…a few stops away from my destination but, nevertheless, in one piece. You see, a certain friend, with all the best intentions, I believe, had waylaid me from reality with a certain trilogy of books pertaining to the color grey. These books, and a family trip to the ultimate den of sin, Las Vegas, have kept me quite occupied since my last post. I have been so engrossed with said books and family fun that I haven’t even opened my computer since my last blog post. I almost forgot my password and that would’ve been true hell.
I don’t know if any of you have succumbed to the riveting charms of erotic fiction but Trent and the boys most certainly have the mood of the Fifty Shades of Grey series down pat…
I must admit that taking a family trip to Sin City was much tamer than braving the conflagration of lust these books ignited. It’s a pity I had to go out and buy all new underwear due to the scorch marks. I am a shameful wanton devouress of romantic novels and erotic fiction (tsk, tsk) at times, and until I read Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker, and Fifty Shades Freed, I thought it wasn’t possible for one’s panties to spontaneously combust. Urban Myth? Not any more. Good thing I found these nanofiber undies before I launched into book three:
It did get a little old reading page after page of sex, sex, sex but I did take breaks to go to the bathroom and to rest my hand…from holding the book, you gutter dwellers! I certainly wouldn’t want anyone discovering me like these unfortunate mommies:
Back from lustland and from all things naughty, unscathed and ready to bend my mind to more productive endeavors, I shall bench my vibrator for a few months and take up knitting or tatting lace and reading tomes dedicated to medieval agriculture. Wonder how long that will last? I do too…
“When once the woman has tempted us, and we have tasted the forbidden fruit, there is no such thing as checking our appetites, whatever the consequences may be.”
GEORGE WASHINGTON, letter to Mrs. Richard Stockton, Sep. 2, 1783
Who knew that even my nation’s first president was a good old-fashioned horn-dog? Somehow, I feel a lot better now. Thanks, Mr. President!