Their phone torches pinged off the branches, sometimes finding the blackness of the voids in between. They picked their way through the gravestones, the edges(read more…)
There’s something about every room I wander into that excites me, makes me aroused, just as if the softest of paintbrushes was running over my flesh, brushing the tips of my nipples with its tender sable. I have to slip my hand beneath my top and touch them through my bra to check, the feeling is so convincing. There they are, erect and willing me into each room, this feeling of arousal spreading, brushing my belly into knots and transferring the feeling between my legs as I realise what it is that affects me so: it is the smell of you.
I love the readers of my blog, I really do. Without you, I would be throwing my naughty words out into the ether and hearing(read more…)
I find that I am much happier and able to communicate better when I feel that I’m writing as Ina than I am when writing under my ‘other name’. It’s a weird piece of mindset that I feel stronger as a writer as Ina, less likely to care if I have a bad review (although don’t get me wrong, that’s still pretty horrible), and, most importantly, I feel more able to write as my authentic self using a name I wasn’t born with, married into, or adopted in any other way. What do I mean by that? I simply mean that, as Ina, I feel free to just… create. And to create my way.