Tagged: sex

For All his Complaints

  • by jenexcessive body hair
  • you’re wanted downstairs
  • wrote on me with a red marker
  • fearful of farts
  • if you want your nether regions touching germy public surfaces

Tune in next time part 867      Click Here for Earlier Installments

For all his complaints about the furriness of Big Dennis, I was somewhat surprised to see that BimBam sported what many would consider excessive body hair, all of it shockingly pink.

In the secret language of clowns, Titania murmured, “You’re wanted downstairs.” BimBam splayed his knees wide and, while making a slide-whistle sound, sank into a deep crouch. Titania giggled appreciatively. “Now,” she went on in a breathy squeak, “look closely at my left hip and see what the Dennises wrote on me with a red marker this morning while they were dressing me.”

I gulped. If Small Dennis was anywhere near as nervous as me, I was fearful of farts (or something even worse) filling up the horse suit. Again I tried to back us away from the horrifying clown nightmare.

BimBam leaned in very close to Titania’s hip and slowly read, “Continue reading this message only if you want your nether regions touching germy public surfaces such as the floor.” BimBam gave a honk of surprise as Titania gave a quick karate chop to both his shoulders and he toppled pantsless to the ground.

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I Climbed Out of the Bathtub

  • by jenShhh, don’t tell anyone!
  • the chirps and squeals that he makes
  • As a fan of miniatures
  • overcoming my frog phobia with hypnosis
  • The only thing he never changed was his shoes.

Tune in next time part 747      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I climbed out of the bathtub with Tessa in my arms and carried her into the bedroom. I shut the door behind us for a little privacy.

“Where are your clothes?” I asked. “You should get out of here before Isolde comes back. I’ll meet you later.”

Tessa shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere until I get what I came for.” She ran her hand down my still-dripping torso and gave me a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be quick. Shhh, don’t tell anyone!” She pushed me onto the bed.

In the bathroom I heard splashing and giggles as Fleur played with the infants. “Tessa…”

“That son of yours is quite a happy fellow. Just ignore the chirps and squeals that he makes.” I found her argument quite persuasive as she climbed on top of me. I still didn’t know whether this was the true Tessa, or one of the TSS-A units. If it was a robot, it was impeccably programmed to move just like my beloved. It also shared her penchant for awkwardly timed announcements. “As a fan of miniatures in general, I should find babies adorable, but they remind me so much of frogs.” This was said as she arched her back just so. “I’ve been overcoming my frog phobia with hypnosis, though, with the help of a very qualified therapist. Or I was anyway, before he went missing. He changed my mind about holding grudges, he changed my whole outlook on revenge. He changed so many things! The only thing he never changed was his shoes.” She gave an exultant cry and collapsed onto my chest. Her next words were muffled by my chest hair. “You can imagine how alarming it was when I arrived for my appointment and he wasn’t there, but his Birkenstocks were.” She sat up and looked me in the eye. “Tell me you’ll help me find him.”

Before I could even ask any questions about this mysterious therapist, I heard footsteps in the hall outside my door. Had Isolde returned so soon?

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“Give Them the Smallest Escape Pod”

  • by jenI’ve grown to adore him
  • often used to welcome distinguished guests
  • ill-gotten origins
  • tattoo with the word “warning” on her hip
  • learned how to make explosives

Tune in next time part 729      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Give them the smallest escape pod,” Fleur said. “The one those robots stole that one time.”

Before the guards escorted the newlyweds away, I said to Mother, “Why are you maintaining this charade of coupledom with John? We all know it’s just some ruse of yours to gain access to Fleur’s airship.”

“It may have started out that way, but I’ve grown to adore him.” Mother’s eyes sparkled as she spoke of her new husband. “He knows all the best bedroom moves, even those I often used to welcome distinguished guests to the White House, and ones with even more ill-gotten origins.”

I should have known better than to try to talk to her about this sort of thing.

John elbowed me jovially. “And I’ve always wanted a wife with a tattoo with the word ‘warning’ on her hip that she got when she learned how to make explosives out of feminine hygiene products. Keeps things interesting.”

“Move out,” I said to the guards. The quicker these two were off the zeppelin, the quicker my queasiness would abate.

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How Sexy is Too Sexy?

There’s a lot of sex in our books. (Whether that’s a disclaimer or shameless promotion is left as an exercise for the reader.) Each series has its own spiciness level, in terms of the number of sex scenes and also how graphically they’re described. It’s important to us to be consistent about things like that within a series.

Well now we’ve just started a brand-new series, and already we’re faced with choices about how far to turn the knobs. (Phrasing!) Sex is a strong theme in the ghost series. There’s probably going to be a lot of it, as per paragraph one. We don’t want to sell it short, but we also don’t want it to turn into porn. And with two of us writing, it’s more likely for the tone to come out a bit uneven in this regard, at least for the first draft.

Once we reach a certain threshold, we’ll be able to review it and make adjustments. We need to keep in mind that how we play things in Book One is going to establish expectations for the other three.

A writing partner is someone who’ll help you figure out just how porn-adjacent you want your story to be.

“And What Sort of Uniqueness Do You Bring to the Festivities?”

  • by jen“Valentina, your hands are a distraction.”
  • biggest snake ever
  • under the covers late into the night
  • you’re supposed to throw the first pancake away
  • I appreciate the tongue being so firmly in the cheek

Tune in next time part 667      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“And what sort of uniqueness do you bring to the festivities?” I asked.

“I’m double-jointed!” Dr Ferguson demonstrated, flexing and contorting her fingers into many unnatural positions.

The speaker in the ceiling crackled. “Valentina, your hands are a distraction.”

Valentina Ferguson’s digits all snapped back into human-like shape and she glared up at one of the cameras. “I realize he doesn’t have the biggest snake ever seen on this show, but there’s no way my hands were obscuring it completely.”

Had she just insulted my genitals?

“Valentina, please,” the ceiling voice griped. “Get on with it.”

Valentina turned back to me. “He never complains about my fingers when we’re naked together under the covers late into the night.”

“For the show?”

“Of course not! He’s my second husband.” She wiggled her left ring finger in front of my face like an eel. “I don’t have a wedding ring because it just wouldn’t stay on.”

I eyed her hypnotic digits. “What happened to your first husband?”

“Husbands are a lot like pancakes.” She laughed at my confusion. “You’re supposed to throw the first pancake away.”

“Get on with it!” shrieked the ceiling.

Valentina shrugged and planted an openmouthed kiss on me. She tasted vaguely of my toes, but that was an improvement over the slug from earlier.

From the speaker in the ceiling, her husband gave direction. “I appreciate the tongue being so firmly in the cheek. Keep it there as the slugs are applied.”

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I Could Still Taste the Slug

  • by jenhad sex with the devil in exchange for magical powers
  • a Grade IV erection
  • very diabolical piece of
  • pantyhose on his head
  • spitting with impunity

Tune in next time part 663      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I could still taste the slug, or perhaps it was the PA’s fingers. I turned my head and spat into the wastebasket. Twice.

“There is no spitting with impunity on my set,” the voice from the ceiling said. “Put the pantyhose on his head.”

I was so distracted by the idea that anyone these days would have pantyhose on demand that I failed to dodge Dr Ferguson. Before I knew what hit me, my face was smooshed inside the tube of sheer fabric held in place by a very diabolical piece of knot-tying artistry.

“I think you like that,” Dr Ferguson cooed, trailing her fingers down my torso. “This is a Grade IV erection at least.”

“We can’t proceed until he reaches Grade VII,” ceiling-voice said.

“Luckily,” Dr Ferguson breathed into my ear, “I had sex with the devil in exchange for magical powers of seduction.”

And then she did something astounding with her hand that I am at a loss to describe.

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“Don’t Squish the Slugs”

  • by jenbut in that way dreams do
  • rubbing their fins against it
  • own personal golden spoon
  • some sort of cheesecake
  • you have to plan your moves

Tune in next time part 657      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t squish the slugs,” Dr Ferguson purred, refusing to allow me to lay back on the mattress. For a moment I thought I knew what she was talking about, but in that way dreams dodge from your waking mind, the knowledge was gone. My senses were overwhelmed. Dr Ferguson moved close, and her heartbeat merged with mine, sounding like two dolphins with a balloon, rubbing their fins against it. She kissed me and it tasted like using my own personal golden spoon to savor some sort of cheesecake. When you’re in bed with a virtual stranger, and you’re clearly under the influence, you have to plan your moves very carefully and in accordance with Academy training. I attempted to do that now.

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Dr Ferguson Reached Again for my Waistband

  • by jenwhy would you ever need more than one cat
  • some secrets are just not meant to be uncovered
  • feeling each other up in your pantry
  • shiny because of bug secretions
  • “Who whistles for this long?”

Tune in next time part 655      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dr Ferguson reached again for my waistband. Before she could accomplish anything, I heard someone clear their throat. My eyes were focusing on things beyond this world, things in the realm of sensuality, and it was nearly impossible to scan the room for the mystery throat-clearer.

I wondered if it might be Deuce Pamplemousse after all, but the pale bald head suggested not.

In an outrageously accented, smarmy voice, he said, “Look at your back! Why would you ever need more than one caterpillar aphrodisiac? Is your manliness so meager?”

“Hello, Arlo,” I snarled. “They’re not caterpillars. They’re slugs, which means they must be related to you.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” The viscount punctuated each word with a clap. “Very. Funny.” He positioned his pudgy body between Dr Ferguson and me.

“Arlo darling, you’re early,” simpered Dr Ferguson. “And you’re still dressed.”

“Some secrets are just not meant to be uncovered,” I blurted. What the hell was Dr Ferguson doing mixed up with the likes of this Svenborgian trash fire?

“Ignore him,” said Arlo. “Come with me, Fergie. I’d like to start by feeling each other up in your pantry. Your chest is so shiny because of bug secretions, it’s very enticing. I want to put my tongue on it.”

“They’re not bugs!” I said. “They’re slugs!” Whatever you called them, the warm, sweet pleasure they brought was overtaking my entire system. I doubted I’d be able to fight Arlo off if he took a swing at me.

“The double slugs are an experiment,” Dr Ferguson said in a babydoll voice, while running her fingertips around on Arlo’s bald head. “He’s my guinea pig.”

Arlo whistled a low note in appreciation of the plan. And whistled. And whistled. He just kept going.

“Who whistles for this long?” I grumbled, right before my consciousness drifted away on a current of pleasure.

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Parrot Meat is Often Used as an Aphrodisiac

  • by jenthe right taste and texture
  • even a fairly sexually liberated person
  • head-to-toe velvet
  • sex after a big sloppy meatball sub
  • rub it all over your palms

Tune in next time part 639      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Parrot meat is often used as an aphrodisiac in Contrarian culture because the locals think it has the right taste and texture to stimulate the imagination in ways even a fairly sexually liberated person might find startling. “Parrot fever” was Contrarian slang for “horny,” and just remembering that was more than I wanted to do in front of an old man dressed in head-to-toe velvet. Unbidden, my thoughts turned to depraved acts like having sex after a big sloppy meatball sub, or what it would feel like to take that sub and rub it all over your palms before jumping into bed.

At least it distracted me long enough for my bladder to let go.

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Exhausted and Glazed with Butterscotch Pudding

  • by jengot a little gift of his own
  • (only purple)
  • drifting unguided and unmanned
  • a bit flummoxed
  • with each passing hour

Tune in next time part 627      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Exhausted, and glazed with butterscotch pudding, I stared at Hildegard as she did her best Bob Barker impression in the purple honeymoon suite. “Here’s your chance to win a brand! new! car!” We’d been at this for hours. First she’d spoon up the pudding, then we’d play a price-guessing game, then we’d fornicate — before starting the whole process over again. Early on, the bellhop delivered our wedding gifts on a luggage cart, and got a little gift of his own when Hildegard answered the door naked. She’d let him choose one of the purple-wrapped boxes of pudding as his tip. All the presents were pudding, and all were wrapped in purple, to match the decor of the entire hotel. It was like King Midas had strolled through, running his hands over everything and turning it to gold. (Only purple). I felt like my metaphors weren’t working very well, like my mind was drifting unguided and unmanned in an amethyst sea. All the purple and all the butterscotch had me a bit flummoxed, and my flummoxation grew with each passing hour and each passing Showcase Showdown.

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