Penis Size...How do you Measure Up?

This is a facinating study on Definitive Penis Size. This site has everything you would ever want to know about dick.

Assignment #2: Short Story

Time for this week's assignment. Please see the picture below. I would like all of my loyal readers to take a look at this picture and write a short story, no more than 2000 words about what they see; how they imagine this scene to have happened. Who are these women? Friends? Lovers? What are they reading? Be creative and have fun! (I would like to thank Marciposa for participating in last week's assignment...not once, but twice!)

Assignment 2 Picture 

Poetry Submissions

I know there are some poetry writers who visit this site, so I thought I would post the link to the angry poet. He pays $10 a poem and from $20-$50 for short story fiction under 500 words. check out his guidlines at the link. He's pretty pissed.

Precious Pearls

Hey there guys. I have just completed my first BDSM story called Precious Pearls. It is my foray into writing something of this nature and I am not sure if it comes off like I want. It's based losely on a club I visited in NYC several years ago. This is for a BDSM anthology that insists the name Juliette be used in the story and that pearls be used as well. For entry guidelines visit the Erotica Readers and Writers Association website.

My question to you is...Do you understand the whole number thing once the show starts? The idea was that as the guests arrived they were given numbers and then Juliette would call out random numbers for a turn at the stage. Is this weird and does it make sense? How would you suggest I make it less confusing.

In coincidence there is an interesting bit at Sex Kitten about BDSM this month. Check it out.

So below is my new story. Please give me any and all advice.

PRECIOUS PEARLS (FF, MF, Orgy, oral)
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

The three things my mistress Juliette loved above all others were my dirty knees, my best behavior and her precious pearls. That night she had insisted upon all three.

Clit Friendly Toys by Anne Semans

Clitoral vibrators are powered either by electricity or batteries, and can be used in all sorts of way to improve your experience and enjoyment of orgasms. Though many people think, at first glance, that vibrators are meant primarily for penetration, most women find that they work best for clitoral stimulation, since that's where most of your nerve endings are, and the clitoris is highly responsive to vibration. Many women find that using a vibrator allows for longer, stronger clitoral stimulation that can take them over the top, often multiple times.. If you like a very focused touch, look for a vibrator with a smaller tip; if you don't like direct clitoral stimulation, try a vibrator with a bigger head that will spread out sensations.

The following clitoral vibrators are designed to help you get vibrations on just the right spot. We listed just a few popular toys here. However, there's dozens of choices, from serious high-end products to whimsical inexpensive playthings. Strap it one, plug it in, or switch it on, you'll love these clit friendly toys. (Follow this link for reviews)

M.I.L.F. (Mother's I'd Like to F*ck)

Here's my latest contest entry for the "Hot Mommas" antholgy. This story is based on the strip club Shawn and I have visited in Canada a couple of times. On both occasions I was lucky enough to have a lap dance. This is a very accurate portrayal of what happens on stage and what can happen in the private dance rooms. As a married woman, I turned down going south on a stripper...but I did think about what it might be like, and what it might lead to.

The most difficult part about writing this story is that it is written from a man's point of view and I'm sure that I've gotten the voice right. My husband has read the first few pages and he seems to think it's working. If there are any men who happen to be taking a peek at my site, let me know if it works or doesn't and why. Everyone else let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions. Thanks for reading!

NOTE: From now on I will be posting the title and opening line of my stories on my blog page and then the rest of the story in my comments, that way my blog won't be a zillion inches long. Also I am going to furnish a code so that anyone who doesn't want to read further because of topic of story can stop now. For example this story is MF, oral, anal = Male/Female relationship, contains oral and anal sex.

MAXINE’S (MF, oral, anal)
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

Two college boys were lying on stage under the pink and green neon lights, gold stripper poles from stage to ceiling, framing them. Rolled dollars bills were clasped between their puckered lips…

The Largest Sex Organ: The Brain

The hypothalamus is one of the most important parts of the brain. Among other functions, it is involved in the "Four F's" of motivation: fighting, fleeing, feeding, and fucking.
It's the last one we're most interested in...(Read more at Sex Kitten)

Assignment #1: Drabble

Okay folks, I'm going to try to get something going on this site that has to do with writing...not just erotic writing, but writing in general. Weekly I am gonna post an assignment and anyone who wants to try thier hand at putting a story together is welcome to post. This week we are gonna drabble.

A drabble is a story that is exactly 100 words long, no more, no less (not including title). The goal is tell a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in only 100 words. Not as easy as you might think. Good luck!

Love this photo...erotic, sexy, fun...There's just something about vintage. 

Doing a Happy Dance

I just received a wonderful call from Sarah Young's mom. Sarah is a local artist I wrote a story about for our paper which comes out today. I was a little nervous about writing it because Sarah was nervous. Apparently, in the past some of the articles written hadn't been as she would have liked them. I really tried to capture her though.

Sarah's mom said that Sarah, upon receiving the paper drove out into the desert as far as she could go before she would loose cell power (the desert calms her). She then opened the paper and read the story I wrote aloud to her mother. Her mother thought it was wonderful and amazing and captured her daughter so well. Sarah was thrilled beyond words and in tears from my story. They both think I am brilliant and amazingly talented...lol...love to hear that!

I feel really good...REALLY good about this...

A little Q and A

"Oh, I wish that God had not given me what I prayed for! It was not so good as I thought!" - Johanna Spryi (1827-1901) Heidi; 1885

Q. Have you ever longed for someone and upon getting them, were left wanting?

A. We all have, haven't we? I wasted my life in a relationship for two years left wanting. And I mean sexually. I won't name any names, but this particular person had no regard for my sexual needs. It didn't matter how many blow jobs I gave him or how many sexy negligee I wore...he never headed south. Not with hands or mouth. Yeah, never said I wasn't an idiot. I thought good friends could be made into good lovers. I blame my thinking on the stupidity of youth.

Sipping Margarita

Okay folks. Here is my latest story, "Sipping Margarita." I was trying to give it a tasty drink feel...not sure I accomplished that or not. Let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions. Thanks!

SIPPING MARGARITA
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

My guitar was cradled in my arms like an expectant lover. The smooth worn wood soft like a woman’s beneath my palm. I caressed the strings in slow motion, dragging my calloused finger-tips down the gentle slope of the neck in one long stroke, before setting my fingers on a chord. I pulled a high pitched twang from inside my wooden lover, as seductive as the sound of a woman coming.
I peered up from under my cowboy hat and winked at the woman in red. This was for her. I was imagining her body beneath my fingers as I strummed and picked, my pussy getting hotter as the hours passed. She’d been sitting in nearby patch of shade from almost the moment I set up my gear─leaving every once and a while, but always returning to listen.
Getting noticed was this woman’s purpose. This was no pretty young thing, but a lady seasoned in turning heads. Full and round like a model in a Rubin painting. A palm tree had the pleasure of feeling the length of back and the nudge of her ass against its smooth bark and I hoped by the end of the day I would enjoy the same.
Knees spread, her long prairie skirt draped like a hammock between them. The breeze carried the hem up ever so often, giving me a peek of rosy ripe pussy.
An embroidered red blouse, hung off her shoulders, in layers of ruffles. Braless, her tits were the size of cantaloupes and rolled under the thin fabric, teasing me with the possibility of a show, nipples just out of view.
At my feet was my open guitar case, dollar bills littering the black interior. It was just nearing sunset, bright rays of light shot over the peeks of the San Ysidro Mountains behind me, casting a halo around the woman’s dark skin and hair. She rose to her feet as if pulled by a string, graceful like a dancer.
Skirts flew as she twirled in a halo of golden light. Red painted toes, calves, knees and a glimpse of thigh. Arms overhead, fingers snapping in time with my playing.
She spun like a child seeking that place where your stomach turns and you collapse on the grass and watch the sky swirl round you.
The last note rang in the air.
There was a moment of complete silence before the small crowd around us erupted in applause. Cat calls, clapping, money tossed into my tattered case. I waved and thanked our admirers before stowing my guitar.
Sandaled feet arrived in front of the case, a silver toe ring hugging her baby toe and a tattoo climbing her calf. I stood, drinking her in.
Close-up she was older than I had thought. Fine lines feathered from the corners of her eyes. Long chocolate colored hair camouflaged softening her jaw. The whites of her deep dark eyes, in stark contrast with her dark coaco of her skin peered up at me. They sparked in the fading light, eager as a teenagers.
“Margarita,” she said offering me her hand.
I took her plump fingers in my own and brought them to my lips. “Melissa.”
“You are, how you say? Mucho talentoso.”
Sweet ocotillo and sunshine clung to her skin. I wanted to lick it off.
“I was wondering.” I moved in close enough to feel the heat of her sun-kissed skin through my thin cotton shirt.
Pussy pink tongue wet her lips.
“Would you like a private performance?”
Maragrita tossed her hair like a wild stallion her nostrils flaring and nodded.
With my guitar in one hand and her in the other, she led me out of the park and across the street. I didn’t much care where she was taking me, as long as I got to sip her sweet pussy before the night was over.
We entered the shadows of the alley. My guitar fell to the gravel and I pulled her full ripe body against mine. I pressed her back against the rough brick and ground my pussy into hers.
“Beautiful, Margarita.”
I kissed the color from her lips and inched her skirt up. The bright red fabric wadded around her waist, so I could feel her slick folds. She clung to my fingers, her walls knocking against my knuckles. I pushed against her, wishing I had a dick that I could sink into her hot center. She moaned and bounced on my hand, one leg around my waist the other firmly on the ground.
With a dozen practiced swirl of my thumb her cunt applauded squeezing my fingers in a firm handshake or welcome. I grabbed her ass, pulling her close, licking the salt from her skin. Margarita encircled my waist with her legs.
A door was thrown open behind one of the bars, across from us. The alleyway was lit with a stream of light and accompanying mariachi music, a man silhouetted in the doorway before it slammed shut. He stood on the stoop and lit up a cigarette..
“Where? Dónde?”
Margarita reached down and took hold of my guitar, and motioned for me to continue down the alley. She giggled and covered my face in red painted kisses. I staggered rounded the corner and she directed me up a narrow staircase.
We fell against the stairs and the old wood creaked under our weight.
Buttons pooped and lips latched onto my tits like she was had just been reborn.
We crawled up the stairs, stumbling, kissing, drunk on passion.
Inebriated with Margarita.
My head hit a door on the landing and I reached for the knob. We tumbled into the room laughing.
My feisty senorita pulled my jeans down my legs, and I kicked them off. Her fingers were in my snatch and her lips eating cunt before I could do more than gasp her name. She threw my legs over her shoulders and her tongue performed the Mexican hat dance on my wet lips.
Margarita circled and tapped her way around my clit, as if it were a sombrero, her lips making clapping sounds, finding a staccato beat. Her molé brown eyes met mine, dark and rich like the earth. Her fingers joined her tongue, partnering in a dance of heat and passion until my thighs stretched taught and my clit vibrated like a Mexican jumping bean.
I collapsed on the floor, catching my breath and Margarita crawled up my body, her warm soft skin pressing into me.
“Mas?”
“Si!” I said laughing. “Mucho mas!” I rolled us across the floor, landing on top of her. I pressed her hands into the braided rug beneath us. “What did you have in mind?”
Neck and ears were salty and damp. I licked and kissed, my way to her breasts, burying my face between the massive drums, slick with perspiration. Nipples long and hard butted my lips, and I drank them. Nursing her, parched for this woman’s candied moans. Hands sticky with my juices tangled in my short hair, urging me lower. I nuzzled her belly, and kissed the crease of her leg.
The sweet skin of her labia filled my mouth, her heels digging into the floor outside my shoulders. I slurped her up, making circles around her hole. The opening pulled at my fingers tips, clinging to me. Her belly rose into the air, trembling and shaking.
“No!”
I would have screamed “Yes,” but I was sipping Margarita.
My new lover was close, her clit vibrating like a tuning fork, but she pulled free, crawling away from me toward the bed, her ass moving in a teasing sway. She took out a box from under the frame and tossed a big belted rubber cock my way.
Our eyes met and we both grinned. I stood and strapped on the dick I had been wishing I had all night.
Margarita’s full round ass, rose off her bed like a moon in the desert sky. I nudged my big boy against her slit, her hand between her thighs pulling me closer. The massive cock made a home between her thighs, sliding easily into her with her slick juices. I hit bottom and began to pump. Steady, building speed. She begged for more.
Coyotes howled in the distance, and I joined them, fucking my strap-on into her hungry cunt. Her hands were against the wall, pushing back against me, taking the rubber cock deeper and deeper. Cursing and begging in Spanish urged me on. I reached under her and slid my fingers around her clit.
Eyes caught mine over her shoulder. Margarita came, her muscles squeezing my rubber dick so hard I couldn’t move within her. I lay on her back, our sweat drenched skin sliding together, my thighs burning. I kissed her neck and she giggled, collapsing against the mattress.
We crawled up onto the twin bed and I pillowed myself on her chest, listening to her racing heart. It slowed beneath my ear and my eyes began to close to the rhythm of her soft snoring.
I sat up, not sure how much time had passed, but realizing the door wasn’t shut and my guitar was still on the stairs. I pressed a kiss between her breasts before I left the bed in search of my guitar and cigarettes.
Naked, I sat in the doorframe and pulled my baby into my arms. My fingers picked up the rhythm of Margarita’s breathing. I hummed under my breath as I watched her sleep. The rainbow colored serape framing her beautiful body.
How’s that song go?
“When the whole world fits inside of your arms…” I mumbled.
Wood warmed against my thighs as I caressed the neck of my guitar and let my fingers glide against the strings.

Gotta Make a Living

I want to really be making money with my writing although I am not quite sure how to go about doing it. Probably shouldn't have chosen erotica as my genre...lol...Thrillers would probably sell more to the masses, or even those silly Harlequin romance novels. Although Harlequin does have a new erotic series called Spice. Modern stories of modern women with the hot sex thrown in. Just haven't quite wrapped myself around writing something that is 90,000 to 150,000 words. So far, 9120 is my max.

I will admit I have about three stories in work that could turn into novel length, one, even a contender for Spice. A while ago I wrote a story called Beneath the Kilt which was inspired by my honeymoon to beautiful Applecross Scotland (Yes a straight story!). I submitted it a couple of places and no one seemed to want it. When I joined the Fish Tank I posted it and the general consensous was that it needed more story and less jumping into sex. I sorta had this fun in Scotland travel thing happening and then bam, orgy on the butchers block. I have been really reworking this. I compeltely changed it and have been adding plots and subplots and characters other than my heroine and her man. I think it could be really good if I ever get it finished.

The other two are Witch Hunt and Merlin's Mother. WH has a ways to go, but can you believe I have finished MM? I am now in the process of beefing it up. Giving the readers a bit more information. I think it looks a little bit too much like an outline. It's giving the story the meat that takes a tole on me. And I don't mean literally...;-)

Other finished stories, soon to be posted here are Sipping Margarita, Precious Pearls and Maxine's. All of which are in the editing process. I like to have them read through by someone else at least once before posting them here.

I'm still trying to find a home for The Double O Rodeo which I think is totally hot. I sent it off to Venus Press today in hopes that they might have a home for it. I didn't see much lesbian stuff posted on their site, but I will keep my fingers crossed. Words Like Yours, which is awesome, is also homeless. It was written for the Valentine Anthology at Bella books, per their request, but there was some kind of communication/sending error. I am thinking there will be another Valentine thing coming up soon...at least I hope so. It would be good for a music anthology too.

Anyhow...I'm rambling. Lots to do...yes...should probably stop writing in blog and finish novel...need to eat...need clothes...yeah...money...must write best seller...yea...

A little Q and A

"There may be some things better than sex, and there may be some things worse. But there's nothing exactly like it." - W.C. Fields (1879-1946)

Q. What do you find better than sex and why?

A. A must admit I find few things better than sex with a good lover. Is it very girly of me to say snuggling in with your lover the next morning? There is something so wonderful about waking to see his face relaxed with sleep and free of worry, blink awake and smile upon meeting my eyes. An arm thrown around me and a leg pulling me into his body until we are like one person, breathing in the morning and lying in the spot between dreams and consciousness.

Thought this was a riot! 

A little Q and A

"Let down my silken hair over my shoulders and open my thighs over my lover. 'Tell me, is there any part of me that is not lovable?" - Tzu Yeh (c. 3rd-4th century), Song II

Q. What part of your body do you find most loveable, the most sexy?

A. I would have to say that I find my eyes to be very sexy and to be my most beautiful feature. I have wonderfully long dark lashes and a great almond shape. Also, I like how they change color to match what I am wearing...blue or green. My breasts are something to behold too...although I have often complained of their size, I do find them to be an asset in the eye catching department. Men can't help but look at knockers.

Summer in Savannah

Hello, my one loyal reader. I have finished my story "Summer in Savannah" which is written for the Fish Tank short story competition. They will announce winners on Sept. 15. Grand prize $250, second $150 and third $75.

This isn't my typical story. No rough hard ladies here, just a couple of girls in love. Let me know what you think.

SUMMER IN SAVANNAH
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

Summer in Savannah was wet and sticky like the insides of Joanne’s thighs after a dirty thought. This afternoon she’d had plenty, lying in the backyard this afternoon and missing her lover. She was in a hammock; glasses perched upon her long nose and a book open across her belly. But her thoughts weren’t of the pages between the worn cover, or the canopy of blue above her, interlaced with the branches of oak trees and the creeping hangings of Spanish moss.

This hammock held memories of her childhood.

Afternoon lemonade while her momma sipped mint juleps and her father threw the Frisbee with her dog Patches. Grandma snapping sweet sugar peas and the two of them eating just as many raw as found their way to the dinner table at night. Kissing Bobby Wickum before she knew what sex was and discovering that sex was only right if it were a woman’s body she touched.

Tonight it would be where she proposed to Kim.

They’d met in New York through a want ad in The Village Voice. Kim had wanted a nude model for her photo projects, and Joanne had wanted to do something her parents would completely disapprove of.

It was a surprise to find that having Kim’s camera lens focusing on her body was a turn-on. The way Kim would bite her lip in between showers of compliments as the shutter clicked again and again. How Kim, seemingly without thinking, would approach Joanne and move an arm to a better position, brush a breast, stand too close.

The sun was setting, turning the water beside Joanne into a golden pool. Bits of white light were caught and scattered across the pond’s surface, when Kim’s familiar lanky silhouette approached. The camera was a limb, just as an arm or leg and it rose in greeting, documenting Kim surroundings and her lover.

“It’s just as you described,” Kim said approaching the hammock. She knelt on the grass and brought her nose within an inch of Joanne’s. “You’ve gotten some sun.”

“An afternoon in a hammock will do that.”

“You smell like sunlight.”

“Miss the city, do you?”

“Not one bit.”

Their lips met in a soft kiss, both of them remembering the many sighs and moments in each other’s arms. They had only been apart a week, but it felt like years for both of them.

Kim stood and took hold of her lover’s skirt hem. Slowly, she rolled the white cotton fabric up Joanne’s long sun drenched legs, revealing knobby knees and soft thighs. Joanne’s mound was natural, wild riots of curly red hair, a fire between her legs and skimming her belly.

“What are you thinking?” Joanne asked, letting her knees fall open.

Kim brought her camera up and focused the lens on Joanne’s bush. The shutter clicked several times.

“Every one of those freckles will kiss my tongue tonight.”

Kim set her camera on the ground then stepped out of her khaki shorts, revealing a tattoo of a black swan soaring towards her neatly trimmed bush, as if about to take up residence in the nest of silky hair.

The hammock swayed as Kim climbed onboard, nearly toppling them to the soft grass beneath. Their giggles echoed across the water as Kim’s toes found purchase in the cool green blades, steadying them in a gentle sway.

Firmly astride her lover’s hips, Kim took hold of the hem of her black tank top and threw it over her head, breasts lifting toward the sky. The hammock danced slowly, and Joanne enjoyed the bounce of her lover’s breasts and the tangle of their reunited pussy hair.

They lay as one, stomach and breasts pressed firmly together, elbows framing Joanne’s face.

“I’ve missed you.”

Kim rested her cheek on one hand, and lowered the other along waist and hip to tug on Joanne’s bush. The blush that spread across her lover’s skin wet Kim’s pussy and inspired licks and nibbles along her jaw. When they made love Joanne was on fire, her skin glowing like embers were lit beneath her.

“You’ve been thinking of me,” Kim murmured.

Joanne’s pussy was damp, her lips silky and hot clinging to Kim’s fingers, pulling her hand deeper into a moist embrace.

When they’d met, Joanne would have been too shy to fuck in her parents’ backyard, not that she would have admitted it. Nearly two years later and a slave to the lens, she flaunted her body naturally. She moved in ways that best caught the light and most flattered her figure.

Kim picked up a rhythm, the hammock swaying front and back between the tall trees, her fingers sliding deeper and deeper. Joanne’s clit was rock hard.

Breasts that cast a near perfect shadow in the right lighting were salty and damp after an afternoon outdoors. Joanne’s nipples were hard little pebbles and when Kim drew one into her mouth, Joanne’s hands cradled her head like she was a baby, pulling her close.

Kim felt like an infant gaining sustenance. Joanne made her feel that way. Desperate, hungry and needy.

Someone overhearing them might have thought the sounds were children playing as their sighs echoed across the water, if it weren’t accompanied by the wet sticky sound of fingers in pussy. The wet noises mixed with the buzz of the insects, whispered I love yous, and the croaking of frogs.

Joanne’s fingers twined with Kim’s, each finding the other’s excited nubbin. Kim sat up, riding Joanne like she was on a rocking horse, cannon-balling down a race track. The hammock swayed dangerously but they fucked harder. Their names a chorus until Kim’s fingers were caught in Joanne’s velvet crush, knuckles aching, making her come in turn.

They were still, Kim snuggling into a spot next to Joanne, the stars glowing down at them. She pulled Joanne closer and leaned over to kiss her cheeks, only to find them covered in tears.

“Baby?” Kim kissed them away. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you so much,” Joanne whispered. She began to sob, overcome with emotion.

“I love you, too.”

This amazing woman, this talented, beautiful woman, loved her.

Kim held Joanne close, tracing her vertebrae, and whispering soothingly until she was still, her breathing even.

“I spoke to my parents,” Joanne whispered.

The family luncheon had not gone well, and she felt guilty for putting the hope in her lover’s heart that they would welcome Kim with warm hugs and soft kisses on her cheeks. The stories Joanne had told had given the impression of a loving, open, adoring family. Turns out they were only free-thinkers when it came to other people’s children.

Daddy thought her attraction to women was a phase and that she would settle down with Bobby. Momma wanted a big wedding where she could invite all the local society women, and that wasn’t going to happen if Joanne married Kim. Joanne would become the dirty little secret no one spoke of.

With a sigh and a mall smile, Joanne reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a gold band studded with rows and rows of diamonds.

“What’s this?” Kim asked.

“This is the Woodward family ring.”

The hammock was still as the air and the silence of crickets.

Joanne took Kim’s hand in hers.

“You know, I love you more than I will ever be able to tell you.” Joanne could just make out her lover’s face. Her brown eyes were big wet orbs, tears clinging to her long lashes.

“This ring has been passed down from generation to generation, as a sign of trust and fidelity. I have never felt more safe and loved than when I am with you.”

Tears began to roll slowly down Kim’s cheeks.

“Kim Ann Marcus, would you bring me the greatest joy I could know, and promise to be my wife?”

In answer, she kissed her best friend’s lips, her eyes wide open, wanting to remember this moment as clear as a photograph.

The ring sparkled in the moonlight as Joanne slid it over her lover’s trembling finger.

“Your parents weren’t angry?”

“More disappointed than angry.”

They wrapped their arms around each other and Joanne let one leg fall over the side of the hammock and gave them a push.

“But as my grandmother said, the ring is mine by rights, and my parents have no say in who I give it to.”

The stars danced above them.

“Grandmother has invited us to breakfast tomorrow morning,” Joanne said with a catch in her voice. “She said she can’t wait to meet the woman who’s earned my heart.”

“And I can’t wait to meet the woman who’s helped shape it.”

The hammock swung gently, rocking them to sleep with dreams of tomorrow and hopes for the future.