Erotic Awards 2011 Story Teller of the Year

Yes folks, Madeline Moore is Storyteller of the year. I just found out so I feel weird. Here's a picture of my trophy.

Hand made in Bali, in case you were wondering how such a delightful thing comes to be. It will look lovely in my trophy case (formerly known as the bookshelf.)

Thank you Erotic Awards 2011 judges! Thank you for representing me, Kristina Lloyd! Thank you Logical Lust publisher Jim Brown and editor Jolie du Pre, for The Cougar Book, in which my story "Get Up! Stand Up!" was published.

I think a taste of the story is in order. It takes place in Quebec. Annie is a physiotherapist who has just convinced a young protester to come down from a tree that will be demolished the next day. Her plan was to get him walking and send him home but the chemistry between them is irresistible. This is near the beginning of the story, when she has just arrived home with a filthy, limping (but legal!) young man:

The story is that when Cher laid eyes on Rob the bagel boy she said, “Have him washed and brought to my tent.” I knew that was what I was doing but I was still pretending my motives were pure.

“Straighten your legs,” I ordered when I was back in the bathroom. “Yum Yum,” sang my body in response to the sight of him stretched out in my tub. “Young, young, yum, yum.” I averted my eyes.

“Can’t. It hurts.”

“Do your best. Now flex your toes. Can you feel it in your calves?”

“Sorta.”

“Do five flex and relax reps. Ready? One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Relax.”

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Merci. Again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. And relax.”

“Will I walk again?”

“Yes.”

“Will I play the piano?”

I laughed. “No.”

“I’m clean now,” he said. “Get in.”

“You think?” I looked at him. His cock waved a solid, friendly hello. The sight of that majestic hard on struck me dumb.

We exchanged a long look. Mine said, “I’m almost fifty, cheri,” and his said, “De rien.”

So I dropped my button-through dress. I was wearing a black satin push up bra and thong (sixty year old men love a thong on any woman’s body, even a perimenopausal one) and lacy stay-ups that were riddled with runs from my trip into the forest.

“Oo la la,” said Guy. His cock got bigger; the head got thicker and started turning purple.

Desire hit my crotch so hard it hurt, like a cramp in my clit.

“I haven’t even touched you,” I whispered. I was awestruck. Honestly I hadn’t seen a cock that big and hard and blatantly horny since I quit trolling the gay porn sites. As for the real thing?
Years, baby.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said. “And a bootylicious body.” He licked his lips.

I stripped off my bra and panties and stepped into the tub, positioning one foot on each side of his slender boy hips. Then I simply lowered myself onto that magnificent member. I didn’t even spread my labia with my fingers, instead letting the heat-seeking head of his dick shove them aside to find my seriously aching hole.

“Christ,” I muttered as it stretched happily to accommodate him.

Water hit the back of my head and poured over us both.

“Oui,” (Wah) he said. He sighed like an old man, long and slow, and closed his eyes.

I kept mine open, watching the guileless grin that spread across his face as I slipped down another inch onto him, and another, until he was fully inside of me, encased by the hot satin walls of my cunt. My lips and clit nestled in his straight black pubic hair.

He humped up.

I gasped like a girl.

He did it again. Again. Again.

I started trembling all over. Usually I need a little help to make it all the way to euphoria, by which I mean wine as well as foreplay, but not this time. I was about to start howling and even the sight of my belly wrinkling between my navel and my pubic hair didn’t phase me.

“Fuck it,” I hissed. I leaned forward a little, so the head of his cock rubbed my g-spot.

His eyes opened. “Cool,” he said. He cupped my breasts, thumbing my nipples.

“How long can you fuck like this?”

He shrugged. “Forever, if you like.” He humped up again.

I made a strangled little noise.

Guy let his right hand trail down between my breasts, over my belly, to my mound. Again, his touch was gentle. He used his thumb to make lazy little circles around and over my clit. “Or we can come now and then come again later and then come again later and…”

“Uh huh.” I was nodding in slavish agreement. I shifted to a kneel.

Guy guided my head to his. Our mouths met in a sloppy kiss, sloppy because we were eager and the shower made it hard to breathe, not sloppy because he was inexperienced or demanding. He pressed my head to his skinny chest and he fucked and fingered me until I really did start howling and shaking and grinding and coming like I hadn’t had an orgasm in years. I was scared I might squeeze him right out of me with the force of my clenching contractions, but he was as solid as ever inside me.

“Stop!” I tried to wriggle free. “I can’t stand it!”

“Sure you can, cheri,” he murmured. He just kept on going, fingering and fucking me as if I hadn’t just come, until I did it again, as hard and long as the first time.

I lay plastered against his chest, half-delirious with delight. “You come!”

“I did,” he said.

“So quiet,” I marvelled. “And gentle. And patient.”

“I have to be these things,” he replied.

I climbed off him and out of the tub with as much grace as I could muster. Then I helped him out and wrapped him in a bath sheet. We were both a little unsteady.

“Why?”

“Hmm?” He leaned on me. He looked exhausted.

I leaned back. “Why do you have to be quiet and gentle and patient?”

He looked at me with the sad eyes of a weary warrior. “I think it’s going to take a long time to save the planet.”



xoxo Madeline