Monday, November 15, 2010

Heavenly Bodies

This is another difficult topic for me because I don't put much thought into life after death. The traditional vision of heaven strikes me as really boring. After catching up with my dear departed, what's left to do in heaven? There's no strife or struggle. That might sound good for an afternoon or even a week, but for all eternity? That's existence, not living.

Every writer I know seems to work better under a deadline. We procrastinate until the last second then sit down and crank out word count as the story finally flows through us. Life is like that. We have a deadline. As far as we know, it's lurking right around the corner. So instead of procrastinating, we have to live now and let life flow through us. 

Rekindle is probably the most romantic story I've ever written. It's about a middle-aged soccer mom who decides to stop being who everyone expects her to be and start focusing on what truly matters to her. She's a sexual person and she's ready to let her inner seductress run wild. The man she takes to a hotel room for a midday romp is her husband. They might have been together for years, but they still find that there's plenty left to discover between them.
Rekindle (Passion, Cleis Press)

I closed the door and went into action. A seductive walk would have been awkward, but I knew how to use my voice. While I loosened his tie, I growled close to his ear, “I think it's so hot that you still treat me like a lady, even though you know better." I trailed my fingers down his chest.
He stared at my hands as I tugged his belt out of the loops. It was some powerful magic, the unexpected mixed with the familiar. He was already hard.
"Saturday mornings, you could be out golfing or watching football, but you coach Jenny's teams instead. I can't tell you how very, very sexy a man is when he's being a dad."
Carl's mouth opened as I pushed him gently to the bed. I hadn't seen that look on his face in years. It amazed me that no matter how many times we knocked it out, he still had a sense of wonder about sex.
You make it spiritual, Carl. You keep sex sacred. Every time you look at my bare breasts or rounded butt, your eyes show such reverence for me that I can’t think of myself as undesirable. You make me sexy. 
"From now on, every time I think warm thoughts about you, and I get turned on, I'm going to let you know. You don't mind, do you honey?" I crooned. My fingers traced his warm skin.
He shook his head slowly. Maybe it was too radical of a change for him. I never initiated anything. We had our codes though. If I came to bed naked, he knew I wouldn’t turn him down. But I never pounced on him. After sixteen years, I figured that he wouldn’t mind if I made the first move.
Hiking up my skirt, I straddled his legs. My lips pressed to the pulse at his neck. "I was thinking about last night. I'd liked that, but with more kissing." I let him feel the edge of my teeth.
“You think about sex the next day?” He was shocked.
“Yes. I do.” How could I have hid that from him for so long? “Sometimes, it makes me wet all over again.”
Carl always liked kissing, much more than I did. I brushed my lips over his and pressed closer. We were going to kiss as long as he wanted.
He got out from under me and kneeled on the bed to come down at my mouth. His hands cupped my face. My hands slid under his shirt, feeling his labored breath, his hard-on, the way he abandoned himself to my game.
Carl tasted sweet and dark like coffee.
I couldn't remember the last time we kissed like that. We treated our kisses with such casual disregard that they’d become sexless, anonymous things, as sparse as our words. We knew each other so well that it seemed everything was distilled into staccato communication, but I wanted to slow things down. No pizzicato plucking at him like his body was a string on a violin. Nope. He deserved the long draw of the bow caressing his body so that after my touch was gone, he would still vibrate.
My thighs were wet. The scent of sex rose in the heat between our bodies. I wanted to peel away my good girl clothes and play the vixen with him, but everything was too perfect. Afraid that I’d break the spell binding us, I let him lead.
Carl lingered on my mouth. He pressed hard against my lips, as if he’d been starved for too long.
The outline of his dick showed against his pants. I rubbed my thumbnail over the head. Unzipping his fly, I groped his balls.
You’re so turned on, Carl. Did you ever dream I’d do this with you? Did you want it, but were too afraid to share your fantasies? You can’t disgust me. Don’t be afraid to be a little rough, a little cruel, because I’ll know that your heart isn’t in it. I’ll play any game you want. I make any wish come true.
“Baby,” he breathed against my mouth.
I stroked his hard-on as my clit ached for attention. Shoving up my skirt, I fingered myself. I was swollen for him, ready to burst in a gush of hot, sweet juices.
I put his hand between my legs.
“This is what you do to me.”
“You’ve got me really turned on too,” he admitted.

If love isn't heaven, I don't know what is.

Passion (Cleis Press) 


If you're following my NaNoWriMo progress, my word count Sunday night stood at 27,470 (and three bodies. both counts will rise in the coming days)


  1. What a wonderful take on the theme, Kathleen!

    One problem that I have always had with the traditional notion of heaven is that it can make people stop fighting for what they want in the here and now. If you're going to get your "reward" after you die, you can get lazy and live with all your compromises, telling yourself they don't really matter.

    I love the excerpt. I wouldn't have expected this sort of romance from you. But I should have known that you're up to it.


  2. Lisabet - Thanks for the kind words. I wanted to go to RKB's reading in New York for Passion, but I know that I can't read this story in public without getting all choked up.

    And by the way, when I read Pearly Gates, my mind immediately went south.

    So much for my romantic streak!

  3. That was well done. I think women are the best erotica writers, women get ticked when I say that but I think its mostly true with some exceptions.


  4. Garce - I think anyone with passion and honesty can write outstanding erotica. That being said, I think that women have a slight edge since so many of them use detailed, story driven fantasy to reach climax.


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