Friday, May 27, 2016

You're Into WHAT?! - Trying to Explain the Inexplicable

This is a piece I wrote for My Crazy Bookish Life; I hope you enjoy:

So, if you take one look at Show Me, Sir, from cover to content, it’s not hard to guess that I write kinky erotica. I write it primarily for people who are into kink. Who, from the moment they pick up the story, already find that kind of thing hot.

But, in my heart of hearts, I like the idea that, even if the kink I write about isn’t your thing, you can still read the story and find it sexy. Or at least can better understand why someone else does.

It was my biggest concern and most difficult obstacle when I began writing for a wider audience than BDSM forums and websites. When I first began thinking about publishing, I gave my stories to vanilla friends, just to see what they thought. So I could have a better idea of how a readership outside my intention might react.

And, while many of them enjoyed my writing and the basic plot and romance of my stories, the kink was still, to use a kinky phrase, squicky. Was something they couldn’t really relate to and still felt more comfortable skimming over, since it clearly wasn’t written for them.

Which, I suppose, it wasn’t.

But could it?

I saw it as a personal challenge to be able to write an undeniable, unashamed, untempered kink story
that even a vanilla person could enjoy.

The question was how.

How do you describe how sexy and hot something is when, for you, it just is. When the very thing that makes it arousing for you is the exact thing that makes it unappealing to them?

Think about that for a second. Think about explaining kissing or sex to someone who finds the idea of the exchange of bodily fluids, from spit to sweat to…well, stuff, or the mashing together of body parts weird and off-putting. How would you explain the experience to them? What would you tell them when they asked you why anyone would do this?

Show Me, Sir is all about this idea. How to talk about kink to someone not inclined to like it. How did I take Max, a woman with all these preconceived notions about kink and what she thought it was, and break all that down and show her what kink can be?

I thought back to when I first came out as kinky. What were the things I told friends and loved ones, when they couldn’t quite understand? What did I say, when they were shocked and confused and curious about this side of me and my life? How did I explain the inexplicable to them?

Sometimes it helps to break things down. To take a close study and really analyze things. Show Me, Sir talks a lot about the philosophy of kink. The psychology and science behind it. There are several points in the story when my characters take a very intellectual examination of this lifestyle. Where I get to share much of the research and introspection that has had an impact on my own life and identity.

But that can only take you so far in an erotic story, right? It’s all well and good to lay out a more cerebral, contextual groundwork but, unless you’re a sapiosexual, ain’t nobody getting sexy to that.

So, in the same way it’s hard to make making out sound sexy by focusing on the basic physical act or the cultural significance of swapping of spit, I had to rethink how I described BDSM. It wasn’t enough to just say that Max was being spanked or restrained. It’s not even enough to just say that she’s enjoying it. If I wanted to really show her enjoying kink, and not just tell, I needed to delve deep and describe how and why that was arousing. I needed to really think about what each activity felt like. What happens to my characters’ bodies—the heat and flush of their skin, the speed and strength of their heart rates, the heightening and play of their nerves—when they get spanked or flogged. What happens in their heads—the flood and rush of their brain chemicals and the electric firing of their synapses—when they tie someone up. I needed to be able to put my readers inside my characters’ minds and bodies. I needed to make them feel it. 

I don’t know if I’ve succeeded in my goal; I suppose, as we kinksters are fond of saying, IMMV—Individual Mileage May Vary. But, even if my kink isn’t their kink, I hope anyone who reads Show Me, Sir can at least have a better picture of what life and love as a kinkster can be.

You Want to Play? Let's Go. - Part Two

Co-Op Mode: 
Short Story – 
Part Two
Read Part One Here
She giggled nervously, sure she knew where this was headed.

Play the game, Max.

So I can play you.

She smiled. Okay, Sir. She flexed her fingers over the keys. Let’s play.

She looked up at the screen. She’d just stolen a shipment of weapons from a rival band of pirates; she ought to go back to town and sell them. She was just heading out when she felt his hands caress her waist. She shivered as his thumbs brushed the sensitive swell of her breasts. She swallowed hard.

“You’re not playing.” He sounded so smug.

She coughed and moved her mouse around aimlessly, trying to ignore the way her heart fluttered when his hands cupped her breasts. “Just, uh, trying to decide who’d offer the best price in town.”

He squeezed her breasts. “Of course. By all means,” he said as he flicked her nipples with his fingertips, “decide.”

The tavern owner always needed weapons, to protect his business and to funnel to some allied rebels. He was a good choice.

She blinked blankly as her blood began to heat. She swallowed and frowned. Now where was the tavern again?

She clenched her teeth against a moan, when he began to massage her breasts, and moved her character toward the tavern. She was just about done being cheated by the tavern owner—due to her own…negligence—when his hands began to slip south.

He touched her inner thighs, the stroke making her toes curl. “So what’s next?”

She looked at her loot level, which was lower than it should be. Head in the game, Wells. Head in the game.

Which was easier said than done, when she felt his fingers dip between the folds of her sex.

“This doesn’t really seem fair,” she said, her voice breathy. Her eyes closed at his teasing touch to her clit. His swift, sweet circles were too soft and slow to make her come, but enough to turn her on. “It’s, uh, not easy to concentrate like this.”

“Shh.” She could hear the smile in his voice. He slipped his fingers inside her, her slick arousal welcoming his touch. “This is between me and your lower half. The rest of you can do whatever you want.” He slid out of her, only to add another finger, stretching her further. She gasped and her head fell back to rest against the hard plane of his chest. “Go on, space pirate, loot the galaxy.”

She shook her head, the crown of her head brushing his skin. “This is cheating!” She groaned when he slipped his fingers from her, instantly wanting them back.

He lifted a shoulder and moved out from behind her. On his hands and knees, he looked at her with a grin. “Think if it more like trying to level up.”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. Sure. Hard mode through sensual torture.

He crawled closer, settling between her thighs. “Think I’m kidding?”

Max only laughed harder.

Right up until he pinched her inner thigh. Max squealed and jumped, her legs instinctively pulling away from him.

He just tugged her ankles back into position, before tapping the keyboard now gripped tight in her hands. “You’re not giving up on the game, are you?”

Max fought the urge to both grin and smack him with the keyboard. Hell no, was she giving up. “Just deciding on tactics.” She just needed to regroup. She sat up and shooed him to the head of the bed, so she could lay on her stomach, facing the screen.

Resting up on her elbows, she nodded. Yes, that was better. It gave her maximum game-play maneuverability while also giving him plenty of space to play.

He smirked back at her and smoothed his hand over her thighs and ass, clearly approving. “Good.”


All right, Max, let’s play. He grinned before smacking her ass as he watched a rival pirate attack Max’s avatar.

“Shit.” She wriggled in his hands and furiously button-mashed, lacking her usual finesse and strategy.

Grinning, he nipped and licked and sucked his way up her calf. He chuckled as he heard the game’s grunts and groans and the simulated smack of flesh on flesh. “How about a deal?”

“Kinda busy.” She grunted along with her avatar, her gaze locked on the screen.

“Think of it as a kind of,” he said, smiling, “incentive. If you don’t win this fight, I get to take off your panties.”

“And when I win?”

“You get to keep them?”

She scoffed. “How about you give up your pants?”

“Deal.” Either way, it was a win for him. But he didn’t plan to give up anything.

She grinned as she landed a particularly good punch. “Deal.”

He grabbed her ankle and began to nibble at the sensitive skin. She squealed, letting her avatar get thrown to the side. “Damn.”

He grinned and began to make his way up her leg. She squirmed as his lips and teeth tickled her knee. He let out a chuckle at the way her avatar stood blank and unguarded against her opponent, while he pressed lingering, wet kisses up her thigh.

Her breath hitched, bringing her back to the task at hand. Grumbling, she jabbed at the keys harder. She stiffened, determination clear in every tense line of her soft body. He felt the muscles in her thigh tighten in his hands as she smacked down the enemy in relentless moves.

He frowned as he watched the pirate’s health decrease. She was going to win if he didn’t do something. 

With a huff, he trailed his tongue up her inner thigh and along the vee of her legs. Her toes curled and a small, frustratedly aroused sound escaped her lips. He could smell her arousal, warm and womanly, as it built under his attentions. Her legs parted limply, welcoming him—urging him on. 

“Fuck.” She growled again, before buckling down to play again, determined to ignore him.

He almost laughed—Max hated to lose just as much as he did.. But instead he bit her. Hard. The sweet flesh of her thigh soft and giving between his teeth.

She yelped. Her keyboard tumbling off the bed to the floor in a crash.

“Ow.” She laughingly kicked out, pushing him away with her foot. “That’s going to leave a bruise, you jerk.”

His smile widened at the idea of her wearing his mark. It wouldn’t be the first time. He loved it when she did. Loved to think about it. About her feeling it every time her thighs brushed as she walked. When she sat. When she cross and uncrossed those shapely legs.

He couldn’t help but laugh when she tossed her sleep shirt in his face.

He grabbed her shirt. A jerk, huh? “Tsk, tsk.” He shook his head. “Looks like you just lost, space pirate.” He stretched and twisted the cotton in his hands. “My turn to collect.”

“Look again,” she said, nodding to the screen smugly. “Sir.”

He looked up at her character, who was looting the now knocked-out rival’s pockets.

He couldn’t believe it.

She’d won.

“Biggest badass this side of the galaxy, baby.” She wiggled her butt triumphantly. Enticingly. He stared at that lush, round behind shake. “So where’s my reward, huh?” She held out her hand. “Pants, please. Now.”

He sighed. A deal was a deal.

But that still left a lot of wiggle room. He grinned before grabbing her hands and pulling them behind her back. He cinched the shirt around her wrists at the small of her back in a messy knot that likely wouldn’t hold up to much struggle, but he liked the image of that shirt binding her.

“Uh, sir,” she pointed out, raising an indulgent eyebrow, “this isn’t what we agreed on.”

He grabbed a pillow and lifted her hips so he could slide it beneath them. Damn, her ass was round and full and thrust up just for him. He leaned down and nipped at one sweet cheek, the cream-colored curve of it revealed by those sea-green panties. Beautiful. Just beautiful.

He shrugged, touching the foam-colored fabric. “You’re still wearing your panties.” He pushed the bit of lace aside, baring her wet sex to his gaze. God, she smelled fantastic. Fragrant heat wafted from her, making him feel crazed. He leaned over to dig into the bedside drawer for a condom before he tore at his pants and freed his cock. “And my pants,” he said as he stepped out of them and tossed them on the bed next to her, “as requested.”

She just laughed until he slipped on the latex and slid deep inside her, making her moan as her wet pussy hugged him tight.

On a groan, he fisted the knotted shirt, holding her wrists still as he thrust within her. He felt her push back against him, her ass bumping and bouncing against his hips. He stared at their bodies, joined in a hot, slick, frantic dance. Fuck. It was so hot.

Her breaths came out in short, fast pants as pleasure pushed her toward orgasm. He felt her body squeeze him tighter, pull him deeper. He gripped her hip and began to thrust harder, the sound and feel of her arousal feeding and fueling his own.

She threw her head back on a gasp as her body tensed, her orgasm overtaking her. He felt her pussy clench his dick in a silken pulse. Groaning, he ground his hips against hers, loving the snug heat of her body, as his own climax hit him, plunging him into pleasure as he poured himself inside her.

For a moment, they lay there locked together on the bed, neither quite willing to give up the feel of the other. Until, in a sweat-soaked slump, he collapsed onto the mattress next to her.

Still breathing hard, she rolled onto her side. She wiggled her wrists free from her makeshift, cottony restraint. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him before smiling at him cheekily. “If that’s your idea of losing, Sir,” she told him, “I can’t wait to play again.”

He chuckled and held her tighter, feeling her fit him in every possible way. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, grateful to have found someone like her.


Please check out my novel The Taming School from Sizzler Editions that explores discovering kink!
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You Want to Play? Let's Go. - Part One

Plunder Novella  
Co-Op Mode:   
Part Two
Companion Story to
Solo Mission

Hayato felt better than he had in weeks. Even before the move, he’d felt like their stress-levels—both his and Max’s—had been too high. It was hard to feel sexual when you were too annoyed with the world to deal with anything. Hell, it was hard to feel friendly at that point.

No wonder Max had retreated into her game. It was an escape. From the move. From the world.

And, yeah, sure, from him. From all the expectations and the questions. Where should we put the couch? Do you want to buy a softer or firmer bed? Do you want to keep your coffeemaker or mine? Can we fit all our things in one closet or should someone take the downstairs one? Did you go grocery shopping or should I? There were a million little, mundane decisions that used to be easier and more routine when they lived apart that now needed to be discussed and adjusted for now that they were sharing a space and a life. It was just a lot at times.

But, after last night, he felt like they’d connected again. Like they’d gotten back a bit of the spark and fire they’d lost somewhere in the mess of the mundane. God, even now, the memory of her hands on her needy, supple form made his body heat and harden. With that old, profanely ratty college t-shirt no longer hiding her from his gaze, her pale, cream body had been a wonder, all swelling curves and silken skin. She’d been a sumptuous visual feast—the fullness of her breasts, the softness of her belly, the wide sweep of her hips, and her cotton-covered heat—that he would never get enough of. Just the sight of her at the height of her pleasure, of her delicious fall into ecstasy, was satisfying in a way he’d never experienced with anyone but her. Last night, as she lay in his arms replete and relaxed, he felt his world right itself again.

And, instead of waking up to either an exhausted, still asleep Max or, worse, an empty bed, he’d woken up to Max’s hand on his chest, slipping south. They’d made love once in bed and had to stop themselves from doing so again on the kitchen table before they made themselves even more late than they already were.

Already, he felt sharper, more on his game, more ready to take on the world, than he had in too long. He couldn’t wait until he got back home.

Maybe he’d forget that he owed her another half hour of game time.

Hopefully, she’d forget the game entirely.

She’d sent him a slightly racy message at noon. A photo of her sitting in panties and nothing else on their bed. Apparently, she’d taken the day off to set up some kind of special, sexy surprise.

He gripped the steering wheel of his car and pulled into their driveway. He couldn’t wait. Once inside, he stripped off his suit coat and tie and rushed upstairs.

An expectant smile spread across his face as he approached their bedroom. God, this was going to be good.

He stood in the doorway and looked in to find Max on their bed. Her beautiful, lush body was covered in nothing but pretty lace and satin panties, like sea foam sinful on her skin.

Playing Plunder.

His eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed.

What the hell was this?

He watched her—body tensed and hunched—as she furiously typed. Her attention was fixed on the screen and she bit her lip in concentration.

With one last tap of her keyboard, her whole body relaxed. She let out a victorious whoop before turning to him. “Well,” she said, gesturing around her, “what do you think?”

This was her surprise?

She’d dragged the TV from the den and apparently hooked it up to connect to her computer downstairs. All so she could play Plunder in bed.

This was her surprise?

He stared at her smug smile. “Looks like I won’t be missing any curfew now, huh?”

He balked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”


Max leaned back in surprise.

He was mad.

That much was obvious. From the flaring of his nostrils. To the tightening of his fists. To the fire burning in the blue of his eyes. To the slash of color across his chiseled cheeks. Yeah, he was pissed.

The question was why?

Confused, she set aside her keyboard. It was a perfect solution. “This way I can play as long and late as I like and still make it to bed on-time.” She smiled wickedly. “And, when I’m done and all flush with victory, we could have a little fun of our own.” She’d wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it earlier. She could just imagine it. She could work or play on her computer, while he worked on his papers. Then, when they were both tired, they could fall asleep together, just like he wanted. He’d see; it was a perfect compromise.

He shut his eyes. Pressed his thumb and forefinger against the lids. “So you thought you’d lug all this up here, hook it all up, for my benefit?” He scoffed and rubbed his eyes. “This was all for me?” His head dropped back and he groaned. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Max sat up straight, not liking the insulting tone in his voice. “What the hell does that mean?”

He dropped his arm dramatically. He narrowed his gaze at her incredulously. “Last night, we finally connected sexually again after weeks of distance because you’ve been so busy playing that game.” He began to pace. “And now, in response to that—after teasing me with the promise of a sexy surprise—you decided to bring the game into the bedroom.” He turned to her again. “And you say you did this for me?”

Well, when he put it like that...

Frowning, she turned and grabbed her shirt from the edge of the nightstand. She took a deep, stalling breath and tugged it over her head.

She turned back when she heard a disapproving sound. He was right behind her, looking—if possible—even angrier. “Why the hell did you put that on?” he asked, plucking at the sleeve of her t-shirt in disgust.

She looked down at herself. Her sleep shirt? He made it sound like she were wearing something offensive, repugnant. What was wrong with him? She pushed passed him, confused and, frankly, irritated by his attitude. She didn’t understand him. Why was this such a big deal? Why was he being so irrational about all this? “Because I’m not going to argue with you topless?”

He followed her, keeping annoyingly close. “Why not?”

She stopped, and shoved him back. Not hard, but enough to get some damned breathing room. “Because it’s ridiculous!” This whole thing was. This fight. His reaction. She needed some time and space to think about this. Because none of this made any sense.

“But dragging all this upstairs isn’t?” He waved around, gesturing to everything, his long golden hair flicking about his shoulders. “I thought we’d agreed the bedroom was just for us. No TV. No computers. No devices.”

She vaguely remembered that conversation. She’d thought it was odd then. Still did. “Why does it matter so much?” It was just a TV. Just a video game.

“Tell me, Max, while you’re playing your game until the middle of the night, exactly what am I supposed to do? I can’t exactly sleep with all this around.” He nodded. “Oh, but, of course, I won’t be sleeping, because I’ll be waiting for you to finish your game, so you can finally find time to spend with me. That’s right.” 

He shook his head. “This room—this bed—is supposed to be for us,” he repeated. “Us. It’s why we agreed, no other partners here, no working in here, no distractions.” He threw his hands up in obvious frustration. “But, now, it’s about you and your game.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, the striped bedspread laid out between them. “Where do I fit in?”

Max paused. He sat on her side of the bed. Her keyboard lay on the other. An unintentionally symbolic visual.


It’d seemed like such a good idea at the time.

And, to her, it still did.

But, for him...

He’d wanted to spend more time with her. And her solution was making sure she could squeeze every last second of gameplay in that she could.

He hung his head. “It just,” he shrugged, “feels like you care more about playing your game.”

Than you do about playing with me.

He didn’t say it.

He didn’t have to.


Aw, Sir. “No.” She shook her head. “That’s not true.” Of course it wasn’t. “I love you.” She would never have been with him this long, never would have moved in with him, if she didn’t.

“Then why?” He looked up at her, eyes sad and wondering. “Why do you need this?”

She sighed and sat across from him on the bed and reached for her keyboard. “Because I do.”


It shouldn’t have hurt to hear that.

It was just a stupid video game.

It shouldn’t have mattered this much. Not enough to hurt.

But it did.

He shut his eyes.

He felt her climb onto the bed and sidle up next to him. He felt the comfortable heat and weight of her as she leaned her back against him, the length and strength of her spine against his shoulder. She let out a small sigh. “You know, when we first met, I’d asked myself why you—why anyone—would need kink. All the toys and costumes and games and rituals seemed so unnecessary. Why couldn’t sex be enough?”

His body relaxed as he listened to her talk. As he let her words wash over him.

“I didn’t get it then,” she told him. “Enough was never the question. It’s not about whether or not you could be happy without the toys and roles in your life; it’s about the fact that their presence in your life makes you happier.”

“And Plunder makes you happy.” He knew that. And accepted that. But… “It’s just that you play it all the time now. And, if you’re not playing it, you’re working on the novels. It feels like it’s consumed your life.” Leaving little room for him.

And they’d just begun this new chapter of their lives, living together, giving this relationship some real weight and priority, and it felt like that was fizzling.

For a game.

“I know.” She sighed and shook her head. “I know I’ve been a little obsessed.”

He snorted. A little?

“But you have to understand,” she said, looking up at him. “You’ve known this side of yourself—kink, BDSM, non-monogamy—for a long time now. Since college.” She shrugged. “I’ve only started figuring this all out for about a year now. I’m still learning. Still discovering.” She held her keyboard in her hands and looked up at the now paused play on the TV screen, her eyes full of Plunder’s adventure and possibility. “And to be able to watch even a part of it play out in a game like Plunder—in a mainstream, widely accepted, widely loved piece of media—and to be asked to be a part of that. A part of shaping our community’s face, our image, to the wider world…” She took a deep breath, the intimidating marvel over it clear in that small sound. She faced him, her expression set in a slight frown. “I just want to get it all right. To do it the justice it deserves.”

Max had come so far so fast—had dove into his world and carved her own place within it, making it her own—that he often forgot how new she really was to all of this. Forgot that she was still building, expanding, and growing her sense of community.

She set the keyboard on her lap and touched his knee. “But I never meant to push you away because of that.”


She gave a self-aware huff. She should have seen it before. Should have listened to Kat. And Peter.

She looked up at the man seated next to her, his face thoughtful. She should have listened to him. She should have seen last night as the first step toward reconnection and not the end-game solution she’d assumed it was.

She, better than most people, knew sex—no matter how good—rarely fixed relationship issues. Whatever was causing problems before the shattering orgasm would likely still be there when it was done.

And this was no different. She exhaled deeply. “I know I need to learn balance.” There was an understatement. “I’m too used to being on my own, to letting myself get carried away by things.” She reached out to grab his hand, admiring the strength and grace there. “But I’m not alone anymore.” She shut her eyes and tightened her grip. “I can’t let myself get lost in my own obsessions anymore.” She frowned and set the keyboard aside. “It’s not fair and I know that.”

This had been a dumb idea. Short-sighted and selfish. She shook her head. Stupid. She moved to stand up. “I’ll put everything back.” She ought to box it all up. Uninstall the game.

She opened her eyes when she felt him reach over her. He picked up her keyboard and held it out to her.

She looked at him quizzically. But he just waved it at her until she took it from him.

He shook his head. “You’re so dramatic.” His thin lips curved in a half smile. “I’m not asking you to give it up. This isn’t an all-or-nothing, me-or-it ultimatum, Max.” He covered their entwined hands with his other hand. “For an editor, I wonder at your grasp of vocabulary sometimes.”

She shot him an irritated glance, but he just laughed. “Balance,” he said pointedly. “Where you allow time and attention for everything you want.” He leaned in and tapped her mouse, unpausing her game. “I know this is important to you. I want you to play it.” Max eyed him suspiciously, not trusting the mischievous tone in his voice. She gripped her keyboard as he moved to sit behind her. He wrapped his lean arms around her and pulled her close. “Go on, Max, play.”

Read Part Two Here

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Are We Having Sex Yet? - Sex From a Kinkster’s Perspective

I’ve stopped telling people what my number is—you know, that magic number everyone is so curious about.

How many people have I had sex with.

And it’s not because of the patriarchy or sexual double standards. I’m openly kinky and, whatever that number is, it’s a high one, so I’m already screwed over by that aspect, whether I disclose or not. So, at that point, why not?’s the thing: I don’t know how many people I’ve had sex with.

I mean, if I sat down and made a list of all the guys I’ve had straight-up, traditional, PIV sex with...yeah, I could do that and my number would likely be rather average.

But is that really the definition of sex? Is that really a good standard to use?


Like Greta Christina says in her wonderful piece “ARE WE HAVING SEX NOW OR WHAT?”, “It's a pretty simple distinction, a straightforward binary system. Did it go in or didn’t it? Yes or no? One or zero? On or off? Granted, it’s a pretty arbitrary definition; but it’s the customary one, with an ancient and respected tradition behind it, and when I was just screwing men, there was no really compelling reason to question it.” When I was young and the only sex I was having was straight-up, traditional, PIV sex, there really was no reason to question the measuring system. It made sense.

Then, like Christina, I began widening my horizons. I began going to kink and sex parties. I began playing with people and sex. If I grinded naked with a guy in a hot tub, but his penis never went in my vagina, did I just have sex with him? If I fooled around with a woman, who clearly did not have a penis to put in my vagina, did she now count in my number? And, if she did, did every guy I’d fooled around with before her, but didn't have PIV sex with, now factor in? Did that now make me bisexual? What about the transwomen or gender fluid people I’d teased and touched and let tease and touch me? Did I now have to identify as pansexual? I’d also been part of large group scenes where sex was happening but not specifically with me or with PIV with just me and one other partner while other people participated in other ways; which, if any, of those counted?

Everything was getting a bit blurry and I was suddenly contending with labels that, while I had no particular problem with in general, felt...ill-fitting on me. Because, while these experiences were positive ones for me and my partners, they’d felt more friendly than anything. Sure, they were sexual and intimate and pleasurable as all hell, but they felt distinctly different than most of the sex I was counting as Sex.

They felt like play. Much like spanking or flogging or whipping or restraints, where you are definitely doing something sexual, but it doesn’t quite feel like sex yet.


I’d also had scenes that had felt more like making love than just about any other sexual experience I’d ever had. Hell, the first time I’d said I loved a partner and meant it was in the middle of a scene. Not sex. A scene. So, if in that moment, with my raw back arched and my sweaty body tingling and shaking with sensation, we were quite literally making love, were we having sex?

And, if so, then which scenes, of all the scenes I’ve had, counted as sex and which didn’t?

I find myself at the same place Christina does at the end of her essay, “I still don't have an answer.”

And I think that’s okay.

I am okay with not knowing my number. I am okay with letting that definition and distinction die. Because straight-up, traditional, PIV sex, which while fun—don’t get me wrong—doesn’t quite capture the vast expanse of what feels like sex to me anymore. It isn’t the culminating act. Hell, it’s not even my favorite part or most pleasurable act. I can think of a lot of acts I find sexier and more stimulating that PIV sex. So why would I ever use it as my standard?

Hell, I wrote an entire novel dedicated to the idea that you could have awesome, amazing, mind-blowing sex without it. Because, like other kinksters, I could do without it. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it and would miss it, if I never had it again, and there are days and nights when I crave it so much I can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop getting distracted by it, until I have it. But, even if I didn't, if I never did again, that would be so very far from the end of my sex life. The near limitless sexual variety that kink opened up for me is one of my favorite things about it. If you can think it, you can find a safe, sane, consensual way to explore it. Having that kind of endless buffet of options kinda dethrones the idea of a definite sexual act. There are soooooo many other acts that I could engage in and enjoy the fuck out of, if that one act, or really any singular act at all, was taken off my table.

I’m often asked by readers and publishers why my stories don’t focus on or linger on the more traditional forms of sex. Like I said, I had an entire novel where PIV never happens. Many of my short stories don’t have it either. If they do, the actual push and thrust of PIV is a tiny fraction of a scene, a few paragraphs of a story that can take pages waxing poetic about bondage or spanking.

And I think the answer is that PIV sex isn’t a fantasy of mine. When I close my eyes and fantasize, PIV isn’t where my mind goes. What gets me hot is all the other stuff. Partly because all the other stuff, foreplay and kink play, is so intentional. The intent is to seduce. To arouse. To tease and heat. To me, those acts exist purely to provide pleasure. To turn you and your partner on. Why wouldn’t you want to linger there? It’s something that’s meant to take time. That takes effort. That builds and flows. It can be full of familiar ground, tricks and touches that feel like a dance you know all the steps to, or can feel like uncharted territory, leaving you a little lost in the excitement. You could say one sentence to someone in the morning and, with the right intention behind it, it’ll stay with them like a constant caress throughout the day.

Next to that PIV sex seems like a mad dash to a finish line. A fun race, to be sure, but not something that requires a whole lot of choreography. Much less word count.

I find myself so much less concerned or interested in specific acts than in the intention that fills and fuels them. And I find myself really not caring what others think of my sex life or sexual definitions or experiences; because, not having been there—in the moment with me—who are they to say anything anyway? Which is why, whatever my number or definition, I think I like Oh Joy Sex Toy’s viewpoint: Sex doesn’t define you (...) Sex is about experiencing consensual sexual things that make you and your partner feel happy and pleasurable, and satisfied.” That covers a lot of ground and gives you near limitless room to explore.

And, yeah, I’m more than okay with that.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Interview With Bell, Book & Erotica

Another interview, this time with Bell, Book & Erotica, that was absolutely wonderful to be a part of. Please, come check it out:

"Q: What do you think makes a good story? Conflict. I had a teacher in college stress to me that I could create the most interesting, original characters and put them in the most fascinating, unique world, but without something to strive for, without challenge and growth, who cares? He really pressed upon me the importance that your characters, as many of them as you can, should be fundamentally different at the end of the story than they were at the beginning. Because, if you’re going to ask a reader to go on a journey with you, you’d better make sure you get them where they’re going. 
Q: What do you think most erotic authors do wrong? I think too often we confuse sexual fantasies with the Fantasy genre. Too often we treat sexual fantasies as free-for-all playgrounds for anything and everything our minds can dream of and our bodies can get off on. And, I think so long as we preface and frame our work as that, that’s fine. I guess. For the most part. But a lot of the fantasies we dream about are often rooted in someone else’s reality. And that reality deserves a little respect. In the same way that it’s no longer okay to write rather racist stories about white women being captured, ravished, and seduced by dark-skinned natives, the way it was when I was younger, I’d like to see people take a more considerate look at how they portray kink. Because kinksters live and love outside the pages of books. We have rich histories and traditions. We’re real people who have a hard enough go of it in the real world and that’s really not helped by having our lives morphed into fantastical often nightmarish imaginings that the world is already inclined to believe is our reality. If you want to know what our reality is, ask. I promise, it’s way more fun than the fantasy. 
Q: In your opinion, what elements make a good erotic scene in a book? I think what makes a really good erotic scene, particularly in a novel-length story, is making sure that your characters’ orgasm isn’t the climax of the scene. In erotica, it is important that your characters come. That’s part of the contract we, as writers, have with the readers. But the sex should be more than just that. It should have some kind of emotional undercurrent there. Not necessarily love or romance, but some aim and understanding beyond the physical. Otherwise, like plot without conflict, what’s the point?"



Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Interview with Sizzling Hot Books

Come check out my interview with Sizzling Hot Books; it was very thoughtful and a lot of fun!

"What do you think readers like so much about erotic romance? Dominance erotic romance? 
I think erotica, like sci-fi and horror, often taps into the more hidden and subconscious parts of our social psyche. In the same way sci-fi can tell us so much about where we as a species hope to go and how horror can tell us so much about where we don’t ever want to go, so much of erotica is about satisfying needs and wants that we feel we can’t get anywhere else in our lives. I think BDSM erotica is a great example of this. Current society is struggling with this huge and complex idea of equality. Things like power and privilege are so hard to navigate today. So much harder than they’ve ever been. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that kinky power exchange play is rising in popularity at the same time. There is something undeniably attractive about being able to write your own rules with it comes to power. To play with it in safe ways where, whatever our roles, we hold all the control."


Don't Do Anything. Watch Me Touch. - Part Two

Plunder Novella  
Solo Mission:  
Part Two
Read Part One Here
She shook her head and smiled. You are so whipped.

Hey, Kat’s upstairs, happy and exhausted, and I’m here now. Put me to work before I tell Hayato to enact his own curfew.

Max laughed. Whatever. He’s prepping for mediation tomorrow. Maybe you and Kat don’t, Mr. Big Bad Dom, but we know who really holds the handle in this relationship. And Max Wells, plundress of the galaxy, was never whipped.

Metaphorically, anyway.

She sat up straighter. Newly flush with loot, she began to fill in Peter about the mission and what she needed him to do to complete it.

They were about half-way through the mission—stealing private sector stores of food, medicine, and weapons that were being diverted from poorer, rural outposts to an overly opulent government delegate meeting—when she saw the message.

All it said was From Sir right above a counter ticking down the seconds. Fifteen minutes. He was giving her fifteen minutes.

She smirked at the cheeky tactic. So Sir was feeling bossy, huh? She couldn’t tell yet if that made her feel rebellious or like rewarding his assertiveness with compliance.

She snickered and shook her head. Sir.

It was their running joke-that-was-not-quite-a-joke. A titular nickname that held only the meaning they gave it from moment to moment. That granted him all the power and control she decided to give him.

She knew there were people who gave the title more formality—more significance and weight—just as she knew there were people who scoffed at or looked down at or were even offended by it, but it worked for them. In their own way, it fit the roles they inhabited. That they lived and loved by.

It signified that he was special to her—the only man she’d ever allow to get bossy with her and only because he knew how to make it worth her while. Which, in turn, strangely made her feel special too.

Which, of course, didn’t mean that she couldn’t make him work for it.

Fifteen minutes, huh? Cockily, she sent back a message. Until what exactly?

The only response that came back was a new counter. With three minutes shaved off of the original time.

Well, then, aye, aye, sir. Message received.

Looks like she had her own dwindling curfew to worry about.

A part of her—the contrary, rebellious part—wanted to scoff at the restriction. She was a fully grown adult; no one told her when bedtime was. Much less some guy looking to get laid.

Except…well, getting laid sounded pretty good. They hadn’t had sex in a while and, now that she’d thought about it—realized how long it’d really been—she missed it. Wanted it.

But she still had her mission.

Max bit her lip and looked back at her game. Frowning thoughtfully, she shrugged. She could finish her mission in that time, she was sure of it.

It’d taken some creative manipulation of resources and players, but she and Peter had all but cleaned out the sector’s supplies and were dropping them off at the outpost—for a healthy cut of the booty—just as the counter’s timer went off.

Hecks yeah.

Feeling like an intergalactic boss, she collected her share of the raid and saved her game. After shutting down her game, she headed to bed. It was time to collect her reward for a raid well done.

She tilted her head when she saw that the bedroom door was closed. They never closed doors. They’d both lived alone too long and were too comfortable with each other’s bodies to get in the habit of closing doors. So a shut bedroom door confused her.

With him, everything held meaning. Every tone and word and action could speak volumes. It just wasn’t always clear what was being said.

She turned the knob.

The room was dim with just the far bedside lamp lit. She blinked in the doorway when she saw him. Lying in the middle of the bed. Naked. With his hand on his cock. His eyes—a natural dark brown with his usually blue-colored contacts out for the night—were almost completely closed and his head was tossed back on the pillows. Fair strands fell stray and loose from the top bun twisted at the crown of his head. His luxuriously golden skin looked lustrous in the lamplight.

Well, hello, sir.

He was so gorgeous. Unlike anyone she’d ever met or would ever meet in her life. It was like unwrapping a gift or discovering hidden treasure. Her eyes widened while she watched his hand move up and down his hard shaft.

“You like to look.”

Max glanced up. He turned to lean on his side, so he faced her. Studied her really.

She nodded thoughtfully even as her gaze slipped south to his hard length jutting upward against his taut middle. She swallowed hard. It was a good show. “I’d like to join.” She moved to strip off her old college t-shirt and walk toward the bed.

He held up his hand to stop her. Reflexively, she did, curious to see what game he was playing. “Take off just the shirt,” he said, his gaze narrowing on the comfortably stretched-out, worn-thin cotton covering her breasts, “then take a seat at the end of the bed.”

She quirked her eyebrow at the small patch of duvet he pointed to at the opposite end of the bed. Okay. Weird, but all right. She tugged the sleep shirt over her head and draped it over the back of a chair. “Okay, now what?”

He sat up a bit, so he could lean back against the headboard. “Now watch.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Just watch?”

He grabbed his sex in his hand. “If you’d wanted to do more, you’d have made it to bed on-time.”

She checked her phone. “I couldn’t have been more than three minutes late.”

“Late,” he pointed out, “being the operative word.” He tsked and settled back in the comforter. “I sent you a clock and everything.”

“So I can only watch?” She shook her head. What kind of game was he playing?

He lifted a shoulder casually, but she could see his eyes fire as he gripped his dick again. “You could always give me something to look at too.”

She grinned and rolled her eyes. Give a lawyer a loophole… How typical!


She couldn’t touch him; that didn’t mean she couldn’t get him to touch her.

With that thought in mind, her smile widened and she got comfortable. “You want to look too, huh?” She cupped her breasts, heavy and full, in her hands.

Then look. Sir.

She brushed her thumbs over her nipples, feeling the rosy tips tighten. She sucked in a breath and did it again, the touch burning within her. She squeezed one full breast in her hand while she continued to tease and stroke her other peak.

“Pinch your nipple.”

She smiled. He loved to watch her pink flesh flush a deep, dusky rouge with sensual abuse. She saw his grip tense when she moaned and writhed a bit on the blankets.

“Yeah.” His voice sounded breathy and hot. “You like that, don’t you?”

She nodded and squeezed harder. “I see you do too.”

“I do.” His face flushed hot in the low light. “Twist.”

Her breath hitched and she felt her breasts shake with the harsh jerk. She felt the sensitive skin of her nipple stretch and the blood rush beneath her finger’s pinch. Her eyes fluttered shut as sensation shot through her. She breathed through it before massaging her tender flesh in sweet, soothing motions.

“Are you wet?”

She tilted her head and looked at him. “Do you want me to see?”

“Yes.” The word was a hiss.

Fine. She tucked a hand down beneath the waistband of the pajama bottoms she was wearing. She slid her hand down to stroke the soft, swollen folds between her legs. “Mmmm.” She continued to rub along her labia. “Very.”

“Let me see.”

She grinned and tsked. “What do I get out of it?” She began to play with her nipple again.

“I’m letting you see mine;” he said, letting his hand lingeringly play along his hard length, “only fair I get to see yours.”

She almost laughed aloud. “If you’d really wanted more, sir” she said, echoing his earlier words while she spread her legs more, offering him a better view of her cotton-blocked tease, “you’d have asked me to take off my pants.”

He chuckled, the sound low and luring. “Fair enough.” He shifted to sit up a bit more. “Then, if you won’t let me see, tell me. Describe it.”

She sent him an amused look. He wanted her to dirty talk about touching herself? She pursed her lips and thought about it. Okay, she could do that. “My sex is so slick I can feel it drip warm and thick over my skin.”

“Are you getting the bed wet?” His hand began to move faster.

“Yes.” She could feel her arousal soak through her pants; it must be drenching the covers.

“What else?”

She coated her finger with her heat and began to stroke her sex. “I can feel my clit, hard and needy against my fingertip.” She panted, the words broken by her breath. “I can feel each touch like a lick of fire, starting in my belly and spreading all over.”


She looked up and met his gaze, the dark brown of his eyes feeling almost like a stranger’s after more than a year of his usual contact-colored blue. It made her feel keenly watched. Exposed. Naked. “I can see you watching me. Can feel your eyes on my body like a touch.”

“Does it make you hot?”

It shouldn’t. Not when it felt so unfamiliar. “Yes.” Because, as strange as it may feel, here with her Sir, it also felt safe. Riding an edge that, with him, she knew well. “Yes.”

“Does looking at me make you hot?”

Always. She bit her lip and nodded, not trusting the words to feel right on her lips. She wanted to touch him. Wanted him to touch her. She wanted to take him and be taken. Staring into the need in his dark, deep, walnut-colored eyes, she needed him. She nodded, feeling her teeth ravage her silent mouth.

“Say it.”

She shook her head and pursed her lips tight.

“Tell me.”

She shut her eyes and bent her knees. Her feet flexed hard against the pleasure threatening to overtake her, even as her hands continued to play hurried havoc over her body.

“Max.” His voice, so musical and almost pretty, reached inside her and tugged at her will. “Look at me.”

She shook her head again.

“Look at me and I’ll let you have an extra half hour of Plunder tomorrow.”

She shouldn’t have, but she laughed and opened her eyes.

Yep, she really shouldn’t have.

She felt her control slip, the second she saw him. Beautifully tense, every muscle in his lean body pulled taut. Arousal flushed skin now slick with a sheen of sweat. And his cock thrust, insistent and hard, in his hand, now held in a tight fist. He was on that same edge with her. And about to fall off.


She felt her body peak on a sharp breath, everything within her seeming to lurch as pleasure tore through her. Her head fell back and she moaned, her back arching and her mind going blank even while her hands kept on in adoring torment.

She heard his echoing groan, a shuttering sound, and felt the bed rock beneath her as he writhed.

She smiled. Maybe there was something to this curfew thing. Cause that was definitely worth getting into bed for.



Please check out my novel The Taming School from Sizzler Editions that explores discovering kink!
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See how Kat & Peter will face our uncertain future in Coming Together's defiant, charity anthology that celebrates diversity and equality!
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If it exists, someone’s kinky for it! Check out my story in SinCyr Publishing's anthology that takes a walk on the weird side: you won’t regret it.

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