Saturday, October 31, 2015


I reached to unbutton the three buttons at the back of my blouse.
“Don’t. I’ll do that.”
I stood there, captivated, as he unveiled his splendid body. How could anyone look so extraordinary?
My mouth ached for his long, hard cock, but his movements were precise, deliberate, and mesmerizing. His body was his instrument and he knew how to play it. He tantalized me.
He moved to me and took the pins out of my hair. As it fell to my shoulders, it seemed to have grown nerve endings.
I was bad. I threw my arms around his waist and pulled him against me. He was hard against my stomach. His mouth met mine. Our tongues probed. My God, his body felt even more magnificent than it looked. Slender but muscular, athletic, it enveloped me, wrapped me in everything I’d ever dreamed of being wrapped in.
There was something very Lady Chatterley about standing there, formally dressed, diamonds in my ears, while a tall, handsome, naked, young man let his hands roam over my body.
He stood behind me, pressed himself against me. It turned me on as much as it had the first time he did it.
“The plane,” I whispered.
“Do you think I could have done this?” He slid his hands over my hips and down until they cupped my pussy. Through the fabric, fingers like I like them, spread my lips and fumbled and caressed at the same time. There was something about not knowing exactly where the next touch was going to come that sent me racing down that home stretch.
I was barely conscious as Miguel kissed my neck, my ear lobe. Every cell in my body started to scream.
It happened. I came again.
Miguel held me as I moaned and shuddered in his arms.
When I could speak, “Am I still alive?”
“I promised I would tell you if you were dead.”
He unbuttoned my blouse. I shivered. He lifted my arms above my head and removed my blouse. As he pressed his lips to my neck, I stepped back against him.
“No.” He slid off my skirt, revealed me in my peach-colored silk bra and panties and my strappy heels. He went down on one knee in front of me, the charmingest of Prince Charmings, unbuckled first one shoe, then the other, and removed them. I stretched my hand out to caress his hair.
“I’ll tell you when I want you to do something.”
I dropped my hands to my side as he slid his hands up the backs of my legs, over my ass, and into the back of my panties. On both knees now, he bent his head forward. I don’t know which turned me on more: his touch or the anticipation of his touch. Oh, no, my God, it was his touch.
He pulled the back of my panties up so that only silk covered my pussy, and the blend of silk and tongue and his wetness and my wetness – it felt too good. Too good. I was about to scream and come and explode into a thousand pieces.
My hands grabbed my breasts, because I needed something to hold onto. I tried to pull away, but Miguel’s fingers spread across my back and pressed me closer into his mouth. I couldn’t stop myself and moaned.
He stood and covered my mouth with his, caught my moan, let me taste myself on his tongue and his lips. He relaxed his hands against my back – and had to catch me.
He led me to the bed.
One arm around my shoulders, he threw back the covers. His other hand still in the small of my back, Miguel pushed me down on the bed, and threw himself naked and demanding on top of me, stormed the flimsy barricade of my panties.
I threw back my head and moaned. “Oh, my God, what are you doing to me?”
“Anything I want. I am doing everything I want to do, have dreamed about doing. Bite my lip,” he leaned down and whispered in my ear.
“Fuck me, Miguel.”
He shook his head. “What did I tell you to do?”
I took his soft lower lip between my teeth and bit and sucked. He curled his pelvis, forced my thighs up and farther apart, as he rubbed his long cock back and forth across my clit.
I had to let go of his lip to scream.
He slapped me lightly on my silk-covered ass, fell onto his back, breathed hard, and muttered, “Terrible economy, global warming, deforestation of Brazil. I am so turned on!”
I lay next to him, tried to catch my breath. “Is there anything I can do?”
He turned his head to look at me. “There are many things you will do. But not at the moment. On the contrary, if you breathe on me, it will all be over.”
“I want you to fuck me.” I swung my left leg over his hips. I pulled my panties aside, found I could not believe how long it took for him to enter me.
“Mare de Déu, come here.” He pulled me down on top of him and grabbed me by the ass.
“This is all your fault.” He plunged deep and hard for one – two – three strokes, until it was his turn to moan and shudder.
The feel of him as he came, squirted hard inside me, took me over the top for a second, no, a third, no, I didn’t know how many times. I reared up for the briefest moment, collapsed on top of him, reveled in my spasms meeting his.
Miguel said something in Catalan.
“Mmmm, I didn’t get that.”
Again he said something in Catalan … laughed at himself. “What I said first was ‘oh, baby, that was incredible’. When I tried to tell you in English what I’d said, all I could think to say was, ‘I don’t speak English any more’. Wow. I guess it’s true what they say, my brain is gone.”
I shifted my weight, prepared to stand, but Miguel stopped me. “Don’t. We must stay like this.”
“I’m so wet ...”
“Yes, I am aware of that. Don’t apologize. Don’t feel ... oh, there’s a word for it. It’ll come to me.”
“No, that’s not quite it, but it’ll do.” He shuddered for a moment with an aftershock. When under control, he said, “I can’t believe I’m inside you. ‘Ashamed’ – that’s the word I was trying to remember.”
I squeezed the muscles of my vagina as tightly as I could and moved slowly up and down, stroking his still-hard cock. “Me very not ashamed. How is it possible, Miguel, that I want you as much as I ever wanted you? I can’t believe the way you make me feel.”

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

AMAZON has joined Catfishers in driving me crazy ...

This is the correct link to "I CANNES" at Amazon:

5.0 out of 5 starsThis Book Was Superb, Steamy, and Thrilling Exotic Drama That Will Keep You Wanting More !!!
ByJosh Levingston on September 14, 2015
Format: Kindle Edition
I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed this book. No, I loved this book. Miguel’s persistent pursuit of a woman who thinks she is too old for him and not in his league did my heart good. I want to believe there are other men like this in the world and certainly cannot blame Lucy for falling head over heels in love with him. There is also an authenticity to these characters that made me root for them, want everything to turn out well. I loved Sofia, the Italian Princess and Lucy’s best friend, as well as the insider’s look at the Cannes Film Festival – which has always fascinated me. The settings are all cosmopolitan and exotic from the Barcelona airport to a restaurant in a vineyard in Genova, Italy. As for the sex scenes: perfect, explicit but evocative – and inspiring.

As for the fucking Catfishers:

I am not looking for a relationship.

I will not buy you a new computer.

I don't care how much your hospital bills are.

I don't even care that God told you he loves me.


Tuesday, October 27, 2015

All about "I CANNES" and why you should read it and help these people live ...

"I CANNES" is, basically, a true story. Names changed to protect the decadent sort of thing. In fact, I kept HIS real first name because the book would not have worked if I had changed it. The wailing from the Costa Brava has subsided to a dull roar regarding this particular issue but, jeez, when you're described as "the beautiful boy" and your sexual expertise lovingly portrayed, how upset can you be? I decided to segue from screenwriting to "fiction" when two events coincided. First, I found a romance novel in the pocket of the seat in front of me on a flight to Barcelona. I got about ten pages into this - the first one I'd ever read - and thought, "I could write this." I got off the plane, rented my car, and picked up my long-time, much younger, very beautiful lover in Girona, Catalunya, to drive to the Cannes Film Festival. We had a splendid time. But I got home to an e-mail which started, "Dear Miss Osment, I am your lover's wife ..." Miguel had never told me he had a wife but he'd never told me he didn't have a wife. "Wives" were irrelevant to our inability to stay out of bed with each other. Nonetheless, I was taken aback. I couldn't even wrap my brain around a wife. For one thing, I'd made many visits to his apartment in Girona and never seen the slightest hint of a wife. For another thing, he remembered. We were together for years and he would remind me of things I'd said on our first encounter. He seemed devoted. I mean, wife? How could he have a wife? A wife, by the way, who, apparently, had no hint of me until many years into our relationship. The e-mails from the wife - to which I did not respond (did a lot of calling him and ranting and raving) - focused on two issues. First, our relationship put his health in danger. Second, she demanded to know everything we'd done together. Every single thing. So, on the one hand, I have "I could write this; and, on the other hand, I have "I must know everything you did together. I clapped those two hands together and wrote "I CANNES." I threw in some of my friends because I have fascinating, wonderful friends, and I wrote a book which is 5-star rated, and which one reviewer said "Puts 50 Shades of Grey to shame." I had so much fun writing "I CANNES" that I wrote a sequel, "SKETCHES OF SPAIN," which is mostly unadulterated fiction. I want to stop talking about these books and share a fairly lengthy excerpt with you:

Somewhere around ten that evening, I decided air would be a good idea. We were taking a little break. Miguel burrowed through the issues he’d missed of Diari di Girona, the local newspaper. I might walk for a block or two.
Best laid plans: no sooner were the words, “I need air,” out of my mouth than Miguel stood, found his jeans, and pulled them on. He opened a closet, threw me a pair of blue draw-string pants, and disappeared from the room.
By the time I had the pants on, he reappeared, wearing the black leather The Wild One jacket he’d worn in the delicious picture I had googled. Shirtless. Heavy boots. A dark red helmet on his head. I’d seen him like this in lives before – ruthless and fearless, armed and ready for battle.
He carried a second helmet and a brown bomber jacket. He plopped the helmet on my head and held out the jacket for me to slip into. We were both to be shirtless on this adventure.
He took my hand, led me out of the apartment, and into the elevator. “You know, don’t you, that your arms go around my waist and that is the only place they go.”
I nodded. It was the first thing he’d said since he had gotten out of bed.
After a second, he added, “And don’t think that’s my standard speech I give every girl who rides on my bike. I have never before needed to say it.”
What, I wondered, was wrong with the women of Catalunya?

When he piloted the big Indian to the parking structure’s exit, we discovered it had just stopped raining.
“Great.” Miguel stroked my thigh. “Well, what’s the worst that can happen?”
He gunned it and pulled out into the street.
The notion I rode behind a suicidal non-Spaniard dissipated as street after empty street rolled away beneath our tires. The vibration blended our bodies into one.
We left the city behind us. The streets got smaller until he pulled into the driveway behind a house made from natural boulders mortared together.
He gave me his hand to help me off, pulled me to him. “I’ve been thinking of nothing but your breasts.” He unzipped my jacket to kiss my right breast.
He left it unzipped as he climbed off and took me by the hand, led me around the house to the shore of the Mediterranean. This darkened house sat on the sand facing the sea, a boathouse, a dock. “We’re doing something crazy, but we’re making one of my fantasies come true.”
To my surprise, because I’d made my peace with the fact that this man was out of his mind and capable of anything, he used a key to unlock the boathouse rather than break the door down.
A flick of a switch revealed a gorgeous and impressive sailboat – thirty feet long, I’d learn, white with navy rigging. Miguel opened the door to the ocean before he jumped onto the boat. He held his hand out for my helmet and stowed both helmets and his boots.
“We’re going sailing? At midnight?”
He looked up from whatever the hell he was doing with something. “It’s just after eleven. There’s a full moon. I know the waters around here and we won’t go far. I want to be out of sight of the house and fuck you while the waves rock us. Come on board.”
Easier said than done with my knees about to buckle under me.
“You know, the waves are rocking the boat here in the boathouse,” I pointed out.
“You wanted air.”

Miguel sailed us out onto the Med. The night ticked the sultry box and Miguel abandoned his jacket. Sails set, he turned to me. “I need you naked. Now would be good.”
Yeah, I thought about refusing, but then realized there was no way Lucy Major was about to get naked on a sailboat on the Mediterranean with the most beautiful man ever made. It could not be happening. As long as I was fantasizing, I may as well make it a good one. I shed Miguel’s jacket and his blue pants, stood in front of him. “Now what?”
“Fuck, you look like a goddess.”
I pointed to the single white star at the head of the mainsail. “Is that the star you steer her by?”
“God, you fucking glow in this moonlight. No. That’s the star of Catalan independence.”
He sat back with the tiller in his hand. “I don’t have to explain to you it’s those stars you steer by, do I?” He pointed skyward.
The astrophysicist in me awoke. “How apologetic are you feeling?”
“Whatever I have screwed up is entirely due to the fact that I am overwhelmed by your beauty and no longer have any blood flowing to my brain.”
“I won’t make you grovel because I don’t give a flying fuck that you so insulted me. All I want is for you to throw out an anchor, throw a blanket on the deck, and fuck me.”
“What don’t I know?”
“You’re missing the point, boy.”
“I feel like we haven’t had sex in a month!”
“Two hours at the most, Llucia.”
“Miguel, you put me on a motorcycle and took me to a boat and now I’m naked in the moonlight on the Mediterranean. Somebody has to fuck me and fuck me now!”
“You know there’s a bed – ”
“Blanket under stars, Dr. Velasquez. Wind and waves. You in me. Hurry.”
“I can do that.”
“Can you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Will you?”
“Don’t go away.” He disappeared below to return with a blanket.
The blanket barely hit the deck before I had spread-eagled myself in the middle of it.
“Oh, God, realities are crashing together in my head. But I want to fuck you. I want the waves and the stars and fucking you.” He kicked off his jeans. “We can work this out.”
He threw himself on top of me, bucked his pelvis to drive his dick inside me. “You want me to fuck you like this, baby?”
“Oh, yeah, do me like that. Nothing has ever felt the way your cock feels inside me. How is that? What is that? It’s so much more.”
“I know. I know what you mean. It can’t be real. This can’t be happening.” Miguel’s cock was making me come non-stop.
“Are you going to come? Are you going to shoot inside me?”
“I want to. You have no idea how much I want to, but I can’t. I’m hanging on by my teeth here. I have to get us home alive somehow.”
“Will you let me lick my juices off your cock?”
“Don’t be too good at it, okay?”
Under stars shining from millions of miles away.
When I had come as much as a woman can come, and he had taken himself to the brink so often that his teeth chattered, we lay together side by side, and stared up at those stars.
“Are those the stars you stand against, Lucy Star-Defier? If they are, the moon’s on your side; its light sweeps so many of them away.”
A light breeze blew off the Med; the night caressed us.
Miguel sat up. “Time to break this spell and head home.”

That was my work of art night.

You like the pictures of the fabulous Vittoria? She inspired "Sofia" in "I CANNES"

Set your clock for 3 am Eastern time and snag a free Kindle copy of "I CANNES". Available through October 31st.…/…/B0147D73QO/
5.0 out of 5 starsThis Book Was Superb, Steamy, and Thrilling Exotic Drama That Will Keep You Wanting More !!!
ByJosh Levingston on September 14, 2015
Format: Kindle Edition
I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed this book. No, I loved this book. Miguel’s persistent pursuit of a woman who thinks she is too old for him and not in his league did my heart good. I want to believe there are other men like this in the world and certainly cannot blame Lucy for falling head over heels in love with him. There is also an authenticity to these characters that made me root for them, want everything to turn out well. I loved Sofia, the Italian Princess and Lucy’s best friend, as well as the insider’s look at the Cannes Film Festival – which has always fascinated me. The settings are all cosmopolitan and exotic from the Barcelona airport to a restaurant in a vineyard in Genova, Italy. As for the sex scenes: perfect, explicit but evocative – and inspiring.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

And, today, we go fabulous...


Vittoria Colonna as Eva Serpenta, singing hostess and emcee

Chantel Durelli as Chantel Mermaid

Behind the Scenes

Chantel Mermaid and Milosz Karubin as Neptune Milosz 

They've been among us for years. Iridescence: A Mermaid Tribe is a tribe of performers, swimmers, idealists, activists, silly mirth-makers and humans who have “MerTheatre” as a platform upon which to infuse the ideas of ocean conservation, humanitarianism and living symbiotically with our planet. Featuring performers Chantel Durelli as Chantel Mermaid, Milosz Karubin as Neptune Milosz, Vittoria Colonna as Eva Serpenta, Amy Priscilla Millan as Millan Mermaid, Faeryn Rose as Faeryn Mermaid, Erika Tai as Tai Mermaid and models Kortney Kennedy as the shy helmet crab and Christine Geasy as the girl with legs.
photography by Star Foreman.

Monday, October 19, 2015



Justin Trudeau Headed for Victory in Canada, National Broadcaster Projects

Justin Trudeau of the Liberal Party at a campaign rally this month. CreditChris Wattie/Reuters
OTTAWA — The nine-year reign of Prime Minister Stephen Harper and his Conservative Party came to a sudden and stunning end on Monday night at the hands of Justin Trudeau, the young leader of the Liberal Party, according to projections by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and other networks.
Following a Liberal sweep of the Atlantic Provinces and the arrival of the first results from much of the rest of the country, the networks projected a Liberal government. The upset victory occurred 47 years after Mr. Trudeau's father, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, swept to power.
If the projections are correct, Justin Trudeau, who will be 44 on Christmas Day, will become Canada’s second-youngest prime minister.Following a Liberal sweep of the Atlantic provinces and the arrival of the first results from much of the rest of the country, the networks projected a Liberal government.
While the Liberal Party had emerged on top in several polls over the past week, its lead was short of conclusive. And Mr. Trudeau lacked the glamorous brio of his father. There was no ambiguity, however, in the first results from Monday’s vote. The party won or was leading in all but one of the Atlantic provinces’ 32 electoral districts. It captured more than 60 percent of the popular vote in the region, an exceptionally high level in a national election.
Dominic LeBlanc, a prominent Liberal member of Parliament who was handily re-elected in New Brunswick, attributed the party’s success, after years in the political wilderness, to Mr. Trudeau, who became the party’s leader in 2013.
“I hope what this tells us is Canadians across the country have responded positively to Mr. Trudeau’s positive message,” he told the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.
As votes were being counted in Ontario and Quebec, the provinces that account for about two thirds of Canada’s population, the extent of the Liberals’ win was still not fully clear. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation said it could not project if the Liberals will hold a voting majority in the next House of Commons, which requires 170 seats, until more results became available.
It is a remarkable turnaround for the Liberals. During the last election in 2011, the party fell to third place for the first time in its history, holding just 34 seats. Even before all of the voting ended on Monday, the party had won or was leading in 152 electoral districts. The Conservatives had won or were leading 95 seats and the New Democratic Party had 25. 
For much of the 78-day race, all three major political parties were in a statistical dead heat, according to various polls. Canadians only vote for members of Parliament, not the prime minister or parties, making it difficult to translate poll findings. And Mr. Harper won the three previous elections without ever exceeding 40 percent of the popular vote.
That had left analysts offering a range of possible results from Mr. Harper being returned with another minority government, some form of Liberal government or a muddy situation in which there was no clear victor.
Regardless of the three major parties’ positions in the opinion surveys, analysts and campaigners in Canada were acutely aware that the comprehensive victory in Britain of David Cameron’s Conservative Party in May had not been forecast by polling firms. And election laws ban the release of polling information while voting is still underway.
While the Canadian election was initially met with summer-vacation indifference when it was called on Aug. 2, the dramatic ending appeared to have attracted voter interest.
Turnout fell to as low as 58.8 percent in 2008 and was 61.1 percent in the last parliamentary elections, in 2011. But the agency that supervises federal elections reported that 71 percent more people had cast early ballots this month than did four years ago.
News reports indicated that voters faced unusually long lines at some of the 66,000 polling stations on Monday. A rush of traffic temporarily overwhelmed the website of Elections Canada, the agency responsible for federal votes.
For many Canadians, the election became something of a referendum on Mr. Harper’s approach to government, which, in the view of his critics, has been heavy-handed and often focused on issues important to core Conservative supporters rather than to much of the population.
The focus of the campaign fluttered among issues, including a scandal over Conservative senators’ expenses; antiterrorism measures Mr. Harper introduced; pensions; the stagnation of the economy, brought about by plunging oil prices; the government’s handling of refugees; the Trans-Pacific Partnership trade pact; and Mr. Harper’s attempts to ban the wearing of face veils known as niqabs during citizenship ceremonies.
If that was the case, it backfired.Many analysts have said that Mr. Harper called the election partly in the hope that the more voters saw of Mr. Trudeau during his first term as leader of the Liberals, the less they would like him. Early Conservative ads emphasized Mr. Trudeau’s relative political inexperience and concluded with the slogan, “Just not ready.”
Although Mr. Trudeau has been prone to occasional verbal slips since assuming his leadership role, including the use of a vulgar metaphor in response to Mr. Harper’s decision to commit Royal Canadian Air Force fighters to the multinational campaign against the Islamic State, he has grown in stature over the course of the election.
He proved able at crucial events, like a debate on foreign policy, where even some Liberals feared that he might stumble. Late in the campaign, the Liberals flipped the Conservative slogan to “Ready” in its ads.
In a symbol of the Liberals’ confidence, Mr. Trudeau used part of his final day of campaigning on Sunday to visit Alberta, Mr. Harper’s adopted province and the Conservative Party’s power base. An energy program introduced in 1980 by the elder Mr. Trudeau had for decades made the Liberal Party almost toxic in the province, which is dominated by the oil and gas industry. Mr. Trudeau’s stops included Calgary, Mr. Harper’s hometown and a place that has not elected a Liberal since 1968.

That victory 47 years ago was part of a wave of Liberal triumphs that became known as Trudeaumania.
After spending most of the campaign delivering standard election speeches to invitation-only crowds, Mr. Harper took a more theatrical approach in the final days. At campaign stops, as he recited his party’s claims of what a Liberal government would cost individual families, a recording of an old-fashioned cash register bell repeatedly pealed through loudspeakers and audience members piled what appeared to be currency on tables.
Tom Mulcair, the leader of the New Democratic Party, who had insisted that the election should be focused on removing the Conservatives from power, devoted much of the final hours of his campaign to attacking the Liberals.