***
Erotica

I don't like watching porn. It turns me on, but I just can't stand the cheese-o-rama story lines. I cannot just not stand them. I'm violently opposed to them. But hey, if the guys need it, let them have it.

I'll stick to classical 1930's erotic literature.

Mr. Big called me up at, oh, in the middle of the night, and I had to ask him how much of an emergency it was. I have no idea what sort of emotional state he was in, but I've discovered of late that men can get the male equivalent of PMS occasionally. Anyway, I was bored and had had too much coffee too late in the night, so I packed a bottle of ice wine and Anaias Nin's Delta of Venus and headed over in a cab that had a rather amusing driver with a rather amusing take on male depression. (These peole CAN talk about more things then the PAP and soccer. Really.)

Reading while having sex. I've taken my geekiness on to a whole new level indeed *grin*

But for a girl quite violently opposed to the cheesy storylines of 2 Ringgit Porno VCDs, it was an alternative that proved to be excellent; Ah, but I shouldn't be comparing Anaias Nin to porn. How sacrilegious.

We took turns reading passages for awhile, then I simply gave up and left it to him as I crawled all over the sheets and caressed myself to the rhythm of his voice and generally behaved like I was incredibly turned on. Which I was, but that didn't stop me from feeling the need to act out some bits just for the heck of it. (I love dramatics; that wasn't too hard to figure out now, was it.)

Well, It was different. It was surreal, poetic and perfectly dreamy. And it had the sense of a rich, stately sort of decadence. And as much of a paradox as that may sound like, it was how I felt.

Who knew books could be this fun.

xoxox