Review: The Museum of Deviant Desires by Fulani

Fluently written, intelligent and super kinky.

The Museum of Deviant Desires was a real pleasure to read. Fulani knows his stuff, whether that’s 1950s pulp magazines or the right choice of whip. And he doesn’t keep you waiting for the kinky stuff only for you to find it’s some fluffy handcuffs and a blindfold. It’s full-on throughout with a well-stocked dungeon-full of BDSM hardware as well as some more sensual, psychological D/s scenarios. There’s a fantastically twisted imagination behind it too, with the scenes and references delightfully fresh and free of stereotypes but offering plenty of fodder for the perverse of mind.

I looked up some of the stranger references, out of curiosity, but even when they weren’t familiar to me, Fulani has a knack with description and imagery that brings them alive. There’s a densely packed richness to the stories.  And he uses big words. Complicated words like chthonic. The stories were often about the act of writing itself, so they are self-referencing, explicit about their existence as works of erotica as well as a set of imaginary places and events in the author or reader’s mind. These particular stories run on two tracks at once, which adds an extra layer for reflection and a way into discussion of the psychology of desire, while somehow managing not to detract from the reader’s absorption into the worlds they create.

I’m often ill at ease with stories of people indulging in bondage with strangers, especially when they happen to be women whom the author, in his or her wisdom, decides to imbue with feelings of low self-esteem, or anxiety, or nauseating naivety. Some of Fulani’s tales do involve women submitting to all kinds of risky shenanigans with strangers. But somehow, in this particular suspension of my disbelief, it feels acceptable. I think it’s the absence of fear on the submissive characters’ behalf and the utter reasonable nice-guy-ness of the dominants. No one’s having to be persuaded, in that terribly overdone way, to do anything they’re not comfortable with, thank goodness. (Although comfortable may be a poor choice of word here!) This is not so much kinky reading for the titillation of the mostly vanilla; it’s more like a fabulously perverse version of romance in a world in which kink is the normative framework of experience.

Dare I say it, in this age of speed reading, instant gratification and the eBook?... I liked the fact that some of the pieces were really short flash fiction. I kept thinking ‘just one more story’ and before I knew it I’d finished the lot and it was way past my bedtime.

Oh, and there’s a sense of humour too. Particularly in ‘$2.99’, the tale of an author’s revenge on a pirate downloader – the only story which involves someone who could actually be termed a ‘victim’, but hey, anyone who downloads pirate copies of books deserves it.

Addicted to Rope

The ‘bondage with strangers’ issue is back, big time, in this novella by Fulani. And in this case there is an element of it being new to the heroine and her having to be persuaded. But she persuades herself with very little effort on the part of our friendly neighbourhood Dom, Leo. And Leo seems like such a nice, genuine guy. I suppose the successful serial killers are probably the ones who manage to convincingly pull off the nice-guy act too. Oh well, I guess I must have double standards in my reading depending on the quality of the writing and the fickle nature of my whim. I finished Addicted to Rope in one sitting and immediately downloaded more of Fulani’s books. Legally. 

I bought The Museum of Deviant Desires and Addicted to Rope at Amazon.co.uk.

Research: Mud and yeast

The list of anthologies I want to submit stories to is growing again, mostly thanks to Alison Tyler's Trollop with a Laptop blog and the Erotic Readers and Writers Association calls for submissions page.

In the course of research, and I won't be revealing which call this is for, I've been viewing pictures of fit, muscular guys running, crawling, swinging and floundering through fields of mud, pools of ice, walls of flame and dangly bits of electrified wire. It's a hard life being a writer, I tell you. The pictures are from Tough Mudder, obstacle courses designed by British Special Forces for the kind of people who've got bored of Ironman triathlons.

They hand out beer instead of water at the end, which is an extremely tenuous link to the next topic of research, sourdough bread. It's all about men who can bake. All that kneading must lead to strong hands and well-honed forearms. And those big ovens make it oh-so-hot.

Inspiration: Woods and wells

My short story, Pleasing the Nymph of Woodwell, is now live at Oysters and Chocolate.

Tom and Maria have packed off the kids to their grandparents so they can have a dirty weekend away, without any little ones wandering in and wanting to know why mummy's all tied up. But will their sexy exploits please the ancient spirit of Woodwell Cottage's magical spring?

One reader comments: 'That was probably THE most erotic outdoor story I have ever read! I hated to leave them! I hope there's more to this... or I'll have to come up with my own ending. My wife may be in for a real treat!'

I certainly hope she is.

I thought I'd share a couple of things that inspired it. One being this cottage owned by the Landmark Trust in Shropshire. It's actually called St Winifred's Well. The Landmark Trust takes historic buildings of character that are in danger of falling into disrepair and restores and preserves them as holiday cottages.

I've stayed at their properties before, notably a very remote converted chapel in North Wales, but not this one... yet.

In the course of my research, I also came across this wonderful little site, Wooden Dildos. Lovingly carved by craftsmen from Scottish hardwoods and sealed with an ultra-smooth waterproof finish - so no, you won't get a splinter! Sounds so much nicer than some kind of plastic affair made in a factory.

The top image is Water Angel by Stephen Perry, prints available at ObsessionArt.com.

Writing: Finding Your Voice

I've been both writing and reading erotica more than ever of late. Well, it's a pretty awesome way to spend your time and when you're asked what you've been doing sitting in bed with your laptop all day, you can say you were working. With that comes more thought about the sorts of themes I cover, the sorts of characters I prefer to write about and the style I want to develop.

Reading widely in your chosen genre is, of course, highly recommended. It has helped me to focus on cliches and stereotypes to avoid (they're the ones I don't review but put quietly aside), as well as themes and settings I might enjoy reading about but wouldn't use in my own work. The BDSM 'scene', clubs and major lifestyle stuff spring to mind. But there is also a danger that you can start to subconsciously mirror the writing style of your favourite authors and you're suddenly in dodgy territory, at risk of sounding like a cheap rip-off and failing to find your own unique and original voice. And that's why I'm going to intersperse reading Charlotte Stein's entire back catalogue (why does that sound rude?) with reading a variety of other authors. And going that bit deeper (again, rude) into why certain things make me smile and others make me go 'huh?'.

I've been writing a wider variety too. I've toyed with fiction for years, sending off the odd story to magazines or anthology submission calls. It was an acceptance for a short story from Xcite Books that spurred me on to take it more seriously. I wrote one for another Xcite anthology and got it published in a spin-off ebook. Both stories were about straight pairings with plenty of kinky shenanigans. But now I've started to explore other areas, venturing into a gay story, some fantasy and historical and a couple of much lighter-hearted 'smut' pieces. One even has absolutely no bondage in it, for goodness' sake! Anyway, the point is that it's useful to do these things in order to flex your writing muscles and hone your style. And for me, writing without the hardware of kink has made me think much more deeply about how to describe doing the deed without it sounding like an instruction manual. Speaking of which, I'm off to finish a story about what happens when your partner wants to follow an instruction manual...

Review: Control by Charlotte Stein

Okay, I meant to review Make Me. Then I read something else by someone else. Then, before I knew it I was being lured irresistibly back to the mighty Charlotte Stein and started to read Control. I couldn't put the damn kindle down. 

The sheer intensity of Stein's writing, her quirky and witty turns of phrase, her ability to get you so deep under the skin of the characters you should probably be arrested for some kind of violation - they all amaze me. As a writer, I'm deeply envious of this woman. I love the way she comes up with unexpected ways to describe something that have you thinking, 'Yes, that's it exactly.' But which you would never have come up with yourself (speaking for myself; I don't know about you, maybe you're Shakespeare reincarnated, in which case would you like to come over for dinner?). Anyway, I mean things like this: 'Blissful bonelessness takes over. I think I sag all the way through the mattress to the floor below.' I love the way her heroines can be unsure of themselves in their inner monologue without ever falling through doorways, biting their lip or flicking their hair. 

Control is an exploration of dominance and submission totally without any of the usual cliches or stereotypes. It's pure, tweed-clad joy in giving in to your fantasies. Madison is looking for an assistant for her erotica bookshop. The dirty-talking, order-giving Andy is not suitable, although his interview at the kitchen table proves interesting. Quiet, repressed Gabe, who is secretly a seething mess of kinky desires, gets the job. And Madison sets about finding out what makes him tick. Which is mostly being ordered to do things he's ashamed of.

Make Me was damn fine too, full of the subtle power play of a kinky threesome. I love the way the heroine is perfectly happy having two men at once. Greedy, in fact. Anyway, I'm quite sure I'm going to devour everything Stein has ever written, but I promise to stop wittering on about it so much because I'm starting to feel like a crazy stalker fan.

Control is published by Xcite Books and Make Me by Mischief Books.

Review: How to Write Hot Sex

This guide, edited by Shoshanna Evers, should be a must-read for anyone in the early stages of becoming an erotica writer. It combines a wealth of useful, practical information with some thought-provoking debates on the nature and appeal of erotica. I didn’t always agree with the authors but I did welcome the range of points of view.

One of those debates is the distinction between porn, erotica and romance. One chapter, Writing the Fine Line Between Erotica and Porn by Kate Douglas explicitly attempts to differentiate with a view to avoiding being labelled as porn. Personally, I’m not so precious about what people call my work as long as they enjoy it. But I can see Douglas’ point in that porn may have no real story behind it. In her piece, she explains how motivation, strong characterisation and plot are what make the difference. And that’s good advice for any kind of writing, whatever you want it to be called.

On the other hand, running throughout the book is another debate about the place of plot in erotica. Controversially, Cara McKenna writes: ‘When I write erotica, I don’t saddle myself with the burden of plot.’ In her view, this avoids making the sex scenes seem like they’ve been ‘crow-barred in’. And sure, you don’t want your characters suddenly dropping everything because you’ve gone 500 words without them getting down and dirty. But other authors bring different perspectives and flesh out what plot means in erotica. Christine d’Abo writes about how sex, although a necessary component, is not the heart of what’s happening and must be a means for the characters to develop. Isabo Kelly writes: ‘They want story with their sex’ and explains how the sex must mean something to the plot. Delphine Dryden, writing about BDSM erotica, advises to ‘think of yourself as writing a story first,’ while Cari Quinn says you are ‘telling a story through sex’.

Douglas’ debate about whether or not we’ve crossed the line into porn feeds into another debate over crossing our own personal lines as writers. Several of the authors mention the need to avoid self-censorship, not worrying about what people will think of you for what you have written. Quinn tells us ‘Don’t be afraid to go there,’ don’t hold back on an idea because our inner critic is telling us it might be too much. And as McKenna puts it, it’s that ‘edge’, the nudge into feelings of emotional discomfort or shame for our characters that can make a story sparkle. It’s when your brain says one thing but your body’s not listening.

That inner censor is a real demon, telling you that if you write about BDSM everyone will assume you have a fully equipped dungeon in your cellar. But as Giselle Renarde recalls the words of Selena Kitt: ‘You don’t have to be a murderer to write a murder mystery’. McKenna adds her voice to this side of the debate, assuring you not to worry about readers thinking everything you create is autobiographical. But you do have to do your homework and in the days of the internet you can engage with people who do know and find out an awful lot without leaving home. Christina d’Abo writes about how you can produce m/m romance if you’re not gay, and indeed not actually a man at all, giving a useful tour of the biology and logistics of gay sex and a warning to avoid the stereotypes of drag queens and fashion designers. Dryden’s advice on writing BDSM is similar; you may not have to practise it, but you don’t want to make it obvious you don’t by getting it wrong.

As well as d’Abo’s guide to gay sex, there are other practical tips and glossaries from Renarde on the nature and psychology of fetish and Dryden on the terms used in BDSM. Jean Johnson goes over the physiology of arousal and the difference between the genders, with an anatomy lesson of the all-important naughty bits. Editor Shoshanna Evers gets down to basics with a survey of the publishing industry and how to make a professional approach.

But what about the writing itself? Tips please... Well, Charlotte Stein talks commas, sentence length and repetition, showing how a little finesse with these can help your reader get under a character’s skin. She also explores the issue of deep point of view, the emotions and inner dialogue that bring an erotic encounter alive. I swear that woman could write about grass growing and she’d have readers dashing off to the loos for a quickie. But I guess to watch grass growing, you’d have to be lying in it. Up close. Maybe the dew is dampening your skin... but I digress. When it comes to erotic content, Quinn reminds us of the value of talking dirty, how realistic dialogue can bring out the emotion. Desiree Holt goes over ways to use all five senses, while McKenna suggests cutting through the dullness of perfection in our characters and their sexual encounters and into the ‘ugly’.

With Evers’ advice on reviewing and the importance of avoiding pissing people off in mind, I’ll keep my criticisms short and sweet. My main gripe with the book was how the self-promotion sometimes leaked out of the ‘about the author’ section into the main pieces, including sometimes overly long extracts from their own work. I also thought it would have been nice to hear from some male writers.

Thoughts: A bit of rough

I read something that got me thinking about romantic heroes the other day. It's probably a good job I can't remember where I read it. But it suggested that the chiselled, strong, successful Alpha male is universally loved by female readers of erotic fiction. It definitely used the word 'universally', which first made me think, 'What about lesbians?' and secondly made me think, 'What about me?' Because I like my romantic heroes to be quirky, flawed, rough around the edges, sometimes unsure of themselves like the rest of us. I wondered whether I am truly perverse in the widest sense of the term. I don't equate money or status with success, for example. I find perfection dull. I find glistening, muscular, hairless torsos objects of bizarre fascination rather than desire.

And there's a major subgenre of romantic fiction dedicated to the admiration of 'a bit of rough'. I was thinking about this as I re-read DH Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover a while back. First published in Italy in 1928, it wasn't openly available in the UK until 1960 because of its graphic descriptions of sex and use of words like 'cunt'. But its dangerous subversion of class boundaries was probably equally to blame. Compared with the wonderful erotica we have around now, it's pretty tame stuff. But what it does share with a big chunk of today's sex fiction is the fascination of a well-bred woman fucking a bit of rough. It's just that in contemporary terms it's a professional career woman perhaps seeking excitement with the pool boy, a squaddie or the scruffily gorgeous rogue from the travelling fair.

And no, this whole post wasn't entirely an excuse for a picture of Sean Bean, seen here playing Mellors in the 1993 BBC adaptation. No, it really wasn't.

Research: Spinning a Yarn

In the course of planning a short story about Penelope, the wife of Odysseus in the ancient Greek epic, I've found myself needing to research spinning and weaving to know how to use words such as spindle, whorl and distaff, and to explore the erotic potential of the upright loom. It happens to be a large, upright wooden frame from which the warp threads are suspended with weights, allowing the weaver to pass the weft threads through to make the cloth. All useful stuff to a warped mind. Especially when Penelope has 12 loyal maids and 108 boisterous suitors who all want to convince her that her husband is dead and she should marry one of them instead. Endless possibilities. 

Anyway, I found the following passage at the Fiberville USA website and found it amusing enough to want to share (yes, I really do find yarn sexy):

 WARNING!!! Spinning reduces stress and promotes well being. It can also be habit forming and lead to obsessive behaviors such as, but not restricted to: caressing and hoarding all fibers; dying them with food colors and things from your garden or whatever you have laying about; spinning the fluffy bits of the weeds in your fields, the cotton wad in your vitamin bottles and even the lint from your dryer! Proceed with extreme caution!

In Homer's tale, Penelope spends twenty years waiting for her husband. He's away fighting at Troy for ten and takes another ten to make his way home to Ithaca, whilst falling prey to various perils including being forced into being the lover of the witch-goddess Circe and the nymph Calypso. Doesn't sound so bad. I think it's time Penelope had some fun.

Incidentally, if anyone knows how to avoid getting the white background on text pasted against this blog template, do tell!

Published: Miss Pemberton's Drawers

I have a story in this fabulous new anthology from Xcite Books and am so excited about appearing alongside the likes of Lucy Felthouse and Zara Stoneley. It's a collection of six erotic stories covering a range of themes and is currently available for the Kindle at Amazon.

In my story, Ideal Homes, Amy’s looking for a house to buy after moving to a new town for work. The fact her estate agent is hot is an added bonus. But after one drunken fumble with the gorgeous Michael, she can’t work out how to tell him she prefers her men tied to the bed and eager to please. Fortunately for her, the ideal opportunity arises when he takes her to see a house and she finds two sets of handcuffs in place in the master bedroom. And it turns out Michael is more than happy to play the submissive. The pair find themselves in a sticky situation with the unexpected arrival of the property owner – but he has a proposal of his own for Michael.

Alongside that tale, you'll find Miss Pemberton's Drawers by Lucy Felthouse, Dinner Break by Ariel Graham, Suitable Punishment by Abigail Thornton, Elevator Pitch by Zara Stoneley and A Night Off by Jenna Bright.

Very short story: Cosy

Drum roll please... I present Cosy, my flash fiction response to the Erotic Tea Cosy Challenge. It stems from Twitter, where, amongst other dazzling insights into my true nature, I trumpet myself as a Knitter of tea cosies. 'I'm looking forward to seeing how erotica and tea cosies go together,' wrote The Dirty Romantic. See what you've started @youmakemeneed. The picture, incidentally, is from the only tea cosy pattern I've actually got round to knitting, although I haven't even sewn up my version yet.

So put the kettle on, here's my attempt to make chunky handknits into a real winter warmer. Oh, those sharp steel needles...

She’s knitting again tonight. Each time I feel the shift of weight as she swaps needles from hand to hand for a new row I hope she might say, ‘I’ll just finish this one and then take you to bed.’ It’s her bare heels I feel, pressing hard into my back where she is using me as a footstool. Soon my shoulders will start to ache and I will have to fight the urge to collapse onto her handmade rag rug.

She’s been so busy since she launched her new design. The fetish tea cosy. A stripy pot warmer in cashmere merino blend, with appliquéd patches in Daisy Chains® floral cottons to make a cute face pattern: two eyes, button nose and a quirky embroidered smile. Suitable for all medium-sized teapots. That’s the cosy part. The fetish part? Well, it fits snugly over the head, a multi-coloured hood with appliquéd eye covers to prevent the submissive peeping out between the stitches. Quite endearing on a female; completely humiliating on a man like me.

Click, clack. She’s stuck to steel needles for this one. Size 6. That’s British sizing; I learnt early in our relationship not to get US and UK numbers mixed up. It caused a major disaster in my first attempt at socks; I had to rip it all out and start again under her guidance. Tonight, her fancy new double-pointed bamboo needles were free for her to use on me. Size 9. That’s just 3.75mm wide. Two clamp my cock, placed just beneath the glans and fastened tight with elastic bands on each end. Two more lock my balls into place, holding them firm away from my crotch. The sharp ends are starting to dig into my thighs. My cock is semi-hard. If it gets bigger, I’m going to really feel that top pair. At least she hasn’t done my tongue today. She tried it once, stretching the cosy over the ends of the needles to keep them in place through the rows. But she didn’t like the damp mess my saliva made when I couldn’t swallow. That wool’s gentle handwash only.

Fibres tickle my face. I’m sure there’s one, just one, fine wisp of cashmere, sticking up my left nostril. I twitch my nose to try to shift it. And fail. But really, this yarn is deliciously soft, like a caress on the cheek. It reminds me of the first time I met Diane. I had finally braved the Wednesday Woollies meet at the arts centre in town. I fancied learning to knit. Maybe even crochet. But I had agonised over going for weeks. My cock would be the problem. How to control my cock when I longed to bury my face in those big balls of super chunky pure wool Aran, with their maddening mix of smooth and scratchy.

She’d welcomed me in. Took time off her own project to teach me the basics of knit and purl, rib and garter. And then she did it. I almost burst with the effort of remaining polite and decent. She held out a ball of a new blend she’d found: mohair and silk. Hand-dyed in aubergine. Oh God, that mohair. Torture on the nose. Exquisite torture. She understood even then. Teased me with it, letting me nuzzle as my cock twitched, then snatching it away and tapping me on the fingers with her needles like a naughty schoolboy. I wanted to bury my face in her baby pink Angora-clad bosom.

She invited me to her place for private tuition. We’ve never looked back. I’ve moved in and now I support her as she gets her fledgling business off the ground following redundancy. And at night, she indulges my desperate passion for yarn. Once she used an entire ball of fingering weight acrylic to tie me up. And that’s harsh stuff. She’d had it at the bottom of her stash for years, bought before she learnt the difference between those cheap yarns from the market and the softest, finest wools a sheep has to offer. Goats even. Alpaca. That acrylic cut into me, absolutely unyielding, the squeaky texture enough to set your teeth on edge.

My face is getting hot beneath its hood. Cosy. That’s the delight of the knitted fetish mask. That intense feeling of warmth and constriction without any restriction to breathing. My forehead is growing damp. The yarn is tickling in at least a dozen spots now. Involuntarily, my tongue flicks out to taste the stitches and is rewarded with a tiny strand, stuck there until she allows me to move. Like a pube picked up during cunnilingus. I wish she’d shift her heels to new positions. But no, she digs them in a little more as she starts a new row.

‘I’ll just do one more darling. Then I’ll take you upstairs.’ God I love this woman. 

Review: Deep Desires by Charlotte Stein

This is one intense read. You get deep into the character of protagonist Abbie, hearing her thoughts as they arise in all their fucked-up but totally realistic honesty. The entire story takes place within the confines of an apartment block and, although background is skilfully woven in, the sharp focus on such a narrow geographical space ramps up the tension. Stein squeezes every drop of emotion and sensuality out of the two main characters’ developing relationship. It’s got mystery; it’s got violence; it’s got damaged psyches; it’s got witty conversation; it’s got BLT sandwiches; it’s got... after a long and agonising build-up... damn hot sex. Fluently written, with quirky turns of phrase and imagery, and rich in detail, Deep Desires is a gripping tale that had me hooked.

In the grand scheme of erotica, it manages to get into the territory of trust and surrender without any of the accoutrements of kink (unless you count one blindfold and Ivan's 'rape-me' video). It is also thankfully free of romantic stereotypes and clichés. Very dark a lot of the time, but ultimately uplifting as Abbie and Ivan find hope in each other, this is a delight to read.

As an entirely pointless aside, I noticed the cover image had been used in a feature in Woman magazine from October 8th: 'My husband was secretly gay.' It was my gran's copy, all right?!

I bought Deep Desires from Amazon UK. Published by Mischief Books.

Five things that can make erotica tick

Not the obvious things. I mean, sex is pretty much a prerequisite. But I've been thinking about the little things that make me want to read more from any particular author, and the things I try to create in my own work.

1. Characters who are about more than sex
I like characters who have quirky likes or dislikes, eccentric hobbies, unusual areas of expertise. I wanted to know more about the antiques dealer in Janine Ashbless's Named and Shamed because he has that interest, that area of imagery, a unique lexicon. Although it's factual rather than fiction, I love the way Sophie Morgan in Diary of a Submissive loves cake. It makes characters seem real, rather than just being plastic fuck dolls. And if their eccentricities carry over into the sex, all the better. I've just been set an Erotic Tea Cosy challenge on Twitter, having stated in my profile that I am a knitter of tea cosies. My filthy imagination has already come up with several unusual uses for knitting needles.

2. Kink within meaningful relationships
I'm not a fan of chance meetings with strangers in any kind of erotica (I think this may say something about my own lack of experience of one-night-stands!). I think it becomes more acceptable the further away from contemporary normality you get - so historical or fantasy settings can get away with more. But when it comes to BDSM stuff, however escapist the setting, I get very twitchy when someone lets a complete stranger tie them up. I guess it's hard to identify with a stupid character; and letting a complete stranger tie you up is pretty damn stupid. What I do like is the exploration of kink within committed relationships, although this could be the tentative beginnings of what will probably become a meaningful relationship. Not a passer-by in a dark alley.

3. Pure filth
Go on, push the boat out. Really go for it. I don't want to read about the stuff you might get up to with your lover this weekend. I want to read about the stuff you might get up to if you knew the world would end on Monday. Claudia Varrin, in her excellent book The Art of Sensual Female Dominance, talks about four levels of erotic fantasy. The first is stuff you've done, the second stuff you want to try and the third comprises things you might like to do if you were really pushing the boat out. Well, I like to read and write about level four, what Varrin calls bathtub fantasies. These are things you are not likely to try and might not ever want to try in the real world, but you can still get a thrill from imagining them while you're in the bath. In fiction, you can try anything. 

4. Space for my imagination
I tend not to go overboard on physical description unless it's part of a theme for a particular call for submissions. I want any reader to be able to imagine themselves in the action, which isn't going to happen if I make my characters into Barbie dolls and muscle-bound commandos. And what is it with red-headed, green-eyed women? (I once got quite indignant in an English lit lecture in which the prof said that no-one outside of Mills & Boon actually has green eyes. I have green eyes, for fuck's sake. But not red hair.) I have vowed never, ever, ever to write about a heroine with red hair. I have absolutely nothing against women with red hair. I have everything against romantic stereotypes. I like quirky details, like a mole on someone's left ass cheek, but perfection leaves little room for the reader's input.

5. A sense of shabbiness
Following on from the Barbie doll thing, I don't like worlds in which the women are all size zero (that's a four in English) and the men all have six-packs. Swanky bars, plush offices, slinky evening wear, glitzy nightclubs, obsequious waiters, penthouse apartments, five-star hotels, 4x4s (trans: SUVs) with heated leather seats... these things don't do it for me. This may be a British thing. I like understatement. I like tawdry. I like the irony when you go to tie someone up and the rope snaps. (Or you go to tie a boat up and the rope snaps. This actually happened to me. On the Shannon in Ireland. A bloody big boat.) Some might say that these rich, perfect worlds are the stuff of dreams and people want to imagine living there in their escapist fantasies. But I can't. If I imagined some perfect life, full of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth, something would be sure to go wrong. The champagne would be corked. The 4x4's engine would blow up. I like to see how characters cope when things go wrong.

Review: Named and Shamed by Janine Ashbless

A no-holds-barred descent into the most filthy and degrading sexual acts imaginable, with each fresh round of shame for the heroine soon being trumped by something even more debased. Fantastic!

Tansy’s a freelance investigator of magical creatures in a world in which such beings have returned with a vengeance. And she’s not above shaking her booty to find out what she needs to know. But when she trades one quick fuck with a fairy for his help in retrieving a stolen document, she finds herself under a super-nympho curse that could kill her. With her flatmate cousin, and her fella, in tow she sets out to find the solution.  Along the way she finds herself in the hands of crazed yokels, a witch and her sons and the very king of the Wild Hunt himself. And they all want to stuff her. Repeatedly.

For a tale about shame, this book is utterly shameless. Ashbless has come up with every possible means of reducing the heroine to a set of fuckholes, with a little left over for her companions, Gail and Vince. There is no let-up in the shift from one outrageous sex scene to the next. Every possible configuration of fucking is covered along with many peripherals in the way of bondage, pain and punishment. This is a fantasy tale; don’t expect big emotional interplay between the characters. Do expect to lose yourself in a skilfully written, filthy hot romp with vivid description and a well-constructed crossover world of reality/fantasy.

I’m always impressed when an author can take a classic text and subvert it for the purposes of filth. Ashbless starts off with Christina Rossetti’s Goblin Market, positing a lost version which is a lot less prudish and cautionary. The tasting of the goblins’ forbidden fruits becomes a parallel to Tansy’s fuck with a fairy; she finds herself unable to eat but desperately wanting more ‘forbidden fruit’. On a wider scale, the novel’s folklore world is thoroughly researched and convincingly drawn, taking up both well-known and more obscure myths and legends and weaving them into a sinister and unpredictable reality.

Having begun the tale with Tansy’s seduction of antiques dealer Edmund – who turns out to be harbouring a libidinous ogress – I expected him to play a part in the story’s development, so I was a little disappointed when this turned out to be a plot device which didn’t involve the character’s return. Similarly, the looming war between the fairy king and the Pendragon is talked up into something significant, but then fades out. I would also have liked to know more about what happened to Gail and Vince after their escape and how they dealt with what happened to them. But these are minor gripes. Named and Shamed was a hugely enjoyable read, refreshingly dirty and compellingly written.

Named and Shamed is published by Sweetmeats Press http://sweetmeatspress.com/erotic_stories/illustrated_erotic_stories_named_shamed.html 

Just for laughs

It's lazy post time. Thought I'd share a few silly things I've stumbled across on the web. I should probably have made a note of who tweeted the links to a couple, so I could add appropriate thanks, but I'm not that organised.

Ever blown the grounsils or made a lobster kettle of yourself? Here are 17 euphemisms for sex from the 1800s: http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/140163

Perhaps you fancy a ride on a giggle stick, or would you prefer to pet the poodle? An enormous glossary of, often ridiculous, sexual and scatological euphemisms for your perusal: http://www.uta.fi/FAST/GC/sex-scat.html

Join the campaign to save Brit actor Sean Bean from yet another grisly death: http://rockpapercynic.com/index.php?date=2012-04-13

No matter how often I read these, they get me every time. The funniest iPhone autocorrects:
http://www.damnyouautocorrect.com/13603/the-25-funniest-autocorrects-of-dyacs-first-year/

Thoughts: The long and the short of it.

I’ve been polishing off a fair few short stories since I had my first couple of acceptances from Xcite Books a few months ago. They’re fun to write. I was going to say quick, but with all the rereading and rewriting I do they actually take quite a while. What they provide is the chance to play around, try different perspectives, quirky scenarios. I’m never short (forgive the pun) of ideas for shorts. And finishing them brings fairly quick gratification.

But I also have a longer work in progress, begun a couple of years ago and lying stagnant in my ‘stuff to work on’ file. I’m starting to think I should set aside a regular slot or two in my week for making progress on this. In terms of pure wordage, I have 15,000. I’m aiming for about 80,000. This is going to take a lot more stamina than a few short stories.

I had started to think at the back of my mind that the whole thing was a bit silly. I guess many writers will empathise with this. You leave a work for a while and your inner critic starts to tell you it’s terrible. Then you reread it with the benefit of a bit of distance and perspective and think, wow, this is hot stuff. 

So now I have to research life on board an eighteenth-century ship. How many people would it take to crew various sizes of vessel? What is the correct terminology for all those masts, sails, bits of rope? How long would journeys to various exotic destinations take from Europe? What would the crew eat and drink? It’s surprising how many facts I seem to know already from some unknown source, but I don’t think I can blag the rest by just reading Hornblower and watching Johnny Depp. That's Ioan Gruffudd above as Hornblower in the telly series, by the way.

Review: Smut by the Sea

I found this anthology a fantastically fun seaside romp full of top-notch writing talent.

Its overall feel is one of escapism into a wilder world outside the normal rules and constraints of society. The excellent quality of the writing allows the reader to fully immerse themselves in the settings and stories.

I should make a declaration of interest: I love the sea. I particularly love the British coastline and many of the stories are set in Brit seaside towns. I’ve known that late-night, drunken urge to go for a paddle. In fact, I once did this after going to a beer festival – at dusk with the tide coming in – and lost my comfiest sandals because I left them on the sand. I was busy paddling while darkness fell, turned around and couldn’t see a thing on the beach. For me, it’s the wildness of much of the British coast that tugs on my soul: jagged rocks, crashing waves, the cries of seabirds. But I still enjoy losing all my 2p coins at the amusement arcades. This line in Skin by KD Grace struck a chord: ‘You know the sea. You feel it inside you like I do.’

Although a few of the stories are set in more exotic locations, the theme of the British seaside runs through the book. It is one of slightly faded glory, often tacky, tatty or quaint, but full of opportunities for vivid imagery that speaks to all the senses. There are the smells of fish and chips and sun cream, the noise of the fairgrounds and arcades, the taste of ice cream and salty seawater, the feel of sand between the toes or waves in the face. For British readers, there’s sure to be a touch of nostalgia for childhood holidays.

The stories are full of contrasts that constantly surprise and entertain: hot sun and cool breeze, lovers who are both tender and rough, liaisons that are intense but fleeting. The sea itself provides a wealth of sensations and stirs up deep desires in the psyche. The seaside becomes a place between worlds, a special place of freedom and escape. In many of the stories, it is a place where a woman can set out quite deliberately to get laid with no strings attached in a much more picturesque setting than a nightclub toilet.

This is a real gem among erotica anthologies and I enjoyed escaping into its light-hearted world enormously.

Smut by the Sea, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse, is available at Amazon. For information on the Smut by the Sea event in Scarborough in June 2013, see http://smutbythesea.co.uk/ 

Picture special

September is bringing a fair few changes here and it's going to take a few weeks before I settle into a new routine. I'm hoping to have more time to write regularly and to launch a proofreading business. I will, of course, have more time to exercise. Honest. Although, at this precise moment, the urge to cook comfort food is also strong. I suspect that frying falafel next to a laptop is not advised.

At the moment I have the beginnings of about 12 stories in my files. This is how I like to write. I guess authors who've been doing it for years probably plan better and get it right first time. But I have an idea and I like to set it down, see where it goes and how hot it really is. I think the important thing in doing this is that I'm not afraid to totally rewrite these first ramblings. I do a fair amount of rewriting at work and am undaunted at the thought of shredding a story to pieces and rebuilding it.

Now, before my falafel burn, I'm taking the cop-out route today and giving you some pretty pictures of totty to inspire your own erotic ramblings.

Here's Simon Neil, the singer from fabulous Scottish rockers Biffy Clyro in a video for their track, The Captain. The poor wee thing finds himself tied up, flogged and caged. Somebody rescue that man. But not just yet.

What about English actor Richard Armitage playing John Porter in the telly series Strike Back. Don't tell them anything, Richard.

Ah, a classic. Harrison Ford as a beat-up looking Indiana Jones. Check out the calm defiance in those eyes.

Two hotties together in a rather unequal stand-off. Joaquin Phoenix and Russell Crowe in Gladiator. But Maximus is the one who somehow maintains his dignity despite being chained to the wall.

Those Supernatural boys do find themselves in perilous situations a lot. Probably explains why I have all the box sets. Here's Dean (Jensen Ackles) bound to a tree. I love the great outdoors.

And here's a man who knows how to handle his big weapon. Sean Bean as Richard Sharpe. Finest bit of rough I could find on the internet.

Review: Past Pleasures anthology

I’ve been working my way through the stories that co-exist with mine in this Xcite Books anthology and thought I’d share my thoughts on a few favourites. It’s not all ripped bodices and heaving bosoms; the stories range from ancient pagan tribes right up to twentieth-century New York.

In Pretty Tied Up by Elizabeth Coldwell a woman escapes small-town life by becoming a glamour model in 1950s America. One day, a famous female photographer suggests Lucille tries a bondage shoot. Normally, I’m apprehensive about any story that involves someone being persuaded to try any BDSM-related activity for the first time and suddenly realising they enjoy it when they had never considered it before. But this story makes it clear that Lucille has been excited by the thought and has just never had the opportunity. Her novice status allows the bondage to be described in sensual detail. I like the unexpected titbits too – like photographer Dusty ‘cursing like a sailor’. Lucille’s back story is woven into the narrative, bringing her character and motives to life. And there’s a great balance between the build-up of sexual tension between the two women and the resulting action.

I found Garver by Landon Dixon to be a refreshing dose of light relief, so to speak. A hired gun agrees to track down stolen coins in this cowboy sex fest – but only after a blow job from the skilled bossman. The language and style are far removed from anything I could write myself, which is partly why I enjoyed the read, particularly marvelling at the range of descriptions of cocks (which just goes to show that rules are made to be broken since I wrote a few weeks ago that you should call a cock a cock rather than coming up with increasingly preposterous names for it). It’s a wonderfully masculine tale in every way, prowess as a gunfighter intimately linked to sexual prowess.

In The Gift by Clarice Clique, a princess struggles to satisfy her husband’s desire to be dominated. So she buys a slave to do it for her, which I thought was a nice twist to the balance of power. It turns out the slave allowed herself to be captured because she dreamt that her destiny lay in a foreign place. She thoroughly embraces her contradictory position. And she proves a natural, the story outlining in vivid detail how she orders the prince to submit in new ways.

La Contessa’s Game by Slave Nano is another tale of male submission (there seems to be a theme emerging here among the stories I enjoy ;-), this time with a gender-bending slant. What struck me was the luxury and decadence, particularly in descriptions of clothing. It is set largely in a whorehouse in Venice. The countess dresses her servant as a girl, while she dresses as a man, and pretends (s)he is his young wife and in need of subjugation at the hands of a dominatrix prostitute. Even his/her punishment is decadent in its thoroughness and the whole thing climaxes in a glorious threesome. The story is told in the first person by the servant, which stops it sounding purely sadistic!

Past Pleasures is available in paperback or ebook from XciteBooks.

Story time: The joy of text

Here's a bit of quickie fun for you. Highbrow literature it ain't, but I'm on my holidays and have a tent pole to fix with duct tape before the next monsoon hits Wales. The bit about the online date recounting the plot of a zombie horror movie is, unfortunately for me, actually autobiographical. Enjoy x

I was playing a surreptitious game of space invaders under the desk on my mobile. I’d finished reading a very dull report about cost savings half an hour ago, but certainly wasn’t going to admit it. No-one thanked you in this office for being efficient; they just piled on more work. The phone buzzed and I missed a bonus shot. I clicked ‘read’.

‘Hey baby, I can’t stand thinking about you stuck in that office chair. When I want you tied to a chair here, where I’m the boss. Love Danny, xxx’

I was somewhat surprised, but hit reply and thought for a moment: ‘Interesting idea. Tell me more.’

I glanced up. The managing director was on the phone in his little glass booth, waving his hands about, making some very important point about our firm’s latest stationery range. Everyone else looked busy, apart from Sue next to me, who I knew was planning a romantic dinner for her new fella.

My phone buzzed again. ‘I want to sit you down on a massive dildo suctioned to a hard wooden chair and bind you to it, arms, legs, hips, tits so you can’t move an inch.’

My abdomen fluttered, from waist to clitoris. I could feel my cunt tingling. My heart hammered. I bit my lip and pressed reply: ‘You’re making me wet. What will you do to me when you’ve got me tied and helpless?’

As the ‘sending’ symbol revolved on screen I realised Sue was talking to me. ‘Do you want a cuppa?’ She waggled her mug. ‘I’m going to the kitchen. You with me? What are you daydreaming about?’

‘Oh nothing, you know,’ I stuttered. ‘Just trying to decide which nail varnish to put on for my date at the weekend.’ I handed her my cup and she marched off. I had a date with a guy from a matchmaking website. Another one. I hoped he was a bit more interesting than the last one, who had spent the night telling me the entire plot of a zombie horror movie he’d just seen.

My phone buzzed: ‘I’ll stick my cock deep in your mouth and make you suck until I come. Then I’ll make you swallow it.’

Sue thumped down a cup of tea on my desk. ‘Did that text say “cock”?’ she asked. ‘Who the hell are you getting messages like that from? I thought your last date was a disaster.’

‘Oh, it’s another guy,’ I said, airily. ‘One I met a while ago but we haven’t been able to find another date we’re both free yet.’ I hoped the lie didn’t show; I’m not very good at deception. And I didn’t want any more questions to distract me from what I was imagining. Fortunately Sue was no prude and didn’t seem surprised at me receiving texts containing the word ‘cock’. I gulped my tea quickly and headed to the toilets with my bag.

I locked a cubicle door and sat on the edge of the loo lid. I rooted around in my bag for my finger vibe and slid it on. I yanked my skirt up, pulled my knickers to one side and started to rub my clitoris with the vibrator. I took my phone in the other hand and typed a reply: ‘You’ve got me really turned on. I’m rubbing my wet pussy.’

‘You dirty girl,’ came the reply. ‘I shall have to punish you for masturbating.’

The slim vibe buzzed against my clit and I could feel my slippery pussy throbbing and swelling. Images ran through my head of a chair, and ropes, and a big, hard cock. I imagined the dildo in my cunt, the cock in my mouth. My orgasm began as a pulse in my abdomen and rippled out through my body. My free hand flung out wildly, the phone held in my fist clattering as I pushed against the wall of the cubicle.

As I enjoyed the warmth flushing through me, I typed into the phone: ‘I’ve just had a fantastic orgasm.’

I jumped as my phone rang. I hesitated for a second, suddenly worried. Then I hit the green button. He started to speak: ‘Oh god Louise, are you coming round here yet? I can’t wait much longer.’ He sounded quite young, with a northern accent.

He was waiting for a reply. ‘Erm, Danny, I’m afraid it’s not Louise. My name’s Sally.’

‘What?’ I waited while the truth sank in and he went on, sounding distressed: ‘Oh fuck. I’m so sorry. Oh god, those things I said. I’m not...’

I cut him off. ‘It’s ok Danny. I’ve led you on a bit too. And I have just had the most fantastic orgasm dreaming of all the things you described. I’m curious about why you’ve got my number though.’

He was still panicky: ‘My girlfriend changed her phone. She told me the new number. I must have written it down wrong. I’m so sorry, are you sure you’re ok?’

‘I’m fine,’ I told him. ‘Better than fine, Danny. You’ve really brightened up my afternoon at work. Louise is a lucky woman.’

‘Ha,’ he laughed. ‘I’m the lucky one. Louise is amazing. Anyway, I’d better let you go, Sally.’

‘I suppose so,’ I sighed. ‘But if Louise fancies a threesome, you’ve got my number.’

Review: The Diary of a Submissive

The Diary of a Submissive: A True Story by Sophie Morgan was published in the wake of the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon. It stands up as a fantastic read quite independent of those books, but can also be seen in the context of the furore about apparently normal women going all giddy over a fantasy dom.

Sophie’s book is an incredibly brave, frank, detailed and intimate journal of her development as a sexual submissive. In her case, contrary to the virginal (never even wanked?!) heroine of *that* book, these tendencies are present from childhood in a fascination with captured damsels in distress. I actually wondered where it was all going when the book meandered through Sophie’s childhood, early romances and university life. But taking her story as a whole, this chronological journey is crucial to the balance: that this is a perfectly normal person with a family, a career and a fondness for home baking, who happens to love kinky sex.

By the time Sophie meets James – who has obvious parallels to the hero of *that* book in being rich and gorgeous – I was completely drawn into her story. I cared what happened. I desperately wanted things to work out between them. When, after a weekend in which she suffers/enjoys the deepest humiliations and pain of her life, he fails to return her calls, I was outraged on her behalf. I was also nearly late for work because I didn’t want to stop reading.

If you read purely for the sexy bits (surely not?), you won’t be disappointed. There are plenty of scenes of spanking of various kinds, nipple torture, bondage, humiliation and degradation. I suppose aficionados of intricate bondage might be disappointed; this is much more about the psychological side of submission, although there is the odd set of handcuffs and blindfolds in there too. I won’t be able to look at chopsticks as innocent eating implements again.

A lot of thought has been put into that psychological foundation behind domination and submission and I found Sophie’s discussions of it insightful as she comes to terms with her own nature in a completely unashamed way. She writes in the epilogue: ‘I’ve been thinking more about my nature – submissive and otherwise – than I ever have before and trying to put it into words that are both sexy and truthful.’ And I’d say she has succeeded. 

You can read more from Sophie in Six Reasons Fifty Shades of Grey isn't True to Life, a guest post at Victoria Blisse's blog.

Thoughts: What inspires you?

I write erotica. Often fairly kinky erotica. But, funnily enough, I don't actually spend my whole life shagging. And I often write about things I have never done and don't particularly want to do. That's the beauty of erotica and, indeed, all fiction. It is all made up, the fantasies of the writer's crazy mind. Nobody would have asked Agatha Christie if she'd actually murdered someone. For the reader, enjoyment can be had from being led into a world very different from what their real life is or ever will be.

So where can you find inspiration if you're not actually doing the things you write about? I have a lot of beginnings of stories floating around in my head that have come from experiences far removed from anything to do with sex. I harvested some courgettes from my allotment. They're so obviously phallic it's quite comical. It set me thinking about what a couple who are judging a horticultural contest might do with the exhibits afterwards. That is how a new story is born, this one full of the colourful vocabulary of vegetable varieties. I went swimming in the sea off north Wales. Leaping into the vast ocean is a very sensual experience (mostly the sense of being fecking freezing). I began to think about what might lead a couple to swim to an island or deserted cove and what they might do there. Another story is taking shape.

Inspiration can come from anywhere as long as you get away from the keyboard sometimes and do your thing. For it's your unique take on whatever is 'your thing' that makes your story different from any other writer's. I guess there may be erotica authors out there who spend all their time in bed in the name of research.  But, for me, I need to be out experiencing the wider world and Life with a capital L.

So where do you get your inspiration?

Freebie: Cherry Ripe

Fancy getting your hands on Shakespeare's ass for free? Well here's your chance. My story, As You Like It, which has just been published in the anthology Past Pleasures, is now also available for FREE in Cherry Ripe along with four other little treasures. It's for download to your Kindle (or Kindle app on your PC, which is what I use) at Amazon.

It's the tale of a girl whose greatest ambition is to act - in an era when women aren't allowed on stage. To realise her dream, she seduces the famous playwright Will and teaches him the joys of submission.

Happy reading!

Published: Past Pleasures anthology

Past Pleasures is officially published in paperback today. http://www.xcitebooks.co.uk/Book/6804/Past-Pleasures.html Woohoo! Now that it's out in black and white, I can't quite believe that I wrote a story in which Shakespeare gets fisted. Seems a tad presumptuous. But I'm sure the bard would have been up for it. You can tell from his work he was a game guy ;-)

Here's the blurb:

Viking invaders, punishing Pharaohs, naughty maids and lusty lords come together in this collection of hot historical erotica.

In this selection of stories no one is quite as prim and proper – or as tightly laced up – as you might think. A feisty female highwayman finds love when she orders a duchess to stand and deliver, while a headstrong Southern Belle embarks on an erotic battle of wills with a Union soldier hunting a Confederate spy. And when the Bard of Avon meets a girl with a yen to tread the boards and a taste for the kinkiest of sex, all’s well that ends well.

And here's my humble contribution:

As You Like It by Tilly Hunter
Beatrice’s dearest ambition is to perform on the stage with Will, the greatest playwright and actor ever known and a favourite of the queen’s court. But women are forbidden from appearing in plays. Beatrice seduces Will and teaches him the ecstasy of submitting to her riding crop and her dildo up his arse until he pledges to help her realise her dream. But the main performance is a thorough fisting for the renowned wordsmith on stage after the theatre has emptied.