What feels sexy today:

Waking up to aspen leaves, lots of them, just unfurled and brilliant green, swaying in the breeze right outside my window.

Not knowing, and not needing to know what time it is.

Getting so lost in an erotic essay that I don't even notice that the sun has reached it's zenith.

Opening all the windows in the cabin and letting the wind dance over my naked skin as I lie in the loft reading the erotic novel Fifty Shades Darker.

Drifing into a nap with no concern for how long, with images of E.L. James' passionate lovers seared into my brain.

Sipping green tea between yoga postures in the living room as the wind flirts with the loose tendrils of hair around my face.

Riding hard, uphill, on my mountain bike to the song Gel by Collective Soul.

Slipping out of my sweaty bike clothes and into some lavendar-colored satin to draft this blog and edit the morning's prose.

Feeling the waxing moon, already half full, luring me from the cabin to bask in the purple twilight.

What feels sexy to you today?

Tell me, tell me, tell me.

Sexy Read:

In case you haven't heard, the erotic novel, Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James is the scorching hot bestseller this summer. I struggled with it at first, but persevered and I'm glad I did. Fifty Shades Darker, the second book in the trilogy, oozes with passion and clit-tingling sex scenes. I can hardly wait  to get my hands on the third one.
There is so much moon here in Colorado, such a vast big sky gallery for her to hang.

I spied her my first night at the cabin, a slender crecent rising from the east, hours before dawn.

While flowing through some yoga poses on the deck in the morning, I caught her hovering above me in all that impossible blue.  I took her cue, moved into a forward bend and held it, mimicking the elegance of her C-like curve with my spine.

She was present in her absence that night as she allowed the stars to take center stage and dazzle against an ink-black sky.

She's waning, sharing less of herself with each passing day.

So am I.

When I first met my man he brought me here. 

I could write an entire blog post about that. 

Oh wait, I did.

When the snow melted, he loaded his kayaks on top of his  truck, made sure I knew how to work the solar system, and left me for six weeks to go make love to his favorite river in California.

The cabin is in a gated community...


...with high security.

So even though it's isolated, on 120 acres in the mountains of Colorado, I felt safe.

But my Inner Child felt totally abandoned and lonely.

I meditated a lot with the mountain to the south...

...and tapped into my Inner Stripper.
She enpowered me to write erotic essays about the river and the threesome dynamic of my relationship. 

And now my man isn't the only one who runs off in the spring to chase a passion.


For the next three weeks I'll be on my writer's path, going solo and deep as I put the finishing touches on my erotic memoir. 

Cell converage at the cabin is questionable and Internet access doesn't exist. So blogging will be random and limited to chance encounters with wireless on trips into civilization.

Where are you running off to this spring?  Tell me about it in the comments.

It’s Thursday night, the sexiest night of the week in La Grande, Oregon with live music downtown. A cold spring rain has darkened the sky and I’m huddled up next to the gas heater in the living room recovering from a tiring day at work.

I’m just not feeling it.

My man is though, in a big way.  It’s Friday night for him.  He has the next five days off and is heading back east to visit his mother.

I don't know how he does it, but the next thing I know I’m bundled up and bicycling beside him in the rain towards the Ten Depot Street Restaurant and Bar.

We snag a table close to the dance floor and it fills quickly with friends.  A new act is on stage tonight, two guitar players who are warming up the crowd with songs by Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings and Pure Prairie League. When the musicians start to play the song, Simple Kind of Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd, I look across the table at my man.

“Such a pretty song,” I say.  He extends his hand, an invitation.

On the dance floor, he pulls my body to his. The lyrics, a mother’s advice to her son to live a simple life, are poignant given his upcoming trip and our recent attempts to simplify our life which ironically have only made it more complicated and stressful. We've both been feeling beaten down and weakened by it all.

My forehead rests on his shoulder, his chins tucks up next to my ear and in an instant nothing else exists but the music and the warmth of the breath between us.

I find the rhythm, give it to him and then do my best to surrender to his fearless lead, our approach to dance synonymous with our approach to marriage. As we spin and flow, I feed him the funny names of the dance moves we’ve made up over the years to jog his memory.

Ragdoll.”  I lift my arms overhead as his hands float down, encompassing my ribcage  I let my body sway like a bag of bones as he gently pushes me from side to side.

“Waterfall.” As I arch backwards, one of his hand flows to my waist, encouraging me into a backbend until my head nearly hits the dance floor. His other hand moves to my throat and slowly, seductively, flows like water down the front of my body before he pulls me back up to him.

Seattle.” I feel his smile as he keeps me close and we go into a Fred and Ginger stance, our feet moving together intuitively in our outside-the-box step, a technique that morphed into our routine after a steamy night at the Seattle Erotic Arts Festival.

He pulls out a few more of our standards, The Dana, named after the guy who taught it to us and The Kibler which we made up at the wedding of our friend Dan Kibler.

As the song winds down, he spins me, twice, my favorite. His lips brush mine as he lowers me into a dip as the last note is played.

The sound of applause and the roomful of people creating it startle us both.

“Whoa, we went somewhere,” I say as I lead the way back to our table.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, landing a light spank on my ass.

As we reclaim our chairs, our friend Peter shakes his head and smiles.

“You guys, wow, that was really something,” he says. “That was so…sexy.”

I start clapping even though everyone else has quit.

Sexy Prod:

Where do you go, what do you do, to tap back into sexy?