Tag Archives: excerpt

Best Women’s Erotica 2015

BWE 15 There are certain brass rings that I wanted to grab when I started writing erotica. Getting a story in the Best Women’s Erotica series was, for the longest time, the biggest of those brass rings. I feel very fortunate to say that I was able to cross this goal off my list when my story, “Star Fucker,” was accepted into Best Women’s Erotica, 2015 – the last of the series that will be edited by Violet Blue.

Far more than the title though, I feel extremely lucky to have my work included in an anthology with stories by so many authors whom I both respect and admire, including Tamsin Flowers, Valerie Alexander, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Lana Fox and J.T. Louder. To see the full table of contents, pop on over to Tamsin’s blog – she has one up, in addition to an excerpt from her contribution, an f/f take on Cyrano de Bergerac called “Roxanne”.

In the meantime, I want to share a short excerpt from “Star Fucker”. It’s a lot lighter than most of the stories I’ve written recently, but damn was it fun to write, and not just because it’s about a writer, a famous actor and a mirrored elevator. It also features a character that has become one of my all time favorites – see if you can guess which it is. Hope you enjoy! xx.M

Excerpt from “Star Fucker”

“Star fucker.”

I barely look up. “Star fucker” is one of Jane’s favorite insults. It’s gotten a lot of play recently—almost as much as “useless douche.” But “star fucker” is special. If “useless douche” were a pair of granny heels, “star fucker” would be stilettos. Jane’s virtuosic scorn twists and hardens the r’s so that it sounds more like Strrrr Fuckrrrr by the time it leaves her mouth.

“Strrrrr Fuckrrrr.”

She says it again. For emphasis. Jane is good at scorn. She always has been. I think she’d shrivel up without it. She’s an agent, after all—balls and scorn have fueled her career. But then, of course, you know that. Jane is your agent. And the girl, the Strrrrr Fuckrrrr, who has been judged not once, but twice with enough scorn to kill a Borgia, is hanging off your arm.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she says, shoving her drink at me. “Viv, I’ll be right back.”

I nod, and take a sip. I’m not really paying attention. This party isn’t how I’d have chosen to spend my last evening in town, but unless you’re into celebrities, Hollywood isn’t paradise to begin with. I’m mostly immune to celebrities. Mostly. There is one exception. But then, you know that too.

I scan the busy bar, looking for Jane. She might be 5’1, but her presence is huge. It’s only a second before I see her, bearing down on a man whose back is to the room. Her shoulders are set like a boxer’s. Our grandma would be proud. Meanwhile, her target is disentangling himself from a slinky, little blonde. The Strrr Fuckrrrr, I presume.

The blonde pouts in the parody of a come-on—hips cocked, breasts pert, no underwire needed. The man regretfully shakes his head just as Jane the Mighty arrives. Apparently delighted, the man swings her up like a rag doll until she whacks him on the arm. The blonde slinks away as he laughs and puts her down. And that’s when I see his face—your face—clearly for the first time.

Michael Spencer.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I nearly drop Jane’s drink. You are the exception to my celebrity thing. I am not immune to you.

Best Women’s Erotica, 2015 is available HERE in trade paper and ebook formats.

Review: M by Jacob Louder

GDP014-M_CoverFinalM by Jacob Louder. Go Deeper Press, (January 7, 2015). Available through Amazon Kindle.

I’m becoming selective in what I review, mostly because I’ve becoming more selective in what I read. I’m in the lucky position of having a lot on my professional plate, so time is precious and I want to spend it well. Reading M, Jacob Louder’s new novella from Go Deeper Press, was a magnificent way to spend time.

Jacob Louder appeared on the scene last year with First, a novella that did in 60 pages what many novels fail to do in 600, (click HERE to read my review). It was one of the strongest, most impressive debuts I’ve ever seen – the perfect introduction to Nico Ericsson, Louder’s complicated, hedonistic and relentlessly likeable protagonist.

Normally, I’d have wondered about a sophomore slump with a writer who knocks it out of the park his first time at bat, but I’ve gotten to know Jacob’s work in the past year, and it is, without exception, stellar. His piece in Go Deeper Press’s Dirty Little Numbers was a standout, and I recently had the honor sharing pages with him in Oleander Plume‘s break-out anthology, Chemical (se)X, in which his story, “Thursday Threesome / Birthday Foursome,” practically bounds off the page with gorgeously depraved, sexy joy. Because of this, I knew his follow up to First would be special – I just didn’t realized how special it would be.

Nico Ericsson returns in M, a bit older, more experienced and with a firmer sense of himself. But he is also, still, the Nico from First – charming, savvy and voraciously sexual, with a level of awareness and perspective that makes him fascinating to read. He is no longer a high school boy, experiencing firsts and testing his own boundaries. He’s a French major in college with an enviable circle of friends, lovers and sexual partners, and a beautiful girlfriend named Miranda, whom he calls M. Having read First, I was massively gratified when I realized exactly who M was, but even if you haven’t read it, Louder’s treatment of her, and her relationship with Nico, will resonate because it is so intensely real.

That’s the thing about Jacob Louder’s writing. His characters aren’t icons, ideals or stereotypes. They don’t function to carry a message. In fact, if anything, his writing is anti-didactic, and therein lies it’s power. His characters are human to a degree that almost broke my heart at times. With little to no exposition, he paints portraits of people with fluid sexualities, complicated needs and intensely personal relationships to monogamy, sex and their own sexual and gender identities, all while leaving the reader space to relate on his or her terms.

And then there’s the sex. Fucking hell, can Jacob Louder write sex. I’ve been around the block more than a few times, but reading M is like a master class in sexual self-possession. There’s cam sex, good natured blow jobs and rooftop wankings with his roommate and friends, creatively hot run-ins with exes and semi-random girls, and, of course, there sex with M. It’s in those scenes that Louder especially shines. Using nothing but sexual response and dialog, he gives us stunning insight into Nico, Miranda and their relationship.

I’ve said this about Jacob Louder before, but I’ll say it again. He writes literary pornography that is important. M and First are people porn at it’s most effective best, and I can’t recommend it enough. His dialog flies, the story moves and all the while, Nico and M and the rest of the players are getting under your skin, even as they turn you on.

M by Jacob Louder is what literary porn should be – relentlessly hot, with a well of humanity that makes the sex an intrinsic part of a driving, compelling narrative.Care to read an excerpt? Of course you do! There are some great ones over at Jacob Louder’s website, Tamsin Flowers’s Superotica Advent Calendar and Oleander Plume’s review at Poison Pen / Dirty Mind. Or even better, just buy M, (and read First if you haven’t). It’s available HERE.

And for more information about Jacob Louder, check out his blog or follow him on Twitter. I guarantee you’re going to like what you find.

Pillow Talk Secrets: Details, Details, Details

PIllow Talk Logo - girl with black hair on pillow making red pouted kissy faceIt’s time for another installment of Pillow Talk Secrets! This time around, Tamsin, Jade and I are dealing with the devil – the devil in the details, that is. How much physical / erotic detail do we prefer a story to contain, both as writers and as readers? And we’d love to know what you think. Would you rather the protagonist have “dark” hair, or do you want a fully painted picture of her “curling raven locks”? Feel free to leave a comment below or, even, better, follow the link and jump over to the Pillow Talk website to finish the conversation and let us know what you think there. Either way, I hope you enjoy! xx.M

Pillow Talk Secrets

Jade: Hello, ladies! So nice to be back together again! How are the both of you?

Malin: Hiya! I’m doing good—got my first cup of tea right here, so I’m feeling fine (though I’ll feel better after the third!).

Tamsin: Hello girls—hope you’re both well!

J: Good to see you both. I’m very excited for today’s session! Shall we dive right in?

T: Absolutely!

J: All right—today is all about the dirty deets. As in, how much specific physical detail do we like to read and write in our erotica? It’s a pretty broad topic. Any initial thoughts?

T: Just to explain how this topic came up—I was having a chat with Malin as she’d been beta reading something for me, and I pointed out that I’d never mentioned what colour hair the protagonist had. So I asked her if that mattered.

Eye Color Detail

Her eyes were the most amazing shade of…

M: And my response was that, for me, it definitely didn’t. I actually preferred it. I’m a “less-is-more” kind of girl whether I’m writing or reading. I like selective amounts of specific detail, and then I like to let my brain, (or the reader’s), fill in the rest.

J: I get the sense this is a common feeling for the three of us—and maybe a lot of other erotica authors as well. Sometimes, too much detail can throw things off. For example, if a character is described as having enormous breasts, or a certain color hair, or a freckle on the forearm… that paints a very specific image.

T: I find there’s nothing worse when I’m reading a story if the action breaks off for a whole paragraph of physical description, like the writer’s going down a checklist of hair, eyes, height and so on…

M: Absolutely. It feels manufactured. You basically want your reader to identify with the characters—if you lay in a ton of generic detail (large breasts, curly hair, etc), it can make it more challenging for the reader to put herself or himself in the story.

J: I don’t want to discount some detail—I think some detail orients the reader. The key is just enough, without becoming overkill.

T: Drip feeding it is the preferred way, I think. A small, specific detail here, another there, to build up a gradual picture—not all at once.

M: It’s also important to drip feed those details (I love that, by the way) in as they become relevant. Don’t give us a dossier the moment the character walks into the room…

Click here to continue the conversation!

Confessions and an Excerpt: Barcelona

I’m of two minds regarding confessional style erotica. The first is fairly straight-forward – Oh! Confess away you naughty thing! pretty much sums it up. The second is a bit more serious and a lot less fun. It stems from the fact that, as an ex-Catholic who still has slightly bitter memories of confessing to a faceless priest while kneeling in a small, poorly-lit box, I don’t like the whole notion of “confessing” in a non-criminal context. While totally appropriate in the cases of rape, murder and assault, I just don’t see the inherent harm in masturbating on a regular basis.

That said, my ideological proclivities and righteous opinion-holding didn’t stop me from writing a little piece of confessional erotica about a woman who sleeps with her first cousin. Ha! Take that, ideology! That story, “Barcelona”, is part of what’s shaping up to be a pretty fabulous collection – The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions, edited by Barbara Cardy, now available here in the US and here in the UK. As part of the Mammoth Book series, you know it’s.. big, (I’m not just saying that – it really is). Moreover, it’s full of really lovely confessional erotica. Take that again, ideology!

So, in honor of the release, I’m posting an excerpt here. After all, who doesn’t love a confessional literature.. Ahem..  And so, without further ado, I give you “Barcelona” –  just one of many sexy, sexy confessions about sexy, sexy sex, in sexy sexy places. I hope you enjoy! xx.M

Excerpt: “Barcelona”

9780762452286“I’ve always wanted you.”

He said this quietly, as if it were simple fact. Maybe it was. More blushing as years of suppressed attraction shot straight through my body, peaking my breasts and slicking my thighs. I was vibrating with arousal and he hadn’t even touched me.

“Eric…” I said, trying to think of something to say and coming up blank.

He stopped in front of me and, carefully, warily, as if he were afraid I might bite, lightly cupped my neck. My breath caught.

Kissss, my brain whispered.

Kissss.

We were finally going to kiss. We both knew it, and the ache of wanting it was almost too good to end. Electricity shot straight through me as he lowered his head and stopped just before meeting my lips.

“Do you remember when you all came to visit me in Barcelona,” he murmured. His mouth was whisper from mine.

“Yes,” I said.

A little thread of something nervous and giddy coiled through my belly. My hand reached up around his waist, and he shifted closer, closer but not so close that our bodies touched. Not yet.

“Do you remember that night…” he began.

“… we went out with our parents,” I finished, evoking the nearly that had carved itself so deeply on my brain. “It was hot and we’d had too much to drink and I wished they’d go away and leave us alone.”

He nodded. “You were wearing a black and red dress.”

“I know that dress,” I whispered. He was leaning closer. I could smell rosemary and lemon on his hands.

“I brushed against you so many times that night, daring myself to take your hand. I wanted to fuck you in that dress.”

My hips canted, instinctively trying to find his. When they did, I all but moaned. God, he was so hard. He pressed himself into me, fitting his cock into the hollow of my thighs. It fit, we fit perfectly, even through out clothes. Still we did not kiss.

“How?” I said. “How did you want to fuck me?”

He was pushing me back now, walking me into the counter. My arm tightened around his waist. We were both breathing hard.

“I wanted to pull you down an ally, push you up against an ancient stone building and make love to you in the middle of the dark city.

My hips started to move, rubbing against him. I was so hot, I couldn’t breath.

“Tell me. Tell me more.”

He started kissing my neck.

“I imagined lifting that dress up over your hips and touching you through lace panties. I imagined you hot and slick and ready for me.”

His lips found my pulse as my hand snaked down past his waistband and pressed against his ass. My voice, when it came, was thick with invitation.

“I wasn’t wearing any panties that night. I was thinking of you slipping the straps off my shoulders and sucking my breasts, touching me, quickly, so no one would see.”

He mouth stilled on my skin. I could feel his heart hammering under my hand as he lifted me up onto the counter and stood between my legs. Slowly, his long, blunt-tipped fingers slid beneath the strap of my top. I caught my breath as he looked into my eyes and drew my camisole down, baring a soft expanse of skin. Then he bent his head and brushed a kiss over my tight, aching nipple.

“Tell me,” I whispered, “what did you want to do me up against that wall?”

 

Audible Orgasms

TBBOOSo, the title of this post isn’t really fair.. or, at the very least, it’s possibly, slightly, potentially misleading. This post is not, in fact, about loud, orgasmic sex, though what I have to say may serve as inspiration.

The Audible I’m talking about is the Amazon audio book company, and the orgasms I mentioned are the subject of The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories. Yesterday, the little collection that could was released in audio book format, available now through Audible.com (see what I was doing there with the title? Clever, I know…).

The entire anthology is narrated by the incomparable Rose Caraway, hostess of The Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast, which, for me, only adds to the thrill, because hearing my story, “Hard Knocks”, read by one of my favorite authors is a bit of a surreal thrill. Eventually, I’ll end up writing a review for the audio version of the collection, (and while I can’t promise to be impartial, I can say that I’ll be honest). In the meantime, here’s short excerpt of “Hard Knocks” to whet the appetite.  Rachel Kramer Bussel brought together a group of talent for this thing that can’t be topped. My story notwithstanding, it’s a honey of a collection. I hope you check it out 😉

Update 4/10/14 – You can read my Audible.com review here!

Excerpt: “Hard Knocks”

“You absolutely cannot make someone come just by spanking them.”

I say this with an authority that I, admittedly, don’t possess. Still, the idea that you could orgasm just from having your ass sufficiently smacked seemed ludicrous  – the stuff of erotic stories and porn. Max is completely undisturbed by my lack of faith.

“Yes. You can.”

Max leans back in his chair, long-legged and lean, the shadow of a smile pulling his mouth. It’s easy to miss, but I’m a very observant girl and I like observing Max.

“Really,” I say, skepticism quirking my mouth.

“Really,” he replies. His eyes flicker over my plump bottom lip, but he doesn’t take the bait. He lights a cigarette instead.

“Well, I suppose if you do a little extra work in addition to the spanking – the clit is a magical thing….”

“No,” Max says, stubbing out the cigarette after only three drags. (Yes, I noticed how many drags. Like I said, I’m observant. Max and I had only been dating for a month and there was still quite a lot to observe).

“Just spanking,” he continues, calmly holding my gaze. “If it’s done right.”

Something flashes through his gray eyes, and I suddenly have the feeling that he knows what he’s talking about. I’m intrigued and nervous and a little bit scared. And surprisingly turned on. I lean back in my chair.

“Show me,” I say.

My chin lifts a notch in challenge. Max smiles, this time a full, real smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes, warming the wintery gray.

“Stand up,” he says warmly, lovingly, as if he’s asked me to an especially fabulous dinner.

“Wait, now?”

I’m ashamed to say that “now” comes out a bit of a squeak. Very undignified. Not my best moment, but I’m wishing I hadn’t gone there – up to this point, I’ve had lots of deviant vanilla sex, but never crossed the boundary to anything like S/M.

“Now,” he says, smiling like the big bad wolf. “Don’t worry, Jen. I’m not going to eat you. Not yet.”