Category Archives: Erotica

Sexy Red Toes or Wiggle Those Toes!

Original ink drawing painted with watercolor. I added the beige sand colored background digitally using photoshop.

The weather is warming although the evenings are still dipping down into the single digits. Last night it went down to 4˚C. Not to Spring like at all.

This image is available as an archival print in my shop.


Violet the Vulva


She is a petite 2.5 by 3.5 inches.
She’s a popular *ACEO and
she’ll fit right into your pocket
to to carry with you
wherever you go.
She’s discreet.
She’s pretty
and pink.
She is
Violet the Vulva.

I created her using lightfast Prismacolor Verithin Colored Pencils and one Archival Micron Pen on acid free heavyweight paper.

Yes, you can have her to.

*ACEO – Art Cards, Editions and Originals. They must measure 2.5″ by 3.5″ and can be created from any medium. They are the size of a hockey or Magic card and a beautiful way to collect affordable art.

How to Have an Eargasm

1 + 2 + 3 = 6ex

How to have an EARGASM

The above instructional How to Have an Eargasm illustration inspired this post:
He popped his cherry.

*Please proceed with caution as I will NOT be held accountable for any inner ear damage due to the onslaught of multiple eargasms attained by following the above illustrated directions.

Given that erotica can come in many forms

On any given Sunday
a person is taking drugs,
this person consuming substances
incommensurately, they begin
the adjustment
deep within
the chasm lurking inside looking out.

Popping and chomping they spit-it down
tasting raw chemical…

the brains pharmaceutical.

On any given Monday,
at your place of work
a bleary-cheery-wide – eyed
sit within
your periphery vision.

The night before she popped a pill
igniting the charge
exploding resinous sinew delightful and askew.

Tuesday she appears weary
withdrawn and aloof

creatively debunk.



On that given Wednesday
you regard her close-ly,
observing rhythm.
Her aura exudes
one glorious hue.

Pleasant and perfected silence pardons the view.
She strides right past you slapping staring eyes frank
languid and regarding
your lair.
4 eyes locked and
an other two; a third, preparing.

Thursday morning she strides over… across
sitting between you
and your computer
she bucks her hips and shakes her hair
beginning the humping
YOU dreampt of this affair!

You know you want her
and grab that hair
the denouement
can’t be fair

for the boss walks in
you tug her away
he walks on over
tapping her shoulder

“may I join this – Claire?”

Unbuttoning his trowsers his wares appear
you grimace… oh despair

your cock a stick
a mushroom capped pencil
whom she couldn’t,

she wouldn’t…

she stands looking over
over there

she grabs the bosses briefs
lightly squeezing

flinching flinching

fuck yeah
she – dared.

And on that given Friday
your mind tormented, not knowing
skin tingling…

endomorphism’s fading.
A dozen hours ago.

On Saturday you arise
walk over then down and smile after a while
A dream;
a benign hindsight?

On any given Sunday a person is not taking drugs.
You wonder,
thinking about her
at work tomorrow morning.

Sexual ramblings, feelings and stable confessions

How is it that sexuality, confidence and stability can clash together causing inner most ideals and beliefs to fall down, crash and burn. Ideally two people meet, get together and could get married. They could then proceed to have children. This is the ideal. The reality of that ideal is that it can exist and does many more times than one.

The break-up? What causes one or both to seek what they are missing or not getting from that relationship. I have in the past and even now seek stability. I am a sexual human being therefore I seek sex. I foremost am working towards a stable lifestyle of my own choosing.

Last year I wanted to have a baby. This was the second time the man did not want to have a baby with me. This made for a very sexless marriage and later on a relationship, after the initial two year rush of new love wore off. I began toying with the idea of an open relationship in my early twenties. I was not getting what I wanted sexually. I gave up the idea of having a baby. Today it still hurts. A week before leaving he told me he did not and does not ever want children with anyone. This made me sad and turned myself inwards to answer that question for myself. I wanted to have a baby with him and was willing to consider the possibility of not having any children with him. I loved him that much. I could do that. Then he left. I didn’t get to tell him. I didn’t get to say that one week before, I was with another man fooling around. And that this man went to far. That he forced himself upon me, laying his full 250lb body weight on and over me with my face in the pillow and stomach to the bed he forced his fingers into my vagina and I couldn’t move. A friend. He was a very close friend of mine. Someone I trusted. I trusted him, that when I said “no” he would not break that trust. Fucker.

I didn’t tell anyone for weeks, months? I talked to my doctor in early February about what had transpired in early December, 2006. She told me it was not rape and considered inappropriate sexual touching. She gave me the phone numbers for a crisis line to call at my convenience. It was a heated evening but the fact remains I asked him twice to not put his fingers or anything else between my legs while giving me a massage. I have a tendency to come-on strong. I do reserve the right to say no as much as I deserve the right to say yes.

The only man I slept with over the past four years was my ex-boyfriend. My ex knew I am faithful with my love, however like to have fun with my friends, hugging, kissing, rubbing… honestly, just fun – cuddling. He was ok with this usually. I could never get a clear answer. A common response was “I am so jealous of you being able to be so open and talk about sex and all that comes with sex”. I began retreating inwards. Deeply hurt and confused. The happier and more successful I became the more he was jealous. I used drugs to hide from myself. To numb myself. Before I knew, I was gone. I couldn’t leave him. I loved him. As much as the ex hurt me, I hurt him.

My first sexual experiences were with other girls of my own age. I had blacked out when I was 13 after drinking vodka, waking up in a car not knowing what the hell had happened and why the boys were staring. I vowed no man would ever take my virginity and took it myself later that year. Boys were often mean to me. I was raped at 17. A high school boyfriend mentally and physically abused me for two and half years then stalked me for the first six months after I entered into another relationship. This relationship was healthy. One of the best I have ever had. To this day, I have not been able to track him down to say thank you.

I don’t understand why chaos ebbs its way in when you least expect it to. It hits you in the face again, and, again and again.

Over the Christmas Holidays/break-down-days I watched Frida. I have watched it three times since. If Frida could keep going and keep producing art and keep loving all those around her regardless of her physical and mental pain I can too. She is my hero right now. A female addict artist heroine whom caused a flicker of recognition within, that I am not insane or bad, nor am I stupid.

This is the chaos that bounces people back into reality from make-belief.
It hurts occasionally, walking off the line.