A Symphony of Spices

Where did the summer go? This was an especially enjoyable one for me, not the least because of the weekly magic of our Spicy Sunday blog parties. It's hard to say goodbye, but the parting is just a little bit easier when you can drink, dance and party (underwear optional) at a good farewell bash. I can tell you the secret now--our grand finale involves a trip to Europe for some spicy surprises from a truly passionate cook. So put on your wings and fly on over to Germany where Danielle de Santiago has put together an amazing buffet of homemade chutneys, flavor-infused oil and home-doctored vinegar, that both preserve summer's sweetness and challenge your palate with plenty of complex spice. (I know I'll be trying the pear thyme chutney, pictured above). As you nibble on these palate-piquing delicacies, you can also enjoy some evocative and sensual snippets of erotic prose that feel just like stepping into a sexy foreign film--and will leave your imagination gasping for more. I can't think of a better way to finish up a fabulous feast. Thank you to all the hosts (I'll recap all of the feasts in a post very soon) and to Marina St. Clare for inspiring the party and for helping keep the fire hot all summer long!

Tease Me, Baby!

As the youngest of three girls, I was often teased by my older sisters. I don't like that kind of teasing.

But there's another kind of teasing I like very much indeed. Here's the way it goes:

Usually I'm naked. Or mostly naked. And my whole body is quivering for that first touch. I know I'm going to get what I want in the end, but the path to the ultimate pleasure will be slooow, with lots of excruciatingly delicious pauses along the way. And with each stop comes a question, swirling through my head as I sigh and squirm and beg--what will he do next? Only he knows, though eventually, I learn the answer, too, with the soft, wet suck of his lips on my nipple, the carefully calibrated slap on my vulva.

It's been a deliciously long, lingering journey as we've blog-hopped through the spice rack with our Spicy Sunday blog tour. But the finale is going to finish the festivities with a great big bang. I know who's going to send us off in style. And so does Marina St. Clare. If you head over there with your tickler (a French one might do the trick), she might tell. But I'm not telling, not yet. I want to hear your sighs, your pleas. I want to see you squirm.

How far are you willing to go to get your answer?

Pickle Love!

Well, as you know, I've been on the road for the past two Spicy Sundays. But fortunately, I was able to get internet access to stop by Bad Ass Kona's for a smokin' celebration of rosemary and meals of seduction on August 9 and then celebrated the joys of poppy with summer salad, pumpkin muffins, and sexy transitions over at Emerald's.

Today we celebrate our penultimate Spicy Sunday at P.S. Haven's place with an ode to salt. There's a very salty recipe for big, fat pickles and lots of mouthwatering prose, including a brand-new story written just for this party! As you might expect, the discussion topic is equally intriguing and is sure to get your mind all juiced up with savory ideas. It certainly got me thinking about my erotic obsessions and just how far I'm willing to go. (P.S., Ranch Dip makes everything taste better).

So come join us for some salty bites and conversation on a lovely green isle in the Atlantic. And don't forget your favorite pickle!

Ginger Love

Spicy Summer Sundays continues with an amazing feast through the seasons at Isabel Kerr's Italian villa.

Isabel's descriptions of Tuscany's season bounty, her recipe for gingery Cold Lemon Chicken, and her story of an in the flesh affair with Ginger will have you dizzy with lust. Or is it love?

Add to that a celebration of the lawyer who made erotica legal, and you've got one very succulent Sunday party al fresco. Plus, you'll have such a craving for a warm slab of gingerbread cake with half-melted ice cream, you may just have to bake a batch. So jet on over to Isabel's, no passport required!

Dill-icious Secrets of Dirty Story Writers

Spicy Summer Sundays continues with an utterly dill-icious discussion of dill and big, fat, singing pickles over at Jeremy Edwards' place.

The champagne is flowing, the green beans are fresh from the vine, the dill hummus is all over my fingers and I'm licking it off slowly, lovingly as I listen to spicy writers from near and far discuss their favorite moment of the creative process. I'm learning a lot--for example, did you know a big old tuft of dill weed makes a great sex toy? Or that fennel and dill have a thing goin' on? But I'm not going to give away all of the secrets. Head on over to the dill-ectable party! You'll be dill-ighted you di(lle)d.

Is Pepper the Secret to a Happy Marriage?

And I'm not talking a threesome involving Sgt. "Pepper" Anderson from "Police Woman," although that might help, too. If you want to find out more about the power of pepper, get a peek into a shocking Idaho scandal, feast on a few nostalgic pics of Angie Dickinson, and get all drooly over a summer barbecue feast of pepper steak, baked potatoes, grilled corn on the cob and a Diet Dr. Pepper (can I have this for breakfast?), then head over to Craig Sorensen's summer spice party for some fine food and excellent peppery prose.

It'll be good for your marriage, too!

It's About Thyme....

I was dazzled by fireworks last night, but the fun continues with a fabulous feast by a crackling bonfire over at Scarlett Greyson's as we celebrate the pleasures of thyme.

There's a mouthwatering recipe for polenta, a buffet of fresh fruit and s'mores with dark chocolate and plenty of orange muscat to wash down the treats. I'm truly inspired to do more with thyme in my cooking now.

The topic of discussion? Well, we're pushing beyond our norms and for erotica writers that's saying something. So come on over and join us as the holiday festivities continue!

The Sexy Side of Cinnamon

Our Spicy Sunday series continues with a stop at Gina Marie's for a taste of cinnamon. But be prepared to leave your preconceptions at the door. Actually, there is no door, just a rocky beach with waves crashing, an imminent storm gathering in the clouds, a beautiful shipwrecked sailor, the promise of transformation. And a whole new way to look at cinnamon. Cinnamon was one of the few spices my mother kept in our whitebread Catholic cupboard--but Gina Marie shows us how very sexy this spice can be if you just say "yes."

Swim on over for some arousing prose, mouth-and-eye watering indulgences, and a fascinating discussion of aphrodisiacs. If you dare!

Spicy Secrets for a Busy Porn Day

It's Spicy Sunday and this week Sommer Marsden is celebrating what to my mind is the sexiest spice--cumin. Cumin smells like sweaty men to me and sweaty men are my very favorite flavor. So slide on over to Sommer's to learn the secrets of her favorite "Busy Porn Day" dinner. Scoops of spices, unctuous oils, sensual massages, flaming corn, the most hedonist way to drink wine and many more sensual pleasures await.

Are you comin'?

Other Spices, Other Lives

On the third stop of our Spicy Sunday summer blog party, hostess extraordinaire Neve Black has cooked up a luscious Spanish feast featuring fresh cilantro. Clothing is optional (or at least minimal) and of course there's music and dancing and plenty of Tecate beer with lime to go with your fish tacos! The topic of conversation is one very dear to my heart and imagination--the power of food to transport you in time and space. Neve knows how to throw a party, so stop by for lots of time-travelling fun. And I guarantee you I'm having tacos for lunch today!

Hot, Hot, Hot Chili Powder at Erobintica's!

Yesterday was a quiet day for me, but not today! Even before I had my coffee, I was dancing to hot music, wiggling around on a very interesting chair, and enjoying the super spicy cuisine of Erobintica (including dessert--yum!) She is throwing one amazing party with treats for the eye, ear, tongue, and a few other sensitive parts of your body as well. Don't miss it--and be prepared to get very hot.

Sultry Spicy Sexy Soup!

It’s summertime, the season of lingering evenings and night skies ablaze with fireworks, the perfect time to invite like-minded friends over for a casual gathering in the garden to eat, drink and talk dirty. It’s my honor and pleasure to be the first hostess on our erotica writers’ Spicy Sunday Blog Tour (co-hosted and inspired by Marina St. Clare who definitely fired up the grill ;-). Already my mouth is watering at the thought of our traveling feast. From basil to thyme, we’ll tempt our taste buds and imaginations to summery explorations of our deepest sensual appetites.

To set the mood for a sultry erotic gathering, I offer this seasonal song from the legendary Ella Fitzgerald.

So, do come on back to my garden and pull up a lawn chair. As you see, we’re shielded from the prying neighbors by apricot and fig trees, mallow flower and maple (besides, in my part of the world, the neighbors themselves are probably doing things that would make us blush). There are plenty of beverages to quench your thirst: a nicely spicy Mas Malbec, some Sierra Nevada pale ales on ice and of course chilled Demon-Slayer sake—don’t we all have demons to slay?--which will be served in my signature 19th century Chinese erotic wine cups (feel free to take one home as a souvenir). Here there’s no need to hide what you do or explain why you’re writing smut instead of “real” literature. We all understand the call to adventure in the land of spice.

(I can't seem to get enough of this cup!)

For our inaugural gathering, I’ve chosen not to focus on any particular spice, but instead to celebrate the magic and potency of the whole array of tongue-tingling seasonings. Spices have played a key role in history and the human imagination. The Egyptians used them to mummify bodies for their journey to the afterlife. In medieval Europe, a hostess was judged by how many rare and exotic spices she used in her dishes, and the lust for more led explorers to map and conquer the world. Herbs and spices can profoundly alter the mood or the metabolism. Some are aphrodisiacs, cinnamon being the best-known (which means I might add a few more shakes to my morning yogurt!).

Spices are especially appropriate for an erotica writers’ movable feast because “spicy” and “sexy” are often used to mean the same thing. Witness the Spice Channel or the chili peppers used to designate adult language in emails. As erotica writers we bring spice to the written word. Our stories pique and arouse the libido as spices do the tongue. An exotic, spicy dish can transport you to a foreign land, just as erotica can take you to a world where the rules and customs are different from our ordinary lives. In each case, there’s always a danger a heavy hand can take you a little too far. And with both, a taste of something good always leaves you wanting more….

Today, in honor of world travel and a happy mélange of spices, I’m offering for your dining pleasure a Bengali lentil soup (see recipe below), along with some fresh-baked buttery naan. This recipe is good for supper on a gently warm summer evening because it’s so very simple, and of course spices are known to cool the body in hotter climates.


Don’t forget to save room for some of my signature cookies—pecan bars, Finnish spoon cookies and yin-yangs, which all make use of Mexican vanilla to achieve their transcendent flavor. For the health-minded, I’m also passing around some fresh blackberries, available by the basketful in the summery excerpt from my Best Women’s Erotica 2006 story, “Therapy,” appended below (the anthology also includes Emerald’s wonderful story “Deal”).

While we’re sipping and sampling, I wanted to suggest a discussion topic that’s been on my mind recently. As I consider the dozens of dirty stories I’ve written over the past twelve years, I can’t help but see certain patterns emerging, repeated images, recurring scenarios, characters stepping back on stage for encores. When I first started writing erotica, each story seemed like a way to explore totally new territory. My narrators were not me, or rather they were a much wittier, braver me, a self all wrapped up in swirling, seductive veils. With so many stories out there now, however, I sometimes feel what I’m actually providing is a clear a map of my erotic desires, a guide to fucking Donna--body and mind--exactly the way she likes it. And, damn, it’s too late to use a pseudonym!

So fellow summer spice party guests, do you find that writing erotica is a way to hide the real you behind a mask of fiction, a different persona, even another gender (and of course a pseudonym)? Or do your stories end up revealing the hidden you in ways you may not have intended…or perhaps welcome? How risky does it feel to write erotica? Is it more like a foreign adventure or a homecoming? Or is it perhaps a little of both?

I look forward to hearing your spicy thoughts. And don't forget to join us next Sunday when Erobintica turns up the heat with hot chili powder!

Now, some food for the body:


Bengali Lentil Soup (serves 6)

1 cup red lentils
4 cups vegetable broth or chicken broth
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1 14 oz. can of chopped tomatoes
2 T olive oil
1/2 teaspoons cumin seeds (a heavy hand is fine here)
1/2 teaspoons yellow or black mustard seeds (ditto a bit more is good)
4 cups onion (2 large), finely sliced
5 teaspoons garlic (3-4 cloves), chopped
1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves, chopped

Note: Fresher spices from specialty stores like Penzey's--the kind that make you pleasantly dizzy when you take a whiff from the jar--make for a better soup!

Mix lentils, broth and tumeric in soup pot, bring to boil and simmer 20 minutes until lentils are soft. Add tomatoes and cook for a few minutes longer, reduce heat.

Meanwhile in skillet, heat oil. Add cumin and mustard seeds and sauté until fragrant, for just a few minutes. Cook at low heat, be careful not to burn seeds. Add onions and garlic and cook until golden brown, about 10 minutes or somewhat more. (I sometimes add in chopped carrots or potato).

Add onion mixture to lentils and cook a few minutes longer, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat, add cilantro, cover and let steam a minute. Serve hot—of course.

And food for the mind:

If you like fresh berries, I offer up this excerpt from “Therapy”—the story of a good doctor and a patient who tests his boundaries (clearly one of my recurring themes, not to mention the dirty picnic scene!). In this scene, analysand, Emma, is lying on the couch and setting her seductive plot in motion….

When I rehearsed my story this afternoon, my main worry was that I’d laugh and ruin the effect. But here, in front of Daniel, levity has turned to something more like fear. My insides are knotted, my mouth parched and ticklish. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“It was the summer after my sophomore year of college. I was nineteen. I’d taken a crappy job at the university library—English majors don’t have much to choose from, you know--but I took a few weeks off at the end of August to go to my grandparents’ farm in Pennsylvania. It beat reshelving books all day, but I was bored out of my mind. Then one afternoon I decided I needed an adventure, so I saddled up their horse, Mitsy, and rode up Peter’s Mountain.”

Under the veil of my lashes, I check for signs of boredom. Daniel leans forward, the picture of attention.

“I used to ride a lot back then, you know,” I continue. “Sometimes guys would make rude remarks about girls on horseback, but the truth is, a saddle doesn’t touch the right places. There is something else to it, though. Mitsy was a big bay mare with a rolling gait, and it did give me pleasure to feel such a powerful animal move beneath me, respond to the faintest pressure of my thighs….”

His chair creaks. I don’t open my eyes, but my legs suddenly feel hot, seen.

“It was very still up on the mountain. Just me, the song of the insects and the muggy heat pressing on my skin. After a while I realized I was riding past a row of huge blackberry bushes, heavy with fruit. There were so many fat berries I just had to reach out and pop one in my mouth. It was sweet. Not like we get in the markets here. You could actually taste the sun in the juices, tiny explosions of crushed berry essence. I ate another, then a few more. I slipped off of Mitsy’s back and shoved fistfuls into my mouth while she grazed. I didn’t stop until my stomach ached.”

A flutter of my eyelids shows that he is in fact staring at my legs, or rather, at the lacy band that holds the stockings in place at mid-thigh.

“And then, well, only then did I notice that everything was all too neat and orderly. I wasn’t feasting on wild berries, I’d stumbled onto a plantation, someone’s property. They raised these things for money. There I stood with my stained fingers and palms. My lips and chin were probably purple, too. A thief caught red-handed.”

Daniel chuckles softly. I know he enjoys word play.

“I probably should have gotten back on Mitsy and high-tailed it out of there, but I was frozen to the spot, waiting for someone to discover me, scold me, force repayment for my theft. But nothing happened. Just birds chirping and the noon sun pounding down and little by little my fear turned to something else. I felt…brazen, for lack of a better word. As if I were an actor in someone else’s X-rated dream and the director was whispering—go ahead, honey, don’t be shy. Almost in a trance, I pulled the picnic blanket from the saddlebag and spread it out on the ground. Then I took off my halter and shorts, even my underwear, and I lay down, my pale and tender parts exposed to the sun, and I…”

My throat closes around the next word. This isn’t going the way I’d planned at all. I meant to unsettle and arouse him, but instead I’m back there again, a naked girl on a blanket, quivering with shame and excitement.

Daniel’s patient voice floats into my head as if from far away. “What did you do, Emma?”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a croaking sound.

“Did you masturbate in the field?”

Did they give classes in that in shrink school, too, saying naughty words out loud with nary a tremor?

“Yes,” I squeak. “Funny, I can’t seem to say that word here.”

“Don’t you feel safe?”

“I know I should. But instead I feel nineteen again.”

“There is no reason to be ashamed about any of this, Emma.”

“But there’s more. You see, I didn’t do it the usual way, trying to get off as quickly and quietly as I could under the covers. This time I rubbed myself very slowly until I was sopping wet and just about ready to come, then I’d ease off and start again. As if I were daring someone to catch me. Then I saw him….”

“Who?” For Daniel, the timing is uncharacteristically abrupt.

“The workman, the caretaker. In the shadows at the far end of the row. He was watching me.”

Daniel sucks his breath, faintly, as if drinking through a straw.

“His hand was moving, about waist level. Up and down. What a normal girl would do, if a normal girl happened to find herself naked on a mountainside jilling off, is cover up and get out of there fast.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I spread my legs wider and spit into my palms and circled them over my nipples and made all sorts of sounds in my throat, like an animal. By the end it wasn’t even an act. My thighs trembled and my chest was so flushed you’d think someone had slathered berry juice all over my breasts. When I came I groaned so loud, Mitsy walked over and nuzzled me to see if I was okay.”

“And the man watching?”

“When I looked over again, he was gone.”

“Ah.”

“Do you think I’m sick?” I hadn’t planned to say that either, but my heart skips two beats as I wait for his answer.

“I don’t believe labels are very productive, Emma. ‘Sick,’ ‘exhibitionist,’ they’re all terms of judgment and shaming. What matters here are your feelings, in particular your desire to have your sexuality be seen and accepted.”

I can tell he makes a living at this. But I didn’t come here for soothing words. “Isn’t it a problem if I act out those feelings? In front of a stranger?”

“It could be, but in this case….”

“You think it was just my fantasy, don’t you?” I sit up suddenly.

Daniel’s head moves back an inch or two, in what for him must pass as surprise. Is it the strength of my reaction or an unexpected flash of naked pussy?

“I’m not sure that matters so many years later. The scene itself has elements that would be beneficial to explore whether or not it happened in fact.”

“What if I told you I checked afterward and found a puddle of spunk in the grass right where the guy was standing?” In truth I didn’t, but I want to keep the engagement on my territory: action, not analysis.

His upper lip curls slightly. Jealousy? A touch of counter-transference?

“I still believe what’s most important now are your feelings and why you chose to tell me this today.”

I check the clock on his desk, conveniently turned to the couch for the client’s benefit. Twenty minutes left and so much more to accomplish.

“Okay, sure, I’ll admit most of my sexual fantasies are about being seen and accepted.”

“And loved?” Daniel asks softly. “That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”

I nod. He is good at this. Unable to meet his eyes, I study the Oriental rug that covers the floor between us. The pattern seems backwards—the round flowers are like roots, sprouting stems and leaves that beckon with graceful green fingers—tell me, tell me. “The truth is I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Since the beginning really. I want to do it here. On this couch. I want you to watch.”

The room falls into silence….

Get Ready for a Spicy Summer Party!

It’s been a busy week, cleaning up the house, tidying the back yard, baking cookies, and hauling out my crate of 19th century erotic wine cups from China (see above) for the big party on Sunday. Yes, I’m playing hostess for the first meeting of the Spicy Summer Sunday blog party tour and I have some tongue-tingling food and conversation on the menu, plus an awesome musical performance that really sends chills down my spine—the perfect entertainment for a hot summer afternoon.

By the way, I know I promised a “happy ending” to my porn stash/creepy sex doctor musings, but have been so caught up in the party preparations, it may not happen this week, but I'll try. In the meantime, Mom’s not home yet, so feel free to keep leafing through my Viva’s, vintage Penthouse’s and Japanese manga porn (don't worry if you don't read Japanese, you don’t really need any translation to figure out what’s going on ;-).

But back to the excitement ahead, here’s the all-star list of summer Sunday parties. My mouth is watering already!

5/31 Opening ceremonies right here
6/7 Erobintica--hot chili powder
6/14 Neve Black--cilantro
6/21 Sommer Marsden--cumin
6/28 Gina Marie--cinnamon
7/5 J.M. Stone--thyme
7/12 Craig Sorensen—pepper
7/19 Jeremy Edwards—dill
7/26 Isabel Kerr--ginger
8/2 Marina St. Clare--basil
8/9 BadAss Kona--rosemary
8/16 Emerald—poppy seeds
8/23 P. S. Haven--salt
8/30 Gala Goodbye of a yet undisclosed orgiastic nature

Yes, folks, it's going to be one HOT summer....

Join us for a Spicy Summer Vacation!

It's no surprise that a Cinnamon Girl like me would have spice-loving friends. My last post about my penchant for sniffing and tasting cinnamon got some wonderful comments full of sizzle and passion for the spicy life. Just reading them made my mouth water.

Marina St. Clare suggested we organize a Spicy Sunday Blog Tour this summer, a laid-back affair, rather like a Sunday barbecue, where each week a host chooses a favorite spice or herb to celebrate in any way she or he chooses. It's a great idea and I'm definitely signing up. Again in honor of summer, that lovely season of no school and no rules, I'd favor a cooperative approach. Beyond setting up a schedule (a Memorial Day start?), we all do as we feel and have fun. What d'ya think?

So far some of our spiciest writer friends have let slip their special relationship with certain flavors. Craig Sorensen has a thing for peppercorns. Emerald loves poppy seeds. I'm keen on nutmeg. Kirsten Monroe might need to give us more insight into her cinnamon buns? And Jeremy Edwards, always thinking outside the box, suggested we include herbs, which, given that this is a summertime party makes perfect sense. In the past, I've resolved conflicts where two people want the same theme by staging a butterscotch pudding wrestling match, winner take all. But in the international spirit of spice, what the hell, if more than one person wants to celebrate the same spice or herb, why not?

So, thanks again, Marina (who's just confessed an affair with basil) for giving us the spark to light the fire! Anyone reading this, please let us know if you'd like to participate, 'cause it's summertime and the livin' is easy....