Awarded With a Liebster

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I get so tickled by the love that I get on my blog.  Recently I was nominated for a Liebster Award by The Woman Invisible http://www.thewomaninvisible.wordpress.com.  I am thankful for her appreciation of my poetry and honored by the acknowledgement.  I very much enjoy reading her blog, which is full of witty, engaging posts about her experiences with ending her marriage and seeking an affair.  Her stories are fascinating for a single gal like me who hasn’t even gotten my ears wet with a marriage, let alone an affair.

This award comes with a lot of juicy questions for me to answer, but awards on wordpress also come with rules, and everyone knows I am a good little girl so of course I am following the rules and let’s be clear about what those are.   Then we will get to my intimate confessions.

1. Thank the person who nominated you and post a link to their blog on your blog.

Again thanks to The Woman Invisible http://www.thewomaninvisible.wordpress.com, you are very sweet.

2. Display the award on your blog by including it in your post and/or displaying it using a “widget” or a “gadget”.

I have done so, though I’m sure you’d probably prefer to see a pic of my gorgeous boobs.

3. Answer 11 questions about yourself which will be provided to you by the person who nominated you.

My answers are posted below for all inquiring minds.

4. Provide 11 random facts about yourself.

Nothing about me is random but I’ll try.

5. Nominate 5 – 11 blogs you feel deserve this award, who have less than 1000 followers.

How to choose when I love you all so much…

6. Create a new list of questions for the blogger to answer.

I am consulting my crystal ball on the most pertinent questions.

7. List these rules on your post.

Once you have written and published it, you then have to:

8. Inform people/blogs that they have been nominated for the Liebster Award and provide a link for them to your post so they can learn about it (they might not have heard of it!) .

This is a no brainer for me.  I can’t keep a secret for nothing.

 

Okay, okay, okay phewf; we’re done with the rules, now to the goods.

 

11 Facts About Me:

1. I am a classic Millennial; I value traveling, creative projects, community, and having experiences over stability and material possessions.

2. I communicate with the spirits of plants and especially edible plants.  One of my fondest such memories was of a conversation I had with Coffee Bean.

3. I am extremely knowledgable about gourmet cheeses.  I once opened up a cheese shop for a large corporation due to my expertise.

4. I studied yoga in South India and experienced Tantric revelation while there, riding the wave of one particularly powerful orgasm.

5. I am not afraid of death, only sometimes of life.

6. Nothing physically unsafe has ever happened to me.  I grew up in a functional loving family.  I really don’t have any excuses.

7. I wanted to be a writer since the age of six when I first learned to write.

8. I am extremely gifted at finding the most delicious food in any location or situation.  I am great to hang with you if you like to eat well.

9. I am a California state licensed massage therapist and give amazing yummy massages.

10.  Kids adore me but I have not yet had any children of my own.  I hope to some day.

11. My family is the goofiest and on special occasions we often compose funny songs and poems for each other.

 

11 Questions from The Woman Invisible for me to answer:

1. Are you more honest in your blog than real life?

It just depends on who I am talking to.  I am very honest with my close confidants.  One particularity about me is that I don’t really believe in confidentiality.   I believe all that is known allows us to understand more and grow.  If anything I am always seeking to perceive truth at a deeper level.
2. Do you believe in monogamy?

“Believe” is a funny word.  I wish I could have a monogamous relationship with a man that I adore.  However I am not seeing the proof in the pudding that this is possible for me right now.  I am aware that monogamous relationships are difficult to maintain, especially in American society today where it seems that the social fabric does not really support them.  My parents have a strong monogamous relationship, but they are working with a cultural model that is related to our Jewish ancestry in Eastern Europe.
3. What’s the sexiest thing about you?

It’s hard to know what is sexy about yourself, what others perceive in you, but I suspect that in my case what people are drawn to is my sensual comfort in my own skin.  I have a deep grounding in my knowing of the beauty of being human and the love that emanates from this place.  Even though sometimes my spark has diminished I have always managed to rekindle it and keep it alive.
4. Have you ever met another blogger?

No, though I have had a couple near misses with the amazing Sahar of http://www.exoticescortdiary.com.  She is like a soul sister to me.  I still hope to meet with her sometime.

5. What’s your favorite color and why?

My favorite color is pink.  It is so soft and feminine, so sweet.  I love sweetness.
6. What song/song lyrics can always make you cry? Include a clip here….

A boyfriend played this song for me on my birthday once.  This song is bittersweet for me because I wish life was more like a Rainbow Country.
7. Summer or Winter?

Summer definitely.  I love tropical places best.  I moved to California and left all the cold behind.
8. Best sex ever? And don’t leave out the good parts….

This is a hard one; often times when I have wonderful sex I write a poem about it to revisit that moment again.   I think right now my favorite time was pretty recently, the last time I reunited with my lover after a period of separation.  We were so hungry for each other.  I find you are best able to savor the flavors when you are truly hungry.  Each touch was like a revelation.  I was so turned on; I came like 10 times.  My lover was so aroused that he came twice and stayed hard without skipping a beat, before he finally washed out on the third time.  My poem about that experience was called  Bittersweet https://eroticapoetica.wordpress.com/2014/05/02/bittersweet-2/

9. Just how crazy are you?

I am crazy enough that twice I had viral meningitis and believed that I was being energetically attacked.   But I am not wild and erratic in my behavior for the most part.  I may seem crazy with my metaphysical beliefs but I do not act crazy; I’m pretty stable and steady.
10. Sex, drugs, or rock and roll? What’s your poison?

Sex definitely.

11. What is the sexiest thing you have posted? Add the link here.

Hmmm…I post a lot of sexy stuff.  I think my sexiest might have been a little story called Break Me Open: A Tale of Erotic Massage https://eroticapoetica.wordpress.com/2013/10/01/break-me-open-a-tale-of-erotic-massage/

And now, my own nominations:

http://portraitsofmyashtray.wordpress.com/  Incredibly lyrical and poetic blog about a wild wandering heart

http://shamelesslyguiltless.wordpress.com  Riveting, sexy tales from a vibrant, naughty woman

http://submissivenightowl.wordpress.com/  Deeply insightful

http://thebreakdownoftaboo.wordpress.com/ Clever and interesting poetry and writings

http://indianwomanofpleasure.com/ An honest journal of self-discovery

 

My questions for you:

1. What was one of the happiest experiences of your life?

2. Where is one of your favorite places to be?

3. What is the sexiest thing a partner can do for you?

4. What is one of your best food memories?

5. Barefoot or shoes?  If shoes, what kind?

6. Did you ever surprise yourself with a post on your blog?

7. What is the most wild thing about you?

8. If you were to move to another country, which would it be?

9. What’s one of the naughtiest things you ever did?

10. What’s your philosophy in one sentence?

11. Who is one of your favorite poets?

 

Blessings to all! Love, Pua Nani

 

Surprise, An Erotic Story

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It was a sunny day in early April. My appointment for the afternoon had been cancelled and I found myself home with nothing I needed to be doing, a rare treat in a busy life. I decided it would be a good time to sunbathe; I was hoping to tan for the summer. My apartment is on the second floor and I had been noticing that the walls of my porch appeared to be deep enough that I could lie on the ground in the sun without being seen by anyone from the windows and patios of the neighboring houses. I wanted to sunbathe nude.

I stepped out on the porch and the smooth adobe-colored floor was screaming hot against my feet from the sun’s rays. I laid down a large beach towel and then eased onto my behind, lying backside down. Once there, I looked up and checked again to see if I might be exposed to any observers. I decided no.

I stealthily untied my black satin robe and pulled it out from underneath me. The sun was bright above me, and I draped the thin fabric of the robe over my face, covering my eyes with its cool darkness.

My skin began to absorb warmth and moisten with sweat. I settled back into the floor and breathed, allowed my mind to settle. I tuned in to the sensations occurring in my body.

Being naked in the fresh air felt good. The sun was hot against my bare skin but there was a slight breeze that came up now and again.

The breeze washed over the length of me and I felt it caress my breasts, graze my belly, tickle me between my thighs. It was a strange feeling being so exposed outdoors; it felt a little bit naughty.

I had spread my legs apart so that I would tan evenly. The coolness of the wind touched me subtly with its fingers, teasing me between my open thighs. I felt arousal swell within the depths of my inner folds. My pussy begin to throb, clenching and unclenching like a wave. Dew of arousal dripped from the tender opening, coating my sensitive skin with wetness, to be licked by the air.

I felt the fullness of my breasts bloom like flowers, my nippples hardening. I grazed one finger over my nipple and shuddered from the sensation. I wanted to touch myself more but then thought what if someone could see me?

I dropped my hand and relaxed into the ground, enjoying the sun’s heat. Arousal pulsed and flowed through my body, making my skin tingle.

All around me were the sounds of neighborhood life. Faint conversations as people walked by and the occasional sound of cars driving by on the distant street. My porch overlooked the parking lot of the apartment complex, which sat just off a quiet side street.

I tuned in to the noises, and after awhile my ears followed the sound of a car that was approaching. I heard it park nearby in the lot. Then I heard the ding of an automatic lock locking.

Something about the sound put me on my guard and made me feel like maybe I should go in. I felt strangely raw and exposed in my nakedness, even though I knew no one could see me.

I heard footsteps that sounded like they were approaching my own staircase and I began to get nervous. Was someone coming to my apartment?

I heard the footsteps begin to climb up my stairs. I knew my roommate would not be home until evening. The only person who would ever come over unannounced during the middle of the day was my lover. Sometimes he would surprise me at home in the afternoon, just when I least expected him. I froze with a mixture of fear and excitement.

I knew the door was unlocked but strained to hear a knock. Soon I heard a light knock, a da da da rhythm that confirmed it was him. I was relieved yet frightened.

Why was he visiting? We had recently decided we weren’t going to see each other anymore. I was very surprised.

Yet I was filled with a rush of heat, a sense of heightened arousal. Excitement poured through my body and I felt beads of sweat building into a liquid against my back. I heard him open the door. He called my name in his familiar voice. Instead of putting on my robe and getting up to answer the door, I decided to remain still.

I listened to him walking around inside the apartment. My face was still covered by the satin robe. He could not see my expression and I could not see him or anything else. Then I heard the sound of his footsteps walking towards me. His walk was stealthy and quiet. He paused right outside the screen door. I felt him gazing down at me. He was silent and so was I. I held still with great effort. I imagined what he saw, me lying supine, fully naked, my skin rosy from heat and arousal, my breasts pillowy and full, nipples pointed up, my legs slightly parted, my pussy exposed.

Then I heard the sound of his zipper unzipping, his belt buckle unbuttoning. A smile spread across my lips and my body relaxed. I allowed myself to revel in the anticipation of pleasure.

I heard him push the screen door aside and step outside. I felt him bend down over me and then place his hands on my knees, nudging my legs to open wider. He kneeled before me, between my spread legs. His skin felt cool against my own.

His movements were slow and deliberate. Suddenly I felt the head of his hot cock press against the lips of my labia, dipping into the moisture. I moaned involuntarily. He rubbed the length of his cock against my clit, teasing me just like he knew I like to be teased.

He teased me til I was going crazy. Finally, I grabbed onto his hips and pulled him to me, guiding him inside me.

We both gasped at the shock of penetration, as he slid deep inside my plush wetness.

He lowered himself down on top of me, pressing his chest against me, and pushed away the satin cloth that covered my face. For a second our eyes locked.

“I missed you” he whispered.

He leaned in to kiss me.

What a delicious surprise.

The Birth of eroticapoetica

I guess I was born to write erotic poetry he he.

I decided I wanted to be a writer when I was 6 years old.  I was just learning to read and write at that time.  I loved the thought of being able to express all the vast richness of my inner experience, all the beauty, all the mystery.  I had memorized the names of the authors of my favorite children’s books and they were my heroes.  Writing was considered a glorious achievement in the bookish, intellectual environment that I grew up in (near Harvard University).

I kept little diaries as a child, making entries every once in awhile, whenever the whim struck me, mostly mundane tales about the day’s events or an overwrought description of some place that I had visited.  However these tepid entries bored me; what I longed to write about was the thing that was most interesting in my life: my crushes on boys, the consuming passion around which my days revolved.

But I was scared to give voice to this subject, as I considered it so taboo.  My desirous feelings, my vulnerability, my sensuality, all seemed too private and shameful a secret to openly divulge.  I worried that my mother might discover my diaries and read them.  Dating, sexuality and romance was an uncomfortable topic in my family.  It was not really discussed, or if it was, it was accompanied by an embarrassed giggle.  I think it was not regarded as wrong so much as simply uncomfortable.

When I was in high school I fell in love for the first time, lost my virginity, and I also wrote my first poems, which were published in a high school journal.  One was inspired by my first lover.  It contained some references to things that were meaningful for me in that relationship, some details from nights we had spent together, but it was still vague and allusive, only indirectly romantic.  My mother was impressed with the poem, as were the teachers who published it.

When I was in college in New York, I wrote a poem for one of my writing classes.  This one was inspired by a moment in the summer when I was swimming in a Massachusetts lake and the guy that I had a crush on at the time appeared on the beach (looking hot in his swimsuit!), but did not see me.  I had been deliberately vague about the emotional content; the poem had what I thought were oblique references to my desirous feelings.  And yet my teacher enthusiastically analyzed the poem at length in front of the whole class as an erotic poem.  Apparently it was full of erotic metaphors that even I was not aware of!

I was very unsophisticated at that time when it came to sexuality.  I had only had one boyfriend.  I liked sex with him sometimes, but mostly just kissing and making out was appealing to me, not the sex act itself.  I had not yet figured out how to have an orgasm during sex.  Sometimes with him I would wish sex could just be over already as I didn’t know how to make it more pleasurable for me.  He got interested in porn and wanted to experiment with different things yet I found that all unpleasant and degrading, a little scary.  I had been masturbating since I was a little girl and I liked that, but I considered it almost irrelevant to sex with a partner.  I felt that was my own thing, between me and the gods alone.

It was many years and a handful of boyfriends later when I really started to become comfortable with sex.  With one caring, accepting partner I felt brave enough to touch myself during sex the way that I did when I masturbated; lo and behold I was able to cum with him inside me.  That was a watershed moment for me.  I think too many women never feel safe enough to allow themselves the space to find what it is that will make sex truly pleasurable for them.  Often they feel pressured by various sources, religion, society, their partner, etc. for things to be a certain way.  From my experience, I would say that first you have to know how to give yourself pleasure, then you have to be willing to share that with your partner, and you may be surprised by what comes (cums?) he he.

It was only after I moved to California a couple of years ago that I met my current lover, the star of many of my poems.  With him I got to experience sex in a way that was far beyond what I ever could before.  I had always dreamt, like I think many people do, of one day having really fantastic mind-blowing passionate sex.  Sex I had before had been good, nice, pleasant.  But something about the chemistry between me and this guy is so right that our sex has always been phenomenal, from the very first time.  It is creative, fun, intense, emotional.  And with time it only keeps getting better.

Not long after I first met this lover, after only a few months had passed, I thought (erroneously it turned out) that the relationship was over.  I was sad, grieving my loss, and still wanting to be with him again at the same time.  I was walking around San Francisco, feeling all those powerful feelings, and suddenly a poem appeared on the horizon of my mind.  I could perceive the shape of it, the way you can sense the rain hidden in the clouds, and I was shocked because this was a sexually explicit poem. I was shocked and delighted at the same time.  I saw the possibility to walk through a doorway into being someone who I always wanted to be but never had been before: the girl who writes openly about her deepest, most passionate feelings and desires.

I went and sat down in a coffee shop and that poem poured out of me like a flood.  It is one of the earliest poems that I posted on this blog.  This is it:

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Last Encounter, A Poem

There is a place
in a far away dreamtime
where you and I
make love
on Indian Time.

That is, outside of time entirely.
Ethereally,
in lucid fantasy.

Desires percolate in rich imagery,
become enunciated in language;
we talk dirty to one another,
savoring our
fervid words
in our waiting bodies,
that burn with anticipation…

Then we meet,
in this imaginary place,
this luxurious bedroom
of dreamtime,
rabid with hunger for each other.
Lips kiss artfully, eyes stare each other down,
tongues go wild,
consuming,
devouring
every inch
of one another,
mixing salty skin with saliva,
hard and soft mingling,
becoming wet, messy,
with the juices
of our passion…
Deliciously wet.

In this dreamy realm of sex,
I suck your cock and swallow you whole.
I drink the elixir of your cum
and it fortifies me to fuck you endlessly.
Here you enter me every which way, spit on me, slap me, bite me,
lick gently the hollow of my back,
delicately,
as you penetrate me from behind,
in and out…
Exquisitely.

Here all fantasies are fulfilled and still more emerge,
as we each understand perfectly
the humanity of each other,
intuitively,
sensitively.

And so we twist our bodies every which way
in pleasure,
moan, scream, pant, speak vulgar poetry to one another…
I eat your ass as you do me, doggy style,
I suck, over and over again your cock, wet
from being inside
the tightness of my asshole;
you reach your fingers up into my pussy,
pressing skillfully,
while you fill me, fuck me,
and make me cum,
again and again,
until we both ejaculate all over each other,
savoring the sweetness of our own nectar,
with our tongues
licking, sucking, kissing, teasing,
playfully…

Rhythmically, gracefully…

So hot…

So this is dreamtime,
a fleeting dream, real,
imagined, insubstantial, surreal,
an ephemeral imago
of making love to
to Santiago.

Break Me Open, A Tale of Erotic Massage

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We had both agreed that we would not do it again.

But we both knew that we were lying.

After dinner, when he lingered at my table, I offered to give him a massage to help with the back pain he was having.  We pretended that it was only that, a simple, innocent massage.  As I am a professional massage therapist and so is he.

We set up the purple massage table in my bedroom in feigned earnestness.

He took off his shirt, exposing the bare tanned skin of his chest to me.  He lay down on the table, and I covered him with a sheet.  I put on my favorite relaxation album, and willowy, golden music filled the air.

I planted my feet by the side of the massage table and reached for him.  I was craving to touch his skin, to inhale his familiar scent.

Working over the thin cotton sheet, like I do at the start of every treatment, I pressed my hands firmly onto the muscles of his back and then pushed a hard fist into his glutes on each side.

His voice deliberately mild, he suggested that maybe it would be easier on my hands if he took off his jeans.  I stepped politely outside the room and when I returned he was completely naked beneath the sheet.  I could not help but be very aware of his nakedness.  The unspoken tension between our two bodies lay thick in the air, a sensual cloud.

I undraped the top of the sheet from his back and poured almond oil into my hands.

The first touch of my well oiled hands gliding across his dark shoulders sent a wave of emotion through me.  How good it felt, my hands on his warm skin again, how right.  It was like our bodies were resuming a deep conversation after a period of silence.

It had been a month at least since our last intimate encounter.

The strokes of my fingers upon his skin were slow, smooth, impossibly soothing.  As my fingers danced in small circles across the sides of his spinal column, I could intuitively sense how sore his muscles were.  I pressed gently into the taut fibers, loosening the knots of the adhesions. He started to breathe deeper, releasing little grunts and moans as he exhaled.

I breathed in the sensuality of listening to his audible breath.  The very sounds made me throb with desire.

I worked along the expanse of his back, unwinding the tight ropes of his muscles with long deep strokes, then covered it up again.  Moving downwards, I undraped his right leg and the right side of his butt, chastely tucking the sheet at the cleft.  I rubbed oil onto his exposed buttcheek and ran my fist over it, in a downward motion from his sacrum toward his hips, watched the bounce of the flesh of his ass.  I knew how good this must feel to him, how exquisitely sensitive he was there, in this private place.   This was the same routine that I used on many of my clients but normally I was not so aroused like I was now.  I was flushed, wet between my thighs.   I was sweating.  All I could think of was the extravagant pleasures we had shared so many times before.  I knew he must be thinking the same.

I imagined his thoughts, his inevitable excitement and maybe slight uncertainty.  He was waiting to see what I would do.  Not saying anything, just lying there, face down, eyes closed.  Like a coiled snake, waiting to strike.  Anticipating.

I redraped his butt with the sheet and left his leg exposed.  I traced the length of his leg from foot to upper thigh with oil, massaging around the breadth of the muscles with the fans of my hands.

I saw him ever so slightly squirm as my nimble hands made their way across the top of his thigh and suggestively brushed up against the roundness of his ass beneath the sheet.  I applied more oil and massaged his upper leg.  Then, lead by the decadent whim of my desire, I worked my fingers more deeply into the hidden erogenous zone between his thighs, something I would never do in a professional massage.

I watched as he began to pump his hips subtly back and forth, the hardness of his erection obviously pressing up against the table.

For me that was it.  My sign.

We had both known we would do it again.

Without a word, I climbed stealthily onto the table and pulled away the sheet to reveal his nakedness.

I slid off my dress, so I was down to my bra and panties, and straddled his ass, pressing my breasts against the backs of his thighs, my hard nipples rubbing against him.  I continued to slowly explore with my fingers the nooks and crevices of his inner thighs — teasing and kneading, stroking tantalizingly close to his sensitive balls but not quite touching them.

I could hear him breathing hard.  With care, I parted the cheeks of his ass, pressed them open with my hands, bent over, found the tight little indent of his asshole with my tongue, and began to lick.

Thus began the longed-for feast.

Deep and wet was my tongue.  A long groan escaped his lips.

He reached behind him, grasped my neck with his hand and pushed, burying my face deeper into his ass.  I licked and spit, bit and tongued his asshole and the plump flesh of his buttcheeks while I gripped his hips.

He was writhing.  Unable to bear his building arousal anymore, he tucked his hard cock back between his legs and fed the head into my mouth.

I licked and sucked the sensitive tip, ran my tongue around the shaft, as far as it could reach.  My spit dripped from my mouth down the sides of his cock.  My tongue fluttered and rolled over his balls, leaving its wet, messy trace.

I was becoming undone.

His cock felt good in my mouth, but I longed to have him inside me.  I was aching for him.  All I wanted was to spread my legs and feel him penetrate me.  It was an urgent need, almost painful.

I pulled away and he turned over, his eyes sparked with arousal.

I climbed on top of him.

He knew exactly what I wanted.  He knew me.

He spanked my ass with a smirk and we grinned at each other, both delighting in the rich sound.

“Break me open” I whispered.