Sadie just went out for coffee, but thanks to Frank, a guy with an eye for hot shoes, she stumbles onto the beauty and sexy power of her own two feet.
Many people read erotica to experience scenarios that fulfill either a curiosity, fetish, or secret desire for a particular type of sex. I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately, and I’ve discovered that I get more out of erotic writing than surface pleasure. Yes, a hot sex scene is all well and good, but what really captures my attention is how the scene is rendered. What’s the context of the scene? What’s the wording like? How credible is the action? Am I getting anything else out of it other than visualizing people having sex? Call me crazy, but I want some mental and emotional stimulation with my wet panties! So with this in mind, I’ve been writing short scenes to work on evoking a more “holistic” erotic response from readers.
It’s been a challenge, but the other day that I let a friend of mine read one of my scenes, her response was, “Man, after reading that, I wanna go spank someone!” Yes, I thought, mission accomplished.
I grew up on Harlequin romance books and as a curious, dreamy eyed teen dying to experience love for the first time, I looked to the 190 pages of these in Alpha male filled novellas to try and gain some insight into men, romance, sex and love. I actually have a copy of the first story I ever read. It’s The Tears of Venus by Rebecca Stratton. The leading man is Guido Alessio and the setting is in the Tuscan hills of Italy. (It doesn’t get much more Alpha than that!) At the age of 12, I fell in love with Alpha males thanks to this book. I fantasized about having a boyfriend (when I was older) just like Guido, who had the features “of a Roman conqueror…[whose clothes were] “expertly tailored to a long lean body…[and] was long-legged and muscular and walked with the pantherish grace of a big cat” (21). I read a lot of books and they were all the same. They all had the same type of man in them, and I did, indeed, meet a man who turned out to be the Alpha male I had always dreamed of.
Fast forward many years, two kids, two divorces and several relationships later. As a writer, I’m supposed to “write what I know,”but I’ve found that I’ve lost my taste for Alpha males. It’s what I know, but it’s no longer what intrigues me. Today, I find Beta males more my style, not because they’re perceived as weak or lesser in some way than Alpha males, but simply because there’s not a lot written about them and they have great stories to be told. Oh they exist in Femdom erotica, and I’ve dabbled in that, but I want to explore them on another level. In the same way that Alpha males awaken virgins to their sexuality in so many romance novels, I want to awaken Beta males to their sexuality and give them the opportunity to indulge in the fetishes and fantasies that they may (or may not) imagine and are hesitant to fulfill or even oblivious to.
My leading lady, unlike Helen Purvis in The Tears of Venus, doesn’t quiver when a man’s hand brushes against hers, nor does she note that her personal space is being invaded as a dominant female might. She’s more curious, empathetic, teasing and of a mind to “fix” situations she sees as needing attention. She’s a teacher, a sort of therapist if you will, a Gamma female, who embraces the shyness, uncertainty and lack of self confidence characteristic of a Beta male, and shows him what it is to let go and experience life. She’s an open minded, happy non-conformist.
I like the idea of combining these two types of characters in erotica because there is a level of connection that goes beyond sex or a relationship. Teaching and learning are involved, growing and understanding are present and freedom, fun and adventure are explored. There are still plenty of hot scenes to be had, but there’s also a subtle reaching out to readers, inviting them to experience aspects of themselves in the characters.
I’m currently working on a lighthearted erotic story about a very tactile man who’s never really had the opportunity to get his hands on anyone but himself. I feel for the guy (pun intended!), and much to his surprise, so does my female character.
Stratton, Rebecca. The Tears of Venus. Harlequin Books, June 1980. Print.
I know that this book has been talked about to death by writers, and we all know it’s bad on many levels, but as I’m sure everyone knows, the second movie based on the book Fifty Shades Darker will be released on Valentine’s Day. With this in mind, and probably because I’m kinda bored, I decided that I needed to check out the 2nd book if I planned to have my say about the movie in February (and I have to have my say because it chaps my ass that this writer put out such atrocious writing and made millions AND got a fuckin’ movie deal). This thing has been like a car accident to me. I don’t really want to see all the mangled mess, but I can’t help rubber-necking and staring with fascinated horror. I BARELY got through the first book. I kept waiting–nay hoping– for it to improve, but that never happened.
I thought I’d take a different approach with book 2. I found it at the library on CD, so I checked it out to listen to in my car on the 40 minute drive to work. Oy vey! Let me tell you, this book isn’t any easier to stomach on audio. In fact, all of the bad writing grates on my ears and makes me bite my lip to keep myself from vomiting while I drive. Scene after scene of cliche-worded sex that makes these two characters seem like lovesick muskrats and then afterward constant doubt between them about whether or not the other “really” loves him/her. NOBODY is that insecure. It’s way overdone on both of their parts and Christian has turned from powerful Dom to falling-all-over-himself, desperate control freak. It’s really pathetic and makes me want to run into the nearest metal post.
What I wonder is, how are they going to translate all of this crap onto the screen? The sub story (pun unavoidable) of the crazy ex sub has got to be stronger in the movie, if this story is going to fly. I really hope the director took some creative license. Oh, and the kink? Reduced to spankings and boinking on the piano–bfd! So if there’s major BDSM in the movie, it’s been added in and is not part of the original book. I still have about 4 more CDs to listen to, so maybe the kink comes at the end.
I think what disappoints me the most is that the premise of the story had such potential and James sold out and made it a bad-boy-turned-good, sappy romance with a HEA. This is so out of character for Christian that it’s impossible for me to suspend my belief to such an extent. I don’t want to feel sorry for this guy; I want him to get his way and see him introduce prissy little Anna to a lifestyle of pleasure and pain and a profound love and respect that she never dreamed she’d love and want to be a part of. That’s how the story SHOULD have gone.
While my twin self was in school, she decided to pull my stories off of Amazon. She said something about not wanting to mix academia with sex. I wasn’t too happy about this because, in my opinion, there was no conflict of interest, but she didn’t see it that way. So, to make her happy, I let her pull my work from public view.
The other day, I was looking at the erotica blogs here on WordPress and I ended up downloading a freebie story that caught my eye after reading the sample on Amazon. It was then I remembered that my stuff was still packed away. I pulled up my story folder from my flash drive and started going through my writings. I liked what I had written, but realized that I needed to write longer pieces for the readers on Amazon. Ten pages or so is pretty short. I also decided that some editing and revising was in order. I let my twin know that I planned to get myself back on Amazon. She grimaced. She confessed that she’d hoped the erotica was just a phase. “Well,” I said, “it’s not.” Reluctantly, she agreed to put her hoidy toidy degree at my disposal and help me edit, revise and publish. We put the first book I ever wrote back on Kindle. She tried hard to convince me to change the POV from 2nd person to 3rd, but I said no. She also tried to get me to expand the story, but I felt I’d captured everything I wanted to in the pages I’d written. She shook her head and said, “It’s your bus,” which is code for do whatever you want.
So, Train Ride- His After Work Fantasy is out now. I did change the title to get the word “erotic” out (but currently it still shows the old title). Anything to avoid the dreaded Adult list. I’m glad I put it back out; and although my twin says what I’ve written is nothing more than a”stroke” story, all I can do is smile. She’s just jealous!
Worked on this little piece today while at champagne brunch. Enjoy the excerpt.
With the Windsor noose slack around his neck, Dan chugs half a Heineken before plopping his tired ass onto a bar stool. A sigh, as if to let out the tension of being a damn good accountant, escapes him as he leans over his drink. He’s ready for a little R & R which in his mind translates to some T & A. Since his divorce three years ago, He’s done nothing but work, and he can’t remember the last time he got laid. He’s considered dating, but that’s just one more elaborate headache he’d be adding to his life. It’s easier to drink, fantasize and get a lap dance when he wants to get his rocks off.
As he sits in the club waiting for the show to begin, he takes a long draw of his beer and scans the room. Strip clubs are all the same. They’re dim and smoky with small tables scattered about, and a stage with pole, or two (or three!) dominates the room. A mammoth bouncer sits next to the VIP area, the bartender hustles to get drinks served, and some type of rhythmic music plays. No matter how upscale the joint is, it smells of cigarettes, alcohol and ass—sweaty ass. The Den is no different. Dan doesn’t care, that’s what he’s there for, and so is everyone else. He lights a cigarette and rakes his hand impatiently through his sandy blonde hair. There’s a commotion on stage followed by a sudden burst of that light shines on a microphone as the emcee appears to announce the first dancer. Sasha, a busty brunette in a purple satin bra with a garter belt and G string to match, takes the stage and starts swinging and grinding against the shiny gold pole. A crowd of men gather at the foot of the stage to pay homage with a wad of bills in hand.
Dan watches, but he just isn’t that into her. His thoughts are on seeing the new girl, Rosa. A poker buddy of his, Phil, said during their game earlier in the week that she was “just what he needed.” For days, that comment had bugged him. What did he mean by that?” How the hell does he know? Dan guzzles down the last of his beer and moves to a table to the right of the stage. He wants to see this Rosa chick up close and personal and find out what Phil is talking about.
Sasha is bouncing her big, bare tits up on stage and really workin’ it now. She rocks her body in time to the music and dry humps the pole. Several dollars float on stage in appreciation. She wedges the pole between her massive mounds and slides downward biting her lip seductively. The guys go wild. During the final moments of her number, Sasha spins one last time on the pole and hangs upside down in a grand finale move. Her ass is in the air with the G-string lost in her crack and her boobs look even bigger inverted and so close to her face. Applause erupts within the club and several loud, shrill whistles echo through the room. Sasha collects her profits from the floor, and with a smile, she gives her fans a final shimmy of gratitude before leaving the stage.
The announcer ushers her to the side and then steps back into the spotlight to introduce the next girl. “And now please put your hands together for the luscious, flower with power, Rrrrrrrrrosa!”
(to be continued)
This is more of a snapshot scene than a complete story, and it’s been revised since I first wrote it. It’s an experimentation in 2nd person POV which not very many authors tend to use. I enjoy 2nd person because it draws the reader directly into the story. Granted, this “you” is meant to be male, but I think female readers can put themselves in the “I” character and still feel engaged in what’s going on, or imagine the sub’s place and just substitute the genitalia. At any rate, here it is…
Your outstretched body is taut with nervous anticipation, and I begin by taking stock of what’s before me, eyeing the sight with disdain. You are naked and splayed between the two white Romanesque columns that are built into my own personal Chamber of Secrets. That reminds me, I need to send a bottle of wine to my decorator and thank her for making these pillars a reality. The chain bindings that subdue your arms and legs jingle at the slightest movement you make and it makes me think of Christmas. I smile.
The handle of my favorite flogger is nestled in the palm of my hand, and as I walk around you, I drag it across your naked body. The leather fingers caress you, tickle you–for now.
“Why are you here, sub?” I demand as I stop to face you.
“I require discipline, Domina.” Your voice is quiet, even.
“Domina hates the word sorry.”
“Incorrect! I love words- all words. I hate the false comfort embedded in the word sorry. How many times have you said sorry to me this week?”
“At least three, Domina—that I can remember.”
“And what did I tell you?”
“You said I must own up to my short comings and not use sorry as an excuse to make myself feel better.”
“And yet just a while ago you said the fucking thing, didn’t you?” I flick my wrist and the strands of the flogger land as a light threat against the back of your thigh. “It seems that you don’t take instruction to heart, sub. Do you enjoy pissing me off?”
“Do you wish to be disciplined?”
“Yes, Domina. I need to learn from you.”
“And so you will. Tell me now that you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry Mistress.” The chains jingle as your hands move in an effort to brace yourself for what you know is coming. Christmas my mind interjects with sing-song cheer. I flick my wrist forward and the flanges of the flogger open and clap against the breadth of your back. The sound of the leather on your flesh gives me goose bumps. You don’t cry out, but your body flinches slightly.
“This is the last day you will say you’re sorry to me, sub. Now say it! Get it out of your system once and for all.”
“I’m sorry Domina. So sorry, really sorry,” you say bravely. As the words echo in my ears, my arm swings forward and delivers a swift figure eight lash to your back. And then another. And then another. And a fourth. The penetrating sting takes the wind out of you—it makes my pulse race.
“You’re sorry all right! This is sorry!” The flogger lands with targeted precision across the expanse of your back—leaving wicked marks for your intolerable behavior. I shift the blows to sweep across your bare ass, and this time you yelp like a dog. The chains rustle loudly as though the ghost of Marley himself were shaking you, and their harsh jingle spurs me on to continue issuing stroke after stroke to your sorry ass. The lashes etch your skin and raise rosy red welts of disobedience. Your body is damp with sweat and your hands are balled into fists showing me your strength and will to feel and endure. I circle to the front of you and see that your cock is stiff. I shake the fingers of the flogger and let them skim over your erection.
“Are you enjoying your lesson, sub?”
“Is this what sorry does to you?” I say as I flick the head of your swollen dick with my index finger. “Shall I see for myself?” I wrap my fingers around the shaft of your cock and begin to tug lightly. It lurches to life in my palm and unashamedly begs for more. I stroke you and teasingly whisper, “I’m sorry, oh so sorry…terribly sorry.”
The stroking is getting faster and faster, and my I’m sorrys get louder and harsher.
“I’m sorry, sub. Look how sorry I am. Sorry, sorry, sorry!” My fist slides roughly up and down your dick—pounding it, making it throb, making it ache, making the sorry thing want to explode. You groan and your head rolls back. You tighten your groin muscles, and in seconds I know you can feel the cum rising from your balls. You’re ready; with each stroke of my hand, I can tell. You’re not going to be able to hold back much longer.
“It’s coming, isn’t it?” I coo. “I can feel your cock throbbing in my palm, wanting to shoot that hot load that’s rising from your heavy balls.”
“Y-yes, Domina.” You groan trying hard maintain your restraint, but your hips tense and your face contorts wanting desperately to surrender to the pleasure. It gives me such a rush.
I can’t resist just a few more strokes. Suddenly, your entire body stiffens. “Oh no you don’t!” I squeeze the base of your shaft then take my hand away. Your cock bobs in unfulfilled agony. “S-o-o-o-r-r-y.” I say with feigned sadness and a pout on my lips.
“No-ho” you groan.
I laugh as you writhe and pant in sexual frustration. “Now do you understand, sub? Sorry can be painful. It is not a comfort. It is not a cure-all. It is meaningless and unacceptable.”
“I understand, Domina,” you say as you exhale. Your rock hard dick, now glistening with pre-cum, begins to slowly soften after the edging I’ve given you.
“I’m a sorry sub. Sorry. So very sorry,” you say with disgust.
I cock an eyebrow warily upon hearing your implied request for further instruction, but I take my place behind you once again and give your back a lash for each time you’ve spoken the contemptuous word. The leather straps lap viciously and paint a vivid blotch of red against the canvas of your back. I aim the leather fingers once more at your glowing target and connect. You cry out and your body bows inward. Your threshold for pain is high, but the skin on your back is dangerously close to breaking. I circle your body which is now hanging limp against the chains. Tears streak your face. I run the flogger across your torso gently letting it wrap around you in a mocking hug as I relish seeing you sweaty and half-smiling with exhaustion. You’ve had enough.
I toss the flogger aside and stride over to a nearby table to retrieve a large, damp, cool towel. Heat exudes from your back, and as I drape the bath sheet across you, you gasp at the feel of coldness against your burning skin.
“Thank you Domina,” you sigh in relief and then whisper, “Please forgive me.”
My heart skips a beat as I feel the genuine sentiment of your words—so much better than a fucking I’m sorry.
“You did well,” I say as I unchain you from the pillars and walk you to a soft, waiting bed.
You sit on the edge, and I hand you a large bottle of water to soothe your parched throat.
“Time to rest.” I pat you on the head and kiss your cheek.”You have pleased me, sub.”
“Thank you, Mistress, for the lesson.”