Tag Archives: Erotic Romance

Words Worth

why you should never fake an orgasm (and why I did)

Leave a comment

goerge-bohunicky-unsplash

If you fake it, then because you think you owe your partner this trophy as a reflection of their expertise?

Why? Why not: no work, no pay?

Who owns your orgasm? One of my favourite lines in Verses Nature is when Carmina, after a disagreement with her lover, Tatar, writes in her diary: I refused to let him make me come. Think about that for a while: I refused to let him make me come.

Carmina owns her body, its pleasure, no matter if Tatar is convinced otherwize. Her orgasm: a gift she may choose not to give?

So, when and why did I fake it? Not for them. I did it for us. I did it for Simone. Simone Leigh and I met each other online. She writes coffee break erotica for women. We’re kind of in the same line of business. I write ‘high-brow rumpy dumpy’. Officially, I call it erotic literary fiction. Men are welcome. At some point I mentioned to Simone that I am a performance artist. At a later point I had a copy of her The Virgin’s Christmas in my hands. Two plus two makes…

Sure. Why not?

One of the problems I have with most of what goes by the name of romance is the role women play. When I think that most porn is made my men for men and most romance is written for women by women, then why do romance authors perpetuate the happy end myth of woman becomes wife? Is that all there is to it? To us? Find a man then settle down? I thought Austen was dead (in that respect).

Leigh’s The Virgin’s Christmas, upon first reading, appears to fall into the category of romance (and erotica), where the female is but a life-size toy men may operate, battery-free.

Take a second look. I did. As I rehearsed this piece, it became clear to me that the protagonist, Charlotte, is everything but a mere pawn. When the Christmas gift of a threesome with her ‘Master’ and Michael is jeopardized by a snowstorm, it is Charlotte who takes the initiative. Okay, they are stranded in the middle of nowhere, far from their desired destination, but must that mean all is lost? They have food, they have blankets. They have everything they need. And Charlotte can think of a good way to stay warm and kill time…

With two men serving her from both sides, Charlotte gets the pleasure she had set out for. Her orgasm is but a couple of words in the text, words which could (easily?) be lost in the overall narrative. Charlotte is, after all, outnumbered.

This is where I step in. I transform Charlotte’s climax into the climax of the story, thereby relegating the men’s orgasms to mere narrative side effects. I read the word Master, seeing in my mind ‘Master’, the citation marks meaning ‘so-called’ and thus dethroning him who, throughout the story, remains nameless (thus exchangeable?). The thrust behind the M as I pronounce it – Master… Michael… – could easily override the softer pronunciation of Ch in Charlotte – Ch/sh, like: be quiet… shut up… it’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone… (???)

My Charlotte stays in control. Her climax, not theirs, steals the show, as ‘Master’ becomes servant, one with no other option than to accept Charlotte’s decision regarding when they will meet again.

The Virgin’s Christmas is part of a series and in this particular episode (episode 7), there are no wedding bells, near or far. Maybe the three will meet again in the New Year? Charlotte will decide. In the meantime, she gets on with her life. With her studies. She’s a bright one, Charlotte. Neither her ‘Master’ nor the love-stricken Michael are calling the shots. I loved being her. Even though Simone Leigh doesn’t accord Charlotte’s orgasm the same weight that I, as a performer, may, it’s there in the text. I didn’t write it. It’s there, waiting for me. Is my more feminist-oriented reading of The Virgin’s Christmas to be reduced to simply faking it?

Make your own mind up.

Eggcerpt Exchange, guest blogger

It is time (by Anna Bayes)

Leave a comment

it-is-time-book-cover

Anna Bayes. She’s shameless. She’s bisexual. She’s submissive. She says. I say: if only I had met you sooner, I could’ve spared myself the trip to North Africa (see I’ve slept with a man (course I have)). Anna writes contemporary, paranormal, BDSM and LGBT erotic romances: lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender. I’m not saying you’re asking yourself what LGBT is. I’m just making sure you know.

It is Time. For what? For  ‘15 bite-size tales of love and lust’. Bite, in French, means dick, if you pronounce it right: ‘beat’. The ‘t’ is important, so don’t gobble it.

Anna’s excerpt’s PG to stay on the right side of the rules, no doubt, though heaven knows there’s hardly a thing your average 12-year-old hasn’t heard of or even tried out these days. Like nature, and criminals, they’re mostly one step ahead of our attempts to cage and/or define them.

 

It is time, I believe.
My heart beats in my throat, and a chilling cold freezes my fingers, but I urge myself to speak my mind. “How many women do you have?”
He regards me calmly.
I gulp, and feel a whirlwind stirring in my stomach, but I look back at him with as much strength as I can muster.
“There are you, Robyn — you already know Robyn, and another girl called Tess.” He articulates slowly and clearly. “Three.”
A dull pain settles in my heart, but I accept it without letting it flare up. “Do they know as well?” I ask.
“Robyn possibly suspected that I had already met you before we had our threesome.” He says. “But no, basically. You are the only one who’ve ever asked.”
I nod.
The question, “Who’s your favorite?” circles in my head, but I know better than to ask that. Instead, I enquire, “You looked so peaceful when I asked you, were you expecting that question?”
“Not exactly.” He brushes a loose strand of hair out of my view as he continues. “But you’re easily the smartest girl I’ve met in my whole life. Whatever query you have, I think it’s best if I answer plainly, instead of trying to lie.”
I take a sip from my lukewarm tea and look around the apartment. The walls are bare; his suitcase is still leaning against the farthest wall, near the window. Except for the drinks on the kitchen counter, our shoes in the doorway and our clothes flung about casually on the floor, the place is empty.
He is in town every month or so, staying for about ten days each time. His business is good, so he can easily afford a spare apartment in the choicest region only for sleep and sex dates. The dingy brown sofa-bed does not bother him; he fucks hard and long on it, then cradles me to sleep.
I had known he was not for keeps, but the way he remembered details from our pillow talk, the meticulous attention he paid my body whenever he enjoyed me, and the sweet nothingness he consistently texted me everyday when he was away gradually built a cage around my heart. I grew attached to him and yearned for him earnestly.
To be fair, there is nothing to blame in him, because he has never deceived. Girls believed what they wanted; he never had to lie. I willingly accepted his sorry excuses whenever I wished to see him; it had always been him setting the time and date, and I showed up each time without fail.
I place the tea on the side, shift my position to face him and drink in his handsome features. His blue-green eyes effortlessly capture my soul; I drown in their watery symmetry. I often wonder if he truly speaks through his eyes, or am I the one convincing myself that I can read loving messages in his gaze. Perhaps I simply recite what my heart craves to hear in my mind when I worship his beauty.

 

When I think of that threesome, and of what Anna’s not saying, I fast forward in my mind, imagining it from the point of view one of the girls…

Some like it. Some don’t. Some people spend their time reading reviews so they know what they’re supposed to think. I think: I’ve got a brain and I’m a man of taste. That should do.

Can’t wait to see what such scenes look like in Anna’s stories when she’s not playing it safe.  

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00INCJFI0
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00INCJFI0
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/412890

For more about her:
Blog http://annabayes.wordpress.com
Facebook http://www.facebook.com/anna.bayes.author
Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/annabayes
Google Plus: https://plus.google.com/104589609500466060030/posts
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/annabayes
Twitter (@anna_bayes) http://www.twitter.com/anna_bayes

Eggcerpt Exchange, guest blogger

Happy Birthday, Baby! (by Tory Richards)

Leave a comment

HappyBirthdayBaby_600x800

 

Tory Richards is a further author from the Eggcerpt Exchange to be featured here. She describes herself as a grandma who likes to write smut. Why smut, Tory? Cos you’re American? Cos over there you hide your booze in a brown paper bag though it might as well be see-through?! I don’t get this false sense of modesty. A woman in her fifties’ll need a good (searching for a euphemism… what the hell, tell it like it is) a good f***, like anyone younger (or older!), even if they, some of them, will have to pay for it. It’s not smut. Stop listening to the wrong people! Sex is as necessary as all the other bodily functions we’re too prudish to mention, only this one’s far more enjoyable. And how you do it or write about it’ll tell me a whole lot about who you are, Tory…

No harm meant. None taken? Good. I know you don’t really think it’s smut. I’m just being a provocateur. You know that. So are you:
‘What better way to spend your fiftieth birthday than with the hot male stripper you’ve been coveting for months!’

 

I took a breath and decided to plunge ahead. What did it matter if he knew how I felt now? After all, I was going home with him. “I stayed in the shadows so I could watch you without my friends commenting about it. Satisfied?”

“You’ll know when I’m satisfied.” He glanced over at me. “So, you were watching me, too. Maybe if you’d given me a hint or two that you were interested I would have made a move sooner.”

All of a sudden, his warm hand was on my knee. Even that light touch excited me and had my senses swimming. For a stripper his palm wasn’t as soft as I expected it to be. The roughness and calluses revealed he might do something else for a living besides dancing. Only now, I didn’t care because his hand was slowly gliding under my skirt and continuing up my thigh.
Well, I’m sure you haven’t been lonely.” I swallowed with difficulty. If what I said angered him, he didn’t show it. His hand was within an inch of going as far as it could, and I was about to have heart failure.

“Maybe not, but you’re the one I want now. Since the first time I laid eyes on you I’ve wondered what it would be like sinking my cock inside you.” His finger flicked over my pussy and it was all I could do not to jump off the seat. “Jesus, you’re soaked.”

Oh, God! His finger flicking back and forth over my pussy felt so good! I found myself straining toward it, lifting my hips off the seat just a little. He made a right hand turn down a residential street, passing a sign that said it was a dead end. I wished I didn’t have on any underwear; I wanted to feel his finger inside my pussy, and against my clit. My breathing picked up with excitement, and I didn’t even try to disguise it.

Joe made another turn, and the car came to a hard stop. Then he switched off the ignition and everything went dark. I closed my eyes, working my hips against his intimate caress as I felt the pleasure build inside my body. I began to tremble, reaching for something that remained just out of my grasp.

“Joe–” I could hear the frustration in my tone. I wanted to tell him something, yet I couldn’t find the words.

“Tell me what you want, Lana.” His voice was low and a little raspy.

I heard a noise and realized he’d released his seat belt. Then he moved across my body and I felt my seat belt give. As he started to go back to his side, he paused and kissed me, at the same time his finger nudged aside my thong and sank deeply inside my pussy. My body arched with pleasure, and our kiss turned wild. Moans filled the inside of the car, the sounds urging us into a more intimate moment. And then, oh God, he found my clit.

Having been aroused to the point of almost coming more than once this evening, dreaming about Joe for months and wondering what sex would be like with him, it all added up to one colossal orgasm. A couple pinches, a few hard flicks, and I was coming like the geyser at Yosemite. Our mouths locked together, preventing me from expressing my intense pleasure. My first orgasm at the age of fifty seemed to last forever.

I was helpless to do anything but ride it out and wait for the convulsions to die down. More than once Joe’s fingers brushed against my clit, making me jerk wildly. I felt his smile before he removed his mouth from mine. Finally, I was able to take a deep breath, and I leaned my head back against the seat, exhausted. I don’t know how much time went by before he slipped his finger away.

“Would you like to go inside and finish this?”

 

Happy Birthday Baby is available at Liquid Silver Books: http://www.lsbooks.com/search_results.php

For more of/about Tory, check out her website: http://www.toryrichards.com/

find her also on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ToryRichards

and Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authortoryrichards

 

I’m not through.

1. Tory, why did you decide to have a 50-year-old protagonist? Is that a critical  age in the sex life of a woman?

I actually wrote the 50-year-old heroine for one of my publishers as they’d requested a new theme where the heroines were fifty and older.

2. What kind of a 50-year-old were you? What were your routines, concerns, ideas about your future etc?

I was still working for Disney at 50, and taking care of my ailing hubby. Also, that was the age when my first book was published. My life was so wrapped up with my hubby that I don’t think I gave the future any thought. I was living day to day most of the time.

3. Have you ever or would you ever go to a brothel?

No.

4. What do you think about the sex industry in general?

I think I’m a little old-fashioned. Even though I write erotic romance you’ll notice it’s always between one man and one woman. For me sex has to involve emotions and a strong connection. Even in the short stories I write I try to weave some kind of commitment that explains why they’re having sex. Not to say I might venture out of my comfort zone some day because writers evolve.

5. Do you think American women are less daring than, say, their French counterpart?

Probably. It seems we’re always a little behind with what’s acceptable to the public.

6. What’s the hottest book you’ve read so far?

Can’t really answer that but one of my favorite authors is Lisa Bradley. She knows how to write a steamy erotic romance!

7. How do your friends and family feel about the fact that you’re a ‘grandma who likes to read and write smut’?

Supportive, but they don’t read my work. After the first two contemporary romances I wrote I switched to erotica, and it was just too explicit for them. I never get reviews from my family or friends, either.

8. Is there anything you found particularly hard (no pun intended!) about writing erotica?

Definitely! The first time I had to write cock and fuck I must have erased them several times before I finally left them. I’d always considered them strictly bedroom words. But in the end they’re just words.

9. Last question: why do you think erotic fiction is so popular today?

Because it’s exciting, and crosses the boundaries by using the real words and explicit scenes between the characters. No flowery words that imply body parts. And the doors are open. Also, because these stories have plots, unlike porn.