Woody Allen once said that sex was the most fun he'd ever had without laughing. But laughing and sex are not mutually exclusive. Horniness brings on undignified behaviour, and it is all the more fun if we are in on the joke. This blog is a celebration of the funny side of sex and the sexy side of humour. As an author of erotic stories I like to show that sex is more fun when it is playful and silly.
You can find my humorous erotic ebooks on I-Tunes, Kobo, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords. They are always free!!!
Sunday, October 2, 2011
A Snogger Prepares : A Sunday Snog
The Sunday Snog is an institution created by Victoria Blisse. The idea is to post a snogging scene from one of your books (or create a new one). For more information check out her blog. Today's snog is an original and a quickie.
A Snogger Prepares
I was helping Natasha to learn her lines. Our performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream, in which she was Titania and I was Bottom, was only a week away.
We were sitting on a bench at the seaside amidst the couples eating fish and chips. Gulls circled above us sometimes swooping down to steal a chip.
"Oh, my God!" cried Natasha. "There's my ex-boyfriend and he's looking straight at us."
"That tall handsome brooding fellow with the bright yellow cravat?" I asked.
"Bastard!" she spat.
Natasha was one of the sexiest girls I'd ever known. All the guys in our acting troupe worshipped her. And all of us knew she was totally out of our league.
"I've got to make him jealous," she said, under her breath. "It would kill me if he thought I wasn't having more fun without him. Kiss me!"
"What?" I queried.
"You're an actor, aren't you?" she hissed, throwing her arms around me and pressing her lips to mine.
My heart pounded in my chest at the excitement of having her gorgeous face pressed against mine. Her lips were soft and warm against my own.
I was damned if I wasn't going to take full advantage of this opportunity. I lay back on the bench and pulled her on top of me, parting my thighs and grabbing her round soft butt cheeks. Her soft braless breasts were squashed against my t-shirt clad chest. I opened my mouth and insinuated my tongue into hers.
After a while she pulled herself away and sat back up. The guy was gone.
"Wow!" she exclaimed, re-adjusting her clothing. "Talk about method acting! You even had a boner!"
"Believe me, Natasha," I told her with a smile. "Stanislavski had nothing to do with that."
"Really?" she asked, with a cheeky smile and a raised eyebrow.
The opening night of our relationship took place that evening at her digs and it promises to run longer than Phantom of the Opera.