Naughty Stories

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Naughty Stories
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I have a little secret – mommies can be naughty too. Not much of a secret to you but you'd be surprised how many people are shocked to hear it. Although we spend much of our time shuttling our kids back and forth and making super responsible decisions there is still a woman inside of every mom. Our husbands (hopefully) are privy to our naughty side and we might confide in our best friend but what brings out the naughty is as unique as the woman. After all, we haven't been mothers forever and we used to be highly charged sexual singles, the thought of a long-term relationship, dirty diapers, and carpooling never even registering. But now as we live the life of a parent our naughtiness has to go a bit underground.
So, I'm going out on a limb and assuming I am not alone here. I have a confession, a secret crush (well, not so secret now). Just to clarify, I am NOT looking to find a new man. This is not about acting on your crush but about crushing on someone totally, unrealistically out of your reach. My secret? I lurve Henry Cavill who plays Charles Brandon, The Duke of Suffolk, on The Tudors . Can you blame me?
My husband and I have been addicted to our nightly viewing of this soft porn series. We've seen season 1 and are now part way through season 2 on DVD. Although we all know how it ends and most of what happens in between who knew that the 1500's in King Henry VIII's court could be so hot!
Well I decided to check out the real Charles Brandon to see if he was as easy on the eyes as the handsome Henry Cavill. Needless to say I think I'll be sticking with my modern day crush. Standards in the 1500s were, well, a bit, um, different. Decide for yourself:


The real Charles Brandon.                                      Henry Cavill as Charles Brandon.
So, who's your secret crush? Do tell in the comments below.
I must say this article was very interesting. I found you with a google search and was rather impressed by your rank for this article.
In each woman’s dress and clothing, every detail has to agree with others. Or, you can finally seem strange. They say it’s OK if you do not buy new clothes. Since you can use High end replica handbags with your team and do everything differently. Simply, when we buy things, the debate is its durability, its use and of course the cost.
Cute post… I haven’t yet caught the Tudors, I didn’t realize they had more gorgeous men other than Jeremy Northam and of course Jonathan Rhys-Myers.
My not-so-secret celebrity crush right now is Jon Hamm from Mad Men. Yum.
Ahhh! he is definitely crush-worthy – what a beautiful man. My current celebrity crushes (not so secret mind you!) are Colin Firth (he’s a constant over teh years since Mr. Darcy), and Ian McShane (Al Swerengen from Deadwood – sick, i know, but can’t help it!)
I’m addicted to Friday Night Lights, myself. The third season just started this month and I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed the eye candy on this show. I’m really not sure who I enjoy more…Coach Taylor (the delectable Kyle Chandler) or Tim Riggins (Canadian hottie Taylor Kitsch), but I know at this point that I’m not watching the show for the plot or dialogue.
I must confess I’m addicted to this show too! Feeling naughty is a part of life. And I learned at a young age that Grandma’s can be naughty too! When I was in college my widowed grandmother got a “boyfriend”. She stayed out all night one night and her sister who she was staying with at the time LOCKED HER OUT!. She was evidently jealous! LOL They were always quite the pair of squabbling sisters.
My Mom and Dad always dropped hints at their rather frisky side. Now that my Mom is gone I know my Dad and his friend Lucy are probably enjoying more than just a skinny dip off Dad’s boat on a hot summer day.
It does not bother me. It delights me. I’m hoping I have good genes! LOL
I agree with Ali – love the Tudors and Henry Cavill both. Thanks for the pics! My last “secret” crush on a star was Ciaran Hinds as Caesar in Rome. It has since waned (alas, they only made 2 seasons and I’ve seen them both at least a hundred times by now) but it sure was fun while it lasted. Now that I think of it, someone borrowed my season 1 discs (and season 2’s no fun because Caesar is already dead) and hasn’t returned them. Naughty, naughty!
love the tudors. love henry cavill.

i’m pretty sure my celebrity crushes are not secrets. haha!


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“You’ll never guess who’s back in town, Lucy,” Cora Lee Watkins said as I handed her a menu.
“Turner Calhoun! Didn’t you kids used to be in the same grade?”
I nodded, ignoring the sudden silly flutter of my heart. “That was a long time ago. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Hot chocolate, please. He’s single again, but I doubt that will last. Every female under the age of sixty is going to be trying to get their hooks in him.” Cora Lee giggled.
“I’ll be right back with your hot chocolate,” I said and quickly walked away, trying to keep the memories at bad.
I’d had a crush on Turner Calhoun since I was twelve years old. It was funny, really — plain, mousey little Lucy Bishop in love with the town heartthrob. But I couldn’t help myself.
It wasn’t just that Turner was tall, with midnight black hair, dark twinkling eyes, and a wicked, lop-sided grin—he was actually nice, too. Turner never laughed at my stutter or made fun of my short, curly hair. When we worked together on the school paper, he always listened to everything I had to say.
For most of my high school years I’d been in fantasy mode where Turner was concerned, dreaming he’d see past my glasses and ugly outfits and fall head over heels in love with me. Of course it never happened. Turner dated girls like Marcy Gates and Suzy Shaffer, the school beauties, with their long, flowing hair and flawless skin.
Then we all graduated. Turner went away to college and then started a used car business. He’d become very successful. I followed his progress in our annual high school newsletter, which was also how I knew that his marriage had ended in divorce. But I had no idea why he’d decided to move back into town.
My feet were aching by the time I finished my shift that night. Not only had I dealt with the usual stream of customers, but also my boss, Tony, had wanted me to ‘jolly the place up’ for Christmas. So I’d spent a large part of my lunch break pulling the Christmas tree out of the storeroom and then decorating it, in between running around fetching pie and coffee and meatloaf. Cora Lee hadn’t been the only customer to comment on Turner coming home. In a small town like Homer, his return was big news.
I stopped at the grocery store on my way home and picked up the things Mom had asked for, suddenly fighting back the familiar depression that my exhaustion often brought on. It was almost Christmas—a time for fun, parties, being with loved ones. . . but not for me. I still lived in the same town, in the same house, as I always had. Mom still bossed me around the same way she had when I was five. And as far as I could see, there was no way out.
“Oh, quit feeling sorry for yourself, Lucy Bishop,” I muttered. “You’ve got plenty to be grateful for.”
As soon as I opened the front door, Mom yelled my name. “Lucy! Where have you been?”
“You needed me to stop at the grocery store, remember?” I said, bringing in the paper sacks and starting to unload them.
Mom grunted. “Well, it’s my book club tonight. I need you to fix my hair.”
“There’ll still be time after supper,” I replied.
“It’ll have to be something quick, I suppose,” Mom grumbled.
“How about tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?” I suggested. She shrugged.
I forced a smile. Mom was seventy-eight years old. I’d been a late in life baby, born when she was forty-six. And to Mom, even though I was now in my early thirties, I’d always be a little girl she could boss around.
“Turner Calhoun is back in town,” she said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “He’s bought that big old house Andy and Nancy Mayer had.”
“That’s nice,” I nodded as I stirred the soup, wondering if Turner would still bear any resemblance to the handsome boy he’d been the last time I’d seen him.
“He needs a housekeeper, four hours a week,” Mom said. “I called him and said you’d do it. You start tomorrow, three o’clock sharp.”
“Excuse me?” I stared at her. “Mom, you had no right to do that!”
She scowled. “Take that soup off the heat before it boils over, Lucy! And I had every right to get you a job as a housekeeper. You live under my roof, and you need to help pay your way, young lady!”
My hands shook as I poured the soup into bowls—I felt so resentful. I worked thirty-two hours a week at the diner and spent the rest of my time practically waiting hand and foot on Mom. But I often felt like nothing I did was enough for her.
After we’d eaten, I helped Mom arrange her hair into neat curls and then her friend, Tilly, arrived to take her to the book discussion group at the local library.
I took a shower and switched on the television. When I couldn’t concentrate, I switched it off again and slowly climbed the stairs. I flopped down on my bed and let my mind roam back in time, back to when I was a little girl.
By the time I’d come along, my brother, John, had already left home and married, and my sister, Susan, was graduating from college. My birth had been a surprise, to put it mildly. Mom had been enjoying her empty nest and was looking forward to a life of bridge parties and quiet vacations with my father. I was never abused or neglected as a child, but I absorbed the fact that I was nothing but an unwelcome embarrassment at a very young age.
My parents were always tired—too tired to talk to me much or interact with me. Mom didn’t approve of jeans or brightly colored clothes, so I didn’t dress like the other girls. I wore ‘respectable’ crisp white blouses tucked into dark skirts, with sensible lace-up shoes. My hair was kept short. I felt like a freak and I had no friends, but I learned to be quiet and diligent and do everything I was told. Somehow, I’d never lost these habits.
I applied to colleges and was accepted at one, but two weeks before I was due to leave, Dad suffered a stroke. There was no way Mom could’ve coped on her own. Then, a few years later, Dad passed away and Mom wasn’t in great shape herself. So I’d stayed.
I loved Mom, but there were times I felt so trapped. I wondered what it would be like to have an apartment, a social life, and a wardrobe full of cute clothes, the kind Mom would throw a fit if she saw me in.
My thoughts turned to Turner and I gave a little moan of despair. I hated the thought of him seeing what a failure I was, seeing the pity creep into his eyes. ..
I spent the next day in a state of dread, and when my shift at the diner was over, I headed reluctantly over to Turner’s. Four hours a week wouldn’t be so bad, I told myself. And maybe Turner wouldn’t even be there. Maybe the way I should look at this was as a welcome break from Mom, taking care of a little light housework while I listened to the radio.
I couldn’t help smiling as I parked outside the house Turner had moved into. The Mayer’s old home was a large, red-brick place that looked like it belonged in an old movie. It would look beautiful decorated for Christmas, twinkling merrily with lights, I thought.
My smile faded as I rang the front doorbell, suddenly feeling nervous again. I took a deep breath and told myself not to be so stupid. / wasn’t a silly teenager with stars in her eyes anymore. I was a grown-up woman. And Turner was just as grown up—he could be balding with a generous beer gut!
Then he opened the door and my mouth fell open slightly as he smiled into my eyes. “Hi, Lucy.”
Turner’s hair may have been receding a little, but he was far from bald, and there was no sign of a beer gut. If anything, he was even more attractive than the boy I remembered. He was a man now, broader and stronger, with an added, sexy twinkle in his brown eyes.
“Come in,” he said. “Let me show you around and tell you what I need…”
As Turner proceeded to explain what my duties would be, I knew I was going to enjoy every minute I spent in his house. It was going to be hard work—no mistake about that—but the dusty, neglected rooms of the old house were crying out for attention, and brighten­ing them up again was going to give me a lot of satisfaction.
Boxes of books and knick-knacks were stacked against one wall, and Turner needed me to unpack them. It was a similar story in the kitchen. A few pans and plates had been unpacked, but the cupboards needed to be scrubbed clean and then arranged with the cooking equipment that was still stored in boxes.
“I hope this isn’t too overwhelming,” Turner said.
I shook my head, smiling. “No, it’ll be a challenge.”
“You must think I’m a lazy slob, but I’m trying to expand the business, and it’s taking more time than I thought it would. . .”
“Your mother suggested four hours a week, but if you can manage a few more than that, I sure would appreciate it.”
“All right,” I nodded, pleased. This house would be such a welcome change from Herb’s Diner.
“How are you, Lucy?” Turner asked softly. “You haven’t changed much.”
That wasn’t much of a compliment and I forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You always stood out so much in high school,” he said.
“I guess so,” I replied, thinking of the horrible, plain clothes I’d been forced to wear.
“All the other girls were all about crazy hairstyles, too much make-up, and wild clothes,” Turner said. “You stood out like a little flower.”
It was such a nice and unexpected thing for him to say that I felt color rushing into my cheeks.
“Well, I’ll let you get busy,” he said. “If you need me I’ll be upstairs in my office.”
The next few hours flew by. I decided I should make the kitchen a priority and filled a plastic bowl with soapy water and began to wipe down every surface. I’d found a station on the radio playing Christmas songs and I began singing along softly. Time went quickly. I unpacked plates and glasses and found places for them, then scrubbed the old enamel sink until it glowed.
When the doorbell rang I glanced uncertainly down the hall, wondering if I should answer it myself, but then Turner came bounding down the stairs. I heard a brief exchange and then Turner walked into the kitchen, grinning and holding a large pizza box. “Do you like pepperoni?”
“Sure,” I nodded, suddenly realizing how hungry I was.
“You’ve worked wonders in here,” Turner said, looking around.
I put two plates on the table as he opened the box, and then we sat down to eat, serenaded by Christmas music.
It was only pizza, eaten in a kitchen with an old school friend, but I knew it would be a long time before I forgot this meal. And I knew my old crush on Turner was in danger of coming back to life. He hadn’t changed much either—he was still the sweet, funny, kind person I remembered so well.
“You know, this was a pretty good idea of your Mom’s,” he said. “I’m glad I didn’t just hang up on her after all.”
I grinned, but then Turner apologized. “I’m sorry if that was out of line, Lucy.”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I know how overbearing my mom can be.”
“I’m surprised you’re still living with her,” he said.
“She hasn’t got anyone else,” I replied quietly.
“What about Tilly and Cora Lee?” Turner said.
I didn’t say anything. That was different—they were Mom’s friends, not her family. It was my job to look after her.
“I always hated the way she wouldn’t let you attend school dances,” Turner blurted out.
I stared at him. “You knew about that?”
“Oh, yeah. I think the whole school guessed.”
I flushed, hating the thought of everyone feeling sorry for me.
“I hope you don’t still let her boss you around,” he said.
It was silly, but I felt like I was on a cloud as I left Turner’s house that night. It had been so nice, talking to someone who actually seemed to like me and appreciate my company. Oh, I knew Turner wasn’t attracted to me or anything like that—I wasn’t his type—but just being around him had been so much fun. I was going over to his house again tomorrow to sort out the family room and help put up the Christmas tree. I couldn’t wait.
“You’re late,” Mom said, when I walked in the door.
“There was a lot to do,” I said, taking off my jacket. “I’m exhausted.”
“Well, hard work never killed anybody,” Mom remarked.
I smiled as I climbed the stairs. It would’ve definitely been a mistake to let Mom know I’d actually enjoyed myself tonight!
The next few weeks were unlike any Christmas season I’d ever known. Usually there was a forced quality to my Christmas cheer, as I struggled to meet Mom’s demands. Now, I had an escape. Almost every evening I was at Turner’s house, singing along to Christmas songs as I fixed us a meal.
We seemed to slip back into the habit of being friends, almost as if we’d never been apart. I loved talking to Turner and our conversations could go on forever and cover every subject under the sun—our hopes and dreams, likes and dislikes, favorite movies and music. There was no one else in the world who made me feel special and interesting the way Turner did.
One day we were chatting about our relationships with the opposite sex and Turner asked me if I’d ever been in love.
I frowned, hesitating. “I’m not sure.”
The truth was, I was slipping more and more into what felt like love with Turner. I knew that what I felt for him was so much more than a crush, but I couldn’t tell him that.
“There was someone,” I admitted. “I dated Harold, the manager of Hi-Valu, for just over two years. I guess at the time I thought I loved him.”
“What happened?” Turner sipped at the hot chocolate I’d made.
“He met someone else,” I said simply.
“It just wasn’t meant to be,” I said quietly. “What about you. . .?”
He sighed. “It’s complicated, Lucy. Let’s just say my ideal woman hasn’t come along yet.”
“And what is she like—your ideal woman?” I was genuinely curious.
Turner smiled. “She’s attractive, sexy, and fun, with a sense of mischief, and she knows what she wants out of life and isn’t afraid to stand up for herself. But she’s also got a quiet side, and she’s loyal and sweet. . .”
“Naughty but nice, in other words,” I said.
Turner burst out laughing. “You could say that!”
It was impossible for me not to think about what Turner had told me about his ideal woman. It was pretty obvious that I was the last woman on his mind when he described the qualities he desired in a woman, and yet I definitely considered myself loyal and I was quiet, too. But nobody had ever used the words sexy or fun to describe me, and they probably never would. I was nice. . .but not naughty.
I looked at my reflection in my dresser mirror that evening when I got home, really studying myself hard. I had shoulder-length brown hair that I always wore in a ponytail, blue eyes, and a very ordinary nose and mouth. There was nothing about me that would turn a man’s head.
I frow
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