Resolve

As we fast approach the end of 2008 and begin a new year, most of us start thinking about our New Year’s resolutions. You know, those pesky doo-dad issues that we think about resolving within ourselves.

Yeah, those.

Two of my soul sisters and I get together around the holidays each year to have an open discussion about what we think the other’s resolutions should be. Our approach is socratic and very cathartic. I can’t often see the forest through the trees (or the trees in the forest) within myself, but my friends, well, let’s just say they see things more clearly.
This year I’m not going to try and resolve anything. It’s not because I’m Polly Perfect Pants either. I’m a quintessential work in progress. My cup runneth over with issues that I need to resolve, for God’s sakes. Instead, I’m going to continue to be a good friend, to have an open mind and heart, to love and not judge others and to continue to grow as a person – evolution of mind, body and soul.
What about you?
Unresolved and Happy for ’09,
Neve Black

Photograph above can be found here via Etsy.

The Rub

I’ve been pondering the rub in a story I’ve been thick at working on these past few days.

What is the rub?

Some of you that know me, already know what the rub means. For those of you that don’t, let me explain: It’s that place. It’s that moment. It’s the ephiphany of realization that takes your breath away; triggering something inside you that creates a visceral response: hairs on your arms and at the back of your neck stand tall, chills run down your spine, knees buckle, tears well up, panties get wet and cock’s stir. To me, the rub is the sweet spot in every story.

As I get closer to the finish line of completing this story, I feel a little like a race horse making that final furlow turn – my heart is pumping fast in my chest, the sweat lines my brow, I can feel the wind blowing through my hair; it rushes past my ears, stinging my eyes…so close, so very, very close.

Do I break the yellow ribbon as the tip of my nose crosses over the line? No. I stop dead in my lucky, horseshoe tracks. I go back. I re-read the story again for the 673 time. Why? Because this story’s rub just isn’t quite right…yet.

How’s your project coming along over the holiday weekend?

Taking another lap or two around the track,
Neve Black

Oscar Wink

“I can’t live without you…the thought of it kills me…do you love me?”

I mentioned earlier this week that I had started my annual tradition to go and see as many Oscar nod/wink films on my discriminating list prior to the Academy Awards ceremony scheduled in January.

Todays Oscar nod/wink film was The Reader. The tone of the film was gripping with raw emotion from beginning to end. Yes, it was well written, and yes, superbly acted. The film had some of my favorite flavors running through it too, like hot sex, obsession, and secrets. I can smell an Oscar nomination for Kate Winslet for this film. Bring a box of tissues.
I have the red carpet on my mind,
Neve Black

Twas the Night Before…

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, every creature was stirring…uh…the cat found a mouse. She burned the cookies for Santa and set off the alarm – causing upheaval in her desire to charm. French, black stockings she wore with great care, in hopes that sexy, St. Nicholas soon would be there.

Fanning the smoke, and wearing those stockings…hmmm… I think she wanted to evoke. She finally snuggled into bed, while visions of St. Nick’s throbbing cock danced in her head. He’d be wearing a kerchief, or maybe a cap, he was riding his hog across country while she napped.

When out on the lawn there came such a clatter, she sprang from her bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window she flew in a flash, tore open the blinds and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave luster to midday to objects below. When what to her eyes should appear? Her hot man, St. Nick was here, with eight of his band members, and they’d all been drinking beer.

St. Nicholas was the instigator of the after hour party it seemed. He was hot though and she couldn’t help but gleam. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called each band member by name!

Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with a saddle bag full of sex toys, and St. Nick in black leather chaps, too.

And then in a twinkling, she heard the sound of tiny hoofs, it was the strum, hum and reed of music, they we’re rocking on the roof. As she drew her head, and was turning around, down the chimney her hunky, St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed in black leather, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished after riding heavy in soot. A bundle of sex toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a round Buddah belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly band leader, and she laughed when she saw him, in spite of herself! A wink of his eye seem to let her know, soon he’d be fucking her senseless, ho, ho, ho.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and ripped off her stockings then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, he pulled off his trousers to show her what had rose!

He sprang to her bed, and she heard his band give a whistle, and flew like the down of a thistle. As he reached for her thigh, she heard him exclaim, ‘as the band members drove out of sight,”Happy Christmas to all, and to all fucking good-night!”

Merry Merry -
Neve

Festival of Lights

I am reminded for many reasons that today marks the first day of Chanukkah. I grew up with a sister-like best friend that was/is Jewish. I feel fortunate to have learned and participated in many of her family’s rich, Hebrew customs. I was raised Catholic, and she would sometimes go to Sunday mass with me. We both feel that we’re somehow a mixed breed of both those religions and I’m sure that has contributed to how I see the world today…cock-eyed would be one way to describe it….

A publisher had put out a call for submissions: eight, erotic, Chanukkah stories. I know three other highly talented erotica writers that wrote stories for that submission. For some reason, the publisher decided not to move forward with that submission call, so it makes me feel a bit warm and tingly knowing there are erotic, Chanukkah stories stored on hard drives as I write this.

Mazel tov!

The good news is, Jeremy Edwards’ story, The Golden Latke is up at Ruthie’s Club today and you can read EllaRegina’s Twisted Candles story on her blog. Kirsten Monroe’s Fairy Tale Ending is up on her blog today also. Please check out these amazing writers and their Chanukkah stories.

Here’s a taste of the story I’d written for that submission – maybe next year I’ll find a proper, festival of lights home for Non-traditional:

“Since age thirteen, I knew my sexual orientation was different from most of the girls I attended school with. When the girls at school swooned over the latest male pop-rock superstar; pointing at his chiseled jaw-line plastered on every cover of every adolescent and teenage rag-mag found at the grocery stores, I never understood the appeal. I was more interested in Bridgett Cohen. Bridgett sat in the desk one row over and one seat ahead of mine in our homeroom class.

Private schools and school uniforms were another part of my traditional Jewish upbringing. During the cold winter months, girls were required to wear navy skirts; just past our knees, long-sleeved, light blue oxford shirts, long gray socks, or gray tights and black shoes but as the weather began to warm up, you’d see more skin start to peek out between the layers of the uniform. I prayed for summer for that reason alone.

In the spring and summer months, Bridgett wore her three-pleated navy skirt, short- sleeved, light blue polo shirt and white, lacy; turned downed socks with her black loafers; exposing her long, tanned legs. As the homeroom light would blaze through the glass windows, it would catch the glistening of the soft blond hair on her coltish shins, rounded knees and shapely thighs. Bridgett was so different looking compared to most of the girls at school, including myself. My rich black, curly hair; olive skin; dark brown eyes and aquiline but regally arched nose were more typical-looking for the Jewish girls at my school.

Bridgett looked like an angel to me: She had a small, oval-shaped face, full, naturally red lips, green almond-shaped eyes and her dimpled cheeks were naturally flushed with a rosy glow; which always made me wonder what she was thinking about…lustful thoughts, I hoped….She had long, thick blond hair that she wore high up on her head in a ponytail, and it would swish back and forth in time with her hips; a perfect beat as she walked to and from her classes.

I would follow closely behind Bridgett as she would leave our homeroom class and head to her locker, which was fortunately located close to mine. I held my books close to my chest; trying to suffocate my pounding heart while the stirring between my thighs grew stronger. She would turn her sweet, cherubic face to one side; smiling and laughing in conversation with whomever she was walking with.”

Latkes for all -
Neve

Red Carpet

No, that isn’t a picture of my shiny, new dildo. That’s Oscar (swoon). He’s a handsome gold, devil isn’t he?

We’re moving into that time of the year when certain films receive a nod, or a wink from the Academy Awards (Motion Picture Arts and Sciences). I try and go see the top Oscar nod/wink films each year. Last year, Daniel Day Lewis’s won an Academy Award (Oscar) for best actor in the film, There Will Be Blood. His performance in that film still sends shivers down my spine.

Last night I went and saw a film that has received a wink/nod from the Academy, Slumdog Millionare. I enjoyed the film. I’ll refrain from too much commentary, because as much as I like to think of myself as a paid film critic, I am not. Let’s just say, I would recommend this film to those that are trying to step out (break free) from watching mainstream Hollywood movies and move into less filtered, independent films. You’ll enjoy the cultural experience, and I would be remiss if I didn’t say, just like erotica, this film also has a happy ending (wink and nod).

See you at the movies-
Neve

p.s. If you won an Oscar, where would you display it? Library? Kitchen counter-top? Maybe on top of the commode? Hmmm…think about it and let me know.

Shoe sex…anyone?

As I slosh through the soupy mess of snow and rain wearing necessary socks and Ugg-type boots that cover up my recently red polished toe nails, I find myself daydreaming about warmer, sunnier days and strappy sandals -

Thank goodness the Sex and Shoes anthology is available on Ravenous Romance today! My story, For the Love of Feet can be found inside the e-pages of this foot fetish book.
Here’s a taste:
Dr. Cobbler was wearing a black pencil skirt. Black seams ran down the back of her sheer black pantyhose. She wore pointed, closed-toe, four-inch black Italian leather pumps. I think she was wearing a high collar, crème-colored silky shirt that she tucked into her tiny waist, but I couldn’t be sure.

After all, I wasn’t paying much attention to what she was wearing from the waist up. Dr. Cobbler had long, sensuous legs. I could see her well-developed calves and the delicate bones of her ankles as she sat cross-legged in a chair close to me. I imagined her ten perfect toes neatly tucked into those fine leather pumps.

My dick was twitching at the thought of kneeling down in front of her, slowly slipping off her shoes and planting wet, meaningful kisses across the tops of her sheer, nylon-covered toes and feet.”
Ahhh…see there’s nothing like a little shoe sex to help you forget about inclement weather, now is there?

Ciao! (inspired from Italian leather)
Neve Black

From Moscow with Love…

Once upon a time there was a very powerful Russian oligarch who adored his wife – his love for her may have something to do with the fact that she is um…well, she’s fucking hot….

Her name is Olga Rodionova. She just so happens to be a Moscow jet setter of sorts and the words, femme fatale come to mind. Yes, that’s her pictured above and yes, it’s okay to wipe the drool from your chin.

Her husband commissioned a very well-known photographer, Bettina Rheims to take some erotic pictures of Olga. As the story goes, he liked the pictures so much that he decided to have an entire book of Olga photos published, appropriately titled: The Book of Olga.

For about what it would cost to fly round trip to Moscow, you can order one of these books for your own erotic enjoyment. I’m wondering if Olga’s book would compete or compliment my Helmut Newton coffee table book?

Rорячая в Москве
Neve

Simple and Erotic

This time of year can be stressful for some people. As I watch many of my friends hop from one holiday party to the next with heightened holiday anxiety (HHA). Or when I hear from a family member about some rather unpleasant (insert gory) shopping fiasco, while they search for perfect gifts, I start to feel a bit vertigenous. I take a deep breath in and let it out very, very slowly; letting my mind wander off to the simple pleasures found in the holiday season:

Getting caught under the mistletoe, unexpectedly with a very attractive stranger, a friend, or both. Being naked in front of a roaring fire sipping egg nog, while reading something erotic, as the cheeks of my ass feel hot and look pretty and pink. Deciding that my list of gifts to be purchased will be minutes of pleasure given instead. Calling in sick on a cold winter morning, and staying in bed all day with a lover. Trimming the tree wearing nothing but shiny, red stilettos and a Santa’s hat. Christmas Caroling in skimpy lingerie beneath a thick, warm coat. Biting the arms and legs off the gingerbread men, before leisurely licking off their vanilla frosted boxer shorts. And finally, going to see Santa Claus and whispering into his ear just what I want, while sitting on his lap sans panties.
Simple and Erotic -
Neve

p.s. The Santa mug above can be purchased here via Etsy.