Friday, 29 April 2016

Disappearing into the Light by A. Aimee

"About the mystical union between Rachel and Albert, the main characters in A.Aimee’s books, Good Pussy Bad Pussy – Rachel’s tale and Good Pussy Bad Pussy in Captivity."

By some wild, crazy, roundabout path, Albert had guided Rachel to a place where nothing but total surrender was possible.

She was no longer Rachel Somers with an identity to protect or preserve. He had freed her, as lovingly and as carefully as any man could, of whatever it was she thought she was. He had stripped her bare. Left her with nothing she could identify with, and in that strange, naked state of being no woman she knew, she found herself connected to a sexuality so powerful that it jolted her beyond her everyday reality into some awesome cosmic plane she did not recognize.

"This is not me," she thought and tingled all over with pleasure. "This is not anyone." And that was when he plunged headlong, headstrong, into her, finding in her a depth she did not know she possessed.

So she spread her legs wide, baring her soul and allowing him entry everywhere – allowing him anything, everything. And then, when he raised himself up above her, supporting himself with his powerful arms, looking down at her with an intensity only he possessed – she knew she would love him always.


Then for one short moment, the real Rachel Somers, the woman inside the woman inside the woman inside this body she was inhabiting, sighed softly and laughed. And though no one else in the entire universe heard her, she did. And she knew she had found a place and a peace and a platform which belonged to her alone.

And there she stood, perfectly poised. Perched, before that formidable plunge into the cosmic void when all the Light hit her.

"Oh Albert," she heard herself whispering softly to herself, "you are the most strange and wondrous man I have ever known." And the echo came back immediately from somewhere deep inside her, "And I am the most strange and wondrous woman I have ever known." And it was true, so true.

Then, right before she let go and jumped, heart first and ecstatic, into the nothingness before her, she knew, once and for all, now and forever – that no matter what happened, nothing in life could ever separate her from Albert. Ever. Nothing. Not even separation itself.

So she closed her eyes and let the passion – his passion and hers – and the passion of living and  loving and of being alive all wrapped in one – finally carry her over the edge.

And as she flew fast, hurtling through space towards her Infinite Self, she cried out, delirious and joyful as the beloved sacrificial lamb does when suddenly it is released from the agony of the limitations of this earthly existence...

And as she disappeared into the Light, her heart sang and she gave thanks...

Buy Links for the Good Pussy Bad Pussy Books
Good Pussy Bad Pussy – Rachel’s Tale

Good Pussy Bad Pussy In Captivity 

Friday, 22 April 2016

First Tango in Paris 2 – The Conclusion.

I am honoured that Emma J. Styles comes to my blog this week, to talk about her latest book; First Tango in Paris, the Conclusion. Here’s Emma to tell you all about it.

Exactly as the title says, “The Conclusion” picks up where Pt.1 left off, 2003 and approaching my big four zero, which was celebrated in style with a considerable amount of food, wine and totally depraved sexual shenanigans (all explicitly described in the book). I have included in the book a cross section many of my finer sexual dalliances right up to 2016. They are very diverse in nature, whether it be in elegant sophisticated surroundings, or alone amongst a group of strangers in a sleazy Parisian cinema, experiencing the black “Mandingo” group in Miami or being used by a Portuguese bull and his gorgeous transgendered friend with the enormous fully functional appendage, to highlight just a few. However, one of my all time stand-out evenings had to be when unexpectedly chaperoning a very famous Hollywood movie star through a thoroughly debauched evening at a Parisian Swingers club, where the men outnumber the ladies by around four to one, for obvious reasons I don’t name her but it will be most clear as to who it was by my description (no, she didn’t have any panties on during this night either!). All graphically written and exquisitely detailed. The scenarios are numerous.

Due to feedback from reviews and emails resulting from the first book Paul my every supportive and most understanding husband gets to contribute a few thousand words, expressing how my sexual awakening and subsequent journey has been from his point of view. He also describes what he calls one of his finer moments, where he and two male friends of ours entertain a very needy American Lady in her quest for a depraved evening in a top London Hotel. In her words she wanted a night that would make “Emma Styles” proud! Upon reading his version of events I am more than certain the lady got her wish!   

This time I go into detail of how, when, and why the London Swinging finally got up and running, after lagging so far behind its European counterparts, this is also reflected across the entire U.K. The year 2011 was in fact a key date in the real explosion in Britain and all is explained as to why. In fact, I have included a comprehensive guide at the end of the book of all the best and most relevant Swingers venues and online resources.

The book is a roller coaster ride of my sexual adventures but also is most informative guide as all the places mentioned are all fully “Googleable”.

After the success of Pt. 1 and its topping the Amazon book charts the feedback from readers was amazing, with many using the book as a guide to their own personal weekend of swinging adventure. Several readers have recently become close friends and feature in a few of the more salacious chapters. Look out for the chapter “Mentoring Karen” where after an email exchange and a coffee in London we meet up in Southern Spain where I introduce her to the many delights of “Beach Dogging” – amongst a few other decadent things!

Finally, after spending much time writing and editing both books I feel that they comprehensively describe in explicit detail my journey from “Shy Kitten to Full Blown Cougar”. One that is always on the lookout for fresh prey (written with smiley face)

Emma xx  

And as if that were not enough, Emma is giving you a free read; Chapter 32 of Last Tango in Paris; the conclusion.

Chapter Thirty-Two: A Staring Role

During the following month, I arranged one of my regular solo excursions to Paris; this one, in particular, was dedicated to the memory of Yves. It was one of the more unusual and quite frankly most depraved and debauched afternoons that I’d so far celebrated in his honour, one of which I’m sure he’d have applauded wildly, and thoroughly approved of.
As per normal, I hopped on the Eurostar delivering me swiftly to the Gare du Nord, where Marc was waiting to drive me to the apartment. I’d called him the previous week just to let him know I’d be in town for a couple of days. We had our customary catch up over a drink, and being ever thoughtful he told me he’d been to the apartment and had gotten a few essentials in for me. He would never take any payment, each time simply telling me that “it had been taken care off”, I can only assume Yves had made some arrangement with him, it is something that is never discussed. However, he did accept my goody bag of gifts that I’d brought for him, he was particularly fond of a mature Cheddar cheese and Jacobs cream crackers, complimented by some Branston pickle, most strange for a Parisian. They will often like such things, but heaven forbid them ever admitting to it, in this respect they are “les tossers” (written with a big grin).
I’d often wondered what had become of the magnificent home in the South of France that Yves had owned and entertained Paul and I at all those years ago. Marc informed me that he’d bequeathed it to his beloved “Military” and as was his wish it was being used as a place for servicemen recuperating from life changing injuries sustained during active duty. This was typical of the man we knew, always thinking of others less fortunate than him, and so very patriotic.
My tribute to Yves began the following morning after breakfast with a trip to the lingerie department of Les Galeries Lafayette where I indulged myself in a stunning pair of Wolford – Silk crystal Hold-ups, always such fun and a great precursor to some naughtiness is a little shopping trip to this amazing store.
After a small light lunch, I returned to the apartment, where I booked a taxi before luxuriating in the bath for a while with a glass of wine, getting slowly turned on as I allowed my mind to wander, imagining every scenario that could happen in the execution of my “tribute”. I liberally coated my body with my favourite Chanel Body Velvet and encased my legs in my new hold-ups, accentuating the look further with a pair of high black patent platform heels. Feeling a warm glow of anticipation I went to the wardrobe and retrieved the “fur coat” from its protective cover and slipped into it with an overwhelmingly decadent feeling engulfing me. I had just enough time to demolish a nice large Jack Daniels before the taxi arrived.
I gave the taxi driver the address of my destination, which was located about fifteen minutes away in the second arrondissement. I’d read about it over the years and heard many people discuss it with great enthusiasm. It was a cinema, not just any cinema, but Paris’s oldest and only surviving adult porn cinema. It has a great reputation for being very welcoming and safe, especially so for the much revered single female. With its huge exposed-brick wall and expansive red-leather-style seats, it ranks alongside the very best small cinemas in Paris, in terms of both comfort and its retro chic styling. I’d rang the previous evening and spoke to the owner Maurice Laroche, a pleasant smiling young seventy something who’d been running it for well over thirty years. I explained my request in detail to him and he assured me that it would be no problem whatsoever and that he’d meet me in the reception at three o’clock, which he explained would be the best time for a good cross section of clientele that would work perfectly for what I was looking to experience. True to his word a smiling Maurice was waiting to greet me and whisked me quickly into his projection room, where he poured me a nerve calming large glass of white wine and lit us both a cigarette. He was so charming and put my mind at rest and any last minute reservations were well and truly replaced by an overwhelming aura of daring. Once ready he showed me to the entrance of the small narrow theatre with its legendary brick wall and its twelve rows of seating, he told me he’d reserved three seats on the back row just for me, and to go and enjoy the experience. The rows of seats had around seven or eight per row, so I had an unobstructed few steps to my seats. Discreetly, as I was getting seated many heads turned to look at the new arrival (having certainly been primed by Maurice). Once accustomed to the dark atmosphere I quickly saw that the place was about half full, with most customers in the rows nearing the rear. The film was a high quality stylish French affair, which added to the elegant yet “sleazy” ambience, which was exactly what I was looking for. I felt very secure, safe in the knowledge that Maurice would be keeping an eye on things from his projection booth; this feeling of security was reassuring and relaxed me very quickly into the moment. Over the next ten or so minutes I slowly undid the three coat buttons and untied the belt so that the heavy fur draped loosely over me, just exposing the tops of my hold-ups and a glimpse of cleavage, several men by this stage had moved to the row directly in front of me and were busy alternating between watching the film and checking out what I was up to behind them. Two men came and sat at either end of my row with just a couple of seats between them and me, I was instantly on fire, and felt my wetness begin to flow as I reached between my legs to prepare my vagina for public display, butterflying my labia and unleashing my engorged clitoris, which was longing to be touched by a few strange, anonymous hands. Eventually, all eyes were peering back my way; the film had become just a background enhancement, the audio giving this seedy scenario another kinky dimension. I could sense as well as see that many of the men were openly masturbating at this most slutty unfolding situation. It was at this point I snatched a huge hit of my poppers just before I let my coat fall totally open, fully exposing my naked body. I opened my legs as wide as possible, placing my heels on the tops of the seats in front of me, giving full easy access to my expectant and gaping pussy; it was fully open, ready to be entertained. This was like lighting a very short fuse, as in seconds numerous hands were coming at me from all directions, stroking and probing me, many vocally commenting on my rapidly increasing wetness. It was sleazy in the extreme, with numerous men politely queuing to take turns in kneeling in between my legs and use their tongues on me, lapping at my anus and vagina in unadulterated depravity, pure vaginal worship ensued, which I completely adore. Many skilled fingers and thumbs masturbated my protruding clitoris into their willing mouths, my ejaculations began to come thick and fast, each one more violent than the last, until I was being kept on the crest of one powerful gushing tsunami of female ejaculate after another. Men were gently jostling for position to drink from me while many were happy just to watch and pleasure themselves. At one stage there was a gent tonguing my anus as another nibbled on my clit, I was squirting like an uncontrollable burst pipe. It just wasn’t subsiding at all, and it felt like there was an unending fluid producing machine deep inside me, its tap stuck in the on position. I think it was the pure seediness of the situation and the novelty of the location that was making everything feel more intense and depraved. It was like my inner slut had escaped and was showing the audience how a true “salope” should behave in such sleazy company. It was everything that filthy wanton sex should be, and I adored every cum filled minute. It was two hours of pure debauched filth, and one that lives on in my memory, and hopefully Yves had been looking down on me approvingly, full enjoying the lewd and vulgar spectacle!
Appreciating a wind-down vino and cigarette with Maurice I thanked him profusely for his hospitality, and we chatted away until my taxi came to take me back to reality. Just as a side note he holds couples only evenings on Thursday and Saturday, well worth a visit, I’m definitely dragging Paul along soon, as I know he’d relish the decadence of it all. Just go and have a look at the web site for any relevant information. This establishment definitely caters to the more outrageous amongst us.

First Tango in Paris is at Amazon UK  and Amazon US

Friday, 15 April 2016

I read Vivien Walden's book, Eating From The Cherry Tree last weekend. It's certainly an eye opener, it is also an incredibly honest book.

It's a book about sex, but there's no attempt to titillate, or arouse the reader. These things happened...there's a wise saying telling us that the truth is stranger than fiction, the events of Vivien's life illustrate the proverb perfectly.

No matter how much time I spend crafting my erotica.. I cannot hope to achieve the mood, the beautiful, yet stark reality of Vivien's life story.

It's an engaging narrative, Vivien tells her story in a refreshingly uncomplicated way. A happy childhood in a loving Jewish family, Vivien's  choices take her from prostitution to Madame of a high class brothel. There is no attempt to dissemble...this happened, this is how and why this happened.

If the reader is expecting shame, or guilt he/she will be disappointed...there's none of that in this book. Why should there be?

And snapping at the heels of illicit sex, come the secrets. Celebrities, politicians...a prerequisite for a Madame of a high class brothel, is discretion.

A few months ago I ran a blog post about a famous 1961 Court case. It was popularly known as the Profumo Affair and involved John Profumo, the Minister of State for War, a call girl, Christine Keeler and Eugene Ivanov, a Soviet naval attaché at the Soviet Embassy in London. Ivanov was also engaged in espionage. Christine was sleeping with both men. It was a security mess at the highest level. The case ended untidily, with a career in ruins, the suicide of a good man and the subsequent downfall of the Conservative government.

I messaged Vivien on Facebook. She knew everyone involved in that trial. It was a case that registered great changes in how sexuality was perceived, our personal attitudes to sex and our subsequent behaviours. Think about what you are reading and let the huge cultural changes that were precipitated by Vivien and her generation sink in. But above all read Eating From The Cherry Tree by Vivien Walden and enjoy.

Eating from the Cherry Tree by Vivien Walden, is at Amazon UK and Amazon US

Friday, 8 April 2016


I wonder what it is like to be a Muse? To have the sort of beauty that drives men, and women to despair? Helen’s beauty, inspired a war that raged for ten long years. Men died for the sake of Helen. Lizzie Siddal’s profound, ethereal beauty was Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s inspiration, he painted her over and over again, in a variety of poses and guises. One of those guises, was as Helen of Troy.

Here is Lizzie again -- this time as the Roman Goddess of the Underworld, Proserpine.

In both his art and writings Rossetti exalted Lizzie. In fact, his period of great poetic production began when he met her and ended around the time of her death. His poem, "A Last Confession," in particular, exemplifies his profound, spiritual love for Lizzie, whom he personifies as the heroine with eyes, "as of the sea and sky on a grey day."

Rossetti painted Lizzie as "Beata Beatrix", one year after Lizzie's death.

A Last Confession -- Rossetti 1848

Eleven years before, when first I found her
Alone upon the hill-side; and her curls
Shook down in the warm grass as she looked up
Out of her curls in my eyes bent to hers.
She might have served a painter to pourtray
That heavenly child which in the latter days
Shall walk between the lion and the lamb.

Marylin Monroe inspired intellectuals, politicians. Much has been written about how she was used and abused. But her lovely image has not faded since her death. Men and women still want to make love to her, be her friend, save her.

Marylin was the inspiration for Elton John’s lovely lament; “Candle in the wind”. The song was also the inspiration for another Muse; Princess Diana; Elton John sang an adaptation of “Candle in the Wind” at Diana’s funeral.

And not forgetting the Fair Youth of Shakespeare’s sonnets. We have no image of him but he inspired some of the most beautiful poetry in the English language.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And finally, lovely Pattie Boyd, whose face inspired two of our contemporary musicians. George Harrison wrote “Something” for her. Eric Clapton wrote “Layla” and “Wonderful tonight” She is the Muse for my own generation .

Here is George Harrison singing about beautiful Pattie.

Friday, 1 April 2016


“The number of women prosecuted for domestic violence rose from 1,575 in 2004-05 to 4,266 in 2008-09. "Both men and women can be victims and we know that men feel under immense pressure to keep up the pretence that everything is OK," said Alex Neil, the housing and communities minister in the Scottish parliament. "Domestic abuse against a man is just as abhorrent as when a woman is the victim.”

Denis Campbell The Observer, Sunday 5 September 2010

I am not going to go into detail about violent stuff inflicted on guys by women. Most of it is too horrible to think and write about. There is plenty of stuff online if you care to search.

If you share a pint with a mate at the match and he turns up with a black eye, would you automatically believe it if he said he walked into a door?

Look across your row before kick-off. One in five men are a victim of domestic abuse at some stage in their life.

A lot of men suffer in silence, fearing pals will laugh. Most domestic violence help is for women but there are confidential help-lines for men.

“If you are a victim and in danger, the advice given is leave if you can and call police, who have officers trained to help.

Don’t retaliate physically or verbally — you may end up arrested. Keep a diary of incidents and photos of injuries. If kids are involved, seek council help.”

And it isn’t just physical violence. Many men suffer screaming, shouting or controlling behaviour from partners. This can, and I am sure in some cases, go on for years. A woman embarrasses her partner in front of their friends. It might be something that is deeply personal -- his sexual prowess. His habits in the bedroom. Even his habits in the bathroom. It doesn‘t matter what his hobbies are; she will be scornful about those as well. The ring of laughter in his ears humiliates him into silence. Perhaps later, when they are alone, he complains.

“But I was only joking!” he is told. “Can’t you take a joke?”

Or she might say; “I was only being honest!”

It isn’t joking. It isn’t being honest. It’s bullying. If he persists, or complains another time, he is told that he is “whiny, wimpy, uptight, insane, paranoid.”

Any word will do, as long as it demeans, cuts deep, makes him feel less of a human being.

We hear so much about female domestic violence, it seems only fair to redress the balance.

It happens in the pub, on a night out with friends. If the two work for the same company, it may happen in the workplace. It is hardly a surprise that it even happens online, on Facebook! The absolute, venomous control and humiliation is there -- for the whole world to laugh and sneer at.

Here are the details of one help line in the UK. If you search online, there are many more.

The Men's Advice Line is a confidential helpline for male victims of domestic violence and abuse.
We welcome calls from all men - in heterosexual or same-sex relationships.

The Men's Advice Line offers emotional support, practical advice and information on a wide range of services for further help and support.
Our focus is to increase the safety of men experiencing domestic violence (and the safety of their children) and reduce the risk.

0808 801 0327 - free from landlines and mobile phones.