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Huh? What did you just say? You can blame today's blog message on Alison Tyler's blog message from yesterday. It was actually a message that she had received; a simple word, and this one particular word caused quite a stirring. So much so that its had me obsessing about unusual words; uncommon words in my repetoire.

Adding new words into my already existing and somewhat limited vocabulary is a never ending process. I'm always using the thesaurus; searching for just the right word to precisely describe how one of my characters feels; pinpointing that emotion. I think it's my job to find the perfect words; combine them into sentences; paragraphs, passages, like a symphony of letters. Oooh. I like that.
Anyway, I found a website that had an alphabetical list of words that are extremely uncommon (well, for me anyway) and I thought I'd share just a few of them with you. No worries. There won't be a quizz later; asking you to give me the laymen's term description of each word. I've added those as well.
Just for fun though, try adding one of the words listed below into an everyday sentence, and then send it to me via your comments.

Cacoethes = A bad habit, or insatiable urge.
Cagamosis = A unhappy marriage.
Callipygean = Having shapely buttocks.
Capernoited = Slightly intoxicated, or tipsy.
Cheiloproclitic = Being attracted to a person's lips.
Colposinquinonia = Estimating a woman's beauty based on her chest.
Domptuese = A woman who trains animals.
Floccinaucinicinihilipilifincation = The categorizing of something useless or trivial.
Gambrinous = Being full of beer.
Graphnologia = Having the urge to stare at obscene pictures.
Gymnophoria = Having the sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.
Hippopotomonstrostesquipedalian = Pertaining to extremely long words.
Krokolibidinous = The act of staring at someone's crotch.
Lygerastia = A condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out.

Here's my attempt:
Feeling both gambrinous, and capernoited, I was embarrassed at getting caught krokolibidinous, however I felt they were gymnophorias.

The word tags above can be purchased here via Etsy.

Posted by Neve Black at 10:00 AM No comments: 
Love Letters In Your Box I don't about you, but I love getting a handwritten letter, a note, or a card in the mail from someone. Usually my U.S. mail box is filled with things like bills, and boring mail that I don't really need or want.

Then by pure happenstance, I'll open my mail box; retrieving the mail; peering inside and pull out a treat. Suddenly, I'm filled with zeal holding a handwritten envelope; addressed to me from someone who thought I was worth their time. That person sat and jotted down their thoughts; they bought a very expensive postage stamp and then they drove around looking for a mail box.

Warm and tingly is what I feel when I receive mail like that. I think I'm going to start saving all the letters, to include the envelopes.

All the great romances of our time seem to begin with letter writing. I'm gushing with romantic thoughts as I type this blog today. Nearly every Jane Austen story intertwines a letter written secretly to someone; sent by hand delivered courrier. The contents of the letters are often detailed thoughts about a coveted love, a clandestine affair and quite often, the love is unrequited.
Here's just a few lovers who penned love letters: Napolean Bonaparte and Josephine De Beauharnais; Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browing; John Keats and Fanny Brawne. God, do I love a sappy, good romance that ends with sweaty, knees shaking, lighting a cigarette sex.
I'm starting to write another story about on-line dating; more specifically the romance in the e-mail correspondence between my two characters. Lets face it, we live in the world of instant gratification; the internet is our best friend. We're a society that has surpassed receiving hand delivered love notes, and we barely use the U.S. Postal Service anymore. It's so much easier to pay your bills, and type out your requests and responses via e-mail, even blogging and then hitting the send key on your PC keyboard.
I'd like to know what your thoughts are about the wide spread epidemic of on-line dating. I'd also like to know more about the communication piece; the love letters, disguised as e-mails written back and forth between two people. Does it conjure up a romantic image for you? Do you think that some day, centuries from now, someone like me will be speaking of the on-line e-mail message as the greatest love letters ever written, the same way I refer to the hand delivered letters in two paragraphs above? Do you have any on-line dating experiences to share? You do? Cool. Please do.

Thank you in advance for your comments.

p.s. The love letter mail box necklace above can be purchased via Etsy here.
Posted by Neve Black at 9:30 AM 2 comments: I can remember when I was a (insert one or a combination of the following; conjugate as necessary) shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cock-sucker, muther-fucker, tits little girl and George Carlin was the comedian making headlines at that time . He's just slightly younger in age to both my parents, but boy, his humor kept them generationally apart. My older siblings really liked him though, especially my brother.

Here's what Wikipedia had to say about the late and great George Carlin: George Denis Patrick (born May 12 , 1937 ) is a Grammy -winning American stand-up comedian , actor , and author. Carlin is especially noted for his political and black humor and his observations on language, psychology, and religion along with many taboo subjects. Carlin and his " Seven Dirty Words " comedy routine were central to the 1978 U.S.
He died too young, and I will never forget those seven words that were (still are not) not allowed to be said on television. Once again, those seven words are:
Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cock-sucker, muther-fucker, and tits.

Posted by Neve Black at 12:00 PM No comments: 
Weather Related Bad Moods? The picture above is called, Evening Mood, and I love it. You can purchase this print via Etsy, by selecting here.

I saw a film this weekend (my weekends from my non-writing job are Thurs/Fri), and it was foreign; subtitled and, oui, oui, French. A very fetching film genre for Neve Black, I suppose.

There was scene when one of the characters is driving, his name is Paul with his fiancé’ through the streets of Paris, and it’s raining; steadily pouring actually and the couple are having a heated argument.

Anyway, Paul says to his fiancé’, “It’s funny how the weather really affects my moods.”

Those words he said stuck with me. I think Paul feltit was okay to use the bad weather as an excuse for his belligerent, badgering and overall bad behavior toward his fiancé’.

Paul happened to be a real prick. Fortunately, his fiancée ended up dumping him like a bad habit. Actually, her character was rather kick-ass about dumping his bad weather affects my mood, sorry ass ways, but she went after him with a shot gun. Nothing like my daisy rifle, no sir, it was the real magilla.

You go, French, girl, you go!

Why did I bring this up, you ask? Well, there is a point. You see, I read an article awhile ago, and it spoke of men’s moods. More specifically it spoke of when a woman should approach a man for certain things, based on his mood behavior. Like mood time zones. I was irritated after reading the article, and never thought about blogging about it, until after I saw this film.

As an example, the article suggests waiting to ask a man to take the garbage out between the hours of mood zone A and mood zone B, because his mood time zone will be more open to receiving your trash direction.


I'm scratching my head in bewilderment over the utter lunacy and preposterous idea of mood bahavior zones.... For fuck’s sakes, who can, or would actually live like that? The whole idea gave new meaning to the word, accomodating. The article must have been tongue-in-cheek somehow; written with satire in mind. But it wasn't and I felt like maybe I was missing out on something. Missing out on some hidden truth of understanding how to communicate with a man.

I found myself pondering the idea, and wondering, "Is it me?" Could it be possible that there are women who really do check their watches; lining up the man in their life’s schedule to their “to do lists?"

I’ve decided to go ahead and paste the article below, for everyone to read. I’m interested to hear from you if this article has some warranty to it, or if it’s bullshit.

Might I just add one more point, please? Thanks.

I think it’s interesting that this article is geared toward men and not women. As if to suggest women aren’t susceptible to mood swings brought on by things like, weather, menstrual cycles, or the sometimes not so lovable men we share our life with.


If you need his help moving, fighting, or fixing something…
Ask: from 9-12 a.m.
It should come as no surprise that guys wake up bursting with testosterone. And aside from the obvious frisky factor, this surge in hormones makes him ambitious and determined, says Lichterman. This is the perfect time to ask him for a favor, particularly one that makes him feel like Mr. Fix-It. Buying a car? Indulge his competitive streak, and drag him along to help you haggle with the salesman and score a great deal. Or, cash in on his peak in spatial thinking and ask him to move your couch, or measure your closet space. He’ll feel heroic, and you’ll reap the benefits.

Neve comments: Are you up for robbing a bank today, honey?

If you want to get him to agree to your plans…
Ask: from 3-4 p.m.
Trying to convince him to sign up for ballroom dancing lessons, commit to your new book club or otherwise agree to do something that would normally send men screaming in the opposite direction? Then this late-afternoon window is the perfect opportunity, says Lichterman, since his super-low testosterone levels will make him mellow and amenable to pretty much anything you throw on the table.

Neve Comments: No offense to any dancers out there, but ballroom dance lessons? Or a book club? I think this tactic might fall under the category of coercion. And that's no good regardless of the time of day. Right?

If you want to broach a touchy topic…
Ask: from 8-10 p.m.
At this hour, another hormone called oxytocin — a.k.a. the “cuddle hormone” due to its intimacy-inducing effects — is on the rise in his bloodstream, says Lichterman. That means this is a prime time to resolve a lingering spat (“It hurt my feelings when you didn’t call today”) or get a grievance off your chest (“Will you please shave your goatee?”). You’ll probably get met with nothing but a sincere apology and the promise to change his ways. Sure, his sweetness may be as much due to timing as a true desire to please, but hey, who cares as long as your wish is his command?

Neve Comments: Damn. I'm not sure about anyone else, but I've had some real doozy fights on more than one occassion with my love interests at this time of day. Sincere apology? Piffle.
Posted by Neve Black at 12:00 PM 2 comments: 
Project Down Under Please feel free to select here to read my latest story written for Literotica's, contest about Nude Day.

Don't forget to vote and please send any feedback. I'm currently sans editor, so this story didn't get that second pair of eyes prior to submission. A little scary.

Have a great one
Posted by Neve Black at 7:59 AM No comments: 
Damage Control for Unhealthy Habits Sorry for the late blog today. I put the finishing touches on a story and submited it to Literotica, so once it's up on their site, I'll link the story from here. I'd be interested to get your feedback on this one. I wrote this story without an editor; free-fall writing.

I have some great news to share with everyone. Not only did I read this week that scientists have discovered, not just one, but possibly two new planets; orbiting around our galaxy. These two planets have some of the same characteristics as earth....No. I'm. Not. Kidding.
Isn't that cool?
And, here's more great news: I also read an article titled, “Damage Control for Six Unhealthy Habits”; blog title above. So, I took that as a gift from the universe to mean we can still keep on doing all the really nasty and bad things to our bodies, because there’s a serum to make it all better again. And lets not forget there's two new planet earth's we can potentially live on now after we've completely obliterated the current planet earth.
Ponder this thought, if you will: In the game of golf, a do-over shot, is referred to as a mulligan. Do you think a planet earth do-over would also be called a mulligan, or do we call it something else?
Anyway, I’m only going to comment on the last two unhealthy habits, in the article, only because they’re applicable to my blog, and my personal bests. Ahem; I mean favorites:
The Mistake: Unprotected Sex
You’ve had more than a few sexual partners—and you often skipped the condom.
Gulp. Bad, bad, pussy-cat.
The Expert:
Dr. Jeanne Marrazzo, medical director of the Seattle STD/HIV Prevention Training Center.
The Damage:
Having unprotected sex puts you at risk for HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases—and the more partners involved, the greater the risk.
Damn. I hate that!
Unprotected Sex: Damage Control
“While the incidence of HIV remains low in the U.S. in many populations, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recently recommended that all adults be tested for HIV at least once. This is an excellent opportunity to get that done,” says Dr. Marrazzo. Free tests are available at many clinics and community organizations.
Beyond HIV, our expert recommends a blood test for anyone who hasn’t been vaccinated for Hepatitis B or anyone with recurring genital rashes or sores (often the result of a very common sexually transmitted infection called genital herpes). “If a person is in his or her 30s and has no genital symptoms, I would not recommend routine testing for other sexually transmitted infections, like chlamydia or gonorrhea,” says Dr. Marrazzo.
As for guaranteeing your future sexual health, our expert recommends finding a good health care provider with whom you can comfortably and openly discuss any of your concerns. Or maybe just hooking up with one sexual partner for awhile until the scientists who found two more earth planets, find a cure for all our STD’s.
The Mistake: Heavy Drinking
In college you majored in drinking and your bar-hopping habits didn’t stop on graduation day.
How did they know that? Dr. Mark L. Willenbring, director for the division of treatment and recovery research at the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism
“Risky drinking is defined as more than four drinks a day for men or three for women on any given day, and more than 14 drinks for men or 7 for women in a typical week,” according to Dr. Willenbring. “Exceeding this daily limit even 12 times a year places the drinker at increased risk for alcohol use disorders, alcohol abuse, and alcohol dependence. Of course, the impact of drinking to excess differs according to an individual’s mental health history, family history, and personal experiences: “If a parent or sibling is dependent on alcohol, a person’s risk of developing dependence increases by a factor of 2 to 4 times,” says Dr. Willenbring. The good news is that “many people who drink excessively in their 20s incur no lasting damage.”
Huh? What if you're excessively drinking in your 30's, 40's, 50's and higher? When does the damage set in? Did I miss something? I read and re-read the above; learning what defines a heavy drinker, but I'm confused as to why it's so bad to drink so much?
Damage Control:
Former heavy drinkers and binge drinkers (defined as males who consume upwards of five drinks and women who consume upwards of four drinks in a two hour period) should “initiate a personal health promotion program focused on diet, exercise, sleep, and social support,” says Dr. Willenbring. This should include learning new behaviors to fulfill the same purpose that drinking once served. Reformed social drinkers, for instance, might satisfy their desire to interact with others by enrolling in a community class or a recreational sport. Those individuals who used alcohol to self-medicate during times of stress might search for a relaxing new hobby like yoga.
The goal is to promote well-being and self-confidence. Dr. Willenbring concludes, “Remain vigilant. Know how much and how often you drink and why.”

Neve Question:
What do call a recovering binge drinker that gets together with an unprotected sex offender?

Prize goes out to the best answer.
Posted by Neve Black at 3:40 PM 2 comments: 
Stray Pussies "Oooh, Oooh, Oooh, Oooh,

Black and orange stray cat sittin' on a fence

Ain't got enough dough to pay the rent

I'm flat broke but I don't care

I strut right by with my tail in the air

Stray cat strut, I'm a ladies' cat,

A feline Casanova, hey man, thats where its at

Get a shoe thrown at me from a mean old man

Get my dinner from a garbage can

Yeah don't cross my path

I don't bother chasing mice around

I slink down the alley looking for a fight

Howling to the moonlight on a hot summer night

Singin' the blues while the lady cats cry,

"Wild stray cat, you're a real gone guy."

I wish I could be as carefree and wild,

but I got cat class and I got cat style.

Written by The Stray Cats

Why did I choose to blog about stray pussies, and paste The Stray Cat Strut into my blog today?Maybe it has something to do with the statistical fact that there are 60,0000 stray cats living on the streets of Cleveland, Ohio. I think those numbers are staggering and sobering. I didn't just make that number up either, I did some research; that number comes directly from the Animal Protective League.

Maybe my blog today has something to do with the fact that I've already taken in not one, but two; two stray cats off the streets; giving them a nice home, and lots of love. Maybe, just maybe it has something to do with the fact that I've been recently introduced to a third stray cat, and yes, she's currently living in a confined space in my house after going to the Vetrinarian Doctor to to be tested for minor things like, Feline AIDS, and Feline Leukemia. Fortunately, she's healthy. Yes, she's a female, so that meant she would have to be spayed also. That major operation was done on Thursday; she is resting and healing as I write.

Of course it's not these poor defenseless animals fault; its the bad judgment and lack of responsibility of their owners. People that move away; leaving their pets behind to fend for themselves, or perhaps someone's pee-sized brain doesn't think it's natural to spay or neuter their pet, so they let them run free; free to procreate and contribute to the already epidemic conditions of animals that live without homes. I'm fucking sorry, but there's nothing remotely romantic nor erotic about watching some poor animal eat from a garbage can; later to die a slow and painful death because it was poisoned.

Furthermore, I'm not the only bleeding heart in my neighborhood that's taken in strays. One of my best friends (a once non-cat lover) took in a stray last Spring; this one was pregnant and she had to make the decision to abort the kittens. Can you imagine? It was difficult enough to find a home for one cat, let alone a litter of kittens. The decision she had to make, tore her up inside. She ended up adopting this cat, affectionately now known as, Lena-Felina.

Another fabulous couple I know that live in my neighborhood, and happen to own one of Tremont's best bars; the fun and funky, Literary Cafe. They have at least six cats currently living between their house, and the bar below. Yep. All pussies were once living on the streets of Cleveland, Ohio.

If I sound a bit pissed off, it's because I am pissed off. I swear if I find out about one person that doesn't take responsibility for their animals, I will take them out and personally shoot them with my daisy rifle; slowly, and painfully; ridding the pariah from society. Think I'm kidding? I'm not.

Please be kind to all God's creatures and take care of them; be respectful and help keep them safe and protected. For the love of God, spay or neuter your animals, because it's the single most loving thing you can do for them and others around you.


Button above can be purchased here via Etsy.
 
HostelBookers, BookerHookers and HostelHookers

I've mentioned on more than one occassion that I'm traveling to Italy in September. Upon the recommendation of someone I trust (she's an avid traveler), I booked a hostel in Padua, Italy by using the help of HostelBookers.com .

When I blogged about Italy and HostelBookers.com's great website, I Neve Black'd their website's name, just a bit and chose to call it, Hostel Hookers. That was the name of the blog title that day too.

It's important to say, HostelBookers's website is awesome.

The convenience offered by going to one website for all your hotel accomodation needs is super-duper easy, which saves you time and money. They don't charge you any booking fees either and they have thousands of inexpensive hostels to choose from; offering valuable information on each hostel. For example, hostel/train station proximity, room rate charges, and how the hostel has rated with other travelers, to name a few. Let's face it, this type of information is much appreciated when you're traveling to foreign lands.

This past week, Ben, the editor of HostelBookers.com sent me an e-mail message about my Hostel Hooker's blog title. He's come up with a clever replacement title; Hooker Bookers. I may have met my match, eh?

Anyway, I've cut and pasted his message below. I feel like a celebrity; Neve's gone International.

"Hi Neve,

My name’s Ben Cooper and I’m the Editor at HostelBookers.com (and the newly launched/relaunched HostelBloggers).

I just thought you might like to see my response to your ‘Hooker Bookers’ post: http://www.hostelbloggers.com/hostelbookers/2008/06/a-possible-change-of-tack/

How are you getting on in Florence, by the way?

All the best, Ben"

If you're planning a trip abroad and want to save a bit cash, try booking your accomodations with Hostelbookers.com. Please tell Ben, Neve sent you. ;-)

Posted by Neve Black at 10:20 AM No comments: 
Sexy and Talented You know what's it like when you're really looking forward to seeing a performer once you learn they're headed into town? That's how I felt when I found out Anat Cohen was making her debut performance at Cleveland's finest Jazz night club, Nighttown.

I've been following the works of Ms. Cohen; listening to her play clarinet on satellite radio and NPR's Jazz station. She's writes and performs the kind of compelling music that if you're in your car driving, you simply must pull off to the side of the road; turn the dial up and just listen; letting her music transport you to another place.
Anat started playing music in Tel Aviv, Israel where she grew up. Studying tenor saxophone, playing music seems to be in Anat's blood, as both her brothers, are also acclaimed horn players. After entering Thelma Yelin High School for the arts, she majored in Jazz. After graduation, she played tenor saxophone in the Israeli Air Force Band. She went on to study at the acclaimed Berklee Music School in Boston; exposing her to music from around the world. It was at Berklee that her teachers encouraged her to play the clarinet.
As I sat with my friends last night at Nighttown; enjoying a nice dinner and bottle of wine, a woman with long, silky tendrils of rich, dark brown hair; framing her expressive, deep brown eyes, and olive skin asked if she could sit down at the open seat at our table. She was wearing all black, except for a very tiny diamond nose ring. She emanated that certain je ne sais quoi; she was delightful, and beautiful. She wanted to know if we would somehow be bothered sitting so close to the musicians...my mind raced, "Oh, you're you. You're her. You're Anat."
"No. We're elated; thrilled, excited to sit so close." We chimed in.
"Great." She said, speaking with a pronounced Israelian accent, as she smiled; exposing dimples and charm. "Would you mind if I sat down with your for awhile. I'm afraid I'm a bit jet-lagged; just coming back from a visit to Israel."
"Oh, of course, please do. Would you like a glass of the wine we're drinking?" We inquired.
"Aaaah. No. I need coffee." She said and at that moment, as if on cue, someone delivered her a coffee from Starbucks.
"So, what was the one thing that made you want to become a musician?" I piped up, wanting to know what made this exotic and captivating woman tick.
"Wow. The journalists don't even ask me that question." She said smiling at me.
"Hmmm...well, let me rephrase the question. Did you decide to pursue music because of something you heard, or maybe it was something you felt?" I asked again.
"I think it has more to do with the fact that my family played; it was a family practice. There was a music teacher that lived close by; friends and family would go and have music lessons and I started going also." She said, remembering while she sipped her coffee.
"Oh. Were those saxophone lessons?" I inquired.
"No. It was piano." She said.
Ms. Cohen sat with us for quite awhile and we spoke of where she lived (N.Y.C.), various musical instruments and the on-going troubles with plane travel these days. I felt as if we'd known her for awhile, but we only just met that evening.
It was time for the band to start and as expected, she and her band wowed us with every piece; playing for over 1.5 hours. I sat in my chair; eyes closed; as every pore in my body took in the music. The Nighttown crowd loved her band's performance and applauded until they came out again and played another piece.
I've had the pleasure of hearing and meeting a number of very talented, emotionally moving and down to earth musicians since living in Cleveland. Anat Cohen is at the top of my list. As a special treat to yourself, go and hear her perform, and if that's simply not possible, buy one of her four CD's, by selecting here. Trust me, you will thank me later.


Posted by Neve Black at 11:00 AM No comments: 
Summer Soltice If you live in the Northern Hemisphere, summer officially began at 7:59 EDT on Friday, June 20th. "Summertime and the livin' easy." Sublime.

What's not to love about summer? What reminds you of summer when the days are longer; stretching out into warm and breezy; welcoming, summer evenings?
The warm, summer weather conjures up thoughts of getting naked (shocker) and a little crazy with a friend, or friends, while sipping on a refreshing glass of white wine; filled with tastes like, nectarines, peaches, honeysuckle, lavender and ocean breezes. I can drink a really cold beer too in the summer, or any time for that matter, but there's something much more appealing and erotic about the description of a chilled glass of white wine that one drinks on a warm, summer day or evening.
There's wine and then there's song -
There's certain types of music that remind me of summer too. I won't bore you with a long, diatribe of Neve's favorite summer songs, but there are some songs that I hear and suddenly I'm naked again; laying on my back, looking up at the sky and creating characters out of big, puffy clouds.
So, for me, the common Summer Soltice denominator is being naked; drinking something, cool, and wet, while music is being played.

Aaaaah. Hello summertime. Glad to see you again.


p.s. The picture above can be purchased here via Etsy. Labels: summer soltice


Sex sells, but not if you can't afford it Hey, I know. It’s damn crazy times right now. The recession (I’m sorry. I know it’s an ugly word) that our country is in appears to be making its way into everyone pants. Or, maybe I should rephrase that by saying, the recession is making things much more difficult to get into someone’s pants.

Oh, drears.

I read an article yesterday and it seemed so fitting for my blog. I’m not sure if anyone else caught the story, and if you didn’t, and find yourself scratching your head sometimes; wondering what my source for finding these crazy stories is, or if you think I just make this shit up as I go…well, sometimes, I question myself too.

You see, these news stories seem to float their way into my world; begging me to expand and blog about them to you, my readers. I get my news from the same places everyone else does; internet, newspapers, political magazines, but for some reason, my eye seems to catch stories that other people would normally pass on by; finding nothing to write home about. Aaah. That's where I pick it up and run like hell with it.

Please feel free to read the complete article below:

“They've been banished to remote stretches of desert, some have been raided, others shut down and one even sold on E-bay. Nevada’s legal brothels have managed to survive through some tough situations. Their latest problem, however, could prove to be too much. According to George Flint, Director of the Nevada Brothel Owners' Association, revenue for the 25 businesses in his membership organization is down by as much as 45 percent. The reason: Sex for money may be recession resistant but it's not recession proof. "Business is in a lower slump than I've ever seen it before," Flint says. In Nevada, the world's oldest profession has been very lucrative. In a typical year, legal brothels generate about $50 million in total revenue and have an economic impact of about $400 million on the state. But in the last 18 months the industry's cash flow has taken a dive. Why? Like other businesses around the country, bordellos throughout the state are feeling the pinch of rising gas prices and a weak economy.

Several of the hardest hit, are the houses of prostitution in Nevada's rural northern areas, which get roughly 60 percent of their business from truckers. "Some of these brothels are out in the middle of nowhere so fuel prices have an effect, says Dennis Hof, owner of the infamous Moonlite Bunny Ranch. According to the U.S. Energy Information Administration, diesel on the West Coast now costs $4.87 per gallon. That means truckers could easily spend $1,000 to fill up their tanks, leaving them with little extra cash and less likely to take a detour. For bordello owners, relocating to more central locations is impossible. Under Nevada law, brothels can only operate in counties with fewer than 400,000 residents.

Yet, even brothels located in the south, closer to tourist-populated places like Las Vegas, are not fairing much better. Flint estimates that 75 to 80 percent of Southern Nevada's brothel business comes out of Sin City. But Las Vegas is somewhat down on its luck. Casino gambling revenue fell from $614.9 million in December to $517.5 million in March, according to the Nevada Gaming Control Board. Many brothels consider gambling direct competition for a tourist's discretionary dollars, and if their competition is suffering, it's not a good sign. "Even if someone does get to Vegas, they may not spend their money on a brothel as a form of entertainment because times are tough," says Bob Fisher who represents the Chicken Ranch brothel that's about 50 miles from The Strip.

To stay competitive, brothel owners are turning to advertising. Until last July, bordellos were not allowed to advertise outside their immediate areas. Now they can directly market their services in Vegas, Reno and other cities where their existence was known only by word of mouth. Fisher, who acknowledges that the Chicken Ranch has been affected by the economic downturn but won't go into specifics, says they've done mobile billboards, yellow pages and are looking into radio and TV. Still, advertising hasn't been easy. "It's a double-edged sword," says Fisher. "We have the right to advertise, but the people we advertise with have the right to say no." And they often do. Several area papers don't want to run ads featuring legal prostitution, he says: readers or other advertisers might not look kindly on ads for a business that's viewed as seedy, at best.

Media exposure certainly has its benefits. Featured in the ongoing HBO reality series, Cathouse, Hof's Bunny Ranch is going strong. While others brothels saw a slump in revenues, Hof experienced a 30 percent jump in May. But he's not resting on his laurels. Last week he began offering a recession special: The first 100 customers who show up with their tax rebate checks receive twice the "services" for the price of one. "We always give our customers the most bang for the buck," he says. "You bring your $600 check in, and we give you the $1,200 George Bush party--three girls and a bottle of champagne." That's one way to stimulate the, um, economy." 
Blogger Arrests? "Keep your political views to yourself. That's the message going out to bloggers as a new study finds bloggers being arrested in record numbers. "

Holy crap, batman! That was my first reaction after reading the internet headline; scanning for world news.
Then, I started to feel a little faint. Am I going to see my mug shot in the U.S. Post Office while purchasing postage stamps? Oh. God. My mind is racing. Hmm...there's no extradition from the country of Brazil, right? That's good; a plus. I love Portuguese wine. I love being naked. Hell, I taught myself to read and write HTML, how hard could it be to learn and speak Portuguese?
I continued to read through the article...
"According to the study, most of the 64 arrests since 2003 have come from China, Egypt and Iran — while most of the searches for the term "blogger" come from Malaysia, Singapore and the Philippines (U.S. ranks seventh)."
Wait a minute. Hold everything. I just re-read the countries from where "most" of the bloggers are being arrested from. I'm living in the north east of somewhere, but on U.S. soil, so I think I'm in the World's Most Wanted for blogging clear. However, the U.S. did show up in the rankings, but not for porn. No. They want to hang you high at noon for telling the truth; non-fiction, blogging, it appears. Minor detail.
Whew. Close call though.
Do you think you can guess the other rules and restrictions on blogging from around the world?
Here's just a taste of world blogger trivia for you. As I write this, of course I find it gut-wrenching, and disturbing that I'm actually concerned about writing something that somehow wrinkles the agenda in some countries, even my own.
Fuck, I mostly blog about sex related topics, and nobody really cares. Well, I guess that's not true. Bible thumpers everywhere hate the porn industry, I suppose. I'm starting to sweat at the thought that I live in the 21st century; I call the mega-power country of the world, my home and well, I could be thrown into jail for reporting the truth. Now, isn't that something?

Q: In some nations, like this one, there are restrictions on blogging in general.
A: Asia, China.
Q: As a precaution, this country arrested hundreds of people suspected of blogging.
A: Burma, Mynamar, Asia

Q: This armed forces branch does not allow its soldiers to blog about anything military-related.
A: The U.S. Army.

Q: The International Olympic Committee says these people can blog in Beijing, as long as their blogs are "dignified and in good taste."
A: All Olympic Athletes.
 
Is it Live, or is it Virtual? Back in the day, golly-gee, I say that a lot, don't I? Oh well, fuck it. Back in the day, I remember a somewhat virtual term; a tagline one company would use to sell its cassette tapes.

Is it live, or is it Memorex?
Does anyone but me remember that? I do. I told you, I'm old school. Well, guess what? Memorex is still using the same damn line. I guess it works for them, eh?
Or, hey what about the movie, Weird Science? Two nerdy high school boys create the perfect woman (Kelly LeBrock) by using a barbie doll and an electrical storm. That's a virtual story any chemistry teacher would be proud of. I'm sure everyone is familiar with the term, virtual. There's virtual reality, which is probably just a fancy-schmancy way to say, surreal. The virtual world of anything is so fascinating to me, because it's not real, but it is real. Yeah. I know, it's confusing. I'm not talking fake; not real. Fake, like a woman you may know in your life that's just bought a new set of ta-ta's, not real. I'm talking, virtual, not real, but real. Are you with me so far?

Someone I know has a VA.
What do you mean you don't know what VA stands for?
Oh come on, get with it. Are you old school, or something? It doesn't mean, The Veteran's Administration either.
VA= Virtual Assistant.
Can you imagine having a Virtual Assistant? I lay awake at night just thinking about all the possibilities my very, hot, hunk-of-a-man, VA could do for me. Ahem. Real things, but not really, real things that could get me in some real serious trouble. Good lord, I'm starting to sweat.
Make sense, so far? Yes, No?
Okay, let me explain VA in more detail. As an example, a Virtual Assistant, could be a Virtual Office Assistant, and handle the details of a business owner's administrative needs. The business owner would have a myriad of daily, weekly and monthly tasks completed by his or her, VA. The trade off is paying the VA a set fee for their services, but not pay for their fringe benefits, like medical insurance, payroll costs, vacation time, etc. Fringe benefits can often become exhorbant for the business owner and they're usually expected to be paid to a real employee.
The VA does not expect fringe benefits, because they're not a real employee, they're virtual.
Are you beginning to catch on now? Okay. Great.
At one point, I tossed around the idea of becoming a VA, mostly because I wanted the word, Virtual in my job title, but the life of a porn writer seems to be my vocation. I'm sure there's a Neve story floating around somewhere in my brain about a woman, her pussy and a rented VA.... It's probably my fantasy, but hmmm.... Anyway, I'm digressing here.
So, just ponder all the those pesky tasks that nag at you; needing to get done, but you just don't have the time. Alas, the virtual world is here to help. Here's a few things on my list:
1. Have an ex-boyfriend murdered.
Laugh and snicker all you want, but this has real virtual, potential.

2. Have a Virtual affair.
You have to admit, this could be outrageous and fun.

3. Have my VA run a marathon for me.
My knees get sore. I don't have time for the training.
4. Have my VA make family visits.
I don't have the time and I'd rather not deal with the grief. It's the perfect solution.

What would you have your VA do for you? Please share.

BTW: The first image above is not from Memorex, but one of its Virtual/Real competitors, Maxell. 
Estrucian Erotica? Gesundheit. No worries. Today's blog title isn't contagious.

I mentioned last week that I'm headed to Italy in September. In my mind there's an outline; a plan of what I want to see and the specific cities I'm going to experience: Florence, Pisa, Lucca, Siena, Maremma, to name a few off the top.

There's a long list of things I want see, old rocks I want to turn over, and scratch underneath while in this beautiful country. My list could go on, and on, and on, and geez, I'm only going for a couple weeks', unless of course I meet vineyard owner that is willing to open up his villa to an American erotica writer, then well, I may extend my stay. But, just in case that doesn't actually happen, it's rather important to get a handle on what you want to see, capiche?

Last night I shared a lovely bottle of white wine with a friend. The wine tasted of rich soil, honeysuckle and mushrooms. The evening sky was the color of deep, purple; midnight blue and the air was crisp, clean beautiful, and cool. It was pleasant and quiet, and my friend and I sipped the wine and talked about our up and coming trip to Italy. My friend leaned in close to the table and told me all about Estrucian and Roman ruins scattered throughout Italy; amongst the olive trees and vineyards.

"Estrucian and erotic." She said, her left eyebrow rose, looking at me over her wine glass.

"God bless you." I said.

"I didn't sneeze." She answered.

"Huh?" Estrucian...what?" I asked.

"Oh. Estrucian Erotica." She said.

"Gesundheit." I offered, again.

She smiled and went on to explain these ruins date back a couple thousand years. No. I. Didn't. Stutter. Yes. It is amazing to learn there are things in this world that are over 1,000 years old. A couple thousand years, but whose counting? And it appears they're erotic in nature.

"Hmmm..." I said.

So among all the vineyards, museums, vineyards and site seeing, it appears I'm also working an erotic tomb site into my trip now.
 
Love...at any age I've cut a snippet (below) from an article I read this morning, and it brought back memories of my own family's peril with my grandmother's long-term battle with dementia. It was incredibly painful watching someone that was once, viable, spry and full of wit and spunk become so fragile, brittle, and unable to recognize her own family; the family that loves and cares about her. After awhile, as the disease really took hold, I couldn't go see her anymore; it was just too painful for me.

It tore my mother up inside to see her own mother deteriorate. My mother was the person that handled the details of my grandmother's demise. Dementia is an awful disease. I find myself doing everything I can to stave off the signs of losing my own mind: Eating healthy, actively keeping my mind sharp, yoga, Spin, multiple-orgasms. Hey, a girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do.
My eldest sister had gone through this once before our grandmother was diagnosed with the disease. Her mother-in-law had the same disease and after watching two people she loved struggle through it, she had resolved herself; found peace in saying, "If I start to feel like I'm losing it, well, I'll just ski off a mountain and be done with it."
I tend to concur with her sentiments.
I can't be certain, but because of our strict, Catholic upbringing, chances are my grandmother wasn't participating in any extra-sexcapade-activites while living in the assisted living facility, like the article discusses that I read this morning, but then again, I guess I'll never know, because God knows if we had asked her, she wouldn't have remembered.
One more thought on this subject. A couple of years ago, I watched a film called, Away From Her. The picture above is from the movie jacket. It is by far one of the most touching and beautiful movies about the subject of dementia. It pulls you into the life of a long-term, and very much still in love married couple, and how the effects of the disease rips their family unit apart. The woman in the film is played by the gorgeous, Julie Christie. If you get the chance, rent it; you won't be sorry.
Here's the snippet from the full article I've linked from above:
"Bob's family was horrified at the idea that his relationship with Dorothy might have become sexual. At his age, they wouldn't have thought it possible. But when Bob's son walked in and saw his 95-year-old father in bed with his 82-year-old girlfriend last December, incredulity turned into full-blown panic. "I didn't know where this was going to end," said the manager of the assisted-living facility where Bob and Dorothy lived. "It was pretty volatile."
Because both Bob and Dorothy suffer from dementia, the son assumed that his father didn't fully understand what was going on. And his sputtering cell phone call reporting the scene he'd happened upon would have been funny, the manager said, if the consequences hadn't been so serious. "He was going, 'She had her mouth on my dad's penis! And it's not even clean!' " Bob's son became determined to keep the two apart and asked the facility's staff to ensure that they were never left alone together."


Posted by Neve Black at 9:27 AM No comments: 
Gulp. Bridesmaid Dresses I think I’m finally passed the age of being asked to be in someone’s wedding. Let me be more specific: Asked to be in a traditional, wear a frou-frou, awful colored bridesmaid dress, type of wedding. Thank God getting older is good for something, right?

I’ve been a bridesmaid, a maid or matron of honor on more than one occasion. I guess the good news is: I haven’t had to be in the same bride’s wedding more than once. And if she were to ask me to go through all that nonsense again, for a second time, then I would kindly decline. If she persisted, I would ask if I could wear the bridesmaid dress I wore in her first wedding. Yep. That should finally cease the question, “will you be in my wedding?”

Fuck. No. Stop asking me.

I re-read that first paragraph and it sounds like I’m a little, well, jaded. But I’m not. Really, I’m not. Actually, I’m a die-hard romantic. I love, love. Birds start singing on cue whenever I hear about two people finding one another in this crazy, mixed-up world we live in. I find comfort in knowing that it’s possible to meet someone really special and co-create a life.

Anyway, back to the ridiculous and often, hideous bridesmaid dresses. Don't you love it when the bride insists on choosing a color and a dress, while in her warped sense of, “I’m not in my normal state of mind, because I am the bride” and she will honestly look at you straight in the eyes and say, “well, this dress is nice, because you can always wear it again.” Dead pan silence from me. All you bride’s to be out there, listen up! WE BRIDESMAIDS WILL NOT BE WEARING THE DRESS THAT YOU THINK IS THE CAT’S MEOW AFTER YOUR SHINDIG IS OVER. WHY? BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING UGLY. You simply can’t wear something that falls into the category of chiffon out it public, or well, I can’t. I won’t. I’ve never burned a bridesmaid dress before, but good God, at one time in my life, the back of my closet was lined with so many bridesmaid dresses, I could have fueled a bonfire. I was having difficulty finding room for my normal clothes, like 501 jeans, tee-shirts and cute, normal dresses made of cotton, in neutral colors, like white, or black.

I wish brides would get together and choose one style and one color, so that we suckers that elect to share in your glorious moment while wearing pink, taffeta can simply wear the same fucked up dress to the next bride-to-be’s wedding. It would save a lot of money, time and space in my closet, because that would be the only time I would be able to wear it again.
 
Wanna Bite? I want to give you all a taste of one my stories that I just finished, but I can't.

If I'm lucky enough to have the piece published, then it goes against the publishing rights to have it published anywhere else, including my blog. I don't make up the rules for publishing porn, but I have to oblige.

Yes. I am a prick tease. Yes, I am sorry.

Have a tempting and fruitful weekend.
Posted by Neve Black at 1:26 PM No comments: 
Seven Deadly Sins... I am a voyer. I love watching; observing and learning, analyzing the who, what, why, how and when of, well, people. People like you, people, like me, but I know me, so I'm not nearly as interesting to watch. Plus, the thought of watching one self seems way to vain for my taste and fucking, boring.

So I was doing my normal, everyday voyer type of behavior and like always, I checked out my one of my erotica heroine's blogs, Alison Tyler. Among other great, tidbits she has on her blog this week, like she has every day and every week, thus my heroine. She had this really, amazing plate that she found of course, through Etsy.

A cool artist, Trixiedelicious from the far, far down, under world in New Zealand takes vintagae plates and then adds her own eccentric signature to them. She calls it, "vandalizing vintage." I call it fucking, fantastic! I found the plates above: The Seven Deadly Sins. I love them! This is my new must have item found on Etsy.

Anyway, I'm still pounding; grinding (not the good kind of grinding) away on my stories. I'm pleased with the characters and the overall story, so I'll share a snippit with all of you soon.

p.s. Have you ever found yourself in the midst of one the Seven Deadly Sins? Which one? Details, I want details.
Posted by Neve Black at 9:41 AM 2 comments: 
I'll Be Back... in the next few days....

I'm working on two different stories right now and my time and slutty mind is focused on one story themed transgression; think bad to the bone; sins that taint your soul and another story is themed around naked day for Literotica's National Naked Day Contest.

BTW: National Nude Day, or Naked Day (potatoe, patotoe), is fast approaching us; July 14th is the day, so be sure and mark your calendars.

I'll be back to blogging after a few.



Posted by Neve Black at 12:00 AM No comments: 
Dear, John Have you ever written or received a “Dear John” letter? I think I’ve written a couple in my lifetime, but I never actually sent them. Writing my thoughts out was enough of the catharsis I needed, and by the time I got to the end of the letter; salutation of:


Go Fuck Yourself

p.s. Go Fuck Yourself, Sideways

I seemed to feel much better.

If you really think about it, the act of writing the letter is the peace you’re looking for. If you foolishly agree to meet with your “Dear John” and try and have a conversation about what you should have written in a letter in the first place, well, you could potentially end up in make-out, make-up, sex session and then you’re really fucked (in more ways than one). Because you’re right back to where you started; thinking about the need to write a “Dear John” letter.

I write about everything. Good. Bad. Every, single, God damn thing that crosses a synapse in my brain gets logged into a notebook stored into my purse, a "just in case" journal stuffed into my laptop’s carrying bag, or a grocery store receipt will do; scribbling down an idea for a story, that I’m later looking at wondering if I was drunk when I wrote it, because I can’t read my own penmanship. If I’m really lucky though, I have access to a computer and I can type my thoughts out until the cows come home, or the next bus comes, with a new boyfriend riding inside to replace the last, “Dear John.”

Tell me about your “Dear John”, or “Dear Jane” letters. 
Dick Hymen, Uhhh...I mean, Hyman Okay, now I know it’s not very nice to make fun of people; it’s sort of like judging a book by its cover. But. I. Can't. Help. Myself. Just play with me for a minute, okay? Let me pose this question to you, what would you do, if your name was Dick Hyman? Do you think your name would lend itself to a specific career choice, perhaps?

Maybe? Maybe not? Huh? I lost you at the blog title?

When faced with a decision, I believe that you always have three choices: Moonshine, coal mine, or moving it on down the line (Coal Miner’s Daughter). Here are the three choices that correspond to having the name, Dick Hyman, or Richard Hymen, or Dicky Hymen....

A. Have your name legally changed.
B. Study medicine, more specifically, Gynecology.
C. Work in the porn industry; with a name like that, you're sure to be a big star.
D. Become a world renowned Jazz musician.
Hmmm...what to do, what to do... (the sound of a clock ticking).

If you chose anyone of the choices above except D, Congratulations! We’re on the same page. I can’t imagine having a name like Dick Hymen, I mean Hyman and not choosing B or C as a career; it would almost be a calling for me, wouldn’t you agree?

Well, guess what? Dick Hyman chose to study music, and he went on to become one the best Jazz pianists in the world. Hey, is it me, Freud, or both, but doesn't the word, pianists sound an awful lot like penis? Sorry, Dick....I.Can't.Help.Myself.

I’ve had a little fun here with his name, so I’m including a small biography about this very talented musician below:

“In a busy musical career that began in the early 1950s, Dick Hyman has excelled as a pianist, organist, arranger, conductor, and composer. His versatility in all these areas has resulted in well over one hundred albums recorded under his own name, and many more in support of other artists. Mr. Hyman has investigated the earliest periods of jazz and ragtime and has recorded the music of Scott Joplin, Jelly Roll Morton, James P. Johnson, Eubie Blake, Fats Waller, and others. He has acted as Artistic Director of the acclaimed Jazz In July series at New York's 92nd Street Y and was inducted into the Jazz Hall Of Fame of Rutgers Institute of Jazz Studies. Dick Hyman was Music Director for Arthur Godfrey; and served as composer, arranger, conductor, and pianist for many Woody Allen films including Bullets Over Broadway and Mighty Aphrodite. Other film scores have included Moonstruck and Billy Bathgate.”

Well, I’ll be dipped up to my hymen in surprize! 
Hostel Hookers and More.... I booked airfare for my September trip to Italy this past weekend. I’m terribly excited about going to this foreign land, filled with wine, wine, song, and wine. Florence is pictured above.

I travel on a budget. My reasons are financially motivated. It can be pricey to travel, especially through Europe when you compare the dollar against the Euro these days.
I think if I had a lot of money, I would still prefer to be frugal with my traveling dollars though. Why? Or I guess the correct word is perche’? Because when you go on a budget; staying in less expensive accommodations and eating where the locals eat, you’re more apt to discover the grit of a culture then if you stay in hotels with multiple, stars and dining at restaurants, with all the other people that are just like you; tourists.
Hell, I don’t have to leave home to dine with people like me. Don’t get me wrong though, I think fancy-shmancy is Oooooh, la, la nice, but when I’m traveling to a foreign country, I’m mostly in it for the cultural experience. I try and keep a low profile; blending into the background, like a voyer just taking it all in.

I’m the traveler that’s sitting under a tree somewhere on a blistering hot day, or stepping into a local bar that's playing great music; writing journal and pen in hand, ready to capture every nuance and passing moment.

On this trip, I’m spending a portion of my trip at a beautiful villa in the Chianti region of Tuscany and even these accommodations are inexpensive. There are twelve of us renting a six bedroom, six bath villa, it's more like a palazzo. As a group, we locked a great price down for the week, which if you’re interested, is a cheap way to stay at a nice place, but not break the bank doing so.
In between, I’m booking my overnight stays in London, Padua, Pisa, and the Cinqueterre by staying in hostels. Yeah, I know, I finally got around to the name of today’s blog. Digress, digress, digress, I suppose.

Anyway, I found a website called, Hostelbookers.com and so I changed the name to something I liked much better, and now I call it, Hostel Hookers, which of course is completely different connotation, but very fitting for me. To help you with the visual, the picture below is of the red light district, in Amsterdam. p.s. I’ll continue to give you tidbits of my Italy itinerary periodically until I leave in September.

Posted by Neve Black at 3:50 PM No comments: 
No Sex... in the City, for Neve.... I’ve been asked on more than one occasion if I’ve already seen or plan to go and see the Sex and the City movie. The movie has been out now for a couple of weeks.

No. I’m. Not. Going.

“Why? Pourquoi? Porque’? Perche’?” You ask. Here’s my answer:

I was a die hard S&C groupie when the show aired on HBO on Sunday nights at 9:00 p.m. EST (see, I can still remember the time and day of the week). I paid the exhorbant price for HBO each month just so I could curl up on my couch, or someone else’s and watch each new and exciting episode; cosmopolitan delicately poised in one hand, eye’s glued to the tube, eager to laugh, ponder, cry and empathize with each of the single women struggling with similar perils of my own. In other words, I could identify with their lives.

In the very beginning, the show was edgy and fun. The writing was so well done that I remember applauding the talent of the writing team. "This stuff is really well written." I thought and I would comments to others that probably didn't really care to know. But I felt compelled to say it. Hell, there was some good stuff being written for cable television. Each and every word was chosen perfectly for every character; it was poetry in prose motion.

The show was really about Carrie Bradshaw, the main character, who had a relationship column. She was single and living in the big city of New York. Occasionally there would be a drop in here or there from other characters, like Miranda, but those characters developed in later episodes.

I can remember one of the very first episodes when Sarah Jessica Parker, aka Carrie Bradshaw used to talk into the camera; dictating the events of her week, and coincidentally her weekly column sex topic. You as the viewer felt that she was speaking to you directly. You wanted to answer her questions, or jump into the screen and help her with whatever relationship issue she was lamenting on about.

Her appearance wasn't as important in the beginning either. Her hair was long, crazy and curly; she wore little to no make up and her style back then was less “top designer” looking, and more funky and bohemian; more realistic to her well under six-figured annual salary.

You got the feeling she (Carrie) shopped at cool, resale shops in SOHO, not the upper west side's boutiques that catered to those who would barely bat an eyelash at the cost of purchasing a Chanel suit. Have you ever priced Chanel? Well, I have, and let’s just say, the cost of a used jacket is more than the cost to replace my karma car. Actually, a pair of Chanel sunglasses is more expensive than my karma car. If she did have a few pairs of designer shoes, Manolo Blahnik’s, but looking back now, those shoes were probably purchased because of some great shoe sale; substantially marked down from their original $400+ price, because they were a previous year's model.

Then. Something. Happened.

More and more people were talking about the show. HBO became greedy; wanting more, so they expanded to a bigger audience; a more mainstream audience and that’s when the show started to lose some of its edginess for me. It was still very well written and I would watch it, but it had changed from its raw, original form; metamorphosed into something suburban mom's across the country could also relate to. That was confusing for me.

Boo, hiss.

I found myself becoming less and less enchanted with watching the show. I started to miss some of the episodes; I found myself cheating.


I would opt to read a really good book or make Sunday night dinner plans. Great conversation, food and wine were taking center stage. Then later, the word on the street was the show was going to end and I actually breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I didn’t want my great memory of the show to be lost to high ratings and bad writing. I felt the show needed to end when it did; on a positive note, because in my opinion, it was headed to what prime time's answer to S&C is today, Desperate Housewives. How fucking stupid is that show? Good Fucking God!

It was time to say goodbye to my friends, Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte, and I did. I said goodbye a long time ago and it was a little painful; bitter sweet, because I was saying goodbye to a show that I once respected, an icon for setting higher writing standards in the industry, not to mention a glimpse into the single life of four women making it in the big city, who no matter what always had one another to lean on.

Going to see the movie for me at this point would ruin all the great memories I still savor from when I still really liked the show. It's sort of like trying to go back and have sex with someone after the relationship has ended, badly. Or better yet, trying to keep making a relationship work when you both know it just needs to end. No good can come from that. You're left with sadness and frustration, I'm afraid. 
No Cheese, Please.... One of my all time favorite Erotic websites, Oysters and Chocolate had a Q&A about oral. I liked it so much, I wanted to share it with you:

Dear O&C,
My man loves me to give him head, but a lot of the time his balls stink like cheese, and not American either, I’m talking stinky French cheese. I usually give him a couple of licks, but then I have to come up for air. I’ve never been able to make him come so I’m sure he thinks I hate giving head. It’s not that! I actually love sucking cock, I just don’t know how to tell him the problem is his stank. I’m afraid he’ll get hurt.
Ew Fromage!

Dear Fromage,
There is no way you are going to be able to surmount this hurdle in your sex life without fessing up to what’s inhibiting your oral play. You don’t have to tell your man that he stinks like French cheese, but you do need to ask your man to wash up. The best way would be to get on your knees holding his erect cock in your hand, look up at him, batting your eyelashes, and say, “Can you please wash off so that I can enjoy my cock?” Another method is the tried and true shower power. Taking his cock in hand, gently lead him to the shower and enjoy a nice sudsy soapy clean-up session together. Once he’s spick and span you can go to town on his meat, hold the cheese. But beware, if the shower doesn’t fix the problem, you should insist that your man head to the docs to get checked for a variety of stink-inducing STI’s.

Agree disagree? Does this also apply for women as well? I think it just might, indeed.


Posted by Neve Black at 12:01 AM 3 comments: 
Are You HOT, In Bed? I was experiencing a little technical difficulty yesterday and I wasn't able to pre-blog today's message. My apologies, readers that look forward to a new posting when you're up at 1-5 a.m. My sincere apologies.
If you didn’t immediately answer yes to the question above, don’t fret. I’ve listed the top ten best ways that should surely help you get there and then get, there (wink, wink). The list is from an article I read (I’m sure you’re dying to get on the same mailing list of my reading material, aren’t you?) and of course, I’ve read through each category and added a few of my own comments; upgrading the author’s prose:
Be Carnally Creative
This is a rather handy solution to the sleepy female/awake and erect male syndrome (huh?) Originally used as a method of birth control and to preserve virginity, "femoral intercourse" involves him thrusting his penis between your closed thighs instead of inside your vagina. It's a gentle, noninvasive way to have sex, and it keeps both of you satisfied (I don’t feel satisfied). If he places his penis near the top of your thighs so it slides in between your vaginal lips, sleepy female can rapidly turn into wide awake, horny female!
Okay. Okay. Okay. So his cock is obviously rubbing up again your now swollen clit, but how does this protect against pregnancy, again? Didn’t we all learn in sixth grade sexual education class that it takes just one of the little devils (affectionately known as sperm) swimming like salmon up the vaginal river to meet it's soul mate, the egg, "attention, attention...invader, invader, danger, danger...red alert" and then presto, pregnancy. I think I might opt for mutual hand jobs and or mutual licks and sucks. Agree? Disagree?
Give Him the Finger
Inserting a finger into your partner's rectum during a hand job, usually just before orgasm, could mean he's in for the orgasm of his life (I’m going to interject that I think you should ask before trying this). Some men worry that enjoying any sort of anal stimulation makes them homosexual, which is obviously completely untrue. But because it can be a sensitive topic, gauge his reaction by starting to play around the rim (the outside) of his anus. If he lifts his bottom toward you or shoots you a quizzical look, tell him you'd like to try something. Like the clitoris, the root of the penis extends a few inches into his body. Stimulating the perineum or anus massages that inner portion, but the true pleasure spot lies about three inches in. This is the prostate gland, nicknamed the male G-spot. To find it — and map its position for future reference — get him to lie on his back as you (gently and after using lots of lubrication) insert your index finger, with your hand palm side up, almost all the way in. Aim toward his navel, then curve your finger in a "come here" gesture.
Yep. I concur. However, in this case it’s better to ask for permission than to beg for forgiveness; especially if this is new territory for both you and your partner.
Remember That Position Counts
Not terribly confident or proficient at giving hand jobs? All too often, women try to deliver the goods in a position that feels uncomfortable or unnatural. Are you left handed or right handed? Which is your best side? Because you're allowed to move, you know! There's no need to make a big deal about it — simply roll over on top of him or straddle his lap and plant a long, slow, delicious kiss, then climb off onto the side that suits you. And don't be scared to deviate from the usual side-by-side position. Try him standing in front of you and you sitting on the edge of a bed, or him hovering above you and straddling your tummy as you lie on your back.
Use lubrication.
Slap On the Slippery Stuff
When men do their own five-finger salute (read: masturbate), they usually slap on some lubrication. Why? Well, a dry penis is a sensitive one; it likes gentle stroking, but sliding your hand up and down the shaft (the standard male masturbation technique) when it isn't lubricated can feel uncomfortable (try sandpaper, hello?) to him instead of erotic (duh?). Saliva is better than nothing, but clever girls come prepared with a tube of good-quality personal lubricant (I carry a tube in my purse at all times. A girl can never be too prepared). Don't feel remotely embarrassed squeezing some into your palm — he'll be grateful! Avoid using too much, though, as being overly generous is almost as bad as using none because it removes friction entirely.
It’s like a party, the more lube the merrier!
Introduce Him to Your Vibrator
One of you holding a wand vibrator (slim, cylindrical, nonintrusive) over the clitoral area during penetrative sex is the most effective way to ensure a shared orgasmic experience. Why don't more people do it? Because some don't like introducing something "mechanical" — and lots of men feel a tad threatened by vibrators. On occasions when his tongue, fingers or penis won't do the trick, teach him to graciously accept defeat and reach into the bedside table drawer to pull one out.
Yep. I concur. You can always use it on him too.
Build Bridges
If your goal is simultaneous orgasms, use the technique most sex therapists recommend. The basic idea is to give you clitoral stimulation almost right up to the point of orgasm — and then let his thrusting trigger the final orgasmic reflex. This effectively provides a "bridge" between clitoral stimulation and intercourse (that is, he stimulates the clitoris right up to penetration, then his thrusting takes over as your prime stimulation). Some studies show that up to half of women who couldn't previously climax through penetration alone gained that ability — without "priming" first! — after using this technique regularly.
Yep. I concur.
Deliberately Develop Orgasm Triggers
The more your brain travels a certain path neurologically, the more effortless it becomes. The act of smiling — actually curving your lips upward — lets your brain know you're happy, which triggers the release of serotonin, a hormone that makes you feel happy. The same applies to orgasm: The more signals of impending orgasm that your brain can recognize, the easier it will be to trigger the orgasmic response. Focus on the things you naturally do on approach to orgasm — sounds you make, how you move — then exaggerate them.
I think what the author is saying here, in layman's terms (no pun) is, it’s okay to act like Jenna Jamieson during sex. Scream, pant, moan, and let it all hang out, baby.
Stop the Clock
Women constantly ask me, "How long should it take to orgasm?" That's like asking me, "How long should a piece of string be?" (Plus, I hate the word "should"!) If you trip over your tongue just by looking at a guy and it's the first time his hands have gone south and you've just ripped each other's clothes off after a night out, you might orgasm in two minutes flat. If it's your partner of 10 years and you're tired and stressed and the kids are sleeping a few rooms away, it might take two hours. Statistics vary wildly, because this is something that's totally dependant on circumstances. Some say it takes an average of 20 minutes for a woman to orgasm; others say eight minutes of direct clitoral stimulation will do the trick. I say eight to ten minutes of direct contact sounds about right — but it totally depends on the variables.
20 minutes? I’d be lost in the sauce; literally and figurative speaking. If it takes someone that long to fucking cum, ask for some help. Ask God, the next door neighbors, call in in a life-fuck-line if you have to and then if all fails, I would have her go back to reading: Building Bridges.
Give Instructions
His sexual system is simple. It's like a connect-the-dots game. On the other hand, to say that the woman's sexual system is complicated would be like saying you only need to be pretty good at math to be a rocket scientist! If you don't show or tell him how to touch you — and I mean when, where, how hard, how fast… in as much detail as possible —
I agree, but I also think men need to step up and let women know what turns them on, besides the obvious answers: Playboy’s monthly centerfold model, or anyone from the Victoria Secret's catalog.

Understand His Motives
Men often have sex to feel wanted. (Hmm...I thought they had sex because they were hot and horny?) Granted, it's hard to accept that he's really after affection when he has one hand up your sweater and the other diving down your skirt (See. Hot. Horny). But it's true. Sex for a man appears to be his primal form of giving; it's one way for him to feel accepted both physically and emotionally. Because some men still aren't as verbose or as comfortable with expressing emotion as women are, sex tends to be used as a means of showing his love and feeling close to you. If he really wants to say "I love you," he may suggest sex. So basically, when you reject sex with him, you're not just rejecting the sex. Adopt a new philosophy: When you say no, tell him when you want to have sex instead. And always make it clear you're just saying no to sex — not to a cuddle or to a cozy chat.
What the fuck? Here’s my advice: Say what’s fucking so. If you want to have sex because you’re hot and horny, say it. If you feel like you want some love and affection and you’re also hot and horny, just say it, or ask for it. It’s not that difficult, people. Stop playing games and start saying what you mean. Even if you’re not sure what you mean, say that you’re not sure what you mean. Take the guess work out of it. It’s a lot less confusing and it will get you closer to having that hot sex and making you a hotter in bed, and isn't that we all want anyway?

Finally, good luck with these top ten recipes for making you a hotter in bed. Please, please, please send me your comments after you've implemented a few. Acutally I take that back, I want to hear from your lover, not you.

Have a great, hot and healthy weekend!
Posted by Neve Black at 10:45 AM 4 comments: 
Is Your Dick Safe? Oops. Silly me, I meant to ask, “Is your deck safe?” I had to read the headline twice at first, but it did say deck, not dick. Hey now, it was an honest mistake. But once again, my mind wonders….

Its summertime and the living easy, well sort of. You see, it’s not exactly summer here where I live, because it’s been a bit cold. The weather report is predicting rain all week too. Well, it could be worse; it could be snowing.

What? You didn’t come to this site to hear about a weather report? Sorry. June is supposed to be considered a summer month. Kids are getting out of school, the earth is rotating closer to the sun; summer solstice, and you've finally put your winter boots and sweaters away. Come on, work with me here. More importantaly, we’re all going to be spending more time outside on our patios and dicks. Damn, Freudian fuck up. I mean decks.

Actually, I’m having a bit of fun here, but all kidding aside, just think about how dangerous an unprotected deck (insert dick here) is. The last thing anyone wants to happen while outside grilling hot dogs and hamburgers when suddenly you start getting the feeling that something just doesn't feel right. Oh know! The deck (insert dick here) you're on is about to collapse. That could instantly throw a wet blanket over your beach, blanket bingo fun, eh?

Here are a few tips to insure your outdoor, summertime, playground is fun and safe:

1. Have your deck or your dick inspected by a professional.

2. Make sure your deck or your dick is clean. Sometimes decks take a beating over the harsher months; from too much precipitation and they can obtain fungus and buildup; they need a good cleansing; powerwash, or perhaps a trip to the doctor’s office for a shot of penicillin.

3. One last important tip; be kind to your deck or dick. It needs your tender, loving care to help it maintain its healthy appearance. If you take good care of it, it will last a lifetime.

Now how nice is that? A lifetime achievement award for taking good care of your dick, or deck.

p.s. I hope you're enjoying your summer, regardless of the weather. Be sure and let someone know how much you like their, ahem, deck. “If two people love each other, but they just can't seem to get it together, when do you get to that point of enough is enough?” From the film, The Mexican.

Do you agree or disagree with that statement?

I like to think that I agree with what's written above, because the people we're choosing to love are truly special; they fill a unique space in our hearts. I strongly object to kicking someone to the curb just because we don't see eye to eye. I'm all for working things out, even when there seems to be no compromise in sight. Sometimes however, the person you're not syncing up with doesn't share your enthusiasm for sticking it out; through thick and thin.


When I’m really at my wits end with someone; when there has been a communication break down, and I know you know what I mean; you're zigging and they’re zagging. Then the anger starts to dissipate; filtering out of my system and soon I’m just left with angry's evil twin, pain. A low grade and constant throbbing, pit in my stomach, kind of pain. A pain that keeps me awake at night. I’m not sure what the worse of the two evils is either. Neither one is very nice to play with I'm afraid.

You see, I let very few people in; really in. I have acquaintances; people passing through my life now and again, I guess everyone does. But there’s only a few people allowed inside and under my skin; people I really love and care about. So, when someone does something that really upsets me; causing me grief and pain (described above), do I go ahead and pull the proverbial relationship plug, or do I take the two higher roads of forgiveness and understanding? Should I just suck it up, because this person is truly special to me, or do I simply cut bait?

Are there degrees of plug pulling? Meaning, if someone you love and care about murders someone, do you stand by them anyway? Would you be able to? Would the circumstances surrounding the murder play a part in your decision?

Maybe for some of you, murder is a bit far reaching, okay, I can accept that, but how about cheating? What if your mutually exclusive partner cheated on you? Ugh. There’s nothing quite like having your skin ripped off, is there? Or at least that’s what I equate the feeling of being cheated on to feel like.


I know this isn’t a simple black and white answer to the question I’ve posed above, because we humans live in the gray area. Rarely is the answer so cut and dry that you’re left feeling damn good about your decision. I vacillate between staying or going; pulling or not pulling. Oh God, it’s a relentless battle within me.

Your thoughts, please? 
"If you ain't got no money; ain't nobody calls you honey." Those are the words of the now late, great legendary singer and performer, Bo Didley.
He was one of the founding fathers of rock 'n' roll whose distinctive "shave and a haircut, two bits" rhythm and innovative guitar effects inspired legions of other musicians, he died Monday after months of ill health. He was 79.

Bo Didley was also remembered for his homemade square guitar, dark glasses and black hat, and he was an inductee into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, had a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame, and received a lifetime achievement award in 1999 at the Grammy Awards. In recent years he also played for the elder President Bush and President Clinton.

I saw him perform twice. The first time was at a club in a strip mall, right along Clairemont Mesa Blvd, in San Diego, California, called The Bacchanal (no longer in existence). I was probably too young at the time to be in a club that was serving alcohol, but there I was, up in front completely amazed at the way Mr. Bo Didley could play the guitar. I think I must have been in High School; late 1970’s. Years later, I was lucky enough to see him again in New York City. And I can’t for the life of me remember the name of the club. I remember his performance though and once again, he was amazing.

He had a way about him; a stage presence that not everyone is blessed with. He was a well greased, machine; flowing with syncronisity and high energy; hitting all your senses. He was effortlessly cool too; possessed that “fuck it, I don’t really care kind of attitude.” You could tell he just wanted to play his music and boy, could he.