Killing Him Softly with Hot Sweaty Monkey Sex

For once, I know exactly what to write about this week's topic. For once, I have a truly relevant tale to tell. So grab a cup of joe, pull up a chair, and be prepared to listen good.

Sex or love? Let me tell you the first thing that popped into my tiny little brain when I heard about this topic. Some years back, maybe about 9 years ago, the Hubster and I had an incident. Back then, we were hip-deep in a battle against infertility. We'd been trying for a couple of years to get me pregnant with absolutely no success. After the first year on our own, we went to see a doctor and began the agonizing process of tests and treatments and waiting and seeing and hoping and wailing when good ol' Auntie Flow showed up cycle after cycle like clockwork.

Nothing, I mean nothing, kills a couple's sex life like infertility. For months, I was poked and prodded, tested and scrutinized. I had so much blood drawn, my arms looked like the arms of a junkie. I underwent so many pelvic exams, I seriously considered having a speculum permanently installed in my vagina. There were ultrasounds and biopsies and once a very painful test where radioactive dye was shot through my uterus all the way up into my ovaries. Screaming agony, I tell ya.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Oh no, by far what killed our love life was the scheduling. My menstrual cycle had to be tracked, monitored and recorded. That meant every morning when the alarm went off, before I even got out of bed, I had to stick a thermometer in my mouth to check my basal body temperature. If there was a half degree, or even a quarter degree, of deviation from normal, I had to trudge into the bathroom, still blind with sleep, and pee in a cup. My aim is not the best first thing in the morning, so that made the procedure even more fun. Once I had my cup of pee, I had to stick an ovulation test strip in it to see if my hormones were surging in preparation for my monthly egg drop. Depending upon the results of that test, we either could or couldn't have sex for the next week. The time period within five or so days of ovulation was a no-sex zone. The only way sperm was supposed to get into my coochie during that time was via catheter for an inter-uterine insemination.

Of course, the rest of my cycle wasn't much better for sex. I was on hormone therapy to help boost my egg production. That made me all sorts of weepy and bitchy and unpleasant to be around. Though Hubster put up with all of it like the saint he is, I just couldn't bear to be touched. It was like being on permanent PMS overload. I hated it.

So one month, we decided to take a break. We told our doctor we were going to look into seeing a specialist, and until then we were just going to say "Fuck it!" to all the testing and the temperature taking and hormone surge tracking and other crap we'd been dealing with for two years. We were just going to be us for a month or two, husband and wife, a normal couple with maybe a normal sex life. Well, what was normal for us anyway.

It took a couple weeks of being free of the hormone therapy and all that other nonsense, plus a Saturday morning of sleeping very, very late. Ah, I remember that morning well. I woke up feeling rested and refreshed. Warm sunlight spilled through the cracks in the blinds, turning the room a soft, dreamy golden color. When it hit the Hubster, it gave him that special glow that made me think, "Jesus H. Christ! It's been how long since we've had sex?! We got to get busy!! NOW!!"

So at it we went, having the best hot sweaty monkey sex we'd had in ages. And man, it was good, I mean real good. I was hanging on the edge of the bed, shrieking at the top of my lungs, probably scaring the shit out of the neighbors and their dog. The Hubster was going at me like a mean green machine, and when I hit the big O, it was more like the big "OH MY GOD, DON'T EVER EVER STOP!!" It was the longest, bestest multiple screaming orgasm I'd ever had. I came and came and came until the Hubster came.

And then the poor man's eyeballs rolled back up in his head and he collapsed on top of me, dead.

Yes, people, I killed the Hubster. He came and went. And he just lay there on me like a dead weight, pun intended. Now the Hubster and I are the same height, and he only weighs about 35 lbs more than me, but at the time he died, I was in a rather... interesting position, shall we say? And him lying all slumped over on me had me more folded up than a half-finished origami crane.

At first, I thought this was just some kind of joke, him collapsing on me like, that like I'd worn him out. I laughed a little, then started complaining as I began to lose the feeling in my lower legs which were somewhere up behind my ears. I wriggled around a bit until I could finally look the Hubster in the eyes to tell him to knock it off. That was when I saw his face. It was waxy and sickly white, and his eyes were all glassy and empty. Finally realizing something was wrong, I did what any sensible person would do in that situation. I freaked the hell out.

I screamed and thrashed and screamed and struggled and then screamed and writhed until I finally managed to get out from under my darling dead spouse. Then I did the next thing any sensible person would do. I screamed some more and started slapping the Hubster's face.

"DON'T YOU DARE DIE ON ME! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE! WAKE UP!! WAKE UP!! WAKE UUUUUUUUUUUP!!!!"

You see, at that moment, my entire future flashed before my eyes. It was a future without the Hubster in it and it was not at all pretty because I depended on my darling man for a lot of things, like...

• Tech support and computer repairs. The reason I married a genius was so that I would never have to call some stranger and pay them to fix my computer. At that point, this arrangement had been working smoothly for 8 years. I sure as hell didn't want to change things now!


• The mortgage payment. Sure, I put 15 grand down when we bought the house, but that was all I could do with my weak-ass paycheck. I needed the Hubster to make the monthly payments so I could keep a nice cozy roof over my pointed little head.


• Food. I knew two things about grocery shopping and cooking meals, and those two things were Jack and Shit. Now Jack may be a hottie, but neighter he nor Shit are helpful come dinner time.


• Yard work. To this day, I still do not know how to start our lawn mower, and we live in a home owners association for god's sake! How would I survive if I had to cut my own grass?!

Yes, folks, these were the desperate thoughts running through my panick-striken little brain as I kept slapping my husband's face. After about the seventh or eighth whallop, he finally resurrected, lifted his head, looked at me and said, "What happened?"

"OH MY GOD! YOU DIED! YOU COMPLETELY, TOTALLY DIED ON ME!! AND MY COMPUTER'S BROKE! YOU CAN'T DIE WHEN MY COMPUTER'S NOT WORKING RIGHT!!"

"Really? I died? That's weird..."

And then his eyes rolled back up in his head and he died again!

Well now I was pissed. It was bad enough he had to die on me the first time and completely scare the crap out of me. Now he was just being mean. So I grabbed the Hubster by the shoulders and started shaking him until I could hear his teeth rattle in his skull and I resurrected him again.

"Quit dying on me!" I screeched.

"Okay... okay... sorry..." he mumbled while I propped him upright against a pile of pillows.

I took a few moments to calm down and check his pulse. When it looked like he was planning to not die a third time, I heaved a sigh of relief.

"Don't you ever do that to me again!" I said.

"Yeah, I won't. Hey, what time is it?"

"Almost eleven o'clock," I said.

"Huh. I guess I should get ready for karate class then."

"Oh HELL no! You are not dying on me twice and then trotting off to karate class!" I jumped off the bed and started pulling on clothing. "Your ass is going to the emergency room right now!"

And his ass did go to the emergency room, and the rest of him with it. I got him dressed, piled him into the car, and sped off toward the nearest hospital, where I had to explain to the admissions clerk what had happened to my spouse on that beautiful Saturday morning. And then I had to tell the nurse who checked his vitals. And then I had to explain it to the doctor who was on call that weekend. And then to the tech who ran the EKG that the doctor ordered. And then on Monday I had to explain the whole thing once again to our family physician who called wanting to know just why my twenty-something husband who was in the pink of health had gone to the emergency room on a Saturday to get an EKG. And of course I had to explain to my parents how their son-in-law had almost bought the farm, and his parents...

Wait, did I tell my in-laws? Hmm... I can't recall.

But I did tell all my friends, and now I'm telling all of you because in light of this week's topic, sex or love, I think it's very important that we all learn something from this story. And that lesson is...

Do not attempt to kill the person you love with hot sweaty monkey sex unless you are prepared to live with the consequences!! Okay? We all got that? Any questions?

I thought not. So clean the coffee off your computer screen and go back to your usual routine. I'm going to go wake up the Hubster now.

One side of the coin, or both?

Sex ...

... Love ...

Both? Neither?

I could potentially be the odd vote this week, because 1. I am not a romantic (in fact, asking hubby if I am, I get an absofrackinlutely NOT answer - but then again he is so it balances), 2. I am a biologist, so I see things from a point of view of chemical responces and biological urges, and 3. I am not what would be termed as one who has a faith in higher and everlasting anything, and 4. I tend to not have a strong drive for things sexual, which is odd as hell given my writings. It's nice when it happens, but I don't need it often. And I shutting up on that before I go too far into TMI. : )

Not to say any of these things are bad. : ) Just laying my own quirks out. Although, that 4th one has caused some problems ...

Can you have sex without love?

Certainly. Just ask any hormonal teenage boy. : ) Or anyone who has ever been with a professional (and by that I am certain you know what I mean), or who has ever enjoyed a special kind of club.

And in some cases, it can still be a mind blowing experience. The thrill of the "forbidden", the taboo of a one-night stand. The variety and spice of sampling a different way of doing things.

Which is why I don't think that love is necessary for a wonderful sexual experience. In some cases, with some people though, it does enhance it.

Can you have love without sex?

Certainly. I have loved, and been in love with, straight women and gay men. Sex never even entered into the picture, but the love was just as intoxicating and heady of a sensation, and as lasting. Albeit, unrequited.

Does love make sex better? Conversely, does sex make love better?

Honestly, I think it can, but it isn't necessary.

As I said, I have loved without sex ever entering the equation, and it was beautiful.

I have also had sex without love, and it was still a powerful euphoric sensation.

Flipside, I have had sex with love and had it been less than fulfilling.

As for which one I would pick should I ever have to, between the two?

I'd go for love.

Not because I am a closet romantic, nor because of the belief that sex is less without love, but because I understand human nature well enough to know that we are social creature, and need those close bonds. So I would chose love, knowing that the physical urges I might have could be handled, um, solo if need be.

I would never enter into a loveless relationship, but I think I could be content and satisfied, with a loving but sexless relationship.

Lust is not enough

By Kim Dare.

I know an erotic romance writer should probably be jumping up and down shouting about how great lust is and how important it is and all that. I write about sex so lust should be right there at the top of my list of wonders of the world. Right?

Actually, no. I don't really think of lust on it's own as a particularly interesting thing to read or write about. Lust might be hot blooded, but I find it's also emotionally cold.

Maybe I should make myself clear here. Physical desire, sex, kink, whatever else, I'm all in favour of that. What I don't like the idea or the reality of is lust in isolation from everything else - lust without any emotion behind it.

Lust on it's own is all about getting what you want. It's about getting yourself off or getting your own way. Pure lust on it's own doesn't really allow for consideration for the other person's pleasure. It doesn't allow for anything other than physical gratification. To put it bluntly, lust on it's own is no different to a dog humping a post man's leg. The dogs happy - what does he care about the poor post man?

If a submissive goes into a scene thinking only of their own lust, it's not going to go well. And if a dominant goes into the scene with that attitude, then it's probably going to go to hell pretty quickly.

Submission in it's best, and I think in it's more satisfying, form is about giving not taking. It's about giving up control, giving pleasure without any thought to your own, giving your trust to another person, giving up privileges that are generally taken for granted. It's all about giving... well, at it's deepest level, I'd say submission is about giving yourself body and soul to another human being - not through fear or weakness but through free choice.

And the best dominants give us much as they take. They give control, security, safety, certainty, structure, discipline. They give praise as well as punishment. They give pleasure as well as pain. And, yes, I'd say that when it goes right - a dominant gives as much of themselves to a submissive as the submissive gives to them.

So, lust on it's own is not enough to keep me interested as a reader or a writer.

I'm not saying there has to be forever-love attached to every sex scene, but there has to be something more than just an inclination to get off. There has to be emotion attached to it. The person has to care about their lover, it has to be about both people's pleasure.

And I don't mean that in the simple form of everyone has to get at least one orgasm each. Sometimes the submissive in a sex scene doesn't have permission to come and I'm fine with that - but it should be because the dominant has made an informed decision not because he simply can't be bothered.

I write erotic romance and so the characters who have sex in my books are either in love or on their way to it. I like that. I like that they have an emotional as well as a physical investment in their sex lives. I like adding love to lust.

I think everyone a private little list of story types that tick their boxes. Experienced lover coupled with a virgin. Older women with younger men. Threesomes Werewolves... To pick some random examples. I have quite a long list of things like that.

One of the things I like is to take a couple who are already in a physical relationship - who are already in lust and who care about their lover at least a little bit. And I like to watch them fall in love.

That's partly because in spite of my kinks, I'm just a bit soppy like that. And it's partly because it doesn't matter if your dominant or submissive - if you kink that way you'll probably have a good instinct for where the control lies - and the introduction of an emotion no one can control is sure to set events spinning in all sorts of interesting directions.

You First is a book like that. The sex is good from the start. Maybe a bit too good for Luke! Lol.

The best way to explain what I mean is probably to just give you the blurb:

All Luke had to do was come after Justin. How difficult could that possibly be?

There was only one thing that stopped sex with Justin being completely perfect for Luke. The timing. That wasn’t so perfect. In fact, the timing really sucked – and not in the fun, fellatio related way.

Justin was five years younger than Luke and relatively inexperienced. Luke had enjoyed more lovers than he could count or remember—he knew he was good at sex. There was no good reason why Justin should outlast him every time they hooked up.

All Luke had to do was come second, set his mind at ease, and everything would be perfect between them. Hell, if he could do that, he might even consider the serious relationship idea Justin seemed so taken with.

How difficult could that possibly be?

So, is it just sexual pride that's got Luke worried, or could it be that he can sense that there is some deeper emotion lurking between them - one that could make everything so much more complicated than lust ever could?

What do you think? Can you tell if two men are destined to fall in love, even before they're aware of it themselves?

Here's an excerpt right from the start of the story. Lust isn't enough for me, but is it enough for Luke?

Love or Lust? Let me know what you think.

Luke Anderson was not going to come first.

He repeated the mantra over and over inside his head as he held his hands out to be bound. Justin Collins deftly buckled the soft leather around his wrists. Tugging on the chain between the cuffs, he positioned Luke on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed.

Justin attached the cuffs to a little hook screwed into the headboard for that precise purpose. He pulled at the chain, testing how securely it would hold Luke in place. The metal links clinked together. Luke took a deep breath. All his best sexual experiences occurred to that theme song. The sound went straight to his cock.

Luke was still not going to come first. He was Luke Anderson, newest and highest flying barrister in the best chambers in London. He could bloody well do anything he set his mind to.

Justin’s hand applied pressure—a steady pressure to the back of his neck. Luke lowered himself onto his elbows. The pressure didn’t ease. Luke turned his palms up and rested his head in his hands. Head down and arse up, Luke closed his eyes. He told himself for the thousandth time it must be possible.

Just because he hadn’t outlasted Justin yet, didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. He just needed to focus. He was twenty-three years old—five years older than his lover. He’d topped and bottomed more partners than he could count or remember in both genders. False modesty and jokes aside, Luke was well aware he knew tricks even most really expensive professionals hadn’t mastered.

He shifted his knees further apart on the mattress as Justin moved into position, kneeling on the bed behind him. He had to outlast Justin just once, just so he knew he could do it. Just for pride’s sake, because Luke knew his lack of self restraint was the only thing that kept sex with Justin from being perfect.

Justin’s fingers slipped briefly inside him, checking he was slick, relaxed and ready to play. Luke bit his lip and held back a moan as Justin crooked his fingers and found his prostate.

He could do this. Practicing a little bit of restraint wouldn’t kill him.

The rustle of the packet when Justin slipped on a condom was his only warning. Justin slid into him in one smooth movement. Luke gasped. For a perfect moment, Justin stilled inside him, stretching him and filling him completely. He began rocking his hips, building up the movement in tiny increments. Only when Luke whimpered his frustration did Justin begin to thrust into him in earnest.

In what felt like moments, lethal frustration was a growing possibility. Each stroke pressed against Luke’s prostate in a rhythm calculated to throw him over the edge at any moment.

He tried to remember he didn’t want to fall into pleasure—why he didn’t want to jump over the ledge with his arms spread wide in enthusiastic abandon. All he could think about was just how glorious it would feel when he came with Justin still buried balls deep inside him.

But still, in the back of his mind the mantra continued. Luke was not going to come first.

Desperately trying to concentrate on anything other than Justin’s erection pounding into him, Luke scrambled for any other details and senses to focus on.

The cotton sheet underneath him was pale blue. At this angle, with his nose barely an inch from the surface, Luke saw it was actually two shades of thread blended together. He couldn’t bring himself to care. His prostate sang inside him, coaxing him to join in with it in harmony, groaning his pleasure at every inch of delicious friction.

The scent of their arousal filled the room, mingling with Justin’s aftershave. Justin always smelt fantastic. Another perfect thing to add to all the other perfect things Luke had noticed over the months they’d been hooking up for sex. He always smelt like old sandalwood and well worn leather. Luke loved pressing close against Justin’s body and taking deep breaths of his scent when they danced together. He loved sliding his fingers up into Justin’s hair and pulling him close, to wrap Justin’s scent around him.

Luke threaded his fingers through his own hair. He pulled at the thick blond strands, hoping the pain might kill off some tiny bit of his arousal. The tug increased with each connection of Justin’s hips against his arse. It did nothing to help his increasingly frantic desire not to come.

Justin’s rhythm increased another notch. Cradling Luke’s pelvis in his strong grip, he held him steady and absorbed part of the impact from each thrust. Luke rocked back with every motion. As he focused on the pressure of each fingertip against his skin, Justin’s right hand left his hip.

He reached underneath Luke and started to jack him off with an expert touch. Luke pulled at the cuffs around his wrists. He couldn’t reach down and push Justin’s hand away. He had no choice but to accept the touch or say his safe word.

Kim Dare.
Kink, love and a happy ending. Do you Dare?

Love and Lust

by Jude Mason

A topic that had me thinking. There's a variety of the forms of love. You love your parents, you love your dog or cat, you love apples or asparagus, you love the town you live in, your country--yet each is different--feels different, means something different to you. They're love though, or I believe they are.

As an author, I've written dozens, if not hundreds of stories about love and what it means to the people who inhabit my books. Readers and publishers expect, and rightfully so, a story to go along with any lust these characters might feel for each other. You know, how they met, where they went, what they look like and why they were attracted to each other. Each of them has a different background and are looking for different things out of life. Some simply want to get free of the rat race, find a small corner of the world and someone to share it with. They want to 'fall in love' with the right person. That right person will be someone who compliments their kinks, foibles and attitude. A dominant man would perhaps be looking for a submissive woman:

From Selene's Awakening (Coming soon to Total E-Bound):

Holding her by one arm, he helped her to stand in front of him, facing him. The robe she had on hung open, her curves inches away. It was as if, suddenly, the angry, frustrated, spoiled bitch had vanished. She’d come to terms with her desires and with him and wanted to explore. Would she stay with him? Would she care for him?

He looked up into her eyes and smiled. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you, sir,” she murmured in that sultry, sexy, voice he was growing to love. He wanted to hear more of it, and much more often.

“Slide the robe off, please.” He reached down and wound his fingers around the erection jutting from his groin.

Selene shrugged and his robe slipped off her shoulders, falling to the floor around her feet.

“Kneel in front of me, please,” David said in a soft, yet stern voice.

For an instant she stood looking down at him, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. She didn’t drop to her knees, but said, “I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I want you. I…I.” She lowered her eyes. “I want you to control me.”

“I know, my sweet lady. I sensed it in you very soon after you awoke.”

Or, perhaps the decades old vampire seeking someone who would be more permanent than the fleeting morsels they fed on--someone who knew and understood the torment of being undead:

From Night Games (Coming soon to Total E-Bound):

“True.” Johan slipped his fingers around the swelling length of flesh and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can though. Save this for me.”

Chuckling, Petre placed his hand over top of Johan’s and moved it up and down the shaft of his cock. “It’s yours. Always yours.”

Johan looked deeply into his lover’s eyes, and felt the bond they shared deepen. Lifeless, they cared more for each other than either had ever done when they were human.

Johan winked and pulled his hand free. “I wonder if we shouldn’t get some clothes on before we wake her?”

Glancing down at himself then back up, Petre smiled. “Yeah, we don’t want to look more like rapists than rescuers.”

“No shit. For all she knows, she’s gone from one bunch of hoods to another. Follow me.” Johan turned and headed for the bedroom, and the closet full of clothes. Opening the doors wide, he took two robes from the hooks, one black velvet, the other dark blue silk, and held them up. “Which one?”

Petre took the silk robe and slipped it on. Johan slid into the other, belting it at the waist. Pushing his feet into a pair of slip-ons, he turned and headed back to where the woman lay stretched out on the sofa. On the way, he reached down and grabbed a throw from the foot of the bed.

Yet, I can't ignore the feeling that lust has it's place and I'm drawn to exploring it in a variety of ways. You can lust after your wife/husband, you can feel lust for the woman or man you see in the street. There's no pleasantry, just the animal want.

There's also the lust for power, or revenge. The darker side of lust is as strong and compelling as the softer, more accepted side. Think of all the hookers, both male and female, who lust after the wealth and standings of those who buy their services. The buyer may lust, but what of the bought? Think of those poor souls who have nothing else but their lust to live, or their lust for revenge.

From Roses Have Thorns:

The room grew dim around them, as if the light couldn't permeate the dark misery transpiring. Clifford raised his head and watched her rifle through the assortment of leather and shiny metal lined up on the table. One hand searched, while the other wandered down her body, following a trail of scars. When her hand reached the soft fur covering her sex, her legs spread as if of their own volition. Her finger found its mark. Her clitoris was warped and torn, but the nerve endings had somehow survived enough to give pleasure. A harsh rub and she rode the wave, but stopped before she crested.

Feeling the sweet nearness of her climax, she gazed lustily at her prey. A glance at what her other hand had found, and she smiled. "This one I think." She lifted her hand and showed him a leather contraption of straps and buckles.

He nodded, solemnly, and didn't say a word. She took hold of his testicles with her dew covered fingers and pulled them away from his groin. One strap wound around the neck of his sack, separating the two round balls from his body. Rose jerked the straps tight then fastened the buckle and petted the lewdly presented jewels. Another strap circled the base of his prick, and she took great pleasure in pulling that one particularly snug while buckling it. The last strip of leather didn't have a buckle, but did have a clip at its end.

"Fun begins now, Clifford," Rose purred as she pulled the last strap to the end of the table and clipped it to a metal ring welded in place.

When Clifford's groan started, it was barely audible, but by the time she'd fastened the scrotum strap, the sound had risen to rumbling growl. The skin stretched paper thin over his balls. The tiny blue veins contrasted sharply to the white skin. Rose ran a finger over them, her nail lightly scraping the tight flesh.

"Yes!" he hissed and pushed his body toward her hand, as if seeking her pain-filled touch.

They lust for each other, for different reasons, but the feeling is undeniable.

Human emotions are amazing. I guess as writers it's up to us to draw the picture clearly and show the readers the love and lust of those we write about.

I'd love to hear what you all think about our topic this week. Love and Lust, such strong emotions with such wide variations of meaning.