On
the heels of the 4th of July, here's a reason to prolong celebration. I've a
new piece on Filthy Gorgeous Things. This month the theme of the issue is
Barriers, and my piece, "Golden Ring," explores my itsy-bitsy clit,
some mental blocks and my genital piercing. It's fun for the whole family, as
long as the whole family is over 18 and not above intimate rubber-necking. And
preferably not having this fun together, because, wow, creepy.
Here's an excerpt (I can't figure out why the line spacing is being so funky; please forgive it and me):
I don’t come easily, or reliably, or sometimes at all. Looking back at my history, I realize that have shouldered the responsibility for my truculent orgasms. I have blamed my head, my heart and, most often, my clit. I have a tiny, tiny clit. Blink and you’ll miss it, ditto if you move your finger or your tongue one centimeter to the left, to the right, to the north, to the south. It’s a finicky, petulant, churlish clit. It’s a bitch of a clit, and I’ve oft called it my Greta Garbo clit for its beauty, bitchiness and reclusiveness.
So small and so perfect my clit, so pert and pretty sitting like a tiny pearl in a darling oyster, so often missed, so frequently elided in darkling fumblings that in 1993 I chose to mark it. I chose, in fact, to pierce its hood.
I think the piece is open and free, so you should get your tanned hide over to FGT, read it, and then hit your browser's "back" button to leave a comment here telling me how wonderful I am because I'm a bit parched for praise.
I'm trying to write more, I really am. My friend read my cards and says I need to write. So I shall endeavor to, for if you can't trust a gypsy, whom can you trust?
In the meantime, feel free to enjoy the meanderings of my mind on Twitter. I love followers, though I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend.
