I close the door of the hotel room and lean against it, kicking off my kitten-heel shoes with a sigh. Conferences are always so exhausting once the high of getting my geek on wears off. My mind is racing; notes to make, follow-up emails to send, ideas, conversations, names, faces…it’s all too much to cope with right now. I reach for my phone and text Him.
Quinn Rhodes wrote a very sexy story this week involving girls and cake. It made me wet and urgently horny as hell. In gratitude for the inspiration, I dedicate this to her – she’s a great writer and a lovely person.
It was just a tiny nibble. A small corner of a small slice of choclate cake, the slightly-rounded edge my teeth had left barely visible except on close inspection.
But inspect it she did. She knows me too well.
I dislike the term ‘foreplay’ with its insinuation that penetration is the main event; and as though anything non-penetrative is trivial and frivolous compared to the Real Business of sticking something somewhere.
But even if I were to use that term as shorthand for ‘the introductory stages of sexual activity for the purpose of stimulating arousal’, I’d still have issues with the ‘play’ part. I like my getting-revved-up activity to be serious. Not necessarily solemn, but with focus, intent and dedication. No messing about here, I want to see hunger and need in your eyes. That turns me on, more than any caress.