The One Lovely Blog Award

I woke up this morning to find that the lovely Rachel Woe has nominated me for the 'One Lovely Blog Award'.  I am touched whenever someone thinks enough of my blog and/or writing to nominate me for an award and this one is no different!

The rules for the award are as follows: 
You must list the rules to the One Lovely Blog Award
You must thank the person(s) who nominated you and include a link to their blog
You must add seven facts about yourself
You must nominate 15 other bloggers and let them know they have been nominated
You must display the award logo and follow the blogger who nominated you 

So here we go...

Rachel!  Thank you so much for nominating me!  I came across Rachel's blog a couple of months ago when my wife insisted that I simply had to drop what I was doing and read a flash fiction she had found.  The story was Rachel's  'En Route' and I was not disappointed!  Rachel is very friendly on Twitter and there is always something interesting to read on her blog.  She inspired me to start writing flash fiction and while I'm nowhere near as good as her I hope that one day I will come close!  Make sure you check out her blog 'Rachel Woe'

Now for the seven facts about me... I hate doing these type of things but here goes!
1.  Human Biology was my best subject at high school!  It's the only subject I really excelled in and I am still proud for being awarded the prize for top student in the subject!
2.  When it comes to snacks I am more of a savoury snacker than a sweet snacker
3.  I am slightly (okay, extremely) addicted to buying books from my favourite second hand book store
4.  I am 2/3 of the way through my Bachelor of Communication and for some unknown reason am considering beginning degree #2 (Bachelor of Arts majoring in Classical Studies) in 2016
5.  When my best friend came to stay with me for 10 days at the end of 2011 I had no idea that by the time she left we would be madly in love
6.  I have a pet Axolotl and I am pretty sure he died for a couple of hours in September, but he is very much alive now!  I now call him the Zombie-lotl
7.  I am allllllll about mint chocolate chip ice cream

And now for my nominations!
Lily Harlem
A Good Woman's Dirty Mind
Donuts and Desires
Christina Harding Erotica
Sheri Savill
Always the Good Girl
Between My Sheets
Rosanna Leo
My Little Vixen
I Married a Sex God
A Little Bit of Naughty
Leann Lane
Dena Celeste
DragonflyLady's Writey Ramblings
Rachel Cray Erotica

Virginity - and why I am nervous for our kids

I am nervous for our children... and that doesn't just come from being a mum with an anxiety disorder.

The teenage years are horrible.  I remember them well and I know everyone reading this will remember them well.  The hormones, the pressure, the angst, the need for independence and not feeling as if you are getting enough, the decisions that you need to make about life (seriously, WHY are we expecting 17 year olds to know what they want to do with the rest of their life?!), and then there is everything sex related, but particularly the losing of one's virginity.

I remember being a teenager and the huge deal that was made about losing the 'big V'.  Parents and teachers were slamming home the point that you should wait until you are properly ready and that you lose it under the right circumstances.  Friends and peers brag about losing their virginity, about how awesome sex is, about what positions they've done it in, about how many people they have had sex with.  There is so much pressure from both sides - some of it intentional and some of it unintentional - and it makes for a hellishly confusing time.

I lost my virginity faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar too early.  Years too early.  So early that I am now ashamed about it, particularly about the way I lost it and who it was with.  The thought of any of our kids losing their virginity so young and in such a way fills me with dread.  I'm probably bloody lucky I was at boarding school when it happened to me and I didn't have to physically look at my parents when they found out about it.

But you know what?  In one way I am... I'm not sure that 'glad' is the right word, but because I can't think of another word, let's go with glad.  The one way I am glad that I lost my virginity so young is that I didn't have to put up with the pressure from either side.  When the rest of my friends and peers were going through the inner turmoil of should-I-or-shouldn't-I, I didn't have that worry.  I had lost it, that big, enormous, momentous, life-changing moment had been and gone (I might add that after I lost my virginity I didn't have sex for another four years).

I wish such a huge deal wasn't made about it, that teenagers and young adults could be given the tools required to make an informed decision for themselves (I know this is idealistic, not every teen or young adult has the mental capacity to do this!), without being told by x, y, and z, that a, b, or c was the right thing to do.

Having the benefit of hindsight (I know, old person saying...) I can see that too much emphasis is placed on the wrong aspects of losing your virginity.  It all seems to be about 'do have sex' or 'don't have sex' and then about age.  Teenagers are told 'DON'T HAVE SEX!' but they aren't told why.  They aren't given a chance for real dialogue about it (*I say this in a general sense, I know there ARE plenty of adults out there who have great dialogue re sex with their teens).  People seem to focus on the physical reasons to abstain, especially with regard to pregnancy and STI transmission, but it needs to go a lot further.  The mental side of things, the emotional side, the spiritual side.

But then the same can be said for the peer pressure side of things.  'It feels so good' yeah, true, it can feel good, but it can also be uncomfortable as well as opening up a new world of insecurities.  I didn't orgasm, I must be broken.  He/she didn't cum, I must be doing something wrong.  Sex doesn't feel good, there must be something wrong with me.

There is stigma attached to losing virginity too young or in the wrong circumstances, but there is also a stigma attatched to not losing one's virginity young enough. It is like if you have lost your virginity by the time you are 15 you are automatically a 'slut', if you haven't lost your virginity by the time you are 20 you are 'frigid' or there is obviously something wrong with you. 

It's a complete and utter contradiction.  What is so wrong with someone not losing their virginity until they are 20?  30? 40?  Older?   Why should it bother me if Jane Bloggs down the road didn't lose her virginity until she was 25?

Why can't people just accept that the decision to lose your virginity should be a private one, one that is made when each individual feels the time is right?  We (when I say we, I mean we as a society)  can give teenagers and young people tools to help them with that decision, we should be available for them to talk to about it if they want, we should be there to guide them if and when they want our guidance.  On the flip side, we should accept that not everyone is ready to lose their virginity in their teens and that some people may have no interest in losing it at all.

Virginity is a big deal - but it should be a big deal on an individual level - not a societal level.  I wish our four children could grow up in a society where virginity is what it is - having sex for the first time - and that the pressure so commonly associated with it, whether from the 'don't do it' or 'do it now!' camp, didn't exist. Losing your virginity should most be seen as special and I am by no means saying people should lose their virginity when they are too young mentally, emotionally and physically to cope with it.

I guess when I think about our children, I want them to not feel pressured to lose their virginity, but I also don't want them thinking sex is evil or a 'bad' thing to do.  I want them to be able to talk with us when they have questions or feel confused or just need a sounding board, and that, between my wife and I, we can give them the ability to make an informed decision and lose their virginity when the time is right for them, not when society thinks it is right for them.

I am a sex blogging superhero!

I have my blog listed on the Kinkly website and a while back they announced they were taking
nominations for their 'Top 100 Sex Blogging Superheroes of 2014' competition... I was shocked when yesterday I received an email saying that I was in the top 100!

Writing about sex and writing erotica are both passions of mine and it felt great to get recognition for it.  It's obviously not something I can scream from the rooftops or share in my monthly 'update of my life' email I send to all my family [please note: I don't actually send this email...],  but it is still hellishly exciting for me. 

Me.  I never get chosen for anything.  I never win.  I am never anything but average... so while this award might not seem like a huge deal to some people, it IS pretty major to me.  My self confidence and self belief have never been particularly high, so to receive recognition that hey... some people out there actually read & like my blog! it is pretty awesome!

Congratulations to everyone else who made the top 100 and to everyone who was nominated!

If you want to read the full list you can find it  here.  While you're at it check out Kinkly, it is a great resource for everything sex related (probably best not to look at work though!).

'Seven lovely things' blog tour

The lovely woman behind 'Christina Harding Erotica' tagged me to participate in the Seven Lovely Things blog tour!  You can check out her Seven Lovely Things post right here!  Christina has posted reviews of Zoe: Spanked and Georgia: Restrained, and a while back I had a guest post on her blog.

The rules are simple, share 7 Lovely Facts about myself, nominate 15 blogs (or as many as possible) that I enjoy reading, and nominate those same 15 blogs to the do the same, linking back to my post.


I hate talking about myself so this may be hard... here goes!

1. I absolutely love lillies, particularly the Calla Lily... there is something about the shape of them that I find beautiful.
2. My favourite perfume is Cerruti 1881.  My sister surprised me with some a few months ago, it was incredibly sweet of her!
3. The ocean soothes my soul.  One glimpse of the large blue expanse and I immediately start to feel calmer.
4. The song 'One Sweet Day' (Mariah Carey & Boyz II Men) never fails to make me cry... in the past if I have needed to cry but couldn't I would put this song and the tears would come easily
5. One of my earliest memories is being in an ambulance when my sister had a febrile convulsion as a baby.  I wasn't really fussed about my sister, I was just excited that I got to go in an
   
   ambulance!  I remember the ambulance officer showing me a plastic bag type thing they put over injured legs and telling me it was where Santa put your presents if you were in the ambulance on Christmas Eve.
6. I quite simply NEEEEEEEEEED to visit Athens and Santorini.  I must.  I will.
7. I am crazy about my wife.  I thought I knew what love was before I met her but god was I wrong!  She makes me laugh even when I'm in the midst of deep depression, she believes in me when I don't, she encourages me and puts up with my tantrums when I am stressed out or scared... she is amazing and without her I don't know where I'd be!

As for the nominations, most of the people I was planning to nominate have already been nominated so you will have to excuse me for my lack of nominations!

I do however nominate:
My Little Vixen
DragonflyLady's Writey Ramblings
The Anxious Hooker
Dena Celeste
I Married a Sex God

Unexpected curiosity that led to empowerment

The brain really is an amazing (crazy, silly, bizarre) thing.  Close to a couple of months ago now, I posted a blog post entitled Is it BDSM or is it abuse?, in which I shared my personal story of sexual abuse.  Potentially the most traumatising aspect of my period of abuse, was the fact I was anally raped on more than one occasion.

It makes sense that because of this, the thought of anal sex was enough to make me feel sick and to send me into a depressive cycle.  Reliving the experience would bring me to tears, it would make me shake, it would set off a full blown anxiety attack.  Anal sex.  The thought of it disgusted me and whenever I saw mention of anal being pleasurable I would frown, scoff and shake my head.  Pleasurable?  No-fucking-way.

I met my wife and told her what had happened to me when I was 20, for the first time in my life I was actually able to talk about it in person, with someone who actually cared about me, and was more than willing to listen to what I had to say.  It felt good to be able to get it out of my system, to be able to release some of the pressure I was feeling inside my head, pressure that had built up over years of keeping my mouth shut and keeping it all inside.

Fast forward to a couple of months ago.  I was in bed with my wonderful wifey, we were fooling around... I started to get carried away by the way she was making me feel (y'know, about a second away from screaming so loudly the neighbours would possibly ring the cops) and suddenly in my little pre-orgasmic fantasy I was having anal sex.

What.  The.  Fuck?

I didn't tell her straight away.  In fact, I planned on not telling her because I felt embarrassed and even a little ashamed.  After all the trauma I had been through, there I was, getting off on the idea of having anal sex.  It just didn't compute.

I couldn't stop thinking about it though, and suddenly became very curious about anal sex.  Surely if so many people could vouch for it being pleasurable, well... maybe it could be?  A couple of days later we were in bed talking, and for whatever reason the discussion turned to anal sex... I likely mentioned not understanding how it could be pleasurable, and she told me that in her experiences it had indeed felt good.  I believe it was then that I admitted my curiosity to her... and told her I felt like I had been short changed, because what could potentially have been a pleasurable experience had been ruined for me because of one bastard of an ex.

We continued talking and I truly don't remember how we got there, but she suggested I could write a
m/f/m threesome scene with double penetration... y'know, it could be a kind of therapeutic way to 'experience' anal sex in a controlled environment, where I was in charge. It made sense to me, and I decided to go for it.  I researched a little, I spoke more to my wife about her experiences, and then I was ready to write.  But I had no idea what positions to put my characters in...

So we watched porn for inspiration.  Most of our time was spent laughing at how fake it was, rolling our eyes because of the cliché nature of the storylines... but then there was a scene or two that caught my eye, and after watching rather than feeling repulsed, I felt... well, quite the opposite.

After this night my curiosity grew and after writing my scene (and having a bloody good time doing so), I really started to feel pissed off that I would never experience anal as something pleasurable.  During one of our many discussions in bed, I eventually confessed this to my wife... and I don't remember a lot about it, but eventually we decided perhaps it was something we could explore further together.  I still felt embarrassed, but my curiosity started to outweigh my embarrassment... and one day while relaxing in bed things got a little heated.  There was touching.

Touching like I had never given or received before.  It was relaxed and slow, and more than enough to make me realise I wanted to explore even further, at some point.  Okay, it felt amazing when she was touching me, and I was amazed that being touched there could bring me so much pleasure.  Equally I was surprised when I was touching her, that she got just as turned on as if I was touching her clit.  We didn't even go 'all the way', there was just finger pressure, no insertion...  I knew I  wanted to go further at some stage, but that there was no rush.

It finally happened this week.  A month, maybe a bit more after that first little bit of touching I got up the guts to tell my wife my curiosity was getting too much for me and that I wanted to explore further.

I have never ever felt so shy in my life as I felt telling my wife I wanted to put my finger inside her ass.  I had no idea how to go about it, hell, I didn't even know what to do with the lube... just the finger? the butthole too?  Was our strawberry lube okay, or should we use that other tube of lube we were given (neither have been used before, both were gifts!)?

Eventually we got there.  I did something to my wife that  I never in a million years imagined I would do to her.  More to the point, it was something I never imagined wanting to do.  But I did.  And I enjoyed it 100% more than I thought I would.  She didn't ask me to stop, she didn't say it wasn't working for her... and when I made her orgasm, it was possibly the most proud I have ever felt of any orgasm I have given her!  Can one be proud of an orgasm?

I think I felt 'proud' of the orgasm, because for me, it was symbolic of me overcoming something that had been incredibly traumatic, and had had a hugely negative impact on my life.  Afterward I couldn't stop grinning, hell, I even giggled for a while.  My wife looked amused and asked why I appeared so happy, and I told her it was because I had replaced a horrible, terrifying memory, with a pleasurable, happy memory.  It was like I was saying to my ex 'you no longer have any control over me, or this aspect of my sexuality'.

I don't know what will happen next, or when it will happen... all I know is that I feel so incredibly lucky to have such a special woman in my life, who has helped me to heal when I didn't think it would ever be remotely possible.

Is it BDSM or is it abuse?

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Spanking... for the fun of it

Everything I read about spanking, seems to be heavily linked to a BDSM lifestyle.  Whether it is an informative article, or in a story, it always seems to connect back to BDSM, with the spanking being about control and punishment. I'm not stupid, nor am I naive, I KNOW that spanking does fall into the category of BDSM.  I know a lot of dominants enjoy spanking their subs, I know that a lot of subs enjoy being spanked... and all the more power to them!!!

I'm not here to 'bash' the BDSM lifestyle, because there are aspects of it which fascinate me!  It's not a lifestyle I wish to lead, but I know plenty of couples who do, and every single one of them seem to have amazingly strong relationships... which is more than I can say about some of the 'vanilla' couples I know!  Who gives a fuck what other people do in their private life?

But you know what?  Doms and subs, BDSM aside, some of us enjoy spanking our better half simply because THEY ENJOY IT.

Yes.  You heard it.  Sometimes a person just wants to be spanked for the pure pleasure of it.  They don't want it to be a 'punishment', they don't want to feel at the mercy of the spanker, they don't need to be taught a lesson, they don't want to be controlled, they don't want to test their limit to see how much they can take; they want to be spanked because it feels good, because it turns them on, because it's a way of expressing their love.  Please note, I'm not saying none of those reasons are applicable when it comes to spanking as part of the BDSM lifestyle!

It wasn't that long into our relationship that my wife first mentioned the idea of being spanked was something that turned her on.  To start with it confused me a little, I couldn't understand why the thought of having pain inflicted would be a turn on for her, but when we spoke about it more, I realised it was similar to my desire to be tied up and teased to within an inch of my life. 

 When we finally got around to trying it, I was quite nervous.  I didn't want to hurt her, I didn't want the experience to be a bad one for her... but I needn't have worried.  With that very first palm/ass contact I realised  the experience was causing nothing but pleasure or her.  She got hornier than I had ever seen her get, and it happened a lot faster than I was used to.  It was obvious to me she was loving it.  I knew there was an element of pain to it - my palm was red and tingly, she had a bright red handprint on her ass - but with the moans and cries coming from her there was no denying she was enjoying herself!

I wouldn't say spanking has become an every day part of our relationship, but it is something I enjoy doing to her, PURELY because of how much enjoyment she gets out of it.  There isn't the slightest element of domination to it for me, there isn't the slightest element of submission in it for her.  We have spoken about it in depth, the reasons she enjoys it, the reasons I enjoy doing it to her... and have come up with the conclusion it is one of our special little kinks.  Something we do for the fun of it, for the pleasure, the enjoyment... the amazing foreplay qualities!

I know that we aren't the only couple out there who enjoy spanking, without BDSM coming into it.  I do feel like we are in a minority though!  Everything I have read about spanking, focuses on it being an aspect of the BDSM lifestyle... but for some of us, we just like the feel of a hot tingly palm, and the sight of our better half with a rosy red handprint on their ass.

Lightbulb moment: why I write what I write

I have recently started seeing a psychologist for my depression and anxiety issues.  It's something I should have done a long time ago, and to be honest, I am a little disappointed in my previous GP for not encouraging me to do so.  My depression and anxiety stem way back into my teens, but various events in my life (an unplanned pregnancy & coerced termination at 18, a sexually abusive relationship , my nephew dying, living through devastating earthquakes) have added to it, and admittedly made things worse.


Things came to a head a couple of months ago when I had a breakdown.  It was scary for me, and I imagine it was scary for my wife.  Luckily I was able to get an emergency appointment with the doctor, and finally gave in, accepting a prescription for anti depressants.  For about 18 months I had been trying to avoid going back on anti depressants, but eventually I reached the point that I knew I had no other option.  It wasn't just me being affected by my depression, it was my wife, it was our kids, it was my studies.  My life was slowly being taken over by the big depression monster, and I didn't want to cause irreversible to my life, to my marriage or to my relationship with our children.

As well as a prescription for fluoxetine, I was offered a referral to see a psychologist.  I didn't have to think twice and accepted the offer.  Before my first appointment I was incredibly nervous.  Okay, I was terrified.  I was terrified of him telling me I was beyond help, I was terrified that I was going to be stuck in the horrible cycle of depression and anxiety forever.  A minute into that first appointment my fears were gone.  Rather than being nervous about talking to him, I found I couldn't stop talking.  Everything that I thought had 'left a scar' on my mental state,  I was speaking about... and in doing so, I realised that I have had a LOT to deal with since I turned 18.  No wonder I felt bogged under, no wonder I often felt like I had reached the limit of what I could handle.

We spoke about my passion for writing, and because of that part of my 'homework' he gave me, was to start journalling again.  It was a task I welcomed, because until a few years ago, I had always had a journal, and found it useful for trying to make sense of my often confusing life.

This Friday I was having a bit of a down day.   I was full of anxiety about a trip we had to take, and was angry with myself for being terrified about something as simple as being a passenger in a car for a one hour journey.  Anxiety.  It can be an all-consuming bastard of a thing.  As I was writing in my journal, I wrote the following excerpt... which was a huge lightbulb moment for me.
 

Maybe today I can sidetrack myself by writing... it's a good way to escape and concentrate on something else... it's kind of like escaping into a different world.  A world where I can be the type of person I'm not in 'real life'.  Through writing I get to be popular, I get to be interesting, I get to be the type of person people want to be around.  I get to be confident, I get to be strong... I get to be the type of woman a man falls hoplessly in love with.  I get to experience pregnancy with a supportive, loving, caring male partner.  I get to experience life where the father of my child is doting and would do anything for my child.  The type of father who loves his child so much it hurts... the type of father I wasn't able to provide for either of my children.

It was a HUGE lightbulb moment for me.  I have noticed that all my writing tends to have very similar themes, and couldn't really pinpoint why... but writing in my journal on Friday I unintentionally explored the reasons.  And they make perfect sense.  By writing, I get to experience the type of relationship I never had with men, I get to experience the type of pregnancy that I wished I could have had, I get to right the wrongs, so to speak.  The characters aren't ME, but I am in control of everything about them... so in a way, I live vicariously through them.

I had shockingly bad experiences with men, and I think that stemmed from wanting to be loved so badly, that I didn't really think about whether or not the man in question was right for me.  I wanted the type of relationship that my friends were in, that my sister was in, that my parents had, that it seemed EVERYONE around me had.  In doing so I made some bad choices, and got burnt in various ways.  Part of it was also being young and naive.  When I was being used for sex I talked myself into believing it was love.  When I was being sexually abused (though I didn't realise until after the relationship ended), I talked myself into believing it was a sexually 'exciting' relationship.  The man I thought was the love of my life?  Looking back, I can see that he had wanted to break up with me long before he eventually did it.  The myriad of one night stands I had, I thought each and every one would turn into more.  But no, it was always *just* sex to whoever the guy was.

After my second daughter was born, I had a brief relationship, but when he told me he decided he only wanted something casual I ended it.  I was proud of myself, because I knew the relationship wasn't right - or that it wasn't the type of relationship I wanted - and did something about it.

Then I met my wife!  My beautiful, funny, amazing, wonderful wife... and all the dots connected.  I had the relationship I had dreamed of, with the type of person I had been looking for all of my life.  I haven't looked back, and there hasn't been a single moment where I have found myself wondering whether or not she really wants to be with me.  There hasn't been a single moment when I have thought 'something isn't right here', there hasn't been a single moment of the 'oh god, she's going to break up with me' insecurity that was almost constant in my previous relationships.

My writing probably seems predictable to some, it may seem boring and too 'happy ever after'... but it is a subconscious need I have, to create characters and male/female relationships that make up for my own shortcomings in relationships, and the shortcomings in my life.  I don't have the desire to ever have another relationship with a man, but the type of relationship I write about is always going to be something I feel like I missed out on.

One thing I will never feel the need to write, is the perfect female/female relationship.  I am living the perfect relationship with my wife.  While my male/female relationships are something I write as a way to vicariously experience that type of relationship myself, my female/female relationships are a case of writing what I know!

*****

The following video is one that was shared on Facebook last week... since part of this post deals with depression, I thought it would be a good chance to share it!

Cunnilingus 101 - tips from a self-proclaimed expert

One of the biggest changes when you go from having spent years in relationships with men to being in a relationship with a woman is, unsurprisingly, the lack of penis.

Let's face it.  A penis makes sex easy.  You partake in a little foreplay, you get wet, he gets hard, he clambers on top, puts it in and BOOM, we have lift off.  After repeated in-out-in-out-in-out an orgasm or two happen, he rolls off, you go to sleep.  Sex - mission completed.

While I think sex is a lot broader in scope than simply being all about penis-in-vagina (as I explain in a previous post), it is THE most common type of sex that is had between men and women.  And rightly so, because it can feel amazing! It just isn't as straight forward when neither of you have a penis though.

In the early days of our relationship, my wife and I enjoyed exploring different ways to give each other the sexual pleasure that prior to that had only been achieved because of the mighty penis.  We used toys, we used our fingers, we used our tongues, we used our hands, we even used our legs.  I think that for both of us, that exploration led to us learning a lot about our own bodies, in a way we probably wouldn't have in a typical male/female relationship.

As with all couples, we soon learnt precisely what it was that drove the other person crazy, what worked them into a hot steamy lather, what didn't work quite so well and what didn't work at all.  In all relationships you want to keep the spark alive, you want to keep things new and exciting - but it is hard to not fall back on the tried and true - what you know is guaranteed to give the love of your life an explosive, brain melting, coma-inducing orgasm.

My wife loves oral, and because of that, I have become somewhat of an expert over the past few years!  Oral sex isn't just a case of 'lick her until she cums', because as with ALL types of sex, there are different techniques, different types of pressure, different speeds and different positions one can use, and what feels good for one woman won't necessarily feel good for another.

Nancy might like fast tongue action with light pressure on the clit, Mary might like slow tongue action with firm pressure on the clit, while Jean might not even like her clit being touched but may love the feeling of a tongue being pressed inside her.  Lucy might like fingers to be used during oral, Jennifer might like a vibrator, Rachel might find that anything being inside her makes it too hard to concentrate on the tongue action.

Understand where I am going with this?


The whole point of AdultSexEdMonth is educating adults about all things sex, so I thought I would do my bit & compile my very own list of oral sex tips... here goes!

Before you head 'downtown', make sure she is ready!  Foreplay.  Foreplay, foreplay, FOREPLAY.  It will get her in the mood, but it will also make the experience more enjoyable for you, and for her.  The feeling of a tongue against a dry vagina can be plain uncomfortable.  Going in dry with a penis, fingers or vibrator isn't pleasant, and the same goes for the mighty tongue!  I'm not suggesting hours of foreplay, but enough to make sure she is physically and emotionally/mentally in the mood.

Right.  She's wet, and you are finally settled between her legs.  Now what?

DON'T head straight for the clitoris.  Explore!  Run your tongue slowly up and down her slit, dip your tongue into her hole, work your tongue up toward her clit zig-zagging, use the tip of your tongue, use the flat of your tongue, experiment with pressure - light, firm, a mixture of both.  Move your tongue around her hole, try it slow, try it fast, suck gently on her labia, try sucking a little harder.  Don't act as if you want to get it over and done with as quicky as possible (unless that is the whole point, women can have quickies too!), take the time to enjoy the way she feels against your tongue, enjoy the way she tastes!

This exploration isn't just a way to prolong the experience though... while you are exploring, PAY ATTENTION!  Does she moan loudly when you move your tongue in a particular way?  When you use a certain type of pressure?  A certain type of speed?  Does she suddenly fall silent when you switch to something else?  The whole point is to pay attention to what she seems to like, and what doesn't seem to work as well for your lovely lady.

Try to pay attention to her moans, her cries, the little whimpers she makes, the gasps she takes, the way her breathing speeds up or slows down, any noises that sound like they might be fuelled by displeasure or discomfort, more than enjoyment or pleasure.  If you have been together for a while - or have had sex more than a few times - chances are you will have an idea of the types of noises she makes when she is enjoying it, and when she isn't.  Part of giving pleasure is about paying attention to cues, and if you do this, as time goes on you will become more and more in tune with her unique little cues, and will instinctively know if you should keep doing what you're doing, or move on to a different technique.

For a lot of women clitoral stimulation is what makes them orgasm, so if your lady is in this group, don't forget to pay it lots of attention!  As with oral sex in general, each woman will like a different type of stimulation, featherlight flicks of the tongue, slow motions, fast motions, soft pressure, firm pressure, pressure applied with the tip of the tongue, pressure applied with the flat of the tongue, side to side, up and down, diagonally, circular; part of the fun is finding out exactly what type of clitoral stimulation is needed, and when.  To start with she might like light pressure, building up until you are almost grinding her clit with your tongue as she reaches orgasm, she might like firm pressure right from the word go, or she may be the opposite and like soft pressure from start to finish.

Another word on the mighty clitoris.  It may be hooded - partially or fully, and in this case, you might need to GENTLY push the clitoral hood up with your fingertips to expose the clitoris properly.  Some women don't like direct clitoral stimulation, and may prefer it staying hooded... but the only way to know is to explore her body yourself - and of course - to ask!

When you have mastered all the basics of oral sex (which really isn't as hard as I make it out to seem!), you can try adding to the whole experience.  Use a finger or two inside her - start out stroking the walls gently, and if you think she wants harder movements, or she flat out tells you, then by all means!  A vibrator or dildo can also be used.  You may find your lady likes having something to 'grip' onto internally, but doesn't like it being moved in and out... or you may find that she likes it being moved in and out, with varying degrees of force/speed.

Performing oral in different positions can also have an effect on her response - even slight changes in her hip position, or your own position, can make 'nice' oral turn into something far more explosive!  Try it with her sitting on your face, try it with her legs in the air, try it with her legs over your shoulders, try it with a pillow or two under her hips, try kneeling in front of her while she stands, kneel on the floor in front of the bed and have her lie with her ass right on the edge of the bed, kneel in front of her while she sits on a kitchen chair, kneel in front of her while she perches on the edge of the couch, do it lying on your belly, do it leaning down while on your knees...

There is so much more to oral sex than simply licking until she comes.
The three most important things to remember?

Experiment!  Explore!  ENJOY!

 While talking about the amazing vagina, have you seen THIS video yet?
If not... WATCH IT!

My first time as a 'guest blogger'

I was lucky enough to have the chance to write a guest blogger post for Christina Harding Erotica, and thought that I would post it here as well!

Make sure you head over to Christina's blog, she reviews 'all things erotica', I am sure you'll find a blog post or ten that interest you!



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Getting to know Bree Guildford

About me

Hello! I am Bree and I love writing erotic romance. A lot of my stories have a strong girl-on-girl component, and I also enjoy delving into the world of polyamory. I have always been drawn to stories that have a focus on the emotional side of relationships, and this is an important aspect of my own writing. I love writing about sex, but I also love writing about the relationship between characters... in fact, I find it almost impossible to write something that is purely sexual; this is why I acknowledge myself as a writer of erotic romance, rather than erotica.

While writing erotic romance is a big part of who I am, there is a little more to me than my dirty mind! I am happily married and have four children, aged between four and ten. I am halfway through a communication degree and hope to work in media relations after I graduate. I am a big sports nut, and in my 'other' life, I write about rugby for various online publications. I enjoy escaping for a weekend here and there with my wife, but with four kids that only happens once in a blue moon!

So how did I get into writing erotic romance?

Ever since I was little I have enjoyed writing. In my early teens I was all about the teen angst driven poetry, in my mid teens I was more about romance, and by the time I turned 18, I was taking a lot of pleasure (literally and figuratively) out of writing secretive sex scenes.

I tried my hardest to want to write something 'clean', to want to write something that I could share with my mum, my nana, my grandma, my sister, my friends... but those stories were the ones that fizzled out after a few pages. Erotica, it seemed, was where my abilities lay, and I was embarrassed about it! It got to the point that I gave up writing at all, because surely it wasn't appropriate to be writing so explicitly about sex!

Then I met the wonderful woman who is now my wife. There was no such thing as 'TMI' in our friendship, and early on I confessed to her that I enjoyed writing about sex, but had always felt a bit awkward about it. It didn't take a lot for her to convince me that I should give it another go, so one day I began writing again.

It was a boy-meets-girl story, and rather than trying to make the sex a not-so important part of the story, I made sex one of the key components of the story. Rather than feeling embarrassed about writing all things sex, I felt somewhat empowered. I cannot even tell you how nervous I was when I sent my friend-now-wife the document for the first time. It was a couple of scenes long and I was so incredibly scared she was going to laugh at me, or be horrified by what I had written. Her reaction though? “MORE – NOW!”

And so it began.

That was almost three years ago now, and while I have a lot of unfinished stories on my computer, I don't let that get me down. No one can become an expert overnight, and I have learnt something from every single story that didn't make it. I look back on my earlier stories now and almost cringe, because the writing isn't very good. The ideas are certainly there, but my writing back then was nothing like it is now. I'm not saying I have mastered the art – I know I haven't – but it does feel good to look at my old work, and compare it to my new work, and know that I have improved.

Toward the end of 2013 I decided that my writing shouldn't be something that I kept secret. Until that point it was only my wife and a couple of online friends who had read my work, and I realised that if I wanted to feel like a real writer, I had to put my work out there for everyone to read. It was a scary prospect. What if no one wanted to read my work? What if the only feedback I received was negative? It was daunting, but I knew it was a risk I had to take.

I decided on my pen name, then created a Facebook and a Twitter account, as well as a blog. That was the easy part though. The VERY first example of my work that I posted was my story 'Georgia: Restrained'. I was so nervous when I went to bed after posting it, and considered deleting the post. What if no one read it? What if people DID read it, but they all hated it? The next morning I woke up and found my story had been read! There was even a tweet which was along the lines of 'loved your story, can't wait for more', and in honesty, it brought tears to my eyes.

Eventually I self-published 'Georgia: Restrained' on Smashwords, and have now added another four books to what has become the 'Georgia & Zoe' series. As with sharing my writing for the first time on my blog, I was terrified about the response when I published Georgia: Restrained on Smashwords, but when I got up the following morning it had been downloaded 50 times! Within a week it was up to 200 downloads, and that is what really gave me the confidence to embrace this side of who I am.

I doubt I will ever become a famous author, but knowing there are people out there who are looking forward to the next story in the Georgia & Zoe series coming out, that is enough for me! The next big step for me is going to be putting a book on Smashwords and actually charging for it... I think when someone actually BUYS one of my books, that is going to be when I feel like I really do belong in the amazing community of erotica writers!

Where you can find me

Twitter

Facebook

Smashwords

There is more to lesbian sex than strap-ons!

Since I announced oh-so-happily that I was in a relationship with (and am now married to) a woman, I cannot tell you the amount of times a discussion about sex or sexuality has led to me being asked (sometimes shyly, sometimes very curiously, always assumptively) "How many strap-ons do you own?"

The simple answer?  None.

Am I against strap-ons?  No!  I think they are a very awesome invention, and completely understand why some people (men, women, gay, straight, everything in between) rave about them; they are just something my wife and I have never felt the need to experiment with in the bedroom... or anywhere else!

Personally, I think part of the reason people presume strap-ons play a part in the sex life of all women who are in a same sex relationship, is because most people associate sex with penetration of the vagina - generally by a phallus - therefore, two women can't have sex unless there is an artificial penis involved. Right?

Wrong.

I prefer to define sex as being one person giving another person sexual pleasure, whether it is through penetrative penis-in-vagina sex, oral sex, anal sex, the use of hands, the use of fingers, the use of the mouth and tongue, the use of sex toys... anything that gives pleasure, really. 

So, if we aren't spending every second of our private time wandering around wearing a strap-on so we are prepared for sex when the mood strikes, how exactly do we have sex?


Naturally there is a strong element of foreplay - but I think that should be part of sex regardless of how and who you have sex with!  It makes sex all the more exciting and explosive, and there is something special about the intimacy that comes with foreplay!  Kissing, touching and teasing is all part of the build up, and I guess for those of us who DON'T have penis-in-vagina sex, the transition from foreplay to sex isn't quite as defined or obvious.

Getting down to 'business', our mood really dictates exactly how we have sex.  That is something I love about being married to a woman, neither of us view any form of sexual activity as being the 'proper' or 'real' way to have sex.  I am not saying that all male/female relationships are like that either, but I know from my own experiences having sex with men, that penetrative sex is what is considered 'proper'/'real'.  I don't think it's a conscious belief either, it's just how we are programmed!  
Like I said, our mood dictates how we have sex.  Both of us have particular 'skills' when it comes to pleasuring the other person.  My wife is A-MAZ-ING when it comes to using her fingers... seriously, she puts me into an almost coma-like state by the time she is finished with me!  I need a lot of clitoral stimulation, so most of the time what she does is external... not to say I don't love the internal stimulation as well!

I, on the other hand, seem to have 'mad skills' (as she puts it) in the oral sex department.  I enjoy listening to her getting closer and closer to orgasm, I love hearing the moans and cries, the gasps when I do something that feels particularly good.  It might sound silly, but having always suffered from low-self esteem, I get a surprising boost when I bring her to orgasm and know that I have made her feel amazing... it's like FINALLY I'm good at something!

I know I mentioned that sex doesn't necessarily mean vaginal penetration, but I am in no way denying that penetration feels FABULOUS.  We have a lovely little collection of toys, including vibrators.  Regardless of how broad the definition of sex is, I can't pretend that there are times that I don't want the extra stimulation that can only be provided by vaginal penetration... sometimes you NEED that pounding, the internal friction, the sensation of all those little hot spots deep inside being triggered.

I tend to roll my eyes when I hear a comment along the lines of 'if lesbians don't have sex with men, why do they use vibrators'.  I think in most cases, a vibrator (or dildo) is used because it FEELS GOOD, and not because it is a latex/glass/silicone/wooden representation of a penis.  The penis aspect isn't what makes someone want to use a vibrator/dildo... it is the pleasure it can provide.  I love that the newer lines of vibrators and dildos coming out aren't all created to look like a penis.  I think it's a step in the right direction as far as acknowledging sex isn't just penis-in-vagina.

I think part of why we haven't entertained the idea of adding a strap-on to our collection, is related to the fact that FOR US, we both feel like sex is something that should be equal.  Neither of us like the idea of there being a dominant and a submissive; I guess that FOR US the use of a strap-on equates to someone taking on a dominant role in the bedroom.

**** I want to clarify that while the dominant/submissive roles aren't part of our relationship, I acknowledge and very willingly accept that for some people it is a large part of their relationship, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.  It just isn't for us.

(Well.  Most of the time.  I do enjoy being tied up and teased... and she does enjoy being spanked... but that's a whole other post, for a whole other day)

I was planning to discuss one of our favourite sex toys - one which may surprise you - but this post has gone in a completely different direction than I was planning, and I will leave THAT little discussion for another blog post, a bit later in the week!

The story that made my wife cry --- *trigger warning*

A couple of weeks ago I posted a story I had written for my Creative Writing class.  The whole idea was to write a story, submit it to our tutor, she'd give us feedback and we would review/rewrite the story, before submitting the final version for assessment.

I submitted the final version of the story tonight, so thought I would share it here, because I know a few people were interested in reading the reviewed/rewritten version!

(Here is the original version of the story)

The story is about a couple who experience a late miscarriage... so if this is likely to be something that triggers you, perhaps give it a miss, or read it when you are in the mood to cry.  I think that pregnancy loss (particularly late miscarriage and stillbirth) needs to be spoken about more so women (and their families) don't feel it is something they need to keep hidden inside.  Many of my friends have experienced late miscarriages and have had babies born still, I myself have had four first trimester losses, so it is something very close to my heart.

and with that said, here is my story... I hope you... I don't think 'enjoy it' is the right term... but I hope it strikes a chord.


*********************************************

They Would Remember Her

Lucas was torn between wanting Jenna to wake up and wanting her to stay in the drug-induced sleep she was in. Jenna waking up meant that part of the nightmare would be over for him; his beautiful Jenna would be awake and his fear that he was going to lose her as well as their baby would be a thing of the past. But Jenna waking up also signified the start of their new life together – life as parents whose baby had died – and he wasn't ready for that. How was he supposed to support Jenna when he could barely hold it together himself?

The voicemail kept replaying in his head, 'Luke, I need you... the baby, I'm... something is wrong, Luke. I'm bleeding and these cramps are... oh god, Luke, I need you... I have to ring... ambulance, I... oh god...' there had been a cry of excruciating pain before the voicemail abruptly ended. It had been a deep-seeded cry of agony that he knew would haunt him forever.

What had started out as a day of hunting and other manly pursuits with his best friends had concluded in the most overwhelming panic he had ever experienced. The second he'd heard the terrified tone in Jenna's voice, his entire body had tensed up, his heart had begun racing and his palms had grown sweaty; the voicemail still going as he'd torn through the pub, gasping for air, hoping the silence outside would calm him and he would realise he had misunderstood the whole thing.

Sadly, he hadn't misheard.

Jenna was blurred by the silent tears he couldn't stop, but even through his distorted vision she looked peaceful, angelic even. Her pale hands were resting protectively on her belly and there was the slightest hint of a smile on her lips, their usual redness drained to a dim, almost lifeless pink. Perhaps she was dreaming about their baby, perhaps she was dreaming that she was still pregnant, that their hopes and dreams for their little one were still obtainable.

That Jenna was oblivious was something Lucas envied. How he would have loved to go to sleep and escape the grief which was strangling him like a noose pulled tight around his neck. Every breath he took was a struggle, it hurt going in and it hurt even more going out. With every pained breath, the fog cleared a little more and their new reality became more real, more focused, sharper.

Lucas shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair −the nurse had offered to move a more comfortable chair in for him, but he had refused her offer. Jenna had gone through the scariest experience of her life alone, while he was off laughing and having fun, so why should he accept the offer of anything that would make life a little easier for him? He should have been there with her, the panic should have been something they shared, she shouldn't have had to call for an ambulance, she shouldn't have had to be alone. Alone. Because of him, she had been alone.

A nurse came into the room and quietly set about recording Jenna's vitals on the blue clipboard at the end of the bed. Lucas tried to avoid making eye contact with the young woman, but when she addressed him he had no choice but to turn toward her.

“She is stable,” the nurse, Lucy according to her name badge, informed him and then gave him a sympathetic look. “Is there anything I can get you?” she asked softly.

“My baby back?” Lucas replied bitterly and then cringed. It wasn't the nurse's fault. “I'm sorry, I... no, there isn't anything you can get for me,” he told the woman, who again gave him that sympathetic look.

“She will be awake soon,” Lucy reassured him, “Are you sure you don't want the doctor to talk to her about the surgery?”

“Like I told the doctor, it needs to come from me,” Lucas sighed, dreading the moment when Jenna was with it enough to ask what had happened. The nurse nodded her understanding.

“Just press the call button if you or Jenna need anything,” Lucy said quietly and again gave him that look.

'The look'. He was already sick of it. It was a mixture of pity and sympathy combined with a huge dose of 'I'm so glad it didn't happen to me' and a dash of 'oh crap, is he going to cry again?' The doctor had given it to them, the nurses who had been involved in Jenna's care had given it to them, the anaesthetist had given it to him. He knew it was only the start too, because other than him, Jenna and the staff at the hospital, no one else knew their baby had died yet.

Telling other people was something he was dreading, almost as much as he dreaded telling Jenna how serious things had been for her. Both sets of parents needed to be contacted, his sister, Jenna's brother and sister, his grandparents, their friends, their colleagues, the old lady who lived across the road. How the hell was he supposed to retell the awful story over and over... and over?

Lucas had been preparing for the day he could share with the world that their darling baby had arrived. He had been so excited about announcing their baby's name, their baby's weight, the time he or she was born, whether Jenna had had a natural birth or a caesarean. It was a day that was going to be full of the overuse of the classic cliché statement 'Mum and baby doing well', a day full of introducing his pride and joy to their family and friends. He would over-enthusiastically share photo after photo after photo of their baby – with anyone who would look – and he would say dozens of times that he was so proud of Jenna.

A fresh wave of grief hit and he felt angry with himself. How dare he be upset after everything he had made Jenna go through without him? He didn't deserve to feel upset, it wasn't him who had had to go through hours of bleeding and contractions, it wasn't him who had been alone in hospital while strange doctors examined him and prepared him for the likelihood his baby was going to die soon. All the while he had been laughing, he had been making jokes, he had pretended to be sad that that particular outing would be his last before the baby arrived and he was – as he had put it – 'tied down forever'.

He slumped forward and buried his face in the firm mattress and stiff cover of the hospital bed, while gripping onto the cold metal frame. A loud scream erupted from somewhere deep inside him, it felt as if every single nerve in his body was screaming. His muscles clenched and shook, his heart started to race, he could feel the blood thumping in his head; the scream was long and continuous, he was trembling violently and couldn't stop. There was no heat in the room, he was frozen and could feel his teeth chattering together, even through the scream.

The scream was replaced by loud sobbing and he was quickly aware of the rough bed cover feeling wet and salty against his face. His eyes felt almost raw because of the amount of tears he had cried since that voicemail which had changed everything. No. He lied, the tears hadn't come until he'd answered the phone call from Jenna's doctor, requesting that he make his way to the hospital as fast as possible. He was told that Jenna was experiencing a 'likely impending miscarriage' and the 'pregnancy' was coming to a 'natural end', as the doctor had so coldly put it after quoting some stupid statistic about instances of 'late term miscarriage'.

Lucas had cried angry tears as he thought of the doctor's wording, referring to their baby as 'the pregnancy', using the terms 'likely impending miscarriage' and 'natural end', rather than being up front and saying “We suggest you get here quickly, we believe your baby is dying.” It would have been blunt, but it would have been realistic. Did the doctor think that by de-humanising what was happening the pain they were going to feel would be lessened?

The journey after that was a blur, all Lucas knew was that Jenna was in room 4 on the obstetrics ward and that he needed to be with her as fast as was humanly possible. He drove with his foot far too heavily on the accelerator and his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it hurt. He yearned to be by Jenna's side and couldn't remember ever feeling so desperate to get somewhere. When the city had come into view, his tears fell even faster, turning the cityscape into abstract art, bright shocks of light and vaguely rectangular shapes which formed a picture that didn't quite look real.

Lucas stilled when he felt fingertips brush against the nape of his neck and he let out a loud, shaky sigh as that hand came to rest lightly on the back of his head.

“Lucas,” Jenna's raspy voice was barely a whisper.

He didn't want to look at her because he knew she would see right through him. At the same time, he needed to look into her eyes, to see for himself that she was alive and he wasn't imagining it. Slowly, he looked up and was surprised to see she was smiling. Had she forgotten that before she'd begun to crash the doctor had confirmed their beautiful baby had died?

“You're here,” Jenna observed and he nodded as he placed his hand over hers.

“I'm sorry I left you,” Lucas told her, his voice wavering as more tears threatened.

“You didn't leave me,” Jenna reminded him, her voice surprisingly full of conviction. “I wanted you to go to Trev's stag night,” she added.

“I shouldn't have gone,” Lucas replied, shaking his head, his anger at himself simmering back to the surface. “If I hadn't gone I would have been there with you and this wouldn't have happened,” he proclaimed.

“Luke, look at me,” Jenna demanded. She only ever called him Luke in their most intimate or emotional of moments. Lucas looked at her, his eyes brimming with tears. “This would have happened if you were there, or not,” she declared, her voice breaking as tears began to cascade down her cheeks.

There was no way Lucas could simply sit at her bedside and hold her hand while she cried. She needed him and he needed her. He slipped his shoes off and without even thinking about it undid his jeans and removed them too, placing them in a heap on the chair he had been sitting on. Hospital beds weren't made for two people but somehow he managed to get in and lie on his side next to Jenna. He held her as close as was possible considering the monitors she was attached to, and the fact she had had abdominal surgery. It may not have been as close as he would have liked, but to finally have her in his arms felt amazing. He hadn't realised how much he had needed that contact with her.

The sounds of their grief combined and created a haunting symphony which echoed around the room; if he cared to think about it, Lucas would have been sure their cries probably carried right throughout the obstetrics ward.

“I need to know what happened,” the hushed tones of Jenna's voice shook him from his thoughts.

“You should rest some more,” Lucas suggested, trying to stall the inevitable.

“Luke,” Jenna's voice was firm. There was no way he was going to be able to put it off any longer.

“How much do you remember?” Lucas asked, wondering from which point in time he needed to start recounting the story for her.

“I... I remember the doctor... and the ultrasound... saying the baby was... was...” Jenna started, then took a minute to compose herself. “I know the baby died... I remember the pain getting worse, I remember the doctor telling me I was dilating... I... I remember that I was in labour... then I felt dizzy... I remember you pushing the button for the nurse... and she didn't come... and you said they were fucking useless and you left the room... you were running... I could hear you shouting about blood... I was going to yell at you for yelling at the nurses...” Jenna continued between sobs. She took another deep breath and carried on, “And then you were in that chair screaming into the mattress, and I wanted to hug you, but I couldn't talk... and you couldn't see me... and I needed to touch you...”

Lucas lifted Jenna's hand up to his mouth and kissed each knuckle. Jenna moved her fingers between Lucas's and gently squeezed his hand.

“I'm ready,” she told him and Lucas kissed her on the cheek before finally starting.

“When I got back to the room with the nurses you had passed out, one of the nurses called for the doctor while the other checked your blood loss,” Lucas began, squeezing his eyes shut as the scene replayed in his mind. “The nurse called the doctor again and said it was urgent, that you were haemorrhaging.” He had to stop, the image of the blood-soaked sheets was too much for him.

“Take your time, baby,” Jenna whispered soothingly and squeezed his hand again.

Lucas exhaled loudly and picked up where he left off. “The doctor arrived and told me they had to get you into surgery immediately, he said they would do an emergency cesarean and try to stop the bleeding.” The next part was the hardest for him. “He warned that you might not make it through the surgery.” The memory of that alone stopped him in his tracks, and again he began to cry.

“I'm okay, baby. It's okay,” Jenna whispered. There was so much compassion in her voice, it had so many soothing qualities that it caused his heart to break all over again. She would have been an amazing mum. Would be. When their time came... again.

“What... what about the baby?” Jenna asked, there was a soft quality to her voice he had never heard before.

“Doctor Bishop said that if we would like to spend some time with the baby we can, when we are ready, but that we don't have to, in which case we need to let them know and they will advise us of the options for.. well... what happens with the...” Lucas started to relay the information the doctor had given him, but Jenna cut him off.

“I need to see my baby,” Jenna insisted, her voice full of conviction and strength. “Before we even think of cremation or burial, I NEED to have my first cuddle with my baby,” she added and Lucas felt a lump rising in his throat, not because he was sad, but because Jenna sounded as desperate to see their baby as he felt.

“Do you want me to ring for the nurse?” Lucas asked and Jenna nodded.

“Please, I want to see our little... wait, do you know if it is a girl or a boy?” Jenna stopped him before he rang the call button.

“The doctor said they were able to determine the sex but I wanted us to find out together,” Lucas informed her.

Jenna and Lucas had agreed early on in the pregnancy that they didn't want to find out the sex of their baby until he or she was born. Both looked forward to that special moment when their baby was placed into Jenna's arms for the very first time and together they would peek inside the soft blanket their child was wrapped in to reveal whether they had a son or a daughter.

It was that thought that got them through the weeks of morning sickness Jenna had experienced. Every morning at 6.45am Jenna would wake up, groan, stumble out of bed and rush to their ensuite. Lucas was always close behind and would crouch down beside her as she leaned against the toilet to throw up. He would rub her back and tell her it was okay, even though he didn't know if it was normal for her to look so pale and for every movement she made to seem so sluggish. Every morning for ten weeks she would slump into his arms and he would pepper kisses all over the top of her head while she tried to get the energy to stand up and go back to bed.

After Lucas informed the nurse they were ready to meet their baby, the nurse helped Jenna get more comfortable, propping her up on pillows and changing the angle of the bed so she was as close to sitting as the pain in her abdomen would allow. Lucas and Jenna sat in silence while waiting for their baby to be brought to them. He wanted to talk, he wanted to find something comforting to say, but they were about to hold their dead baby... he knew there were no words that would suffice.

The door finally opened and not for the first time that day, Lucas struggled to breathe. All he could see was the small off-white blanket the nurse was cradling in her hands. A baby wasn't meant to fit in the palm of your hands, it was meant to be cuddled protectively in your arms. Lucas felt tears sliding down his cheeks as he watched the nurse carefully place their baby – wrapped in the tiny blanket – in Jenna's hands.

They finally had their baby.

Before she had gone to get the baby, the nurse had informed them what their baby would look like, the mottled colouration, the disporportionate body and head, the fragile nature of an under-developed fetus. Lucas had imagined the sight of their child would upset him, that it would possibly even scare him, and now he felt immense guilt that he had worried the sight of their child would give him nightmares.

What he hadn't been prepared for was that when he drunk in the sight of their precious baby, he would be looking at a miniature version of Jenna. There was nothing 'mottled' or 'disproportionate' or 'fragile' about the angelic baby he was looking at. The only word that came to mind was 'perfection'.

“She looks beautiful, just like her mother,” Lucas whispered.

“She? How do you know?” Jenna whispered back.

“My darling, she looks just like you, there is no doubt in my mind we created a little princess,” Lucas told her in the same hushed tone.

“I don't see it,” Jenna replied, her voice still a quiet whisper.

“The little nose, it is a replica of yours,” Lucas began. “The little lips, the same beautiful bow shape as yours,” he continued. “Even the eyelashes, they would have been long, I can tell,” he turned and smiled at her. “And I bet she has the same bright blue eyes as you, eyes that would get her out of a lot of trouble growing up,” Lucas surprised himself by chuckling quietly before he adding, “Like you... I can never stay angry at you, one deep look into those eyes and I am rendered useless.”

“I need to see for myself,” Jenna stated, and had their hearts not been crumbling piece by piece, he would have been sure she sounded almost upbeat. Grief did funny things to a person.

Lucas moved a pillow onto Jenna's lap and she gently placed their carefully swaddled baby on the pillow, Lucas heard her inhale deep and long and held his breath as she opened the blanket. For the first time – and the last – they took in the sight of their perfect baby girl. Normally Lucas would have exclaimed 'I told you! I'm always right!' and Jenna would have rolled her eyes as she shook her head and giggled quietly.

Not in that moment though.

He needed to get to know his daughter. He needed to touch her hand, to gently run the pad of his thumb down the sole of the smallest foot he had ever seen, to stroke her cheek... and through tears he did it all. Through tears he watched Jenna committing every tiny feature of their daughter to memory, her touch so delicate, so protective... the touch of a mother, he realised.

“We need photos of her,” Jenna suddenly said loudly, her voice full of panic.

“I have my phone, we can ta...” Lucas began to say, stopping abruptly when Jenna gripped tightly onto his forearm.

“We can't call her 'her'! She needs a name Lucas!” Jenna exclaimed, clenching his forearm so tightly her nails dug into his skin painfully.

“Sweetheart, try and breathe... I want us to name her as well,” Lucas assured her and felt the tension leaving Jenna's fingers before her hand fell from his arm to his thigh.

“Sasha...” Jenna's whispered, she swallowed loudly and seconds later her sobs filled the room.

“Sasha,” Lucas said nodding his head, his throat burning and jaw clenching as he began to weep.

When there was a break in the tears Lucas silently took the only photos they would ever have of their darling daughter.

They were photos he knew they would look at in fifty years time and cry as they thought about the beautiful child who had been a physical presence in their life so briefly but would always be their first born child.

On her birthday, they would remember her. On Mother's Day and Father's Day, they would remember her. At Christmas, they would remember her. Every single day, for the rest of their lives, they would remember her.

No matter how many times they were blessed with a new addition to their family, no matter how rich their life was, no matter how much happiness they had, no matter how many great memories they created and shared, there would always be something missing. Their first born. Their Sasha.