Usually what I read inspires what I write. These days it seems like there is a lot of smut. You know, the trashy, paper-back, dime store novels that desperate housewives have always been stereotyped as reading. Being that I am indeed a housewife, not desperate yet, I thought I would join the multitudes and see what the fuss was all about.
Well, talk about a bad idea. While I can see the appeal in Christian Grey, I did not enjoy reading about his fifty shades. It was a bit much. At times I thought the descriptions were actually meant to be tutorials because they were so detailed. But I muddled through (alright muddled may not be the precise word for what I did) and only made it through books one and two. I was exhausted from simply reading about their incessant extracurricular activities. However, it did open up a new genre for me. I tend to insert the trashy, paper-back, dime store novels in between my more serious reads in order to help reach my reading goal for the year (let's face it, they require little thought and are fast reads) and to lighten the mood after some of the heavier topics in other books I read. And thus, I was inspired to write my own, albeit not so smutty, Budoir scene. Enjoy!
She lay face down on the soft, white sheets and felt the cold air brushing across her bare skin. With her eyes closed she heard the delicate sound of his feet moving slowly across the floor and towards her. There was another sound she didn't recognize, and then the feel of something silky cascading down her back. She smiled to herself as the feeling created a thousand new sensations to be born along her body. In the gentlest, most subtle way, she felt a feather trailing up her thigh and continuing up her back where it circled at the base of her neck leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. She didn't flinch or make a sound. She concentrated on the sensation of the line being drawn along her body, on the weight and warmth of his body lying to her left on the king sized bed, on his breathing which was even and measured. He continued to draw her form, ever so gently, as if doing his best to avoid leaving a mark. The feeling soothed her, left her mind misty and hazy. In her dreamy state, she turned her head to look at him. Their eyes met and a smile broke across his face. How she loved this man! She had never felt this way about anyone in her life, and she knew without a doubt that she never would again. Without words, his eyes told her in perfectly composed sonnets how he felt about her. His hand still moved up and down her body and she was surprised to see the red rose petals scattered all over the white sheets, and the one, perfectly formed petal in his hand making it's way down to the base of her spine. His lips met hers and the charge that was felt between them only urged her on. She smiled at him, willing him to know how she felt with the look in her eyes alone. He made love to her on a bed of roses, and that would be theirs alone.
