Author: Cheeky Minx
I am – and forever will be – a creature born in the last throes, at the close of days, weeks, months of blistering fire and overwhelming heat.
I am summer’s love child.
With the flavour of the sun in my flesh, with the dawn and dusk indelibly etched on my skin, with its wanton passion, its sensual caress in the curve of my hip, in the breath between my lips, with its sultry nights and lustful promises deep in my bones, flowing through my veins.
Imagine taking a chance – risking it all – on a woman like me.
A woman whose desire for you burns through the years, reduces thousands of miles to inches with the sultry utterance of your name.
A woman whose delicate frame arcs as your breath meets her skin, whose intimate flesh gleams with sensual hunger and carnal yearning as you bring her to life each day with your dawn kiss.
A woman who aches for the man in his entirety, who longs for his curiosity, the mystery, the knowing, the complexity, the mess, their fusion and untamed, erotic depths.
I wonder if your imaginings would dare conjure such a creature, if they would scream for fantasy to give birth to a new reality, if they would allow time and space and fate and fortune to bend, break, meet.
If they could inspire your hands to reach out, to gift her with the touch you can no longer bear to keep to yourself.
Do you know or even sense that I can think of little else?
Can you feel the way my body aches at the mere suggestion of your naked flesh, nothing between us, the promise of our fusion, the primal hunger for your seed filling my cunt, dripping from my womb, streaked hotly across my lips and tongue and blushing skin?
Do you know or even sense how I crave you and this possession as no other?
Can you see the need that wrenches me from the peace of my sleep and dreaming, forcing me to prematurely greet the day, spreading my thighs, arching my back, leading my hands to impatiently and crudely tug at the satins, the silks, the laces, my bare need exposed, my luscious sex gaping, desperate for the completing thrust of your hard, thick cock?
Do you know or even sense that this one thought, these nine words, have overtaken my erotic imagination and yearning so absolutely?
Four short weeks ago, I celebrated seven years of documenting my desire and sexuality on Love Hate Sex Cake, revealing the crossroads at which I find myself.
Even as I am struggling against a creative seven-year itch, I have somehow found myself among the most gloriously talented company of sex bloggers, erotica writers and sensual and sinful photographers on the list of the Top 100 Sex Bloggers 2016.
Compiled for the second consecutive year by the tireless, generous and talented Molly Moore from Molly’s Daily Kiss (and her partner in life and delicious D/s crime, Signs from This D/s Life), I feel my inclusion once again at a number I can’t help but associate with Coco Chanel and heady, verdant scents – N°19 – is all the more humbling, all the more poignant at the end of a less than productive year.
I can only thank Molly, Signs and each and every one of you for taking the time to generously commune, engage, nominate, comment and share with me your thoughts. Your unwavering belief in my words and photography means the (virtual) world to me.
On the subject of words and imagery, head over to Molly’s Daily Kiss to view the entire list and revel in the achievements of those we admire and adore and delight in the discovery of the new talents, faces and voices we are all sure to love.
Yesterday was something of an oddity for me.
For the first time since the inception of Love Hate Sex Cake seven years ago, I genuinely didn’t feel its anniversary worth marking or celebrating. Lately, I’ve been musing about its quality, its purpose, my creative and sexual drive, and whether this site will be anything more than the repository of the yearning I feel each and every day. Much like the woman before you. A body that houses a craving for more – for intimacy, connection, love and passion, for the erotic fusion of mind, body and soul.
And yet here I am observing its beginnings once again, but mostly to extend my heartfelt thanks and gratitude for your unerring support and your communion with the words and imagery during a year of sporadic posting and diminished time and inspiration. Language will never quite express how much it means to me. The ability to touch, to inspire, to soothe, to excite, through whispers and cries, through pixels and light, through shadow and colour and monochrome tones is one I will never take for granted.