Mrs. Dalloway's Coffee Break

When it happened to Mimou, she was seventeen. She was so perplexed and stunned when it went down, that she felt later she had not sufficiently opposed, and wondered for years if she could have fought him off instead of the pathetic attempts of a surprised school girl's feeble verbal nos. Yet at the same time she was full of childish astonishment and wonder: was that the way it was done, was that – abyss - what being an adult was all about? Did everyone else go through it, too? Was being with a man like that, forced, a secret rite of passage? She was stupid. Afterwards, she never told anyone except Peri, and even then she would not use the actual word for it. She wouldn’t use it for another twenty years. The guy was flamboyant and suave, he wore a striped jacket, had carefully disheveled hair with too much gel in it. He had a gap between his front teeth. He wrote her a poem on a piece of napkin. He went to an extremely prestigious and hard-to-get-in art school. Ten years later, a mo...

Finally, we are bringing these unique stories of the macabre and erotica to you! Stay tuned & learn more very soon! Love Desire Rapture, Tuija Photocredit for contemporary Pussywillow picture: Markus Määttänen. Pussywillow in period clothing by Tiina Rikala.

  Watch the video  on   @mrsdallowayshiddentreasures I was standing at the counter of my local record store, basically monopolizing the entire table as well as the attention of my favorite salesperson. He is my peer and has manned the counter for as long as I have been shopping there, so we practically have the same profession. He also has the whole High Fidelity-Rob Gordon-Championship Vinyl Owner -vibe about him, without the superiority complex or the raging fits, that I know of, and since Nick Hornby’s modern classic is one of my favorite books, I always look for signs that the story in the book is all true, and therefore notice such things. I had come down to check out birthday gift possibilities for my girl Roberts, and let’s face it, when at a record store, you don’t just get the one record and leave. So, the man was doing his best to help me out. “So, I mean what do you have in CD format?” “Oh, I have a bunch of stuff here, in the Used section. Let’s see now.” I wa...

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’...