Archive for September, 2012

Flash Fiction Friday

Posted on: September 28th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments


Every Friday, a 50 word story is posted on the blog, based on a theme given the previous Friday. Everyone is encouraged to play!

If your piece is chosen, it will be posted as the Flash Fiction story of the week. Your name will also be entered in our draw for a $50 Amazon gift certificate compliments of Madison Lake. Draws will be made quarterly, on Fridays of course.

The theme of today’s Flash Fiction piece is NECKLACE, and the winning story was sent to us by MARGO CRUZ.

It wasn’t her azure colored eyes or luscious ruby lips that struck him, nor was it her brown hair put in a loose up-do, curly strands framing her chiseled face. No, it was the twenty-five caret diamond necklace nestled between her plump D cup breasts. Words escaped him.

Congratulations Margot! Your name will be entered into our draw. First draw will be Friday, December 7, 2012. And THANK YOU to all who participated. Keep sending in your stories.

Check in on any Friday to find out the theme for the following week, then submit your 50 word story to All submissions must find their way to my inbox no later than noon Thursday. The theme for next week is

Have Fun!


History of Sex, Part 37

Posted on: September 27th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments


A while back, the History of Sex took a look at body hair removal and the different methods used. That is fine but what about times when you have the opposite problem?  You’ve plucked, waxed, and shaved off all the hair down there but all of a sudden you need it back?  What is a person to do?  Enter the merkin.

The pubic wig dates back to the 15th century.  Along with plague, violence, and all the other things that make medieval Europe sound like hell, pubic lice was a major problem.  Women found that the best solution was to simply shave their pubic hair and protect their modesty with a little wig.  It was also used by actors playing women.  When they lifted their dresses, the audience would see a nice hairy thatch instead of…well, you know.

Merkins were also very useful to prostitutes.  To provide more variety, a lady of the night would have merkins made of many hair colors so the gentleman could chose which one she would wear for the duration of their transaction.  The carpet wouldn’t match the drapes but I doubt the men cared much about that.  Additionally, when STDs were common and mostly untreated, merkins could cover up sore and other signs of disease so that a prostitute could keep working.  Not a pretty image.

Now days, merkins are mainly the domain of drag queens and actresses.  Have a full Brazilian but you’re playing a farm girl in the 19th century and your character is set to be seduced by a cad?  Slap on a merkin to preserve authenticity!  Though we don’t use merkins very much anymore, the word itself is still in frequent use — it is now common European slang for an American.


Posted on: September 26th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments


love gave me wings…

Reposted from

While searching for romantic photos I discovered this amazing website run by a couple who’s motto is “because you are truly.madly.deeply. head over heels in love”.  I was immediately in love with their design aesthetic and styling, you’ve got to check out their beautiful work.

Photographer: Jen Huang

twitter: @grnweddingshoes



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If you’d like to be a contributor to our Wednesday photo day, please email your formatted shot to with all pertinent information.


Talk to Tippy

Posted on: September 25th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments

Talk to Tippy for outrageously honest advice.  Call it the second opinion we all wish we had.  Unabashedley candid and insightful – trust Tippy for guidance with dating, relationship or sexual conundrums.  Yes, you can Talk to Tippy.

Dear Tippy

I’m almost embarrassed to write to you about this but I need help!

I am in my mid 30’s and have been sort of around the block so to speak, so not much surprises me.  I also think I know myself quite well.

A girl at the office whom I do not know well suggested I meet her friend Jon.  Sure, what the hell. Jon and I got along instantly on the phone and via thousands of text messages, so the next week we set up a coffee/gallery Saturday afternoon date.

He was so funny and attentive and quite nice looking and meticulously well cared for; down to the perfect length of facial stubble, perfectly tousled dark hair and he wore the coolest shoes I had seen in some time.  I felt so sexy around him.  We had a great time and I thought the afternoon ended too soon.  Our next date, was dinner at his house.  He seemed so relaxed and I was totally at home.  

Ok, here’s the thing.  Before we even got started on the grilled prawn appetizer we were all over each other, heading toward the bedroom.  I had brought wine and a joint and my toothbrush and I was determined to stay the night.  My eager hands that were finally allowed to explore his lean and lovely Asian body.  Suddenly I froze.  Jon was a woman.

Unable to continue, I slowly gathered my things and went home.  There are numerous phone messages and a gazillion text messages waiting to be answered.  I am at a loss.  Why am I so shaken to the core?  I need you Tippy!!!

Miserable in Midtown

Dear Ms Miserable:

Wow, that’s a whopper!!  Thank you for baring your soul.  Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of this.

First of all, you must answer his messages and just tell him you will need some time to think.  He most certainly is prepared for this conversation so don’t short change him by not letting him explain.

Think about how you feel, from a cellular level.  And how do you feel about Jon, the person?  Do your best to not attach any of the old patterns of how you would deal with a new relationship and think about this in a non sexual way.  Is this someone with whom you could spend some good solid time, growing and engaging in new things that also offers you challenges?

Then imagine you are with him sexually.  Probably the reason he was so in tune with what you liked and cared about is not only because he shares some of the same chemistry but he’s got the same road map.  Now imagine how that could carry over in the bedroom?  He’s probably going to knock your socks off!   Now, think about that again…!

Society will want some answers but raise your third finger to society, I say and the same goes to all the lame ass labels that the uninformed will want to use to describe you and this relationship.

I happen to love relationships.  Of all sorts.  And I strongly believe that if you are enjoying each others company and not hurting anyone, then go for it.  Walk proudly through the market hand in hand, introduce Jon to your friends and let them draw their own conclusions.  Sure, this is easier said than done but if you don’t at least give it a try, then you are not the gal you believe yourself to be.

On the other hand, if you know in your heart of hearts that this will not go anywhere, then you need to have that conversation honestly with him and admit that the flaw is in you.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you know for sure you will not be able to move forward.  There are some things we all know about ourselves that are certain and regardless of the situation, there’s no denying it.  I know full well I cannot drink vodka.  It makes me wake up in another country with someone else’s clothes on.  It just does.   So I simply don’t drink vodka.  This may be one of those things (but of course, on a much deeper level.)

But if you want my opinion, take the leap.  Jump off the ground with both feet and see how well you land.  And report back.  I dare you.

I wish you well,



Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: September 25th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments

Where Daffodils Grow Wildtitillating tuesday




“My Lord?” Proberta gaped at Phillip as if she had been duped. “And your most humble abode?” Proberta put her hands on her hips, waiting for an explanation. Phillip looked sheepish.

“Well, you never actually asked, now did you?”

“So, what exactly are you,” Proberta probed. “Duke, Earl, Prince? I know you’re not King.” This time he laughed, and she couldn’t refrain from smiling a little herself.

“Viscount, if you must, and this quaint hamlet,” he issued forth the soil on which they all stood, “is part of my viscounty.”

“Go on,” she urged.

“I reign over this region, and was just out for an afternoon ride to check up on my people and their land. This is one of the many responsibilities that go with the title.”

Proberta had to admit, she was impressed, as well as pleasantly surprised. She liked that he referred to it as their land, and immediately felt even more at ease, and attracted to this man who, she felt, had a big heart as well as being deliciously hunky.

“So, why haven’t I ever seen you at the local charity balls and other such functions? Madam Edith Hornbrook herself is often host to events of this caliber. Surely our paths would have crossed at some point.”

“You are of course correct, My Lady,” he said.

“Ooh, di’ ya ‘ear? ‘E called ‘er M’lady. All dis time we’ve ‘ad a Lady in our presence. Always knew dere was somethin’ ‘bout ‘er.” Crow bowed his head in awe. Phillip continued.

“However, it is common knowledge that I am not one to enjoy such activities. I never have. My work is accomplished when riding through my district, visiting the good folks in West Yorkshire and the Humber, and even popping round to the borough of Morley now and again. But I rarely, if ever, attend social events or parties.” He paused. “You see, I’m not very good at mingling with the social elite.” He looked around, at the surrounding trees, the darkening evening sky, the first few stars faintly twinkling from the deepening canopy above them. “In all honesty, I’d rather ride Sidewinder out here in the hills and through the woods. It gives me a clear head for all I have to do, the legislative decisions, the choices that have to be made.”

Proberta’s heart sank. She had always loved parties, to dress-up, dance, drink, flirt. Looking around her at the faces of the poor simpletons who were now her people, the quaint living quarters where they carved out an existence, the state of the compound, Proberta realized those carefree party days were over. This blunt reality hit her like a ton of bricks. Was she ready for this? Had she ever considered that this new life might be for ever, that she might never return to her home in Leeds, or frolic at the Hornbrook estate again? Was this the sort of choice that Henley had also made? No, she reasoned, because his choice was made for love.

Proberta felt as if she’d been living in a dreamworld and had just been jolted awake. Sure, she had grown to be happy enough here in the compound, to accept all her new friends, this way of life. But everything had happened so quickly. Had she really put enough thought into the outcome of all this? Although she felt certain she would never give up trying to find her friends, she did find it unusual how easily she had adapted to this vastly different way of life, but could she honestly give up all else? She of all people, the snob, the bitch, the slut. Her ears stung from the very mention of that name, her head spun with the many unanswered questions, as she tried to sort out her feelings.

“My Lady? Remember your fragile state,” Phillip continued noting her vulnerability. “I really advise you to take to bed. I’m sure Raven will bring you some hot broth and her magic sleep tea for you to drink.” He winked at Raven, who blushed and looked down at her scruffy shoes.

“You know these people?” Proberta asked, completely unhinged. Phillip only smiled.

“Remember, Wisteria did say ‘your humble abode’, and I did say I ride around my territory visiting boroughs, towns, villages, hamlets, and even squatters communities. Of course I   know the people who live in them.”

Feeling embarrassed at her feeble mindedness, Proberta curtsied. “Of course you do, My Lord,” she said somewhat sarcastically. “I apologize. It’s been a very busy day to say the least.” Her voice and gaze took on an aloof quality as she grappled with her mixed emotions. “As you can imagine,” she continued. “My ankle is sore and swelling, and my head aches. If you will excuse me, I will take your suggestions and retire to my simple quarters. Raven always takes wonderful care of me.” Proberta smiled sincerely at Raven, who smiled in return, yet lowered her face modestly in respect. “Lord Mossgrove,” Proberta said, extending her hand to him. “I cannot thank you enough for saving my life this afternoon, and for your help returning me to my-my-friends here in the compound.” She did not let her eyes stay on his, even though he tried to hold them. Although confused by this sudden change of direction Proberta was taking with him, he nonetheless nodded obligingly. When he gently took her hand to kiss it, rather than allow his kiss to linger like she had in the forest grove, she pulled it away as soon as his lips touched her skin. Then she nodded with her eyes lowered, and swiftly turned toward the room she shared with Raven, and was gone. Phillip was left standing among the others looking dumped and baffled, but not for long. Raven, who of course had a sixth sense not just about herbs and healing, but about people, stepped up.

“Please Sir, fergive our young Prober’a. She tires so, which cause ‘er ‘ead ta ache wit confusin toughts. She needs rest. Ta morrow she be righ’ as rain.” Raven took his hand. “M’lord, please ‘llow me ta ‘scort yer ta supper. I ‘magine Twark an Sneed ‘ave been busy preparin’ all tings good and ‘ealthy fer us.”

A smile stretched easily across Phillip’s face. “I’d be honored, Lady Raven.” He accepted her hand and together they walked into the cook shack that was now filled with noisy, hungry people.

* * *

The next morning Proberta awoke to rain pattering against the thatched roof of their small hut, tiny pebbles falling from the sky. She sat up and looked around. Her head had stopped aching and she felt amazingly refreshed, then she remembered drinking Raven’s delicious vegetable soup broth, and sipping her specially concocted sleep tea, confirming Raven’s exquisite powers to heal.

The floor wobbled as she stood up, but Proberta realized it was her vision that set the room askew and her equilibrium off kilter. She closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, everything had settled down. Remembering her concussion, she reminded herself to take things slow. Proberta shook the dust and dirt from one of two dresses she had to choose from. Pulling it over her head, she tied the threadbare laces that secured the bodice around her waist. The laces were so worn it was a wonder they still held her dress together. The lace along the collar and cuffs was tattered, but was still attached securely, the color of the gown, once a vibrant rose, was now a muted beige. Proberta grabbed the ragged looking shawl that Margo, one of the women in the compound had given her, and threw it over her shoulders. Then she stepped outside into the glaring morning light, the rain had ceased.

Oddly, no one was around. Looking up in the sky, she estimated the time to be late-morning. Yes, she had slept in far longer than usual, but judging from her earlier dizziness, she needed the rest. In the distance voices could be heard, so Proberta walked in the direction of the murmurings. Thoughts of Phillip swam in the forefront of her mind. Would he be there? Was he still angry with her? Then she remembered it was her that had been upset with him, and her pace quickened, suddenly desperate to see him, to set things straight. What had he thought of her? She was embarrassed to think of her behavior last evening. What had made her revert back to her spoiled, childish ways? How could she have done that in front of him, of all people. Then she thought of the kindly folks of the compound that were also there, and she felt a flush of morose. Surely they must think her a fool. Nobody there would behave the way she had.

Rounding a corner in the walkway, she came upon a group of people busily picking berries, filling both their baskets and their mouths. Phillip was not among them, nor was Raven. She smiled, and everyone stopped and nodded their heads as she passed. Were they acknowledging her poor behavior or addressing her politely? Knowing she had missed the morning meal, Proberta hurried back toward the tent where the herbs were set to dry. Surely Raven would be there, mixing brews for tinctures or mixing dried herbs. When she arrived, all was quiet. Inside the tent, dried flowers were laid out on the long wooden table in preparation for mixing into medicinal remedies. She could smell fragrant combinations; wild rose, chamomile, columbine. These were likely going to be made into sachets to help with sleep or calming nerves, as she knew columbine could be lethal if too much was ingested. Next to the flowers were bunches of dried greenery ready to be powdered and blended into assorted mixtures for healing. Proberta noticed the kettle hanging above the coals in the hearth and knew Raven was boiling water to be used for concocting tinctures. Raven had recently been there, and would not have gone far. As she lifted the tent flap to leave, she nearly bumped right into Raven in a rush to get back to work. She looked flustered and agitated.

“Oh, ‘scuse me Ma’am, I din’t see yer.”

“That’s okay, Raven. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Proberta waited for Raven to say something, but she just hurried past her into the room and began to busy herself with the tasks at hand.

“Do you know where Phillip is, Raven? I-I owe him an apology. I wasn’t very civil to him last evening.” Raven looked up at her. Proberta tried to appear relaxed but knew she looked far from it. They looked at each other for what seemed like forever when Raven finally turned back to her work. Proberta thought it very strange she did not answer her question so she asked again. This time, Raven’s response was not at all what Proberta expected.

“E’s gone, Ma’am. Rode on back ta the big ‘ouse where ‘e come from. Aint comin back fer a while neit’er, tats what he says, Ma’am. Got some kinda bizness tend to.” Raven looked a bit sad, even shaken. Proberta turned and ran from the tent.