Every night this week after work I’ve been gyming. I’ve been eating exclusively raw vegetables all day and I haven’t had a lick of alcohol.
I guess you could say I’m in, “Oh shit New York City’s like A WEEK AWAY girl!! Get it together!” mode.
So last night wandering home past the boutique beer shop on Bridge Road where I live in Richmond, I decided to duck in for a chilli beer. After all, I totally deserved one. Four days straight of gym? Five days without a single glass of wine?
We all need one of these. If you don’t have one, you might consider relocating…
Amongst the brightly colored feather boas, various flavors of body paint, and seven inch heels, cozily tucked away in a wicker basket amongst some silk pillows was a stack of books.
Only a Writer goes into a sensuality shop and streamlines toward the books.
The first erotica I read back in the day was The claiming of sleeping beauty by Anne Rice writing as A.N. Roquelaure which I pinched from one of my older sisters’ room as a young girl to privately ogle at.
This is basically what I did last night tucked under a pile of blankets with a deliciously spicy beverage, dim lights, and two small creatures curled up at my feet.
Truth be told, I like me some sexy language. And furthermore…
I’m a saucy wench. I reckon I could do that.
With all of the fabulous wordy explorations that I practice, it’s been some time since I’ve written something saucy. That’s what I’m going to do today. It won’t be posted here. Anne Rice style I’ll come up with a new name, shoot it off to someone, and see what happens.
A girl can never have too many identities you know.