So, I’m going to aim for a column type vibe on the blog, starting with sex scene sundays. Take a look at my pinterest boards, particularly the sex scene sundays board and the writing prompt board. Between the two, I pick a guy (or gal) and a few words to spike my productivity. We are overriding logic and thought here.

I am super into Jamie Dornan these days so he’s my man. That’s step one. Then I took a quick look at my writing prompt board and chose three words. I set my timer for five minutes and boom—sped along the keyboard.

This is a ROUGH sketch, a practice, a writing exercise in exactly the same way that daily pull-ups are an exercise. The more consistent you are, the stronger you get, whatever craft you choose to master.

Okay, here you go, happy reading and do feel free to join me and post your own sunday sex scene!

Prompt: exhaustion + apartment building + photograph.

He always said he was tired. Exhausted. He stopped calling and texting. But then we ran into each other. Literally bumped into each other along the corridor of that gargantuan apartment building along the river. we’d both been invited to the same party, hosted by that photographer who loved getting his guests drunk and persuading them to take off their clothes for the camera. an old SLR we were told, nobody wanted their picture on the internet. or everybody did but hated admitting it and the photog did not want to be sued. sue each other over libel he always joked. i’m just here to make art. the parties went on for hours. days sometimes. enough time for the photog assistant, this pixie-cutted girl from scotland i think, to develop the photographs and hang them on clotheslines made from old telephone wires that criss-crossed the loft. the apartment itself was vast and mostly empty with the sorts of industrial textures like rust, concrete, raw wood and steel that make the most die-hard brooklyn hipsters jizz their boxers. a couple girls rolled around on the white backdrop paper for the camera. they didn’t need to be coaxed at all. exhibitionism was like a plague. they documented the whole ordeal on their phones, no doubt posting to their various media sites. other girls pretended not to be interested. guys snapped more pictures on their phones. spank banks one and all. James looked at me, raised a brow. Fuck you, i said. you can’t even be bothered to text me a reply when i ask you for a drink. I’m an asshole he said. you’re beautiful. come on. let’s do this while we’re young. fuck off. i turned away from him as he reached his fingers to the snap on his jeans. i poured myself a bourbon with a splash of bitters. two hunks of ice. a Morello cherry. one large gulp. i turned to look at James. he sat there on a wooden crate in his underwear smoking a cigarette while the photog snapped away. James looked like an angel of sex delivered to earth in a gossamer spaceship. his looks moved me, caused a throb in my cunt and i hated it. i took another swallow of my drink and walked back into the kitchen area. i would fill a bowl with nuts, olives. I’d find a cookbook and peruse it. anything to keep me busy and my eyes and mind off James, the dick.

For this prompt I never made it to the sex, but if this scene gains traction in my mind, I just might.