Booty Call Addiction

tadaa, one of my new poetryporn stories from my new book After Rain… sexy poetry,  and a sad, sweet story, with a serious, bittersweet message, as always 😉

Booty Call Addiction

She is waiting all day and sometimes all through the night, lost in her world and this longing that is driving her wild.
She waits for that certain sound, that bell on her phone, the treat that is feeding her restless mind. She’s dreaming and drifting until she gets that text. The sweet message that would wake her up, even though she rests. Ah my god, he got her hooked up so very deep. And yet, she is patient, because she knows what he needs. A text, at 2 a.m. It reads ‘hey, are you home, ‘cause I’m coming over now’. Her reply ‘of course baby, anytime’. She’s in bed, but her love never sleeps. She remains, her body nice and warm as she stretches out like a kitten on her cosy pink sheets. She is so happy, yes, that sexy state of mind. An all consuming desire and yet nobody she could tell just how desperate she feels inside. How addicted she is to his affection and oh my god, that sweet injection. It’s all she needs to feel good and nothing else matters. He’s her morphine, and she craves those numbing drops of white.

There’s a knock on the door, he has arrived. The handsome, tall blonde, he’s eager to rush inside. He’s just come from work and he needs her now to get things off his mind. Yes, he’s a slave to the system and so damn bored with the mask of his life. Now he really needs to release that deep frustration, before he heads home to the unloving wife.

Nervously he is looking around, and when she opens, he quickly gets in, because, embarrassment is high. She stands there in the hall of this love nest she calls home, in her little pink nighty, and she’s still warm from sleep. That tall, slender beauty with the big, green eyes, as she gently puts her long arms around him as he pushes her backwards all the way to that queen-size bed of hers. With the soft, pink sheets that smell of her, and also still of him, she never washes them afterwards, oh, her dirty, little sin.

The only words he whispered that night; ‘hey you know, I don’t have much time.’ As he strips off her short nighty with feral force, and then he tears off his belt like an animal would, that is trying to free himself from his cage. Desperate and angry, he is giving in to his instinct as he throws her back down onto the bed and pushes his hands into her shaking thighs. He doesn’t even fully undress as he presses his lean torso against that smooth, tender skin of hers. And she, oh, finally, she lies there, waiting for that sweet pain to tear her up and enter her deep inside. And she holds on so tightly around this hips so naked, so hungry for relief. This mutual addiction, it’s too hard to resist. In a way he hates her because he needs her to exist. To feel alive and to feel the primitive soul within. With green-eyed babe, he can be his manly self, ah, that feels so good. He uses her, but she doesn’t care. Because, with each dedicated sigh that she hears there by her ear, she utters a helpless cry that would travel far into his brain, an echo that would bury deep within his heart and leave a mark on his memory so fast. And this was her ultimate ecstasy indeed, that shameful little secret they shared, it would be with him forever, her pretty face would be haunting his head.

And with each quickening push, he put a piece of his soul inside her bloodstream. The hidden parts of his mind that were unknown to him, they would enter her orgasmic body. That green-eyed tease, oh how insatiable. That gentle beauty, oh how she wants him so. And in her blind, loving state of mind, she loves to be used by her vain, sexy hunk, a wee hour per night. But oh, the shame that he feels that now resides in him, society’s rules, oh how they torment him. She really hopes that this would change over time, that she would be his true love and they’ll be a couple for all to see. Yeah, risky girls, they sure can dream.

Truth is she loves him, doing anything to please, whatever attention he gives, she takes it like a dog and he just loves this devotion.

He hates her because he loves her so. How could he not. She’s beautiful, she’s vulnerable, alone without him, what more could he need? Hungry wolves are always outside her door, wanting a piece of her, so that they can soar, into the sky, just for a while. She’s a reckless hussy cat, the sultry kind that adores freedom, but sweet liberation has a price in this world. They’ll never understand her kind. Enemy of jealous wives, oh yeah, for good reason. She’ll never leave his aching soul and he’ll cry out her name with his breath at the end of his season.

(c) missAmey – After Rain… A Straycat’s Dream – A collection of ravin’ thoughts and sexy melancholy

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Freakin’ frisky news… :-)

All exciting things… yes, always happen in the hidden, in the background. So a lot has been transformed. All pages are updated; the About, the new Pretty Gritty, Sexy Melancholy, Visuals and the newest edition, ‘Risky’ Fashion.

New times, new inventions, yay… Life is fantastic as it always brings movement, new awareness and change. When you read the pages above, you will see that with my personal art I will focus simply on my own stories, visions, dream stories, based on my experiences. Real, high or ‘messed up’ experiences. 😉 Life is full of stories, bizarre moments, full of emotions. My life is complex, and I love it. And my thoughts, apparently, are so ‘very different than all the mainstream thoughts’. After all, I always try to be ahead of everyone else. So I no longer want to blend in ideas about fitness, high vibes and positive life style thoughts as I planned to do 4 years ago. (There’s too many ‘experts’ out there already…) I also had to stop use words like villain, rebel, raw and savage, because again, too many keyboard ‘Cartmans’ (South Park yes) have recently taken over such ‘kewl’ concepts (while they troll other people). Idiots ruin everything…!

But anyway, privately I learned an important lesson; As I am a high-energy, empathic gal, I always reach out to help unhappy people. I love to make them feel better, make them feel appreciated. And I put a lot of energy into doing that. But I sadly found out several times that the people I try to help, they don’t really want to improve their lives. In fact, they just kept complaining, and somehow assumed they could just ‘steal my light’, and when they realised they couldn’t, they actually got demanding and angry. How rude!?! So, I decided to let people, for the most part, sort their own sh*t… I mean, we all have access to the law of attraction, right? What you focus on grows, yep.

A little note on the side; My arty expressions are very honest, very naked, very sexual. And yet, they are a little diffuse and surreal. Personal ideas are not the same as exposing privacy. There is a big difference. Privacy is something very different. In fact, I am a very private person. Both online and offline. My private data is my own.
Privacy is your own protected space. And it is this holy space, the details you wish to keep for yourself, that Google and Facebook are after to expose to the world. Your name, your address, your number, your age, your income, your health status, your children… all to expose, restrict and control you. The reason they want access to your smart phone is because they want to have access to the things you do not want anyone else to see. And so many people give it up willingly, unaware of the dangers that lie ahead. How we all are becoming mere statistics, stereotypes, puppets, robots… fed by fear, limitations and negativity. It’s freaking scary what is happening. People walk in their sleep, slave to their stupid phone apps!
Live has changed, sadly. There is no longer any mystery or charisma surrounding a persona. Fame these days means to have your private details ripped away and ridiculed. Is that worth it?? No.
How to protect yourself these days? LIE! Mix up infos both online and offline, use different phones for different purposes, give different names, numbers, birthdays, ages. Also to strangers you meet at the bar. You don’t owe anyone any real details, it’s not their business. The truth is relative anyway. We are spirits, we are actors, timeless, here to enjoy experiences, nothing else. We are not vessels, not labels and stereotypes to be judged.
Apart from this, I recently have created a new venture/website of a sexy/erotic nature. With many experiences and adventures in the ‘tease’ and ‘adult biz’, this will be pretty educating, (yes read Pretty Gritty) 🙂 The aim is to inspire real life experiences, and to light real passion, real senses. Sex these days, like everything else, is a much online viewed, mere cold outer stimuli, instead of an ecstatic, orgasmic experience felt in the body and most of all deep in the soul. Sensuality is not a social regulation. It is magic, it’s divine. It connects you to source like nothing else. High vibrational, high sexual beings remain youthful and tend to live longer. I’m never shy to bring up taboos and degrading myths about the free female sexuality… yeah you would think the humans would be enlightened in this modern age, but sadly this is often not the case. Oh, obviously, I do write there under a more anonymous alias, uhm yeah, it’s Mink – just another badly kept secret 😉
Tadaa there you go. Clever stuff or what…?! (irony… just in case no one got that 😉

  • #artist #reinventions #sexymelancholy #freelove #ravin #elusivehussy #love  #sexblog
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Lover of Mine

Last spring, I was introduced to the sweet, lovely dream pop sounds of Beach House at the cool, hip coffee shop called Fuckoffee at Shoreditch, East London. The sweet, emotional songs ‘Lazuli’ and ‘Other People’…  the beginning of a happy love affair, of hope. Lovely emotions for a rainy day. Lovely music for the ‘in love’ feeling. In fact the whole album ‘Bloom’ was like a new fresh love affair to me, all the way through.

When you meet a guy and this feeling of euphoria arises, and you meet up and you do things, and you laugh, happily, because he takes away your pain, just for a while… because in the end you know, it’s just an illusion. Continue reading

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Grains in Summer Time




Standing still in the middle of a golden wheat field near my house, with my arms open, spread out to the side, feeling the wind around me, feeling the grain brushing against my arms and hands. I remember. I was little then, like merely just four years old. And I looked across the fields, to the houses and the restaurants by the road. Watching the wheat stalks swaying. Breathing, taking in the scents of summer, the earth and the grass. And I hear this far away roaring sound above me, a plane soaring across the sky high above me, looking so small in the distance. There I looked up and I watched. And I listened. And this longing came over me. I wanted to be on that plane. Travelling, flying away. That sound always stuck with me, that sound of a plane in the distance, fading, in summertime, in the lovely warm breeze, in the fields… I love it, I feel it.

And soon of course I would be on it, that plane in the distance. I was fortunate to travel often as a child, and we lived in different countries too. I remember adventure times in America, exotic trips to northern Africa. Road trips throughout the States, horse riding through hot, rocky mountains, surfing along the coastline, boat trips on the sea… I felt the heat of deserts throughout America and the cold of Niagara waterfalls. I had encounters with American natives. I saw snakes drifting with the stream in rivers, crocodiles, sharks, wild horses running… thunderstorms without any rain, electrifying the air. Freedom…!  Just riding… calling to the ever moving soul of the inner nomad.  It so inspired me.

When we then went home to Germany where I had to go to school, I already had seen so much, I couldn’t be like the other kids. I felt like a stranger… without a home.

To just be and see, observe and breathe it all in… it’s so easy as a child… and then we forget, even though it is the essence of us all. Suddenly there is a reminder.

It’s been a while since I walked across a wheat field and gently stretched out my arms to stroke the grain with my fingers, feeling the summer breeze on my skin, soaking the silence… listening for a plane flying high above, fading in the distance.  I will, this summer!

“Don’t try to understand, just feel”.  And the perfect song and video to underline this mood is Interpol’s Mind Over Time.


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Why people don’t want you to be alone

28279296_983774611788118_1846174053197319405_n - Copy

People don’t want you to be alone. They don’t want you to be single either and eagerly push a partner on you. And this is not really because they don’t want you to be lonely, or unhappy… they really don’t care about that, no. People want you to be with someone because then you are less of a threat. Outch, that’s right.

When you are always walking, working and living with a group of people, or when you are ‘safely’ married, then there is someone there to keep you in place, to keep you distracted. You are more likely to do ‘normal’ things, and that makes you safe to the crowd. When you are alone a lot and/or live alone, you are so much more likely to do some serious thinking (or watch some nasty porn, either way…).

You can be your real self… the one that is inside of you. Do all the things you can’t do in front of others. You can talk to your inner voice and even play with your ‘demons’ (which can be fun!)… because nobody is watching you. You can get to know your needs, you can create, you can evolve.  Being alone is so truly liberating. This is why many artists need to be alone in order to connect to their source and create.

When you are on your own, nobody knows what you truly are up to, and that scares the sheep people. They get suspicious, they don’t trust you. After all, you could be doing naughty things… illicit things, keep secrets. And this is especially a big source of gossip when you are a woman. Continue reading

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Challenge your given ‘identity’…

28870565_991117841053795_3828623779088548289_nI just want to be, to be free. To be, is the ultimate state of existence. To simply be, is free of false identity. False identity is often the misjudgements placed upon you by others who cannot understand you. And it obviously can be very limiting. Your identity comes with rules and morals. Even if you love what you do, and even if it inflates your ego, people soon attach their sheepish social rules and misjudgements on you. You are confined to living in a box of social expectations. Wouldn’t it be nice to be free of that?

I told you already that I sometimes go out exploring the world anonymously or without saying a name, meeting random people, to just experience, without identity attachment and restrictions. This is not about being false, or somebody else, or creating a wannabe ego to impress irrelevant strangers. This is about you exploring you. All of it. Being able to be timeless, ageless, without habits, without false morals. Because we are not only one name. We have many. Personality is an illusion. We can be many things and live different lives. And I experience so much weird, crazy, insightful and fun. Sometimes very scary situations too.

You can change reality, make reality happen, be aware of different dimensions, yes, a Continue reading

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Me-ink & and the Juice

A few years back when I moved to Oslo’s finest Victorian and ‘Jugendstil’ neighbourhood Frogner, yes, where all the hipster bartenders and fit Swedes live, I soon was a popular daily guest at the new cafe concept here called Joe and the Juice. The hip cafe with good, high vibes induced by the charming selection of exclusively male staff in their early twenties. Euphoric, sexy house music and  flirty, handsome cuties with caps, hey, it’s just my thing. So the five Joe and the Juice cafes in Oslo became my second home. I had charming, funny and interesting conversations, lot’s of free coffee of course, delivered with a wink, hearts on my loyalty cards, vast amounts of compliments… the occasional fling after closing time… 😉 . Continue reading

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15241307_729118063920442_2988413749115718489_n-e1518553824359.jpgShe’s waiting for another train
She’s given it a share of chances
Into another country again
No tears for the lies he told
No letter on the bedroom chair
No message written on the mirror
Leave it looking like she’s never been there
With nothing left for her to hold
She always steps forward
She never looks back
She leaves while she can with her dreams still intact
Her sadness below her and hope high above
With her heart in her hand she steps out

Pretty music on the radio
She’s looking down another highway
No tears when the time comes to go
No memories to cloud her sky
She always steps forward she never looks back
She leaves while she can with her dreams still intact
Her sadness below her and hope high above
With her heart in her hand she steps out

Story of my life!

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In The Company Of Ghosts…


London east, and I’m standing still. When I feel the age old past reaching out from busy streets.

The people I pass are mere shadows… hushing by like in a dream

but the derelict buildings they talk and the ghosts within they speak to me, vividly,

with angry sighs of untold misery

and bygone injustice, of suffering and sorrows vast,

labour and endurance of stones they had build to last

the lost souls that always will remain… urging me to switch sides, insisting I should stay.

Tempting me with unkind words; saying the living have nothing to offer someone like me,

they’ll always be passing shadows, they will never allow me to blend in…

How odd, how the mundane folk awaken once they’ve passed their mortal time

And when all you have is the company of ghosts attending your mind,

Oh how easy it could be to just give in.

  •  Miss A. Mey  (c)
  • Photo taken in my current neighbourhood, Shoreditch, East London 1 May, ’17
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Electrical! Sexual in body and soul…

_DSC1356 - Copy.JPG     I see all those things, around me and in my head. A certain scene, a certain feeling, moments… places… towns, buildings, oceans, people, a vibe… and it is so hard to not be able to explain all the visions and emotions that I see, the amazing feelings that arise from a memory, a sudden scent that overwhelms me. The smell of something is the greatest trigger of amazing visuals, ecstatic feelings, and also some very scary thoughts of otherworldly experiences.

I can only describe it as really sexual. With thoughts and emotions tingling, vibrating and running up my spine to my chest, like a pleasant and ecstatic electricity running through my body… this electrical charged sensation that triggers certain feelings, visions and dreams at night. Continue reading

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