Wednesday, October 30, 2019

A Walk Down Memory Lane: Cinemax Late Night and how it molded me as a writer

We all have that one moment where we found our sexuality. Some were completely straight. Some discovered they were, like me, bisexual. Some are trisexual -- they'll try anything once. And you have pansexuals, too. I might fall under that category, now that I think of it. For me, finding out I liked men AND women was a massive thrill, but also led to a boatload of confusion for me. How do I handle those feelings? I ultimately chose to marry a woman. Don't get me wrong, though, I still like a throbbing dick from time to time, with my wife's blessing (usually with her in the corner, her hand in her panties, but that might be a story to write at a later time).

I came of age at a great time: the mid-1990s was epic. The internet was still developing, and there was no such thing as online porn (yet). But every Friday night in 1997 and '98, I'd stay up late and catch the softcore movies on Cinemax, usually on after midnight. This was also before I went out to bars to meet young men and women, so I had my hands full ... of my breasts, and a hand inside my panties rubbing myself ... on those nights of my late teens.

While watching, I didn't find myself worked up with the hetero scenes; sure, I got damp (watching or hearing sex was always a turn-on), but did it make me want to get off? No.

For that particular exercise, I had to wait for the girl-girl scenes, and you knew that with Cinemax softcore, you'd get it between :45-:55 minutes into the movie. And sometimes I grew disappointed when there wasn't one during that time. I depended on those scenes, because I wanted to rub to a healthy orgasm, then go to bed because I had to wake up and go to work the next morning.

Yet as I look back, I remember paying attention to the story construction: it wasn't just wham, bam, thank you Shawna. There was substance in the acting, and those movies brought me deeper into the story. It taught me, in some ways, how to construct my plots. It wasn't something I got in high school English, that's for sure.

Simply put, I like story porn, especially ones with a good girl-girl scene. I don't like vignettes. I like to be entertained with a story, and I like to reach my climax as the actors reached theirs. Preferably the actresses, I should say. That has led me to construct my stories the way I do; I want to tell a full story while getting you, the reader, off.

A few of the movies that I found -- re-discovered -- recently on PornHub had wonderful storylines. Here are four of them:

Friend of the Family (1995)

This movie may be one of the first erotic B movies that I watched. I fell in lust with Lisa Boyle and her beautiful breasts watching this, but I felt dismayed that her character and the character of Shauna O'Brien's didn't get naked together. They kissed, sure, and that led me to believe there would be a sex scene between the two. Alas.

O'Brien's character was also good, as Elke. Elke had sex with pretty much every member of the family, except Lisa Boyle's character. She is sexually uninhibited, and that leads to a better life for the family in terms of openness, frankness, and the communication between family members improves.

Club Wild Side (1998)

Quite frankly, Club Wild Side may be the best one I've ever watched. It had your coming of age tale with the character of Haley, played by Sage Kirkpatrick, moving to the West Coast to explore life. She moves in with a friend of her parents and his wife, and those two are having affairs.

Haley's trip to the Club opens her eyes about sex. It also doesn't hurt that back at the friend's house, there is a sculpted pool boy -- rawr -- whom she has sex with once, and there is an amazing girl-girl scene between Haley and the wife of her parents' friend, played by the yummy and adorable Lauren Hays.

Of course, it also has Monique Parent in it. Who my age didn't love Monique and her tight body? She is an amazing actress and is still acting today.

I'm Watching You (1997)

I remember this movie vividly. A young woman is drawn into a world of voyeurism. I love voyeurism. I love seeing people have sex, I love hearing people have sex, and LoriDawn Messuri's character got an eyeful. Hence the film's title.

There is a great girl-girl scene between her and Jacqueline Lovell, a statuesque blonde with lovely breasts. She did a number of great movies, including Femalien. That girl-girl scene ranks up there as one of the hottest things in the world, although the two end up in a drunken tryst on a couch that Lovell's character instigates.

Testing The Limits (1998)

A couple about to marry goes on a trip to the mountains, and gets their world rocked. It's a story about Mike and Toni -- Toni played by the utterly adorable Brandy Davis, whose small breasts were virtually nuzzled in my dreams quite a bit -- and you can feel in the story that they are unsure about sleeping with other people -- but they do, and it strengthens their relationship.

Two girl-girl scenes in this one, including a Brandy Davis-Lorissa McComass (RIP) shoot that was tastefully done. Actually, both were. One was under a shower.

This one opened my eyes to the possibilities of outside of strong relationship sex.

Please take note: I didn't want to go into too much detail about these movies. I wanted to give a Cliff's Notes version, and you can always go and find the movies on PH. Unfortunately, I've tried to find these movies on DVD here in the US, with no luck.

Honestly, I think softcore stories still have a place in our society, in our sexual viewing habits, and I say bring these types of movies back!

Monday, October 28, 2019

Sneaky Panty Peek: A scene in Watching Her Turn Bi

All characters aged 18 or over. Copyright 2019 Shawna Cummings.

What I've posted below is from my current WIP, Watching Her Turn Bi. It is a New Adult/Coming of Age lesbian tale, set in Rhode Island. I hope you like what you see.

____________

I checked my phone before I stripped out of my school uniform; there had been no texts from Lindsay, no texts from any of my friends. 

Good. I didn’t want to deal with anyone.

I unbuttoned my blouse and set it in my hamper, then reached back and unhooked my bra, shrugging it off my shoulders and setting my breasts free from their lengthy imprisonment. I gently rubbed the undersides of them, if only to ease the slight dig of the underwire; the cool air licking at my nipples hardened them, and I wished there was a willing mouth to do it.

Once I had my kilt off and flung aside, leaving me in my full-backed navy blue bikini briefs, I grabbed a thin t-shirt, one Lindsay had bought me when she had gone to New York City with her family a year ago, and pulled it over my head. I debated on sweatpants, but I figured that I would take a light nap and try to forget what had happened. It had to be a dream. It just had to be.

I turned out my light, shut my bedroom door, then slipped between the covers. My mother had already changed the sheets from the summertime cotton to the fall flannels, and I loved the feel of them in this weather. It felt as if I were enveloped in love, the fabric clothing my skin. I swung my legs back and forth, silently wishing I had someone here to share these feelings of comfort with me.

I set my phone on my bedside table. Lindsay had her own ring tone and text tone; if it went off, I would know who it was at once. I wanted to give her space, to let her think, but a small part of me wanted her to come back over, or text me to let her know that she was okay.

Sleep overtook me as soon as my eyes closed, my breathing slowing. Rest came, and I felt ready to forget my troubles for the time being…

I stood in a field of flowers, the various colors a kaleidoscope to my eyes. The sun was warm, unlike the tepidness in my reality. I felt the heat surrounding me, and I felt as if I would never be happier just from the warmth’s kiss on my skin.

I noticed I was barefoot, but that I wore what appeared to me as a sheer sundress, one that was weightless on my slender frame. I felt my nipples against the material and felt watery silk, and I didn’t want them to soften any time soon. I saw my cleavage and wanted to gasp; even though I didn’t have a bra on, the dress supported me on its own. Tiny pearls lined the bodice.

Walking down a decline, the aroma of honeysuckle and rosemary drifted on the breeze, and outside of being happy, my soul felt content. I breathed in every scent and it sated my hunger. The breezes kicked up and the fabric rustled against my bare legs. I felt it swirl between my legs, licking the length of me through the tiny silk panties I wore. I shivered with slight arousal.

I wondered, if only briefly, where I was. I didn’t recognize the place, but I wasn’t afraid of being so far from home. Far from it; I felt comfortable here, as if I lived the first 18 years old my life to come to this place for eternity. It was a soft place, a gentle place, a place where life and love was revered. The lush green grass intermingled with the flowers almost made it look like a quilt, the fabrics full of life — it was life itself, the beating heart of the world.

The path I walked along was semi-worn from countless feet, but I didn’t see anyone else lingering. I kept walking until I saw a pond, its waters sparkling in the sunshine, as if millions upon millions of tiny diamonds covered the breadth of it.

When I reached it, I couldn’t help myself. I dropped into a crouch and let my fingers graze the water’s surface. It felt cool and clean, and inviting.

I nodded and stood, reached up to my shoulders and let the silken clothes tumble from me, landing in a pool at the waters edge. I stood there naked save the tiny panties, but I didn’t hook my thumbs into them and let the material cascade down my legs. Something told me to keep them on.

Without hesitation, I walked into the pond like a moth drawn to light. The water slipped up my body and welcomed me, wrapping me and touching me in various ways as I flung my arms out. I wanted to float there, for the water was shallow. My panties had dampened, but I didn’t care. I was in love with this place, with the water, with everything. I had joy filling my heart as I swam.

“Jenni,” a soft voice called. “Come, you’re going to love it here.”

I turned and gasped to myself, and there stood Lindsay, wearing the same type of sundress that I had on. I saw through to her skin; her nipples tiny pebbles against her wonderful breasts, making indentations on the fabric. She, too, wore the tiny panties, and I felt aroused at seeing her in such a way.

But will she feel the same way about me as soon as I walk out of the pond, water droplets clinging to my breasts, to my panties, fighting amongst each other for the right to remain?

I stood and walked toward her, trying to do so with as much seduction as my 18-year-old body knew. I felt the water drip away like I thought it would, and I pulled my wet hair back to show her as much neck as possible. I tried to sashay my hips, but the water made no sound as I strode away from its center.

I finally stood in front of Lindsay, my Lindsay. She looked incredibly mesmerizing, her red hair seemingly on fire in the sunshine. It dazzled; I had never seen it that pale! 

“I know what you want,” Lindsay in front of me said.

“Yes?” 

Much like I had, Lindsay reached up and undressed herself, letting her sundress drop, revealing herself to me. Her breasts was perfect, her nipples reaching out to me. She dragged her fingertips along the inner curves of her breasts as she stepped out of the sundress; and I saw she was equally barefoot.

Her tiny panties, unlike mine, were slightly damp. I caught a whiff of her arousal; it was intoxicating.

“You want me,” she continued. “You want me all for yourself.”

My bottom lip trembled.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I do.”

Her smile sprang away and radiated heat through me. Sweat licked my brow.

“Good. Because I want you, too.”

She leaned in and dropped her lips onto mine. I gasped into her mouth, surprised as I was by her sudden boldness; her tongue soon followed, and I sparred with it with gusto, savoring her taste. She reached down and pulled me closer to her by my ass; I shivered as soon as I realized her hands cupped the very bottom of my buns. My breasts collided with hers, and I did my level best to touch hers, to get our nipples aligned in such a way as to rub against one another.

After a minute, Lindsay pulled away and gestured toward her left breast.

“Lick,” she ordered.

I couldn’t stop myself. I launched myself at her, my mouth opening as I drew closer; I clamped my lips around her nipple, swinging my tongue back and forth as she arched her back, as if to feed more of her tasty breast into my mouth. Her nipple grew harder in my mouth, if that was possible.

“Now the other one, that’s my girl.”

I obeyed. It was impossible not to. I moved effortlessly. I bent over some more, trying to account for her movements; she moved to her knees, and I followed, not taking my mouth away from her breast. If I let go, bad things would occur, and I didn’t want to think of those things right now. I knew she would take care of my needs and desires while I had my mouth planted on her, my tongue dancing on her nipples.

I heard myself salivating on her, so tasty she was that I barely registered my wet panties coming down my legs. I didn’t care. Lindsay wanted me naked, and so naked I should be.

“Can you lick my pussy, Jenni?” Lindsay leaned back and slipped the gusset of her little panties to the side, revealing the treasure I wanted to savor. I stared at her as she brought a finger toward her clit and circled it. “Lick her and don’t stop until I tell you, baby.”

I nodded and leaned in toward her. I took that first tentative lick of my desire’s pussy, and I heard her mew as her back arched again. That drove me, and I took a deeper, longer lick, from the bottom of her toward the top. Even in my dreams, I had never licked a prettier, tastier cleft.

“Lick me, eat me,” she begged. 

I delivered. I spread her lips and saw that pink interior, and I dove in tongue first just as I felt my legs being separated, my hips and midsection being raised. I didn’t dare look back, so intent I was on pleasuring my love that I could have cared less what was happening.

Then I felt it, and it made me stiffen, made me pull my mouth away from Lindsay’s wet pussy. An object, a large object, threatened to spear me in my own tender, inflamed pussy. And if Lindsay was in front of me —

“Baby, let her fuck you,” Lindsay breathed. “It would turn me on so much. Concentrate on licking me instead.”

I looked back over my shoulder, and there was Christina, a wicked gleam in her eye, her breasts rounded and supple — and a thick strap-on cock attached to her groin. And the tip of it — gosh, if that was the tip — was between my nether lips, ready to make me her bitch.

For half a heartbeat, I wanted it. I don’t know why, but I did. I wanted her to impale me on that thing. I wanted her to fuck me for all I was worth, and then some. I wanted her to ravage my body.

As long as she didn’t take my mouth off Lindsay’s pussy, I would kneel there and accept it.

“Slowly, Christina,” Lindsay said. “She’s never had anything that big in her tight little pussy. Go slow, let her savor it and my tastiness.”

I looked up at Lindsay and pleaded with my eyes.

“It’ll be okay,” she said, her tone full of love, compassion, and tenderness. “Lick me, honey. I want you to lick me.”

I nodded slowly as Christina pushed the fake cock into me. I groaned as the pleasure tore through me, but I returned my mouth to Lindsay’s sweetness. I slid my tongue back and forth, from east to east and back again, right on her clit. I felt Her fingers start to lace through my hair as Christna withdrew the dick halfway before she slammed it back into me. 

I couldn’t help but moan into Lindsay, a gasp that made Lindsay shake, the reverberations sliced through her.

Christina started sawing in and out of me, and I couldn’t help but arch my back. I wanted to reach down between my legs and touch my pussy, to feel the latex cock go in and out, but I had duties to attend to. I needed to lick Lindsay to orgasm. I had to. I had to.

But as the fucking increased, I had to pull away from Lindsay and shove my pussy and ass back toward Christina and the strap-on. The sensations were just too much. I closed my eyes tight as Christina drilled me, and the next time I stuck my tongue out in the general direction of Lindsay’s pussy, all I hit was air.

I wanted to scream, scream at my frustrations of losing the sweetest-tasting pussy this side of Providence, but all I heard was what I thought was Christina cackling.

“You’re never going to lick her pussy,” she taunted. She sounded like she was bent over me, her breath hot on my ear. She licked it, and I couldn’t help but issue a guttural moan. She pummeled me, and I felt the strap-on bottom out on me. “All you’re going to do is be my little bitch, take my strappy in your little cunt. Fuck you while she watches and laughs at you for being my little submissive. Oh yes, this pussy is tight; maybe you should have taken some more of those medium and small dicks in here, you would be loosened you wouldn’t be clinging to it like you are.”

I stiffened and moaned.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck me. Fuck me, please, Christina.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” she said through clenched teeth. “Going to fuck you, and fuck you hard, until you’re cumming all over it, then feed your pussy cum to you.”

“Oh, god,” I said, and this time, I heard myself say it, a touch more audible than before. I snapped my eyes open, but didn’t jerk out of bed. I moaned slightly — and that’s when I realized I had my hand inside my panties, my pussy drenched. I wiggled my fingers, and all I felt was the inside of me. I fingered myself a few more times, feeling the satiny softness of my pussy; I heard myself squishing.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “That feels so good.” I slipped my fingers out and brought them to my clit, then fully withdrew them and brought them to my mouth. I plunged them into my mouth. I loved tasting myself, and I had been worked up quite a bit to produce the amount of juice saturating my fingers.

Once they were clean, I looked to the clock.

I gasped when I saw the fiery digits read 10:42 p.m.

____________

Like what you've read? Be sure to send me an email and let me know!

Sunday, October 27, 2019

Why, yes... it's a pseudonym: And I have my reasons

Allow me to be vulnerable for a moment of your time.

Yes, Shawna Cummings is a pseudonym. A pen name. A name with which I use to write and spin my saucy, steamy, panty-soaking and erection-starting tales. Some may think this isn’t a good look, using a pen name for erotica — but it actually is the best thing for a woman in my position.

Consider it: I could be a second shift nurse. I could be a high school teacher who signed a morality contract. I could be in city/town government and I don’t want a scandal in the newspapers. I could be a youth sports coach. I could be something else entirely.

I could be one of those. I could be none of them. Why does it matter?

Simply put, I use the pen name for privacy. My real life, away from Twitter and the sexy words I write, is -- and I can't say this strongly enough -- awash in haterade. Yes, I have haters in reality, and each of them would love to get to me — and my family, naturally; in other words, to destroy my life. I won’t let that happen. My reality and this world are both incredibly important to me. It’s why I will not share pics of myself, text, talk on the phone, meet up, any of that. My real world life is special, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.

So why even write erotica?

Answer: Because it’s freeing. It gives me a way to channel my sexual energies — at times, my sexual frustration; my Significant Other and I are incredibly busy people with opposite schedules, making regular sex impossible — onto the page. And I love hearing how my words turn someone on, how my words make them feel in their tenderest regions — or in their hardest regions. That’s the rush, that’s what makes it all worth it.

Why would I jeopardize that? It’s why I’ve taken painstaking steps to separate these lives I have. No one in my private/personal life save my S.O. knows that I write erotica. I’ve taken many steps to ensure privacy, and I would hope that no one tries to violate that.

Enjoy what I write, yes. Enjoy what I bring to the table. But please respect my privacy.

I’ll take some questions now.

Q: Are you male? You don’t want to share pictures.

A: I won’t even dignify that with a response. Go away, troll.

Q: What are your turn-ons?

A: A lot of things. Tiny breasts, large breasts, medium breasts (I do have a limit, though). Panties, thigh high stockings, beautiful lingerie. Catholic schoolgirls. Interracial relations. Consensual male on male contact. Consensual female on female contact. Beautiful eyes that I can stare into and get lost in. Shower sex. Beautiful transsexuals. Well-written erotic literature (gosh, so much poorly constructed tripe out there). Hedonism. Beautiful, well-sculpted men. Kindness. I could go on.

Q: Are you into cyber sex?

A: Only with the right person. And only during certain hours. And only after I’ve done some semblance of writing.

Q: What else do you enjoy doing?

A: Gardening, reading, watching sports on TV, cooking, painting (though I haven’t done it in a long time), running (after I, you know, make sure my girls are stabilized).

Q: Ha, watching sports! You’re a guy.

A: *rolls eyes* Women can watch and enjoy sports, too. Sports may be gender specific, but are gender neutral. In fact, the US women’s soccer team is AMAZING. Goddesses of sport. I’d lick each and every one of them. Some of them even twice (I’ll let you guess who; a girl needs to have her secrets). I know many women who enjoy watching sports, and can hold their own in a conversation about the game. And even destroy the men they’re conversing with while they are at it.

Q: How dark/secret is your Twitter account?

A: Very. It’s deep in the forest, where no one can find it. Enter at your own risk.

Q: If I email you, will you write back?

A: Of course! Time is always permitting, though. As long as you come at me with respect and treat me with dignity, I will respond back in kind. I will ask for patience, however. My time isn’t my own with respects to my private life.

(You can email me here. I like getting email.)

Q: Will you read my story and give me feedback if I’m not in your circle?

A: Depends. If I have time, I will. If not, I will politely decline. Please do not take it personally.

Q: I got So and So’s book for free. Can I get your book for free?

A: Maybe, if you’re nice enough. Or beg. Or you are a seductress with an ass to die for and wear thigh highs like they are no one’s business.

Q: Where are you located in the world?

A: In the ether. I’m everywhere. (Seriously, I’m in the northeast US. I’m probably your neighbor.)

Q: How old are you?

A: I’m a 42-year-old female. In 20 years, I will still be a 42-year-old female. (I want to be timeless. Don’t take this away from me.)

Q: Beer or wine?

A: Beer, preferably Samuel Adams or local brews, but I won’t say no to a chilled glass of merlot. Are you trying to get me drunk? Because I can be a naughty girl when I’m drunk. My panties come off when I'm drunk.

Q: What do you wear while writing?

A: During the winter, warm socks are a MUST. I’m usually in warm pajama pants from late September until early May, and then it’s shorts. Love wearing hoodies. Allows me comfort (hello, take that bra off!) and warmth. Both of those are essential for me to write well. Oh, and sometimes panties. Sometimes not.