My final SexIs column and see you in Milwaukee!

I'm off to Milwaukee for to tonight's Erotica 101 class at Tool Shed Toys, then Northwestern tomorrow. Here's my final SexIs column, "How To Turn Me On." I've loved writing it and would ike to write another column, NOT about my personal life but about sex and culture, if you're hiring!

Bound by the surprise of our glory days

So I booked this trip back in November, with only a vague inkling of knowledge that I had to get out of New York. It was less about visiting Honolulu as going somewhere warm that wasn't my home. My city had started to feel too cloying, too claustrophobic, too much. I didn't even know then how much more so it would start to feel, only that I would probably thank myself later. I didn't know I would start to feel like I was spiraling somewhere I didn't want to be, learning things I have no business knowing, intoxicating, alluring and glittering with promise as those things may be.

I was so intent on that escape I didn't think much about whether escape is ever truly possible, I just knew I needed out. Maybe in the back of my mind I thought this transition from hurt to whole, from wishing I had something and someone I don't to simply grateful for this body, this brain, this heart, this life, would be seamless, wrapped up with an exotic excursion. I didn't realize many things, one of them being that that Adele song I played about a hundred times last year, "Someone Like You," would be playing all over Oahu, every day, pretty much everywhere. I heard it at cafes, in stores, blasting out of a trolley. I heard Kiana covering it on the street on Kalakaua.

Maybe I played it so many times myself, more than any other from that album, hoping to discern its essence, hoping to get to that place the Adele in the song is, where she can see her ex years later and truly wish him the best, instead of having the most bittersweet moments like I seem to do. I seemingly only listened to the ex part of the song, instead of the title, because when did in fact remind me of my ex, not because they share the same name, but plenty of other similarities, in enough ways, I was sortof shocked that that could even be possible. It made me wonder if I could handle any of those reminders, made me realize my infatuation with that song was more than a little misguided.

In fact, I didn't really want to meet someone like him, in any way. I would've told you I wanted to meet someone the opposite of him, and on closer inspection, they are not really so similar, except in the most surface of ways, ways someone who doesn’t know them would pinpoint. And the truth is beneath the surface, the searing jealousy, so fierce it takes my breath away at times, beneath the extreme inadequacy I feel when faced with it, there is an even deeper, stronger undercurrent of all the reasons I fell for this person, the reason his presence is almost like white noise in the background of my mind.

It's hard to leave behind my all or nothing thinking, hard to leave behind anything I've held onto my whole life, to admit that, but it's true. Every time I heard that song this past week, it reminded me that I can avoid my city, I can avoid the incessant, ubiquitous reminders, but it doesn't negate the fact that what I treasured most about that relationship is encapsulate in the word written on my arm. It's easier to rely on that surface sheen of darkness because to go deeper and recall those glory days, that cookie I ate for dinner that tasted like the best thing in the world, the way the next day I could see us reflected back in windows, could feel the vibrations from all the way across that city, their city, my city.

I'm so wary these days, so prickly, so uncertain, that the second I saw those similarities, I wanted to take a step back, say no thank you, not me. I'm not done yet, still too tender inside, too rare, too soft. It's like that song "Ladyfingers" by Luscious Jackson except I don't have any hard shell around me; I have nothing to cling to for protection, for safety. WYSIWYG. And yet. Maybe it's possible to appreciate those glory days for what they were while making new ones. Maybe one door is still ajar, just enough to let a sliver of light in, and the other is inching open a little bit more than that, almost despite me.

Except I don't want anything to happen despite me, I don't want to start anything if I can't do the only thing that made those glory days worth it, which is give all of myself, every last bit of me, even when it meant trembling in a hallway, or wandering through a strange city, or wishing I could be the book landing on the floor of my stairs with a thud so strong it echoes in my head all these months later. There will probably always be a part of me that wants to be that book, wants to be that girl who watched and felt it fall, who fell, in her way, for the umpteenth time, right along with it.

The door is ajar just enough to let me take a lot of shuddering breaths as I sit here crying in the lobby of a hotel while flight attendants are packing up and dance music is playing and I could be anywhere in the world, and clearly I haven't given it that nudge to click it closed all the way. I've held on to it because there is still a little bit of that magnetism, that sense that everything else can be gone in a flash, stripped away in service of something even more powerful, even grander.

I thought that in order to move forward, to open that next door, I had to go back, back to before that moment on the street in Greenpoint, tremulous voice and all. Except there is no going back. I can't be that girl again, no matter how much I wish I could, and that girl may have been more innocent but there were a lot of transformative, brilliant things she couldn't have even imagined existed and I don't want to be so cynical I disown those moments, because that's not who I am. I've tried to embrace cynicism as a way of life, as a survival tactic, and it's never lasted long, certainly not long enough.

In my optimistic moments I'd like to think I'm better for that twisted mix of glory days and their opposite, wiser, something, but you don't get a stamp on your heart like a passport you can flip through, a been there, done that badge. There's no Foursquare for love. I spent so long trying to figure out how to be someone else, how to be someone better, more worthy, more special, because I wanted it to be like a puzzle and once I solved it I'd get that prize again, that chance to be that book, to be that girl on the phone, the girl clutching her beautiful bruises close. Maybe, though, there's nothing to solve, no magic trick, nothing else I have to do but be me, which is a mixed blessing if ever there was one, something simultaneously simple and devilishly difficult. How to be a girl I hate and love in the extreme, how to ask someone else to handle those warring factions within me. But maybe I don't have to ask. Maybe I don't have to do anything, don't have to travel far, literally or figuratively, to get to that place., except look, and listen, and be open. And like another of my beloved Adele songs, I suppose I can be my own savior, and still open that door, even if I have no idea what's on the other side.

I just asked if I have to bring anything else on my date that I wish were happening right now, and I was told just to bring my fabulous self. So I will.

Daily gratitude: This, Hawaiian edition

Crossposting from my Tumblr, where I try for daily gratitude, along with one of my favorites of the hundreds of photos I've taken here in Hawaii, of Waikiki Beach at sunset. I plan to come back in November for my birthday, if not sooner. This has been a beautiful, much-needed vacation.



Daily gratitude: This

Just this feeling of total serenity I’ve had here. Not every second but for the most part I tapped in to enjoying this island and my time, whether I was soaking my feet in a hot tub, watching the sunset, eating cupcakes or an amazing acai bowl, or delicious food cart snacks, having my photo taken with a topless male model, seeing a bacon cupcake underarm tattoo, in a car going zero to sixty, on the beach, at the mall, drinking coffee, reading, walking or geeking out over cacti or adorable children or the sun like I’d never seen any of them before. It feels like it’s been much longer than a week and I’d easily extend another week if I could. I mean, the worst things that happened were having my bank card blocked by a fraud attempt and seeing a “Romney - Believe in America” sign (wtf? I sure as hell believe in my fucking country).

My upcoming week, which involves a friend’s theater show, a hot date, saying goodbye to some of mg favorite New Yorkers before they move, speaking in Milwaukee and at Northwestern, being on live TV, digging in to a fun new assignment where I get to hear about other people’s sexcapades and break into a new print venue, is all great, but feels so far away. Heady but intimidating, and I’m not quite ready for anything remotely approaching intimidating just yet. I want to take as much of the spirit of this trip home with me. I can’t be the girl I was in January, the instantly reactive, out of control childish person I was starting to become. Maybe I needed to shock my system to shake it up, and I certainly needed to escape my claustrophobic city. But now I need to learn to live there, with all my and its imperfections and memories and blessings. Because more than anything I feel blessed to have had this week, to remember my strengths, to be reminded that I don’t have to go out of my way to impress people, just be open. So while I’m leaving Hawaii tonight, I hope it’s not leaving me, and not just because I’m bringing my comfy slippers (one of my vocabulary lessons - slippers, not flip flops) back to Brooklyn. And I already have an inkling of coming back for my birthday. But one day at a time. Actually, one moment.

So much spanking erotica now in audio form too!

Now you can listen to all the spanking erotica you want from my books Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica and Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories on Audible! Click on images below to buy the audio from Amazon and more information below, because I love spanking erotica. More details soon on my next spanking erotica book!


Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica


Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories

Buy Spanked from:

Amazon

Kindle

Bn.com

Nook

Powell's

Indiebound

Audible audio version

Cleis Press

Table of Contents

Introduction: “A Fantastic Kind of Pain”

Spanking You Rick Roberts
Perfect Bound Shanna Germain
Betty Crocker Gone Bad Alison Tyler
Laser Tag Madeline Glass
A Rare Find Donna George Storey
Game, Set, Match Sage Vivant
Tied Down Andy Ohio
Through a Glass, Sharply Elizabeth Coldwell
Reunion Madlyn March
Riding the Storm Thomas Christopher
The Breeding Barn L. Elise Bland
Pink Cheeks Fiona Locke
Page by Page Laura Bacchi
Fiscal Discipline Simon Sheppard
Pre-Party Thomas S. Roche
Still Life with Infidels #56 M. David Hornbuckle
Indulgences Tenille Brown
Logan Rosalind Christine Lloyd
Daddy’s Girl Teresa Noelle Roberts
The Depths of Despair Rachel Kramer Bussel

Introduction: “A Fantastic Kind of Pain”

Just as I have a seemingly endless capacity to bare my ass and get it smacked soundly or make a squirming bottom hover on the edge of erotic oblivion with loud, ringing, stinging whack after whack, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of reading stories about spanking. There was a time when I wasn’t sure I could say that; after all, just how much is there to say about bending over and letting a firm hand connect with a pertly offered-up bottom? Or striking a pretty pair of buttcheeks so well the person beneath you moans in ecstatic agony? Well, as I’ve learned while editing this collection, there are an infinite number of ways to talk about the pleasures of getting spanked or spanking someone. While the actions may look alike, we all experience them differently and have different motives for indulging in this beloved kinky activity.

Me? I get off on just thinking about bending over for that special someone. Maybe I’m wearing panties, and only part of my bottom is visible. Maybe I’m not, and my spanker can see everything, including my wetness. I get wet at the mere idea of offering up my entire body to a lover to play with, tease, spank, and arouse. I’ve also had plenty of eager bottoms spread before me, offering asses that just begged to be spanked, whether they speak words to that effect or not. But for me, and for many others, spanking is about much more than just the physical. It’s about what that sensation creates inside of us. Spanking breaks down our barriers in ways even sex sometimes doesn’t; it stirs up emotions; it makes us whimper or cry, or be proud of just how much we can take. It’s primal and powerful, not to mention incredibly popular. I was thrilled to see spanking make an appearance on Showtime’s Californication, where the bratty, bossy bottom of a secretary demands that her boss spank her for any office infraction. “Hit Me Baby One More Time,” indeed.

And those who bestow spankings, whether with hands, paddles, hairbrushes, or other devices, relish that power to bring pleasure and pain mixed together, to completely undo the person they are spanking with just a few (or possibly many) whacks.

The authors included here get just how intense spanking can be. Reading these stories took my breath away, and, even more so than my previous collections (Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z 1 and 2), made me instantly horny. They’ve tapped into the beauty of spanking in a way that newbies, seasoned spankophiles, and those who are simply curious will be able to understand in an instant.

Rick Roberts opens this anthology with “Spanking You,” a story I’ve read and reread numerous times, mesmerized by its rendering of a man so entranced by the vision he makes when he spanks his girlfriend, you imagine he could do it all night, every night, and never tire of it. He even offers up a little bit of a how-to for those would-be spankers looking for the courage to simply turn him or her over and begin this sensual process:

I used to tease you at the beginning of every spanking. As you’d kneel before me on the bed, not a stitch of clothing on your tan body, I’d fake the first blow—stopping just short of your ass, letting the air kiss your skin—and then place an affectionate caress onto your behind. By removing the certainty of whether the next sensation would be soft or a stinging slap, I’d keep you centered in the moment, keep you waiting and vulnerable, and your anticipation for the spanking grew. I would look down at you and smile, knowing that your desire for the first slap on your ass was growing unbearable by the moment.

Part of the thrill of spanking someone is being able to dangle what they most desire before them, to see them there waiting, panting, asking for it with body and soul, to know (or at least, fantasize) that they can’t get off any other way than by the “punishment” you are about to deliver. Elizabeth Coldwell paints a portrait of a true top in “Through a Glass, Sharply,” when she writes, “You have never really known power until the man you love is at your feet, naked or very nearly so, helpless and vulnerable, while you remain fully dressed and completely in control.”

Madlyn March describes a first-time spanking in a way that will be familiar to any who have gasped, trembling, as they realized they not only can take, but crave, a whole lot more spanking than they’d initially expected:

I remembered how it felt when Mimi did it to me. At first, you’re surprised someone’s hitting you, even if you’ve asked her to. Then you’re excited. Then you’re in pain, but it’s a fantastic kind of pain. Each slap makes you want more, as much as you can take, until you can’t take any more, and you’re shaking, more than ready to have an orgasm, the kind that can only be gotten from a woman diving headfirst into you with her wet tongue licking rapidly.

Any time an author can make me hot for something that in real life actually unnerves me, I’m sold. I’m not usually a fan of Daddy/girl stories, but in Teresa Noelle Roberts’ excellent story, simply entitled “Daddy’s Girl,” she renders that role-playing relationship and its spanking potential perfectly, dissecting her characters’ motivations while maintaining the magic they each hold so dear about their arrangement.

For some people, spanking is playful, almost silly--sexy in a way that makes you laugh as you come. This spirit is alive and well in L. Elise Bland’s “The Breeding Barn,” where a cheese paddle does double duty on the ass of an unsuspecting but happy boy bottom. And for the woman who goes by the name “Pink Cheeks” in the story of the same title, her fantasy comes true, to the letter, though in a setting she’d never have expected.

What I love most about this book is that while there are plenty of naughty boys and girls, that potentially clichéd setup never gets boring, because the authors take you right there, into the heart of a punishment spanking, letting you know that, on some level, each of these naughty boys or girls doesn’t just deserve but needs to be spanked for his or her own reasons. The authors play around with these tropes, recreating the act of spanking until it morphs into something endlessly entertaining, just as a good top can keep a bottom on the edge, smacking harder and harder, then backing off, drawing out the play.

While I’ve subtitled this book, “Red-Cheeked Erotica,” what happens on the surface of the skin is just the beginning when it comes to spanking. There’s an elegance, a poetry, a beauty to spanking that is much more akin to making love than fucking. It’s a rhythm, a beat, a gracefulness, a way two people can connect without saying a word. These elements come together in M. David Hornbuckle’s simple yet powerful “Still Life with Infidels #56,” in which a planned kidnapping is set against the sparse backdrop of a steel mill as two recently reunited lovers attempt to recover what they’d lost.

The thrill of erotic spanking is nothing new, even if each time can make even the most experienced bottom feel like a blushing virgin all over again. James Joyce wrote a series of spanking-loving letters to his beloved wife Nora in December 1909 (and for a lesson in the art of sensual, utterly kinky yet romantic erotica, look up Joyce’s naughty letters online). I cannot legally quote him here, though believe me, Joyce was a full-on spankophile according to these missives, understanding precisely what it means to submit (and to willingly struggle).

As I already told you, when it comes to spanking, I simply can’t get enough. I hope these stories turn you on, inspire you, and spark your own imagination about just how hot a spanking from someone who knows exactly what he’s doing can make you.

Rachel Kramer Bussel New York City

Buy Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories from:

Amazon

Kindle

Nook

Audible audio version

Cleis Press

Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories

Introduction: Getting Spanked Again (and Again)

A Thousand Words by Donna George Storey
The Hardest Part by Alison Tyler
A Firm Understanding by Elizabeth Coldwell
Prime Time by Teresa Noelle Roberts
Ass Worship by Jerry Arthur
The Purple Balloon by Tess Danesi
Sorority Sister by Dominique Dunbar
Days by Simon Sheppard
Bossy by Sommer Marsden
Oscar and Holly by Bill Kte’pi
Lonnie’s Licks by Tenille Brown
The Swinging Spankers Club by Stan Kent
Reenactment by Zille Defeu
Confessor by Craig J. Sorensen
The Spanking Machine by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Stuffing the Ballot Box by Andrea Dale
Tease for Two by Maddy Stuart
I’m Going to Grab Your Hair by N. T. Morley
Flaming by Jean Roberta
Helping Those in Need by Gwen Masters

Introduction: Getting Spanked Again (and Again)

This being my fourth book on the subject, by now it should be clear that I love spanking: giving, receiving, fantasizing about, and watching it.

So what’s different about this collection? For one thing, there are more male authors represented, a trend I fully support. For another, the tales are more imaginative; yes, there are first-timers and dedicated spankophiles, but there are also swingers and Renaissance Fair attendees living out long-held fantasies in highly unusual ways (see Tess Danesi’s “The Purple Balloon” for details). There are spankings here that aren’t all good or all bad, just as ones in real life don’t always conform so easily. Is the narrator of Dominique Dunbar’s “Sorority Sister” grateful for the spanking she got from Claire Spencer back in the day? Was that a pleasurable experience or one that teetered on confusion? Dunbar mixes things up so we’re not totally sure.

Alison Tyler also alludes to the push/pull of spanking, even for the most die-hard fan. “But now that I’m here, I’d rather be anywhere else. Name the place, and I’d rather be there: in line at the DMV; waiting in the doctor’s office; sitting at the back of coach on a packed flight. I’m scared, more scared than usual, because he’s taking his time…” She perfectly captures the way many submissives want what they know will hurt, want it and don’t want it at the very same time—something that good tops play into.

The same thing happens in Teresa Noelle Roberts’ kinky math nerd tale, “Prime Time,” in which the narrator finds herself tongue-tied as she’s given a challenging assignment. “My stomach flip-flopped. The bedroom spun. My heart raced in panic that I couldn’t convince myself was pointless. I fought back the urge to cry, fought it so hard that I started trembling.” You might think, upon reading that sentence, that she doesn’t really want to be spanked, that she doesn’t fantasize and obsess over her need, but you’d be wrong.

I’m also very glad this book has a fairly even mix of spankers and spankees, though of course some people can manage to be both at different times. The rush of delivering a spanking to one who wants and needs it is explored here in many scenarios, from Simon Sheppard’s wistful “Days” to the age-variant relationship in Bill Kte’pi’s intriguing “Oscar and Holly.” And in Maddy Stuart’s “Tease for Two,” two women get off on sharing the power of delivery, and learning from each other, as well as mutual delight in a job well done: “George’s technique was that of someone who had spanked a thousand exposed asses, but the overflowing smile and the sparkle in her eyes belonged to someone who was discovering it for the first time.”

Whatever kind of spankings you’re into--even if, like the characters in Donna George Storey’s “A Thousand Words” and Jerry Arthur’s “Ass Worship,” you’re not sure what you’re intoæI hope you’ll find it within these pages.

And spank you very much for reading.

Rachel Kramer Bussel New York City

This Best Bondage Erotica 2012 review captures much of what I love about the kinky story editing process

This Best Bondage Erotica 2012 review was posted by Tousled Elegance on Amazon - I'm reposting it (just correcting my name) because I really like what it says and it may even guide you in writing your stories for Best Bondage Erotica 2013 (May 1 is the very very very firm deadline, but earlier is always better, I'm reading as they come in!). And in separate book news, Best Sex Writing 2012 got a great review at EDGE. Honored and thrilled to see reviewers getting what I want to do with the series. Hope that translates into more kickass, amazing submissions for Best Sex Writing 2013 - with that one, I'm making it easier on myself by breaking the process into chunks so earlier submissions get priority in a big big big big way. Soon as I get back, I'm going into editing mode. Just a heads up. I'm trying to make "rolling submissions" a meaningful part of my editing life from now on or else I might be tempted to quit editing altogether.

I'm a fan in general of projects associated with Rachel Kramer Bussel's name, so in an attempt to be as unbiased as possible, as I sat down to read Bondage Erotica 2012, I tried to keep in mind the reasons readers might choose the genre... What are their expectations and how well does the work meet them?

Erotic fiction tends to get shafted [pun intended?] when it comes to literary recognition and awards. However, I can't sing the praises of those that wind up on Rachel Kramer Bussel's radar enough! Typically overused porn vocabulary is kept to a minimum; this titillating collection is more than just a bunch of dirty stories - some fact, some fiction. There's quite a bit beautiful prose herein. Standouts like Craig J. Sorensen's "Worth Redemption," Elizabeth Coldwell's "A Night At The Opera" and Teresa Noelle Roberts' "Suffer For Me" have an almost poetic flow, without sacrificing an ounce of horniness. Pieces like "Trophy Boyfriend" from Lucy Felthouse, "As Long As You Don't Wake Me" by Neil Gavriel and "Knot Alone" by Kathleen Tudor have a real conversational and conspiratorial tone that draws you in.

While tastes vary, there's enough variety to interest the merely curious, the novice and the initiated kinkster. Straight, gay, bisexual, voyeurism, exhibitionism, the physical aspect, the psychological aspect, couples, strangers and even the taboo topic of self bondage - Best Bondage Erotica 2012 delivers it all, complete with a foreward from rope bondage guru Midori. I was particularly pleased to see both male and female writers represented. Also, as another reviewer said, as a nice change from the oft penned age play and cross dressing themes, quite a bit of Femme Domme tales featured, yet each still manages to incorporate some other kinky elements as well, thereby keeping it intriguing to those who aren't necessarily into that particular scene. You'll likely find yourself speculating about how the characters got onto this path, what they will do next and what happens to them after their tales have been told. That kind of connection, folks, is one of the hallmarks of a good book! Whether you're looking for masturbation material, some ideas to spice up your sex life or simply enjoy reading erotic fiction, Best Bondage Erotica 2012 meets expectations and then some!

Quick hi from Hawaii!

Aloha! I'm loving Hawaii so far, and am excited about tomorrow night's cupcake meetup (much as I've tried to give it up, event organizing is in my blood, which is good since there are a ton of them coming up over the next 4 months). I've been driven around to gorgeous lookouts in a Tesla Roadster Sport, eaten malasadas at Leonard's Bakery, hung out at Ala Moana Center, gotten a manicure, a bathing suit and cupcakes in Waikiki, saw a former Miss Hawaii do a hula dance at House Without a Key, soaked in a hot tub and watched a gorgeous sunset, among other things. Giant shoutout to AirBNB for making this trip affordable. I'm balancing writing (one piece for a very exciting new venue), cupcake blogging and fun creative writing with soaking up the sun, as it goes. Posting, as always, is more frequent at Tumblr and non-cupcake photos are in my personal Flickr account.


from one of my three flights here


I actually loved being driven around in this, even when I closed my eyes and felt my stomach flip over and over






my comfy Hawaiian slippers

Scarf love

I bought a scarf today. I had seen one like it on someone earlier this week and thought, That looks so warm. It was raining today and I am going to Milwaukee soon but the real reason I bought it wasn't warmth so much as comfort. It's the kind of scarf that I will want to sleep with, and very likely will, the kind I wish I could transform into a blanket or sweater. It's comforting, and that is worth the price alone. It's also big, so even I will be hard pressed to lose it.

I was sitting in Housing Works Bookstore Cafe when I started this post (and am super excited about my Best Sex Writing 2012 panel here April 25th, details of which are being finalized) but got sidetracked by a deluge of to dos. I had a huge list of errands to run and stopped there to browse and realized I needed to sit down, not even for tea or coffee, but just to sit. I will be sitting for a lot of hours tomorrow; my first of three flights leaves at 6:30 am and I arrive in Honolulu at 8:16 pm, which is 1:16 am New York time, that sitting felt right. I scrapped most of the to dos, like my nails, got toothpaste and sunscreen, and now have the scarf around me in my living room. My bedroom is warmer but I'm afraid it will make me sleep, and that will have to wait for the plane. I kindof want to take the scarf with me but you don't take a scarf to the beach, do you?

I would say more but I literally don't even know what to say at the moment. I can see that I get stuck in patterns of thinking that seem so real I have to shake myself out of them and remind myself I made them up, remind myself that I don't have to be holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop when things go well. I don't want to be the kind of person who can only find solace in escape, but realizing how ill-equipped I am for that word, vacation, how little I know what it means, is unsettling. "I can call you next week to go over this," I wrote to someone I'm working on a project with. "No, I will not call you while you're on vacation. I wouldn't talk about work if I was on vacation, so you shouldn't have to." She's totally right, and yet...I wanted to tell her no, I would talk to her. It feels like it might be the only quiet time I have to do it. Some days I like that pace, but I don't want being busy to only work because it takes my mind off of darker topics.

I almost started crying today at Waffle and Wolf, over a Groupon. I could feel my grasp on the day, and my sanity, drifting away like quicksand. I almost stepped outside because I felt so dumb for not being able to find a piece of paper that I predicted just yesterday I would likely lose. What is it with me and paper? But the man who runs Waffle and Wolf is very nice and knows me now because I'm there so much and wrote out my credit and my friend and I got our waffles and ate and I was not the greatest friend because I kept frantically checking my email but this is a friend who's seen me throw up, who's known me over half my life, who's seen a lot of versions of me other people haven't, so it was okay.

And then I wounded up my errands at FedEx Office, printing $18.99 worth of very valuable papers. I sent my photo to an editor to use for art. I mailed those papers and they are one less thing to deal with when I'm on vacation, or "vacation," as it may be. I don't know what's waiting for me all the way across the country, pretty much I like I clearly have no clue what's waiting for me right here. I guess I'll find out.

Want to read: Anne of Hollywood by Carol Wolper

A new Carol Wolper novel is a reason to celebrate! I'm looking forward to reading Anne of Hollywood soon. A little birdie is getting me a signed copy. Stay tuned for my review!



Description:

Skirts may be shorter now, and messages sent by iPhone, but passion, intrigue, and a lust for power don’t change. National bestselling author Carol Wolper spins a mesmerizing tale of a twenty-first-century Anne Boleyn.

Wily, intelligent, and seductive, with a dark beauty that stands out among the curvy California beach blondes, Anne attracts the attention of Henry Tudor, the handsome corporate mogul who reigns in Hollywood. Every starlet, socialite, and shark wants a piece of Henry, but he only wants Anne. The question is: can she keep him?

Welcome to a privileged world where hidden motives abound, everyone has something to sell, and safe havens don’t exist. With her older sister Mary, a pathetic example of a royal has-been, Anne schemes to win her beloved Henry in the only way that gives a promise of forever—marriage. Success will mean contending with backstabbing “friends,” Henry’s furious ex-wife, and the machinations of her own ambitious family, and staying married to a man who has more options than most and less guilt than is good for either of them will take all her skill. Anne will do anything to hold on to the man—and the lifestyle—she adores, however, even if sticking your neck out in Hollywood means risking far worse than a broken heart. With Henry’s closest confidante scheming against her, and another beautiful contender waiting in the wings, Anne is fighting for her life. Can she muster the charm and wit to pull off her very own Hollywood ending?

Get your orgasm on with audio erotica!

Like to listen? Check out 25 stories of female orgasm narrated by Lucy Malone, available now for your listening pleasure from Audible.com. Want a taste of what's in the book? Read my story "Belted" for free (that one is very kinky, but the stories truly range all over the place).



Introduction: Let Me Count the Ways…

The Waiting Game Elizabeth Coldwell
What’s in a Name? Jacqueline Applebee
Chemistry Velvet Moore
The Chair Lolita Lopez
Fixing the Pipes Susie Hara
Share Dusty Horn
Hurdles Rowan Elizabeth
Seeing Stars Louisa Harte
Old Faithful Sylvia Lowry
Paying It Forward Kendra Wayne
The Big O Donna George Storey
Moon Tantra Teresa Noelle Roberts
Feet on the Dashboard Rachel Green
Frosting First Lana Fox
All She Wanted Andrea Dale
Making Shapes Lily Harlem
Rapture Angela Caperton
Belted Rachel Kramer Bussel
Rise and Shine Heidi Champa
Taking the Reins Vanessa Vaughn
First Date with the Dom Noelle Keely
Animal Inside Neve Black
The London O Justine Elyot
Fight Charlotte Stein
Switch Jade Melisande

Introduction

Let Me Count The Ways...

Orgasm: like sex, it’s one word that means many different things to many different people. For many women, it’s the center of their sexual life, a daily occurrence; something to look forward to, experiment with. For some it means a gushing rush of pleasure, for others it’s a little wave they delight in cresting.

Every woman who orgasms may describe it differently.

Yet there are many women, myself included, who find orgasm not so easy to achieve much of the time (yes, it’s true--I love sex, and get turned on, but coming is a bit more complex for me). In “Hurdles,” Rowan Elizabeth writes of such a character: “I can’t win this. And it’s my hang-up, too. I feel like there’s something I’m just not doing right. Maybe if I tighten my legs a little more or squeeze my eyes shut harder, then we’d get there together.”

Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary defines orgasm as “intense or paroxysmal excitement; especially: an explosive discharge of neuromuscular tensions at the height of sexual arousal that is usually accompanied by the ejaculation of semen in the male and by vaginal contractions in the female.” It comes from the Latin and Greek (orgasmus/orgasmos), from organ “to grow ripe, be lustful.” I like that description, though what it leaves out is that for women, orgasm can stretch beyond the boundaries of ejaculation, can continue on and on, can be drawn out for as long as the woman (or her partner) wants to indulge in the experience.

In Lolita Lopez’s perfectly kinky story, “The Chair,” sex toys and submission go hand in hand with orgasm for the protagonist. “Lily’s orgasms changed from separate events to one long and unending oscillation of bliss.” Her “punishment” at the hands of Cal is one she’s very, very happy to absorb.

There are countless articles and books telling you how to have a bigger, better orgasm. I don’t want to add to the clamor of the voices saying, You must orgasm now. Instead, I want Orgasmic to be a fictional showcase of some of the reasons, methods and delights women bring to their orgasms. I want these red-hot stories to help get you warmed up, primed, aroused. I want them to make you squirm with desire, identification, curiosity. I want you to read these stories aloud to a lover…or someone you wish were your lover.

I did my best to capture an array of big (and little) Os, moments where the world feels like it’s exploding in your body, orgasms that rock more than just your world. These stories capture the ferocity, intensity and power of women’s orgasms, however they’re achieved. I couldn’t include every way women come in this book, or it would be much longer than it is now, but I wanted to include a varied look at what gets women off, which means it’s not always a man or another woman, or even a machine that does the trick. Vanessa Vaughn taps into a classic route with “Taking the Reins:”

As I straddle the seat and slowly lower myself down, I feel a familiar tingle of excitement deep inside. I can sense the monstrous size of the body between my thighs, the large chest expanding and contracting broadly with each breath. The smell of fresh, conditioned leather smothers my sensesæwell, that, and also the slight musky tinge of sweat. It is a raw smell mixed with rich, dark dirt.

Speaking of orgasm how-tos, in “The Big O” by Donna George Storey, she both skewers the omnipresent women’s magazine sex advice and adds a saucy twist as her protagonist puts into practice “The Sexercise Prescription: A Stronger Secret You in Six Weeks.”

The women in Orgasmic climax from tantric sex, role-playing, piercing, G-spot play, sex toys and even chemistry--the scientific kind. They delight in food, God and handymen. They create their own objects of pleasure; they spy, tease, obey, command, argue, submit. Some are shy about their orgasms and some are bold as can be.

They come, and come and come again, and they do it in some of the hottest, most creative ways you can think of. Visit me at orgasmicbook.wordpress.com if you just can’t get enough…orgasms, that is.

Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City

If you're not an audio person, here's some other ways to purchase it:

Amazon.com.

Kindle edition

Barnes & Noble (Bn.com)

Borders

IndieBound (search for your local independent bookstore!)

Cleis Press

Happy National Peanut Butter Day!

I'm a whirlwind of writing, editing, blogging and trying not to have a panic attack as I get ready to escape for 9 days. For anyone jealous of my Hawaii trip, after that I head to Milwaukee, where I'm hosting an erotic writing workshop February 9th, appearing on live TV, and attending Iron Cupcake Milwaukee, not to mention trying to stay warm, so, you know, hot then cold.

Today is National Peanut Butter Day! Celebrate with some cupcake photos I took (all these were absolutely delicious) and click through for more. Food holidays are now my life. Not sure I'd give up erotica entirely if I could cupcake blog full time, but I would totally do it (hint hint, rich patrons!). Just kidding...I love the mix of things I get to do, but these days cupcakes are taking priority. Hoping to rekindle my love of writing for the pure satisfaction of it while on vacation. I truly love writing but these days every time I sit down to do it I think things like: No one will ever want this. You won't finish, you know it, don't fucking bother. You suck. This is a dumb idea. You don't have time to get to the end, so don't start. This idea's been done before. You get the idea. I've missed out on endless opportunities by listening to those awful voices, so I'm trying to set them on fire and kill them for real, finally, but it's not an overnight process. I have my wishlists, and am gonna keep trying until my writing wishes come true, or I make new wishes.


maybe I've been too corrupted, but the inside cupcake shot always looks way too food porn-like to me