LA PERLA DE MONTPARNASSE, our GIGI.

Shall we? Elizabeth Gumport once proposed that “What the pretense of privacy often does is protect us from reality. It is called on to conceal the fact that there are two realities: the world as it is lived in by men, and the world of women”. So often it seems that rapture in all of its taste, bouquet, glory and moans is only put forth for the voracious consumption of a supposed ‘male’ mind. I find this thinking highly misplaced. This segregated notion does not flow with the realities of life. The push and the pull that is alive and rushing just under the skins surface of each of us does not speak this truth. The truth this ‘illicit’ reflection speaks, is pleasure, a whisper in your ear, a quicken of the pulse, the arousing sound of flesh against flesh, a narrowing of the eyes, dilation of the pupils, all of the indisputable, and yes, most beautiful things in this life. Pleasure not meant for one sexes eyes but both, because that is what makes this mortal coil we are all a part of stir and flow. The purveyor of the exciting pleasure of leading minds to run wild; unbound and untamed, simply because you, as I, want to go there. Shall we embark? Gigi Please also visit us on our Magazine's Lust Edition: www.lustedition.com

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2013

I'm sorry I've been so absent for so long. Life sometimes sometimes finds a way to get in the way of fun, doesn't it? :-)

Now let's forget about that and finally kick off 2013 on the right (sexy) foot.

Welcome to our sexy 2013!

Yours

Gigi

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I seemed like a baby bird keeping its truly innocent animal lusts hidden under its wing. I was being tempted, not by the desire of possession, but simply by unadorned temptation itself.

Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima

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A little she strove, and much repented, And whispering, ‘I will ne’er consent’ — consented.

“Don Juan”  by Lord Byron

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You know how it is when two souls meet in a burst of ecstatic volubility, with hearts tickling to hear and to tell, to know everything, to reveal everything, the shared reverence for the other’s otherness, a feeling of solitude radiantly snapped by full contact — all that?

London Fields by Martin Amis