Tag Archives: erotica

Psst…

I find myself inevitably walking into an independent bookstore, pushing usually a bell to let them know someone is entering and asking after a brief twirl around,”Do you have an erotica section?”
This question gets three responses usually, first, being an indignant “no.” Second, is a smile (accompanied with the unsaid you naughty girl) “no.” The third, is a you naughty girl look followed by “yes.” I love that answer, but when I get to the section it is just all sex books. If I am lucky there are either copies of Anaïs Nin’s Little Birds or Delta of Venus, Pauline Reage’s Story of O (all of which I own) or some erotica novel I have read before (and probably did not like).
What made me irate the last time I asked aside from being told no, was that I had to ask. Although I was indignant when told there was no copy of Fifty Shades of Gray, I just wondered why do I have to ask? As the genre has become more in demand, why is it still optional to have an erotica section? It’s not like there are a lack of readers, it really offends me at this point to have to ask. Of course I have a particular talent for finding the naughtier, seamier books…I know what I desire in books, the same way I know what I desire in a man. That insatiable have to have that now feeling strikes me quickly. If I have to search harder for the type of book I want it is kind of fun as well, but why should I have to tap into my inner sleuth to find a book to read?
I understand that the double standard remains. People are completely fine with graphic violence, but graphic sex is a no-no. To see two (or more) people engaging in sexual activity is galling. Last time I checked, I would rather engage in sexual activity, than be beaten but maybe that is just me. Why are we so afraid of something people like to do, and need to do to maintain the species?! I cannot understand it, yet I remain humbled whispering to a bookstore employee: “Psst–do you have an erotica section?”

photo by f dot leonora

Wicked Wednesday #102 — Going Dutch

Eliza focused and saw Fiona, she dropped her hands from Oscar’s chest and faced the bar.
“I just saw Fiona, and I am not sure if she saw me.”
“And you are scared to be caught with me?” Oscar questioned looking at the bar, and not at her.
She stared at his hands, thickly veined and soft, grabbed one.
“I am not afraid of anything,” she said getting up, leading him so he followed her over to Fiona’s table.
Fiona gave her a deadpan expression, but her expression and eyes shifted on Oscar.
“I guess all of the Americans are here, I met my friend Oscar here as well.” Eliza added lightly, but cautiously. “Is it okay if we sit with you?”
With a shrug that indicated it was okay, Eliza and Oscar sat down.
“Oscar, this is my sister-in-law Fiona.”
“Not yet,” Fiona stated, extending her hand to Oscar.
“Practically,” Eliza answered a little breathless, and deflated between the legs. She knew that she was not going to be able to sleep with Oscar that night. She had been more than ready, almost at the bar even, but now there was no chance. A little more than envious of Fiona’s handshake with him, she closed her eyes thinking about the texture of his skin.
She loved being able to introduce him, letting him know he meant something to her and she figured that if she did not hide him, it would not look conspicuous to Fiona.
Oscar ordered drinks, and Eliza was thankful for Fiona’s impeccable manners. Eliza knew she would not create a scene in front of a stranger, so she exploited it.
“Fiona is a gifted photographer. She just had a show in New York, and now she is going to have a show in Shanghai.”
“Fiona Morgan? I just saw your show in New York, and I saw a write-up about the Shanghai show. I recognized your Francesca Woodman like photo in the collage,” Oscar said.
“You must have liked it if you could tell which one it was in the group!” Fiona smiled.
Eliza breathed an inner sigh of relief. Fiona was very proud of her work, and was going to love talking to Oscar about herself as an artist. She was surprised at Oscar’s knowledge of art, even more so that he dabbled in photography.
“You have to come to the opening in a few days!” Fiona declared with a smile that lilted as she looked at Eliza. “Eliza must bring you.”
“I don’t have any of Oscar’s information,” Eliza lied, between her legs making her shift with discomfort because she knew when she was going to be able to see him again. In a gallery there would be a way for her to touch his skin, to have his hands she studied on her again.
“I can give it to you!” he smiled.
She knew what he meant above her waist, but below her waist felt like she wanted to wipe at the hot moisture between her legs.
“Of course,” she said.
Eliza insisted they go Dutch when the bill came, but Oscar ignored her entirely. He stood up to leave, and she feared she would come if he hugged her.
He hugged Fiona first, and then her. She just hid her gasp in a quick kiss on his cheek because she did indeed almost come. She hoped Fiona would think it was the effect of the alcohol.
When he left she did not look after him, his scent and touch clung to her like tapestry even after he was gone.
Fiona had been drinking a lot, more than usual.
“Eliza, I know it was wrong what I said but I was in bed with you, and I lost control for a moment. I am sorry, I need time to forgive myself for losing control. You know I never do,” she slurred softly.
Eliza sat next to her, and Fiona put her head on her shoulder.
“I do love you Fi, just not the way…”
Fiona kissed the nape of her neck, and maybe it was how she was feeling already but it felt excessively nice. She closed her eyes.
“Not the way you love Oscar, I see.”
Eliza became rigid, the mention of his name and her crossed legs squeezed tight made her come, but she felt no release.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

photo by f dot leonora

Paris

New York is the perfect city to live in if you are going to travel the world, it is incomparable to any place else that I have been. I feel proud and happy when it is my destination after a trip somewhere. My love for New York was completely full and undivided…

…until I went to Paris.

I wanted to go to Paris since I was a little girl, doesn’t everyone? I wanted to go, was always planning for the potential trip and finally I went last year after Eroticon 2013. London was another desired destination, but there was no way I was going to be that close to Paris and not go! After the conference, I hurried to bed for an early train to take me to Paris. In my taxi from Gare Nord, with my charming driver who knew very little English, my eyes were so wide. I kept expecting to hear accordions in the background (when I did on a train I would have tipped the accordionist if I had change).

I was afraid to go to Paris in a way, because I was so in love with it already I was afraid the reality could not live up to that sentiment. The first thing I discovered was that it is a real city, not a museum. People live there, and I tried to be very respectful of that even though I was gawking at everything I saw. Paris is smaller than New York City. As weird as it sounds as a native New Yorker, I hate crowds. I cannot imagine living in a very small town, but sometimes New York is overwhelming. Paris meanwhile is not empty, but you can walk down a street by yourself and hear yourself as well.

On every corner there was a cafe, restaurant, chocolate store or art museum. The things I live for…Sadly there are a lot of bookstores too, but my French is very light. I know how to say perfunctory things, but cannot elaborate the way I do well…here!

I stayed at the same hotel for two separate trips to Paris, and I am planning to stay there for the third trip as well. I love the arrondissement where I have stayed, which is bad-mouthed in all of the guidebooks and good! I want it to stay that way. I have barely eaten outside of the neighborhood, and the last time made friends with the bartenders who served me free snacks. There is a cheese store across the street from the hotel, and I still dream of the cheese I bought there…

Paris is for me a lovely place to exist and be hidden at the same time. As a visitor who is not fluent in the language, I am not an active part of the scene so I can be a voyeur. I enjoy it intensely because Paris is beautiful. On my second trip, I started to see how I could walk from place to place instead of taking the Metro. I started to feel like I was getting the hang of things.

Of course, the erotica editor and writer in me had to go to the Musee de l’Erotisme. I went to Pigalle on a rainy Saturday, down the block from the museum is the Moulin Rouge–with Starbucks across the street! You are not allowed to take pictures there, but my best memory was on the third floor I think, with a wall that told the history of prostitution in Paris. I walked that whole floor so intrigued, reading everything that was written.

Someone asked me why was I going to Paris again, and I answered because it is Paris! I was incredulous that a person could ask such a thing. The only thing about Paris that is a challenge for me is the language barrier, but someday it will not be a barrier either. I am a communicator, I cannot let it be a barrier…

Wicked Wednesday Prompt #98 — "Hunger"

I guess I got attached to my characters from last week, because in the middle of trying to write something completely different this story came to me:

She had no idea Paris was rainy, everyone knew it except for her. This trip to Paris was her first, and by herself. Rafe was still in New York, unable to leave his job and join her.

Paris was more than she expected it would be but even so, she was hungry for more: of the city, of life or of something she could not define while studying her alleged grande cafe which had beads of honey on the edge of it from the spoonful she had put in it. Her heel knocked against the wooden leg of her chair.

“Your engagement ring is lovely, you must have quite a love story.”

Eliza looked at the man at the table next to hers, her heel stopped knocking.

“I do,” she said as she would say eventually with Rafe when they married.

Her foot tapped again on the wooden leg of her chair.

“Do you want to tell me?”

She shook her head, and stood up on the high heels that Rafe had encouraged her to be comfortable in.

“It’s a long story.”

His answer was lost in the rush of heat that overcame her, at the sight of the man walking toward the fountain across the street. Eliza put several euros on the table and walked outside in her trench coat. She looked down from both from the rain and not wanting to be seen.

What would she say to him, him to her? She did not know his name, only his body and scent. She had to abide by his rules–no guilt, no names and no questions–because she had none of his details. It felt suddenly as if her heart had moved from her chest to between her legs, she felt her labia twitch in response. The thumping there was so intense, she could barely walk but she did staggering far behind him. He did not seem to have a destination, so it was awkward for her to appear as if she was not following him.

She took a deep breath, and turned in the opposite direction.

The next few days were filled with meetings. Her heart had returned to its rightful place in her chest, and she had nonstop correspondence with Rafe.

After one meeting she saw Angelina, their notorious hot chocolate called to her from what she had read about in guidebooks. The chocolate would be a meal as well since she had not eaten. Waltzed into the grand dining room by the hostess, she immediately ordered a hot chocolate in French, and when the waitress walked away her heart dropped back down between her legs.

He was sitting diagonally across from her, there was no way he would not notice her. She looked down at her napkin until the word Angelina on it became a blur, as she studied it to not look at him. When her hot chocolate arrived, she looked up helplessly and he was staring at her. Only because he was looking at her, did she look back at him. If she had wanted to say anything, he silenced her by putting his fingers over his lips. The thumping increased between her legs, she could barely sit still.

Eliza dipped a spoon into the whipped cream next to her chocolate. She remained silent after a quick merci to her waitress who handed her more napkins. Using peripheral vision, she watched him sign his check and get up. She closed her eyes as she brought the chocolate to her mouth to savor the rich liquid. It was everything she imagined it would be: Paris, the chocolate, but she was empty.

When she opened her eyes, there was a hotel card on the table and she knew he had left it there. She wanted to jump up from her seat, and the reckless way she desired to she would have spilled her thick liquid chocolate all over her lap. Instead she pretended that she was savoring the chocolate that had become flavorless because she was so excited to follow him to the room number written on the card. She licked her upper lip for flavorless whipped cream and chocolate. When she paid her bill and got up, she felt as if she would black out from anticipation.

Relying heavily on the GPS app on her phone to get to the apparently nearby address, Eliza managed to find the hotel which was blocks away. He waited for her. Burping up a little bit of hot chocolate that she had sipped too quickly, she walked over to him. Nervously twisting her engagement ring, she stood in front of him. He took her hand and kissed her fingers, and almost the diamond of her ring.

She became lachrymose. It was not that she was sorry about what she was doing. She had never done anything like this until him, and she wanted to do it again. Wanted to touch him again, wanted him to kiss her again, wanted him to everything again. Her thighs tremored with the heavy thumping between her legs.

She had hungered for him, for what she had had with him in a dark hotel room ever since she had had it. Nothing had been the same since. Even with Rafe which was nice, but it was not this. Rafe fucked her like she was perfect, and she was not perfect.

She wanted to be fucked like an imperfect woman.

They got into the elevator together, Eliza studied his long fingers pressing the buttons for the floor they were going to. This hotel was not like the mirror-filled one where they had met, but she was happy. She did not want to see the lust on her face, just wanted to feel it thumping between her legs.

Inside the hotel room, he kissed her and she gnawed at his lower lip as if it were a meal. She wrapped one leg about him, and he kissed her neck. Offering more of her neck to him, she pressed her head to the wall as he pressed himself to her. And even as between her legs thumped harder with lust, she felt something quench within her.

Find more Wicked Wednesday here:

photo by f dot leonora

Sticky Notes No. 2

I have been very inspired this week, and very inspired today. This day in Twitter, there were several tweets about a woman walking a man on a leash in London, which became my singular fascination for the day. Was it that he was “smartly dressed?” Or that he was so obedient as she walked with her to-go coffee or tea? A media source said people did not dare suggest this was a BDSM scenario…

Having my pink sticky notes in my purse ever since I was inspired to by Being Blacksilk’s blog post a few weeks ago, I wrote my second very short story on the train which I am pretty sure I will expand at some point…

This is the sticky typed out:

it was almost his idea, but anything great that came from him was ultimately inspired by Her and he had no desire to take credit. it was a pleasant evening at home with her early summer so still bright. he saw the sun from her feet and when he looked up at Her the setting sun made Her look like the Madonna. she rubbed just under his chin, and he was soothed. she was happy with him and it was then he suggested that they go outside on his leash.

“Please Sir,” he asked her humbly.

photo by F Dot Leonora

Wicked Wednesday Prompt #97 — "Hotel"

Eliza was always waiting. As a younger woman with her friends in bars looking for Mr. Goodbar like the novel and movie she had read and seen. Now she was in the hotel bar waiting for her fiance. Curled protectively over her drink, she thought about all the things going on in her life, all at once at a pace she could barely control. Slowly, a man sat beside her at the crowded bar, everything about him was slow, measured including his smile at her. Eliza felt inside her as if everything had stilled in that moment.

She tried to be still, still curled over her drink. The man did not even seem to notice her after he smiled, which she felt was for the best as she stirred her drink aimlessly with the cutoff straw that was inside it. She crossed her legs, hooking her ankle so her legs seemed crossed twice.

“You’re engaged?”

Eliza’s lips had just touched the rim of her glass, as she looked up at him startled by his sudden speech.

“Yes,” she choked slightly even though she had not had a sip. Looking around nervously to avoid looking in the man’s eyes, she remembered she was waiting for her fiance conveniently.

“Looking for your fiance? He’s probably not going to come.”

“What do you mean?”

She was sure her eyes darkened like Rafe told her they did when she was mad at him. The stranger was taken off his game for a moment which pleased her.

“I mean I don’t think your fiance is going to come, and I think you are coming with me.”

He held her upper arm loosely, but his grip was firm nonetheless.

“My fiance–”

His finger on her mouth was soft, almost a caress, and she was lulled into silence. She knocked over her drink, and burned with embarrassment. When she looked up at the bartender, he waved her off and she got off the stool as she was being gestured to by this man who she did not know. Her heart was beating calmly, nothing about her was wild as he took her out of the bar.

They waited near the elevators, as he took out a pack of cigarettes. He offered her one, she shook her head but he kept the cigarettes extended until she took one.

“You are going to have a hard time with the obey part of the vows, aren’t you?”

“They do not have that in the vows anymore.”

“They should,” he said inhaling smoke.

Eliza raised her eyebrow at him as he lit a cigarette for her. She had stopped smoking a few years ago when she became domesticated, or rather when she started living with Rafe. But now the feeling of the cigarette in her mouth made her feel happy. Made her think of a time when she was free. It was almost as if she were that person again.

“You think so, huh?” she said blowing out her own cloud of smoke. “Does your wife obey you?”

He snorted.

“I’m not married. But if you vow to be with a man you should obey him, and he should protect you.”

Eliza inhaled and shook her head. She wondered if Rafe was looking for her now. It was a very dim thought in her head, she did not think it would be awful for him to wonder where his perfect fiancée was for a moment.

Perfect, perfect, that was what he said about her and what he expected. She did obey him, and he did protect her but it was hard to be perfect.

“My fiance is perfect,” Eliza said out loud what she was thinking.

“Then what are you doing out here with a stranger when he is looking for you?”

Shrugging and swinging her cigarette back with her arms, from her perfect black dress that Rafe loved her in so much, she declared.

“I am not perfect.”

He grabbed her and kissed her so hard she thought she would lose her breath. Her lips throbbed from his after he pulled away from her, and put his arm about her.

The elevator was right on time and they walked into it. It was mirrored all around and she could see every angle of their bodies.

He kissed her again, this time she was not out of breath but wanted more even as he gave it. When they pulled away this time, he lifted her chin so she looked up at him.

“Are you going to obey me?”

“I am not getting married to you,” she stuck out a her tongue with insouciance.

He pulled her close to him.

“But I will protect you if you do.”

“Protect me from what?” she questioned looking up into his eyes. He looked down at her without blinking.

“From what will happen if you don’t obey me.”

Her eyes fell to the floor, she felt him looking at her. When he tilted her chin to look up at him again, she tried to avoid his gaze, but he made her look.

“I have simple rules: no names, no questions, no guilt and you keep your ring on.”

“That’s it?”

He nodded then pressed her to the coolness of the mirrored wall, kissing her so that she almost believed she would go through the glass. Peeking for just a moment as they kissed at the overhead mirror to see how it looked to have him cover her. The view made her so wet she shifted her legs, so he pressed himself all the more to her. She moaned unexpectedly even to herself, as he kissed her neck which was always her weakness.

They came to his floor and managed not to look so disheveled, since she could see in the mirrored hallways. But in his room, he did not turn on the lights. There was just the light from the moon outside.

“No lights?”

She clapped her hand over her mouth.

No questions.

He took her hand from her mouth and kissed it. She did feel protected from herself when he did that, as if to say he was okay that she had forgotten for a moment.

He pulled her hands up over her head, and pulled her body closer than close to his. Eliza was on a tilt as if dangling from a puppeteer’s string, pressed herself to him and closed her eyes opening herself to the darkness. His mouth on hers was so divine she almost wanted to pull out all of her hair as he tugged at it, her hand rose tugging at her hair with his until he kissed her fingers after pulling her hand away.

Everything she experienced was going to be him: his hands, his mouth, his body. And he was much more gentle than she would have expected considering how brutish he came off at the bar and in front of the hotel smoking. She liked the smell of cigarette smoke on their clothes as they floated past her against the wall.

Against the wall he pounded into her, her head rolling and bobbing, knocking her into another reality. He held her so close she almost could not breathe, she closed her eyes and embraced this other world she was in where she was not perfect. A world in which her arms were tight around a man whose name she did not know, but whose savory scent she wanted to scrape with her teeth.

Because it would end, this would end…

They dressed in the moonlight, and he walked her back out into mirrored hallway, and into the mirrored elevator where she watched him cover her overhead in the mirror again with a kiss. The elevator opened and revealed the bar from a distance. Eliza walked out first, Rafe was standing facing the opposite way at the bar. She walked over to him with a spring in her step, knowing she was imperfect.

Find more Wicked Wednesday here:

photo by f dot leonora

Renee Rose is the Boss Lady

Renee Rose and I are both tired from Eroticon 2014 which was held in Bristol, but Renee has had four releases in the past four weeks! Her latest is The Bossman, from Riverdale Books the brainchild of Lori Perkins. When we decided we would do this interview which was something I used to do in a previous blog life, we just looked at each and knew what we wanted. Renee crackles with energy, and this is not surprising since she revealed to me she is a healer in her professional life. There is a tremendous calm about her, but there is no doubt that she is quite a dynamo in everything she does.

“I am a little manic, there is no other explanation!” Renee jokes. Voted America’s Next Top Erotica Writer during Eroticon USA, her impressive two-year career displays her stamina and deep passion for what she does. The first day of Eroticon in Bristol, Renee distributed wooden paddles with her brand on it that shows off her dancer’s legs. She is this amazing combination of hard, business and soft, intuitive woman. Being around her, her warmth and sincerity is infectious. I feel so comfortable with her even though we have only met a few times. She is completely authentic, writes hot erotica and is totally the master of her universe. Scroll below for Renee on Renee…

I grew up in Denver, Colorado. I used to ski, but decided it wasn’t worth a knee injury that could end my dance career.

I was taught that genre fiction was bad, so after abandoning Sweet Valley High at age 14, had not read any romance other than Jane Austen. Got my degree in English.

During a plane ride I needed a book, and a friend gave me a romance novel and I really liked it. It was a feel good book–a hot guy, a hot woman get together!

Spent a year devouring romance and decided I would write one, but would edit out spanking because it was not PC.

I wrote a book in six days, it was pubbed two weeks later and had an Amazon ranking of 3000. The stars aligned to tell me I was on the right track.

I am a mom, modern dance teacher–had my own dance company for ten years. I am a PTA president, and a healer. I do body work for people to move out of pain. With some people I use energy work in addition to the Feldenkrais Method, with others, I just use energy as an intuitive guide.

As a child I was the usual overachiever. My parents put me in dance because I had a lot of energy to burn.

Had to have surgery before I got pregnant with my daughter. I could not survive because I could not dance.

I was a born a spanko, spanking (my) dolls. In a way (spanking) goes with the overachiever thing. I was always the good girl, I was never spanked. I was the pleaser, I would do my homework, be on time. The psyche of a spanker is the need to please, the desire to be right, to please someone.

I am always a bottom.

(There is) a slight difference in BDSM v. spanking. (With spanking) the shame and humiliation is part of the turn-on. The truly being naughty, paying for punishment.

If you asked me for a natural healing alternative, I could probably have five suggestions, maybe ten.

I was never the type to chase my kids, my kids chased me (they were) like mom is going let’s go!

photo courtesy of http://www.reneeroseromance.com

HELLO EROTICON FOR REAL!!!

Bristol is completely decadent, sadly my flight here was such I am not sure I am going to be able to do more then just attend Eroticon. Yet isn’t that enough?

Tea in my hotel across from the river was zen. I love that I am one of those rare people who is employed to do something they love. My entire life has been devoted in one way or another to writing and editing. Erotica was always a fascination, picking out the good bits from my mother’s novels. And mine, still! I have to pick a good bit of my own work Sunday–I am reading at High Tea, gulp.

I’m anxious and nervous in the best of ways about everything…

NWWTHYWM

Today I am joining Donna George Storey in NWWTHYWM, or NaWriWhaTheYouWaMo. It is a kind of reverse of NaNoWriMo, which I have done several times and won. The last time I did it I lost, it was sad because I had to give up due to my work schedule. I never had a problem with pushing myself until the loss, and believe me pushing yourself to write seven to ten-thousand words a day was a necessary evil. I am not bitter about it though, that is not why I am doing NWWTHYWM. But I do want to write and have it be complete ignorant bliss. To write because I want to. And yet, I found myself editing myself when a story came to me today, thinking to myself it is not related to anything that I am working on professionally. And yet is that not the point of this challenge?

This story arrived unexpectedly, much like I drove past a restaurant today I have wanted to try, saw it and remembered I wanted to go. I saw something that intrigued me creatively and built a scenario like a brick layer. The story stands alone–erotic, glass-covered and full of possibility. It is just something I want to explore, and I am going to explore it and free to do it because of NWWTHYWM. I want to feel free to write for the sheer pleasure of it, and not be invested in a numeric limit or an angle that agrees with something I am working on.

I will write just because I want to, will you join me?

That's What Friends Are For…

Even though I have an insanely busy schedule, I make time for meeting up with friends. There is the data that supports longevity with having a good support network, but friends are good for a lot more too. Especially as a writer I can say I am really appreciative of the contributions of my friends.

My friends especially the non-writing ones see what I do as almost if I have a wand and apply fairy dust everywhere! As a writer of fiction, I can pull a rabbit out of a hat and create a story. It’s a pleasure for me to think of an idea and execute with words. Additionally, no one can resist a smile when they ask me what I edit and write because there is still a stigma about sex in our society. Everyone alludes to it in all artistic mediums, but no one wants to go all the way. I do, as an erotica editor and writer. My friends have been supportive and impressed with what has become of my career and my dedication. Half the time I am looking down at my iPhone, it is for work. One of my friends and I had to take a time out from our phones while out together, yet we still managed to talk shop.

Another friend is a copyeditor of something other than erotica, she is my official beta reader. She told me it was a pleasure not to have to read the word-heavy material that she edits. I feel the same I would much rather edit erotica, than sit with the journals she sits with!

My friend who is a talented photographer, draws and studies art, advised me in her apartment as I was telling her about a career move I was contemplating. She paralleled it to something she had done before, and gave sobering advice about the pipe dream I was entertaining that I had not even considered…

My girlfriend who has been through a lot with me over the years reminded me of dreams I had put on the shelf. Didn’t you say you wanted to do this? Yes, I did, and now I am thinking about something I had forgotten I wanted to do.

And at last but not least, a writer friend told me about a ton of things she was planning, and I followed her advice with my own writing. The result was extreme happiness because it makes my work even more layered than a mille-feuille.

There is nothing magical about me. I think my friends are fairies, all of them beautiful and sprinkling their fairy dust on me…