The Seduction of Words: An Interview with EllaRegina

Everyone told me that MySpace was the place to be to promote my novel, but an unexpected benefit has been the chance to connect with other erotica writers, many whose work I've long admired and some who are emerging talents in the field. EllaRegina was one of the first new erotica-writing friends I made on MySpace. I was immediately intrigued by her photo—a ghostly white Washington Square Arch wrapped in apocalyptic gloom. It wasn't until I got my contributor's copies of Best Women's Erotica 2008 that I understood the connection. EllaRegina's fabulous, and I mean fabulous, story, "The Lonely Onanista," is about a woman who lives inside the Washington Square Arch as part of the interior décor project she's been hired to complete for the Department of Parks and Recreation. Her commission: to wallpaper the vertical surfaces in dollar bills and pave the floor with quarters, edge to edge. So, New Yorkers, if you were wondering where your government was spending your tax dollars... When the Lonely Onanista isn't busy wallpapering, she entertains Park Rangers and one particularly special visitor, but hey, I'm not going to give anything else away—you have to read it. And when you do, you'll thank me for introducing you to one of the most exciting new voices in erotic fiction.

It's not just Park Rangers—everyone really does love "The Lonely Onanista." The story is in the Best-of-Craigslist archive, earned a coveted nod from Violet Blue for her best-selling anthology, was featured on Clean Sheets and now has been declared a finalist for the prestigious Rauxa Prize. I've asked EllaRegina to stop by and answer a few questions about her super-hot story.

"The Lonely Onanista" was originally part of a series of personal ads in Craigslist's Casual Encounters. Could you talk about that?

Wow! Thanks for that lovely introduction. I'm virtually blushing. Your description of the MySpace photograph is uncanny—I am ghostly white and wrapped in apocalyptic gloom!

"The Lonely Onanista" began life as the ninth of eleven pieces posted anonymously on Craigslist over a six-month period: Lonely Onanista Living in National Monument Seeks Assistance - w4m. I like to imagine the protagonist as forever inhabiting the cybersphere of their Best-of archive, masturbating (among other things) in perpetuity.

The project started as a kind of personal dare—a challenge. Violet Blue dubbed it "guerrilla erotica" in her initial e-mail to me, a pretty accurate interpretation. The endeavor was part sexual exploration and part seduction experiment combining my erotic imagination with the written word. It was one wild ride. For months I was completely consumed—either writing (and editing and re-editing and re-editing), posting, or dealing with replies. It was exciting, exhilarating and unpredictable. There was instant gratification, which one does not get with conventional (print) publishing, the possibility of receiving immediate reader feedback and the opportunity to respond. It was often titillating.

Initially, the posts were composed as proper ads, then morphed into "vignettes" and ultimately became full-fledged stories. By the fifth ad I incorporated "illustrations" placed beneath the text. Inserted as visual clues, they referred to items described in a story and were arranged in order of their subjects' appearance within the tale. I was inspired by André Breton's Surrealist novel Nadja, which similarly presents object portraits—a rebus keyed to the narrative. As this undertaking was wholly Internet-driven, I limited source material to images found online through Google searches, which I sometimes altered in Photoshop. To my knowledge, these were uncredited photographs of items from product catalogs, and so on, or are in the public domain.

Here, the pictures comprised a sepia-toned 1950s view of the Washington Square Arch; a George Washington quarter dollar heads- and tails-up; a white metal cot with blue-sheeted mattress jutting out from a dark concrete corner; and a pale pink linen "O"-monogrammed handkerchief.

The images were arranged like this:




What was your inspiration for the story?

One day I noticed a little door on the Washington Square Arch, wondered where it led and who had access to whatever lay beyond that lilliputian portal. A staircase and attic space do exist, features unknown to me when I wrote the story. (Marcel Duchamp staged a rebel performance piece atop the monument in 1917—illicitly camping there with a group of artists and actors, declaring Greenwich Village an independent nation—a riotous incident I knew nothing of until a Craigslist reader thought the male character's beret was my sly homage to that famous French Dada/Surrealist artist/chess player. Funny, the things you learn about your own work from other people).

The actual seed for the tale sprouted during a playful e-mail repartee I was enjoying with a particular bachelor on an Internet dating website. He was asking where I lived—was it in this or that place, all of them funny and unlikely locales, growing exponentially more implausible as his guessing game continued—and, being in an especially improvisational no-holds-barred mood, I replied:

"No, actually, I live in the Washington Square Arch, in a little spartan room at the top. There are no windows so it's a bit tomblike and claustrophobic but on the rare occasion that I need oxygen I seek the great outdoors. I egress and enter through a secret opening in George Washington's left jacket pocket, something not patently obvious to the unwitting onlooker."

As you can see, that is the opening paragraph, almost word-for-word. It was truly a proverbial lightbulb-over-head moment and the story just erupted from there. Unfortunately, the bachelor in question inexplicably dropped off the grid several e-mails later. I guess he found my living arrangements off-putting.

Finally, this piece was essentially a love letter to a specific man—one of several "beta-testers" reading these works as I wrote them—and the thought of him propelled my typing fingers.

What sort of feedback did you get there?

In its tenure as a Casual Encounters ad Lonely Onanista Living in National Monument Seeks Assistance - w4m received 157 responses. Like all e-mail replies this project elicited—a total of 1910, to be exact—the range was wide: from the good, the bad to the very ugly. Some were hostile: "See a DR and get some RX PLZ." Homophobic e-mails troubled me the most. For whatever reason, there are male Casual Encounters readers who think women posting in the "w4m" category aren't genuine vagina-owners. A photograph or telephone call was requested of me now and then to prove my alleged gender. Once I quelled a man's doubts by volunteering that my period was due in three days. There is infinite madness and hatred out there. It stunned and depressed me.

Some men read this post as my sexual fantasy and were very sweet and eager to help me fulfill it. There were quite literal interpreters: many requests for the map with its key location. One reader divulged that he was even wearing corduroy (the Arch visitor's trouser fabric); another would bring the beret. I was promised Champagne, pizza and unimaginable levels of pleasure...

Eventually I realized, especially after getting e-mails from men in places as far-flung as London, that Casual Encounters is trolled, not necessarily for NSA [No-Strings-Attached] liaisons, but for arousing reading material. In the string department I'm practically a marionette factory so this was fine with me. With the scenario then shifted towards a more literary direction, I found myself cast as the Mother Theresa of Casual Encounters—scribe variant—providing selfless public service to those in need of sexual release; ultimately, all that mattered was the power of words.

Readers who saw the piece exclusively as a work of fiction thanked me for the erections it produced:

"I've never had more nut on my hands from just reading an erotic essay."

My favorite feedback for this ad: "It put wet my cock."

There were compliments; flattering artistic comparisons—Kurt Vonnegut, if he wrote Penthouse Forum letters, for example; a funny counterpoint e-mail "from the Eiffel Tower." I was sent lengthy erotica—some inspired by mine (one continued where my story left off, "exquisite corpse"-style)—and erotic drawings, in reciprocation. Several "commercial propositions" were relayed.

In the midst of my Craigslist activity a reader told me about other people posting stories: one woman, with a certain following, clued her "audience" in (literally) to new ads via a designated word consistently embedded within every text, so that a keyword search turned up her latest offering. In November The New York Times reported on a related phenom, and its unofficial Craigslist blessing. Jim Buckmaster, their CEO, said "If you haven't established an audience, you can do worse than Craigslist." Given the trajectory of my erotica writing career so far—considering it was jump-started by a short experimental Casual Encounters ad, placed as a dare to myself—I would tend to agree. If I lived in the Bay Area I would buy Messrs. Buckmaster and [Craig] Newmark a few rounds of drinks. What monuments do you have there? Ah, the Coit Tower! Hmmn. All that's missing is "us."

The story has so many wonderful, surprising details. Some I'll never forget: the thin cotton handkerchiefs the narrator must place between her body and her fingers when she pleasures herself; the condom full of quarters her favorite Park Ranger leaves in her posterior orifice as a souvenir; the dozens of George Washington's eyes on the dollar bills watching the lovers at their pleasure. Can you give us some background on one or all of these delicious images?

Well, they say "write what you know!" And what I don't know I can very vividly imagine.

I do happen to have a vintage thin cotton handkerchief in my possession, a bygone birthday present. It even has my initial on it!

I put quarters in my wallet but they could lodge inside a condom placed within one's posterior—why not?—and be safe sex besides. Also, it's "Green"! There must be mountains of discarded lifeless plastic vibrators in "waste management" areas everywhere. Now that won't help us with global warming!

Dollar bills (and quarters) contain portraits of George Washington—logical ornamental motifs for the story's "interior décor project." French toile de Jouy wallpaper scenes bearing silhouetted women in long black coats walking poodles through Washington Square à la Henry James would not have worked in this story. The moving eyes are clearly the result of too many hours spent watching cartoons and "Addams Family" re-runs: "the walls have ears"—eyes in this case; voyeurism greatly interests me, although this tale isn't told from President Washington's point of view. I'm not much of an historian.

Do you really live inside the Washington Square Arch? What do you think of people who assume your writing is autobiographical?

I do not. But a number of Craigslist responders genuinely believed I did. One was amazed I had wireless Internet service! Another pondered how I managed to post the ad, being "cooped up" in there.

Regarding autobiographical writing, this series was tricky because I did, after all, first present these stories as ads on Craigslist, as myself—in some shape or form—so it might make sense for readers of those writings (viewing them online in Casual Encounters), to assume they were autobiographical, but not all did. Best Women's Erotica 2008 provides a different context for the story—and perhaps those readers are less inclined to make such an assumption. However, I think writers of erotic works are regularly faced with this issue—it's often taken for granted that their stories are based on personal experience, which surely isn't a supposition made with writers of other genres. Yet, speculation frequently occurs even with "regular" writers—that fiction is based on things which really happened; and conversely and paradoxically, that memoiristic works contain invented parts...

I know you write literary fiction and have done work in the visual arts. How is writing erotica a different experience for you?

The key ingredient fueling whatever I do is my imagination, which is overactive. And, regardless of media, the same tools are at my disposal: an eye for detail; my peculiar brand of humor, irreverence and sarcasm; a disregard for keeping my crayon within the lines, so to speak; meticulousness and a sense of self-discipline bordering on the Fascistic. With erotica writing another factor comes into play: my erotic imagination; my own fantasies and arousal can become part of the writing process itself—one feeding the other in a sort of hypno-erotic Moebius strip—a distraction, albeit pleasant. This was especially true of the Craigslist posts.

Describe your dream writing project (marketability doesn't matter here)—and what is next for you as a writer?

This covers both questions:

Two book proposals based on my Craigslist adventure—polar opposites as far as concept and execution. I'd like to do either; it would indeed be a dream to see both to fruition. One has potential legal obstacles that may prevent its optimum realization.

About a dozen stories (or scraps thereof), erotic and otherwise, are cooking on the back burner (I have a very large stove).

An idea for an erotica anthology—my first venture as an editor—which I have not formally proposed to anyone. I find its premise and theme exciting and interesting—I'm hoping there is a publisher who agrees with me.

Name a writer (or two, living or dead) you'd like to have dinner with...

(I'm expanding your question beyond writers exclusively. I hope you don't mind.)

An intime soirée mixing the following improbable guest assortment:

Dorothy Parker, though neither of us would get a word in edgewise.

John Lennon, definitely the most fun. Bonus: post-prandial singing!

The Marquis de Sade, but with the request that he leave his sewing kit at home.

Curious George would be the ideal dining partner since we probably share compatible eating habits but, should the meal lead to "more," there's that pesky bestiality issue, and the fact that he's too young for me—pedophilia alert!—(though technically, at 67, too old for me), too hairy and uncircumcised—pet peeves, both.

Someone you'd most like to trade talents with...

A test pilot.

One you'd most like to invite inside the Washington Square Arch to re-enact the scene from "The Lonely Onanista"?...

Henry Miller would know what to do with me. Or Man Ray. Perhaps they'd come together.

Finally, describe a perfect meal that would be guaranteed to seduce you—at least into an intimate discussion of the writing life by candlelight, if not a re-enactment of the climax of "The Lonely Onanista." (Although I'm sure you'd have a few chefs willing to put out in hope of that reward!)

Veuve Cliquot Champagne would be the libation of choice. I don't eat very much—remember, I just wrote a story about a woman who subsists on Balance Bars, Park Rangers' semen and falafel. A formal menu with real food would likely involve grilled wild salmon and vegetables. I suppose that's not very exciting for a food specialist such as yourself. Aphrodisiacs such as oysters and caviar are not on the list of comestibles—I eat neither. My "Happy Meal" is an atypical one but perhaps the ideal candidate to prepare it is waiting in your imagined chef line-up. He can e-mail me a sample menu. I've always had a thing for those toques and checkered pants. If nothing else we could have a costume party.

Thanks for chatting with me, EllaRegina, and best of luck with your new projects.

Don Capone Talks About Sex, Food and Writing

A few weeks ago, I posted my review of Don Capone’s engaging comic novel Into the Sunset. Ever curious about the experiences of other writers, I invited Don to talk about about his creative process, confess his secrets to writing sex scenes and of course, most mouthwatering of all, provide a detailed menu for his favorite dinner of seduction.

I know you design children’s novelty books. How has your experience as a book designer influenced what you do as a writer?

Not much really, they are such different animals. One thing I do like to do while I'm working on a novel, though, is to design a cover for it. This gets me pumped up, makes it seem more real to me, like the book might actually exist in printed form one day. (Side note: I designed the cover of Into the Sunset.) Another thing that book design has taught me is that you really can judge a book by its cover. You can usually tell the book's genre immediately, right? But not only that—also the budget or size of the publishing company. Cheap books look cheap. This is one reason, I think, why self-publishing got off on the wrong foot. They just looked self-published. Even if the inside contained a masterpiece.

How much of Into the Sunset is “autobiographical” in spirit, if not fact? Did you do any hands-on research at retirement communities to get material?

I brought my mother to look at a bunch of these type of places, and that's where I got my idea from. Just like my lead character, Wayne, I was more enamored of the communities than my mother was. So that part was real, I think, something that appealed to me—living in a brand-new place with all these great amenities. Once I had my character there, things had to eventually go wrong, of course. That's where my imagination took over.

One place my mother and I looked at said they provided the toilet paper and light bulbs so the residents wouldn't have to worry about those things. I put that in the novel, but took it a step further by imagining the toilet paper would probably be the cheapest, one-ply available, and the resulting black market for "the good stuff" that would arise within the community because of that fact.

Your protagonist, Wayne, thinks about sex a lot—as do we all of course—and it certainly kept me turning the pages! Was it easy or hard to write the sex scenes? Do you have any tips for other authors writing sex?

The best way to write sex scenes is to just pretend that no one will ever read them. Let loose. Free yourself to write whatever you want. But, like all writing, stay away from the cliches. And just using a dirty word isn't sexy—the context that it is used is. I had to keep a comedic element to my scenes, which I think may have made it easier to write because I wasn't taking myself seriously.

I know a few readers of Into the Sunset have described the romantic relationship between a thirty-year old man and a sixty-something woman as “disturbing.” I didn’t find that to be the case at all, but did you feel you were tackling serious taboos as you wrote the novel? Did your attitude toward growing old change?

The character of Wayne himself struggles with the idea of being attracted to a much older woman. It is just so far off of his usual radar, that he wonders if something is wrong with him. But, really, what's the difference between a 60 year-old Rod Stewart dating a woman half his age (or less), and my young male character dating an older woman? Why is one acceptable and one isn't? What's so "disturbing" about it? (I actually had that comment from an agent.) I don't think I tackled a taboo, because I guess it's been done before. Anyway, that wasn't the goal of the book when I set out to write it. It just happened because it fit so naturally into the story.

I don't know if my attitude toward aging changed, but my character of Wayne definitely grows to appreciate elderly people as individual people, with histories, and wants and needs just like younger people. I think I already knew that.

Describe the writing project of your dreams (marketability doesn’t matter here)—and what is next for you as a writer?

I'd love to write an episode for "The Simpsons." Other than that, I think the best gig you can get is to write the novels you want to write, and have someone pay you to do it. And people who want to read the books, of course.

Next up I have a completed novel, Just Follow Me, for which I am now seeking an agent. It takes place in Manhattan the weekend leading up to John Lennon's murder. I am also starting on the third draft of another novel, which is very commercial in nature. I don't want to say more than that, though, because the idea is very hot and I don't want it to get ripped off.

One of my favorite erotic scenes in Into the Sunset is when Wayne and Eleanor get into his “new” car, a clunker with broken air-conditioning, for their first real date outside of the retirement community. I posted this in my review but I’ll quote it here again because it always brightens the day to read a good sex scene:

“She swept her long hair up into a bun on top of her head and pinned it tight. One long strand escaped, and my eyes followed it down the nape of her neck to her bare shoulder. Her neck was soft and white and vulnerable. Her ear looked delicious. I wanted to put whip cream on it and lick it off. I considered inviting her to try out the backseat like a couple of randy teenagers. I’d get on top and slide her dress up and remove her panties with my teeth. Or she could be on top and I would cup her breasts after freeing them from the cotton and lycra that imprisoned them. Between the hot vinyl seats, the blaring August sun, and the heat generated by our naked thrusting bodies, the Corolla would be as hot and humid as a Costa Rican rain forest. We would create our own little green-house effect. Mushrooms would sprout from the carpet. The windows would fog as the car rocked back and forth, straining its old suspension system. Afterward, a sudden thunderstorm within the interior of the car would cool our steaming naked bodies, as we lay there spent.”

So, what’s the artistic bio of this very steamy scene?

Ha! That scene is total imagination. I never created a rain forest in the back seat of my car, and until I wrote it, I never even had that fantasy. I was going for total exaggerated silliness there, to show how far gone my character is regarding his fantasy life. It also shows his immaturity, since he's still having these back seat fantasies though he is no longer a "randy teenager." Also, he has such an active fantasy life, that even though he is with a real, live woman, he still slips into fantasy mode. Reading that excerpt now I notice that the dirtiest word I used was "breast."

Name a writer (or two, living or dead) you’d like to have dinner with, one you’d most like to trade talents with, one with whom you’d most like to try out positions from the Kama Sutra, as Wayne and Eleanor did in Into the Sunset?

I'd much rather have dinner with a living writer, because I think it would be a much livelier conversation. (Insert rim shot sound effect here.) Seriously, I guess the expected answer would be one of the all-time greats—Hemingway, Dickens, Vonnegut, etc., as if you'd be able to learn their secrets. Or one of my favorites, like T.C. Boyle or John Irving. But I think I'd have to go with Stephen King. I just think he'd be friendlier and more receptive. Plus, besides writing, we could talk about rock n' roll and baseball. I can also picture him just hanging out all night, shooting the shit. (Side note here: I've been to a bunch of Boyle's readings/signings, and he is very fan-friendly. Plus he's originally from Westchester County, too—about 45 minutes north of me. So he's a close second.)

Who would I trade talents with? Probably John Irving. And he'd be able to get a lot more out of my talent than I can!

Hmmm...I think I'll pass on the Kama Sutra question!

Finally, describe a perfect meal that would be guaranteed to seduce you—at least into an intimate discussion of the writing life by candlelight, if you have other commitments that don’t allow for more!

A home-cooked meal would be a good start. Something with chicken and/or artichokes would be nice. Some red wine—but not too much, it makes me sleepy. A pot of fresh ground coffee afterward. I want to stay awake for the "writing life" conversation, which would include more showing than telling, for sure. Active voice over passive. Dangling participles. Bare infinitives. Affect versus effect. Maybe some euphemisms. Motivation. The proper story arc. And of course, everything would have to come to its inevitable ending. Wait, what are we talking about?

Words of wisdom for every writer to live by.... Thanks so much for chatting with me, Don and best of luck with your new projects.

Creme de Menthe Blow Jobs and Other March Goodies

Check out my March column at the Erotica Readers and Writers' Association--Never Trust the Narrator: Honest Lies, Soul-Stirring Soups and Creme de Menthe Blow Jobs. In honor of Saint Patrick's Day, I talk a bit about blarney and offer a warming late winter menu of soup, homemade brown bread and a very special green dessert guaranteed to put a smile on the face of your favorite leprechaun lad.

“The Cunt Book”: Steamy Stories From the Vault

Lots of good story news for this week! I’m making an appearance on Marcy Sheiner’s blog today with a reprint of “The Cunt Book.”

“The Cunt Book” is one of the very first erotic stories I wrote and the very first to make a best-of anthology: Best Women’s Erotica 2005. I can still remember how I felt when Marcy, one of contemporary erotica’s founding mothers, emailed me to say she loved the story and wanted to include it in the anthology. I was—and I want to say literally, but that can’t be true—floating on air with a mile-wide smile on my face.

I wrote the story in just a few days, which was rare for me back then. My other favorite story from the early years, “Blinded,” took a year of revisions and hands-on research, not to mention I got lots of rejections (although admittedly many from “literary” venues) before it was finally published. “The Cunt Book” had better luck. I posted it on my online workshop (Francis Ford Coppola’s Zoetrope) and Rachel Callahan of InPosse Review approached me with a publication offer—which, believe me, was an unexpected treat. I submitted it to Clean Sheets, where I’d always dreamed of being published, and the story caught the eye of Bill Noble, another icon of our genre.

And you know, even though it’s an “early” work, I still like the story a lot. I like the layers of it, the lies, the stories within stories, the old-fashioned naughty pictures before the Internet and digital photography made these things commonplace.

So, please stop by Marcy Sheiner’s blog, Dirty Laundry, to check out my story—and do leave a comment over there if you’re so inspired! Oh, and the photo is from Judy Chicago's The Dinner Party--a favorite of mine!

Book Review: Gwen Masters’ AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

Gwen Masters is one of erotica’s star writers—and deservedly so. My pulse always quickens when I see her name in a table of contents of a new Cleis book or in the latest weekly issue of Clean Sheets, because I know her story is going to be smart, well-written, and sizzling hot. Of her many stories I love, a sentimental favorite is “Fifteen Minutes” from Best American Erotica 2006. The “sentiment” comes from the fact my own story was also selected for the anthology, because there’s little sentimentality in Gwen’s story. In fact, it’s a clear-eyed look at groupies and musicians on the road, which provides more than just fodder for some edgy sexual fantasy. It also gets your mind racing with questions about the nature of power and sex and self-destructiveness and callousness and how we armor ourselves against pain.

In pondering the effect of Gwen Masters’ work, I realized that her pieces are so powerful because the sex always occurs in an intriguing, and often tragic, context. Perhaps this is an obvious point but most sex scenes in what I’d define as porn or sloppy mainstream popular literature seems to occur in a vacuum. The sex scene is set apart from the story—generic bodies indulge in a formulaic coupling and then we get back to the story, as if sex were the same insertion of Tab A into Slot B for everyone. With Masters, the dynamics of a sexual encounter are shaped and fueled by the characters’ specific desires and demons. A brilliant example of this is her story “Indiana Jones, with Camera” published in The Erotic Woman. The story is about a very erotic woman who gives herself body and soul to a photojournalist lover whose past is as complex as his tastes in lovemaking. Wounded by his work in Baghdad and Afghanistan and other grim places both literally and figuratively, the photographer transforms pain into beauty and pleasure through his muse—I recommend the story highly.

But on to the review at hand. Thanks to a MySpace bulletin, I learned about Masters’ recently published novella After All These Years. She mentioned it was a story she was especially proud of and I knew I’d have to read it. And as I started to read, I immediately sensed I was in the hands of a master storyteller.

“You are a gift,” the stranger murmured.

I didn’t feel like a gift. I was a forty-something mother of three children who hadn’t flown the nest so much as they had fallen from it. I had too much gray in my hair, an aching back and a minimum wage job at a fast food restaurant that always left me with a rabid distaste of anything fried. It was the dead of winter in Chicago, the snow was piled up in high drifts everywhere, and my train was more than fashionably late.

The novella starts in just the right place with just the right line because those words mark a radical change in the narrator’s life past, present and future. The mysterious stranger will give the narrator a precious gift as well: a new sense of connection to her husband who was one of the victims of a suicide bomber’s attack on a US Marine barracks in Beirut in October 1983.

Now I face a challenge in talking more about After All These Years. Masters takes the reader on a carefully orchestrated emotional journey and I don’t want to give too much away. I can say that she offers a rare glimpse at the human story behind the TV reports and the politicians’ rhetoric. She shows us the true cost to a family who has lost a husband and father. It’s a serious and moving piece of fiction—and it’s incredibly sexy, too. That’s because Masters gives us a sexual encounter that is so rich with context and history, it takes your breath away.

When Marilyn makes love to the mysterious stranger, she must confront the history of the war in his body. It’s sex as healing on a level that puts Marvin Gaye’s famous song to shame.

In the light of day, the scars weren’t nearly as bad as they had seemed in last night’s shadows. But they were everywhere, evidence of the hellish time he had gone through on the other side of the world. I reached up to touch his chest and he sucked in a breath as my hand started to explore. Once I started touching him, all my fear disappeared. I was more curious than anything else.

“Can you feel that?” I asked.

William let out a shaky breath. “Yes, but not like you would. It’s more like pressure. Almost a tickle in some places.

“What about here?” I asked and pressed my hand flat against his throat. The pulse there raced under my palm.

“That feels the same,” he whispered.

“What about here?” My hand slipped down and pressed against the tattoo on his arm.

William’s eyes closed. “Yes.”

I trailed my fingertips down his arm and touched each finger. He didn’t move as my fingers explored their way back up, followed the line of his shoulder, then ran both hands down his chest. He sucked in his stomach as I touched it. He lay back on the bed as my hands went lower. I stopped at the buttons of his jeans. He was hard behind them. The pulse in his throat jumped with his heartbeat.

“Does this feel the same?” I asked as I ran my fingertips along the waistline of his jeans. The denim was hot, warmed by his skin.

Beyond words, William nodded.

There’s more…and it’s hot, but again I don’t want to give too much away, except to say much more than body parts are involved here. Profound questions about the betrayal of a memory, forgiveness and self-forgiveness will haunt you long after you finish the novella.

After All These Years is the perfect illustration of my contention that the most powerful literary erotica involves sex that matters. Gwen Masters is not afraid to explore intense and often troubling situations but, like her Indiana Jones photographer, she has the artist’s knack of transforming the darker side of human nature into erotic and aesthetic pleasure. I was sorry when the novella ended, but it certainly lingered in my thoughts for a long time afterwards. Fortunately, I know Gwen has a story in the forthcoming anthology Dirty Girls, so I’m looking forward to enjoying some Masterful magic again very soon!

Who’s Superstitious?

Well, I am. Just a little. I always start a new story as a “save as” file of a story that did well, for example. And maybe it’s a writer’s thing—magical thinking would be, right?--because Alison Tyler admits she’s superstitious, too.

One of my superstitions is that I don’t talk publicly about a story acceptance until I hold the published book in my hands. (A novel is different because you have to promote it starting like years before you write it--honest!) Now, given the vicissitudes of publishing, this is probably more just a matter of prudence. Alison told me she’s the same way and she mentioned something about lots of rejections and as she says in her blog I did in fact write back: “Rejected? You?”

I mean come on, what crazy loon would pass up the chance to publish an Alison Tyler story? She’s like the Goddess of Erotica!

But, of course, rejection is part of this business, so much a part of it. I stopped counting but I know I’ve piled up hundreds of rejections (some nice, most impersonal, a few quite gratuitously nasty and I haven't forgotten you, you jerks, yes, some day you'll be sorry!) and for stories that later went on to fame. It all has to do with taste and editorial needs and other factors beyond our control. I guess there is a part of me that likes to fantasize that some writers never face rejection or they work their way up the ladder to a shining and glorious land of eternal acceptance. Rather like those erotica stories where complete strangers have sex and they're so perfect together, they come ten times in two minutes.

But Alison’s acknowledgment that even she gets a “no” now and then reminded me that rejections are also a badge of courage. We take the risk of baring our soul on the page, sending our masterpieces out into the world and subjecting them to the callous scrutiny of all-too practical publishers, agents, editors. And often enough the bastards say “no.” But we keep on with our work anyway. If that’s not courage, I don’t know what else is!

Slow, Sweet Seduction

Did you know that Sex and Candy has its very own blog with lots of mouth-watering photos of sweet things to get you in the mood?

In today's you'll find a photo of my famous Venetian cookies along with the recipe, if you'd like to seduce your sweetie with the six-layer test Laura used on her boy toy. It worked for her, it works for me, and I'm pretty sure it will work for you, too!

So put the butter out to soften and get ready for some slow, sweet seduction.

An Absolutely Divine Milk Chocolate

I tasted some chocolate yesterday that totally deserves a Foodie Friday rave and--hold on to your bonbon—it’s a milk chocolate. Divine Hazelnut Milk Chocolate. And it’s truly divine.

Now, just as I prefer red wine, before yesterday I would have told you I’m no longer a milk chocolate fan, in spite of a childhood love affair with Russell Stover pecan turtles. With the availability of all sorts of gourmet dark chocolates, the taste of most milk chocolate seems adulterated, not to mention too sweet, to my palate. But one bite of this gets you plenty of fresh, crunchy hazelnuts and the creamiest chocolate base with a wonderful finish. No, it’s not as good for you as dark chocolate, but everyone deserves a naughty splurge now and then. The Divine dark chocolate is pretty good, too, with lots of coconut flavor. One of our dinner guests last week, who knows a lot about German-made chocolate, said it tends to fall into two main types--those with hints of coffee or those with hints of coconut. We were tasting six different dark chocolates and just happened to get one of each from the German makers. I'm a tropical girl, so Divine wins my vote there, too.

You can get your naughty, but Divine, treat at King Arthur Flour online or at stores that sell fancy chocolate bars.

Get Ready to Drool with Sex and Candy

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, it’s timely that I’ve just finished reading Sex and Candy: 22 Succulent Stories, one of the latest luscious anthologies edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. It is indeed a double scoop of sweetness (to paraphrase Sage Vivant’s “Two Scoops of Gelato”)--delicious sex and luscious food porn to make both of your mouths water!

The lineup of writers is impressive. Some are familiar favorites like Sage, Shanna Germain, Catherine Lundoff and R. Gay. Some I’m keeping company with for the first time in an anthology like Jen Dziura, Jolene Hui and BAE regular Tsaurah Litzky. All are well known for hot erotica, but I was deliciously surprised at how well they write about sweets. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. As a regular reader of foodie magazines, I’m well aware of the power of the word as well as the image to provoke hungers of all kinds—and indeed it seems the talent translates across the appetites.

The book gives you plenty of sex and lots of food, but you’ll also get some wonderful writing as well. Some of my favorites include SekouWrites’ “Time Release Dessert,” which was smart and lyrical and mesmerizing. Here’s a sampling from a favorite passage:

“When his lips first touch her shoulder, she moans and he experiences a jolt of pleasure. He has always been partial to moans, the first moan in particular. To him, even more than the first hug or the first kiss, the first moan is a signal and a warning—it is the sound of the heavy door that protects a woman’s passion easing itself open at his bidding. And the thrill of unearthing this particular woman’s passionate nature runs deep fro some reason he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“He continues down her arm with soft kisses and slow licks. Remarkably, her flavor is even better than her scent—powerful and sugary, and he finds himself fantasizing about eating her as both his meal and his dessert at the beginning and end of every day….”

This passage struck me because the first moan really is a very important moment in a relationship and it’s gotten such short shrift in our discussion of romance. Thank you SW for the epiphany—the first moan is to be celebrated!

I also enjoyed Salome Wilde’s “Forbidden Fruit and Honey” for its historical setting, the simmering tension throughout, and the sexual-political twist of an ending. In Sex and Candy, sweet things can sometimes be very bad for your health....

Other favorites that offer as much well-crafted story as sensual delight are R. Gay’s “Other Girls,” (who knew cotton candy could get so creative?) Shanna Germain’s “Kneading,” (tiered tiramisu and bittersweet lovers!) Catherine Lundoff’s “Phone, Sex, Chocolate,” (not what you think) and Sacchi Green’s “Sugar on Snow” (can I stay at that cabin and eat those meals?) and Sage’s “Two Scoops of Gelato” (the perfect treat for gelato lovers and Italian carnival mask collectors like me). Wait, there’s more on my list, but it looks like I’ll be mentioning every story in the book. Still—I’m wondering if Jolene Hui will give me that banana cupcake recipe and I thank Dominic Santi and Michelle Houston for introducing interesting things to do with candy canes.

Jeez, I’m getting so worked up, I think it’s time to go make some homemade fudge—I’ll blame you, Tsaurah, for the extra pounds. And hey, if I had a maid, I might try out the tricks in Rachel’s “Sugar Mama” or Stan Kent’s “Cupcake.” Oh, and do check out my story “Six Layers of Sweetness” for an introduction to my signature homemade cookie and its power to seduce even the most reserved suitor… and if you're really nice, I'll make you a batch someday!

Cleis' Naughty Spelling Contest

They say readers love contests and give-aways. Well, Cleis Press has come up with a good one for this Valentine's Day--a creative spelling contest. You make up a word or words based on the covers for the twelve existing volumes in the fabulous "Erotic Alphabet" series of anthologies edited by Alison Tyler. To enter, you have to line up the covers to spell a word, take a picture, and send that in, for which you'll win volumes A-L.

I'm in "E is for Exotic," "I is for Indecent" and "K is for Kinky." Let's see K-I-E? E-K-I? That means "train station" in Japanese--very sexy places, train stations.... I-K-E? Eisenhower was pretty sexy or at least Kay Summersby thought so. Hmm, I may have to do a little book shopping to win big here.

I'm looking forward to the poster of all 26 letters myself!

Surrounded by Sensational Smut!

The writer’s life is a difficult and stony path of lonely toil (how’s that for a fresh metaphor?), but sometimes you have a week of sweet sunshine when the fruits of your labors seem to fall into your lap, or at least your mailbox. Last week I got two lovely packages of contributor’s copies and they are ripe and juicy treats indeed.

The first contained my copies of The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 7 and I have to say, this one is the best yet. I’ve just started reading it, but I’m mightily impressed. Tara Alton’s opening story, “The Dire Consequences of My Libido,” is brilliant and hilarious. Susan DiPlacido’s “Coyote Blues” is one of the HOTTEST and smartest stories I’ve read in a loooong time and more treats await me from Ashley Lister, Shanna Germain, Lisabet Sarai, Sage Vivant…well, I’m not going to copy down the whole table of contents. Suffice to say, it’s sure to please erotica fans and convert the doubtful to the wonders of libidinous literature.

Then on Friday I got my copies of the latest books in Alison Tyler’s naughty Erotic Alphabet series I is for Indecent and K is for Kinky. As always, the covers are fabulous and I get to sit next to Saskia Walker in the “Kinky” line-upwhich always makes me happy!

It’s a lovely way to start off the month of Love. Now back to the stony toil!

The Seduction of Words: Don Capone’s Into the Sunset

Don Capone’s Into the Sunset is entertaining comedy at its best. Even the madcap premise makes you laugh. Thirty-year-old Wayne Benson is tired of his stressed-out New York City life, so he ages himself with a wig and theatrical make-up and moves into a retirement community in Westchester to enjoy the easy life. Of course, he still has to commute into the city to work as a journalist at Silver Citizen magazine, but his new living situation only serves as a valuable source of stories for his work—at first. Soon enough the complications set in: a romantic relationship with a lovely widow, the suspicious glances of the security guards and administrators, a growing realization that adding forty years from a jar is a lot more work than he bargained for. Hey, I’m not going to give the plot away, but although it’s a bumpy ride for Wayne, the pages seemed to glide right by as I followed him on his adventure into premature maturity.

Reading as a writer—and I always do—I admired Capone’s plot, which is Chekhovian in its design. Each puzzle piece fits together perfectly by the novel’s end and I know that’s almost as hard to pull off as pretending to be old! I was even more impressed--or perhaps I should say, beguiled?--by the narrator. Wayne is, from an objective standpoint, a bit of a Peter Pan, not to mention a man who’s comfortable with living a rather significant lie. Ironically, his voice is refreshingly honest. I felt I was getting a glimpse into a real man’s view of sex, relationships, and the meaning of life. No doubt the humor and down-to-earth quality of the voice made for this immediate intimacy. I was reminded just a bit of the most compelling section of Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity where the protagonist relates his sexual and romantic history (fortunately Capone spares us Hornby’s name-dropping and relentless pursuit of faux “cool”) which also gave me a fascinating glimpse into the minds of those unfathomable creatures called guys.

A clever plot and a likeable narrator make Into the Sunset a perfect subject for the “writing” part of my blog. But the novel has plenty of food and sex, too. For Wayne one of the big draws of The Sunset are the three delicious meals a day, lovingly prepared by a “Dutch gentleman named Jan” and served either in dining room or delivered to one’s apartment. I came to anticipate the daily menus as much as he did—how I’d love to try a piece of the carrot cake and maybe just a taste of Lemon Zinger cake, too! There’s a sweet romantic scene involving ice cream cones which was so vivid, it took me right back to the days when I used to visit my college boyfriend in his hometown of Katonah. He was an awful boyfriend, but there was a nice ice cream parlor he’d take me to now and then that sounded just like the one in the novel…but I digress.

It’s time to move on to the sex. Wayne’s sexual desires play a big part in the story, which probably has a lot to do with why I liked it. The flashbacks to bedroom scenes with his ex-girlfriend Cindy are especially entertaining. My favorite is when Cindy wakes up mad because she had a dream that Wayne was flirting with someone else. Wayne’s efforts to sweet-talk her into a good mood—he of course has woken up with a boner he’d like to use—had me laughing. There’s also a flirtation with a hot number named Kim and a fling with Cindy’s roommate, all spicy enough to put you in the mood if you’re so inclined, but not explicit enough to be erotica per se.

But there is a controversial love interest at the heart of the story—Wayne’s involvement with sixty-four year old Eleanor, another resident at The Sunset. I’ll admit when I first read about the much-older-woman-younger-man relationship on the cover blurb, I thought of Harold and Maude—who wouldn’t? But there’s really no comparison at all. Eleanor is presented as youthful, genuinely attractive, and very comfortable with her sexuality. I know from my own mother, that women in their sixties can be lovely, radiantly sexual and happily involved with younger men (her boyfriend was only four years younger, but still). Rather than being a turn-off or a joke, the relationship with Eleanor is ultimately moving and thought-provoking for the reader as well as the narrator. I found myself thinking a lot about aging and sex and the real meaning of maturity. When you’re older, sex is more than hormones and smooth flesh (except of course for old geezers like Rupert Murdoch who marry babes half their age). It’s about connecting with another human being for who they are inside, which didn’t strike me as the main motivation for most people back when I was on the dating scene. By the novel’s end, I get the feeling Wayne would definitely agree with me.

One of my favorite erotic scenes in the book is when Wayne and Eleanor get into his “new” car, a clunker with broken air-conditioning, for their first real date outside of the retirement community:

“She swept her long hair up into a bun on top of her head and pinned it tight. One long strand escaped, and my eyes followed it down the nape of her neck to her bare shoulder. Her neck was soft and white and vulnerable. Her ear looked delicious. I wanted to put whip cream on it and lick it off. I considered inviting her to try out the backseat like a couple of randy teenagers. I’d get on top and slide her dress up and remove her panties with my teeth. Or she could be on top and I would cup her breasts after freeing them from the cotton and lycra that imprisoned them. Between the hot vinyl seats, the blaring August sun, and the heat generated by our naked thrusting bodies, the Corolla would be as hot and humid as a Costa Rican rain forest. We would create our own little green-house effect. Mushrooms would sprout from the carpet. The windows would fog as the car rocked back and forth, straining its old suspension system. Afterward, a sudden thunderstorm within the interior of the car would cool our steaming naked bodies, as we lay there spent.”

Does it get any steamier than that?

Now that I’m a published novelist myself, my idea of what constitutes high praise for a book has changed radically. Back in my college days, the compliment I hoped to earn for my yet-to-be-written novel would have been something like: “this is a timeless classic comparable to Shakespeare and Virginia Woolf.” Now, with my busy grown-up’s life, I know better. I’d much rather have someone tell me my novel is a “page-turner,” “witty,” “a story that made me think and touched my heart.” I found Into the Sunset to be all of these things. It’s also a novel I’m glad I read—and that’s the highest praise of all.

The Creamiest Chocolate Body Paint for Valentine's Day

My February column is up at the Erotic Readers and Writers Association--The Smut-Writer’s Holiday: In Praise of Sexier Valentines, Custom-made Customs, and the Creamiest Chocolate Body Paint in the World. As you might guess, this month I discuss Valentine’s Day customs here and in Japan, plus I share my fabulous chocolate sauce recipe that is thick and smooth and perfect for painting on body parts when lukewarm or pouring on ice cream or cake when it’s hot and slippery. I also review the wonderful anthology Best Lesbian Erotica 2008, which has some seductively strong stories by strong, sexy women writers and not a single mango-sucking scene! I like mangos a lot, especially with sticky Thai rice and coconut milk, but read my review and you’ll know what I’m talking about. Happy February, everyone!

The Seduction of Words: Rusty Barnes' Breaking It Down

There’s no doubt Rusty Barnes’ short-short story collection, Breaking It Down, belongs in the literary section of the bookstore. It has all the qualities we expect in literary fiction: fresh, often stunning images, an unflinching look at the truth of human character, spare and elegant prose. Add to that the author’s mastery of the short-short or flash form and his ability to evoke a lifetime of yearning or regret in a few brief pages and it’s no wonder it got rave blurbs from the likes of Ploughshares’ DeWitt Henry and Edward Falco. But before you’re thinking my review will be labeled as an all “writing” entry, I have to let you know there’s plenty of sex in Breaking It Down—after all, Steve Almond liked it, too.

Don’t go moving the book to the erotica section quite yet! Let me assure you I’m talking about literary sex. Yes, I suppose it’s time for me to lay my definitions out on the table, bare naked, for all to see. There’s been a long, sometimes heated, debate about the differences between porn, erotica and the serious treatment of sexuality that might even get you on a college syllabus, like D.H. Lawrence. Many claim it’s all in the eye of the beholder—what I like is literary, what you like is erotica, what a person neither of us like likes is porn. However, I believe there is a somewhat more objective way to analyze the difference.

Porn is bodies having sex, no complications, no questions asked, no real plot necessary. The intent is to arouse with descriptions or photographs of sex acts and the copious use of “obscene” words. This is reptile brain stuff, not that it can’t be highly effective and often enjoyable when the mood is right.

Erotica adds brains and hearts to the bodies. Its pages are populated by complex human beings, with dreams, desires and even disappointments in their lives. These people need reasons to have sex and they usually need a specific reason to have sex with the partner or partners of the moment. Often assumed to be aimed at women, erotica offers plot, character, motivation, poetic language and even humor. However, for the most part it does aim to arouse the libido as well as the mind. (That’s what I try to do in my work anyway).

A literary sex scene adds one more layer--a higher artistic purpose. It can arouse, but it doesn’t have to, the only “must” is that it serve to reveal character. Therefore here’s where you find an honest and often darkly complex view of human sexuality. Now we’re back to Breaking It Down. Barnes’ stories are often brutally honest. Sex has consequences, it’s an urge that ruins lives. It can also be a way for inarticulate characters to assert some power or seek a fragile moment of connection in a lonely life. Adultery, spouse-swapping, disappointed housewives taking out their frustration in the arms of visiting handymen--Barnes pierces through the clichés to touch the tender, wounded heart of erotic desire. Frankly, I found it all wonderfully refreshing. I enjoyed every one of the eighteen stories, but I’ll talk about a few favorites (yes, they have more sex) to illustrate my “definition.”

“What Needs to Be Done,” the first story in the collection, grabbed me right away with its sensual, resonant images--green beans in a silver bowl, tobacco juice spattered over the mums. Many of Barnes’ stories are clearly set in Appalachia and in this case issues of class are highlighted with a city-girl narrator, Derry, who is trapped in a disappointing marriage to an alcoholic country boy. One of the ways she endures is to have literal rolls in the hay with her nineteen-year-old brother-in-law. This passage is one of my favorites in the book:

“Purl had laid the blanket out already, wisps of hay stuck to his hairless chest. As I loosened his jeans, it wagged at me like a finger, an accusation I could never answer to anyone’s satisfaction but my own.”

An erection as a finger of blame—it’s funny, it’s indelibly memorable and it’s a classic example of sex-reveals-character. Plus, literature changes the way you look at the world and truth be told, I will probably never look at hard-ons in the same way again.

“Certitude” shows us a family in turmoil. A father facing his own mid-life crisis throws his teenage daughter out of the house for smoking marijuana and hanging out with boys. The mother, Mathilde, understands that the violence of his reaction is a reflection of his own desires and thus her reason for seducing her husband on the sofa in the TV room is very different from Derry’s need for some small way to indulge herself. Here we have sex as salvation and yet the connection is still fragile and momentary, rather like a work of flash fiction itself.

“Pretty” made me laugh out loud. Kathleen gamely agrees to a BDSM scene with her partner, Brady, but resents his perverse choice of a safeword—Pretty. Definitely literary irony at its best. I happen to know that BDSM-themed anthologies are selling briskly at one of my regular publishers, Cleis, and I often wondered who’s fueling this best-seller phenomenon—people who do it? People who want to do it and are afraid to mention it to their partners? But “Pretty” shows us the not-so-pretty reality of BDSM in an average American bedroom, where power play can’t gloss over the real emotions that course through a relationship. I must confess the ending was very satisfying.

“Mister Fixit” takes on a dumb porn movie cliché and makes it touching and wise. A sexually frustrated wife has a “hole that needs fixing” and she turns to a visiting handyman for sympathy. The two actually do end up in each other’s arms, but again the connection is not what we might expect. At the risk of giving it away, I’d like to quote this lovely passage, another of my favorites:

“He puts the tool down and opens his arms, and I go to him as the script directs. As he holds me in his smell of body odor and gas, putty and rank man, I can feel myself begin to disappear—it’s good. He squeezes tighter, a comfort hug, tighter and tighter. I am smaller and smaller in his arms. I am a wet spot on the shoulder of his grubby shirt, and then I am gone.”

Mmmm, nice, huh? I love the last story, “The Way It Is Scripted, the Way It Goes.” It’s about partner-swapping at an “adult party”, two couples getting naked in a shower. Standard fare for porn and even erotica, but here, for the male narrator, “the sight of Sarita’s bouncing breasts and brown nipples, her frizz of hair hung over into my golf buddy Paul’s face is raw and immutable fact, one I didn’t prepare for.” It’s sad, but it’s also sexy, too, in the way real bodies and real people arouse us, for example, when the narrator and a neighbor “[rub] Jasper’s thighs and behind with our wondrous, wonder-bound hands.” Literary sex is the reality, even when you follow the script, and Barnes’ collection ends with another penis, wagging its accusation and the epiphanous plip-plop of water on porcelain drowning out a woman’s cries of release.

Porn? Erotica? Literary sex? The boundaries are not always clear, even by my definition, but I’d say in general the more “literary” end of the spectrum involves care and insight on the part of the author and complexity of thought and emotion for the reader. As I read Rusty Barnes’ collection of flash fiction—or more accurately, devoured it, because it’s actually a real page-turner—I couldn’t help thinking of an exquisite Japanese Buddhist meal with its a tray of tiny dishes, each serving up a austere, perfectly-crafted tidbit. The fare is not especially sweet, and never rich, but it is ultimately satisfying and enlightening. Treat yourself to Breaking It Down for a taste of the same. Besides which, there’s an added bonus—by the end, you’ll realize that erections have a whole language of their own.

Want Your Own Amorous Woman?

Okay, it’s up and live, Shanna Germain’s interview with me on the fabulous erotica writers’ blog Lust Bites. I spill lots of secrets about sex and writing and my novel. Best of all you can win your own copy of Amorous Woman just by posting a quick comment. I’d say it’s worth the gamble!

Dirty Pictures: A Time-Honored Tradition

I’d guess a lot of visitors to my blog come in the hope of finding pictures of naked women or people having sex. I mean, much of my published work offers just that: pictures, albeit in words, of erotic activities. Some bloggers do offer lots of sexy images to spice up their words--just check out the “Sex” section of my blog roll!

I usually stick with words, but today, I decided to join the dirty picture bloggers in my own historical, Japan-tinted way in honor of my upcoming interview on the super-sexy and very visually satisfying UK blog Lust Bites. In my interview I talk a bit about Japanese shunga, literally “spring pictures.” Spring picture scrolls and prints were the racier cousin of the famous ukiyo-e of the Edo period (which lasted from the early seventeenth to the mid-nineteenth centuries). Most of the famous woodblock artists also did a little shunga-drawing on the side, and their reputations didn’t seem to suffer at all. If only our society was so open-minded!

I’ve always been intrigued by Japanese erotica, but I must admit the huge, magnified genitals in most of the prints made them more of a curiosity than a turn-on. Then I read Sex and the Floating World by Timon Screech. If you’re at all into art history, I highly recommend this book, a witty and enlightening exploration of erotic images in Edo-period Japan (it's currently available at a terribly inflated price on Amazon, but maybe you can find a reasonably-priced copy somewhere or check your university library?). I learned for example, that shunga were known as “laughing pictures” because one of the slang terms for masturbation was “laughing.” Now isn’t that more merry than “self-abuse”?

I was also introduced to the erotic images of Suzuki Harunobu and suddenly shunga took on a whole new dimension for me. I’d found my artist. Harunobu does not enlarge the genitals of his lovers to absurd proportions (although, to be my own devil’s advocate, I have suggested that the large genitals symbolize how you feel during sex—like one big, throbbing cunt or cock). They are real and tinted in pale, appealing colors. The faces of his lovers are as much a focus and the expressions are fascinating and complex. He is nothing if not elegant and his images are rich with suggestion, although certainly explicit enough. The image you see above, “Autumn Moon of the Mirror Stand” has inspired several of my stories, including “Spring Pictures,” “Courtesan with a Lover” and a scene in my novel, Amorous Woman, where Lydia and her wealthy company-president lover act out scenes from Harunobu’s work. The mirrors, the focus on female pleasure, the touch of melancholy to the scene, the samurai's knowing touch--something about the combination fires my imagination again and again. Now that’s a dirty picture that has spawned many thousands of words!

My Press Kit--Comments and Suggestions Welcome

AMOROUS WOMAN
By Donna George Storey

Neon/Orion Publishing
Category: Erotica
Pages: 352
Book Type: Paper
Size: 4 1/2 x 7
ISBN: 1905619170
ISBN13: 9781905619177



Take an exotic, erotic journey to a Japan few tourists ever see….


Amorous Woman is the story of an American woman’s love affair with Japan and her sensual encounters with the sexy men and women she meets along the way. First-time novelist Donna George Storey, a widely published erotica writer who holds a Ph.D. in Japanese literature, challenges the boundaries of culture and genre in this modern remake of Ihara Saikaku’s classic 17th century novel of the pleasure quarters. Lusty, wise-cracking Lydia—the modern Amorous Woman--experiences every flavor of erotic pleasure Japan has to offer from illicit encounters in hot spring baths to fantasy orgies straight from manga porn. Described by critics as “rich with sensual detail, humor, and emotional complexity,” “hard to put down,” and “literary erotica at its best,” the novel will change your image of Japan—and erotica—forever.


Bookstore ordering:
Currently available in the UK at Amazon, Blackwell and LoveHoney; the official US release is May 28, 2008, but it can be ordered for delivery in 6 to 8 weeks from:

Independent Publishers Group
814 North Franklin St.
Chicago, IL 60610
Phone: 312-337-0747
FAX: 312-337-5985
Orders Only: 800-888-4741
Orders: orders@ipgbook.com


BIO:

Donna George Storey has taught English in Japan and Japanese at Stanford and U.C. Berkeley. She holds a Ph.D. in Japanese literature from Stanford and has published over sixty literary and/or erotic stories and essays in Prairie Schooner, Gettysburg Review, Fourth Genre, Wine Spectator, Best American Erotica 2006, Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 4, 5, 6, and 7, Best Women’s Erotica 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008 and elsewhere. Her work also received special mention in Pushcart Prize Stories 2004. Amorous Woman is her first novel. Read more of her work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com.



SYNOPSIS of Amorous Woman by Donna George Storey:

The day Lydia Evans Yoshikawa left Osaka, she promised herself she would never have sex with anyone ever again for the rest of her life. This might seem a tall order given her past, for although she didn’t manage to seduce every able-bodied man in Japan, it wasn’t for lack of trying. She’s donned the gorgeous kimono of a Japanese bride, lured a handsome stranger into an “everything but” tryst in a steamy hot spring bath, and lost herself in an affair with a modern “feudal lord” who would stop at nothing to satisfy her sexual whims. Yet only when she tells the story of her shocking adventures to her two handsome American students does Lydia finally see beyond her fantasies to understand the real meaning of her connection with the men and women who shared their deepest desires with her. Inspired by Ihara Saikaku’s 17th century satiric novel of the pleasure quarters, Amorous Woman gives the reader a humorous and intimate view of Japan few Westerners ever see.


REVIEWS of Amorous Woman by Donna George Storey

“In turns funny, insightful, and always erotic, this novel follows the sexual adventures of beautiful blonde Lydia through a modern Japanese male landscape. Donna Storey's eye and nose for the redolent detail is a treat for all the senses as she spins her tale into a savory concoction not unlike the "cooked-to-your-liking" pancake of cabbage, egg, and smoky fish sauce called okonomiyaki that serves as the heroine's comfort food. An Amorous Woman is literary erotica at its best.”

Liza Dalby, author of Geisha and The Tale of Murasaki

“The cover of Amorous Woman promises a sexy read. The book is that, and so much more. Donna George Storey is a gifted storyteller. Her voice is both lyrical and immediate. When I met the protagonist, Lydia, and her affair with all things Japanese began, I knew I wasn't going to be able to put this book down. I never had a clue where she was taking me next but I was right there with her, every step of the way. Rich with sensual detail, humour, and emotional complexity, Amorous Woman is both a sensual and cultural journey. Highly recommended!”

Saskia Walker, author of Along for the Ride, Double Dare, and Reckless

“Amorous Woman is definitely arousing but it is much more than a light-hearted bedroom romp through Japan. It is a believable and moving tale of one woman's journey of sexual self-discovery… I enjoyed Amorous Woman more than any erotic novel I've read in a long while. Ms. Storey writes with insight and humor. She vividly conveys the sensual experiences of living in a new land.”

Lisabet Sarai, author of Raw Silk and Incognito, reviewed for The Erotica Readers and Writers Association

“If your knowledge of Japanese culture could do with a little stretching, or
if you simply enjoy well-written erotica, you won’t go far wrong with
meeting this Amorous Woman... it's a bloody good read."

Ashley Lister, author of Swingers, reviewed for Erotica Revealed

“Focusing on sex in Japan is a great departure from the more usual erotic scenes and I certainly enjoyed getting a peek into such a different culture. Storey clearly has a love for and an interest in this land, and that comes through with her writing. A piece of erotica that works equally well story-wise and for an insight into a whole other life makes this a great addition to your erotic bookshelf. I have no doubt I'll be rereading this in the future.”

LoveHoney, the UK’s premier online adult store

“The scope of this story is tremendous, and the settings are palpable in their completeness. It's clear the author has a strong understanding of Japanese culture. Vivid sexual scenes abound, encompassing a vast range of pleasures… this book is hard to put down.”

Romantic Times Book Review Magazine

Ancient Chinese Secret for Silky Soup

It’s Foodie Friday again and I thought I’d share two modest, but tasty discoveries I made this week. The first is a recipe for a simple, but delicious Chinese Egg Drop Soup. I found a recipe in the latest February issue of Cooking Light and did some further research online to come up with my own variation. The main thing is, this is so quick and simple, but it adds nice variety to your menu. You could serve it with fried rice, Chinese leftovers, or the way I did, with whole wheat rolls and aged Gouda and steamed Brussels sprouts with chestnuts on the side.

To serve two generously, bring 4 cups of broth (chicken or vegetable) to a simmer. Beat two eggs with a whisk for about 30 seconds. When the broth is ready, turn off the heat. Pour the eggs into a wire strainer. Hold the strainer about a foot over the pan with your right hand and stir the broth with a large spoon with your left. The egg will drop in fine ribbons and turn into silky, tender “flowers” in the hot broth. When you’ve used up all the egg, add 2 chopped scallions and a dash or two of sesame oil. You can add 1/2 cup of cooked green peas as well.

Another tasty recipe I found this week was from February’s Bon Appetit issue in “Eat Your Veggies.” I also adapted this for my own lower-fat tastes—I usually cut the cooking fat by 2/3 with fine results. Take 1 1/2 pounds fresh Brussels sprouts and trip the ends, pull off as many leaves as you can and quarter the remaining core. Heat 1 Tablespoon grapeseed oil in a sauté pan. Add 1 minced shallot, then the Brussels sprouts and 1/2 cup unsalted natural pistachios. Saute about a minute, cover and steam about 2-3 minutes, until tender but still bright green. Sprinkle with 2 Tablespoons fresh lemon juice and salt and pepper to taste. This will make a Brussels sprouts lover out of anyone. Honest.

Looking for a New Erogenous Zone?

It sounds like the title of one of those women’s magazine come-on articles at the checkout stand. The ten hottest sex positions. Five things sure to turn women on. Somehow the actual article never really delivers on the promise. I hope I can do a little better.

Sure we all know about the obvious erogenous zones—genitals, nipples (for most women and a few lucky guys), mouths and hands. Maybe the backs of the knees, the crease of the elbow. And don’t forget the brain ;-)

But what about the less obvious candidates? Ears, for example. (For more on this possibility, read my story “Virgin Ear” in Sage Vivant and M. Christian's Garden of the Perverse).

And feet.

Well, maybe feet belong in the obvious category. We’ve all heard of foot fetishists. Men who slaver over women in five-inch stiletto heels. Women who slaver over expensive designer shoes. Passions I never really quite understood, although I do appreciate how the crease between the big and second toe resembles cleavage. And there is something visually pleasing about a smooth female foot with painted toenails. Okay, now that I’m thinking about it, I did have a few moments of shoe love in my teens. When I was in high school I saw a pair of high-heeled maroon suede boots in the store that looked an awful lot like Victorian-style button-up shoes. About as Masterpiece Theatre as you could get in the local mall, and I convinced my mother to buy them for me. The only problem was, they were unwearable. After about ten steps, my feet were throbbing. It took hours and sometimes days to recover. The few nights I wore them out, I could barely walk back home. Most of the time I ending up taking them off and going barefoot. Once I convinced my boyfriend to carry me (talk about Victorian). He rowed heavyweight crew and he managed the burden just fine.

What I really want to talk about is my latest publication, a reprint of my story "Magic" on Clean Sheets, one of my very favorite places to be published! (I like the picture they chose for it, too.) The story originally appeared in Sexiest Soles: Erotic Stories about Feet and Shoes, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and Christopher Pierce. You might be interested a little background on my story, “Magic.” You see, some time ago, I discovered I had a very sensitive spot that I was never aware of before. My husband and I were lying on the sofa one evening and he was massaging my feet in a lazy, affectionate way. Nothing too extraordinary there. But suddenly, as he pressed and kneaded my left instep, I started getting…you know…feelings. Very nice feelings. Feelings so nice I thought maybe the foot massage alone would…you know…do the trick. Well, the kids were around and we didn’t feel right taking this new possibility to its conclusion right then and there, but our little discovery was a welcome addition to our repertoire. Not to mention, it provided the inspiration for "Magic."

A happy ending all around.

So, enough about me. Why not try finding your own hidden hot spot someday soon? You might be surprised what you discover.

Do YOU Like Sexually Insatiable Sluts?

My latest review of Amorous Woman is out in the January issue of Romantic Times Book Review Magazine (which unfortunately only lists availability through Amazon US and not my Web site where you can actually buy it now). I’m generally happy with this review—four stars out of five, which means they liked it—plus I think the reviewer “gets” a lot of what the book is about. Here's the review text:

“Storey chronicles 30 years in a woman's life, from the hopes of matrimony to the shame of prostitution, from America to Japan and back again. The scope of this story is tremendous, and the settings are palpable in their completeness. It's clear the author has a strong understanding of Japanese culture. Vivid sexual scenes abound, encompassing a vast range of pleasures. But some readers may not like the lead character, who is ruled so completely by her lust that she's a bad friend and an unfaithful lover. Even so, this book is hard to put down.”

So, yes, I can’t complain at all about such observations as “the scope of the story is tremendous,” “the settings are palpable in their completeness,” vivid sex scenes, authorial expertise in Japanese culture. And of course, the reaction I love best: “this book is hard to put down.”

Maybe it’s a romance genre thing, but a few readers—just two, actually—have told me Lydia’s high-wattage sexual desire was a turn-off. Of course, the Japanese model for her, the original Amorous Woman, was a real slut, so maybe by comparison Lydia seems thoughtful and reserved to me! Fortunately, the majority of people say they do like her, especially her humor, her self-insight and her honesty about sex. Not to mention, she does learn a few things in the end and makes an admirable sacrifice as a friend and a lover.

I’m wondering, though, if I should have my next heroine save a child from a burning building and help lost animals find good homes? Nah, I think I like naughty girls a little too much to go there….

How to get the VIP Treatment at your next Napa Winetasting

It’s a brand new year and time to launch Foodie Friday 2008! Actually this is more of a wino Friday entry, but still, I hope it adds to your sensual enjoyment.

My husband and I love drinking good wine (not necessarily expensive wine, but tasty, interesting wine) and we have an annual custom of going up to Napa Valley in February to taste the good stuff they’re pouring at Heitz. It’s the only time of year you can taste their lovely Martha’s Vineyard and Bella Oaks Cabs and tasting is always free! We try to go up to the Wine Country a few other times during the year as well, but February is quiet and the guys at the tasting bars are especially talkative, so you learn a lot.

Over the past few years, we’ve learned something else, too. If you do one simple thing, you’re very likely to have the winery pourers pull out a special bottle and give you an extra wine to taste, often a top-of-the-line treat, and always on the house.

Here’s what you do: spit.

Not in his face. You spit out the wines you taste. First stick your nose in the glass and breathe in long and deep. Then roll a sip around in your mouth, get all the flavor and spit. Either into the spit jar, or we take our own plastic cups (not clear, you can see the icky saliva-bubbly rejected wine) which is more discreet than shooting a fountain of liquid across the table into the communal spittoon. If you find a wine you really like, you can swallow a bit of that. I always allow myself that indulgence!

So, the guys at the bar see you doing this and they know you’re at least semi-serious about wine, a step above the bus tours. You chat with them a bit. Ask with genuine interest about the recent harvest and the current wines on sale and when the optimum time is to drink them. Confess you’re one of those crazy people who keep wine for a number of years and don’t just drink it all right away. Then watch them reach behind the counter for a little something special they’d like you to try.

It doesn’t happen at every winery, but at least once or twice on every visit. It's fun and you get to taste some nice stuff. Plus, if you spit, you don’t have to worry about driving and you can always buy a bottle of your favorite, drinkable-today wine to have back at the B&B. Not a bad way to sample the VIP treatment--and it's free.

Happy Quaffing!

Amorous Woman is Erotically Revealed!

Well, I have to say 2008 has started off exceptionally well for my novel, Amorous Woman with a fabulous review posted by Ashley Lister at Erotica Revealed in the January issue.

I’ve been in many Cleis anthologies with Ashley (who often writes under a pseudonym although his best-selling expose on Swingers was published under his own name) and have followed his columns on ERWA for years. I don’t think I’ve ever read any of his prose, fiction or non, without laughing out loud at his cleverness and wit, not to mention that I always know immediately I am in the hands of a master of the craft. He KNOWS his stuff.

So, it is especially thrilling that Ashley liked my novel. It’s hard to stop smiling about this, which is not a bad way to start the new year. And it’s hard to pick my favorite excerpts, although I’ll have to settle on something for my promo materials, but I can think of worse problems. In keeping with the more “intellectual” quality of Erotica Revealed (which you could argue is The New Yorker of erotica reviews), Ashley highlights the literary precedents of my novel—my direct model, Ihara Saikaku’s The Life of an Amorous Woman as well as the more amorphous inspirations of Japanese literary style.


“The first thing that struck me about this book is the fact that the author is maddeningly clever. The eloquence of Donna’s writing matches the elegant style of Japanese culture (as it is probably perceived by those who aren’t boorish bukake/karaoke/Godzilla louts). As I mentioned before, I’ve previously encountered Donna’s work in her wonderful short stories. Amorous Woman is similarly presented in a series of short and manageable chapters which, despite their brevity, are each exciting, arousing and carry the narrative along with startling swiftness.”

Clever, elegant, page-turner—this is good, right? Or perhaps it’s best to go with haiku-like brevity as in the following?

“…it’s a bloody good read.”

The review is a good read, too, so head on over to Erotica Revealed and help me toast the new year!

The Naughty Martha Stewart?

I’ve been so frigging busy baking cookies and gingerbread chalets and sending off packages and stirring up Russian ceremonial porridge, I haven’t had time to mention a very cool development in my writing life.

I’m officially a columnist and book reviewer over at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association. As I’ve mentioned, ERWA has been the most valuable resource for me in my erotica writing career. Most of my published stories are due to their fantastic call for submissions bulletins. I’ve gotten countless tips from the long-running columns of Ashley Lister, Shanna Germain (check out her sexy new pic!) and Ann Regentin among others. Brenna Lyons has a very helpful column on e-publishing which I plan to follow very closely as my promotional efforts for Amorous Woman gear up in the coming year.

My first column went up in December and focused on the transformative power of gingerbread and X-rated sugar cookies, Naughty Cookies and Sugar Walls: A Year's End Indulgence in Architecture, Seduction, and Sensual Healing. In it I discuss the genesis of this edible hotel pictured here, made by my hands alone. Except my kids decorated the roof. But there’s stuff about sex and writing in the column, too.

This month’s entry has just gone live: Tie Me Up, Please: Resolutions, Blindfolds, and the Eroticism of Oatmeal. I talk about New Year’s resolutions for writers, lovers and eaters. If you’re any one or all of these, check it out! And then there's my debut book review of Lisabet Sarai's erotic romance about a Ph.D. candidate with a wild side (no, it's not about me!), Incognito.

I think my goal here is to become the “Naughty Martha Stewart.” Can my own line of holiday-themed sex toys be far behind?

Tough Critics, Soft Landings

There’s a new review of Amorous Woman up on Trashionista.com, a popular chicklit review blog based in the UK. It’s a good review, although I could tell from the beginning, the critic (editor Keris Stainton) wasn’t exactly on my side from the start. And I can’t blame her. She rightly points out that the cover of Amorous Woman, both back and front, does not allow reading on the daily commute. It screams “dirty book”! Which it is—but I hope it’s so much more.

Yes, there’s no doubt Amorous Woman is a strange beast, neither fish nor fowl, nor even a side of beef or a vegetarian seitan kabob. But Ms. Stainton seemed to like it in the end anyway. After pointing out that Lydia’s story would take more than a few hours to tell in real life (okay, maybe, depending on how fast she talked), the review continues:

“…the book is compelling and beautifully written. Despite the fact that Lydia behaves fairly appallingly throughout, she is so open and honest about her wants, needs and weaknesses that I couldn't help but like her.”

And then there’s this:

“Since it's an erotic novel, you probably want to know whether it is indeed "erotic" (that word's never been the same to me since Waynetta Slob). It is. (Ha! Coy enough for you?)”

From a mainstream perspective, that’s as good as it gets.

It all reminds me of my challenge in promoting the novel. Amorous Woman does have a lot of sex scenes since I was writing on commission for an erotica line and there were certain expectations. Many “mainstream” novels have lots of sex scenes, too, but not as dependably or as required perhaps. Then again, Field Marshall McBirdie at LoveHoney was surprised when I didn’t make an encounter with a guy into a full-fledged sex scene, so it is hard to please everyone.

So I guess I’ll just have to settle for “compelling” and “beautifully written.”

More soon!

The Erotic Woman!

December has been so crazy busy for me, and I haven't even started on my cookie-baking spree yet! But all kinds of sweet things are happening and one wonderful surprise is the publication of one of my favorite stories, "Suit and Tie," online at the super-spicy female-friendly site The Erotic Woman. I love the photo they chose for the illustration--it's perfect for the story! Read it and you'll see just what I mean.... And I really like the quality of the comments, too. I hope to make more appearances on this site in the future. It's a great big heaping bowl of eye candy, not to mention I'm in the company of some of my favorite writers. Also check out Gwen Masters' fabulous story "Indiana Jones, with Camera."

Happy erotica reading!

The Dark Beginnings of an Erotica Writer

Our sexual histories are more than just a list of lovers, a catalog of positions tried and techniques mastered. From Hollywood flicks to Playboy centerfolds and Penthouse letters, media plays a huge role—too large, in my opinion. Doctors say the story of our sexual urges and satisfaction is hard-wired, involving the hypothalamus, dopamine and oxytocin. Psychiatrists point to the influence of the family.

This month I became a columnist for the Erotica Readers and Writers Association with my first entry "Naughty Cookies and Sugar Walls." It's a big step from writing fiction to writing about fiction and it's got me thinking about another important factor in my sexual awareness—the power of the written word. Back when I first started writing, with my interest in erotica coming soon after, I bought myself a copy of BAE 1997 for research and pleasure. I’ve read many great erotic stories since, but my favorites from that volume are burned into my brain. Ivy Topiary’s “My Professor” was a favorite because it was smart and witty and all about sex in your head and your professor’s office, one of my favorite pastimes and one of my favorite fantasies, respectively. “Lunch” by Mark Stuertz fascinated me, not just because of the unusual repast featuring a highly aroused woman, lots of spinach and a dwarf. It was the narrator’s friend Drew, the guy who nosed out this weird form of sexual gratification, who really captured my imagination. Drew was one of those sexually obsessed guys who’d be checking out other women when he took you on a date. We’re all just food to him anyway. But when a person is deeply interested in something, they tend to be good at it, and Drew seemed to know his stuff. Plus there was that seminal moment when his mother fed him a dab of creamed spinach on her little finger. Yes, Drew was no good, but I longed to go back in time, before I was happily married and I let myself get mixed up with trouble like him, and find out more about his kinkiness firsthand. This is a fictional character we’re talking about. I’d have to say Mark Stuertz did a damned good job on that story. Then of course, everyone’s favorite, “She Gets Her Ass Fucked Good” by Rose White and Eric Albert. That story taught me the power of dialogue in erotic fiction. For me there is nothing more immediate, no other description, no matter how poetic, lets you slip right into bed with the characters (or wherever the action is happenin’).

But let’s go back even further, to the Ur Sex Scene, pages 27-29 of The Godfather. I was in fifth grade when the movie was released and everyone seemed to be reading it. My older sister talked about it so much, I begged to be able to read it myself, but it was deemed too racy. A compromise was reached—my sister would read it to me and excise the parts that were inappropriate for my tender age.

It was then I learned to be a sneak. And it was then I encountered pages 27-29. (Interestingly enough, as Susie Bright recalls in How to Write a Dirty Story, this was her first exposure to the erotic power of the written word as well!) It was shocking, it was thrilling, it was imperative I show it to my best friend as soon as possible. She was equally fascinated and horrified and speculated that if her mother caught her reading it, she would probably feed her hot dogs swimming in ketchup as punishment—another disgusting, but oddly exciting image.

When I go back and look at this scene (the book lies open on my lap to the scene in question), I am amazed anew but for a different reason. By any realistic measure, what Sonny Corleone did to Lucy Mancini could not have brought her true pleasure. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes in fact. There was no foreplay at all, just some pawing and panty-ripping (unless her anticipation of the event provided enough warmup, which can happen, but usually not for the first time with someone). Next came a lot of violent thrusting, not to mention Lucy was in a rather contorted position which, in my experience, can be distracting. No wonder hot dogs and ketchup came to mind—the whole focus was on the “enormous, blood-gorged pole of muscle” and its magical ability to bring pleasure merely by filling up a big “box.” There is something romantic about this, oddly enough. That is, if you find the right guy, with the right meat and the right motion, this perfect match will result in instant orgasm. Nice idea, but very unfortunately, quite misleading.

The other sex scene that sticks in my memory is on page 342, Michael’s honeymoon night with Apollonia. It is perhaps more memorable in the movie for its flash of naked breasts, but I remember having to sneak the book from its hiding place for this one, too. Even at the time, I liked this one better, because it was less scary and because I could put myself in Apollonia’s place, the bold, curious bride, “all eagerness, surging against him wildly in a virginal erotic frenzy.” I’m sure. Mario Puzo didn’t waste many words on foreplay here either, which, you could argue, fits with the ethos of the Corleones’ world. But part of me wishes that all of us teenagers and pre-teens who drank this in as the milk of our erotic education had a little more realism to work with. And I’m realizing that one of the many reasons I write erotica is to redress that long ago misconception—my own—of what good sex is.