feet. I’ve finished my cocoa and while my hands are warm, I’m thinking of a little something to warm up the rest of me. The bedside table has a little stash of toys we use when we play together, but sometimes it’s fun to play by myself. But first thing is first: The Tease. I pick up my phone and snap a picture of myself, robe askew, with the toys visible but not prominent and perhaps most of a breast in view and send it to my lover, stuck at work on this dreary day with a little tease about how I miss you. Don’t you wish you were here right now? The mental foreplay, between the book and knowing I’ll have you fired up on the other end of a camera phone, has me giggling and gasping in no time. I have all the time in the world so I can stop and start, taking photos as I go of my hands on my breasts (wish they were yours), then one of the toys poised to enter and stimulate (I can’t wait for you to come home and do it for real. Nothing can replace your magnificent cock, my love), maybe a few more texts describing how I feel, tantalizing you, frustrating you with what you can’t have right this minute, though you know all bets are off once you get home.

When I turn it on, the cat looks over lazily but I have no time. In my hands I hold a bit of silicone and wiring but in my mind it’s you. You are the musician serenading me into bed, you are the carpenter, lifting my hips from the bed, you are the soldier returning from your long absence to love and pleasure me. My eyes are closed, my breath is short, my cheeks are flushed as the images in my mind get more and more explicit, the thoughts dirtier and my body moves closer to orgasm. It’s not the same. It’s never as good, but I’m pleased by the short but releasing orgasm and the aftermath in which I snap one last photo. I’m looking into the camera. It’s the afterglow. Were you here my head would be on your shoulder and our scent would mingle and we would gasp together. I promise you that by the time you get home I will want you just as much as always, but for now I slip into sleep, the cat purring on my feet, the rain pattering against the window, and your face leading me into my dreams.

Books. There cannot possibly be too many books!

I love to read. I always have. My mother started me young, sitting around a camp fire reading “This Ever Present Darkness” by Frank Peretti. Now this isn’t kid fiction, it’s actually Christian propaganda. It seems an odd choice in retrospect for children ages eight to twelve, but my mother chose it for the explicit christian meaning. It is also enrapturing (pun intended). The three novels cover an epic saga of the heavenly battle for Earth set in the ‘battleground’ itself (Earth) and the reader is aware of the angelic and demonic influences as well as the actions of the regular human characters. While in retrospect I find it unable to hold my interest due to my total lack of tolerance for Christian fiction, at the time it was a grand adventure, one revealed a chapter at a time on the knee of my beloved mother. We had a large, emerald green lazy boy style chair and I used to sit on her lap and try to keep up with her. After that we moved on to the Chronicles of Narnia, then to a series written by a Spokane author: the Belgariad, which would fast become my favorite. I read all twelve of the books some dozen times over the years. My brother and I lived for that one chapter every night. Sometimes, for special occasions (or if we begged hard enough) we got two. I will forever blame her for igniting a fire in me for reading, and thank her until the end of time.

After a while the tradition of the bedtime chapter fell off. I began reading voraciously on my own, first fantasy, then Science Fiction. I went through the usual tween reading: Brian Jaques’ tales of Redwall Abbey, forest creatures participating in grand adventures with a clear line between evil and good and conflicts in which good always wins. I dove into Anne McCaffrey’s fantasy novels which I later discovered were technically SciFi, but the dragons and their riders, the evil black threat from the red moon, the heroic characters overcoming the odds to save themselves and their world from disaster were all hallmarks of the grand epic.

As I got older, I started on more complex books and began to think and write about them. Orson Scott Card’s series of books examines how humanity might behave should we encounter a species we don’t understand. The author, perceptive to human nature, explores a unique and barbaric solution to a problem that need never have been. A battle with a species we don’t understand starts a lifetime of propaganda, preparation for war, and battles of will between adults and children as they race to defeat an enemy they don’t understand. It is both a personal and a galactic epic and the author guides the reader through until the great reveal at the end, a twist that had me gasping out loud in surprise. I read Nancy Drew and Lewis Carrol. In college I started on Charles Dickens, Jules Verne, Jane Austen, Victor Hugo, Dostoyevsky. I discovered Mary Roach, Steve Martin, Sallie Tisdale, Robert Heinlein, Joe Haldeman, and many more. I won’t be surprised if you’ve never heard of these authors, but if you pick up only one, choose Mrs. Roach. She is one of the best nonfiction writers I have come across, writing in a hilarious, intelligent, conversational tone about things that are actually fucking awesome. Seriously. Start with ‘Bonk’ and you will never go back.

I read in bed. I read on the bus. I read while I eat. I read for fun and for interest. I read for school and for work and to pass the time. I love it. I cannot imagine anything greater than a good book, a cup of hot cocoa laced with home made khalua, a crackling fire, and a warm kitty lying next to me.