The "Big O"--Philosphically Speaking

I was struck by something a 30-something, male friend of mine said, the other day. He's going through a divorce, trying to keep his head clear through the emotional roller-coaster he's currently riding. During whatever lighthearted conversation we were pursusing, he shared his decision to abstain from sexual relations with women, for awhile. Considering his divorce proceedings, and sharing child custody of his three-year-old daughter with his future ex-wife, I expressed this was probably a good idea--at least for now.
Now, this gentleman prides himself on developing his spiritual side, through reading, meditation, and practicing the Golden Rule even during life's most challenging moments. But when he told me he was having a hard time with abstaining from orgasm, I stopped in my tracks.
"Just because you're not with a woman, doesn't mean you can't get yourself off," I said.
"You think that's okay," he asked, "to do that, when I'm abstaining from sex?"
I laughed. "You'd better do that, my friend, especially when you're abstaining from sex!"
I reminded him he's not a monk, and even if he was, it seems to me he'd have to coax the "Big O" out to relieve stress, at least once in a while.
I don't know if a religious vow of chastity includes abstaining from masturbation, but doing that just seems crazy, to me.
I remember reading about a sect of Buddhist monks (in Northern India, I think) who give carte-blanche to their basest desires for one week a year. The monks go down to the nearby village and, basically, spend a week drinking and whoring. They do this guilt-free, with their elders' blessing. The philosophy behind allowing these activities is simple: to relieve stress. Those guys can't be expected to keep their minds on their missions with all that pent-up sexuality and no outlet, so staying on their higher path includes getting the other stuff out of their systems.
I think that's kind of cool, to recognize that the natural urge flowing through all of us needs expression, even for humans with a higher quest in life.
I therefore told my friend I felt he needed to give himself permission to make his orgasms happen, and on a regular basis!
In thinking about it, I've come to the conclusion that the urge to orgasm is, in itself, a reflection of the divine energy coursing through humans. Suppression of this urge seems unnatural, an attempt to control the life force itself. The need to orgasm is in line with creation, however we choose to manifest that. We may not be having sex to procreate, but that creative urge is still flowing bountifully through our systems. This urge may be recognized and transformed into some other creative venture, of course. But blocking its flow only serves, in the long run, to clog up the Divine from flowing within.
Who knows? We actually may find ourselves closest to a spiritual awakening during the culmination of libidinous activities, since that's when we abandon all control and allow ourselves to be washed through by the pure, creative forces behind life itself. Sharing the "Big O" and the activities that lead up to it is the idea behind tantric sexual practices.
I don't know what religious folks do who have taken a vow of celibacy, whether they serve themselves in this way or not. But I do know my thirty-something friend needs to give himself permssion and strike a balance in all of life's activities.

Greetings!

Many thanks for stopping by to read my blog today.

As a new author with Amber Quill Press, I’d like to share a bit about who I am and where I’m coming from.

I lived for many years in the great, urban palace of New York City.
For the most part, I was tantalized by the city—by the throng of people there and the constant activity. My favorite expression used to be: “I live in Manhattan—I’ve seen it all!” Of course, as soon as I’d say that, I’d observe some outrageous exhibition of shocking behavior that would then prompt me to say: “And I thought I’d seen it all!” With so many people gathered from such diverse walks of life from all parts of the world, I observed extreme behavior (often bizarre!) with amazing regularity.
For those of us who get a kick out of people watching, the city is a hotbed of activity that never disappoints. Something crazy, funny, wonderful or weird is always cooking in that town!
It’s from the city that I’m currently drawing most of my characters and the worlds they inhabit. I filed away lots of the fascinating, untypical behavior I either witnessed or was told about while living there, for future creative endeavors.
Even though most of my characters come from my life in the city, they represent people from all over America who share similar dreams and life goals. Most folks who live in Manhattan and the surrounding burrows come from someplace else! But they’re the ones who decided to risk moving there by leaving their comfort zones. They make the trek to the Big Apple in order to give a shot at manifesting their hearts’ desires. Some of them succeed, and some of them do not. It’s in their struggle that character evolves—and the quest, after all, is what makes for a good story.

I’m posting three short and sexy excerpts here, today. The first two are from my upcoming erotica releases with Amber Quill Press, and the third is currently available at www.amberquillpress.com.

Best regards and happy reading—I hope you enjoy!
—Shara Bloodstone
…steamy tales of urban life.


* * *

Excerpt I: Private Audition—to be released, Amber Pax Collection

* * *
“Just drop the robe for me,” Arthur urged in a casual tone.
Janessa felt like she was auditioning, all of a sudden. Only this was far from a normal acting audition, and she suddenly felt faint. She felt a tad sleazy, too, as though this was a porno film call. Her eyes darted around the room in search of a camera…
Her stunned expression and sudden mistrust surprised Arthur.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Does that embarrass you?”
“Well, no…I mean, yes,” Janessa stammered. “I, I suddenly feel weird, like I’m at an audition or something!”
“Don’t make her feel weird, Art,” Tasha chimed in.
“I don’t want to make her feel weird. I hate auditions, believe me, babe. Look, I don’t want to make you feel weird, Janessa, but if we’re going to work together, down the line, you have to go with me, here. You’ve got to be willing to reveal yourself to me. That’s just the way it is. Look at Tasha—she’s open. She’s proud of who she is.”
“I—I guess I’m not used to it, like Tasha is,” Janessa persisted. “I guess I’ve never had anyone ask me to do this before, like this.”
“All right, that’s okay,” Arthur said in a soothing voice. “But, listen: you’re a beautiful woman. I want to see who you are. So just do this for me. Just open up your robe and slip it off.”
He paused and waited. Janessa trembled.
“Go ahead,” he continued in a quiet, seductive voice.
Don’t blow it now, Jergen, Janessa told herself.
But she wanted to cry; she felt so odd about exposing herself this way. While the alcohol had numbed her sensations to a certain degree, she wished she’d gotten drunker. She felt a cold sweat surface on her forehead and glanced at the uninhibited Tasha, lying there nude, touching herself all over. Why couldn’t she be more like her?
A devilish smile lit up Tasha’s face.
“Slip your robe down, kochanie,” she said. “Let’s play!”
Her invitation served to lighten Janessa’s darkening mood. Without further thought, she reached down and loosened the tie around her waist, slipping off the top part of her robe. She felt it sliding away from her shoulders and shimmied a bit to jiggle it away. As it fell down around her elbows, she felt cool air waft against her naked torso. She swallowed as her nipples hardened.
Tasha smiled broadly. “You have beautiful tits.” She caressed her own breasts beneath the palms of her hands, tweaking her nipples between her fingertips.
“Very beautiful,” Arthur agreed. “Come on, now. Keep going. Let’s see the rest of that magnificent body.”
Janessa felt torn. She wanted to play but, at the same time, felt pressured. She had taken the first step, but still wanted to cry from the frustration of having no control over what was going on. Maybe she should forget this whole idea, turn, and run.
Her inner voice of caution urged: Run for the hills, girl! Now! It’s now or never!
Instead of running, however, she froze, clutching the robe’s belt in a fist by her waist.
Her daring inner voice cried: Just do it, Jergen, do it!
But, still, she didn’t move.
“Go ahead,” Arthur urged. “Share your beauty, Janessa.”
She looked across the bed at Arthur’s smiling face, his hands loosely clasped over his belly. Tasha lay serpentine against his bulk, her sultry expression beckoning Janessa to step into a forbidden realm.
Janessa knew she couldn’t deliberate anymore. It was now or never.

* * *

Excerpt II: My Komic Valentine—to be released, Amber Heat

* * *

Penny Ann felt her skin ripple as he ran his hand down over the fabric of the terry cloth robe encasing her body. First against her breasts, then along her belted waist, until he was caressing the length of her outer thigh…
She basked like a great cat beneath the stroking of her master’s hand, enticed, yet not moving a muscle. She heard Bobby’s breathing deepen as he pet each and every curve of her outstretched body. She sensed his arousal stirring beneath his own robe.
“If I was a cat,” she said in a husky voice, “I’d be purring right now.”
“I thought you were purring…”
She chuckled. “Mmm—I think you’re right.”
He moved closer, until he was almost on top of her, and reached over to place his champagne glass on the side table. Just before he missed the table’s edge, Penny reached out and, in one graceful gesture, retrieved the glass and placed it neatly onto the tabletop.
“Thank you. Nice teamwork,” Bobby said.
“Didn’t want you to miss and spill it on me.”
“Don’t want a wet robe, do we?”
“Right. Now, wet skin—that’s okay. That’s easier to dry off than this thing.”
“Your skin…yes, your skin…”
Bobby slid his right hand under the robe’s thick lapel and caressed her neck. She arched her chin up in a feline gesture that begged for more. He sensed her growing desire.
“I want to take my time… you mind?”
“No,” she mumbled, “why would I mind? This feels great. I don’t want to rush anything…”
“I don’t want to rush anything, either. After thinking about you all these months, imagining what it’s like to be with you so many times…I don’t want to rush the real thing.”
Beneath her robe, he felt him slide his hand further down. A flash of heat seared her skin as she felt her breast cupped within his warm hand. He clasped her hard nipple between his forefinger and thumb, squeezing and releasing it, rotating his fingers around the tip.
She reached her arms up to embrace his neck.
He pulled back, unlatched her arms and murmured, “No, wait, not yet. Let me…”
“But I want to kiss you, feel you—”
His green eyes held her in their gaze. She quivered from their intensity.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his quiet voice matching the intensity of his gaze. “You will.”

* * *

Excerpt 3: Urban Ambrosia—available at www.amberquillpress.com

* * *

"Come here," Anthony said. But then he crossed over to where she had stopped in the middle of the living room.
He took her into his arms and held her tight, running his hands up and down her back, sinking them into her thick mane of hair. His mouth was on her neck before she could comment on how fast he was going. She lost herself in the kisses he was placing at the base of her neck, along her throat and up under her chin. She felt his lips come around to nuzzle her neck and nibble her ear. He moved to her mouth, probing it with his tongue. She marveled at how turned on he was tonight.
He bent down to her breasts and opened her blouse, pulling it off before he finished unbuttoning it. She thought she heard buttons pop and roll across the wooden floor, but didn't bother to mention it. In one graceful movement he slipped down the straps of her bra, reached around, unclasped the hooks, and tossed it away. His mouth devoured her breasts. He flattened his tongue against her hardened nipples and alternated flicking them with flat licks.
"Oh, Anthony, that's making me nuts!"
He kissed and licked his way back up to her neck. Dressed only in her breezy floral skirt and thong underwear, she murmured, "Let me close the blinds." He stopped and let her walk to the window.
Just as she drew them to a close, Anthony came up from behind and grabbed the sides of her skirt. Facing the windowsill, she started to turn around.
"Stay there," he urged.
She felt his lips on the back of her neck as he gyrated his pelvis against her. Her chest arched forward and she rocked her butt back against him, while he took his time lifting her skirt inch by inch. She held onto the windowsill with one hand and reached the other back to grab the thick mop of his hair. When he bent her forward she let his head go and grabbed the sill with both hands, for balance. He folded her skirt up over her back and ran his hand over her exposed rump, admiring her roundness, savoring the smoothness of her skin. Then he dropped his hand along the back of her shapely leg, slid it up and down the inside of her thigh.
"That's prime grade," he said.

* * *