Comfort Object by Annabel Joseph

Comfort Object by Annabel Joseph




I had to finish this book the same night I started it. And no, that's not a good thing.

There was so much right with this story that it made what was wrong all the worse. The concept was interesting, the writing was good, the characters were more fully formed than in most erotica, and the sex was crazy hot.

The problem lay with the "hero"; a classification which I am loathe to use in this case. Jeremy was such an abusive, emotionally damaged, man child so as to make the whole book horribly distasteful. The way in which he treated the heroine, Nell, was not that of a dominant male, but of a controlling, insecure, abuser.

I like my erotica more on the edge than most and this is a pretty hardcore BDSM book, but I couldn't deal with the things Jeremy did to Nell. He was so incredibly hurtful (outside of any sort of power exchange) that I found their whole relationship to be incredibly depressing. I can't imagine that someone who treats women the way Jeremy did Nell would ever be a loving, functional partner. Which made the ending so unbelievable.

Sorry I missed out on a few hours of sleep for this ebook.




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"Oh god, I didn't have anything prepared.... this is so unexpected"

So, I've been nominated as on of 2008's Top Sex Blogger. Which is lovely and unexpected. (Probably undeserved as I've blogged so little in 2008.) No matter, I just wanted to thank who ever nominated me. Here's to more sex in the next year.

xoxo

nerve.com

"No one ever listens to good advice once they are attracted to a person; logic and reason go out the window. I guess this is the best explanation for why I am doing what I'm doing with you."

I read this on the dating confessions section of the Nerve website. I like it so much that I had to re-post it.

hibernation

Feels like I've cocooned back into the virgin I was. Now with the memory of many a hot night, and the reality of an empty bed, I am left with curiosity tempered with frustration.

My lust has died down. Like a sullen toddler, there's only so much of a fuss it can make till it needs to sleep. The time since I've been touched has made the wanting infrequent. So infrequent that it worries me.

In my detached narcissism the thing I find most fascinating is the disinterest. I just can't imagine that the trouble of romance, dating, and all matters of the heart are worth the payoff of the flesh. My small world feels comfortable, and until love wants to knock on my door.. I don't feel the need to look for it.

(When I imagine this inner world I picture it looking like Winnie the Pooh's house. Carved out of a giant tree in the Hundred Acre Wood. I wonder what that means... If I'm Pooh, then who's Piglet? Tigger? Roo? Non sequitur, sorry.)

I've forgotten the glorious high found in intimacy. That glimmering hope that comes with each first kiss has dimmed to the faintest ember.

The foot tapping, biological clock watching, cynic in me shrilly points out that time won't stand still even if I do.

One way or another, I have no sex to blog about. Just a diminishing sex drive and a dusty love life. Nothing here folks, just move along.

I relate to this...

OK . . . I give up . . . just fuck me like a whore
Date: 2008-02-27, 5:34PM EST


OK - I have been trying to meet a "nice" guy for quite a while now, using both traditional methods (set-ups through friends, the bar scene, work, etc.) and non-traditional (i.e., internet dating), and have had abysmal results. By "nice", I don't mean a bible-thumping, republican, up-tight putz who could make a diamond out of a lump of coal planted firmly up his a-hole. I mean a guy who is capable of having a decent conversation that doesn't center around the size of his cock; who is aware of the world around him; who is respectful of people and animals; who doesn't clip his fucking fingernails on the train; who makes me laugh; who parties like a rock star when he has the time; and who can fuck me like a champ after checking his hang-ups at the door. Someone with a brain. A sense of humor. A job. I'm a busy, successful, attractive woman with a professional degree and a great circle of friends. I have a life. What I don't have, however, is a lot of time to wade through a bunch of bullshit. If you just want to get laid, fine; just say that up front so I can move on. Don't make me waste my time exchanging e-mails for days, then stop writing after I don't want to answer the "money" questions after knowing you for 3.5 hours, like 1) what's the craziest sex you've ever had? 2) how often do you masturbate? 3) do you have a nice, clean ass, with clean ass odor? (I couldn't make that up) and 4) do you like oral? (DUH??!!?? WHO DOESN'T??) Apparently, no matter how pretty, sexy, funny, smart, successful, sweet, caring, interesting etc. I am, it all boils down to one thing: fucking. Fine. I give up. You want to fuck? I can fuck.

WANTED: a guy to pull out his big, thick cock within five seconds of our first meeting. I want to kneel at your feet and worship you (and your organ) like a greek god. I will take your throbbing love-stick in my mouth and service you like a pro. I will lick the head of your penis, concentrating on the sensitive spot underneath the head, where it meets the shaft. I will then take you fully into my mouth, and move my head all the way down, swallowing the entire length. When you're all the way in and I'm fighting not to gag, I will move all the way back to the tip, then repeat. I will continue, up and down, until I feel that you're about to cum; then I'll stop, lick my way down to your balls, and take take them both in my mouth while stroking your cock with my hand. I will then move around to your back, spread the cheeks of your ass and rim your asshole with my tongue while stroking your cock. I'll shove a finger or two up there, if you like.

Once you're good and hard, I'll let you eat my pussy for a while, preferably until I cum two or three times. A little rimming of your own would be nice. Attention can be paid to my breasts (which are D-cups, by the way), or I can pinch my nipples myself. Once my juices are flowing, you can proceed to the fucking. Shove your cock in me, hard, all the way in. The harder the better, and if you're hung like a horse, my prayers have been answered. Keep going. Don't worry about me; I will make myself cum again on my own, either with old-fashioned diddling or my trusty vibrator. My ass needs attention, too, don't forget-I'm a three-input kinda girl! After you've made me cum fucking me the old-fashioned way, slowly (and gently, please!) push your huge dick up my ass. Use lots of astro-glide. I will be a little hesitant at first, but then the yummy pleasure-mixed-with-pain will start to kick in, and I'll get really into it. I'll start shoving my ass back against your cock as hard as I can, until I explode with the hardest orgasm yet. At this point, if you feel like getting your freak on, we can pop in a porno and emulate whatever is happening on the screen. Or, I can pull out my cache of sex toys. You can have me straddle an enormous uber-cock and work as much of it into my vagina as I can take, while you get in on the action by fucking me up the ass. You want a threesome? No problem. I'll invite one of my crazy girlfriends over, and you can watch me eat her out while you masturbate. Or, she can sit on my face while you fuck me. Another option is you banging me from behind while I lick her pussy. The possibilities are endless, really.

Once that's over, feel free to pull out and cum on my ass / tits / face / mouth / whatever.

See, I do have what you want! Don't tell ME law school was all for naught. . .
w4m

Matinee Idol

I never crushed much on actors. There is little spewed out of the celebrity machine that sparks my carnal desire. By the time they get to me they're so homogenized and publicity ready that there's nothing to whet the palate. Maybe that's why this picture sparked such an ardor. It's so stark, that vein along his arm just kills me. I wanna lick him.

hungry

It's been months. I miss having hands on me, fingers trailing on my skin. I miss feeling the fullness only a body atop of me can bring. But I don't miss the tears. The salty taste of disappointment as it runs down my cheek. I miss the bites, the marks, but not waiting for them to be made.

Now, I just need to find someone with whom to break the fast.