Ladywood

I don’t even want to have kids, but there is something immeasurably sexy about a guy who’s good to them.

I just saw a dude walking down the hall of my office holding hands with a toddler, and I wanted to take that man home and do unspeakable things to him.

It might not even have been his kid. He could’ve been a criminal!

No matter.* Sexy as hell.

*OK, yeah, if it turned out he was a criminal, that would put a damper on my ladywood. But I’m pretty sure the kid was approved to be in his company, so I would like to be naked with this gentleman in the near future.

Hair Smuttery

I don’t know how men manage to get haircuts without getting visibly aroused. I got mine cut today, and noticed I get minor ladywood when someone — man or woman — repeatedly runs their hands through my hair or tugs it a bit. It all feels really lovely in the biblical sense.

Men must be walking around the Hair Cuttery at half-staff.

Holy shit… Is THAT why they make those haircut capes so long?! Well played, styling industry. Well played.

Well. Now I have to write an erotic novel.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you serious?

Sasha Grey Book Features Erotic Sex Scenes: Read An Excerpt From The Juliette Society

Choice quote: “I turn on my side to accommodate him, bending the top leg at the knee, like a dancer doing the Can-Can, to give him a clear view of the runway as his craft comes into land.”

The runway? His CRAFT? Like what, a Boning 747? *headdesk* I gotta start writing porn.

P.S. Calling your vagina “my sex” may be the worst euphemism ever. I’d be happier with “pussy.” “Axe wound.” “Spirit cave.” Whatever. I’m aware this is purely my own hangup, but every time I see “my sex,” my blood is forced back to my brain so I can think, “I’m sorry, your WHAT now? You mean your vagina? OK, excellent, carry on.” I can’t get ladywood from your story if you insist on calling it “my sex.”