British “Bad Sex in Fiction Award” highlights the most awkward description of an intimate encounter

For more than 15 years, the Literary Review magazine’s bad sex in fiction award has pointed out the best of the worst sex descriptions in literary royalty. The award is given to “the passage considered to be the most redundant in an otherwise excellent novel” in an attempt to discourage authors from writing poorly featured sexcapades.
Here’s the latest winning passage and an explanation as to why it received the award. Read all about it here.

"This was not soft porn. This was no longer two unclothed women caressing and kissing on a bed. There was something primitive about it now, this woman-on-woman violence, as though in the room filled with shadows, Pegeen were a magical composite of shaman, acrobat, and animal. It was as if she were wearing a mask on her genitals, a weird totem mask, that made her into what she was not and was not supposed to be," writes Roth. "There was something dangerous about it. His heart thumped with excitement – the god Pan looking on from a distance with his spying, lascivious gaze."

'Roth is very anxious about his description of sex," said Jonathan Beckman at the Literary Review of the extract. "Why write of a scene that repeatedly features a green dildo, 'this was not soft porn', unless you're worried that it might be taken as such - in this case, with sentences like 'then she crouched above Tracy, brushing Tracy's lips and nipples with her mouth and fondling her breasts...', the worry seems justified. But it's the overcompensation that qualifies this passage for the award – the totems and shamans are an attempt to convince us that Roth's leering is actually giving some vital anthropological insight."

Famed author Norman Mailer won the award in 2007 for this line: His mouth lathered with her sap, he turned around and embraced her face with all the passion of his own lips and face, ready at last to grind into her with the Hound, drive it into her piety
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Mailer’s response: "Some authors spend five pages describing a walk in the park but when it comes to sex they'll just do two sentences - 'she rolled off him'. Sex is exciting stuff - it can be vey dirty and smelly, but you've just got to get stuck in, and I'm not afraid of doing that."

I’m sure the Literary Review would melt down if they searched for “often perfunctory use of redundant passages of sexual description” in specified erotica.

Orgasm for Peace: December 21

Want to help promote peace, reduce global levels of violence, hatred and fear? Have an orgasm. More specifically, have an orgasm on December 21st.

According to a group of “scientists, engineers and artists” that coordinate the Global Consciousness Project, you too can bring peace to the earth by participating in the Global Orgasm for Peace. According to the group’s website, “by concentrating our thoughts before, during and after orgasm on peace and loving-kindness, the synergy of high orgasmic physical energy combined with the power of positive visualization could help reduce global levels of violence, hatred and fear.”

Apparently, the group can measure the uh-uh-outcomes and last year the correlations were subtle. They’re hoping for a much more satisfying climax this time around. Read about the so-called science.

This effort reminds me of a Politics Daily blog entry I read recently called “Saving the World One Pair of Panties at a Time.” It talked about T-shirts and “message panties” that bear pro-peace phrases such as “Stop Genocide” and promise profits to charity. “Fashion statements that promise political action with no more effort than getting dressed in the morning?”

At least with the global orgasm doesn’t require you to even get dressed.

Do I believe the answer to global violence is a miniscule raise in positive energy? Absolutely not. Do I believe it’s worth knocking boots the 21st? Ain’t nothing wrong with that.

Violet Blue Defines Erotica, Oprah November 2009

Oprah forged some new territory by providing an episode dedicated completely to women's take on porn and erotica. Lisa Ling went behind the scenes at a porn filming, Jenna Jameson appeared...View a couple of clips and a transcript online at Oprah.com

One of my fav editors, Violet Blue, appeared b/c she has written "The Smart Girl's Guide to Porn." Here's her take on the difference between porn and erotica:

"Porn is something that is a graphic sexual image that conjures up an animalistic reaction in you. You like it or you don't," she says. "Erotica also is graphic sexual imagery, but it has an extra component or several extra components that resonate with the viewer—be it artistic, be it passionate, be it something that emotionally engages you, be it something that parlays into a fantasy that you have about sexuality or the way that you relate to the people on screen."

Vampires Equal Sex

After months and months of defiance, my friend has finally convinced me to read the Twilight series, if only to provide her someone to talk about it with. I’m pushing it to the weekend.

However, it’s worth exploring our society’s most recent (and yet historical) obsession, mostly because vampires equal sex.

Why do we find vampires sexy? Read msnbc.com’s take on the topic.

Don’t feel like theorizing? Then just watch the sexiness. The Daily Beast put together a media gallery of the 16 sexiest vampires. Video clips and all. May I recommend the sex on the ceiling in number 10?

Great news!

exciting news! Just heard from Rachel Kramer Bussel that she plans to include one of my stories in her next print anthology, which will be published by Cleis Press. Cleis Press is the most reputable publisher in the field. Cleis has final say, so I'll know in March, but this is a very, good start!!

On Hiatus

I'm going on blog hiatus. Will be working on some new pieces, but disappearing from the blogosphere for awhile. Cheers!

Does Lack of Condom Use in Porn Encourage Unprotected Sex?

In July, an AIDS advocacy group filed complaints against 16 production companies that show unprotected sex in porn movies stating they would not stop until there is a policy of requiring condoms to be used in porn.

I found this statement from the foundation’s rep to be unnecessarily harsh: "Our elected officials and our government are treating the young people who are performing in these films as trash that don't deserve protection.”

To protect actors and actresses from disease, regulations already exist that require routine health and STD testing of all production company porn players.

Most porn fans that I know greatly dislike seeing condoms in their. I guess the question is: how much influence does pornography have on real-life sex practices of its viewers. A question with a complicated answer I would imagine.

Take this into consideration. In a 1996 Journal of Psychology and Human Sexuality study, 168 male and 149 female undergraduates enrolled in a psychology course were asked to read one of the following types of stories: erotic with condom placement described, erotic without condom use, or non-erotic with a model for discussing condoms. The men and women who read the non-erotic stories were most positive about condoms and reported the strongest intentions to use condoms in the future. These findings suggest that erotica is not necessary to produce positive attitudes toward condoms.

I wonder if studies with porn would produce similar results…

Spread Sex Virally. Safe Sex, That Is…

Apparently, Boston teens need to have protected sex and the public health system is using Facebook, YouTube and MTV to tell them that.

There has been a 70 percent increase in Chlamydia cases in Boston since 1999. Understanding that adolescents would rather hear from their peers than be told by some old woman about safe sex (sorry Sue Johanson), the Boston Public Health Commission held the “Get Reel: Check Yourself” contest. The winning PSA features teenagers in a classroom learning about condoms and other safe sex practices from a teen instructor. Teens can also interact on a Facebook page and ask questions anonymously.

On a side note: I was talking to a nurse a couple of months ago about weird baby names and she said that when she worked in labor and delivery, one of the mothers wanted to name her daughter Chlamydia because it sounded pretty. They strongly encouraged her to reconsider.

The Winning PSA

Women are Born to Steal Men? New Research Suggests that Woman are Subconsciously Drawn to Other Attached Men

New research out from the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology suggests that single seek attached men. The study shows that single women were significantly more interested in the male when he was attached. The researchers suggest that it may be because an attached man has demonstrated his ability to commit and in some ways his qualities have already been pre-screened by another woman.

You can add your comments to this story on a NY Times blog page.

How the Study was Done:
To investigate, the researchers quizzed male and female undergraduates — some involved in romantic relationships, some unattached — about their ideal romantic partner.
Next, each of the experimental subjects was told that he or she had been matched by a computer with a like-minded partner, and each was shown a photo of an attractive person of the opposite sex. (All the women saw the same photo, as did all the men.) Half of the subjects were told that their match was already romantically involved with someone else, while the other half were told that their match was unattached. Then the subjects were all asked how interested they were in their match.
To the men in the experiment, and to the women who were already in relationships, it didn’t make a significant difference whether their match was single or attached. But single women showed a distinct preference for mate poaching. When the man was described as unattached, 59 percent of the single women were interested in pursuing him. When that same man was described as being in a committed relationship, 90 percent were interested.

My Latest Piece: This Week's Fiction Cover Story at CleanSheets.com

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Eight Words and Phrases to Avoid in LGBT Communications

Check out this post to the “Out Front Blog,” a blog dedicated to stimulating discussion on gay and lesbian communication issues. Bryan Blaise suggests eight words and phrases that marketers and communicators should avoid using and why.

Read the whole post

• Lifestyle or “the gay lifestyle”
• Sexual preference or preference
• Choice, choose or “choose to be gay”
• Homosexual
• Alternative
• Tolerance
• Special rights
• Friend

Who is to lead sex talk now that Sue Johanson and Dr. Ruth have quieted?

In the 80’s, men and women seeking answers to common and outrageously personal sex questions knew to turn to the famed Dr. Ruth Westheimer, a “psychosexual therapist who helped to pioneer the field of media psychology with her radio program, Sexually Speaking, which began in September of 1980. Her popularity inspired parodies mocking her signature German accent, but her advice was yet valued and undeniable.

Dr. Ruth’s media monopoly faded away by the turn of the century and from 2002 to 2008, American viewers turned to the straight-talking, Canadian grandmother, Sue Johanson and her live phone-in show Talk Sex with Sue Johanson.

With both of these elderly educators shying away from their television, radio and web presences, where are we to turn?

A friend of mine suggested Dr. Drew Pinsky, longtime host of the radio call-in show “Love Line,” but Dr. Drew’s intended audience is much younger. According to the shows web site, it has the primary goal of “helping youth and young adults with relationship, sexuality and drug addiction problems.” Not to say that it isn’t important for adolescents to discuss the embarrassment of being caught having sex at school, but what about more “adult” questions.

To whom are we to turn to for sexual guidance? Who is our new fornication figurehead?

Here are some Sue and Dr. Ruth clips to remind us of times when sex educators were front and center.

This “buzzworthy” toy has gone mainstream and is sold at Wal-Mart?

A recent New York Times article revealed two “shocking truths” about vibrators.

One: that more than ever, men and women of the “mainstream” consider this “hummmdinger” of a sex toy to be part of a healthy sex life.

And two: that vibrators are sold at Wal-Mart!

First, to the less shocking point, number one: The article cites findings from an Indiana University study published in The Journal of Sexual Medicine finding that fifty-three percent of women and nearly half of all men reporting used a vibrator. Eighty-one percent of women and 91 percent of men who’ve used one report having done so with a partner.

The Times writer then points out that in a 1974 edition of The Journal of Popular Culture, the vibrator was dismissed as a “masturbatory machine” for “sexually dysfunctional females.”

Now on to the more shocking revelation: The article also notes that “vibrators are now sold at Wal-Mart, 7-Eleven and CVS.”

Really?! Indeed, search for the term “vibrator” on Walmart.com and you’ll get Durex’s “Play” Waterproof vibrator. And yes, my friends, shoppers provided a 5-star rating and personal testimonies.

I find it interesting that this mega chain won’t sell music that contains profanity, but will sell a sex toy.

I think I’ve just found a reason to shop at Wal-Mart.

Sharing is Sexy; Inspiration from "From Porn to Poetry 2"

Just days ago I received in the mail a copy of From Porn to Poetry 2, Clean Sheets second collection of their favorite fiction, essays and poetry. Of course, it’s filled with imaginative, super sexy stories (after all, Clean Sheets is the “standard for online erotica”), but I’m actually more attracted to the essays, which often provide thought provoking perspectives on many things erotic. This time around, for example, one man’s calm explanation of why he finds tennis to be sexy and another’s list of 25 Things to Do to a Tied-Down Lover.

However, the loveliest piece so far, I read tonight. In Brian Peters’ Fires at Midnight, he muses on the power of relationship sex, saying “Nearly all sex is relationship sex, because nearly all sex, and nearly all fantasies about sex are social constructs.” He then continues by analyzing four elements that keep the fire in a relationship: Listening, Learning, Lusting and Sharing.

This passage about Sharing I find particularly powerful and consider it worth sharing with you tonight:

We forget that the little stuff matters. Life is made of moments, the present one being all we have for sure, and sharing them is a pure joy. Sex is made from so many obvious sharings – sharing a hug, sharing a kiss, sharing a bed, sharing our bodies. But there are uncounted other things to share – sharing a sunset, sharing a walk in the rain, sharing an ice-cream cone, sharing a laugh, sharing a tear, sharing our joy, sharing I want you. Sharings are additive, somehow. Sharing a sunset brings added meaning to sharing a walk in the rain, and sharing moments of sadness brings an added dimension to sharing moments of joy. And if you wonder about the knowing smile the been-together-for-years couple seems to share, it’s just that they know sharing so many moments makes sharing their bodies electric.

If you want some more titillating reading, you can get copies of this and the first edition of From Porn to Poetry on Amazon.

Creative Condom Ads

Sex sells, but how do you sell safe sex? The use of condoms can be traced back several thousand years. Around 1000 BC the ancient Egyptians used a linen sheath for protection against disease. Even the famous lover Casanova wrapped his wares.

So, after centuries, how do you promote condom use? How do you distinguish yourself from the competitors, talk about an old idea like it’s new and promote a “crotch cover” without being obscene?

Wallpaper.com created a list of the 31 most creative condom ads. I’m including some of my favorite here. Check out the full list from Wallpaper.

Most Creative (in my opinion)

Scariest (most likely to make me never want to have sex again)

Hooray! New Piece Coming Soon: Chemistry

I'm excited!! Just learned that CleanSheets.com wants to publish my piece "Chemistry" in one of its August issues. Awesome! Clean Sheets is read by over 3000 people each day.

I'll definately provide you the link when it's live next month. Here's a line to get you salivating in the mean time:

...I understood this the first time I shook his hand and caught the scent of chemicals trapped in his clothes and seared into his skin, a smell faint and tangy and far too interesting to be cologne. Like the smell of your body after a lengthy swim in a freshly chlorinated pool. I imagined that if I should run my tongue along his perky nipples, my tongue would sizzle as though touched to the tip of a battery.

Bummed. No "Best Women's Erotica" for me this year

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Metrosexuals Make Bad Fathers?

Gotta love that man leaning against the bar wearing stylish clothes, with a ripped body, perfectly groomed face and hair you’re just dying to run your fingers through…Go ahead girl; take him home with you, but don’t expect him to take care of yo’ kids.

According to new research from Yale, males who put a lot of energy and effort into making themselves appear attractive to females may not be the best suited for fatherhood.

“The peacock's ornate fanned tail — or the primping and posturing of a guy in a bar — are ‘advertisements’ or mating displays that take substantial energy to maintain. When a male's energy is heavily focused on keeping up his appearance, he may have little energy to devote to caring for offspring. But that may be okay, say the researchers — in species where he does not really need to tend to the kids.”

So I guess the question is whether or not human males have to provide parental care. (Species like stickleback fish are forced into fatherhood since females cannot pick up the slack and males who do not provide care risk the survival of their offspring.) I’m guessing evolution would say human males have to care for their kids, while our society might suggest otherwise.

Everything I Know About Good Sex Writing I Learned from Sesame Street

Sesame Street taught me a lot of things, from how to count to 10 in Spanish to how to cope with death (remember with Mr. Hooper died?!) I watched Sesame Street every day as a child and it’s hard to say just how much those urban, carefree monsters had on my life. Most of their lessons were simple: counting, sharing, understanding the importance of friendship, but just because their lessons were simple, doesn’t mean we always remember them. Granted, I could now continue onto self-righteous spiel of the importance of humanity and honoring your fellow man, but this is an erotica blog! So let’s talk about sex, shall we?

In an effort to indulge my nostalgia and at the same time impart some writing wisdom, I offer you:

5 Tips for Better Sex Writing, Inspired by Sesame Street

Give it a Grouch: I haven’t done much research on Jim Henson and his inspiration for Sesame Street and its characters, but I’d venture a guess to say that somewhere in his life, he had a neighbor (or family member or friend) who did nothing but complain. A model for Oscar the Grouch had to come from somewhere! Therein we find lesson number 1: When writing erotica, pull inspiration from real life. Surely, an entire character can be inspired by someone you’ve met along the way, but don’t forget to let real life inspire your scenery or your dialogue. I once wrote a story and coffee while sitting in a coffee shop and set the sex scene on a hefty, wooden table inspired by a friend’s house I had stayed at weeks prior.

Diversify: Sesame Street was revolutionary in its use of diverse characters and its promotion of racial and socioeconomic acceptance. I do believe that Luis and Maria were two of the first Hispanic actors to appear regularly on mainstream, American television without serving only to fill a stereotypical role. When considering “casting” in your erotica, remember to diversify. In one story, write about a sex encounter between a married woman and a married man, or a total stranger. Next time, cast a dominatrix in the starring role. If you’re a man, write from a woman’s perspective and vice versa. Not only will it challenge your skills, but it will keep your readers “coming” back for more.

Indulge your imagination: Big Bird knows best; let your imagination be your guide. Remember that Snuffy, Big Bird’s fuzzy, elephant-like best friend, didn’t exist at all but in Big Bird’s imagination. (Odd choice for an imaginary friend, but then again we’re talking about a giant bird with the intellect of a 5 year old). Despite no one else believing in Snuffy’s existence, Big Bird continued to dream. When writing, don’t forget to indulge your imagination. Write about fantastic seductions that would most likelyfizzle in the real world. Get descriptive with body parts, sounds, movements, locations. Remember that erotica should be creative and unexpected. If we didn’t want creativity, we’d simply watch porn.

Find a theme to carry you through: On Sesame Street, Big Bird was the poster child for silly questions. He always asked “why” and the entire episode would be dedicated to providing him an answer. Granted, they would cut in and out of other clips (a song about the letter “S,” a counting fest with The Count, or what have you), but by the end, Big Bird’s problem would always be solved. When writing about sex, find a theme to carry you through. “Spike” by Rachel Kramer Bussel, which appears in the 2006 edition of Best Women’s Erotica is all about the use of spiked heels in domination. Plan to pepper in some new characters and plot twists, but don’t forget to find a point and get to it by the end. Don’t expect to just sling together random sex scenes and be taken seriously as a writer.

Channel Your Inner Monster: “C is for…” Well, in the world of erotic fiction, “C” could be for a lot of things. But for Cookie Monster, “C is for cookie.” The best thing about this lovable blue muppet is that he knew what he loved and indulged as often as possible. Whenever you can, insert a little bit of your passion into your writing. Does the idea of being tied up secretly get you going? Role playing? Sex in public? Chances are if you write about something that really turns you on, you’re going to have readers who feel the same way. All it takes is one good line or image to get the motor running and like our good friend Cookie “That’s good enough for me.”

Sperm Packs an Even More Powerful Punch

Men are complex. And so are their sperm. Scientists at the University of Utah have found that a father’s sperm has much more complex genetic material than previously thought.

A particular set of genes that make decisions about organ and tissue development are packaged in a special way within the sperm, a packaging that could help promote healthy development.

Factors such as genetic mutations, age or lifestyle may affect proper packaging, leading to infertility. These findings could potentially lead to a diagnostic test to help couples deal with infertility.

This study appears in the online edition of Nature.

Porn Pubs Get Downsized

Companies are so strapped nowadays (and not strapped in that good way...) that they've got to downsize adult industry mags.

Here's the word from mediabistro.com:

AVN to Consolidate Print Publications

You know the recession is real when even the folks in porn don't have job security. AVN Media Network Inc., publishers of trade journals for the adult entertainment industry, has announced plans to consolidate four of their six print publications into one monthly magazine. The company hasn't announced which titles are being consolidated, but we're betting on AVN Online and AVN Novelty Business after reading the following statement from Darren Roberts, the company's CEO:

"Retailers, distributors, video producers, webmasters, sex toy manufacturers, lingerie designers, and other adult industry professionals can still rely on AVN to be the definitive trade publication for this diverse and robust industry. However, today's demand to deliver value to the advertiser is greater than ever before, and AVN is in the unique position of being able to leverage its 27 year-old brand in order to significantly expand the reach of its products and services."

Want to Get Married and there aren't Enough Young Men? Wait Until Their 30

A study by a University of Michigan research who studies evolution and how it relates to contemporary behavior has found that in areas in which young women outnumber young men, hemlines rise.

Show some leg, ladies. Sex sells! Well, turns out all it that sex sells is sex. Although the hemlines rise, marriage rates don’t because young men feel less pressured to settle down since there are many more women to choose from. However, when these men reach their 30s they’re settling down. In areas where women outnumber men, more older men are married. But don’t get your hopes up late-to-middle aged women. According to the researcher, the higher marital rates for older men likely benefit women who are much younger since older men still prefer partners with higher reproductive potential.

In a place where the men are outnumbered, ladies? Either vow to beat evolution or move your ass outta there!

The paper “When Men are Scarce, Good Men are Even Harder to Find: Life History, the Sex Ratio, and the Proportion of Men Married," appears in the current issue of the Journal of Social, Evolutionary and Cultural Psychology.

The Catholic Kama Sutra

A Polish monk has written a sex guide, a book lovingly referred to as the Catholic Kama Sutra. “Sex as You Don’t Know It: For Married Couples Who Love God” has become a best seller in predominately Catholic and conservative Poland. I would attempt to provide some excerpts, but I don’t read Polish.

Read more: Holy Union: A Polish Monk’s Divine-Sex Guide

However, I did find a site for all of your religious loving needs: http://www.catholickamasutra.com/. Its mission: “to help support Catholics enjoy the gift of sacramental love. Our site is tastefully designed and filled with the highest quality products.” The sensual lubricant looks particularly interesting...

New Story

I've submitted a new story for publication. I sent it to A Woman's Good Night awhile back for consideration and although the editors said the opening was "delightfully unique" and it was put at the top of the heap, they had to cut their budget and ultimately passed on it.

So, we try somewhere else. I hope to hear back from Fishnet Magazine soon.

I'll admit, it's not one of my most brilliant pieces, but I wrote it on a plane trip back from a conference and it intriguied me enough to keep on writing. Plus, I don't write unless I intend to have it read. (Exactly why I don't keep a journal).

I can't give you the whole piece (in case it gets accepted), but here's a sneak peek. Stay tuned!

...I relax my body and sigh contentedly, appreciating his closeness as he carefully tends my wounds. It has been so long since I’ve had a man kneel in front of me, even if only to apply antiseptic.

He continues his cleansing on the other leg and I lean forward and smooth my fingertips through his hair, around his ear and rest them at the nape of his neck. He looks up and our eyes engage as the healing cotton soaks my skin. He moves from me and my hand drops to the couch as he reaches for two bandages. He opens each then reaches a hand to my calf muscle, uses his fingers to rhythmically massage there and leaning in close, blows a steady stream of air back and forth across my stinging knee. His gentle breath warms me far above my legs.

Gender Neutral? Is this sexy story about a man or a woman? Let’s see if you can figure it before I did

Can you be certain earlier than I was whether this story is about a sexy, running man or woman? It took me 330 words before I was sure. Granted, you’ll now be hypersensitive, so this experiment isn’t exactly scientifically sound, but you’ve got to give credit to the fact that it’s not as easy as you think. Not sure if that’s a good writing strategy or not. Nice to see that sex can be gender neutral, but as a reader, I felt a little lost.


You are on your daily run. Swift and powerful arms and legs gliding along -- you make it seem effortless -- but the sweat, oh the beautiful sweat, glistening about your flesh tells me your body is working hard. I love that sweat. Sweet and pungent. The same sweat that shimmers on your collar bones and breasts, the slick of your thighs and the soft hardness of your back and stomach when we make love and our passion rides us along, over mountains and valleys as we drift in out over waves made by our moans and sighs.

You tell me you won't be long on this walk-run. You say, it's okay baby, then kiss me full on mouth. I can't help but follow you in my mind, watching the gentle bounce of you with every stride. You are so focused on your task, ensuring your feet stay sure-footed along the cracks and seams of the sidewalks. You'll be home soon, so I make ready for your return. I light the candles, the incense. Set the lights dim, place your favorite flowers, and have music playing the room like a lover's kiss along an anxious spine. I feel the room -- it's not too hot, not too cool, even though I enjoy your nipples hard. I know you are more comfortable in warm, and I make it so.

You arrive at the back door, slip off your sneakers, hang your jacket on the hook, breathe in and out fully. Your body is still reeling from the adrenalin, shaking a bit. You drink water -- letting it spill out the sides of your mouth, down your chin and neck, wetting your shirt, soaking your flesh, cooling you. I wait for you in the bathroom, a lost scene from a romance novel. The scene omitted because it was too risqué. The shower turned on, soft steam rising, candles lit, smooth aroma lofting about, gentle music, and me in the shower, waiting for you. Water streams over my curves, rivering down my breasts -- waterfalling off my erect nipples. My black hair blacker now, long over my shoulders, down my back, flirting with that point where ass meets spine.
My outline is blurred a bit, so you slide the see-through curtain to the side and see me clearly, smiling, eyes wanting you. You step back and take off your clothes. One piece at a time, slowly revealing your satin shine. I sigh upon seeing your breasts, and sigh louder upon watching you slide tiny panties off your hips, down your legs…

Read it all: Shore Lands

Sex Writing is Controversial, Especially When It Helps You Win and Then Lose a Coveted Professorship at Oxford

On May 16, a notable British poet Ruth Padel became the first woman in 301 years to win a poet professorship at Oxford University. One of her most popular works “describes a lover putting honey glaze on a Sainsbury’s free-range duck. The poet then runs a fingernail down the lover’s spine ‘Ending in a fuck’ along the kitchen table.”

Hooray for sex writing!

But controversy arose when it was rumored that this poem was about a sexcapade she had with journalist John Walsh who conveniently helped push out Padel’s main opponent Derek Walcott by revealing sexual harassment charges in Walcott’s past.

Ten days after winning the professorship and after vehemently denying any involvement in her opponent’s demise, Padel resigned her position and admitted that she had played a part.

Dear Ruth, damn your slimy ways. Thanks for helping to set talented women back another 300 years. I won’t deny your talent, just your morals.

“Home Cooking”

You spread our Free Range Duck
Breasts with your trade-mark mix

Of honey, soya,
Chinese Five SpiceWhile I etch
A fingernail down your spine

Ending in a fuck
The length of our kitchen table

Making the bread-board rise
To its feet, the dog beneath us whine,
And the Sainsbury's poultry burn

("Home Cooking" found in Ruth Padel’s book “Voodo Shop”)

Do 50-year-old women really want the sex life they had at age 25?

"But is it reasonable for women over 50 to expect the same level of sexual satisfaction and drive as a 25-year-old? And is this what women really want?

"By the time they reach their late 40s or early 50s, women should be savvy enough to know that feeling sexy is a state of mind, and that a good man doesn't need a partner to look perfect in lingerie in order for her to be desirable."

Late 40s and early 50s? Come on ladies! That’s worth learning much earlier. There’s something incredible about a female who is comfortable and confident with her sexuality, at any age! When did you learn? Or have you yet? Let's just say for me, I was a Victoria's Secret wearer far before any man came into my life to enjoy it.

Newsweek columnists weight in. Counter-Cougar Thinking

Sex Theme Park Closed Before it Ever Opened

Love Land, a sex-themed park set to open in China has been squashed by the local Chinese government.

“The park manager, Lu Xiaoqing, had planned to have on hand naked human sculptures, giant models of genitals, sex technique ‘workshops’ and a photography exhibition about the history of sex, according to China Daily. The displays would have included lessons on safe sex and the proper use of condoms.”

Read more via the NY Times: Chinese City is Chilly to a Sex Theme Park

The photo of the mannequin torso in a red g-string that would have graced the park's entrance reminds me of a scene in the movie Patch Adams. Welcome gynos, at your cervix.

How Do You Make Sexy Writing Creepy? Have Chris Gethard Read It Aloud

“Each week Chris Gethard plucks his favorite erotic works from the vast sea of novice fiction produced for the internet.” Some of the fan fiction highlights include Twilight, Star Trek, and Lord of the Rings.

I hope they don’t turn their attention away from sci-fi pulp culture and to soap opera fan fiction. I’ve got some old stuff out there…

Even most brilliantly written erotica would sound creepy read by this guy. You’ve successfully weirded me out, nuclear palm.

Children who view adult-targeted TV may become sexually active earlier in life

Good thing most 4th graders aren't reading erotica...

"Television and movies are among the leading sources of information about sex and relationships for adolescents," says Hernan Delgado, MD, fellow in the Division of Adolescent/Young Adult Medicine at Children's Hospital Boston and lead author of the study. "Our research shows that their sexual attitudes and expectations are influenced much earlier in life."

Children who view adult-targeted TV may become sexually active earlier in life

Why do we have sex? Because we're hot for each other

“After exhaustively compiling a list of the 237 reasons why people have sex, researchers found that young men and women get intimate for mostly the same motivations. It's more about lust in the body than a love connection in the heart.

“College-aged men and women agree on their top reasons for having sex — they were attracted to the person, they wanted to experience physical pleasure and "it feels good," according to a peer-reviewed study in the August edition of Archives of Sexual Behavior. Twenty of the top 25 reasons given for having sex were the same for men and women.

“Expressing love and showing affection were in the top 10 for both men and women, but they did take a back seat to the clear No. 1: "I was attracted to the person."

Why We Have Sex: 237 Reasons and Counting

Withholding Sex for Politics

How powerful is sex? Thousands of Kenyan women are hoping it's powerful enough to end the political unrest in their country.

Kenyan women's group vows weeklong sex strike to try to force politicians to end squabbles

Cosmo Makes us Smarter Sexers

And you thought Cosmo's Sex Surveys were only good for improving your moves in the bedroom...Turns out, they could be making you smarter about sex overall. A recent study featured in the Journal of Sex Research found that magazine use is associated with positive sexual health outcomes among young people (at least the almost 600 grad students who particpated in the study.) Magazine reading and involvement was linked to young people's sexual health knowledge, self-efficacy, intentions, and contraception use.

The Color Purple: Another Adventure in Sexy Print versus Racy Cinema

I’m soon to see the Broadway production of The Color Purple, an award winning piece of literature, a wonderful movie and what I’m guessing to be an equally good theater production.

However, the relationship between the main female characters, Celie and Shug, is overtly sexual in the book and incredibly understated in the movie. I expect the play will be inspired by the book and will therefore be blatant about their relationship.

Which brings us to another round of: “Which is Sexier: Written Word or Cinematic Imagery?” Unlike the Bridges of Madison County example previously examined in this blog, I don’t have a movie to compare. Still, I believe the experiment is valid. That said, here are excerpts from Alice Walker’s The Color Purple. Let’s see how the on-stage lovers stack up.


I start to cry too. I cry and cry and cry.

Don’t cry, Celie, Shug say. Don’t cry. She start kissing the water as it come down side my face.

My mama die, I tell Shug. My sister Nettie run away. Mr. ___ come git me to take care his rotten children. He never ast me nothing bout myself. He clam on top of me and fuck and fuck, even when my head bandaged. Nobody ever love me, I say.

She say, I love you, Miss Celie. And then she haul off and kiss me on the mouth.

Um, she say, like she surprise. I kiss her back, say um, too. Us kiss and kiss till us can’t hardly kiss no more. Then us touch each other.

I don’t know nothing bout it, I say to Shug.

I don’t know much, she say.

Then I feels something real soft and wet on my breast, feel like one of my little lost babies mouth.

Way after while, I act like a little lost baby too.
....

Grady and Mr. ___ come staggering in round daybreak. Me and Shug sound asleep. Her back to me, my arms round her waist. What it like? Little like sleeping with mama, only can’t hardly remember ever sleeping with her. Little like sleeping with Nettie, only sleeping with Nettie never felt this good. It warm and cushiony, and I feel Shug’s bit tits sorta flop over my arms like suds. It feel like heaven is what it feel like, not like sleeping with Mr. ___ at all.
….

Us sleep like sisters, me and Shug. Much as I still want to be with her, much as I love to look, my titties stay soft, my little button never rise. Now I know I’m dead. But she say, Naw, just being mad, grief, wanting to kill somebody will make you feel this way. Nothing to worry about. Titties gonna perk up, button gonna rise again.

I loves to hug up, period, she say. Snuggle. Don’t need nothing else right now.

Yeah, I say. Hugging is good. All of it’s good.

Medieval Sex

Sex In The Middle Ages: 10 Titillating Facts You Wanted To Know But Were Afraid to Ask

Threesome Thursday

So, today is Wednesday, not Thursday, but I like the alliteration and I expect I won't get a chance to post tomorrow. That said: Cheers to Threesome Thursday.

A sexy little piece for your pleasure:
Masterpiece

An entertaining commercial by Durex:

Psychology: An old piece about judging based on sexual preference

I wrote this a couple years ago. I always wanted to submit it somewhere, but never found the right outlet. So, here I share it. I based it upon the idea that some people are based simply on their sexuality. What a world this would be if we were all judged based on what happens behind our closed doors...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I palmed the warm cup of bitter coffee and introduced myself to the random sample of middle-America that sat in the plastic folding chairs.

“My name is Dr. Hillary Reynolds from the Jackson Institute of Psychology and Developed Sciences and I’d like to thank you all for participating in today’s study. The first portion of this study will include a written questionnaire asking you personal questions, most of which are sexual in nature. Please be prepared to answer these fully and honestly. I must assure you, beyond the use within this study, your answers will be kept confidential. The second part of the study involves a one-on-one consultation and classification session with me. A short debriefing session will follow. Participation in this study is completely voluntary. Individuals wishing not to partake in this study may leave now. Those willing to participate should sign the consent form and wait for further instructions.” I turned on my heel and marched out of the room, disposing of the nauseating coffee in the trash bin on my way out. What a waste of meter money.

My research partner and I had designed the questionnaire to reveal an individual’s most intimate and sordid sexual experiences, expose deed-rooted perversions, desires and beliefs. How many times a day do you masturbate? Have you ever fantasized or participated in bestiality? When was the last time you had an orgasm? Even I cringed during the practice sessions upon reaching question forty-seven: Please describe in detail the shape and size of your genitalia.

I left the task of distributing the questionnaires to the psychology students who were assisting me in this session. In my opinion, they were too wet behind the ears and hadn’t worked hard enough to earn status as true researchers. I didn’t mind so much when they got the hard glares from participants who had finalized the name, age and race section of the questionnaire and entered much more personal territory.

I observed from behind a two-way mirror, ignoring the irony of my voyeurism, as the participants completed their questionnaires. After watching forty-five minutes of pencil gripping, nervous blushing and page guarding, I retired to my office and awaited my first consultation.

After what seemed like an eternity, a plump and slightly balding man shuffled through my door. He was clad in a pair of faded jean shorts that hung well below his knees, a wrinkled NASCAR T-shirt and an expression that spoke partly of boredom and mostly of impatience. He smelled of engine grease and Dial soap and his file informed me he was 38 years old and named Eddie.

Eddie plopped into the overstuffed, mahogany-colored leather chair and waited for my instructions. Considering I had many more participants to classify and my slight headache was threatening to advance into a migraine, I got to the point.

“Hello, Eddie. I see here from the questionnaire you completed today that you frequently experience moments of premature ejaculation,” I say reading from my paperwork.

The statement hung in the air. He must have thought that when I said confidential it would be kept between him and the page. A furrow appeared in Eddie’s brow as I spoke and his nostrils flared. His entire body tensed; his sharp edges created a stark contrast against the softened corners of the leather lounger. His response reminded me of the charging bulls in Pamplona, equal amounts of rage and strength used to mask extreme panic.

Eddie still did not speak, so I continued. “For the purposes of this study, you are classified as a quick finisher. It is obvious that you posses little to no impulse control. Therefore, all of your credit cards and current and future accounts with loan offices and banks will be terminated. Although you are of legal age, you will no longer be allowed to consume alcohol or gamble.”

Breaking heavily, Eddie sat without speaking for a moment as the meaning of my words took root. “That’s what you have to tell me?” he asked, the furor in his brow traveling down the plane of his face to form a sneer.

I nodded.

Gripping the arms of the chair, Eddie launched himself upward and stood rigid before me. “Yeah right, lady,” he said. “Go to Hell.” With that, Eddie exited the room.

I turned and spoke to the video camera careening over my left shoulder used to record each session. “One classification down, fifteen more to go.”

The next participant was a woman in her early forties named Rose. From the looks of her, Rose was the reason her daughter was the top cookie seller in her Girl Scout troop, and not because they had a lot of friends.

“Hello, Rose. I see from the questionnaire you completed today that you struggle with self-esteem issues, especially regarding your weight. Because of this, you find yourself unable to participate in sexual acts comfortably and have the extreme need to fornicate with the lights off,” I summarized.

Rose shifted nervously and avoided eye contact.

“Rose, for the purposes of this study, you are classified as a worth worrier. It is obvious that your self-esteem issues have a strong impact on the decisions you make. Because of these issues, you are considered a threat to yourself. You will not return home once you leave this building. You will be escorted directly to the psychiatric ward of your local hospital where you will be prescribed anti-depressants and put on strict suicide watch.”

Rose was incredulous. “What? How can you do that? How can you make decisions for me based on one aspect of my life? Especially about part of my private life, which is none of your business?”

As Rose exited my office, I almost felt bad for her. Almost.

One by one, they entered my room and received their classification. The prostitute, the one-night-stander, the cheater, the pornography addict, the virgin, the born-again virgin, the womanizer who continually eyed my legs and the weekend semi-sadist who I informed would be forced to quit her job as a school teacher because in her private life she associated her role as authoritarian with sexual pleasure.

Their responses ranged from embarrassment, to anger, to disgust, to disbelief. The debriefing sessions that followed served to calm these heightened emotions and the participants left happily armed with the monetary compensation they were promised and the knowledge that beyond the study, I had no powers to control their lives.

The study session was coming to an end when the last participant entered my room for his individual session.

“Hello, Daniel. I see here from the questionnaire you completed today that you are a homosexual.” I said.

Daniel sat quietly.

I continued. “I must tell you, Daniel, because you do not choose to copulate with women, you will be denied the right to legally marry your partner. It goes without saying that you cannot biologically have children. Your ability to adopt children will be inhibited, if not denied. You will be ridiculed and a large number of heterosexual men and women will find you and your lifestyle to be disgusting and worthy of reproach. Although you maintain the right to freedom of religion, you will most likely not be accepted by standard religions.”

Daniel responded flatly. “I know.”

Another Hooray for Sexy, Ambiguous Language!

“So all that’s left for me to see are ‘tulips’ on the mound.” Clever.

The Elements of Style? Big Johnson T-Shirts

One of my favorite things about being a writer, especially one who writes about sex, is being able to play around with language and its meaning. I'm especially moved by ambiguous language. Words and phrases that make you think naughty things, but make you wonder at the same time. One of the greatest (and tackiest) examples of this are those Big Johnson T-shirts that were popular about 15 years ago (and still are in parts of the south). Although I'm not promoting these as fashionable, I can appreciate the clever use of language.

Here are some of my favorites. I had no idea there were so many! See more here.

Dirty Jobs? More like Dirty Minds

Ever seen the show “Dirty Jobs”? It’s the “program on the Discovery Channel in which host Mike Rowe is shown performing difficult, strange, disgusting, and/or messy occupational duties alongside the typical employees.”

I’m guessing their target audience is mostly male, but they weren’t stupid when they chose to cast a good looking host who often finds ways to get shirtless as he gets down and dirty. To this, may we say, “Thank you, Discovery talent scout.”

Discovery has gotten wise to our fantasizing ways and is providing us with some “suggestive” clips of Mike in action. Nicely edited, Discovery. Check out Mike’s O-face at second 46.

You want dirty, Mike? I’ll show you dirty…

Dirty Jobs: Mike Rowe, Sex Kitten

(Updated) Outrageous!! Amazon de-ranks so-called adult books

UPDATE: "This is an embarrassing and ham-fisted cataloguing error for a company that prides itself on offering complete selection," according to Amazon.com spokeswoman Patty Smith.

Amazon has started a new policy that de-ranks their books based on adult content. Regardless of a book’s popularity, if it is considered “adult” it will not show up on their best sellers list. It may also be removed from Amazon’s search results. Not only will this impact erotica anthologies (hello, the reason I even started writing!) it also impacts non-erotica books including “American Psycho” and “Running with Scissors.”

Read more via LA Times

Get active! Protest!

Sex for the Eyes: Simon Dominic w/Painterly Arts

The majority of Simon’s work is science-fiction based, not erotica, but I really like this piece. Simon Dominic/Painterly Arts

Sex for the Eyes: Matteo Nazzari

Matteo Nazzari

More from the "Creative Challenge" Days: Pray in Your Darkness

Here's another something I wrote a couple years ago as a creative project with my photographer friend. The challenge: Pray in Your Darkness

I think it is interesting how fluid language is. How the same word can take on different meanings, how context is so important when forming your perception of a sentence’s meaning.

In this experiment (As you Pray in your Darkness), most of the words in this short sentence can be interpreted so differently, which is what made it so challenging for me to organize my thoughts. Pray or prey (depending on whether the sentence is spoken or written),“in” meaning location versus meaning direction, darkness as an emotional state versus a physical absence of light, and “your” referring to one person or more than one.

As you Pray in your Darkness

Your memory serves you well.

You remember when you and he signed the lease to that simple, two-story house on the corner of Johnson Street and Copper Penny Avenue and it became yours.

Nothing fancy. The graying shudders were slightly crooked; the guest bathroom was painted an odd shade of purplish pink that was slightly reminiscent of the cotton candy you threw up after riding the tilt-a-whirl on your first date together. The floorboard closest to his side of your king-sized bed creaked when he got up in the middle of the night to pee, and the driveway sloped so that the bottom of his front bumper would scrape against its edge every time he backed his car out, no matter how slowly he went.

Yes, a bit run down or “charming” as you optimistically referred to it, but you mostly didn’t mind its faults. It was yours.

It was yours the day you got your first promotion at work. It was yours that time you made love on the kitchen counter when he left that sucking mark on the rise of your left breast, another on your neck that you had to cover up with makeup in order to hide it from co-workers the next day.

The walls of your house stood sturdy when he came back home drunk after fighting earlier with each other about finances and you threw the pot lid at his head, missing by a long shot. It was your place to retire to after a long day at work and it became your “home” with the birth your first child together.

Yes, it was yours.

Interesting, that word “yours.” With an “s” on the end, “your” is irrevocably plural. But add in marriage, coupledom, and language is suddenly bent. Maybe because when you’re married, it is expected that two become one.

So when friends would ask, how are your kids, you respond because they were referring to the children you and he together brought into creation.

Or when they would ask, “What are your plans for the holiday?” they immediately expected you to explain how you would be spending part of the time with your family in Florida, the rest of the time with his family in Ohio.

Your is something different now. Sure, the word is still the same but the meaning is not. Now when they say, “How is your cat,” they specifically mean the one that keeps you, and only you awake at night. Or, “How is your job?,” expecting you to say that it is okay and to complain about some tiresome boss when you really feel like saying that the expected monotony of the day is the only thing that keeps you from giving up every morning. When you really feel like admitting that it is the only thing worth living your life for now that he’s gone.

You ask God for strength, but he seems to have stopped listening. Maybe he is tired of your pleading. Maybe he knows you really want him to turn back time and to take away what he allowed to happen. You want him to give your life back. You want it all to be a bad dream from which to awake. You pray to God that it never happened. That you never got that call from the hospital saying there had been an accident. That that driver never would have fallen asleep at the wheel and he never would have slammed his truck into the driver’s side of your husband’s car. You never would have been haunted by the sound of a flat line and you never would have become a widow at age 36.

He would still be here and this would be your bed. This night you would be together and you would lie beneath him as he presses into you, so warm, so familiar, so good.

But this is now only your bed in this darkened room and God stopped listening long ago.

You snuggle in tight beneath the wrinkled sheet and you pretend that the pillow curled up next to you is his body and for one second you believe it. Then cold reality hits you like a backhanded slap and you remember that this is your life. You wish it weren’t, as you pray in your darkness until the peaking sliver of daybreak.

Today's Read

Lovely oral sex poem.

Sweet Biscuit Truffle

I love a man with a big…hairdo

The next piece of erotica I write is going to feature a man with a big, floppy head of hair like Grayden Carter has. According to actor Rupert Everett (who is surprisingly candid), the bigger the hair, the more impressive the trouser snake.

Grayden Carter image courtesy of New York Magazine

Erotica? Porn? What's the Difference?

Is there a difference between erotica and porn? I definately think so, but maybe I'm biased. Here's opinion from more than 60 other people.

The Public Wants Sex Ed!

Let's Talk About Sex
Congress loves abstinence-only programs so much it has thrown big bucks at them. The public? It's got better ideas.

"Masturbate Your Mind"

A T-shirt that promotes erotica…Too bad this shirt is made for a man. Although it comes in white, pomegranate, dijon, cinder and galaxy blue. I don’t know any self-respecting (straight) man who would wear a pomegranate-colored T-shirt.

Here’s what the shirt says:
Before You Grab Yourself, Grab Some Erotic Fiction

In today's fast paced, high-speed internet access world, we rarely allow ourselves the luxury of actually thinking while spanking it. Has masturbation in the new millennium been reduced to click click, tug tug? Don't you remember a time when you could sit down with a saucy novella behind a locked door and give your imagination and genitalia the attention they deserve? Dirty books are still out there. Give one a chance. Masturbate your mind.

Buy it

Hillary Clinton: Your New Sex Phone Operator?

White House Corrects Conference Call Number After Directing Reporters to Sex Line

Co Co deMer Commercial

Credit where it's due: Found this on my fav editor Violet Blue's site.

Which is Sexier? Written Word or Cinematic Imagery?

Each time a movies based on a book is released, an age-old debate begins. Does the movie do the book justice? Does the cinematic imagery bring the characters to life or will the book eternally outshine the theater production? I happen to believe it depends on which order you experience the story in. Those who read the book before seeing the movie tend to favor the page. Those who fell in love with the movie are often disappointed by the book.

The art of seduction is difficult to capture, in either medium. My favorite book/movie comparison is The Bridges of Madison County. I, for one, loved the movie. I was seduced by its sexy subtleties. The book on the other hand, fell flat. (Although there are some beautiful phrases along the way.) In my opinion, the book was poorly organized and so obviously written by a man. Not everyone can write dual gendered.

But, perhaps I’m only proving my theory since I saw the movie first.

You be the judge. I’m including some excerpts from the book. Watch the movie (specifically the kitchen dance scene) and read these lines (or even better, the entire book). Which moves you more? I’d be interested to know.

The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller

He noticed all of her. He could have walked out on this earlier, could still walk. Rationality shrieked at him. “Let it go, Kincaid, get back on the road. Shoot the bridges, go to India. Stop in Bangkok on the way and look up the silk merchant’s daughter who knows every ecstatic secret the old ways can teach. Swim naked with her at dawn in jungle pools and listen to her scream as you turn her inside out at twilight. Let go of this” – the voice was hissing now- “it’s outrunning you.”
But the slow street tango had begun. Somewhere it played; he could hear it, an old accordion. It was far back, or far ahead, he couldn’t be sure. Yet it moved toward him steadily. And the sound of it blurred his criteria and funneled down his alternatives toward unity. Inexorably, it did that, until there was nowhere left to go, except toward Francesca Johnson.
“We could dance, if you like. The music’s pretty good for it,” he said in that serious, shy way of his. Then he quickly tacked on his caveat: “I’m not much of a dancer, but if you’d like to, I can probably handle it in a kitchen.”
Jack scratched at the porch door, wanting in. He could stay out.
Francesca blushed only a little. “Okay. But I don’t dance much, either…anymore. I did as a young girl in Italy, but now it’s just pretty much on New Year’s Eve, and then only a little bit.”
He smiled and put his beer on the counter. She rose, and they moved toward each other. “It’s your Tuesday night dance party from WGN, Chicago,” said the smooth baritone. “We’ll be back after these messages.”
They both laughed. Telephones and commercials. Something there was that kept inserting reality between them. They knew it without saying it.
……………………………………

The music started again. Fortunately for both of them, it was a slow rendition of “Autumn Leaves.”
She felt awkward. So did he. But he took her hand, put an arm around her wais, she moved into him, and the awkwardness vanished. Somehow it worked in an easy kind of way. He moved his arm farther around her waist and pulled her closer.
She could smell him, clean and soaped and warm. A good, fundamental smell of a civilized man who seemed, in some part of himself, aboriginal.
“Nice perfume,” he said, bringing their hands in to lie upon his chest, near his shoulder.”
“Thank you.”
They danced, slowly. Not moving very fast in any direction. She could feel his legs against hers, their stomachs touching occasionally.
The song ended, but he held on to her, hummed the melody that had just played, and they stayed as they were until the next song began. He automatically led her into it, and the dance went on, while locusts complained about the coming of September.
She could feel the muscles of his shoulder through the light cotton shirt. He was real, more real than anything she’d ever known. He bent slightly to put his cheek against hers.
………………………………….

She finally pulled back from him, from where thy stood in the kitchen, and took his hand, leading him toward the stairs, up the stairs, past Carolyn’s room, past Michael’s room, and into her room, turning on a small reading lamp by the bed…She remembered the dream-like sequence of clothes coming off and the two of them naked in bed. She remembered how he held himself just above her and moved his chest slowly against her belly and across her neck, licking her as some fine leopard might do in long grass out on the veld.
He was an animal. A graceful, hard, male animal who did nothing overtly to dominate her yet dominated her completely, in the exact way she wanted that to happen at this moment.
But it was far beyond the physical, though the fact that he could make love for along time without tiring was part of it. Loving him was- it sounded almost trite to her now, given the last two decades – spiritual. It was spiritual, but it wasn’t trite.
In the midst of it, the lovemaking, she had whispered it to him, captured it in one sentence. “Robert, you’re so powerful it’s frightening.” He was powerful physically, but he used his strength carefully. It was or than that, however.
Sex was one thing. In the time since she’d met him, she had settled into the anticipation – the possibility, anyway - of something pleasurable, a breaking with a routine of hammering sameness. She hadn’t counted on his curious power.
It was almost as if he had taken possession of her, in all of her dimensions. That’s what was frightening. She never had doubted at the beginning that one part of her could remain aloof from whatever she and Robert Kincaid did, the part that belonged to her family and life in Madison County.
But he simply took it away, all of it. She should have known when he first stepped out of his truck to ask directions. He had seemed shamanlike then, and her original judgment was correct.
They would make love for an hour, maybe more, then he would pull slowly away and look at her, lighting a cigarette and one for her. Or sometimes he would just lie beside her, always with one hand moving on her body. Then he was inside her again, whispering soft words into her ear as he loved her, kissing her between phrases, between words, his arm around her waist, pulling her into him and him into her.
And she would begin to turn in her mind, breathing heavier, letting him take her where he lived, and he lived in strange, haunted places, far back along the stems of Darwin’s logic.
With her face buried in his neck and her skin against his, she could smell rivers and woodsmoke, could hear steaming trains chuffing out of winter stations in long-ago nighttimes, could see travelers in black robes moving steadily along frozen rivers and through summer meadows, beating their way toward the end of things. The leopard swept over her, again and again and again, like a long prairie wind, and rolling beneath him, she rode on that wind like some temple virgin toward the sweet, compliant fires marking the soft curve of oblivion.
And she murmured, softly, breathlessly, “Oh, Robert…Robert…I am losing myself.”

Sexy Commercial

In honor of April Fools' Day, I'm posting this very clever commercial for a new candybar by Mars. Enjoy, you fools.

Erotica Clichés Done Right: Exhibit 1 - Food

Edwin Schlossberg said, “The skill of writing is to create a context in which other people can think.” Unfortunately, when it comes to erotica, people have thought about almost everything. It can be difficult to come up with a creative scenario when humans have been thinking about and performing sexual acts for decades.

Throughout the coming blog days, I plan to discuss some of the most common erotica clichés and highlight examples of authors gone right, providing proof to the belief that although equally effective, erotica is smarter than pornography.

Exhibit 1: Food
What do people fantasize almost as much as they fantasize about sex? Ah, yes…food. This culinary cliché can be found all throughout pop culture. From the porn favorite “pizza delivery boy,” to phallic hotdog references, to whipped cream bikinis, food and sex have been combined in many ways.

Yet, Jessica Winter found a way to weave in food without going overboard, a pie encounter that would make Stiffler’s mom hang her head in shame.

“It started with a cherry pie.”

Movie Night

A New Coat of Paint

A photographer friend and I used to "creatively challenge" each other by picking a phrase (a song lyric, whatever) and then creating our interpretation of it, he through photography and I through the written word. Here's a piece I suspect I'll never submit anywhere...

New coat of paint
My mother was the stereotypical corner shop hairdresser. Some of my fondest and most formative memories are a result of spending sunny, school-free days in the shop. I heard my first cuss word there and learned that a diaphragm is not a drawing that architects follow. I’d sit in the silver padded chair and pump myself up to the moon and spin until I felt nauseas. I’d watch as my mother’s lacquered fingernails made quick work of the curlers in the hair of her mouthy, platinum-haired patrons.

“Appearance is everything,” she often reminded me. “How we decorate ourselves on the outside is a direct reflection of who we are on the inside.”

My favorite thing was to watch her give manicures. I loved how she would file and shape the nails into perfectly rounded tips. I loved to watch her massage the oil into the cuticles. I loved to watch her buff the nails into a clean shine. But mostly I loved when she and the customer would let me pick out the nail color for the finishing touches.

The first time I approached the wall of color, I felt overwhelmed. There were so many colors of polish, stacked neatly on four thin plastic shelves, neatly arranged from the lightest hue to the most shockingly vibrant. Certainly even Mr. Crayola himself would bow in submission to this palate of polish.

My eyes bounced among the options trying to pick that perfect color.

“Hurry up, sweetie,” my mother said hurriedly as she fanned the woman’s nail bed helping the clear, basecoat of polish to dry.

I chose a juicy red. It was the color of my tricycle and felt just as fast. I imagined how it would glitter on the woman’s fingers, how it would simmer along with the embers of her cigarette that she would balance between the nails of her thumb and forefinger.

I smiled proudly as I handed my prize choice to my mother.

She took one look at my stretched out hand and pushed it away as though it turned her stomach. She scrunched up her face and squeezed her eyes shut, perhaps trying to block the sight from her mind. “Not that color. Only tramps wear bright red polish. Pick another color,” she said.

**********************************************************************

My mother left an imprint on me far beyond that shop on the corner. Not only had I inherited my mother’s broad hips and brooding demeanor, but also her preference for passive nail polish.

They always had such sweet names. I wore Pleasantly Peachy on my first real date with a boy.

Pretty in Pink the first time we made love.

Lovely in Lavender the night he proposed.

Purely Pearly on my wedding day.

Sweetheart Pink on our last wedding anniversary.

But tonight I feel strangely empowered as I apply this new coat of paint, slowly stroking with the brush one last time, just to get it right. I searched for just the right shade for tonight, perusing up and down the aisle at the store, looking for that perfect hue with an equally perfect name.

Finished, I stretch my arm out in front of me to admire my handiwork. Satisfied, I plop the polish bottle into my purse, label up: Fiery Vixen Red.

I smile as I write my husband the goodbye note informing him that I want a divorce. Fiery Vixen Red.

I smile as I back out of our driveway and head toward the hotel. Fiery Vixen Red.

I smile as I pick up the extra key that was left at the front desk for me. Fiery Vixen Red.

I smile as my, oh so sexy and oh so married co-worker greets me at the door and throws me onto the bed. Fiery Vixen Red.

I smile as I drag my nails across his back as he presses over and over into me. Fiery Vixen Red.

I smile as I catch a glimpse of my freshly painted nails and as I hear my mother’s words echo in my mind, “Only tramps wear bright red polish.”

I smile as I think to myself, “Yes mother. Yes we do.”

Read some of my published work

For those of you wanting easier access to some of my published writings, here are some links.

Coffee Lover

Born of Shadows
Ah…my official debut…

Writer Stalled

To those of you who were wondering when you might see some of my newest work, you should know that I'm purposely a bit stalled. I have a couple pieces in consideration by some editors and I want to hear back from those before I focus on new work. I can only keep so much in my mind at once. Although, I may get inspired and start a new one anyhow. The ideas appear randomly sometimes.

Giving Credibility to the Craft

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