Connected Sex

I’ve been struggling lately in what to identify myself as. There’s the whole “labels are subjective” mentality, but if you exist in the world chances are you’ll run into labels. And if you write, you’ll run into a lot of them. For instance, “what do you write about?”

I’ve been saying that I write about “relationships,” which is my healthy euphemism for “sex, sex, sex.” But that’s not all I write about. I’d like to say I write porn, because that’s simple and trashily elegant, but the problem is, I don’t write porn. I write about the relationship between two people, or more, who are having sex with the sex as an extending arm of the relationship. I am not, I repeat, not a romance writer. I don’t use tasteful euphemisms for sex. If my characters fuck, I want to say they fuck, not “she succumbed to the swell of desire as it washed over her like a spring ripe tide,” or some such. If that’s what you write, great. No beef with that. But it’s not me.

I wanted to say that I write intellectual erotica, but that’s not strictly right either. While my training is in writing literary fiction, honestly, I never really got the point of being literary. I mean, yes, literature has its place. And there’s some really amazing stuff out there. There’s also just as much stuff that I read and never had an f’ing clue as to what was going on, let alone how to critically analyze it. (Mostly the Southern and South American writers, but Romantic poets are guilty too.) In my mind, readers need to get what you’re writing about. Hard books should be hard, but if you’re writing erotica, the only thing that should be rock hard is your characters and your reader, not your prose. I have a difficult time getting my lady wood on when I can’t figure out what the hell is going on.

So literary erotica was out.

As is genre erotica, sci-fi/fantasy, mystery, western. I can incorporate these elements, because it seems like that’s what good fiction is doing right now. But if I read another stereotypical vampire/werewolf/succubus gang bang, I’m going to… I don’t know, give up reading as a hobby and stick to burning my nipples while canning or something. (True story.)

Again, if the above mentioned gangbang is your bread and butter, by all means. It’s just not something that I want to do.

Then one day, while I was at my day job and listening to a podcast, (After Dark Radio with Ande Lyons) I realized that what I’m writing about is connected sex. I always thought connected sex was bullshit, until after my last breakup when I started sleeping around rather a bit more than I should have, but found, to my surprise, that when I let go of the desire to have a relationship or anything really meaningful with the guy I was screwing, and instead just enjoyed him for who he was as a person, sex became really enjoyable. Then I met my partner and he and I had the most amazing connection that definitely carries across into the bedroom. Like we just get each other, in just about everything, and have been there for each other through some truly awful shit. And through it all we’ve felt, for lack of a better word, connected, and inspired by one another.

Before, I might have been in a unique situation, because I’m still friends with most of these guys, like can still sit and have a beer together to this day. But it was all positive and made me realize that some relationships, while there’s a connection, might not be meant to last forever. And, amazingly, that’s what I write about: that connection between people, either for a moment or the rest of their lives, that’s what fascinates me and drives me to get out from under the covers in the warm circle of my love’s arms, and go write about other people having sex. Because I don’t write just about relationships, I don’t write porn, I don’t wax literary, I’m not drawn to genre, but I do write about people having engaging, connected, meaningful sex, even if that connectedness and meaning is ephemeral. Sometimes that is what we need too.

Happy reading and writing and keep smiling, it makes them wonder what we’re up to.

Sexy Calories (Sexlories?)

Sex Calories – Results of Dr. Wieder’s Calories Burned by Sex Study

And I always wondered how many calories the Caribbean Pirate pose burned. :)

Thoughts

From: Dragon Writing Prompts

 Every night before bed or first thing in the morning, I make to-do lists. I rarely, if ever complete everything on these lists, and yes, I admit, it gets demoralizing. My significant other reminds me that what I don't do today will wait until tomorrow. So no ground-breaking thoughts, other than while I'm writing porn, the baby is still in the same onesie he wore yesterday.

And that's ok.

Peace.

Recommended Reads

There's a lot of hot erotica out this summer. (Have to confess, I only just made it through Fifty Shades, but these are actually good, I promise.) Some reads I've really enjoyed so far are:

• Twice the Pleasure edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
• Voracious edited by Violet Blue
• Best Sex Writing 2013 edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
• Girls Girls Girls by Lynn Lake, Jaye Raymee, Sadie Spiller

Looking very forward to reading:

• Duty and Desire 
• Fairy Tale Lust, both edited by Kristina Wright

If you have suggestions for erotica, please leave me a comment. :)

Keep smiling, it makes them wonder what you’re up to. 

Rosa Erotica

Booty Called

She hooks her arms over my thighs and jerks me toward her. I’m spread before her, legs splayed, cunt pulsing with need. She runs her tongue up the center of my cunt, hard, demanding, and comes to rest on my clit, which she teases, making me writhe.

Tell me you love me, tell me you want me, that voice in my head begs. I shove it away. She won’t say that and I won’t beg.

She flips me over and finger fucks me from behind, hitting the spot she knows will make me come. And I do. I come hard and fast, soaking her up to the wrist in my desire. She sits back on her heels, smirking and satisfied, but moves to hover over me, presenting her sweet pussy to me, so I might pleasure her, while she reaches back to make me clench and sigh again.

It’s always like this. She calls me on her terms, always hers, usually late at night when she hasn’t found a satisfactory partner. She’s no good for me, I know that. But regardless, I still pick up the phone, still answer the door, still yield to the teasing pleasure of her mouth. She never asks me how my day was, or how exams are going. Once she picked up a textbook, thumbed through it, and asked, “So, what, are you going to be some kind of doctor or something?” I nodded. “Psychology. Positive psychology.”

“Okay, then, doctor, tell me this,” she paced toward me like a strip tease, confident and sensuous, removing her shirt in a way I never could, but on her was crazy-sexy. “How positive are you that I can make you come harder than you ever have in your life?”

I saw her once, in the stacks at school. She was flirting with a bombshell blonde, the type in pink sweaters who’d been a high school cheerleader. I knew for a fact that this girl was seriously smart too. They were holding hands in their study group, smooching. And when the group tired of their antics, she lead the cheerleader into the stacks and from the familiar sounds I could picture all too well where her hands were, her lips, and I crossed my legs and ground my teeth in agony. When she called me that night, of course I answered the phone, of course I answered the door, but when she entered and pressed me against the wall, I didn’t respond.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” she said.

“Who’s the blonde?”

She gazed at me through wide eyes.

“I saw you today.”

She stroked my hair, then moved away to drink out of my wine glass. She wasn’t looking at me. “You don’t think she means anything to me, do you?”

And the unspoken question that hung in the air: Do I?

But I already knew the answer to that one.

And she still made me come harder than I ever had in my life.

From: wikicommons

Free Erotica Tuesday

Witch Walking

By Axa Lee

She doesn’t say anything, just pulls off her shirt and straddles me. It’s too hot to sleep, too humid to cuddle, our flesh sticks together, swollen, and makes a sucking, ripping sound whenever we shift positions. But she’s apparently adapted a “can’t beat ‘em, beat off” attitude, stroking my cock and tucking me inside her.

Fucking her, in this heat, is like fucking fire. She burns, she melts, she explodes. She rips her orgasm from me, taking all of me into her, grinding her hips down on me, clamping her pussy down on my cock until she pounds the orgasm from herself, from me, and I spurt into her, mirroring her own cries to gods.

The a/c unit kicks out bursts of cooler air at us, enough to tease our hot, turgid flesh. I reach down to stroke her clit, making her writhe. If she’s fire, then I’m water, patient and overwhelming. I don’t seek to conquer; I seek to make her yield. And she does, again and again. I’m hers and she’s mine, and while she might like to pretend otherwise, her orgasms belong to me.

And overnight, outside our window, the roses bloomed orange and white, like hard-edged dreamsicles.

From: WikiCommons

Romance

I'm no good at writing happy endings. I mean I really have to try. I'm a romantic at heart (much repressed), but usually the stifling of romantic gestures is what I think of when writing. How the connection between people becomes stilted or misinterpreted or rejected.

Since our daughter died this year, my partner and I have adopted butterflies, namely pink butterflies, as her sign. Kind of like a totem. Because butterflies are happiness and we want to think of her and remember happiness, not grief. My partner, unlike me, is not a repressed romantic and presented me with this card just because, thanking me for sharing joy with him. It makes me smile every time I look at it, so when I was thinking of a topic for today, romantic gestures came to mind. I'm not that creative when it comes to romantic gestures, but here's a link that is.

25 Sweet Romantic Gestures for Everyday

Or just give her a card for no reason that let's her know you appreciate the small things. It means a lot.

Have a great weekend everybody!