Erotica by Shannon

The building was old — the kind of place that had lived many lives. R walked ahead of me, keys in hand, explaining the teardown he'd been hired to do; his voice echoed softly through the empty corridor. Then we stepped inside that space. The shop smelled of Nag Champa — thick, familiar, unmistakable. It clung to the walls, the shelves, the air itself. The scent wrapped around me like a memory I hadn't realized I'd been carrying. Warm. Earthy. Intimate. I inhaled slowly. "This used to be a metaphysical store," R said, glancing around. "Owners burned incense constantly." I smiled. "I can tell." R leaned against the counter, arms braced behind him, watching me take it all in. His presence filled the room — steady, masculine, unhurried. There was no one else there. Just us. Dust motes floating in the afternoon light. Old jars behind the counter. A bell above the door that hadn't rung in years... I wandered closer, fingers trailing along the so...

When Rosalynn Carter died, something in me softened. Jimmy Carter said she was his equal partner in everything he ever accomplished. As long as she was in the world, he always knew someone loved and supported him. That kind of love — the steady kind — is rare. And it made me think of R. A month ago, I told him I loved him. Not because I needed it returned, but because it was true. Still, once the words left my mouth, fear crept in. The quiet kind. The kind that whispers when you're alone. I know how he loves — through presence, through action — not always through words. I understand that. And yet, my heart wobbled. We don't talk much when we're apart. I want more connection. Maybe he doesn't. The spiral began. Maybe I'm not enough. Maybe I'm too much. Maybe the tender parts of me are showing now, and he'll grow tired. Maybe he already has. I couldn't stop it. So I wrote him a letter — honest, unfiltered — about the doubts and fears I couldn't quiet. ...

It was still dark when I woke — that hour before the world stirs, when longing has nowhere to hide. 5:24 a.m. I'd been awake for hours, drifting in and out of memory, but one moment kept returning to me like a slow tide: the way he touched me last weekend. The way my body remembered him even now. I missed his hands. Not sex — not yet. I missed the language of his touch. The way his palms seemed to know me better than my thoughts ever could. The way he lingered just long enough to make me soften… then pressed with intention, grounding me back into myself. His touch quiets my mind. And when my mind goes quiet, my body opens — fully, generously. Pleasure arrives not as something chased, but something allowed. I could feel it even now, lying alone in the early morning hush. I remember him lifting the covers, inviting me in without a word. The space he made for me was deliberate — a hollow shaped just for my body. I slid into him, fitting easily, instinctively, like I'd always belon...

A kiss is a conversation.    Rekindle your relationship by learning simple and easy steps to revamp your everyday kisses with your partner.  All you need to do to access awesome kissing is click the link below, which will take you to a free Microsoft Sway presentation.  Please take these tips and put them to good use the next time you're locking lips.  A Kiss is a Conversation

🚗 Is Car Sex Worth It? My Mazda Knows the Answer Last night, as I folded the sheets and tucked away the remnants of a dreamy rendezvous in the back of my white Mazda, a question popped into my head: Is car Sex worth it? I smiled. Because for me—and I'd bet my lover R would agree—it's not just worth it. It's mystique. Tenfold. Why Car Sex Works (and Works Well) It's portable. Wherever we go, the mood follows. It's spontaneous. No reservations, no waiting. Just us. It's sexy. Something about the confined space, the thrill, the risk. It's playful. We laugh, we tease, we explore. It's deeply connected. More than the Bedroom ever allows. Our Ritual: Romance in Motion We meet at Panera or Dunkin'. I hand him the key. He drives us somewhere quiet—hiking trails, sunset views, nature's backdrop. In the back of my car? A Rubbermaid container packed with essentials: Sheets Coconut oil Baby wipes Music Snacks Sometimes black nylons Always,...

There's something delicious about anticipation—how it coils low in the belly, how it lingers in the fingertips when you pack your overnight bag with toys meant for pleasure. All week, I'd been aching to share the ways I'd been touching myself, craving the moment I could show R. exactly what I'd discovered. Tonight, I wouldn't just tell him. I'd let him watch.

You Can't Fake the Moisture This morning, sunlight spilled through the kitchen window as he wrapped his arms around me, spinning me gently like a slow dance. His blue eyes met my sleepy green ones, and he smiled with quiet satisfaction. "You can't make up the moist," he whispered, lips brushing my ear. "Must mean I'm doing a good job…" I laughed softly, leaning into his warmth. The kiss he gave me was featherlight, lingering just long enough to remind me of last night—of how close we were, how wild. The living room TV hummed in the background, looping TikToks under his daughter's command, but we were in that kitchen, and we were in our own world. My body still hummed with the memory of his touch, the way our fantasies spilled into whispered confessions and tangled limbs. Moonlight had painted our silhouettes on the wall as we moved together—his hands gripping my hips, my legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. We kissed like we were starving. I ...