It was exactly such fanciful wanderings that had led to Barbara’s foray into writing erotica. She first became obsessed with ordinary words that had the potential to excite. What began as a diversion from her formulaic romance novels soon became a preoccupation with finding ways to cushion everyday words in ultimately titillating sentences. Wetness, moistness, soft, hard, length, width. This was the simple language of erotica that when matched to a character’s earthy desires became the stories women wanted to read.
The stories were tame at first. Dawn’s painted fingernails were surprisingly gentle as they penetrated her own moist flesh. Then, Barbara became yet bolder. Annabelle drew his large hand to the wetness between her legs, letting her thighs fall to either side. “Fuck me,” she said in a throaty voice that she had never used before. He turned her around and prepared her with his tongue, running it along the backs of her thighs and then spreading her gently with his hands, pushing his tongue in deeper as she urged him on again. When Barbara realized that her identity was safe and that her own mother was long dead, there was nothing to hold back. Morning was best for making love. Eyes still crusted with sleep, Lenore reached for Kyle. He was still soft, but only briefly. As her mouth closed around his cock, he stirred faintly. She used one hand to firmly press along his length the way he liked it and the other hand to find the groove just beneath his erection. He reached down for her, but she was too aroused, too ready. Ignoring her resistance, his fingers found her, and she moaned that she was going to come. His determination aroused her even more, and he encouraged her, saying, “Come on my hand.” She already had, so that when he finally entered her, she could barely do more than allow it. Barbara wrote her first drafts in long hand on lined yellow legal pads. She often became so engaged in her own words that she needed one hand free. It was an odd way to pass time. A middle-aged woman wearing underpants and one of her deceased husband’s dress shirts, writing erotica at the kitchen counter.
To find out more about Sinners Guide to Confession — http://www.amazon.com/Sinners-Guide-Confession-Phyllis-Schieber/dp/0425221539
To read my review – http://shedyourinhibitions.com/2009/11/20/book-review-sinners-guide-to-confession-by-phyllis-schieber/
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