Bed of Rose's: HSDD, Infidelity, Menopause, and Me

By Rose Maru

Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD... yes, I'm finally giving up, because the DSM has declared HSDS - Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome - doesn't exist. Only HSDD. Funny... if they can make something cease existing, you'd think the least they could do is make me feel like I want to have sex once in a while... or thinking a sexy thought... or getting a stupid off-color joke without a half-hour explanation. Not that I'm bitter or anything. ) :
I digress (what else is new?)...
Five years past our stroll through Rose Garden and it looks like I have yet more stories to tell which wouldn't fit with the tone and flavor of my little glimmer of 'post a naughty picture and tell a sexy story' Garden of hope. The garden is having problems. We're fighting the changing seasons. And whatever resembled summer - the remembered reason to run around the house naked - soon was forgotten.
Bring on the seasons that have become my life, now including a couple years into real menopause - no longer perimenopause, but real, full-fledged premature menopause (I am *so* allowed to call it premature! I'm still in my forties! It's freaking premature, folks!)
And if my fouled up brain doesn't do me in with forgetting all items of sexual nature or with complete lack of desire to be intimate... it's a lack of hormones and another hot flash... and buggered up memory issues... and a brush with infidelity. (Yeah, "brush" - like the gentle swipe of a semi-truck's front bumper hitting you standing along the road trying to figure out where the hell you are or why you're there... see? Light little brush).
Buckle up and get ready for me to over-share, hopefully so you can see you're not alone (please, Lord, let me know someone else out in the world has experienced at least one of these things and handled it just as crappy as I have.)
I mean, "Yo! Check out the changing seasons along the weedy path through this Bed of Rose's!":
Introduction to Menopause, HSDD, and Me
Summer (HSDS/HSDD Updated Suggestion List, Hot Flash Flashing, I Dream of Chains / Dreams Before Chains, Oh Doing One-Self, Clit Whisperer, Write Erotica - How To Grow Your Own Rose, Dominatrix Dream, Box of Morons, Visualization - CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy), Ejaculate, Dream Redoubt, Gotcha, Good Bad Girl)
Fall (Not Again, Just Don't Say It, Failing Menopause Homework)
Winter (Intimacy Lost, His Side of the Bed, Infidelity Roulette, Infidelity Marital, X's and O's)
Spring (Quietly, Query Non-HSDD Spouse, Tutor Dream, Menopause Sucks, Got Balls?, Unanswered Prayers, Conclusion - Planting Seeds)

... and of course, the Truth and Consequences to all of it (No matter how painful, uncomfortable, or just how much over-sharing has to be done - whatever it takes to help you folks experience this with me).
Somewhere in that mess, I hope you can find something useful in your relationship... if nothing else, maybe I can be a good 'bad example' for the train-wreck in your life. Or at the very least, provide a quick laugh at what I thought was a good idea at the time. Because if we're not laughing at some of this stuff, I'm pretty sure I'd be crying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rose Maru
• Release date: Jan 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463927397

Rose Maru

Born a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... no, wait, that wasn't me, but sometimes it certainly seems like it.Before getting into all the fun details, I want to clear the air of a rather large aspect of my writing because it has a huge impact on my work: I have HSDS (Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome). In fact, if it weren't for my HSDS, I wouldn't be here and you wouldn't be there reading this - my previously unpublished writings were explorations into kick-starting my, ahem, 'motor.' I tried to explore anything that might cause a little tingle below, even ideas and concepts my thinking brain refused to hear. Creating an alter-ego in my stories allowed me to safely penetrate the veil of non-existence - I was forced to think about sexy thoughts and situations.I wrote for years covering a wide range of topics, my husband providing a large number of seedlings from which to grow my stories (HSDS... what do you expect? Much to my dismay, what I learned to expect was very raunchy pillow-talk. Much to his dismay, he learned to expect me to leap from bed saying, "Oh! That is so good, I've got to write it down!"). It turns out, writing romantic erotica usually wasn't doing it for me. I gave up on it for a period of time - in essence, I gave up trying to help myself, as well.Then my significant's bright idea: if it didn't help me, maybe it would help someone else. I was back to writing again, or more correctly, preparing my work for release unto an unsuspecting public (I have now officially absolved myself from any evil that befalls you after reading my books - it's all his fault). So I dredged up my folder of rough and unpolished stories - damn, I wrote this much? No wonder I wasn't having sex, I was busy writing about it. (Fib alert: so not true it's not funny. Not the 'not having sex' part, but the lack of bedroom action wasn't really due to my writing.)An odd thing happened, though, as I was rereading my material and editing it. I felt a little something that I hadn't experienced in a long time. I actually felt a little tingle from down below. That soft little call, while editing some stories, started to get a little louder - still very quiet, but it was most certainly there where it hadn't been for decades. I gave in to the siren call almost immediately - surprised the hell out of my husband (thank goodness it wasn't the UPS guy at the door during those moments). Complete, spontaneous, due-to-my-doing rumpy-bumpy. Holy humper, Batman, I'm fixed!I wish. It disappeared again, just as easily slipping back into my 'normal abnormal' routine of never thinking about it within hours. Back to editing. Being the patient sort, I allowed myself to edit a whole three paragraphs before anguish sets in, "It's not working! Ah! I'm broken forever!" Luckily, I have a never say die attitude (Fib alert: ... no, wait, this isn't my stories where I have to include a 'truth' section - let me have my freaking moment), and said, "Piss on it, I'm still going to release my work. I've come this far."And so it went - although much to my joy (and my hubby's) - every so often, I'd find myself showing such obvious responses to passages, it was apparent to even an HSDS girl - and we'd make joy (sometimes several times) to the situation. I wasn't fixed, but at least I had a crutch.Which leaves me editing my old material, exploring new, and tormenting you with it - where I hope it does you some good, too. If it can't make you happy that way, I hope it'll at least provide you a little laugh the other way - especially since I do provide a 'Truth and Consequences' side to all my stories at the end of each book where I detail the nitty-gritty and harsh reality of every piece. This allows everyone's inner voyeur to be released because my HSDS does a great job of preventing me from grasping 'TMI,' so I tend to spill my guts back there in my books.As for my bio (side note: doesn't that make it an 'auto-bio?'), I'm a cute, twenty-one year-old (Fib Alert! Oh my Lord! If you're writing fantasy-fiction, at least make it believable!) - crap, okay, fine, I'm old enough to probably be your sister - from a second marriage - so we're not blood related, which means you don't have to get all weirded out about reading sex stuff about me) - and I live in the Pacific Northwest where I am still happily married to my first husband (very funny - he edits my other fibs so I have to tell the truth, but leaves the happily married one)... at least until he reads the final published product where I changed the truth section in every book back to being brutally honest contrary to his corrections.And, yes, that is me on the cover of all my books, but I'm not spilling the beans here, you have to read the book.

Book preview

:Table of Contents:

Alphabetical Contents - Contents by Topic

Introduction - Menopause, HSDD, and Me

Summer

HSDS/HSDD Updated Suggestion List

Hot Flash Flashing

I Dream of Chains / Dreams Before Chains

Oh Doing Self

Clit Whisperer

Write Erotica - How To Grow Your Own Rose

Dominatrix Dream

Box of Morons

Visualization - CBT

Ejaculate

Dream Redoubt

Gotcha

Good Bad Girl

Fall

Not Again

Just Don't Say It

Failing Menopause Homework

Winter

Intimacy Lost

His Side of the Bed

Infidelity Roulette

Infidelity Marital

X's and O's

(Note that there's no such thing as a good transition after something like that - you just have to cross your fingers, pray to whomever or whatever will listen, that things have to get better.)

Spring

Quietly

Query Non-HSDD Spouse

Tutor Dream

Menopause Sucks

Got Balls?

Unanswered Prayers

Conclusion - Planting Seeds

Truth and Consequences

- Master Index -

-Other Works (Bonus Tales)-

Raindrops on Roses:

- Art Director

Rose by Any Other Name:

- Braless is Better

Dozen Roses:

Coming Up Roses:

- Bigger Brother Cover Shoot

- Q&A with Rose (excerpt)

Rose Garden: My Life with HSDS:

- Introduction to HSDS

- HSDS 2014 Redoubt (From Raindrops on Roses)

- HSDS Treatment Trial

- Q&A Session 2 with Rose (HSDS Topics) (excerpt)

Rose Wood At Home:

Wars of Roses:

Real Randy Rose:

Buns 'n Roses:

- Take Two

Covering Rose:

- Raindrops on Roses Cover

Climbing Rose:

- Yard Work Handy Helpers

Chains

Dare to Bare:

- How to Contribute to DTB

- Comfort Zone

Love All, Rose:

Rose Art

Soul Service, Inc. (Excerpt)

Parade of Roses (the grand master index of Rose kink)

- - - -

About Rose C. Maru

Contact Information

- - - -

Bed of Rose's - Introduction

Menopause, HSDD, and Me

(Because I'm pretending any other part of the title doesn't exit)

For the record, in case I forget: I was HSDD before I was non-orgasmic. Or dysorgasmic? That might be more correct. And I also don't want to blame it, because it's possible it was just a temporal random association, in that I started losing the ability to climax as I was exposed to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). I don't want to be accused of ignoring science, because usually CBT helps people, not breaks them. Of course, with any therapy, I'm sure there will always be a small percentage of the population that'll have an adverse reaction - so I can't say it did or didn't break me.

What I can say is that even the Hitachi Magic Wand has lost it's magic. I feel like I get sort of close, but not even really that... except hubby's told me I never knew when I was close before, so not being able to tell now shouldn't be any shock. He asked a couple times about other toys - I declined - he stopped asking after a few more declines (he claims he can say things twice - if he goes to a third I get pissy. If it weren't for his call your mom or call birthday person or other reminders that do make me get, um, upset - I'd claim he's just being an ass (I've discussed this in other books that he gets in trouble for reminding me to do those various things); but since this is supposed to be a potentially painful, yet 'helpful to others' collection: he's right. He'll remind me twice - if he goes past that, I get so involved in being pissed at him for thinking I'll forget... I do. Forget. Completely. I still forget most of the time with two reminders, but at least we're not arguing about it any longer (my friends and relatives just think I work twenty-four hours a day several days in a row... which means I can't help but call them the following day, always the day after their birthday / special day).

Oh, what I meant to say was, Welcome to the Bed of Rose's! - in which said bed has a whole helluva lot more room than it used to have. Because I sleep alone now. He sleeps in a different bed, in a different room - but at least, as of now, it's still under the same roof. Although in the deepest, darkest parts of his thought process, apparently he questions how long. Luckily he doesn't mention that. I think. Luckily, that is. I tend to enjoy being blissfully ignorant - because then I may not be happy, but at least I'm not unhappy.

I claim I'm still working on it: happiness... and to a degree, that other supposed path to happiness down Intercourse Lane; I still write stories, vaguely reminiscent of erotica (very tame erotica, it would seem) - although, honestly, it's mostly old material I'm dredging out of my Ideas-Not-Used files. So I'm more of an author than an exciting mommy porn pusher. It's been years (a decade now?) since he's helped me come up with ideas (the ones I'm still using as base material, truth be told, because I'm HSDD... I usually don't come up with new stuff on my own - the old brain isn't wired for it anymore except for the odd sleepless morning or occasional in an instant collection) - so unlike I discussed way back in Rose Garden and my first grand therapeutic attempts at curing my HSDS - we don't wake up together, so of course he can't roll over on top of me and tell my body a story that we write together - like I wrote about in that first book about my HSDS. I wish I could say I miss it. I don't even remember doing it except for the written record - that and my extensive ideas not used file. I'd claim sleeping in separate beds guarantees no more ideas together - but like he'll point out later in this book, that's me pretending the 'perfect' situation will happen or ever actually existed. Because I still don't sleep well - except the last two hours. He still sleeps very well - for the first five or six. Not the best mix for shared bed activity. So we don't share a bed. And, if I'm continuing to be honest, I share myself with him a lot less than I used to. I pretend the intimacy is still there - we still hold hands walking from the car to the store... but maybe less than previous. I don't like to feel him limping - or, more correctly, he doesn't like to let me feel him not walking normal. Yes, he's getting older. I'm getting older. Stupid things we've done when we were younger are starting to come back to haunt us.

Of course, I didn't expect to be menopausal in my forties, either.

Yes, I was HSDD before my ovaries went on strike... apparently permanently walking off the job. Although, sort of like CBT, I lost the ability to climax (at least my previously easily orgasmic self (I used to be a three-minute start-to-clean up girl into my early-forties)) about the same time. Although I was still early enough in menopause to where I could still, uh, Juice up a storm so to say, which meant it wasn't a dryness or discomfort thing. Although, he claims I was mentioning 'chaffing' a whole lot more near the 'big day.' The official 365 days since my last menstrual period. It was in that last month of impending official menopause that the Hitachi lost its magical ability. Although that last year, it was taking me five minutes to climax, orgasm, and be too sensitive to do much else for a few minutes - then he'd get his ride, sometimes forcing me to nail a second one (I know - how unfair is that, ladies? Not just easily orgasmic, but multiply orgasmic... and I never wanted the first, let alone the second orgasm. I'm still waiting to miss it - I just don't know why I should. Yup, HSDD is a bitch).

So here you have it: my work with, through, and experiencing menopause with pre-existing Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD). For better, for worse, for whatever - but always for real, how I live it every day.

Which means, before I forget, let's slip off our clothes and get into this Bed of Rose's.

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

HSDS/HSDD Updated Helpful Suggestion List

(Fighting Those Unhelpful Sexy Suggestions)

Funny (not really), but anytime one mentions a challenge in your life, it seems like everyone wants to help. Unfortunately for those topics revolving around the question of asymmetric sexual desires, very rarely do I find other people's suggestions helpful (and often times, I find them downright offensive - oh, not in an OMG! You want me to show my husband how I like to masturbate? kind of way. More like in an "OMG! You want me to masturbate?! Not gonna happen, sister.")

You'd think because I get so many of these completely unhelpful suggestions to my sexual challenges / inquiries ("Hey, am I the only one that thinks the entire cover of Cosmo sucks dog balls? I mean, seriously, women can't really want to have sex that often." (Special note of interest for those that may be considering saying that exact quote: apparently standing at the check-out stand at Safeway by the magazine display is not an appropriate location to pose this question to no one in particular.)), I should not only be hypersensitive about them, but intimately aware when I see such appear on my computer screen. Obviously, I should be immune from spouting such unhelpful, non-sense drivel back at others who are making honest searches for answers cast in my direction.

Yet recently, I caught myself writing the exact same, completely useless and wholly unhelpful mantra I've fought against all these years. It's like a contagious disease, the leper of lascivious disciples seeking knowledge about their relationships (and lack thereof upon satin sheets). I was writing crap back to someone seriously seeking my help because I'm HSDS and I'm not a stranger to being a stranger in bed. And on that screen appeared complete horse shit.

So I had a heart-to-heart talk with myself and I thought it was high time to repeat and re-evaluate what I'd say to myself if I could've got to me earlier in life:

{Rumpled note mysteriously found stuck inside my closet on my first wedding anniversary...}

Hi self! How ya doing? Yeah, I know - you think you're doing well. You've just been married to a man you love, and you experience romance on a daily basis: holding hands, sneaking a kiss behind a blind corner while out on a walk, cuddling and holding each other while drifting to sleep in front of the TV. Waking up in the morning to have him make you breakfast. Repeat. It's marital bliss. Only you're missing something. At least he is, and he'll demonstrate it in several ways: not talking about it; talking about it while you try to ignore it; talk about it and you claim you do it (like all the freaking time); or he stews and simmers trying to figure out if it's you, him, or the Gods declared your love to be celestially pure (meaning there is no 'nasty' in 'doing the nasty' - at least in your marriage bed).

Yes, the last time you spread your legs was a year ago. No, I'm not pulling your leg. And quite frankly, nobody is pulling your husband's third leg, either. Not even him, because he knows your take on masturbation, and he fears if you ever found out, you'd be gone. Yes, he loves you that much - he's willing to not take matters into his own hand, so to speak.

So what do I need you to do? There's several easy and several more challenging things, but in solid honesty, you need to do them all - at least eventually. I'd hope before your twentieth wedding anniversary like me. I mean you (at least you if you don't heed my words - because somehow, and I don't know how, you're still going to be married to the same great guy a couple decades from now. Only you're going to feel a huge pile of guilt you didn't see all this sooner. I don't mean to make you feel bad, but, trust me, I do feel really bad, and so will you. You'll feel like you killed part of your spouse, or at least his spirit, and it's going to hurt. Trust me - in many ways, I am you - or at least the ghost of sexless future you. Please, no jokes about Ebenezer).

The five prong approach to less talk, more action (yes, I mean that action - not that you'd ever talk about such things, because you're a good, wholesome, God-fearing lady):

1) Keep up the good work in loving each other, reveling in the romance and warmth of what is a wonderful and intimate relationship/marriage. The day-to-day acts of love and kindness are the hardest part, so all the hand holding, cuddling, hugs and smooches should continue. You both have an extremely solid foundation to build the rest together.

2) Find a copy of Menopause Confidential by Dr. Allmen. She's written a wonderful book that should be read by all married couples irrespective of age, at least twice during their lives together: honeymoon and in their forties (and a third time during the actual transition into ovarian quiescence would be a wonderful reminder). And I do mean both husband and wife should read it. (This way he'll understand why I threaten to break his fingers when he thinks it's hilarious to warm his hands upon my body as I'm having yet another hot flash). As embarrassing as it may seem, pay attention to the part that finally saved me under reproductive health: a healthy vagina and female reproductive system benefits from routine stimulation to orgasm. This is a non-negotiable assignment - you will climax, and you will see health benefits from it.

3) Seek consultation with a priest or pastor in the neighboring county (far from home so you don't have to see him at every church function, holy day, and Sunday) so you can ask questions (or in my case, confession). If you don't jive with one holy representative, next time drive further or a different direction. I spent years before I finally found a Father that not only accepted the fact I needed to talk about the topic of sex within marriage (or lack thereof in my case), but listen and take the time to give a thoughtful answer. While embarrassing to me at first, finally hearing a good, confident answer was extremely liberating. Prior to this one, noble man of God, nobody was willing to even start the discussion - merely instructing me to Pray on it. (Which was perfect: I could pray and not perform. Unfortunately not taking time to put out was what started me down the road to married celibacy in the first place.) He helped me realize there is a biblical precedent in that loving give-and-receive in the marriage bed involving sexual intimacy... and even pleasure (and not only is pleasure allowed, but mandated by God to some degree for both the husband and wife). Even my much feared masturbation was okay, when shared with my husband where he's right there helping out, which satisfies both the medical (vaginal and reproductive health benefits from routine orgasm: see #2 above) and emotional bonding needs (I guess I'd never grasped how important it was to my husband to give me an orgasm / be involved with my receiving pleasure (So much for mom's recommendation to just lay back and it'll be over soon enough)).

4) Hearing that orgasm is not only natural, but authorized in the marriage bed, we're free to choose our own path to achieving it. My most amazing discovery along this route was a gift from my husband, which helped get my hands as far away from those 'critical areas' as possible (I've never in my teenage or adult life been able to touch myself; and the feel of my own sex under my fingertips is the furthest thing from turn me on you can possibly get). This device, provided apparently direct from Heavenly sources to inventors' brains: a (Hitachi) Vibratex Magic Wand personal massager (seriously - you can get these babies on-line at Wal-Mart). I prefer my plug-in one because I hate messing with batteries and I like consistency. And, oh good gracious, this baby is consistent! And quick. (Fine, I'm getting better concerning sex and orgasm, but I still have lots of issues - and the less time it takes for me to achieve climax, the better. Baby steps. Sure, every once in a blue moon I'll be possessed by something and enjoy a prolonged evening of play in bed (confession booth here I come! Oddly enough, apparently it's not a sin. Go figure.) throughout those hours which he just adores - and I guess with time I'm starting to see what I was depriving him of and what I was missing (a little!). But honestly, having that vibrating wonder to keep my hands ten inches away from my dainty lady bits certainly helps (and him helping to give me a little chest and bottom attention certainly helps both of us). Of course, this isn't to say you can't do your own thing and 'handle the goods' if you find it pleasurable - just from my sexually repressed childhood, I was taught Good girls don't touch that. (Insert your own life-altering, miserable buzz-kill into that sentence.)

5) Realize that sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and do something that makes him happy. Oddly enough, many times afterward I'm very happy I did, because it provides me various levels of happiness as well (unless you're talking about flashing him some skin out in public: then I'm mortified. I do it anyway - every so often! - because it seems to drive him into a state of near delirium). Which I guess makes me happy. After I stop blushing and fretting that someone else might've seen me. (Speaking of which, a huge challenge for me, and I presume most women, is that no matter how awful I think I look, oddly enough, he's always happy to see me. All of me. Bountiful blemishes and all. Bared to the world (Oh my Lord, no! I mean, inside the confines of our home. Except for the rare instance noted above that are special and designed just to shock the heck out of him and prove to him how much I love him) It's weird how much he appreciates a peek of boob, and extra button undone on my blouse, or my prematurely lifting my skirt on the way to the bathroom to flash him my panties - and no matter how much I believe my body couldn't entice or thrill him: it does. Every time. Without fail. And he seems so much happier for it (Must be weird to have a man brain).

{Rumpled paper unfortunately ends here. My luck, not a single string of Mega-Bucks Lotto numbers or stock ticker symbols. Figures.}

In laying out this five prong approach, remember, each person, couple, and situation is different. My HSDS/HSDD (Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome/Disorder) developed in my earliest twenties. I've now lived with it for more than half my adult life. I battle it on a daily basis (well, at least every couple weeks when I realize we haven't done anything more than hold hands in public and steal a kiss here-or-there and cuddle in bed (all are good, but, then an inkling starts to form - I'm forgetting something... it's something that married couples do... now what was it?) *That's* my problem - remembering. I've gotten over the embarrassment of the act itself; I'm mostly over the apprehension of receiving pleasure; and I'm pretty calm about my body as it appears to him (no matter what that freaking, evil mirror says in my eyes: tummy pooch or not, the idiot that is my husband wants to see some skin? Fine - after my shower I'll forget to put anything on and wander down to interrupt his reading of a magazine. (Or at the very least, I'll put on only a t-shirt then discover a reason to reach for something on the floor or up on a shelf while in the same room with him.)

Remembering has been helped somewhat with my writing and discussing the issues related to HSDS. Writing stories and other activities previously outlined in Rose Garden have all been used as a means to 'remember' (which in no way am I suggesting is a good way for anyone else to try and remember to get 'busy' - not everyone has the degree to which I need to go to remember. Some have suggested a random symbol on the calendar or date book. A special book mark placed in your current reading material (ahead of where you currently are in the book) that means when you get there, you should get some. Or even writing erotically charged stories* and routinely editing my previous work related to sexual activity - oops, sorry, that's me. I guess if you want to chance reading some of my other work, feel free - and let your mind wander to places you potentially never allowed it to go (and I hope you move into those thoughts more freely and with fewer trips to confession than myself).

No matter where you are or where you've been on your journey through complete or partial sexual abstinence in your relationship/marriage, at least do steps one through three above. Most couples find with time, number four makes sense (and contrary to popular opinion, I do NOT get a commission selling the things - but they are the number one marital aid recommended by professionals in the sexual health field for good reason (and not just because using the electric hand mixer in the kitchen now results in a Pavlovian response in my body to 'get busy' - odd that I don't feel it or think sexy thoughts, but apparently it's quite the 'lite sanitary pad' event down below to prevent icky-sticky feelings later when I click on the kitchen mixer to 'high': sorry if that's too much information... one of my many problems, I never know when to just shut up).

Oh, and always remember, man brains are so fouled up that any skin, any time, is a joyful event to them (must be nice to have such simple-to-activate pleasure centers).

If I can ever help, please write me. Wishing you the best of luck (at getting lucky) - Rose

Disclaimer: While Rose is from a medically related field, this is in no way offering a diagnosis or making a specific recommendation of therapeutic or treatment options. A valid patient relationship does not exist and is not implied in this article, and each individual case and presentation should be evaluated by your own personal medical/professional team. The information presented represents discussion points only and is not meant to be a prescription or treatment regimen. Talk to your doctor for more information (and if she doesn't want to talk about sex, find another doctor.) (Unless she's a dentist, then you might reconsider with which doctor you're discussing these things.)

*Are you insane enough to try the writing erotica, but fear you can't write a good shopping list, let alone a whole naughty story? Guess what? There's a wonderful solution for that: Dare to Bare. It's a new project I'm doing with women just like you. You and I take your idea, no matter how short or simple, and I help turn it into a full-blown, wet-and-wonderful, wild-and-crazy erotic story where you get to be in charge: the big shot director - without needing to bother yourself with the little people details - making it all your own, without needing the time to pretend to be an author like me. So far everyone has had a hoot-and-a-half doing it, so take up the challenge - contact me and I'll send you all the information and a coupon code so you can snag the first book to see just how easy it can be to get your feet wet (or, based upon more than half the women with stories to date, a whole helluva lot more than your feet might be wet by the time we're done). (Sorry - return to the story - if you jumped from mid-paragraph.)

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Flash! Menopause can be Hot

Is it hot in here, or is it me... or is it me being hot in here?

Ahem, my husband clears