The Best Laid Plans

by Giselle Renarde

May 1st is the anniversary of my first date with my girlfriend. A few days from now, we'll have been together for 9 years.

To celebrate, we planned a nice little getaway this week. I can't resist fancy inns, so I booked a couple nights at one we hadn't been to.

For weeks we've been talking about how great it was going to be.

We had our little road trip and that was fun. We checked into our room and it was so antique-y. Just what I love about fine inns. We ate offsite and dinner was great. Took a lovely walk. Back to the room. My girlfriend couldn't bear to miss Dancing with the Stars and she knows I'm not a huge fan, so she brought me a bottle of wine as somewhat of a peace offering, I guess. Made the show more fun for me.

Here's the thing: I drink alcohol very rarely, and when I do it's maybe half a glass of wine. I guess the saltiness of my kettle chips kept me sipping that wine, because by the end of Dancing with the Stars half the bottle was gone. My girlfriend doesn't drink, so that was all me. All 88lb me.

I didn't actually feel too affected that night, but the next morning, as my girlfriend was getting ready for the fancy-ass breakfast I'd already paid for, I started feeling... not good.

Really, really... not good.

Until this super-special getaway, I had vomited a grand total of TWICE in my entire adult life. But I guess my body wanted to remind me why I don't usually drink, because I tossed my cookies like you wouldn't believe.

And all the while, my girlfriend stood beside me, tilting a water glass against my lips every so often... until I started throwing up the water. Then she just stood there and watched, which was weirdly comforting. Throwing up isn't something I do too often. It was nice that she could be there to share the experience.

The experience itself was not pleasant. I became so weak and nauseous I ended up spending the entire day in our fancy hotel bed. I insisted my girlfriend go downstairs and enjoy breakfast. I knew how much she was looking forward to it. She came back with a bouquet of flowers and a get well card.

The rest of the day was just her taking care of me, which is something I've never really experienced. I've never asked anyone to take care of me. I've never let anyone take care of me.

I'll be honest with you: it was hard to ask her for even the smallest favours. I'm used to doing everything myself. At one point I was in bed and I needed a cool cloth to put over my eyes. I asked if she could run some cold water over a facecloth for me, and... she did. What's more, she seemed happy to do it.

I think that's when it dawned on me that the time we spend together is so valuable it doesn't matter what we're doing. My girlfriend didn't mind caring for me. She consistently put my needs above her own. I can only hope I would be so selfless if our situations were reversed. Pretty sure I wouldn't be. I'm not always the most mature person.

I'm still not feeling great, which explains why this post is entirely off-topic. Hopefully I've learned a lesson most people learn when they're 15 or so (don't drink half a bottle of wine) but I know this getaway will remain one of our most memorable--right up there with the day trip we took to Niagara-on-the-Lake when the power was out and only two shops were open.

Everybody wants a trip to be perfect, but perfection doesn't challenge anyone. Finding out how your partner treats you when you're sick (and, in my case, realizing there's finally someone in my life I don't mind asking for help) is much more useful than perfection.


Giselle Renarde is an award-winning queer Canadian writer. Nominated Toronto’s Best Author in NOW Magazine’s 2015 Readers’ Choice Awards, her fiction has appeared in well over 100 short story anthologies, including prestigious collections like Best Lesbian Romance, Best Women’s Erotica, and the Lambda Award-winning collection Take Me There, edited by Tristan Taormino. Giselle's juicy novels include Anonymous, Cherry, Seven Kisses, and The Other Side of Ruth.

Sick, sick, sick!

by Jude Mason

No, not the perverted kind of sick, although that's not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps the title should have been Illness Intensified or something.

For years, when I was younger, I spend weeks with bronchial problems during the fall and winter months. When I got a cold, it went to my lungs. When I had flu, it was in my lungs. Also, when I was in my teens, I was sensitive to some moss in the area...yeah, I know, that's crazy...and yes, it went to my lungs as well. I guess I learned to ignore the wheezing and breathlessness after awhile. Surprisingly, I was a very active child and teenager and never spent time in hospital, never even saw the inside of a hospital until I was in my late teens.

They say that every seven years your body completely renews itself, and I believe it. From 0-7, I was pretty healthy. From 7-14, I had the moss sensitivity thing. From 14-21 I had bronchial issues. When I hit 21, my life took a turn for the best. No more lung problems, just raising kids and keeping a house, and all that entails. I remained very healthy then until I was in my late 40's.

I'm back to having a certain amount of lung issues. Also surprisingly, there's no damage to my lungs. I am just prone to congested lungs when I'm ill.

Now, do I write when I'm feeling like someone's sitting on my chest? You bet your sweet bippy I do. I may take a day or two off, but only if I'm really ill. Writing takes me out of myself. If I can immerse myself in a character, I'm not there. I become that person and can simply let my 'self' go. I may still cough or wheeze, but I don't actually hear it. I'm usually by myself so there's no one to ask, 'are you okay,' or 'do you want ...' it's just the character telling his or her story.

Deadlines might be a little more of a hassle if I'm not well. Or I allow them to become more stressful. I'm one of those people who never miss a deadline. So sick or well, I'll meet them. I have a feeling I might write femdom a little more aggressively when I'm not feeling well, but that's about it.

Anyone else have health issues they ignore, or can't ignore when they're under the weather? Hmm, now there's a concept. Under the weather. What weather and how under it can you be?

I'd love to hear comments on this post.

Hugs

I'm SO Hot...

...literally. How's that for irony considering this week's topic? We've been spared the H1N1 (knock on wood), but the previous two months have been a continuous pinball game of sickness in our household. All thanks to my two darling children and their hygiene-challenged classmates, I'm sure. This week it's some upper respiratory thing that makes me extremely glad that I don't have to talk to anyone since coughing is all I can seem to manage.

In those two months, I've faced down two separate deadlines for submissions and the kickoff of NaNo, and it was a gratifying discovery to find that when I didn't feel like doing much of anything else, sitting with my nice, warm laptop on my lap with only my fingers moving provided a nice outlet for my brain. The only fight on my hands wasn't trying to put together scenes that worked, it was trying to stay awake long enough to get to my prime creative time. Being sick is a great cure for insomnia..darn it.

In a way, being able to write whilst ill makes sense. Most of the things that pull me out of that creative mindset melt away; the barrage of non-computer to-do's on my mental list are easily vetoed when you can't find the energy to move, same goes for the need for fresh air and exercise. And food? No thanks. Even the kids are more cooperative, mostly because they're sick as well, so plopping them in front of a mindless show or three is no longer bad parenting, it's just good sense.

Yesterday I wrote about 6K plus a synopsis to wrap up a manuscript and get it in to my publisher. And while absolutely no part of me was eager to actually do anything resembling what I wrote, I managed to craft some pretty smoking love scenes. Here's a secret encounter in the dark:



Warmth.


That was the first thing Cam noticed as a slamming sound brought him abruptly into wakefulness. Despite it being summer, most nights in the motel rooms he awoke chilled to the bone from the artificial air conditioning they’d cranked up to combat the day’s residual heat the night before.

But tonight he was toasty warm. Mmm... Eyes still closed, he pressed back into the warmth. An arm tightened around him and he smiled.

Arm?

His eyes flew open, but all he got for that effort was blackness. Must still be night. Even with black-out curtains, he’d be able to see something if the sun was coming up.

A feminine giggle and an answering masculine grunt.

Now he was really confused; that sure sounded like a girl. Trying hard to think, not an easy task coming out of a deep sleep, he tried to remember the previous night to get his bearings.

Okay, getting there. New motel. Furnace behind him must be...Jon. And they were sharing a bed, because...

The wet sounds of kissing clear as a bell in the darkness.

Ah shit, Sid for a roommate. Who must’ve brought a girl home from the bar, apparently their entrance was what woke him up. Cam rolled his eyes in the dark, trying hard not to listen to the rustling of clothing and murmurs coming from the direction of the other bed. Crap. He pictured the clothes coming off some faceless girl, and his damn teenaged hormones perked his prick up, picking right up where it had left off without satisfaction earlier in the shower. Not even the thought of Sid being involved could quell the rush his cock and imagination were getting from the almost pornographic sounds emanating from the couple.

Cam wriggled with his discomfort, and the arm around him tightened once more, bringing his attention back to his own bed. This time, as the arm trapped him close, the unmistakable feel of an erection pressed against his backside had him momentarily freezing in place.

That’s Jon’s hard-on against my ass.

Just putting words to the acknowledgment in his mind was incredibly arousing. Jon was hot, yes, but he was his best friend. Never in a million years would Cam have thought he’d be tucked into bed with him, cradling Jon’s apparently very unchoosy cock in the crack of his backside.

His own erection took on new life and his breath grew short as the struggle to not move became way too much for him. Surreptitiously, Cameron arched his back, pushing back against Jon and was answered with a volley of thrusts and an incoherent muttering in his ear. His heart pounding through his chest, fuelled by the addition of skin slapping and unmistakable sounds of fucking off to the right, Cam set up a rhythmic undulation back against Jon that had his friend following suit as if taking his lead in an intimate dance.

His own ragged breathing was masked by the noise from across the room, and as Jon’s own breathing picked up along with the speed of his rubbing, Cameron went for broke, pushing his shorts down in the front enough to expose his cock then licking his palm and taking his erection firmly in hand. As he began to stroke, his upper arm was resting along the top of Jon’s, whose hand was still wrapped around his middle. It was an incredibly intimate feeling to be so surrounded by another, by Jon, as Cam pleasured himself. His breath caught and he sped up his motion, pressing back recklessly, wantonly, invitingly...

Suddenly, his own hand was batted out of the way and a larger, firmer hand took its place, curling around his straining cock with assurance, spreading the pre-cum welling from his slit over his sensitive head with a calloused thumb. Cameron gasped aloud, thankful that the sound coincided with a moan from the girl in the room. Jon’s chest was heaving against his back, his breath was on Cam’s neck, coming way too fast for him to be anything other than fully awake...

In Sickness and in Hell

By Lisabet Sarai





How do you write sexy steamy stories when your temperature is over 103 degrees? Can you write a sex scene when you feel like your feet are about to come out your mouth and the toilet bowl is your best friend in the world right now?

Basically, write about writing while sick. Do you do it, or do you crawl in bed and stay there until you feel well again?

This week it's Helen's turn to pick our topic. Unfortunately she spent the last few weeks suffering from the flu, so it's not surprising she asked the questions above. Our Jude has also been down for the count for nearly two weeks, so I'm sure that she'll have some insights to share.

Fortunately, I have little to say on this subject. I'm probably tempting the gods by saying that I have not been really sick in a long time. Yes, I get the occasional cold, which makes my throat scratchy and my head feel like it's stuffed with mashed potatoes. I did have a mild gastrointestinal bug a few months ago that killed my appetite and kept me at home where the toilets are nice and clean. But I haven't been as ill as Helen describes in years.

Of course, my situation is easier than Helen's because I don't have two toddlers. Plus I'm not insane enough to commit to writing and recording a story a week, as she does for her Heat Flash series. (Maybe I'd have more readers if I did, but that's another topic.) As I've shared previously, I am deliberately conservative about what I promise, since I normally can write only once a week. So I'm rarely down to the wire even if I feel totally crappy.

That being said, I do make myself write on my scheduled days, even if I'm not feeling 100%. No excuses. Alright, there are some things more important than my writing, but if I am home on a Sunday, I'll be at the computer concocting as spicy a tale as I can manage.

The only experience I recall where I was writing under serious pressure and feeling quite horrible was one I shared in a post a few weeks ago. When I submitted my first novel to Black Lace, I didn't understand the critical importance of word count, especially for a print publication. My contract said 80,000 words or more. The manuscript I sent them was only about 72,000. I got an urgent email from the editor insisting that I make up the difference right away!

I had either a mild flu or a bad cold that weekend. Whatever it was, I was totally exhausted and my head felt like it was splitting apart. Still, I had to deliver the additional chapters by Monday. I wrote all weekend, 8K words. I don't know where I got the ideas or how I managed to get them down on the page, but somehow I managed. When I think back on it now, it's all a fog.

The odd thing is, the new chapter that I created that awful weekend is one of my favorites.

Raw Silk is the story of a woman who moves to Thailand in order to take a job and become sexually involved with two very different men: the charismatic, dominant proprietor of a go-go bar and a handsome, aristocratic and very married Thai sensualist. Kate participates in increasingly outrageous activities with each of them. Meanwhile, her American lover visits Bangkok, and Kate realizes she has to choose among the three of them. The climax (so to speak) of the tale is a contest in which each man strives to give her the maximum pleasure.

The chapter I wrote that unpleasant weekend takes place before the showdown. Somtow, the Thai, invites Kate to lunch at a hundred year old restaurant in Chinatown. The restaurant is segregated into private curtained booths. (I did not make this up!) After a sumptuous lunch (there is a lot of food in Raw Silk, including a sex scene that involves chilis), Somtow tries to weaken Kate's resolve not to have sex with any of her lovers until the day of the competition.

---

He rang for the waiter, and the dirty plates disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. The young man also brought them a fresh pot of tea.

When the curtains were closed again, Somtow reached into his pocket. He brought out a blue velvet box. "I hope that you will accept this, Katherine, as a token of my love and respect for you. As something to remember me by, perhaps."

Kate wanted to refuse the box, but the look in his eyes stopped her. Silently, she took it from him and opened it.

It was a sapphire necklace, an oval pendant on a delicate gold chain. It was unbelievably beautiful.

Kate was overwhelmed. "Somtow, I can't take this. This should be for your wife, not for me."

"Nong has her own sapphires, Katherine. And she has the honor and misfortune of being my legal wife. I want you to have something tangible, something precious, something to convince you that you are more to me than just a playmate and a diversion."

He was so sincere. Kate felt tears prick her eyes again. Without further comment she carefully fastened the chain around her neck. The stone sparkled in the hollow of her throat.

"Thank you, Somtow,"she said softly. "I am deeply touched."

Her prince watched her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You look lovely," he said. "Of course, you would look lovelier still if you removed your blouse."

"Somtow! You promised!"

"Promised what?" he said with mock innocence.

"That you would stick to the rules and would not try to seduce me!"

Somtow grinned. "I am sure that I never promised that!" He leaned forward across the table. "I would never make a promise that I could not keep. In any case, I have a feeling that you really want to take off your top."

It was true, of course. The attraction that Kate had felt toward him during lunch was a hundred times stronger now. She glanced over at the curtains. They were tightly closed. "The management would never enter a booth unannounced," said Somtow. "It would violate all the traditions."

Without a word, she pulled her silk shell over her head. Then she unhooked her brassiere in the front, and let it slide off her shoulders. She sat up straight, enjoying the hungry way that he eyed her bared breasts.

"Ah, Katherine," he sighed. "I see that I was right." He picked up his chopsticks, reached across the table, and deftly caught her left nipple between them. "Quite stiff," he commented approvingly. He applied a bit more pressure and the button of flesh swelled further. Her cunt muscles tensed and her clit tingled.

He switched to the other nipple, rolling it back and forth between the lacquered wood sticks. Kate gave a little moan, and thrust her chest forward.

"You are incorrigible, Somtow," she said when she had caught her breath. "In any case, I'll bet that you are quite stiff yourself."

"You would win that wager," he chuckled. He stood up and Kate saw that he had already unzipped his trousers and released his erection, that he had been stroking himself with his left hand even as he used the chopsticks with his right.

"You know," she said with a smile, "I am still a bit hungry after all." She grabbed one of the cushions from the bench and threw it on the floor in front of him. Then she knelt and began feasting on his smooth, cool flesh.

The slender Thai rested his hands on her shoulders and pressed his pelvis against her mouth. Kate worked his penis like a vacuum cleaner, sucking him as if to extract every drop of his come. She relished his slightly salty taste and the now-familiar whiff of sandalwood that came from him. He moaned, and she paused to admonish him. "Shh!"she whispered. "I don't want the management to come rushing in thinking that I'm doing you harm."

"I can't help myself, Katherine," Somtow gasped.

"Maybe I need to gag you," she said playfully, and then was a little shocked by her own words. Was her association with Gregory polluting her mind to such an extent?

She returned her attention to his cock, licking up and down its length before swallowing it again. The skin was petal-soft. She could feel the pulse of blood raging beneath.

As Somtow came closer to climax, Kate felt her own heart beginning to pound. Her clit throbbed in the same rhythm as his cock, and she could feel her lower lips swelling, opening, aching for attention. She was determined, though, not to allow him access to her sex. Technically, at least, she wanted to adhere to the rules she had established. She wanted the contest on Saturday to be fair and unbiased. She sucked harder, and lightly raked her teeth over his rigid flesh. Come on, Somtow, she thought. Come in my mouth, my sweet prince.

He hovered on the edge. Kate could feel his muscles tensing. But instead of letting go, he gently pushed against her shoulders, pulling out of her mouth. "Turn around, please, Katherine. I want to share my pleasure with you."

"No, Somtow. We all agreed, no sex until the showdown."

"Oh?" He raised one eyebrow. "And what do you call this that we have been doing for the last fifteen minutes?"

"In any case, the notion that you should have no sexual contact with any of us was your idea. In my opinion, it is unnecessary, and unrealistic. You cannot segregate your feelings and desires that way. This lunch is part of the contest, Katherine."

---

As you might expect, Katherine is not very successful in resisting the handsome and persuasive Somtow. Their activities in that curtained booth include some of the most transgressive scenes in the book. However, I won't spoil things by telling you anymore...

Honestly, despite the fact that my head felt about to explode from the pain, the scenes I wrote that weekend are undeniably hot. How did I do that?

I haven't the faintest idea. I guess that is part of the magic of writing.