Mrs. Dalloway's Coffee Break

Mrs. Dalloway’s Hidden Treasures on kokoelma eroottisia kertomuksia. | ENGLISH? SCROLL DOWN, PLEASE | Tarinat tapahtuvat pääosin samassa kertomusuniversumissa, ja niistä osa sisältää jännitys- tai kauhuelementtejä. Mielikuvituksellisten, yliluonnollisten intohimonovellien vastapainoksi olen kirjoittanut yhtä monta realistista tarinaa, joissa maistellaan, koetaan, tunnetaan, kuunnellaan, haistetaan ja eletään erilaisia rakkauskohtauksia ja impressioita, joihin voi uppoutua hetkeksi halutessaan eläytyä kaltaistemme naisten salaisiin, sisimpiin haaveisiin ja haluihin. Teille, jotka tunnette entuudestaan tapani kirjoittaa, rakkauden ja kauhun pyhä liitto lienee jo konseptina tutuhko, ja toivotankin teidät lämpimästi ellei suorastaan kuumasti tervetulleeksi tutustumaan novellieni upeiden naisten fantasiamaailmaan. Uudet lukijat: tervetuloa mukaani aisteja hivelevälle, hetkittäin oudollekin, matkalle intohimon moninaisiin ilmenemismuotoihin. Olen sitonut jokaisen novellin käsin, ja rake

  Chloe in the Afternoon🔞 Coming soon in print only🐚 Open post for more images. For more info see  @mrsdallowayshiddentreasures

Riding the Chaste Moon 🔞 Coming soon in print only🐚 Open post for more images. See @mrsdallowayshiddentreasures for more info. 

The sounds of morning. Harison preparing his breakfast downstairs, occasionally throwing a short fit of coughs, or a sudden burst of sneezes. The raging of his loud coffee bean grinder. The slightly loose downstairs bathroom door clunking open and shut. Harison spitting out water in the sink while he is brushing his teeth. Earlier in the morning. The newspaper delivery person in their car, turning to our little alley on his route, just below the window closest to the bed. The newspaper delivery person distributing the paper into mailboxes. The newspaper delivery person turning their car around in the far end of the very short cul-de-sac and returning to the street. The floorboards’ tactful yawns and unassuming stretches, preparing for another full day of stomping feet upon them; almost silent little whines and noises, almost, but not quite. A faint creaking sound from downstairs. That used to drive me mad when we were brand new homeowners. Now I know it is just one of this old house’

During these strange times of seclusion and roadblocks and restaurants closed and everybody doing their best to hold their respective own while this planetary house arrest is in progress, I guess I have nonetheless managed to find a handful of reasons to live. I felt I wanted to write you this letter, describing exactly what those reasons are, how I feel about all this, and what I find noteworthy about my life now that most of the things I have held so dear are going or gone. I hope you will please forgive me, should you find these musings utterly in poor taste, if I was mistaken, and there never should have been even an inkling of intention on my part to ever share with you what I am about to share. While my husband is writing his urgent pieces about the virus for the paper downstairs, I have taken into carrying a heavy brass candlestick with me around the house, thinking if we are going to do it, let’s go all the way with this upsetting, mauve-tinted paranoia, this hyster