Lately, I’ve been thinking quite a lot about home – what it means, where it is, what it feels like to be at home in my skin, in my heart, in my bones.

Is home a place, a virtual space, a clan, a person, a love?

With each passing year and anniversary, I reflect on this virtual home, the home of my creativity, my desire, my sexual soul. The opportunity this space has opened up, the freedom to express and document my passions and longings, the connections and friendships born from the pen and the lens, they have been gifts from the gods.

As I positioned myself against the familiar cool stucco to capture these images, the afternoon a mere glowing hint behind me, I mused on another gift, the bricks and mortar I call my home. The offerings it has provided me over time have been overwhelming – light so stark and strong my skin magically transformed into alabaster, shadows so rich and luxurious and deep I could submerge myself in midnight’s eroticism and mystery, expanses, alcoves and recesses solid yet mutable, the changing sets of my stage.

In many ways, Love Hate Sex Cake is also an ode to this place. While I have been grateful for the spaces I have encountered and captured during my travels, it is my own home that has posed the hardest questions and creative challenges. Along with capturing the feeling, the desire, the moment, I have fixed in my memory – and hopefully yours – this haven, this playhouse.

I know I’m not alone in this reflection. So many of us have spent a good part of the last two years working and living and creating and playing at home as a result of this heartbreaking pandemic – if we were lucky. Our bedrooms, living rooms, studies and kitchens have virtually welcomed in friends and colleagues and strangers and lovers; they have told the tale of our joys and anxieties and book collections. And for me, with you, they have told the ongoing story of my body, clothed and bare and punctuated with silks and laces, of my passion, naked and raw and ever-present, of my creativity, vision and resilience.

I can’t begin to express how your eye and ear and communion with my home, in every sense, have enriched and fuelled my drive and need to share. I can’t begin to express the gratitude I feel for your generosity, engagement and friendship. Even though my presence is infrequent (or frequently infrequent…), I am still here. If you want a little more of me, you can find me on Twitter where I continue to post my erotic imagery and thoughts, where I marvel at the voices, words, photography and imagery of others, creativities and expressions that invigorate, inspire and incite the fire in my own burning belly and molten sex.

I hope you can join me there, just as I hope you can continue to join me here.

Thank you for helping me make this a truly cherished and beloved home.

~ Minx x

Each passing year finds me surprised – often happily – that my online persona and this virtual space continue to live and breathe and provide me with a haven to lust and write, to photograph and create.

While my presence here on Love Hate Sex Cake has been all the more limited since this heartbreaking pandemic has radically changed our lives and my promises for a regular return haven’t materialised, I cherish this space quite unlike any other. It is my home. The home of my creativity, my desire, my sexual soul. It is, and forever will be, the embodiment of the freedom and opportunity to express my longings and passions, to document my femininity, sexuality and experiences, to share the light and the shadow that have begged to be captured.

In the same vein as the last few years, I have been uncertain about marking the passing of time here. Even though I initially questioned my motivations, I heeded the call to celebrate my 11th year because this number has always been a lucky one for me and this post is my small way of sending my heartfelt thanks and gratitude to you all for your unerring and often overwhelmingly vocal encouragement and support.

This afternoon as I sat to gather my thoughts for this post, I recalled my nervousness as I published the first post on the original incarnation of this blog back in 2009. I wondered if my voice would be found in what already felt like a crowded space of dizzyingly talented erotica writers. I wondered if my vignettes would pique the interest of those I admired. I wondered if I would connect with new and like minds.

Little did I know then that my lens, rather than my pen, would be my strongest and most expressive tool. Little did I know then that this site would become the catalyst and means for some of the most meaningful relationships of my life. Little did I know then that I’d be given the gift of charting my passion, my longing, my vision, my resilience, my body, over time.

My desire and drive to create are as strong now as they were on that first day. Even though life and professional commitments invariably get in the way, I am here; I am out there. Of late, I have been posting my erotic imagery and thoughts on Twitter. Now more than ever, I need the interaction, connection and communion found there. These voices, their words, the photography and imagery, fuel the fire in my already burning belly (and molten sex). They inspire, they soothe, they incite. They make me feel alive.

I hope in my own small and unique way, I have done the same for you. I hope you have found a little inspiration or solace here. I hope you have found words and imagery that speak to your own hunger and yearning. I hope you have found a space you can also call your home.

Be well and stay safe.

~ Minx x

Year 49
No greater moment to reach out
To taste and imbibe
The sensual and wanton divine

Десет. Dix. Dieci.

Ten.

I can barely believe a decade has passed by; a decade that has seen me bare so much of my body, desire and sexual soul.

In keeping with the last few years, I’ve been struggling to find good reason to mark and celebrate this virtual home’s beginnings since it has become such a neglected place of late. My time, energy and creativity have been channelled into my professional life, into work that nourishes and compels me to reach for new heights.  

While that sphere has overwhelmed my drive in some respects, in others it has intensified my urge to write and photograph, to document my desire and sexuality, to keep alive the woman of passion and sensuality, the woman of creative vision, the woman tenacious and resilient, the woman in word and image, the woman of dark and light.

In the shadows, I continue to create. Not with the regularity that embodied (quite literally) the early years of this site, but with occasional and considered bursts that allow me to focus on capturing the essence of time, of space, of desire, of the woman in her (increasingly fiery and ravenous) middle age.

So, here I am, taking a moment to observe the birth – as well as my continual rebirth – through this lovingly and lustfully created Love Hate Sex Cake. In that commemoration, there is also and always my debt and heartfelt gratitude to you – my friends and readers – for your unerring support, encouragement and communion with my work. More than simply reading and gazing, you have encouraged me to push my boundaries, to hone my craft, to sigh and spill my lust, to bare not just so much, but more… All.  

~ Minx x

PS If you’re ever in the mood for more regular erotic offerings, you can find me on Twitter…

Tell me, is this the arrangement
you had in mind when you
offered me a seat?

Once the night blankets the city, my thoughts turn to you.

My body turns to you.

Its coordinates set to yearn for your touch. Its curves reaching through these foreign streets and spaces for your north, your heat, your need.

It is here I crave you most.

In this room, in these clandestine spaces on high, the cityscape framed in glass cool, clear and brazen.

It is now I need you most.

Within these four walls, the ultimate stage for our fusion, for the possession of this flesh as you press my rose-peaked breasts into our grinding reflection, your thick shaft dripping with a hunger at one with the molten heat between my thighs, and our eyes searching, searching, between each furious and animal thrust, for the veiled and desiring gazes that will feast on the vision, our unbridled exhibition.

Tell me…

Do you still dream about the melding of our flesh?

Do you crave the possession of my soft and yielding need by your hard and gleaming hunger?

Do you ache for a taste of the wanton desires that melt my sweet cunt, that drench the nylon and lace?

She shields herself, concealing from view the succulence owned and possessed by him, the naked and molten epicentre of the desire that exists for his eyes only.

As she poses and revels in the display of her scantily-clad form to the unseen eyes beyond the picture window, the wetness flows white-hot as she recalls an altogether different image – the photograph created for his carnal and bespoke tastes of her rear encased in the same diaphanous mesh, the suspender straps draw tight, their lines the ideal frame for the sweet cunt sodden with wanton need for the grip of his hands, the power of his thrusts, the seed buried deep by his thick hard perfecting flesh.

My body refuses to forget the flavour of your carnality, the addictive high of your sensual pleasure.