I know that I just barely started this blog, and that two posts are measly in comparison to all the thoughts that I wish I could get down in an organized manner, but I have good news. I've been job searching for about six months and have just been hired.
My new job requires that I study for a state licensing exam before I can do anything, so last week I started cramming for my first exam in about a year! Also, at about the same time, I requested to set up and run a new Community Club over at EdenFantasys. In the next couple of days I will have committed to memory more facts than usual, and hopefully will be able to announce my new club.
Unfortunately, all this means that I will not be able to post much here in the next couple of weeks, until all the craziness in my life calms down a bit. I will make a point to get my next chapter of Cats and Cupids up, though here's a link to the first chapter if you missed that.
I'm excited, and a little frazzled with all the changes in my life in such a short period of time, but I thrive under pressure and am looking forward to the weeks ahead.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
I hate winter. I hate the cold, the snow, and all the shoveling. Winter does have some redeeming value, though. One of my favorite things about winter is a hot bowl of oatmeal. It's filling, warm, and reminds me of winter mornings at my grandparents. Oatmeal's drawback, in my opinion, is its lack of flavor. With a couple of simple ingredients and a couple extra minutes this recipe jazzes up plain oatmeal. If you're health conscious you'll know the benefits of both blueberries and almonds, but honestly, the flavor is the real selling point.
1 1/4 cup - water
1/2 cup - rolled oats
1/8 cup - organic dried blueberries
1/4 cup - sliced almonds
pinch of salt
The first step is to add the salt and the dried blueberries to the water and heat on a very low simmer for about five minutes. This step gives the blueberries a chance to rehydrate before the oats are added. The water will turn a deep almost purple shade of red.
After about five minutes increase the heat to bring the water to a boil, then add the oats. Don't use instant oats, the kind that microwaves to cooked in a minute. The kind that I'm using here cooks in about five minutes, but you should follow the cooking instructions on the package.
As the oatmeal cooks, it takes on a purple hue from the blueberries, which continue to plump up. When the oatmeal is fully cooked, take it off the heat and stir in the sliced almonds. I like the taste of the almonds, but they also serve to give some texture to the oatmeal.
You can add any toppings that you want from here. I chose to use some brown sugar and some unsweetened, unflavored almondmilk, as I am lactose intolerant. This recipe can also be changed by trading out the blueberries for raisins, dried cranberries or currants; or by switching out the almonds for another nut like walnuts or pecans. If you choose to omit the dried fruit, cut back the water to one cup.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Walking up four flights of stairs with her life in a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and her cat in a carrier tucked under her arm, Michele wondered how she had come to this.
“I’m going mad, Lucy” she muttered to her cat. A twitch of a cream-colored ear was her only response.
At the landing she paused to get her bearings. It had been almost fifteen years since she had last been here, a moody ten year old sent to visit her aunt as her parents settled the terms of their divorce. Not much about her aunt’s apartment building had changed since. Still impeccably clean, and yet it retained the smell of an old building.
Michele’s scuffed silver sneakers whispered almost silently over the tile of the foyer, the creak of her duffle was the loudest noise in the hallway as she approached apartment 47. The brass numbers seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the hallway. With a small, sad smile Michele ran her fingers over the brass. Her aunt had always taken such pride in her apartment.
The silvery jingle of keys seemed deafening in the near-silence that is unique to the early morning, and Michele checked the irrational urge to check over her shoulder. The key slipped into the lock and Michele slipped into the apartment she remembered from that wonderful summer.
It wasn’t that she’d had a rough childhood, she mused to herself, setting her duffle bag inside the bedroom door. The unhappiness in her youth came from her awareness that her parents couldn’t stand to be together, and when they were together, they argued. Spending the summer with an aunt she’d met a couple of times at family reunions was one of the best times of her young life. Weeks without arguments and recriminations flying over her head. Weeks of exploring the city, eating and cooking new types of food, of feeling welcomed. Michele shook her head, clearing the mist of memory out of her eyes.
Lucy had gotten out of her carrier, though she sat next to the fabric-lined wicker basket, tail wrapped neatly around her feet. Her sapphire blue eyes seemed to measure Michele as she wandered through the apartment, running her fingers over the faded green couch and the smooth dark wood of the mantle. As she stood in front of the fireplace, she realized how many of the pictures crowding the mantelpiece and the bookcase beyond were of that summer fifteen years before. She and her aunt at the museum, in the park, at the zoo, and on the beach filled almost all of the mismatched frames. The only other picture on the mantle was of a cream-colored fuzzball with brilliant sapphire eyes.
Her aunt had only rescued Lucy from a tree a few weeks before she was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a fatal cancer diagnosis that had her sending her new kitten to her closest relative, Michele.
At this point, Lucy sauntered up and wound her lithe body through and around Michele’s ankles.
Michele jolted. “Uh, Lucy? You nearly gave me a heart attack, I haven’t gotten used to this whole speaking with cats thing. And you promised to explain once we got here.”
The cat simply gave her a disdainful look.
First you’ll feed us, then we will sleep. I haven’t forgotten how many hours we’ve been travelling, even if you have.
Michele rolled her eyes. “Maybe there’s a reason why humans can’t understand cats. It’s very bad for the ego.” She prodded Lucy’s furred side with her toe. “I fully realize just how long we’ve been travelling, but you have to admit, this is something that I would stay up to hear.”
Lucy stretched long, her front claws catching on the nap of the oriental rug.
Food. Sleep. Explanations. In that order.
With a resigned sigh, Michele dug the fancy cat food out of the duffle in the bedroom, setting out the litter box in the bathroom where she splashed some water on her face. When Lucy was fed and had started washing herself, Michele cleaned up the small bowl she’d used for the cat’s food, and headed for bed.
She had brought very few possessions with her, but she put the few clothes and toiletries away, and then stripping off her dirty clothes, slid into bed.
Her dreams were erotic, chaotic, and vivid. A very tall man, well muscled and wearing little more than a white linen kilt stood before her, two large cream-colored wings furled at his back. His skin was a pale shade of rose that contrasted beautifully with his dark hair and eyes. He lifted a hand that was both large and gentle and brushed back the fringe of hair that fell over her face. Running diagonally across his chest was a leather strap, that was smooth and supple under her curious fingers.
“I’m glad I’ve found you” her dream man murmured, his deep voice wrapping around her, sending flashes of pleasure jolting through her. "I've been so lonely."
Michele found that one of her hands was closed around his bicep, the fingers of the other hand tracing over and over the leather strap. When she looked down she became aware that in her dream she was wearing what she had worn to bed, a pair of lacy red panties and nothing else. Her dream man’s hands echoed hers, one on her arm, the other tracing a diagonal line between her breasts and onto her stomach.
She shuddered in pleasure, pulling him closer, as her fingers strayed away from the strap, teasing circles around flat, dusky nipples. Her dream lover shuddered in response.
“Who are you?” she asked, inquisitive even in her sleep.
“I am to you what you are to me” he murmured cryptically, his fingers tracing their way closer to her nipples which were tightening in anticipation. “You can call me Aedan.” Before she could open her mouth to ask more, his finger tugged her nipples, causing her to moan with pleasure.
Michele realized that in her dream they were standing next to a bed, and turned to climb onto it, making sure to give her winged man a good look at how wet she was getting. As she went to turn around, she felt a hand in her hair, keeping her in place with her knees on the edge of the bed, ass in the air.
Aedan’s fingers slowly ran up and down the now drenched gusset of her panties, clearly outlining her labia.
With a jerk he pulled the panties tight between her ass cheeks, sending shock waves through her clitoris as the lacy fabric ground it against her pubic bone.
“Yessss” she moaned. His dark chuckle was her only response. The hand in her hair loosened, and Michele found herself flipped over onto her back. She watched as he slowly pulled the end of the leather strap free from a fastening behind his back. “My weapons” he murmured, as he let the pack fall off his back. His hands then went to his hips, as he slowly unwound the kilt, every move deliberate, his eyes held hers.
Michele’s hands fell to her own hips and she began pushing down the lace that was still tight to her clit. As her hands pushed the panties lower and lower, his shoved his kilt to the floor and quickly yanked the lace off. His hands then slowly, almost torturously so, ran back up the inside of her legs, stopping to caress circles in her ankles, behind her knees, then along the soft skin of her thighs.
“Please” she breathed, “oh, please.” In response, one warm thick finger flicked her clit. As her body shook from that one touch, he went wild. One hand focused on her clit; circling, pulling, flicking her closer and closer to a violent orgasm. The other hand played both with her hot, wet opening as well as the tight rosy pucker between her cheeks.
Michele’s head flung back as Aedan worked two thick fingers into her pussy, then screamed in orgasm as a third finger breached her sensitive ass. Her hands clenched convulsively, first on the sheets, then into her thighs, leaving small, red crescents behind as marks of her pleasure.
As she slowly wound down from her orgasm, Aedan gently pulled her hands away from her flesh, laving the marks with his tongue. Finally, finally with a kiss on each thigh, he gathered her up into his arms and moved them to the center of the bed.
Michele opened eyes still dreamy with sex and snuggled into the solid warmth of Aedan’s chest. He laid her back against the pillows then stretched his long body beside hers. Michele tucked one foot between his calves and fitted her ass against his groin. With her other leg hooked over the top of his, she reached down and rubbed the head of his now rock hard penis against her wetness. Aedan’s hand covered hers, and together they guided him into her.
As they slowly rocked and circled their hips, Michele guided Aedan’s hands over her nipples, across her stomach, and down to circle her clit. After her fast hard orgasm from his hands alone, Michele was willing to let Aedan control the pace. Though the build-up was long and slow, Michele was sent into convulsions again as she was wracked with another strong orgasm. Aedan controlling her hands, she clenched her fingernails into his buttocks, pulling him tighter into her as he reached the point of no return and joined her in orgasm.
Wrapped in one another and covered by one of his wings, they rested. Slowly the scene dissolved into a silver mist, Aedan’s arms around her losing their solidness, and Michele awoke.
Bright daylight was streaming across the floor, highlighting the cat that sat primly on the rug in front of the bed.
You were moaning in your sleep.
Michele blushed, even though the details of the dream were fading. There was something mortifying about having her cat tell her that she was loud, even when she was asleep.
“I’ll get breakfast in a minute.”