My canvas, representing the space for love I have in my heart, is vast and empty. It stands barren against the gigantic easel waiting, hoping to be touched by an artist who will give it life, who will give it purpose, who will give it meaning.

Met at Bandolino’s for pizza and some drinks

So far I am thinkin’ that this blind date

really stinks

Perhaps I should give it a chance

I say to myself when my date

Orders booze from top of the shelf

“I’ll be okay,” she whispered as her hand roamed over Emily’s short satin nightgown. Easing the gown down from Emily’s breasts, Rachel leaned over and flicked her tongue over the nipple. Emily yelped in surprise, wanting to protest because this seemed wrong, but was unable to utter anything other than a moan.

Good friends are the ones who’ll light up a cig-ar

While the guys are out playin’ golf

You giggle and you whine over a tall glass of wine

And pretend it’s not just girl talk

The world’s problems are no problems when girls get together

And solve each and every one

Hell yes we could run a country after raisin’ a family

Don’t even think that we could not

I had come to believe in the power of stones after success with their healing energies the past few years, but I had none with me at that time, so I thought why not try a talisman from a bruja or a curandero? This inspired the trip to a village near a large lake of the same name: Laguna Catemaco. I wanted to find a talisman that would help take my pain away.

She picked up the wineglass and drank deeply before sitting it back down. Closing her eyes, she stroked the soft swell of her naked breasts once again. It almost seemed to her that someone else guided her movements, and if she leaned back she’d feel the heat of a body behind her. That thought sent a thrill of excitement rushing down her body, but she didn’t lean back, not wanting to feel the disappointment.

That ol’ black widow

the one that’s on the prowl

That ol’ black widow

her bite will bring a howl

Of fear and pain

that will remain

Until you then fall over

but will you cry

Or will you die

when she makes you her lover

My husband and I were staying the winter in our RV at an RV Park on the west coast of Mexico, where the Pacific ocean was not very user-friendly unless you were a surfer or a super strong swimmer, of which I was neither. I avoided entering the water because I had had a fear of the vastness of the sea. It began when I was thirteen while visiting an aunt and uncle in California.

It seemed to me that if the power of stones went back as far as 4500 BC, according to documentation by the ancient Sumerians, with many still continuing to believe in them today, there must be something to them besides their beauty.

Aside from sex, what turns you on?

Is it: Music? Art? Laughter? A beautiful view? A mountain? An ocean? Sports? Danger? Playing an instrument? Accomplishments? Getting an award? A full moon? A scary movie? Having fun? Intelligence? A beautiful face? Eyes? Other specific body parts? Animals? Flowers? Growing your own vegetables? Colors? Fast cars? Storms? The list could be endless.

I saw Marty standing near the motorcycle dressed in jeans, boots, and leather jacket, and felt a rush of heat. His black hair and beard, with just a touch of grey, seemed to complement the sleekness of the black tank and chrome pipes — a sexy image that would invade my dreams for the next two weeks.

We need to communicate, we say.

It’s a vital part of our being, our growing,

Of being one, yet two,

Of knowing how much there is to love,

And loving what is there.

She caught a glimpse of a new, shiny red convertible, sitting on a platform at a car lot. On impulse, she turned her car into the lot, parked, and maneuvered her legs encased in her new tight jeans out the door. Her bright red heels, part of her new look, clicked on the pavement as she strutted toward that beautiful car.

Emily, reared by a religiously fanatical grandmother after her parents were taken from her by a freak accident, grew into young adulthood under-developed in self-esteem, social skills, and knowing much about sex, except whatever her older cousin would impart. Until the night of her grandmother’s funeral. Her awakening, regarding passion and sex, began with a dream.

Our being —

A rented space

To house our given souls.

A framework

Of unique construction

That is built but once,

To maintain,

Improve,

Appreciate,

Enjoy.

I’ve loved sitting in our hot tub naked, with the temperature set at a comfortable 99 degrees. What a glorious experience it is when we are outside surrounded by cold, feeling part of nature, yet separate, because we are up to our necks in warm water.

On our taxi ride to the hotel, I was so enthralled at being in the tropics that I was feeling a great need to fuck my guy. I envisioned me straddling Marty in the water, getting him hard, and slipping his cock in through a leg opening of my bathing suit that I’d have pulled aside to receive him. That visual had me crossing and uncrossing my legs in hopes of relieving the craving since I couldn’t do much about it at that moment.

Late one summer in Colorado, after planning a vacation to go to the Yucatan that winter, my hubby, Mac, surprised both me and our daughter, Isabelle, with dive lessons for an early Christmas present.

We were told that this beach was ‘clothing optional’ on that far side of the mountainous boulders.

“Let’s go look!” Isabelle exclaimed while we waited for my husband to return from putting our dog in the trailer at the RV Park across the road from the beach.

“But how will your dad find us?” I queried.

“No worries, Mom, he’ll know where to find us,” Isabelle reassured me. So off we went, following the path to nudists.

The plan for that winter’s Mexico trip was to drive to Sayulita on the West Coast with our beater travel trailer for a month to visit and say our goodbyes to the friends we’d made, sans Tom and Sheila. We’d then head to the East Coast the quickest route to pick Isabelle up from the Cancun airport on New Year’s Day.