Emperor Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as tribute to his deceased wife. He described the Taj in these words:

Should guilty seek asylum here,
Like one pardoned, he becomes free from sin.
Should a sinner make his way to this mansion,
All his past sins are to be washed away.
The sight of this mansion creates sorrowing sighs;
And the sun and the moon shed tears from their eyes.
In this world this edifice has been made;
To display thereby the creator’s glory.

Every time I see photos of the Taj Mahal, it makes me smile at the depth of love a man felt for a woman during a time (1600′s) when they were little more than property. It makes me love him a little. ♥

This photo is the Taj Mahal as photographed by Samuel Bourne in 1865. Beautiful, isn’t it?

What happened to love that inspired the building of monuments? The writing of sonnets? The painting of a masterpiece?

Where are the grand gestures, damn it?

I want an ear! Why did women in times of no medical care to speak of and lacking so much as a sterile gauze pad warrant an ear? You know what I get as a “grand gesture” – not of love but of wanting to get in my pants – I get cock shots. All ages, sizes, locations, and activities. Trimmed ones, bushy ones, some have big balls, some have little ones…all are happy to know they are being sent to entertain me and primp for the occasion.

I’ve gotten some from “the bathroom at my office” and others from “my wife’s sister’s house” a strange number taken in garages and still far more taken in cars.

That’s what I get? Really? Not a whole lot of thought goes into:

Pull pants down, wank like a lunatic until hard (quietly lest someone catch me), snap grainy pic with cell phone or laptop, save (because I’ll have to send these new ones to all the people who hold their breath waiting for them), wank until the job is done (mess…shit…tissues, bugger!) as I imagine the erotica author’s overwhelming delight and state of excitement when she receives my photo. How she will stop wrangling house, teenagers, pets, and put dinner on warm so she may release the sexual tension the picture of my penis will inspire! Oh yes, yes, yes!

Uh, no. Actually, I chuckle as I save it to a special folder on my computer. I then forward the picture to my two best friends (without a name) so we can take turns dissecting the “ambiance” of the shot. The ones that bore us get deleted. The ones that inspire a story based on what was said, where it was taken, or exactly what is happening IN the photo – I save.

Sad, sad news flash: I have never masturbated to them. Nope, not once. I’m sorry.

So – my version of the Taj Mahal is the receipt of random penises.

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To make myself feel better, I’ve composed my own Ode to the Cock Shot.

When the nasty seeks distraction and release,
One exposed yet in hiding, he caresses his skin.
The sinner causes his penis to stand to attention,
The “take” photo button pressed just in time,
The sight of this straining member will bring sensual sighs;
And the receiver of my photo will be unable to hold back.
Her sexual fulfillment, by my photo has been made;
All hail my display of the twig and berry’s glory.

Anywho. Don’t do that. It’s gross and pointless since most penises look the same to women in a photo. Also, we’re much harder to stimulate than that. Bo-ring.

Word to the wise: when you start to pull your clothing away and take out your penis for a little “you and him” time…if there is an inner voice that whispers, “you should totally take a pic of your johnson” – ignore that voice. In fact, step away from your home and go outside. You’ve obviously been spending too much time A) alone and B) scrolling Tumblr.

If you take it and send it to me…I’m going to laugh at you. Even if you’re hung like a horse. Even if you’re the “Michelangelo’s David” of penises, the “Romeo & Juliet” of penises, the “Beethoven’s 9th” of penises, the “you just won an all-inclusive trip to the Superbowl” of penises. Even then…

I am still going to laugh at you.

Please note…the author does not really want an ear. Please, in the name of all that is holy, do not start whacking off body parts willy-nilly! I am not, however, averse to a dirty limerick or two (sans cock shots…I have as many of those as any woman needs in a lifetime). *wink*


stay strongThere were times I thought they would kill me.  I did not die…and some days, I promise you, that was harder.

I hid the bruises, pretended I wasn’t in agony simply bending over to tie my shoes, and became a habitual liar to excuse the hell that leaves marks on my body like a road map through hell.

I wanted something bad to happen to my abusers and yet felt guilty about the hoping because I was a good person in a horrible situation that was out of my control.  I took the hits, the screaming, the insults…but I did not cry because then it would have been worse.

I made it out alive and work hard to live the rest of my life free – but sometimes the dark makes me remember, loud noises startle me because I have a mild form of un-diagnosed PTSD, and sometimes – despite all my efforts to never be like them - I have slips of rage.

I worked for years to control my temper, to slow my breathing, control my heart rate, and stop the red from invading my vision.

I know I could kill the woman in the mall parking lot punching her kid in the backseat of her pretty car. I could do it. I want to do it. She outweighs me by 50 pounds but I know how to make her hurt – how to bring her down into a weak and whimpering mass of pain.  It’s been done to me.  I remember well.  I confront her verbally instead. I shame her and humiliate her and take down her license plate.

Then I go there every night for a week at sixteen years old with a 110 camera and a tape recorder.  I wait.  I know she will beat that child again.  If she will hit that kid in public – she tortures him in private.

[click to continue…]


Fair warning, this is an M/M story. That means, in plain English, sexual activity between two men. If that is a turn-off for you, skip this one (and definitely don’t freak out on me…I love writing stories about men). For all you women out there who secretly love stories like this…enjoy.

Troy stood in the dark, staring at Dominic’s naked back as he slept. Lean, olive-skinned, and oh-so-beautiful. His lover trusted him. Believed in him.

Earlier tonight, Troy betrayed that trust. He left his late business meeting and ended up at his old haunt; dancing and drinking like he did before he committed his life, his future, to the man in front of him.

He allowed another man to touch him, kiss him, and suck his cock in a shadowed hallway. Less than ten feet away, another couple groped and gasped in pleasure.

So fucking sordid.

Dominic had blue-black hair and deep blue eyes. His body was sculpted, stunning. He was an engineer. He worked hard and he loved hard. Completely. Four years older and a lifetime more mature than the man he claimed for his own.

Troy was restless and ashamed, knowing he’d jeopardized the best thing to ever happen to him.

He stripped quietly in the huge bathroom. Stepped into the shower to scrub his body of stale smoke and cheap cologne; to wash his cock clean of the physical while the emotional dug deeper.

Drying, he moved into the bedroom, their bedroom, and watched the steady breathing of the only man who ever valued him as a person. Not for his money, his cock, or his connections. Just him. Flaws and all.

Lifting his head groggily, Dominic smiled. Bright white teeth flashed in a sensually full mouth. “Hey. Missed you.”

Saying nothing because he was afraid, Troy pushed at his lover’s hip and urged him to his back. Clenching hard thighs, he lowered his head to plant urgent kisses along his hips.

“Troy. What is it?”

So perceptive. Fuck. “I want to love you. Please…”

[click to continue…]

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Have a Happy 4th of July

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There are times throughout the day when I think about you, when I wonder what you’re doing, and wish you were close enough to touch me.

Then there are times when you surprise me by coming home early or calling out sick and as I’m sitting in the quiet house working, I suddenly feel your hands on my shoulders, moving over my collarbone, and dipping to cup my breasts. You kiss my neck – which makes my eyes close and my breathing speed up instantly.

I moan your name because every cell in my body tunes to you that fast. That fast, my heart is pounding. That fast, my nipples are hard. That fast, I am wet…ready for you.

“Stand up, Erika,” you tell me firmly as you nudge me out of my chair.

I start to turn around and you stop me, pinning me against my desk, and pressing into my back and ass with your body.

I can feel your cock through our clothes and you’re so hard that my stomach clenches in anticipation. I reach back to touch you and you grab my hands, using your body to bend me in half, my chest against the wood.

Stretching my arms out, you push my palms flat. “Leave them there.”

Your hands stroke up my arms and I rest my cheek against the cool surface to watch you out of the corner of my eye. My hair is everywhere and you move it to one side, planting kisses along my ear, my jaw, my neck before nipping my shoulder through my t-shirt.

“You’ve been working all morning.” I nod. “Did you finish your deadlines?” I nod again. “What a good girl. You deserve a reward.”

[click to continue…]

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Night Terror by Shayne McClendon | Free Story

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Night Terror by Shayne McClendon

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The character of Elizabeth Clayton (Lizzy) was one that spoke personally to me. As a fiercely cheerful person – someone who tries to always wear a smile – those around me react to my occasional pain, sadness, or anger with shock. I don’t experience them often, to be honest. When I do, they are deep […]

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