Tag Archives: sexy

Daily Sexy Musing: Lying In Bed Together

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There’s this popular, but not entirely flawed notion that sexy moments have to involve heavy exertion. If you’re not putting in effort, working up a sweat, or pushing yourself alongside your lover, then the sexiness of the moment is limited. Given the content of the novels and sexy short stories I’ve written, I can totally appreciate that sentiment.

However, not every sexy moment has to be a test of endurance. It is possible to create an intensely intimate moment just by lying in bed with someone. It doesn’t have to involve a kinky sex act. It doesn’t even have to involve heavy petting or an extensive journey into one another’s anatomy. Sometimes, just lying next to someone is all the intimacy you need.

I can personally attest to this. When I was with my ex-girlfriend, some of the most passionate moments we shared involved just lying together in bed, on a couch, or even on the floor. Whether we were resting or watching a movie together, the feeling of just feeling the warmth of someone else’s body was special to us.

There’s a time and a place for elaborate, intense, and energetic forms of intimacy. The same applies to the simple act of lying in bed with your lover. I feel like that experience deserves more appreciation than it gets. This Daily Sexy Musing is my way of showing just how great that experience can be. Enjoy!

The air is still.

The room is silent.

The world around us is an afterthought.

Right now, we’re just two lovers in bed, resting and relaxing in each other’s warmth.

On this same bed, we’ve shared many moments of heated passion. There have been times when the room shakes, our bodies tremble, and the echo with our voices reverberate from the walls. There are many acts we’ve shared, evoking grunts and sweats that test our resolve. Those are all cherished memories, but so are moments like this.

There’s no need for intense effort.

There’s no need for elaborate gestures.

Just lying next to you, your body within close reach, is sufficient.

The lives we live and share are so tiring. Every day of every week brings new challenges. Somewhere along the line, we must find time to celebrate our love. Just being nearby isn’t enough. Even being close only goes so far. There’s a need for intimacy, connection, and the warm sensations that come with loving touch.

There are many ways to meet those needs. Good lovers find creative ways, but great lovers know the tricks of the trade. They know the simple gestures that convey that loving touch. They can create an act of intimacy with little spectacle, yet immense passion. It requires a great deal of work, but incurs great rewards in the long run.

From romantic pursuit to loving bliss.

From heated moments to peaceful nights.

From epic journeys to ultimate goals.

Lying in bed next to you, exchanging a light touch and a simple gesture, I know how far our love has come. I see in you the lover I worked so hard to pursue and the lover who so gladly shares their life with mine.

We can make love when we want to.

We can seek love when we need to.

For now, we’re content to just lie together and enjoy the love we have.

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Jack Fisher’s Sexy Sunday Thoughts: Hot Aliens Edition

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If aliens ever do land on Earth, our reaction will be highly contingent on how sexually attractive we find them. It’s an inescapable fact of our dirty collective imaginations. We judge someone by how sexually attractive we find them. If a race of aliens looked like Brad Pitt and Jennifer Lawrence, we would approach them differently compared to the little green men of old.

I don’t deny there are some alien women in fiction that I find very attractive. Gamora from “Guardians of the Galaxy,” Liara from “Mass Effect,” and Starfire from DC Comics are just some of the alien women I find sexy. While I understand that’s very unlikely that actual aliens would look anything like women, men, or humans in general, it’s still a popular trope for a reason.

Aliens can be scary, as many movies and TV shows have shown us. They can also have a sexy side. After all, all life needs to survive and reproduce in order to evolve, including aliens. They would have to have some level of sex appeal in order to get that far, even if it takes a form most humans wouldn’t understand.

Regardless of how real aliens might look, there will always be a place in the world of fantasy and sci-fi for sexy aliens. As someone who loves comics, sci-fi, and all things sexy, those kinds of aliens have a special place in my heart. For that reason, and plenty others, I dedicate this edition of my Sexy Sunday Thoughts to the sexy aliens out there, wherever they may be.


“The quality of the sex we have is directly proportional to the necessary effort to get the stains out of our bed sheets.”


“You know you have sex appeal when you can make dirty sweatpants look sexy.”


“Weddings are the only occasions where people encourage close family members to have sex.”


“True love is never hesitating to touch your lover’s dirty underwear.”


“When you think about it, every romantic gesture is directly linked to facilitating an orgasm.”


“As a general rule, if it can be used as a lubricant, it probably has been used in a sex act.”


“Strippers and prostitutes are the only ones who know the actual market value of their bodies.”


We may never know whether we’re truly alone in the universe. Even if we do meet real aliens one day, it’s unlikely they’ll take a form we find inherently sexy. It’s still a fun idea to imagine, a race of aliens that are both extremely advanced and extremely sexy. Fantasy or not, it’s the kind of idea that makes gazing up at the stars that much more awe-inspiring.

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“The Promotion” A Sexy Short Story

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The following is a sexy short story I wrote about getting ahead in your career and celebrating it in the sexiest way possible. Enjoy!

“A new day, a new office, and a big promotion,” said Jonathan Zander with a beaming smile. “I’ve earned this!”

It was the culmination of a decade of toil. After working so hard for the most prominent investment firm in the state, he had achieved something that had once seemed impossible. He started as an intern, getting people coffee, printing out presentations, and organizing meetings for low pay and no overtime. Now, he was a full-fledged executive director, complete with a yearly bonus, his own parking spot, and a private office.

It might not have been the biggest office in the building, but it was still a major step up from the cramped cubical he’d worked in as an intern. It had once belonged to his supervisor, who had mentored him for the past seven years. He had since retired and was instrumental in helping Jonathan get the promotion. The office had been empty for over a month, but he intended to make it distinctly his.

“I’ll put my diploma over there,” Jonathan said to himself, pointing out blank spaces on the wall, “and that picture of me and my dad at the Super Bowl will go there. I can maybe get some artwork from my sister if she has any, but I can just as easily get some from that convention next week. And this time, I’ll actually be able to afford it!”

He kept on smiling, even as he set his box of personal effects on the large mahogany desk. He was still getting used to the idea of not being underpaid. He’d spent the last decade paying down his student loan debts and living frugally in rented apartments with unreliable roommates. That was about to change. Jonathan already planned to move into his own place by the end of the month. That was just the beginning.

“With a fat bonus comes a new suite, better furniture, and maybe even a new car at some point,” Jonathan said to himself, his mind still racing from all the exciting possibilities. “It will be nice to actually drive to work in something that isn’t 12 years old and bought at a discount from my grandfather.”

He’d worked so hard to find success doing what he loved. He intended to enjoy the hell out of it.

As an executive, there was no dead end to his job. Jonathan was no longer just some replaceable office grunt. He had influence, authority, and flexibility. He could help direct the company forward and reap the inevitable rewards. That was what he had wanted after seeing his father toil with the post office for decades. He sought more and he was willing to work for it.

There would be plenty of time for that later on, though. At the moment, it was Friday evening and most of the staff had already left for the day. Jonathan was tempted to join them, but opted to get a head start on setting up his new work space. He was too excited to just go home and wait for the next phase of his career to begin. Looking out his window, which had an awesome view of the park space just outside the building, he marveled at how far he had come.

“All that hard work…the late nights, the impossible deadlines, and the coffee enemas…I did way more than I thought I could do,” Jonathan mused. “My dad told me that hard work can’t just be for the sake of working. It has to be for something greater. Guess it’s up to me to figure out how great it’ll be.”

That was still the most daunting prospect of his new job. Jonathan had spent so much time working for others. The idea that others would work for him in the name of his vision for the company still hadn’t sunk in. He had to adjust quickly because there was plenty more he hoped to achieve.

“Excuse me, Mr. Zander?” said an unexpected female voice. “Do you have a moment?”

Jonathan turned around to see a young woman standing in the doorway to his new office. She looked like one of those cute secretaries the old CEO loved to hire, complete with a low-cut skirt, polished heels, and a blouse that seemed a size too small. Never one to turn away from a pretty girl, he welcomed her in.

“Sure,” he said to her. “Come on in. Are you one of Sheila Grant’s new assistance in HR?”

“No. I’m actually a…well, I guess you could call me an office temp,” she said coyly.

“Oh? What kind of temp?”

“The kind your old boss hired for the sole purpose of celebrating your promotion,” she told him.

Jonathan was taken aback, somewhat. He recognized the undertone in that woman’s voice. He had been to his share of bachelor parties to know what it implied. Upon seeing the woman close the door to his office behind her and lock it, he began filling in the blanks.

It seemed outrageous. He’d heard rumors about certain people hiring strippers and prostitutes for executives, but Jonathan thought they were just perverse water cooler talk. Now that he was an executive, though, those rumors took on a very different meaning.

“My name is Daisy,” the woman continued. “I guess you could call me a ‘personal motivator.’ I specialize in helping aspiring executives stay driven, so to speak.”

“That sounds…useful,” Jonathan said, not acknowledging the overt innuendo in her tone. “How exactly do you go about that?”

The young woman casually walked over to him, revealing in the process that the top part of her blouse was already unbuttoned, exposing her ample cleavage. It was, by no means, appropriate office attire. However, Jonathan felt little inclination to report her to HR. If anything, he had a feeling that his old supervisor had circumvented HR.

The way she walked did not imply that she had come directly from business school. The way she swayed her hips and glared at him with seductive eyes made it seem like she’d come right from a strip club. Knowing as that there was a strip club less than four blocks from the office, the possibilities were plenty feasible.

When she reached him, she stood so close that her ample breasts actually touched his chest. He could already smell the makeup, eye-liner, and high-end lipstick. Still standing by the window, Jonathan didn’t move in inch in any direction.

“I could spend the next half-hour explaining my unique talents,” Daisy told him, skillfully snaking her arms around his neck, “or I could just show you.”

“That might be optimal,” Jonathan said, already sounding like an executive. “In my experience, people learn by doing and not listening.”

“I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I think you’ll love my technique!”

The attractive young woman ditched the innuendo from that point and lured him into a kiss. As soon as her lips touched his, he was intoxicated by the intensely sensual taste. It was like tasting literal success, so sweet and rewarding. Whether or not Daisy was the literal manifestation of his success was a matter of perspective…one that he did not care to rationalize at the moment.

Kissing her did more than just affirm his success. It got all the blood in his body flowing in a certain direction. That reminded him that he was a healthy heterosexual man who hadn’t had time for a relationship. His work made finding love – or meaningless sex, for that matter – a challenge subject to serious time constraints. Having not known the intimate touch of a woman for a while, it was nothing short of refreshing.

“Mmm…I like it already!” Jonathan said after their lips parted.

“Oh I’m just getting started, Mr. Zander,” Daisy said, sounding sexy, yet serious. “Have a seat. The real presentation is about to begin!”

She kissed him again, snaking her arms around his neck in the process. He boldly returned the gesture, slipping his hands around her waist and feeling up her womanly curves over that not-so-modest dress of hers. As he felt her up, she guided him away from the window and towards his new desk. Jonathan offered no resistance, going along with Daisy’s unusual technique.

He soon found himself sitting on the edge of his desk, his legs dangling over as the young woman stood in front of him. His hands still on her waist, he could already feel his pants tightening. Daisy even seemed to realize that and grazed her thigh up against the growing bulge.

“Hold still,” she said upon breaking the kiss again. “This office getup is feeling very itchy.”

Then, her seductive gaze never once diverting from him, Daisy began taking off her clothes. She didn’t do it casually, either. She was slow and sensual, strategically unbuttoning her blouse so that he could watch her breasts steadily tumble out. She was just as subtle when she unzipped the back of her skirt, turned around, and casually slid it off down her thighs, revealing a red G-string thong that perfectly augmented her shapely butt.

It confirmed what Jonathan had suspected. She was a stripper, most likely one that his old boss had hired before for other executives. Given how comfortable she was stripping in a stranger’s office, Jonathan surmised she had done it before and gotten it down to a system.

“Well, that’s one way to deal with uncomfortable office clothes,” he joked.

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Casual-Friday,” Daisy teased while feeling up the in-seam of his custom-made suit.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, “although it does get a little confining when it’s this hot.”

“Well, in that case, why don’t I help with that?”

Jonathan didn’t say a word. He just cast her a goofy grin, which told her everything he needed to tell her. Looking quite comfortable in her bra and thong underwear, Daisy went to work undoing his belt, unzipping his pants, and pulling them down to his ankles, boxers and all.

His semi-erect manhood freed, Jonathan already felt a light sweat forming on his forehead. As Daisy narrowed her gaze on his lower anatomy, he quickly undid his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt.

“Oh my,” she said playfully. “You keep that confined in those tight pants all day? You have earned this promotion!”

“I like to think that’s one of the reasons I’ve earned it,” he quipped.

“Well, it looks like it needs some professional attention. Lean back a bit and I’ll get the job done.”

“I look forward to seeing you demonstrate your skills.”

They both laughed at their shared tone. It resembled that of an executive and an assistant in a serious business meeting. It would’ve been cheesy if Jonathan didn’t enjoy it so much. He even found it extra arousing, although that might have just been a byproduct of not having sex for so long.

That wait was almost over, though. As he fumbled to get his shirt off, Daisy dropped to her knees and began giving him oral sex. She made it clear from the beginning, though, that she was a true pro.

“Oohhh, Ms. Daisy!” Jonathan moaned. “Your skills…they’re amazing!”

The beautiful woman glanced up at him, showing an eagerness and motivation that any executive could respect. She wanted his approval, just as he had wanted approval from his former boss and she really worked for it.

She was so thorough, grasping the base of his shaft with one hand while stroking the shaft with the other. She carefully, but fervently worked her lips along the length of his dick, using her tongue to stimulate all those sensitive areas. It felt so good, sending shudders of bliss coursing through his body.

Jonathan had barely managed to get his shirt off, now leaning back on his desk as he soaked in the feeling. He watched her work with such dedication. At one point, she released her grip on the base of his shaft and used it to undo her bra.

“Looks like I’ll need more advanced techniques,” Daisy said intently.

He just grinned back at her in approval, watching as those voluptuous breasts of hers hung free. He couldn’t tell whether they were real. He didn’t really care, though. Daisy showed that she knew how to use them, positioning his dick right between her fleshy mounds and using them to initiate a full-fledged tit-fuck.

“Ohhh yeah!” Jonathan moaned. “That feels…so advanced.”

“Like I said…I’m a professional,” Daisy said seductively.

Up and down, his manhood slid smoothly between her breasts. He still couldn’t determine whether they were natural or fake. He honestly couldn’t care less.

Blissful moans soon morphed into labored grunts. His dick went from just erect to rock hard. Daisy certainly took notice. She even seemed to take pride in it, being able to get a man that aroused with her tits and mouth. It was the mark of a true professional, which seemed quite fitting, given the circumstances.

“Wow! Talk about hard work paying off,” Daisy said.

“Hard…that’s for sure,” said Jonathan, already breathless.

“You worked just as hard to get here, Mr. Zander. Hard work should be rewarded. That’s what I intended to give you.”

“You mean you haven’t already?”

“Are you kidding? That was just the appetizer. Now, it’s time for the main course!”

With a lurid tone in her voice and a seductive glint in her eye, Daisy rose back to her feet and kicked off her heels. She then turned around, showing him that perfect ass of hers again, and slid off her thong.

Jonathan’s mouth watered at the sight of her butt and pussy. He even noticed that she was aroused, a sign that she was among the lucky few in the world who actually enjoyed her job. That didn’t just give them something in common. It put them on the same page.

“Tell me, Mr. Zander,” said Daisy, turning around and showing him all her naked glory. “How do you want to celebrate your promotion?”

“If I had to choose,” Jonathan said, already enchanted by the sight, “I’d pick you up in my arms, set you down on my fancy new desk, and fuck you until I came all over your tits.”

“Is that so?” she said curly. “Well, you’re in luck. That just happens to be my kind of celebrating!”

Now, it was Jonathan’s turn to grin playfully. Throwing aside his dress shirt and kicking off his overpriced shoes, the newly-minted executive got off the desk and seized the moment in the name of celebrating his success.

He slipped his arms around Daisy, savoring the feeling of her naked skin pressing up against his, and kissed her intently. She eagerly kissed back, jumping up into his arms and throwing her legs around his waist. He instinctively caught her, which also gave him a perfect grip on her butt. It left him feeling empowered, the flesh of a naked woman pressing meshing with his. Jonathan longed to exercise that power, celebrating the promotion that he worked so hard to earn.

As their lips and tongues twirled in their lustful embrace, he set her down on the polished desk in the exact position he’d been in moments ago. Daisy kept her legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to his shoulders as he positioned himself in front of her, aligning his dick with her wet entrance.

“You ready?” he asked her, his every word radiating with lust.

“Let the celebrating begin!” Daisy proclaimed.

Heeding her words, Jonathan grabbed hold of her waist and thrust his hips forward, driving his throbbing cock into her. In an instant, he felt the hot warmth of womanly flesh surrounding his manhood. The process was so smooth, his arousal complementing hers. They each let out a blissful moan. From there, they the real celebration began.

His feet planted firmly on the freshly-cleaned rug, Jonathan began humping the beautiful woman in his grasp. Together, their naked bodies rocked in a vigorous rhythm. Like a well-oiled piston, his cock pumped within her pussy. The sound of his pelvis smacking against hers filled the room, along with the light squeaking noise of the fancy desk. Something about that motivated him to intensify the movements, as though it were a manifestation of his hard work.

“Yes! Ohhh yes!” Daisy cried out. “That’s it! Fuck me! Fuck me like a big, strong executive! Ooh I’m coming already!”

She could’ve been faking it. She probably was, but she sure sounded convincing. Jonathan could feel her inner folds throbbing around his dick. The gasps turned to squeals. Rather than just cling to his shoulders, she dug her nails right into his skin. It strong, but in the best possible way.

Fake or not, Jonathan felt even more motivated. Shifting his hands from her waist to her thighs, he pushed he legs farther apart so he could thrust in deeper. He also kissed down her neck, tasting the light sweat that had already formed on her skin. More moans followed. It was like the sweetest music coupled with his favorite treat, the ultimate desert to go along with a momentous event.

“Daisy,” Jonathan grunted, “you like being fucked…by an executive?”

“Yes! I love it! I fucking love it!” she affirmed with surprising enthusiasm.

“Then that’s…how I’ll fuck you!”

In another show of his newfound authority, Jonathan withdrew his cock from her briefly so that he could reposition the naked woman in his grasp. With strength he didn’t remember having before he got promoted, he pulled her off the desk, turned her around, and bent her over so that her breasts were mashed up against the polished wood. Now facing that heart-shaped ass of hers, he thrust his cock back into her and resumed his vigorous humping.

“Oh yeah! Ohhh fuck yeah!” Jonathan seethed. “This…is how…an executive fucks!”

Daisy responded with more blissful moans. He already sounded like a new man, one far removed from the quiet intern he’d been ten years ago. He’d worked hard to become that man and he was already loving it.

Daisy must have loved it too. In fact, she seemed to have a fetish for powerful men in business. She kept loudly proclaiming that she was having an orgasm. The more she said it, the less certain he was that she was faking it. That might have been due to his position in a major company and not his sexual prowess, but Jonathan didn’t care. If he could celebrate his promotion and make a beautiful woman climax, then that was just an awesome bonus.

He worked just as hard to make their sex both memorable and momentous. As the desk shook and Daisy’s body rocked, Jonathan felt himself approaching his peak. It might have been the most intense peak he’d felt since his ex-girlfriend dressed up as a sexy librarian in college. It was like a volcano ready to erupt and, like his promotion, it required a little extra effort to achieve it.

“Daisy! I…I’m close!” he told her. “I’m ready…to come!”

“I’m ready too, Mr. Zander,” Daisy replied.

With their lusts perfectly in synch, Jonathan pulled out of her again and she quickly turned around so that she could drop her to knees again. Just as before, she put those voluptuous breasts of hers to good use, pressing his throbbing cock between them. From that position, he slid his manhood between those fleshy mounds of his until he crossed that final threshold.

“Oohhh Daisy!”

After those fateful words, the volcano of pent up desire erupted. Holding onto her head, Jonathan closed his eyes and threw his head back as the feeling washed over him like a tsunami of pure ecstasy. It was incredible, his throbbing releasing a thick load of cum onto the beautiful woman’s amble cleavage. From head to toe, the sensations rippled through his body in a surge of pleasure, power, and accomplishment.

The volume of manly fluid surprised Daisy as much as it did him. She even gasped somewhat at how much ended up on her face. It had definitely been a while for him. A lot of feelings had been pent up in his effort to advance his career. As tough as it had been, the end result was worth it…even if it was somewhat messy.

“Wow!” Daisy said. “So much cum…you really did work hard for this.”

“Yeah…hard,” he said, still an orgasmic daze.

They both laughed somewhat as Daisy used her tits to extract every last drop from his manhood. She even made sure to lick up the bits that lingered. Once the ecstasy passed, Jonathan let out the most content sigh he had experienced in over a decade.

He ended up leaning back on his desk, sitting down on the floor next to the naked woman who still had his cum dripping from her tits. She didn’t seem to mind, though. She even pulled him into a light embrace, as if to offer once last round of congratulations for what he achieved.

“A job well done, Mr. Zander,” she told him.

“Speak for yourself, Ms. Daisy,” Jonathan laughed.

“You’re going to make a great executive here. I look forward to celebrating your future achievements with you.”

“So do I,” he told her, “and don’t worry. I’ll have plenty of achievements worth celebrating in the future. I promise!”

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Jack Fisher’s Sexy Sunday Thoughts: Competitive Love Edition

Couple jogging in nature

Some people are just competitive, by nature. They’ll turn anything into a contest, be it a sales competition, a video game, or the act of making love to their lover. It can be beneficial. Competition, after all, is wired into our collective psyche. It’s part of what has made humans such a successful species. As such, it helps make us great lovers.

I’ve known people who actively channel their competitive nature into their love lives. They often end up with spouses or partners who are just as competitive as they are, looking for ways to push each other and themselves. I knew one couple in college that tried to compete with another on how long they could spend a day naked together. I’m not sure who won, but I don’t get the sense that anybody lost.

It can get needlessly elaborate and downright exhausting. It can also help keep things interesting in a relationship. I’m not an overly competitive person, but I do like to push myself every now and then. When I do find that special someone, I hope they’ll have a similar competitive drive. When done right, competition can bring out the best in people. When done right to our love lives, it can get pretty damn sexy.

That’s not to say there aren’t risks. Like anything, it is possible to go too far. That’s not the kind of competition I’m referring to. For this week’s Sexy Sunday Thoughts, my focus is on the kind of competitive spirit that pushes lovers in all the right ways for all the right reasons.


“We consider nudity obscene, but trust a few thin layers of fabric to guard that obscenity.”


“The first person to shave off their pubic hair must have been equally brave and foolish.”

 


“The best drugs either facilitate the process of getting sex or mimic the feelings associated with having sex.”


“True cunning is seducing someone who thinks they’re the one doing the seducing.”


“Men who are good with power tools have no excuses when it comes to effectively using a vibrator with their lover.”


“A dirty thought is often a precursor to a loving gesture.”


“These days, a lack of debt carries its own brand of sex appeal.”


Hopefully, that got some of the competitive juices flowing, among other things. The NFL season may be over and the middle of winter makes it tough to do much competing. That just means couples have to get more creative and creativity is often the best catalyst for an exciting love life.

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“The Mysterious Frenchman” A Sexy Short Story

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The following is a sexy short story that was commissioned by a loyal reader who wanted a specific, French-themed kind of sexy. They know who they are. I hope they enjoy this. If you’re at all interested in commissioning another sexy short story, please contact me. Until then, profiter de l’histoire!

What was it about France that made it so romantic?

American girls like Rose Redman had asked themselves that question more than once. It was just one country in Europe, albeit one with a unique collection of people, places, and culture. It had a rich history and a distinct style. There was a special distinction that came with all things French. Being there just felt different. It carried a spirit that could not be found anywhere else.

Rose, unlike other Americans, had a chance to seek that spirit for herself. At 18-years-old, having just graduated high school, she decided to experience France on her own. It marked the first vacation she ever went on by herself. It was ambitious, but that had never dissuaded her before.

Rose was not the kind of woman who just read about exotic locations. She preferred to experience them first-hand. Some called her adventurous. Others called her reckless. She didn’t care what anyone labeled her. She was her own person. She was going to experience France and everything that made it romantic.

However, her choice to make France her final vacation before college wasn’t just about its romantic mystique. Rose had a more personal reason for maxing out her credit cards and borrowing money from friends…one prompted by tragedy.

“You would’ve loved this place, Mom,” she said solemnly. “You would’ve loved everything about it.”

Rose had been saying those words to herself almost every day since she arrived. Everywhere she went – Paris, Lyon, Nice, Bordeaux, and all their various landmarks – she experienced something she knew her mother would’ve loved. Whether it was a famous building or a snack she bought at a café, she could easily imagine her mother’s face lighting up like the Parisian skyline.

Sadly, Rose never got the chance to share that experience. Eight months ago, her mother passed away after a two-year bout with cancer. The trip wasn’t just about the experience or even the romance. It was her way of honoring her mother.

“I still miss you,” Rose said to the clear blue sky. “We would’ve had so much fun here. Hell, a day at the nude beach in Nice would’ve made for some great memories…funny, awkward, and mortifying memories, but still great none-the-less.”

She laughed to herself, despite the lingering sorrow. Hugging her knees, sitting atop a picnic blanket on a hot summer day, Rose tried to focus on all the wonderful things she’d experienced on her trip.

“Just so you know, I didn’t meet that fancy French aristocrat you’d said I’d meet,” she said, still fixated on the sky. “I met some guys who said I had great legs. Then again, my French is still lousy so they might have been referring to my tits. There were polite about it, though. I still said no when they offered to rub sunscreen on my back.”

She kept smiling at the memory. She could hear her mother telling her she should’ve let them. Like her, her mother was a free spirit. She loved to learn new things and seek new experiences. She just didn’t get a chance to travel much. Between a failed marriage with her father and a career that seemed to change every other month, she didn’t get many opportunities. That didn’t stop her from making plans.

Before she died, she’d told Rose a story about a trip to France she took as a child. She’d even told her that she wanted to take her there on vacation after she finished college, joking about how the country’s romantic ambience would perfectly complement their free-spirited nature. Rose had been looking forward to that trip since middle school. Fate, misfortune, and circumstances just got in the way.

“I know you didn’t want me to mourn you for this long,” Rose said, now resting her chin on her knees. “You told me you didn’t want your death to dampen my spirit and harden my heart. You made me promise to keep seeking love…to embrace it, as I always have. It’s just a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

Tears formed in her eyes as Rose sobbed softly into her hands. She sighed to herself and reached for the half-empty glass of wine she had next to her. It came courtesy of the best bottle she could afford and some complimentary cheese, which she had finished.

After nearly a week of traveling the cities, seeing the sites, and lounging on the beaches, Rose decided to spend the last day of her vacation at a winery east of Bordeaux. She even made sure she came at a time when it wasn’t too crowded, opting to skip the tour and just find a quiet place on a hillside overlooking fields.

It was her way of sharing a quiet moment with her mother’s spirit. Gazing out over the beautiful French countryside, however, Rose could feel her heart aching to reach out, but the cloud of her mother’s death still hung over her.

“You always said we shouldn’t hesitate to love, even if it gets us in trouble,” Rose mused as she sipped the wine. “Great experiences come with a price. Maybe that’s why France such a romantic place. People are much more willing to pay that price and take that chance.”

It made sense. The people Rose had met, including the flirty men on that nude beach, weren’t afraid to put themselves out there. For some reason, pursuing love that directly was taboo back home. It was refreshing for someone who’d opened her heart to a lot of people in her life. France was just as open, but for some reason, she’d closed herself off.

“I’m in this wonderful place where I can heal my soul and honor your memory,” Rose said as she stared at her now-empty glass. “After all the places I’ve been and all the people I’ve met, why do I still feel…empty?”

That question had been plaguing her for days now. She was set to fly home the next day. Rose wanted to be able to tell her friends and family that she was at peace. She was ready to move forward and love again. She needed to keep that last promise she’d made to her mother. At the moment, though, it felt like she was failing her.

“You’re a long way from the tour group, mademoiselle,” came an unexpected voice in a deep French accent.

Rose turned to see a tall, older man with a thick black beard, large forearms, and olive-toned skin emerging from a nearby field of grape vines. He wore white shirt, tattered dark pants, and muddy boots, indicating he wasn’t a tour guide. From the looks of it, he worked at the winery, albeit not in the most glamorous role.

“There are far better places for a picnic,” the man told her, “unless, of course, you’re not looking for the best place…just the one where you can talk to yourself in peace.”

“You uh…heard that?” Rose said sheepishly.

“My English is not great,” he said, “but I understand enough to know when someone is speaking with a broken heart. Here in France, we like to think we’re more fluent than most in the language of the heart.”

The man cast her a sympathetic smile. Rose smiled back, but still blushed profusely. She didn’t usually talk to herself and when she did, she had the good sense to be subtle. Then again, subtlety had never been among her strengths

The man didn’t hold it against her, though. He just kept smiling as he sat down next to her. In doing so, she confirmed that the man definitely worked on the front lines of the winery, so to speak. He smelled like he’d been toiling for hours, picking grapes and tilling the soil. Being the kind of woman who appreciated hard working men more than most, Rose didn’t mind in the slightest.

“So how much did you understand?” Rose asked him.

“Enough to know that you came here with a wounded heart,” the man said. “Not a broken heart, which I’ve seen plenty of in my time. Just wounded.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a considerable difference,” he said. “I don’t know if English has the right words for it.”

“That sounds exactly like something someone from France would say.”

“I won’t claim I could explain it perfectly in my native tongue. It would certainly be easier, especially when the wounds aren’t healing as much as you wish they were.”

Rose’s demeanor shifted. She diverted her gaze, as if to hide some of the sorrow she’d tried to put into words moments ago. No matter how much the mysterious Frenchman had overheard, she’d made her pain clear. Hers was a strained heart, one that could still love, but had been hardened by loss. Even as someone who rarely hid her emotions, it still hurt.

That didn’t deter the man. He even scooted closer, giving her an even bigger whiff of that musky scent that could only come from a man who spent his days making French wine. It was enough to make her heart skip a beat, which seemed to make his point.

“I’m Philippe, by the way,” the man said.

“I’m Rose. Nice to meet you,” Rose said with a smile. “Would I be an insufferably rude tourist if I called you Phil?”

“For a woman dealing with a wounded heart, I’ll happily overlook some cultural peeves,” Philippe said. “If I were to guess from your clothing and your disposition, I’d say you’re from America, non?”

“You’re a good guesser,” Rose said, impressed by his perception. “What gave it away? My crude American accent?”

“Not at all,” he laughed. “A lot of Americans love to visit French wineries. Having worked here for over 15 years, I’ve noticed how they conduct themselves. They value freedom, strength, and spirit, but they see matters of the heart as weakness.”

“I want to defend my country, but I feel like I’ve made myself a big enough fool.”

“It’s never foolish to express how much you’re hurting. Pain – whether it’s from loss or picking grapes for eight hours straight – reminds us that we’re alive. More importantly, it affirms that we wish to keep living.”

“I think pain sucks. I don’t care if that makes me an uncultured American. My mother has been dead for almost a year. I thought it would hurt less by now. The whole reason I came to France was to mend it, like I know she would’ve wanted.”

“Why do you think it has not worked?”

“Hell if I know,” Rose sighed. “You’re the one who says French are fluent in the language of the heart. Any chance you can translate for me?”

“I can try,” Philippe said, “but the heart often speaks with mixed messages. Even a full-blooded Frenchmen struggles to make sense of it.”

The tall, older man set her wine glass and snack tray aside. He then sat down in front of her, caressing her face with both hands and aligning his gaze with hers. With such close proximity, she could smell more than grapes, wine, and dirt. Rose could the strength feel his penetrating gaze. It was like looking into a light that exposed all the ugly wounds she’d been trying to ignore.

At the same time, the feeling of an attractive older Frenchman touching her heart racing faster. It also sparked a new heat within her, one that had nothing to do with the hot summer air. As someone who had a lot of boyfriends in high school, but hadn’t so much as hugged one since her mother died, it was intense…as well as arousing.

“I see in you something other than loss and pain,” Philippe told her. “I see a woman eager to share herself with the world, but then the world hit you with something you weren’t ready for. And it hit hard.”

“My mother and I were really close,” Rose said. “I don’t know how it could’ve hit much harder.”

“And when something hits us, we fall. Both the hit and the fall hurt, but it passes. We get back up and we fight through the pain. When we’re struck in our heart, though…getting back up isn’t enough. Just overcoming the pain isn’t enough, either.”

“Well, what else is there?”

Philippe leaned in closer, so much so that his rugged French complexion was all she saw. The beauty of the French countryside, the gentle summer breezes sweeping through the area, and the various activities of a functioning winery became an afterthought. In that moment, he was the sole focus of her world.

“I think it’s the same thing that brought you to France,” he told her, “the one thing that every wounded heart needs before it can heal…closure.”

“Closure,” Rose found herself saying.

“Not just with respect to your mother’s passing,” he went on, “but to the very essence of your spirit. I can already tell you’re someone who likes to embrace the world, but to do that in a world without your mother…you need to take that final step.”

“To do what?” she asked intently.

“To say goodbye, to move on, and to chart your own path without her.”

It was like receiving an overdue message, one scripted by the spirit of her mother, but conveyed through the thick accent of a handsome older Frenchman. In terms of getting the point across, Rose couldn’t imagine anything more effective.

Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat.

A warm gust of wind blew over the French countryside.

A powerful feeling washed over her, as though a blanket of genuine love had washed over her.

It was so intense that it brought tears to her eyes. It was like her mother was giving her one last hug goodbye. At the same time, the presence of a handsome Frenchman in Philippe gave her someone to share in that feeling. Never one to turn away from a powerful moment, Rose broke down and threw her arms around the man before her.

“Merci,” she cried. “Merci, Philippe.”

“It’s okay, Mademoiselle Rose,” Philippe said. “It’s okay.”

She sensed she’d overwhelmed him. That didn’t stop him from hugging her back, sharing in the feeling of the moment. She didn’t hide from the tears or the sobs. For the first time in her entire trip, she didn’t avoid the sorrow. She just took it all in, but rather than lament, she let it act as the closure she hadn’t achieved. It was liberating, as though her spirit could once again soar.

As the weight of those feelings passed, though, other feelings emerged as well. It was not lost on Rose for a second that she was embracing a very attractive man. She also hadn’t forgotten that she’d cut herself off from intimate contact with men since her mother died. For a spirit as lively as hers, it did plenty to rekindle that special inner passion within her.

“Philippe…” she said after her sobs subsided.

“Yes, Mademoiselle?” he asked.

Still embracing him closely, Rose locked eyes with him, just as he’d done with her earlier. Now, she was the center of his world, the only spectacle he saw in the French countryside. As she gazed upon him, she affectionately caressed his unshaven face with her soft hands. Then, acting on that spirit that had longed to re-emerge, she kissed him.

As soon as she tasted those sultry French lips, Rose felt the weight of many burdens lift from her soul. It was like her mother’s spirit had come down to relieve her of them once and for all. In her place, the passion that had been muted by sorrow arose once more. In that moment, she channeled that passion onto Philippe.

“My, my, Rose,” the Frenchman gasped. “You American girls…such intense kissers.”

“You speak the language of the heart. We speak the language of hot kissing!” Rose said, her voice once again full of life.

“Another universal tongue…in a manner of speaking.”

“Universal, indeed!”

They kissed again with greater intensity, embracing and caressing one another under the hot summer heat. Once again, Rose dared to bring passion into her life. With Philippe, though – the strange Frenchman who’d been there at just the right time to mend her wounded soul – she put in extra effort.

She made sure every touch carried meaning, from the way she twirled her tongue with his to the way she ran her hands through his messy hair. Even if his English wasn’t great, he got the message loud and clear. He’d healed her in just the way she needed to be healed. Were they back on that nude beach in Nice, she would’ve done more than kiss him.

As the affectionate gestures intensified, Roes felt him reach up her skirt and feel around her inner thighs. In doing so, it mixed that rekindled passion with a more basic arousal, one that reminded her of the other needs she hadn’t been meeting lately.

“Philippe,” Rose gasped, “your hand.”

“Would you…like me to stop?” he asked coyly.

“Heavens no!” she said without hesitation.

“In that case, allow me to do one more thing that I believe will give you closure…something we, in France, know to be effective at healing wounded hearts.”

“Oh? And what might that entail?”

With a sneaky grin that only a confident Frenchman could offer, he leaned in closer and whispered into her ear.

“Lie down on your back,” he told her. “Look to the sky, think only of your mother’s love, and let my skilled French tongue do the rest.”

The way he said it sounded so sultry, yet so genuine. Rose knew the French – and Europeans, in general – were less uptight when it came to sexual matters. However, she’d never encountered someone who used sexuality to mend a wounded spirit. For someone like her, who valued her unbound spirit, it seemed so fitting.

“Okay,” said Rose. “Do what you Frenchmen do best to cute, American girls in need of comfort.”

He cast her a confident, but reassuring grin. He had a glint in his eyes that said to her that he intended to deliver and, in what might end up being her final French experience, she trusted him.

Doing as he’d instructed, she laid back on her picnic blanket and gazed up at the clear blue skies. In the process, Philippe reached behind and unzipped the back of her skirt so that he could remove it. She didn’t resist in the slightest, even kicking off her sandals in the process. Then, after setting aside her skirt, he removed her panties as well, leaving her completely naked from the waist down.

“Such beauty,” Philippe said upon seeing her exposed lower body. “You American girls are so adept at grooming.”

Rose giggled, but remained focused on the sky above. Her heart raced and every breath became heavy. All the summer heat seemed to collect around her inner thighs, as though her desire for closure had become a ball of heat housed within her core. At that point, only a mysterious Frenchman could unleash it.

Philippe was more than up to the task. As she gazed to the heavens, he carefully pushed her legs apart and trailed his lips along her inner thighs. Slowly, but steadily, he charted a path to the growing heat that was her womanhood. By the time he arrived, she was fully aroused, her folds engorged and her depths aching for his touch.

“Close your eyes,” he said in that thick accent of his. “Think of all the love that your mother inspired…that you wish to carry on in her memory. Focus on that as I focus on making you feel special in this moment of closure.”

It was hard to focus on anything when she was so incredibly aroused, but for her mother’s memory, Rose endured it. Still breathing heavily, she clung to her picnic blanket and closed her eyes while Philippe put that French tongue of his to work in the best possible way.

“Ooh Philippe!” Rose gasped upon feeling his lips on her nether regions.

Like a true connoisseur, the mysterious Frenchman gave her oral sex. He was not sloppy or crude, either. He treated such an intimate act the same way a dignified man would treat fine dining, exercising manners and care. It was a more refined approach to a common sex act…one that evoked a unique blend of sensations, pleasure, and satisfaction.

Clutching the picnic blanket harder, Rose let out more cries of delight to the heavens. Philippe, heeding her cries like a beacon, intensified his efforts. He held her legs apart, probed deeper with that French tongue of his, and tasted her womanly flesh as though it were an exotic treat. Soon, those feelings of sorrow and pent-up desires converged into a burning ball of blissful heat. It was like the remaining shackles on her spirit were about to shatter.

As that heat intensified, Rose opened her eyes. All she saw was a clear blue sky. Under the constant bombardment of pleasure, its grandeur took on greater meaning. In that moment, she felt as though her mother was gazing down upon her from Heaven, ready to bless her with one final gesture.

“I…I’m close. I’m so…so close!” Rose gasped, her voice dazed by the feeling.

Philippe, heeding her call, lifted her hips slightly and smothered her womanhood with an onslaught of oral teasing. He hit every sensitive area with perfect precision, stimulating her feminine features to the utmost. It sent her to the edge of that special cliff where an ocean of ecstasy awaited her. Once there, Rose let her spirit guide her and she dove in.

“Oohhh yes!”

Her moan of euphoria echoed from the depths of her soul into the sky. She was so vocal with her intimate peak that all the angels in Heaven – including her mother – definitely heard her. Every inch of her skin burned with white hot sensations of pleasure, her toes curling and her back arching as she writhed in the feeling.

By every measure, it was an intense orgasm, but it carried far greater meaning beyond the pleasure. As Rose gazed fixated on the sky, her tears of sorrow having since turned to tears of joy, Philippe set her hips down and leaned in so that he could whisper in her ear once more.

“Let that be your final closure,” he told her, “courtesy of a proud Frenchman.”

“Merci, Monsieur…merci,” Rose panted.

He kissed her on the neck again, traces of her feminine juices still on his breath. Rose smiled warmly, but remained on her back, half-naked and staring at the cloudless sky above her. She’d come to France to take the trip that she and her mother never got a chance to share. She saw and experienced many things that her mother would’ve loved…wonderful things she wish they could’ve shared. Instead of honoring her memory, it just felt like she was mourning her even more.

Then, she encountered a very special man in the French countryside. Thanks to him, the sorrow of loss became the relief of closure. Thanks to a mysterious Frenchman, her mother was gone, but her spirit was freed…just like hers.

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Daily Sexy Musing: Comfy Couch Loving

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When it comes to furniture and sex, beds get all the glory while couches get all the unsexy stains. In the realm of romantic domains, couches barely register. They rank somewhere between the back seat of a car and a really sturdy dinner table. As a romance fan and someone who has enjoyed more than one couch-centered make-out session with a girlfriend, I don’t think that’s fair.

Now, there’s a valid reason for that. A couch is comfortable and can accommodate plenty of sexy activities, but it’s still limited in a lot of ways. It’s a simple, practical piece of furniture. There’s only so much you can do to it to improve its romantic potential. It is possible, though. It just takes more imagination.

In the right circumstances, an ordinary couch can be the sexiest piece of furniture you can have. It starts off as just a place to relaxed. Once you’re relaxed, you get cozy. Once you get cozy, you become more receptive to sexier ideas. If you and your lover are on the same page, then it doesn’t take much to make that couch the site of something beautiful.

I explore a lot of ideas in my Daily Sexy Musings. I don’t give much attention to furniture, but I think it’s worth pondering every now and then. After all, without quality furniture, we couldn’t do much with our sexy ideas. I hope this inspires others to contemplate how they use their couches as well. Enjoy!

It’s been a long day. We come home tired, but restless. It’s too early to go to bed, but too late to go out and do something. Without a plan or guidance, we make our way to the couch. If we’re too drained for adventure, then we might as well relax.

I sit next to you.

You sit next to me.

Naturally, we gravitate towards one another.

We turn on the TV and settle in. The stress and rigors of the day start to fade. Our shared frustrations become a distant memory. Together, we leave those minor obstacles behind. However, neither one of us has the energy to take on bigger challenges.

That doesn’t matter, though. We have just enough to make the most of our time together. While the bedroom seems like a distant journey, the couch we’re sitting on is more than sufficient. It supports us both, giving us comfort and leverage. That’s all it takes to turn an act of relaxation into one of passion.

As I lean on you, our skin touches.

As our skin touches, our desires escalate.

As our desires grow, our love takes hold.

Without an elaborate setting or fancy fixtures, we act as though we’re in the most romantic locale in the world. There’s no king-sized bed or array of flowers. There’s just a cozy little couch that’s just big enough to hold two lovers.

That’s all it takes.

That’s all we need.

That’s all that matters.

Our couch supports us even as we discard our clothes. The springs strain as we exert what little energy we have with one another. It still holds up, cradling our bodies and our passions. We don’t need an entire world on which to express our love. A good, comfortable couch will do.

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Daily Sexy Musing: Birthday Sex

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As we get older, birthdays tend to lose their spectacle. At some point, we’re no longer excited about the prospects of cake, presents, and silly hats. We’re just content to have a day to ourselves and an excuse to drink heavily. However, there is one aspect about birthdays that has overtly sexual connotations and it’s not just about lovers being more willing to wear kinky underwear.

To some, it’s running joke. At some point in a long-term relationship, you can only expect those sexy moments on your birthday and your anniversary. More often than not, it’s your birthday that’s more fun because you’re in a better position to set the mood. That works great if you’ve got a kinky mind, but not so much if that’s the only love-making you can look forward to.

As a romantic and a fan of all things sexy, I believe that sexy potential of birthdays is grossly undervalued. It shouldn’t be among the handful of days when you can assume some extra intimacy with your lover. It should be one of those occasions where you let your mind run a little wild and take your lover along for the ride.

To some extent, birthdays are already sexy. It marks a day that wouldn’t have been possible if someone hadn’t gotten laid. It’s worth celebrating, no matter how old you are. Our lives literally began with a sexy moment. Why not use the anniversary of your birth to add to it? Today is not my birthday, but I hope this Daily Sexy Musing gets adults and their lovers excited about celebrating again. Enjoy!

On this day, years ago, an act of love began my life.

On this day, here and now, I continue that life in my own special way.

It has been a life of many upheavals. However, the obstacles became opportunities and losses became lessons. At every turn, I learned and grew, becoming who I am and striving to be greater. Now, with another milestone met, I strive in a very special way.

What is a life well lived if not shared?

What is a life continued if not celebrated?

With you, I seek to share in the moment. This uniquely personal occasion, another year of life well-lived, I need no treats or presents. I seek only the most intimate kind of gift. From you, I seek something special that can neither be purchased nor packaged.

It’s a day like no other, your own personal holiday mixed with memories and reflections. You have a chance to look back and look forward, remembering what you’ve gained and mourning what you’ve lost. It’s also something more precious, a reason to go the extra mile and achieve something greater. With you, I don’t just seek it. I make it gift, both given and received.

The day is mine.

The moment is ours.

The party begins.

You offer yourself to me, perfectly wrapped and presented with glee. I unwrap it eagerly, the energy of youth flowing through me once more. No longer a child, but not constrained by age, I dare to play in life’s orchard. You are my playmate, a joy worth celebrating and a treat worth sharing.

Our love is a constant gift, but on this day, we celebrate in a way unique to this occasion. It is another year for me, but another blessing for us.

I am here.

We are together.

On this day, my birthday, we cherish the greatest gift we’ll ever have.

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