Posts by C.C. Havens

Sexy Excerpt: Seduced By A River Chapter 32

Posted by on Jun 2, 2018

The aspen leaves are just starting to unfurl at 9,000 feet here in Colorado. In the following sexy excerpt from my book, Seduced By A River: Adventures In Love Sex and Whitewater, my man wasn’t here to share them with me. He had to miss them again this year. Longing, my muse, loves to have her way with me. I hope you enjoy this little taste of nature-inspired sensuality as much as I enjoyed revisiting it: When I Leave June 2010 I wake up alone in the middle of the bed with newborn aspen leaves, as fresh and still as dawn, outside our cabin’s window. My hand reaches towards them, unable to resist all that promise of summer and gentler days between us. I slide the window open, inviting the spring to curl up with me as I fantasize about what I’d do if you were sleeping naked on your back beside me, instead of working in Oregon. My kisses begin between your brows, at the furrow that deepened this winter.  You exhale, a soft rumbling snore. I inhale, summoning the leaves to float inside and take part in my love spell. My lips moisten your third eye and I guide a leaf to land there, anointing you with fresh vision. You stir and a slow smile pulls at the left corner of your upper lip. I trace the curve of your ear with the tip of my nose and rest my palm over your eyes. “Shhh,” I whisper.  “Don’t open them yet.”  Your hand reaches for me, finds the soft skin of my inner thigh and stills. You exhale, this time with a low moan of anticipation. My lips persuade one eye lid and then the other to stay closed. Two leaves follow in their wake encouraging your eyes to see with renewed passion and hope. I place a kiss on your Adams apple, infusing your voice with words as tender and sweet as the small leaf that follows. My enchantment descends until my breasts and then my lips are hovering above your sternum. A leaf lands and I kiss it into place, reminding your heart of our first spring together: twelve days and twenty-three condoms spent traveling the Oregon Coast. I guide a second leaf there, that magical time worthy of two, to honor that intense love and passion of the springtime of our relationship. Another leaf follows, in gratitude for the nine springs we’ve shared since and a reminder that we never know how many we have left. I invoke yet another leaf, an invitation to grow slow and steady like the trees we sometimes see in the woods, their trunks intertwined but their branches extending upwards and outwards towards their own source of light. My kisses move laterally brushing your right nipple and then the left, adorning them with foliage and the intentions of symmetry and balance. The tip of my tongue makes a curving path to your navel. Another leaf drops and adheres, a reminder to stay centered. My kisses drift left, right and back to center, marking the bony protrusions of your hip and pubic bones.  Leaves settle there, framing your sex and your second chakra with their chartreuse vitality. My nose dances around the tip of your arousal, your morning wood already hard like hickory yet smooth like finely-sanded cedar. My tongue drenches your length and descends, moistening the surrounding curves. Leaves follow my swath, covering your testicles in greenery to rival Adam. My hands contour either side of your waist and slide upward, half expecting to feel the roughness of bark. I...

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My Inner Catholic Girl: Part Two

Posted by on May 16, 2018

In this blog I often refer to my Inner Catholic Girl. Turns out I have two of them. My Little Catholic Girl is seven, a towheaded little angel who follows the rules and makes straight A’s. She is kind and always stood up for the skinny girl with knobby knees that everyone teased~ a budding healing artist. In third grade, when she received the sacrament of Penance at her Catholic grade school, she had a hard time coming up with anything to confess. Forgive me father for I have sinned:  I didn’t make my bed this morning. My Teen Catholic Girl is another story. She’d need an hour in a confessional. She smokes pot before attending her Atlanta suburban public high school and consequently got her first and only F in her trigonometry class which, of course, was all the teacher’s fault (Mrs. Ramos did seem to hate us). She forges her mom’s signature on fake notes excusing her from school at 9 a.m. for a non existent dental appointment so she can spend the day lying in the sun with friends at Lake Lanier. She lies to her parents about everything, especially stealing their liquor and attending church on Sunday nights. On weekends she drinks 7-Up Slurpees spiked with Southern Comfort and waits for her boyfriend to build up the courage to slide into third. I don’t have a picture of her. She skipped out on yearbook photos all four years of high school and never had a graduation portrait done. My girlfriend who survived those years with me sent this one:   My Teen Catholic Girl has evolved into an erotica writer.  My Little Catholic Girl is so embarrassed by this that her freckled cheeks flush bright red. I thought I had worked through all this, but when my publisher went out of business, My Little Catholic Girl  didn’t waste any time shoving the box of unsold copies of my erotic memoir into the back of the closet. They say awareness is half the battle right? Fully integrating my two Inner Catholic Girls (and the healing artist and literary artist they have become) is the other half. Wish me luck. Sexy Conversation Starter:  Do you have a Little Catholic Girl (or an equivalent) who interferes with your Sensuous Self? Or a Rebellious Teen who has never really grown up? Please comment and let me know I’m not the only one wrestling with this...

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My Inner Catholic Girl: Part 1

Posted by on May 2, 2018

I’ve finally figured out that locking my Inner Catholic Girl into some dark, confessional-like corner of my psyche doesn’t work. She eventually finds her way out, rips the plug out of my laptop and hides the charging cord. So as I move forward with the re-publication of my erotic memoir, I’ve decided that this time I’m going to bring her along for the ride. Last weekend, I took her here. An abbey of  Benedictine Catholic nuns.  Holy women. Sisters.   The spiritual seeker in me has always been intrigued whenever I drove by and saw their sign in the no man’s land between Fort Collins, CO and Laramie, Wy.   Catholicism is a thread, albeit a neglected one, in my spiritual tapestry but ever since my father handed his prayer to Mother Mary to me like a baton right before he died three years ago, there has been a little spark there.   He was a salesman, my dad, a good one… …and he totally sold me when he said his prayer, that my great grandmother taught him when he was seven, had been the secret to the success of his life. My dad was a happy-go-lucky Irishman with an infectious, positive attitude who thoroughly enjoyed life. After his funeral, I started integrated his prayer into my early morning practices of meditation, yoga and Reiki as a way to stay connected to him and keep up the blessing he had recited every day for our family.  It’s become a powerful part of my art of being happy. So when I got the opportunity to go the the Abbey with my friend Jaqueline, who has known the Abess of St Walburga for most of her 24 years, I jumped on it. The erotica writer who prays to the Virgin Mary having a private audience with a nun. I’ve never pretended to be normal. We got to hang out with Sister Maria Michael for about 45 minutes. Besides being joyous, candid and smart, Sister Maria Michael was incredibly intuitive.  It was as if she knew why I was there.  She spoke about discernment and how to make good decisions based on your core beliefs and then commmitting to them fully (like I had just done in this post). She casually spoke of her conversations with her father who had died, opening the floor for me to share mine “The Irish in particular seem to have a developed sixth sense that makes those conversations possible.” And then she laughed.  “I have about 5 ¼ .” I’m Irish on both sides and a craniosacral therapist to boot.  I have lots of those kinds of conversations, so I think I’m about a 6 1/2. We asked her to speak of Mary.  Jaqueline’s mother and my father, who died a month apart, were both very devotional to her and had bequeathed the tendency to us. Sister Maria Michael’s face lit up.   “She’s powerful,” she said. She shared a vision she once had of Mary wearing this beautiful dress…with combat boots, demons scattering away from her brilliance as she marched by. And then from her robe she pulled out a small bracelet of wooden beads. “I just made this and was wondering who it was for,” she said as she leaned forward and handed it to me. It wasn’t a bracelet afterall but a mini rosary with ten wooden beads, a crystal bead and a small cross, just the right size for my little Inner Catholic Girl and just the right size for a woman who incorporates a Catholic prayer as about ¼ of her devotional time....

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Sexy Magazine

Posted by on Apr 30, 2018

I was at Esalen for a writer’s conference a few years ago and saw Pam Houston, one of my favorite writers, walking through the organic gardens wearing a Bad Feminist T-shirt. I loved her even more.  For years I’ve felt like a Bad Feminist because I really love this magazine:   My husband ordered it years ago to, “you know,  help us have a sexy marriage”.  I have to admit, my Try To Be A Good Feminist’s feathers got ruffled for about ten seconds before I realized he was walking my talk. I summoned Ms. Blog Me Sexy to keep step and suggested that we refrain from ripping off the privacy cover until we could enjoy it together with coffee in bed. Nice try. Neither one of us could  ever get home from the post office without taking a peek. If I was a Better Feminist, I would rally against the objectification of women and the projection of unrealistic standards of beauty. And I get that line of thinking, I really do. But it isn’t my experience. I think the naked female form is one of the most beautiful works of art on this planet.   And I know from my own forays into erotic photos shoots, what an amazing experience it is to feel so comfortable in your own skin that you no longer want to cover it. So I imagine that the women posing for Playboy are empowered as hell and I can’t help but applaud that they are leveraging the gift of their youthful sensual beauty. So if I’ve convinced you to to subscribe to Playboy, remember this: Do not compare yourself to the Playmates and find yourself lacking.  Just don’t do it. Youthful feminine beauty is just one kind of beauty.  It is not the only kind.   And remember this as well: sexiness is so much more than physical beauty. (Need proof? Check out this post) Now that I am in my 50’s, I’ve been surprised by the sexiness here and find myself constantly redefining my sexuality. I draw inspiration from the women in Playboy, but I also look to my sexy mentors, women in their 60’s and 70’s who astound me with their radiance, confidence and sensuality. This month, Playboy seems to be redefining itself as well.  Their tagline Entertainment for Men has changed to Entertainment For All. Along with the photo shoot for the Playmate of the Year, there is a sensuous photo of Jane Seymour; an article on Rethinking The Female Orgasm; and an interview with Cecile Richards, the president of Planned Parenthood. In the Dear Playboy section, in response to one reader’s criticism that ‘Playboy needs to decide whether it wants to be a magazine of third –wave feminism or erotica for men’, Playboy responded: We respectfully disagree with your assumption that contemporary feminism and erotica for men are mutually exclusive. Nice. Maybe I’m Not Such A Bad Feminist afterall. *** Sexy links: Subscribe to Playboy here. Pam Houston’s T-shirt was a nod to Roxane Gay’s essay collection, Bad Feminist. Sexy converstaion starter: What magazines, music, books or movies inspire your sensual self.  Please share in the comments.  I’m always looking for new...

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Sexy Cards

Posted by on Apr 26, 2018

My Literary Artist and my Healing Artist are having a tug of war.  In the middle of my bed.  At 2 am. This is the antithesis of sexy insomnia.   My Literary Artist has scheduled an afternoon meeting with a website designer to brush the dust off this website and initiate the process of getting my memoir re-published. My Healing Artist, who has plans to get a massage and soak in hot springs, isn’t interested. Literary Artist: We are going! We have a super sexy book that needs to get back out in the world.  Healing Artist: We’ are canceling! It’s been so great to unplug and not have you mentally drafting blog posts while I’m trying to meditate. Literary Artist: You’re boring. Healing Artist: You’re manic. They are both right. And if they wake up my Inner Catholic Girl, things are really going to get complicated so I get up, stoke the woodstove and bring my angel cards back to bed.   I hold the deck in my hands, close my eyes and ask for help with my decision. As I swirl the cards around and around on my comforter I can feel my artists, peering over my shoulders, waiting to see what card I pull.  My right index finger skids to a stop on a card that is on the bottom of the pile, so I have to  keep the pressure strong and really focus to reel it to the edge. All of us are holding our breath as I flip it over: As I read the card  and the text in the accompanying book, it truly feels as if some beautiful, benevolent being is speaking to us: You have the ideas, the drive and the self -discipline required for entrepreneurial work Self doubts make you hesitate We assure you that you have what it takes to succeed Fully commit to succeeding   All of it resonates, but the indecision has been so unsexy. Fully commit to succeeding is exactly what we needed to hear. Looks like we are diving back in. Sexy Link: My angel cards by Doreen Virtue were a gift from my sister.  I love them. So do my craniosacral clients and yoga students.  Order some...

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