Email: rachelkramerbussel at


Lusty Lady

Watch my first and favorite book trailer for Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica. Get Spanked in print and ebook

Saturday, March 31, 2012


I'm having a wonderful time at MOMENTUM! You can follow what's happening via the hashtag #mcon on Twitter. I've been to panels on sex worker rights, blogging and body image and fat so far. I shot a video for with Jamye Waxman, met my fellow November 10th birthday sharer, Best Sex Writing 2012 contributor and Naked at Our Age author Joan Price and lots of others. I also added to my to do list to do a workshop at Self Serve Toys in Albuquerque, who made this Viva La Vibrator sticker.

my awesome boyfriend drove to Virginia; I put my feet up

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Thursday, March 29, 2012

Erotica 101 from amateur escorts to zombies

My handout for my Erotica 101 workshop at MOMENTUM this Sunday lists various anthology themes, from amateur escorts to zombies! I'm so looking forward to this and hope that lots of attendees (and you!) will submit to the 4 anthologies I'm currently editing (Best Sex Writing 2013, which is for nonfiction only, Best Bondage Erotica 2013, 1,200 word or less orgasm erotica and anal sex erotica). I'm reading now for Best Bondage Erotica 2013 and have already made some fabulous selections, which is why I highly encourage you to get your stories in early (final answers will be given to everyone by June, once I have my manuscript approved by Cleis Press).

Monday, March 26, 2012

My latest book Curvy Girls: Erotica for Women, with foreword by April Flores, is out!

My book Curvy Girls is out now! Ebook and audiobook are forthcoming. More on this soon, including excerpts, but for now...

From the editor of Dirty Girls comes a new anthology of steamy stories for women who don’t fit into a size zero—or two, or four—and the men and women who love them.

In this voluptuously erotic collection, editor and best-selling author Rachel Kramer Bussel showcases the sensual side of having “more to love,” from the sexiness of big butts and plus-size corsets to the irresistible allure of pregnant bellies. No aspect of full-figured female sexuality is left unexplored, whether heterosexual or same-sex, raunchy or romantic, femme or butch. Bussel also includes seductive stories featuring characters of varying ethnic and racial backgrounds, exploring how different cultures approach size and eroticism. From trysts between long-time partners to one-night stands, from vanilla encounters to kinky romps, Curvy Girls is an all-inclusive celebration of the sensuality of larger women—in all their curvy glory.

Order Curvy Girls from:


Kindle (TK)

Nook (TK)



Indiebound (find it at your local independent bookstore)

Foreword: The Volumptuous Life by April Flores
Introduction: Curves and Attitude by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Runner’s Calves by Sommer Marsden
Before the Autumn Queen by Angela Caperton
Champagne & Cheesecake by A.M. Hartnett
First Come, First Serve by Lolita Lopez
Small Packages by Tenille Brown
Decadence by Satia Welsh
Excuses by Nina Reyes
Recognition by Salome Wilde and Talon Rihai
Passing the Time by Gwen Masters
First Date by Louise Hooker
At Last by Jessica Lennox
Wenching by Justine Elyot
What Girls Are Made Of by Evan Mora
Appetite by Elizabeth Coldwell
In The Early Morning Light by Kristina Wright
See and Be Seen by Arlette Brand
Big Girls Do Cry by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Marked by Isabelle Gray
Happy Ending by Donna George Storey

7 new erotica short stories

I have a bunch of new erotica short stories out - the first 4 are from new ebook only imprint Mischief Books, which has purchasing links and excerpts and also full-length novels, and the last 3 are from Cleis Press. I'm especially excited about the first anthologies edited by writers you are likely familiar with, Shanna Germain and Sinclair Sexsmith, as well as another collection by D.L. King!

my story "Slapper," about, shockingly, a girl who like to be slapped (to find out where she likes to be slapped, you'll have to buy the ebook) is in Shameful Thrills: Girls who Should Know Better. Buy for Kindle or Nook.

my professional restaurant eater story (yes, I have a fondness for restaurant settings) "I'll Have What She's Having" is in Exposure: Those who Love to Watch and be Watched. Buy for Kindle or Nook.

my story "Best Offer," about a woman offered $100 who holds out for more, is in Girl for Hire: The Secret Encounters of Amateur Escorts. Buy for Kindle.

my story "Stranded," about a woman who's left stranded at, yes, a restaurant, and has to "pay" for her meal, is in At Your Mercy: Tales of Domination. Buy for Kindle or Nook

my kinky art gallery story "The Heart of Chaos" is in Bound by Lust: Romantic Stories of Submission and Sensuality

my story "A Slap in the Face" (about, yes, face slapping, in public, no less) is in Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica edited by Sinclair Sexsmith

my butch masseuse and femme client story "Happy Ending" is in The Harder She Comes: Butch Femme Erotica edited by D.L. King

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Sunday, March 25, 2012

In the beginning

To tell a story, you are supposed to start at the beginning, and I wish I could, but I'm not really sure what story I want to tell, or where the beginning of it is. I have so many beginnings tucked away in my computer, stories in various stages of completion, one that has reached the end, and only requires, according to my assistant who proofread it for me, me to explain where a certain sex toy came from in the plot, other than my imagination.

If I were to tell you about writer's block, which some people believe is a real thing and some people think is simply an excuse to not write, I wouldn't know quite where to start either. The block, though, I can describe. In my imagination, it's not a block, exactly, but a box, one I keep moving toward and instead of stepping over, I sit down and open. I open it and unearth its contents and each time, no matter whether the contents have shifted, morphed, or even disappeared for the most part, I take them out and examine them, endlessly fascinated, as if seeing them for the first time. I take them out and let myself get lost in them, immersed in their every facet, overwhelmed by their minutiae, absorbed, engrossed, subsumed by even the most nothing of items. It's kindof a perfect metaphor for my apartment, where those objects are real, and endless. There is always a distraction.

That's what this week was like, pausing over morsels I'd placed in that box, listening to podcasts, reading anything and everything, waiting until I felt like I was ready. Even when a friend told me, "I'm so glad you're writing this," I didn't stop and close the box and say to myself, "Time to move on." I said to myself, "Isn't it great that she's such an awesome friend that she took the time to tell me that?"

I don't know where this post is going any more than I do most of my stories but I do know that today at a coffeeshop, a different one than my usual hangout, I bunkered down and finished a story I'd been working on for months, that was started for one anthology and then was meant for another. It combined the theme of people over 50 and hotel sex and took as its setting a hotel where I was hit on by a pickup artist. In some ways, it was very me, and in some ways, it was new and not me. I don't know where it will wind up, or if I have it in me to finish another one tonight. I just know that I loved that feeling of realizing the end was near, not because I'd hit some word count or rushed through any scenes, but because I figured out how the characters fit together. I managed to work texting into what might be called a humiliation scene; I like when I can add an inanimate object, like a smart phone or glass of champagne, into a story, like I did there.

My own smartphone and I have been apart for four days and I have to say, it's been rather idyllic. I haven't talked to anyone except my boyfriend, his friends, who made us dinner and were much easier to talk to than I'd expected, and my grandmother. I'm a little afraid of returning home and turning on my phone; I much prefer the silence of emails landing in my inbox. Next weekend I will be in Virginia, and then I will be seeing Bruce Springsteen on April 3rd, and then I will be flying to Portland for a new tattoo and meeting my friend's baby and a reading, before heading to Seattle and San Francisco and Santa Cruz and Berkeley, but I'm not ready to think about those cities, full of beginnings and middles and memories. Instead I'm savoring the silence, marred only by the whirring of my laptop and my fingers banging the keys as I try to figure out how to close those last boxes and leap over them into whatever unknown is waiting for me on the other side of them.

Monday, March 19, 2012

Until tonight

I'm working on an essay but it's long and I need to work on it when I get home from Chicago. But this is the crux of it. Plus I'm using a source I never thought I'd use. I promise it's a good one, and so telling. There've been so many excellent articles, opinion pieces and Tweets, I won't be able to include them all in my piece, but follow the story (stories, really). And, yes, follow the PR crowing by Foxconn, which is ridiculous. But if we let those stories be pitted against each other, we all lose.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

human is better than robot

I have been pushing myself lately to write the things I don't necessarily want to write, but that haunt me when I don't write them. I was asked by an interviewer about the connections between the various work I do, the fiction and the nonfiction and the editing and though this was two days ago my answer has already become a big hazy in my mind, but I think I said that it is all about exploring aspects of sexuality and getting at the heart of what sex means. And yet, of course it's complicated, like life. I am not even sure where to begin, and maybe, in this time of looking at subjectivity and kinds of truths and retraction, a subject I maybe know a teensy bit about, where I should be going is not to a blog but to a book, a fictional one that will allow me to say what I want in a way that is honest and open yet grants me greater freedom than I would otherwise have. I had a wicked, somewhat sickening deja vu moment yesterday that made me realize that by not writing about those sickening moments, I do myself a disservice, and at the very least, deprive myself of the ability to laugh at the outrageous ironies my life presents sometimes. Truth may indeed be stranger (and harsher) than fiction, but fiction is also a tool I want to use, and in this case, need to use. I know it will help me exorcise those sickening moments, parlay them into entertainment, catharsis, instead of simply telling you how much I hate some girl who I used to be jealous of.

When I was in Hawaii, one of my editors told me not to be afraid to be voice-y with a piece I was writing. At the time I didn't really think much about it; I wrote the piece and approved edits and soon it will be on newsstands everywhere. But that idea of voice, and modulating our writing voices to fit certain audiences, has stayed with me, perhaps because, whether it benefits my writing or not, I almost always use my voice. Sometimes it upsets or unnerves people, it's too true, too real, too not nice. Sometimes it unnerves me, too, because the truth is ugly, often. It's not so much that I like baring myself at my most depraved, what goes into my body or through my mind, but more that when I don't let those dark experiences out, they eat away at me. They remind me that I am capable of going there, that my instinctive self-destructive mode is the default when I fear the words. I feel like I'm in some cycle, of what, I'm not sure, but it's been an extended one that has not quite faded out. I will be better, then worse, better, then worse. It will only better when I get centered, whole, detached in a way I pretend to be but my dreams, those subconscious consciences, remind me I'm not, yet.

I don't know what the answer is except that it is never and can never be to silence myself. I tried that, I apologized for using my words, which is something I regret. I forgot that I have the right to both my feelings and my words no matter how not nice they are; unless I'm threatening someone, I am entitled to that, and I'm sure that not niceness will wend its way into the piece I want to write. Sometimes I fear that if I don't get it out on the page it actually will incite me to act in ways I would not be proud of, but, I have to remind myself of something I wrote in an email, which is that "human is better than robot." I don't always like my humanity, my imperfections, my flaws, fears, hate, jealousy, self-sabotage, etc. There are long stretches when I have trouble finding anything to like, though thankfully, of late they are shorter and shorter. I worry sometimes that relationships are a crutch, a shorthand, a too-easy, too-temporary way out of that dilemma, a way to reboot myself out of those dark stretches by believing in what someone else thinks of me, and if I learned anything from 2011, it's that I have to rely on myself, first, last, always. That is something I am trying to do, one day at a time, and always, the words help. It's not simply, or even primarily, about controlling the message, but explaining it to myself, understanding it, not prettying it up because it sounds better or I want someone to like me or any other vapid justification for skimping on the self-reflection that what I do now demands.

I would say more, but I don't know where that line is, not a legal one, not even a moral or ethical one, but a safe one, one where I could say all those truths that haunt me and feel at peace. Well, I know that line isn't in this format. But there is a format, and I will find it, because clearly the urge to make sense of it in story form is not going away, and probably never will.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Sex diary: "The Gay Law Clerk Fantasizing About JFK in the White House Pool"

This week's sex diary: "The Gay Law Clerk Fantasizing About JFK in the White House Pool" >br>
This week's sex diary, with a nod to Mimi Alford's JFK memoir Once Upon a Secret. I edit these weekly anonymous sex diaries; want to write one? (You don't have to be in NYC). Email sexdiaries at and tell me in a few sentences why you'd make a good diarist, and feel free to pass that on. Thanks!

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Saying "Isn't that what every woman wants?" is offensive in the extreme

In this case, we're talking about love, but whatever we're talking about, once you veer into the "every ___ person" wants this, you know (or should know) you're in trouble, even if it's something supposedly everyone wants, like, well, love. Talk about the romantic industrial complex, as my friend and fellow SXSW panelist Samhita Mukhopadyay calls it in Outdated. From a PageDaily interview with Lyss Stern, about 50 Shades of Grey trilogy. More from me about this soon, because it incensed me.
MM: Critics say the books are degrading to women because of the story line being based on a sexually dominant man. Is it?

LS: It isn’t because they are truly in love. The story isn’t as shallow as an older man taking advantage of a young, virginal girl, which is what people tend to assume when they hear about it. There is a real loving, caring, supportive relationship at play, and Ana and Christian enjoy amazing sex to boot. Isn’t that what every woman wants?

Sex, Dating and Privacy Online panel today at SXSW!

If you're at SXSW Interactive or know anyone who is, tell them to come to my panel today from 5-6 at the Omni. See you there!

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Sunday, March 11, 2012

69 orgasms and why you should submit to my short shorts anthology even if you've never written smut before

That's what I'll be including, 69 stories of 69 different orgasms, in my new anthology of 1,200 word or less stories (deadline is June 1, but earlier stories are strongly preferred and highly encouraged; by June 1 you will likely be competing for fewer open spots). It's modeled on a combination of Orgasmic and Gotta Have It and I can't wait to work with so many authors again. It was a treat and I think there is something to the idea that people who might be intimidated by longer works rightly think that they can give 1,200 words or less a shot. I especially loved that authors from other genres, like memoir author Erica Rivera, were in that book.

I hope to include at 20 (ideally 40 or more!) new to my anthology authors, so get writing! Click here to see the call for submissions for my short short orgasm erotica collection, and below are some ideas for my book of female orgasm erotica, Orgasmic. I think it can be a good challenge to try to write short and tell a full, sexy story, and the authors in Gotta Have It did that extremely well. There will be sweet and tender stories, like "After Ten Years" by Christen Clifford in Gotta Have It and kinky stories of pain and pleasure like my face-slapping story "Manners" in Gotta Have It. I really mean that anything that fits the guidelines is fair game and I hope it's an incredibly varied book that offers up ideas of ways of orgasming, ways of thinking about orgasm, ways of appreciating orgasm, that readers might not have considered before. That's sortof what I tried to do with "Belted." I needed a story utterly different from the 24 surrounding it. I chose the second person and to focus on the belt, the act of being beating, rather than simply the people involved, though of course, it's about the characters and who is doing the beating and who is getting beaten, but framed by the belt.

I also like the idea of expanding beyond female orgasm to all kinds of orgasm, and to see the similarities. The sky's the limit, and I mean that figuratively and literally (mile high orgasms, anyone?). I have lots of ideas, but I will refrain from talking much about them because I don't want to hamper anyone's creativity. Hot, original, sexy, varied, orgasms that surprise me. And thank you for making Orgasmic a success. That's how it works in this business; when a book does well, it's a sign that readers like the topic, and I get lucky and get to keep on editing more books. Happy writing!

You can read the full introduction here. Authors' names are in bold.

Purchase Orgasmic from:

Kindle ebook edition

Barnes & Noble (

Nook ebook edition


IndieBound (search for your local independent bookstore!)

Audible audiobook edition

Cleis Press

Orgasmic story excerpts:

The Waiting Game Elizabeth Coldwell

I’ve never been one of those women who want--or need--orgasm after orgasm. Indeed, I’ve found the more frequently I come, the weaker, less enjoyable and harder to achieve those climaxes become. Whereas if I haven’t come for a few days, the release is so strong, so all consuming that it leaves me spent and thoroughly satisfied. I once mentioned this to Danny, early on in our relationship, and while it’s usually meant that he’s never tried to bring me to a second orgasm in a night, knowing I’m completely happy with the first, now he’s using that information to take our sex play to an entirely different level.

“And are you going to give me any idea how long I might have to wait?” I ask.

He shakes his head, an evil smile crossing his handsome features. “It might be before the end of the holiday--then again, it might not. All I will say is that by the time I do let you come, you’ll be wanting it more than you ever have.”

I think that’s the end of it for the time being, but then he adds, “Now, I want you to go into the bedroom and get that little vibrator of yours. I know you’ve brought it with you, so don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Bring it back here, there’s a good girl.”

The emphasis he places on the words “good girl” makes me shiver, and I wonder how long Danny has actually been thinking about making something like this happen.

What’s in a Name? Jacqueline Applebee

“We just kissed at first when we were at a party,” I gulped. “He had this way of devouring me with his kisses. I always felt trapped by his lips and his delicious mouth whenever we smooched.”

“Like now?” Eric tugged my hands over my head. I nodded, aware of how my nipples had become hard and aching with need. “What else did you do?”

“He talked dirty; he was the first man who ever spoke to me that way.”

“What did he say?” Eric shoved my knees apart with his. He gazed down at my pussy. I knew I was wet, glistening and hungry for his cock.

“He called me a slut.” Even saying that word now made a wonderful tremor pass through me. “He said he could smell my cunt, and that it was the best perfume in the world.”

“I agree,” Eric said with a smile. I arched up wanting him inside me, but Eric increased his grip on my hands. The delicious pressure made me whine. My sensitive wrists felt heavenly. I was desperate for this man.

Chemistry Velvet Moore

Smell is the sense tied most closely to human memory. So when I sense any use of potassium chlorate; a white, crystalline compound well stocked in science laboratories and often used for combustion; I remember how it feels to have the fire of orgasm sizzle its way through my body and melt a liquid path down my legs. The chemical’s odor singes my nostrils and flashes me back to the sensation of a chilly, marble countertop pressed against my back, to the press of fingers digging into my supple thighs, to the slick pressure of rounded glass slipping in and out.

And it’s what I remember most about him.

The Chair Lolita Lopez


Cal’s instruction sent white-hot shock waves through her core. Lily’s nipples stood at attention. She inhaled a shuddery breath and took a tentative step forward. Skimming her fingertips over the smooth wooden arm, Lily appreciated the beauty and craftsmanship of the chair. Only a hedonist like Cal would think to commission such a hybrid piece of furniture. Part bondage device and part sex toy, it was legendary among his rather kinky circle of friends.

Before Cal, Lily had only dabbled in the lightest of kink: A silk scarf binding her wrists to a headboard. An ice cube between her lover’s lips gliding over the swell of her breast. A few stinging smacks on her bottom in the heat of passion.

But then Cal had appeared in her life and introduced her to the sometimes painful but always exhilarating world of BDSM. That first night he’d broached the subject, Cal had taken her to his playroom and talked her through the various toys and implements. When he’d shown her the chair sitting in the corner on a raised platform, Lily’s curiosity had been piqued. What was hidden beneath the panels spanning the distance between the chair’s legs? And why did the platform require a power source? In that instant, she’d decided to accept the experience Cal offered and earn the privilege to sit on his prized piece.

Fixing the Pipes Susie Hara

He leaned over and softly placed the head of the hammer on the skin just below her collarbone, where her nightgown fell open. He caressed her with the cool metal head, drawing patterns that sloped gradually down toward her breasts. She was breathing hard. She looked him in the eye as he continued his circling, until the hammer rested in the valley between her breasts.

“It has been so long since I have felt a hammer between my breasts,” she said. She watched the corners of Scott’s mouth twitch, as he stifled a laugh. He methodically moved the hammer to her left nipple, moving it around and around, which caused her to shiver and close her eyes. Her book dropped to the floor. It was quiet for a time, while he traced the cool metal around each of her nipples, which were now puckered and pointing straight up. She grabbed him and pulled him on top of her in one motion.

Share Dusty Horn

I spread my fingers wide, place my hand on your ass and lift the skin tightening across your muscles, and the flap of your labia pulls reluctantly away; an anomaly, a novelty in a body and personality that is so uncommonly masculine. My love for you is located in your pussy as you swallow your pride, arch your back and offer yourself to me. The contrast between your boyish charms and this intoxicating sticky elegant peach is more beautiful than anything that has ever corresponded. Fuck correspondence. The only things that should be corresponding are my dick and your cervix.

In my fantasy I slam you harder than you would allow me, and that is what fantasy is for, after all. I get the most wonderful show now; the show of you enjoying yourself, getting off, getting fucked. Whatever it is that fills us with the love of being penetrated, you are feeling it now and whatever inspires our fascination with watching others love to love the love that loves is washing over me now.

The side of your face is smushed against the sheet and your arms are flopped to the sides. You are wailing a single note, and too bad I don’t have perfect pitch or I would write you a song in that key. Our pussies have a tin-can telephone now.

Hurdles Rowan Elizabeth

What do I need?

I run my palm over my right breast and nipple. It feels nice, but just nice. So I give my nipple a good squeeze. That could work, though I know my nipples are not the path to orgasm for me.

I pad through my apartment to my bedroom and dig around in my bottom dresser drawer. I find my favorite vibrating dildo and a tattered copy of a Portia Da Costa book and make my way to my bed. It’s a little section of the book where the heroine gets buggered for the first time that always gets to me.

I begin gently rubbing my pussy as I read, dipping my fingers into the folds and bringing out the wetness. I run my finger over my clit, barely making contact, and it makes me shiver. It’s so easy to do for myself.

Then it hits me. I just need to remember what gets me going in detail and then guide Alan through it. Show him, I decide. I just need to show him.

I slide my curved dildo inside of me and begin rubbing in earnest. I come with bursts of color behind my eyes and a plan hatching in my head.

Seeing Stars Louisa Harte Tonight I want something different--I want to be alive in the moment.

I flick open my eyes and tune in to the energy of the environment, feeding off its earthy vibes. A smile on my lips, I hunker down in the grass and slide my hand into my pajama pants to play with my pussy. I gasp, surprised at my wetness. Swirling my fingers in my juice, I coat each one before stroking my slit. My clit strains, hard and eager for attention. I graze it with my thumb. Stroke it. Tease it a little. I love playing with myself, building that familiar ache until it becomes an overwhelming desire that takes over my body. I’ve always loved wanking, being the one in control, timing my pleasure to perfection. Only tonight I have a surprise participantænature. Goose bumps prickle my skin as the wind gusts over my bare tits. It lifts my hair and throws it across my face like a kinky blindfold. I moan with pleasure and wiggle my hips, shoving my ass deeper into the sodden grass in response.

Old Faithful Sylvia Lowry

Perspiring, I wiped my face, opening my housecoat as I wandered into the basement. Still filled with my morning laundry, the ringer washer vibrated in darkness, green against black, water cascading violently against its interior, a pure carnal force shuddering viscerally in the blackness. I embraced it, imagining myself joining a mechanical lover of sublime magnitude, grinding my naked pussy into the pulsating steel curvature of the tank, a giant tremulous cock fucking me into oblivion. Its attentions triggered an immediate response and I sensed the reemergence of my thwarted orgasm as I propelled my cunt inward; the trembling steel caressed my clit and entire pussy in a single, awe-inspiring motion. I eased my tits into the embrace, allowing my nipples to achieve intimate contact with the rigid steel, feeling an initial shock of cold contact quickly transfigured into an inverse sensation of scorching heat, a miasma of conflicting impressions that impelled me to gaze skyward, muttering, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” in an attempt to animate the iron beast into pliant flesh.

Paying It Forward Kendra Wayne

“Feel how wet I am,” she hissed.

“Damn, you are,” he said, sounding surprised and pleased. He slipped his fingers between her lips and coated them with her juices. Then he painted her anus and licked her clean. She hadn’t even had to ask. He was a quick learner, this callus-fingered bassist.

She smiled, told him to get the lube.

He was appropriately gentle, sliding one finger into her, then two, stretching her out a little.

“Now the beads,” she said. Did she sound like she was begging? Maybe she was, just a little.

He greased them up, carefully slipped them in. She shivered, savoring the sensations, each little pop of pleasure ratcheting her arousal higher.

She rolled off the pillows onto her back and spread her legs. Simon knew what to do. Lips and tongue and fingers, tasting and teasing, flicking and sucking. He even tugged on the string, smart boy, and she clenched and released around the beads.

Thighs tensing, belly quivering, teetering on the edge, she moaned, “Pull them out.”

The Big O Donna George Storey

Who would have guessed that the circle would begin in the ladies’ lounge at the Claremont spa? Yet there I was, sipping cucumber-infused water and leafing through women’s magazines, when I happened upon a peppy two-page article that would change my life.

The Sexercise Prescription: A Stronger Secret You in Six Weeks.

At first the headline made me snicker, but then a deeper stirring--call it a presentiment of destiny--made me fold back the page and begin to read. Of course, I’d heard of Kegel exercises before. I’d even tried them once or twice. I never kept it up though, because it always struck me as somehow perverted to exercise my muscles down there. That was for strippers, chicks that had to pick up twenty-dollar bills with their pussies, not ordinary market research analysts like me.

Moon Tantra Teresa Noelle Roberts

We fall silent again and almost still, watching the changing face of the moon. The shadows move faster now. Soon, all but one sliver in the upper quadrant is obscured. I mean to say something poetic, but you move inside me at the same time. The thought flees as I start to shudder.

It’s not exactly an orgasm, but it’s ecstasy in its own right. First my belly muscles quiver, tiny, rapid contractions that spread throughout my torso. I feel my breasts shake against your hands. Then my legs begin to tremble in the same way.

The quivering in my belly moves deeper, from the muscles of my abdomen to my cunt. Release and yet not. The pleasure takes me to a higher plane of want even as it gives some relief to the building pressure.

“Wow,” you breathe. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure,” I say when I can talk again, “but I liked it.” I relax against you, looking at the disappearing moon.

Feet on the Dashboard Rachel Green

Elizabeth lunged, her mouth hungry for kisses, and Jane tasted the sweet aroma of whiskey on her breath as she twisted awkwardly in the seat to return the passion. There was fire in those kisses and Jane could feel her knickers getting wet as her desire increased, the flood of lubrication sudden and unexpected. She cupped her hand behind Elizabeth’s neck and pulled her closer, their lips pressed tightly together and their tongues exploring each other’s mouth. Jane’s senses were swimming in hot desire as Elizabeth’s perfume became heady in her nostrils. Lips became bruised as teeth scraped across them, and they paused for a moment to pull away and look at each other, then dove back as if one were a drug the other had become instantly addicted to. Elizabeth’s hand fumbled in the waistband of Jane’s jeans then shot upward to cup her breast. Jane gasped and flooded again, dipping her head to plant kisses on the bared flesh of Elizabeth’s neck and shoulder then pulling her dress down over one shoulder to expose her breast completely. Taking it into her mouth to suckle and teaseto erection, she held it gently between her teeth as she flicked her tongue over the tip, causing Elizabeth to shudder with delight.

The car began to steam up, and they were enclosed within a womb of warmth; two women exploring each other for the first time. Jane’s hand dropped to Elizabeth’s legs and burrowed under the short black skirt, finding with delight that her new lover wore no knickers, and feeling the heat and dampness of a cunt desperate to be fucked. She slid a finger inside and Elizabeth moaned. “Fuck me,” she breathed, “Fuck me now.”

Frosting First Lana Fox

He scoops up some of the glaze on his knife then holds it up so you can lick along the blade. You do so, knowing how he loves it when you use your mouth. As the lemon icing tingles, tart on your tongue, he gives a jerky sigh, raises his jaw, and you let the frosting dribble from your lips so it slowly trails your throat. From there, it runs across your breast and he watches its path with a breathy moan. The way his lip seems to snarl at the corner says this won’t be tame. “I’ll make a cupcake of your pussy,” he tells you.

In the next room, you can hear Rose disapproving of her sister’s miniskirt, so you wink at your man and ask him how much cupcake he can handle.

But his finger’s in the bowl and next thing you know, he’s holding it toward you. “Swallow,” he tells you.

You suckle his fingertip, lips rubbing round the joint, as your tongue flicks the sweet-sharp sugar from his nail. Then, with your free hand, you reach between his thighs, pressing his hard-on. He drops his head back, half shuts his eyes. “So dirty,” he groans, pushing against you, as you massage his perfect length. You long to unzip him, take him in your mouth.

Then again, you also want him in control.

All She Wanted Andrea Dale

Dan settled himself into a chair and ordered us to strip each other, slowly. I fought back feelings of self-consciousness, and Lauren’s murmured approval of my newfound impressive cleavage helped. Dan warned her about how overly sensitive my breasts were even as he encouraged us to play with each other. We both understood that it was a show for his benefit; coming without permission was not an option.

With hands and mouth, she whispered and tickled across my nipples, a flick of a tongue here, a brush of a thumb there, a butterfly kiss. My belly contracted as I tangled my hands in her silky hair and watched, fighting the need to let my eyes flutter shut.

My pussy lips slickened. Already I could smell our joint arousal, the sweet spicy scent of mingled desire. I wanted to taste her, but only if Dan okayed it.

Making Shapes Lily Harlem

I bounced its substantial weight in my palms and a new thought popped into my head. Would it fit in my mouth? I didn’t know if my jaw could stretch that wide, if my teeth would part sufficiently to house such a beast.

I glanced at the door leading to the shop front. It was a little ajar, but anyone shouldering the weather and passing my display windows wouldn’t see into the studio, and I’d locked the front door earlier when I’d shut the shop. I swept my tongue over my lips, curiosity eating me up the way I wanted to eat him up. I would give it a quick try here, just to see.

I lifted the dick to my face, slit upward. It shone like marble in the stark overhead lights and reflected the steel shelves to my left. I closed my eyes and let the cool head press against my top lip, poked out my tongue and rimmed the groove of skin under the base of his glans. I tried to remember Theo’s heady mix of pheromones swirling around me to imagine his flavor: musky and manly, erotic and hot.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I stretched my jaw wide and slid the head onto my tongue. My jaw gave a soft click as he smoothed in. My knees turned weak and I pictured his face contorted with the effort of not coming: eyes squeezed shut, teeth dragging at his lip and his breaths sharp and shallow. I sent a hand to my breast as I slid him to the back of my throat and tweaked my nipple to a painful point through my sweater. He hit delicate flesh and as I struggled with my gag response I imagined his hands on me, fondling my breasts, cupping the nape of my neck, stroking the corners of my poor stretched lips.

Rapture Angela Caperton

He broke the kiss and she lunged at him, caught his jaw between her teeth, clenched a moment and then kissed upward, nuzzling his ear, while his hand continued its slow assault, parting the folds, playing at the secret center of her pleasure until a tide washed over her. She shivered and bucked slowly against him, astonished that any touch should feel so good and that a man might know the manner to bring about such ecstasy.

Margaret cried out, and the moon spun in heaven.

She saw it then, His gift. The perfect beauty of the sky, the silver circle, the shattered crystalline splendor of the stars; the whispering wind, its breath cool on her bare, wet thigh; this pleasure. This love.

Trembling, she turned, moving against him, her robe an impediment now. She cast it away, only the shift between her and the sacred night, and she reached under his robe. His hands played on her arms and shoulders and she felt the heat of his gaze, though his face lay in shadows.

She heard the whisper of his hastened breath like a new hymn.

Belted Rachel Kramer Bussel

Is it the belt that makes you come? The leather, the thrash, the pain, the jolt? Is it the force behind it? Is it the noises he makes as he does it, the hitches of breath that are nothing like your shuddering sobs but are music to your ears nonethelessæis that what makes you finally go over the edge? Is it him holding you down, him promising you pain that may or may not come?

Maybe it’s all of it, all the forces combining to make the orgasm nothing like what you were expecting, the kind where your body bonds with the belt, giving back some of its life force, only to have it beaten back into you. Though you know that logically, rationally, it’s impossible, you hope the belt has absorbed some of your tears, has taken them and held on to them for next time, has put the pain that you mostly wanted, but kind of didn’t, somewhere for safekeeping, somewhere he can hold next to his skin any time he desires.

Oh, it’s not like you really have time to think all that or think anything, not then. The belt is reminding you, lash by lash, that you must stay open, stay ready, stay through the moments when you don’t know how you will get through it, stay through the times you don’t have a chance to take a bracing breath or perform any other magic tricks to turn the pain into something else. By now even the light touches, the strokes of the belt’s rough edge against your fleshy inner thigh, the dance of the musky leather against your cheek, are enough to make you shudder, like when he raises his hand to smack you but stops right before his fingers reach the finish line. The effect is the same.

Rise and Shine Heidi Champa

“Come on, open your eyes. It’s time to wake up.”

His breath was hot on my ear, but not as hot as the tongue sliding over my earlobe. With it caught between his teeth, he pulled at my skin, urging me to finally look at him. I moaned but kept my eyes shut. I wanted just a few more moments. I wasn’t ready to wake up yet. His teeth sank into my neck, a sucking bite a bit lower, a bit harder. My hands dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders, my nipples tightening against his chest.

“I won’t fuck you until you open your eyes.”

He moaned the ultimatum into my mouth, before plunging his tongue back inside. I made one last effort to ease his cock inside me, but he remained elusive. He had left me no choice but to abandon the misty miasma and join the real world. I let my eyelids flutter open, seeing his straining blue eyes above me for the first time.

“Good morning.”

The words left his throat in a gasp as he slid inside me.

Taking the Reins Vanessa Vaughn

The boys don’t understand. Not really.

I know for a fact that Jon doesn’t love it the way I do.

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 senses--well, that, and also the slight musky tinge of sweat. It is a raw smell mixed with rich, dark dirt.

It has become impossible for me to separate the scents of this place from the anticipation twisting inside me. They are connected. Now, the sights and sounds of one inevitably trigger the other. Just a glimpse of a dusty black velvet helmet, or of fingers clenched between thin leather gloves, makes my breath quicken. Then again, just the smallest peek at a man’s muscled shoulder or of his rippled abs makes my thoughts turn to this, to the curve of a thoroughbred’s slender neck or the solid bulge of a horse’s muscular chest.

A slight hint of alcohol hangs in the air today, high above the other smellsæno doubt from the metal cleaner I used on some of the tack. My spurs jingle a little as I slide my toes up against the stirrups.

First Date with the Dom Noelle Keely

She looked around. The street was deserted except for a couple of men having a smoke outside the restaurant on the corner. They were apparently having a heated conversation, unlikely to pay attention to something happening up the block. Still, it seemed a little public. Being pantyless wasn’t the problem; no one would ever know for sure under her full-skirted sundress unless she tripped or had some other accident so spectacular that lack of underwear would be the least of her worries. It was getting them off gracefully.

She hesitated, half of her screaming to obey Jack and see what further adventures it led to, the other half too embarrassed to move.

“Problem?” he asked, in a tone she couldn’t read.

Serena nodded, then shook her head. Why was this so hard? She’d slithered out of wet bikini bottoms under a skirt before; it was the same principle.

“We haven’t talked about limits yet, or set any ground rules. You can say no. I’d just want to know why if you do, if it’s a hard limit or just something you’re not ready for tonight.”

And knowing that she could say no somehow made it easier to say yes, and to work the panties down while leaning on him for balance.

Animal Inside Neve Black

Like a doctor performing surgery, I inserted the tweezers around the foam’s outer edges. The foam was nicked and scraped from where the tweezers had greeted it in the past. I pulled the foam out about an inch, until my thumb and index finger could easily grasp onto the tube and pull it all the way out, announcing the hole’s presence.

The hole in the wall was much more than just a peephole between the two bathrooms. It was a portal to the animal inside me. The world I lived in didn’t allow for creatures unless they were on a leash and restrained. In room 252, animals were given permission to roam freely.

I stepped in closer, closing one eye, while pressing my other eye to the hole, peering into the room next door. I was looking into the familiar, but the unknown at the same time. I felt my pussy getting wet. I felt my clit begin to ping, and the animal inside me stretched and yawned, waking up from a slumber.

I gazed into the hole, and my eye searched the bathroom, a mirror image of the one I was standing in. Because of the hole’s size and depth, I couldn’t see the bathroom panoramically; I could only see one small and specific area at a time.

The London O Justine Elyot

We stepped off the escalator and I made a concerted effort to try and walk normally, notwithstanding the exquisite pressure on my clit and the large fake cock wedged in my pussy.

“It’s giving you a sensational wiggle,” said Lloyd admiringly, falling behind me to survey my swaying backside. “It looks so obvious that your pussy is stuffed. But I suppose I know it is, which makes a difference. Maybe nobody else would guess.”

I was convinced that everybody knew it as we headed on to the platform. Every passerby, from the teenage youths clicking teeth and sucking back high-energy sodas to the elderly suited man reading his Telegraph, was perfectly cognizant of the fact that I was wearing vibrating knickers, the crotch soaked, my pussy wrapped around a plastic cock, because I was a dirty slut who loves to come and can’t get enough orgasms.

Lloyd kept putting his hand into his jacket pocket, teasing me with the fear that he might be about to activate the vibrator, causing me to clamp my thighs together and clench my pelvic-floor muscles. By the time the train came roaring through the tunnel, though, he had still not pressed the magic button.

The train was about three-quarters full, and we could not find a seat together, so I sat in the center of one row while he took a place by the door, at the end of the opposite bank. Sitting like that, with a highly-perfumed lady on one side and a gay punk on the other, I was suddenly sure that people might be able to see up my skirt somehow, even though it was knee length and didn’t even give away the fact that I was wearing stockings ordinarily. I decided to cross my legs, but this pushed the nubbed rubber even farther into my swimming clit, and made my pussy feel even fuller, an inescapable sensation. I squirmed against the seat cushion, unsure whether to uncross my legs again--and Lloyd chose that moment to flip my switch.

Fight Charlotte Stein

She can’t hate him for the point he wins with his tongue swirling and sliding through her slit. Her entire body sobs when she comesæhard enough to cream all over his face and make dents in the edges of the table where she’s gripping.

But she can hate him for winning a third point, when he stands too suddenly and sinks his thick cock all the way in. Just a few short, well-aimed thrusts, and she stutters into orgasm again.

However, the haze of pleasure doesn’t rob her of reason or the aim of the game. She waits for him to settle, to ease into a false sense of security--still lodged in her pussy but unaware of the danger.

And then she forces herself back, until he’s trapped between her body and the kitchen counter.

Of course he tries to squirm away. But it’s difficult when your girlfriend has her legs on either side of yours and her pussy’s squeezing tight around your cock. She knows it is, because he grunts and groans and tells her No fair.

Switch Jade Melisande

His first touch is tentative, careful, but my body jerks in shock anyway, the pain/pleasure is so intense. He stops and looks up at me. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“Yes,” I pant. “Yes, please…just…long, flat strokes,” I say. “Remember? Like before.”

I do not usually instruct him on what I like--he’s very good at paying attention to my body’s signals--but something has taken me over and I need to have him do it and do it now, just the way I want him to.

And he does. He strokes a flat, wet, warm tongue from my swollen pussy lips all the way up to my tender, throbbing clit. Over and over, long, slow strokes until I am panting and wriggling against his mouth. Intermittently, he takes my clit, hood ring and all, into his mouth and sucks at it gently.

I am riding the waves of pleasure, giving myself over to them, floating and drifting, feeling the ring slide against my clit and his tongue playing with it, building, building toward an orgasm. His fingers tighten on my thighs as he recognizes my excitement building.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

I know I should probably care more that my website is temporarily down, but I don't

Just a heads up, domain transfer is taking a few days, but soon will be back, I hope. And if not, you know what? I have a lot more important things to worry about. I almost smashed my iPhone the other day on an endless phone call with my provider, which involved sentences like: "Well, you're registered with X site." "But X site says I'm registered with you." "Oh." In the lecture that would now be fair to categorize as last night's, Gabby Bernstein said to focus on the content, not the frame. If ever that maxim were to apply to my life, it would be over a stupid website. It'll be back, I hope, but I really do have much bigger fish to fry. And a part of me would love to vacate the internet for a day, a week, a month, um, forever? Not entirely, but it is also a little fantasy, except for my cupcake world. Working to get rid of my shame since I, um, didn't have it surgically removed, ahem, is about following one of The Happiness Project author Gretchen Rubin's rules that I can't look up right now or I might miss my flight, but it's basically the rule that what makes other people happy doesn't have to make you happy. So yeah, it's out of my hands, which is a good thing cause they are extremely untechnical hands, and I don't care that I'm flying to SXSW after I type this sentence. I am good at plenty of things, and am not going to try to learn about things that don't interest me whatsoever. I think it might even be amusing if I lost the domain, probably something else I shouldn't say, but I'm good at that, aren't I?

SXSW bound, see you in Austin!

I'm flying to Houston in a few hours, then being driven to Austin by my friend and fellow panelist Twanna Hines. You may or may not know that cars scare me heavily, but flights to Austin were prohibitively expensive. As it is, unless I win the lottery or some other financial miracle happens, this will be my last SXSW so I intend to spend my 4 days visiting with old friends (like Rebecca Woolf of Girl's Gone Child who I met at SXSW 2007, at the party with the video game machines on the lawn, seeing lots of movies, eating barbecue and free chocolate (yay Sugar Rush Lounge!) and hopefully relaxing a bit. For some great picks, see Violet Blue's SXSW 2012 guide, which includes our panel on Monday, 5-6, at the Omni, Sex, Dating and Privacy Online Post-Weinergate (me, Twanna, Violet and Samhita Mukhopadhyay).

I've been so far away from myself these days, it seems, floating along, filling my time somewhat aimlessly. I see how hard it is to be open to other people when you are closed off from yourself, when you're one moment away from feeling utterly out of control. I went to the Gabrielle (Gabby) Bernstein lecture tonight at Middle Collegiate Church on Second Avenuein the East Village. It's a block I've walked down dozens, if not hundreds of times, and yet I can't honestly say I'd ever seen the building, noticed it, certainly never been inside. I listened and jotted notes and Tweeted and meditated and thought and, once, teared up a little. Gabby said, "What the world wants from you is your truth. The sexiest part of you is your truth." I loved that, and want to stay committed to that, even when it's hard or scary, even when I know people might not like my truth, especially when I don't like my truth. I can despise my truth, in fact, as long as I'm seeing it clearly, and can work to change my reality, rather than my default, which is plain old hating myself. I did that for so long, around this time last year especially, in subtle and grand ways. I kept thinking if I could be more perfect, I could be more worthy of attention, but I'll never be perfect. I'll never have the things I see the "perfect" people as possessing, whether it's bylines or baby names or boys (and even if I do, they will all fall short of my expectations), until I follow my truth wherever it leads me. I suspect that instead of insane lines at parties where people are pushing their way to the bar, it might lead me on long walks by myself. I keep dreaming of going back to Hawaii, maybe for good; it's the first place aside from New York in all my travels I could actually see myself living. Of course it's a fantastical fantasy, but it's mine, and I hold it there even in the worst of moments. Thankfully, those are more rare than they used to be. There are more moments of bliss that are often so simple, like drinking my Lemon Zinger tea while the sun shines on my face.

I saw Friends With Kids today, largely because I remember liking Kissing Jessica Stein though I was annoyed by Jessica Stein's neurotic personality, and because the novelty of seeing a movie in the middle of a weekday still feels like getting away with something and because, well, I want kids. It was all over the place, with random atheism and what was, for me, an unrealistic ending but it also was very much a romcom in its ardent belief in "the one" or, in their parlance, "our people." I don't really want that kind of smothering togetherness, which is what I took "our people" to mean. I like togetherness, but not the smothering part. I am pretty sure I'm happy in the relationship I'm in now only because I can and will again spend large amounts of time on my own, whether near or far. I am getting used to being content in my own skin, to forming rhythms to my days, to seeking out new contacts and being grateful for the ones that randomly appear, the opportunities that maybe, just maybe, show up because I show up. As for my "people," I hope to have some that I can claim as my own, starting in 2013, but who knows? Maybe motherhood isn't in the cards for me. Right now I'm focused on, well, the now, on the excitement of new books but, more importantly, the urgency of the last little bits of the old ones, the stories about the sex worker and the couples massages and the dominant woman at the dinner party. If 2012 has taught me anything, it's that I never know what will come my way, nor how I will handle it. Maybe it's even taught me to be okay with the sheer uncertainty of it all. For now, I hope to make it to Austin and back in one piece (cars, yes, they fucking frighten me). In a very abrupt, non sequitor, I must get ready for my flight conclusion, I will end with...I don't think this quote by Jennifer Westfeldt has much to do with the movie, but I like it, probably because I am very much of the same cloth: From The New York Times, "I always say I’d rather believe people and believe everything and get my heart broken a few times than be suspicious of everyone."

This is what I do when I am staying up to wait for a flight, fyi. It's 3:53 am. Time to finish packing and wait for the alarm. See you in Austin! Or Chicago. Or NYC. Or the internets.

Thursday, March 08, 2012

2 new calls for submissions: short short orgasm erotica and anal sex erotica

Short Short Orgasm Erotica Anthology Call for Submissions (title TBA)
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
To be published by Cleis Press in 2013

Orgasm…let me count the ways! Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel is looking for short short stories of 1,200 words or less focused on the theme of orgasm. The more creative, varied and hot, the better. While these are extremely short stories, I still expect character development, exciting plots, and as many types of orgasms as possible. Surprise me! (For an excellent example of an offbeat orgasm story, see "Chemistry" by Velvet Moore in my anthology Orgasmic.) Sex toys, group sex, outdoor sex, masturbation, BDSM, roleplaying, dirty talk, anal sex, oral sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, quickies, vacation sex—the sky's the limit. Orgasm should be either the focus of the story or play a major role. For an idea of the kinds of short stories I enjoy, see my previous anthologies Orgasmic and Gotta Have It: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex. Final book will contain a very wide range of types of orgasm, motivations, scenarios, etc. All genders and sexual orientations welcome. All characters must be over 18; no scat, incest or bestiality. No poetry. Original, unpublished stories only. 3 submissions maximum per author.

How to submit: Send double spaced Times or Times New Roman 12 point black font Word document (.doc or .docx) with pages numbered OR RTF of 1,200 words MAXIMUM. Note that this is a hard maximum and theme of the anthology and stories that are over 1,200 words will not be considered. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) required. Include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address to orgasmantho at If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. You will receive a confirmation within 72 hours. I will get back to you by November 2012.

Payment: $20 and 1 copy of the book on publication

Deadline: June 1, 2012 (earlier submissions encouraged and preferred)

Anal Sex Erotica Call for Submissions
To be published by Cleis Press in 2013
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel is looking for hot and sexy anal erotica that will inspire those looking to explore backdoor sex. Everything from intercourse to analingus, strap-ons to butt plugs, bondage, spanking, self-pleasure and more. Stories will range from new practitioners of anal sex to seasoned anal lovers, and recipients of anal pleasure of any gender. Final book will contain a variety of scenarios related to anal sexuality. All characters must be over 18; no scat, incest or bestiality. No poetry. Original, unpublished stories only. 2 submissions maximum per author.

How to submit: Send double spaced Times or Times New Roman 12 point black font Word document (.doc or .docx) with pages numbered OR RTF of 1,500-3,000 word story. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) required. Include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 word or less bio in the third person to analantho at If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. You will receive a confirmation within 72 hours. I will get back to you by November 2012.

Payment: $50 and 2 copies of the book on publication

Deadline: June 1, 2012 (earlier submissions encouraged and preferred)

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Calls for submissions: Best Sex Writing 2013 and Best Bondage Erotica 2013

2 new calls are coming shortly, but for now, here are these! Call for Submissions

Best Bondage Erotica 2013
To be published by Cleis Press in late 2012
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Best Bondage Erotica 2013 will collect the best bondage erotica stories around, focusing on a range of techniques, implements, characters and scenarios, from newbies to seasoned bondage players and everything in between. Bondage should be a central focus of the erotic element of the story but the plot does not have to hinge on bondage. The final book will include stories focused on both the physical and mental aspects of bondage, from varying points of view. Bondage plus other sexual activity is welcome (spanking, tickling, exhibitionism, voyeurism, intercourse, oral sex, teasing, etc.). Original, unique, creative characters, settings, scenarios and forms of bondage are encouraged. As befitting the title, I’m looking for the best, hottest, most creative bondage erotica for this collection. All genders/sexual orientations welcome. Original stories strongly preferred, but reprints of work published (or slated to be published) between September 2011 and November 2012 will be considered but will be given lower priority than original work. All characters must be over 18; no incest or bestiality. Please see Best Bondage Erotica 2011 and Best Bondage Erotica 2012 ( or my other kinky Cleis Press anthologies (Bottoms Up, Spanked, Yes, Sir, Yes, Ma’am, He’s on Top, She’s on Top) for an idea of the kinds of stories I prefer.

How to submit: Send double spaced Times or Times New Roman 12 point black font Word document with pages numbered (.doc, not .docx) OR RTF of 1,500-4,000 word story. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) required. Include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 word or less bio in the third person to If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. You will receive a confirmation within 72 hours. I will get back to you by September 2012.

Payment: $50 and 2 copies of the book on publication

Deadline: May 1, 2012 (earlier submissions encouraged and preferred)

I’ve been seeing numerous recent submissions that do not conform to my guidelines. They are there for a reason. Please read and follow them or risk your submission being rejected or returned for reformatting. If you have any questions, please contact me at

Call for submissions: Best Sex Writing 2013
To be edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
guest judge TBA
Publication date: December 2012
Deadline for submissions: May 1, 2012

Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel is looking for personal essays and reportage for inclusion in the 2013 edition of the Cleis Press series Best Sex Writing, which will hit stores in December 2012. Seeking articles from across the sexual spectrum, covering (in no particular order) alternative sexuality, asexuality, reproductive rights and sexuality, sex education, sex and technology, sex work, sex and aging, sex and parenting, sex and politics, sex and religion, sex and race, sex and class, sex and disability, scientific research about sex, marriage, GLBT rights, BDSM, polyamory, transgender issues, gender roles, etc. Media criticism is also especially welcome; for excellent examples, see "The Careless Language of Sexual Violence" by Roxane Gay and "Men Who 'Buy Sex' Commit More Crimes: Newsweek, Trafficking, and the Lie of Fabricated Sex Studies" by Thomas Roche in Best Sex Writing 2012. These topics are just starting points; any writings covering the topic of sex will be considered. Personal essays will also be considered. I like work that looks at sex in new and unusual ways (see Stacey D'Erasmo's "Silver-Balling" in Best Sex Writing 2009 for a prime example), that challenges us to think about sex and our own sexuality, is thought-provoking and possibly disturbing. I want sex journalism that's found in the most unexpected places and is as topical as possible. No fiction or poetry will be considered.

Previous editions of the annual series have featured authors such as Brian Alexander, Violet Blue, Susannah Breslin, Susie Bright, Stephen Elliott, Gael Greene, Michael Musto, Scott Poulson-Bryant, Tracy Quan, Mary Roach, Tristan Taormino, Virginia Vitzhum, and others. The series has reprinted work from national magazines and newspapers, college newapapers, independent magazines, zines, websites, literary journals, memoirs and more. See Best Sex Writing 2008, 2009, 2010, and 2012 for examples of the types of writing being sought. I'm especially looking for reported pieces that are political, timely, intelligent, surprising, and insightful about sex in American culture (and its many subcultures).

Requirements: Story must have been published (or slated to be published) between August 1, 2011 and September 30, 2012, online and/or in print (book, magazine, zine or newspaper) in the United States. No unpublished work; reprints only.

Instructions: Please send your double-spaced submission (up to 5,000 words) as a Word document or RTF attachment to bestsexwriting2013 at – you may submit a maximum of TWO pieces for consideration. You MUST include your full contact information, a bio, and previous publication details as per below. Early submissions are preferred and encouraged as the selection process is rolling.

If for some reason you are unable to send a Word document or RTF, send your submission in the body of an email. Put "Submission" in the subject line. Electronic submissions only. Include your name, email address, mailing address, phone number, and exact publication details (title of publication, date of publication, and any other relevant information). ONLY SEND WORK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REPRINT.

Editors may submit up to three submissions from their publication, following the guidelines above. Please make it clear that you are the editor submitting work for consideration from your publication, and have the author's contact information available upon request.

Email address (for queries and submissions): bestsexwriting2013 at
Payment: $100 and 2 copies of the book on publication
Deadline: May 1, 2012
Expect to hear back from me by September 1, 2012 at the latest

About the editor: Rachel Kramer Bussel ( is the editor of over 40 anthologies, including Best Bondage Erotica 2011 and 2012, Irresistible, Gotta Have It, Women in Lust Orgasmic, Fast Girls, Passion, Peep Show, Bottoms Up, Spanked, The Mile High Club, Do Not Disturb, He’s on Top, She’s on Top, Tasting Him, Tasting Her, Crossdressing, Dirty Girls, and is Best Sex Writing Series Editor. She writes the Secrets of a Sex Writer column for, and has hosted and curated In The Flesh Reading Series for five years. Her writing has been published in over 100 anthologies, including Susie Bright’s X: The Erotic Treasury, Best American Erotica 2004 and 2006, and Zane’s Purple Panties and the New York Times bestseller Succulent: Chocolate Flava II. She has written for Cosmopolitan, The Daily Beast, Fresh Yarn, Inked, Mediabistro, Newsday, New York Post, Penthouse, The Root, Salon, Time Out New York, xoJane, Zink and other publications.

Sex diary: Hipster sex in Williamsburg

I edit the weekly sex diaries for Daily Intel, New York magazine's news blog. If you're interested in writing one (you don't have to be in NYC), email me at sexdiaries at and tell me why you'd make a good anonymous sex diarist (it's not about how much sex you're having, but why you're doing it, what you're doing, what makes you stand out - do read a few diaries to get a feel for what they're about if you're new to the diaries); also looking for a married couple to write separate diaries for a week.

This week's diary: "The Williamsburg Travel Editor Who Thinks Hipsters Are Sexy"

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My age play "Baby Talk" essay up at Salon

My essay "Baby Talk" is up now at Salon (my working title: "Talk Mommy to Me"). It's about age play, "mommy play," dirty talk, fantasy, roleplay, baby fever, TLC, surprising yourself and more. I'd appreciate you checking it out, and if you like it/find it interesting, liking it on Facebook, passing it on on G+, Twitter, wherever. I finished it while I was in Hawaii and am glad I wrote it. It's always tricky writing about someone else's sexuality as it intersects with your own, so I tried my best to keep the focus on my feelings and reactions. As for the caption, I don't think being a sex writer is the issue, but being a fairly experienced sexual person, who managed to encounter a new situation and direction, that somewhat tied in to my previous encounters, but largely didn't, is what I'm addressing.

Speaking of sex writing, I would love to see the widest variety possible in the submissions for Best Sex Writing 2013, my annual nonfiction collection, and that certainly includes first person pieces on fetishes, roleplaying, etc. I want to be entertained, surprised, educated, intrigued. Deadline is May 1st, but earlier submissions are strongly preferred.

(crib in the background - good job, whoever did that!)

But the real surprise — which may be the most disturbing part, or the most honest, depending on your perspective — is what the age play stirred up in me. At 36, I don’t have any children, but I want them badly. “Baby fever” hardly begins to describe it. If I could pick up a baby at the supermarket along with my groceries, I would. And this unlikely sexual dynamic, the big baby literally calling me “mommy,” called forth powerful caretaking feelings. It was nice, for a short period of time, to be a mother, even a mock one.

Let me be clear: My maternal yearnings in and of themselves are not sexual. But my desire to comfort others does play a role in my sex life. Nurturing has been one of the ways I pride myself on providing to lovers. That might mean surprising them with dessert, sending them a list of the broken links on their website, giving an intense massage, mailing a package for them, or washing their dishes. Even when I’m in a dominant sexual role, there’s an element of caretaking involved. If I’m slapping or spanking or biting or pinching someone who gets off on me delivering pain, I am fulfilling a sexual need. It may not be the same as feeding them chicken soup, but it is still a form of taking care of them.

So while overt mommy play was new to me, combining kink and nurturing wasn’t. But this scenario brought my previous experience to a whole new level of intensity. We spun a fantasy in which I was sitting in a hotel bathtub, warm and full of bubbles, while he waited to towel me off, then gave me a foot massage. The stories we shared were far from depraved; they were gentle, tender, loving. I could see myself soaking in that tub, him washing my hair, stroking my feet, fetching food for me, sleeping at the foot of the bed. The sweetness offset the weirdness for me.
Read the whole thing

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"Happiness is a Choice I Make" vlog by Gabrielle Bernstein

I'm seeing Spirit Junkie and Add More ~ing To Your Life Gabrielle Bernstein speak tomorrow night, and very much looking forward to it. Trying to use her words to guide me when I start to get panic attacky and the like.

Lecture details:

On March 9, 2012, join Gabrielle Bernstein for her lecture entitled Your Highest Self. This talk is all about authenticity and releasing everything that interferes with your true confidence. The powerful lessons in this lecture will guide you to become more authentic in every area of your life—from work to romance to friendships. Gabrielle will inspire you to step outside your comfort zone and awaken to your Highest Self.

Date: March 9, 2012
Location: Middle Collegiate Church, 50 East 7th Street NY, NY 10003
And Live Stream Video
Time: 6:45 – 9

- In Person $25. BUY NOW Purchase your ticket today and get a free audio download of Gabrielle’s Experience Life lecture.

- In-person Buy 2 Get 1 Free $50 BUY NOW

- Online $9 BUY NOW

- Tickets are $30 at the door

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

Cereal, shamrocks and food porn

Check out my daily mega dose of food porn at Cupcakes Take the Cake - I'm posting a lot and have lots of fun stuff coming up! Every day, follow us for cupcakes galore, and cruise with us in August in Bermuda.

3 female domination (femdom) erotica anthologies: She's on Top, Yes, Ma'am and Please, Ma'am

Whether you're here from Salon or not, you might like my 3 female domination anthologies and my bondage erotica collection that is full of femdom erotica, thanks to my awesome writers (interested in writing some smut? Follow the guidelines for Best Bondage Erotica 2013). In my opinion, my writing on the topic has evolved, in large part by my own personal interest and activity in this arena, but also by nature of exposure to more types of writing and scenarios. The cover of She's on Top remains one of my favorites of mine.

She's on Top: Erotic Stories of Female Dominance and Male Submission

Yes, Ma'am

Introduction: Giving It Up: Letting Her Rule

Zero Sum Game by Alex Mendra
Secret Desires by Ellen Tevault
Tea for Three by Lee Ash
Exhibit A by Chris Cooper
A Different Kind of Reality Show by D. L. King
Secretary’s Day by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Wedding Night by Dominic Santi
Flash by Alison Tyler
It’s Cold Outside by Stephen Elliott
An Invitation to the Dance by Sylvane Alistair
Sticking with You by L. E. Bland
i 1t u 2 do sumfin 4 me by George Cross
Rope Burn by A. D. R. Forte
His Lady’s Manservant by Andrea Dale
Taming the Unruly by Debra Hyde
The Big What by Michael Hemmingson
The Mean Girl by Teresa Noelle Roberts
Connection by Kristina Wright

Giving It Up: Letting Her Rule

“What makes a man cower before a powerful woman?” I asked in my call for submissions for this book. What you’ll find here are numerous answers to that question, though surely there are infinitely more waiting to be written. Men are the ones gifted with all sorts of power in our society, but our dirty little secret is that so many of them long to strip themselves of this power, to be tied down, gagged, spanked, taken, owned. They want to be made to do a woman’s bidding, whether that means being ordered into a threesome or put on full, naked display, as you will read about here. They want to ease the burdens of manliness, if only for a little while, to be “ordered” to do all the naughty things they’ve dreamed of.

Submissive men are some of the most misunderstood, and invisible, sexual creatures around. Their voices simply aren’t heard in popular culture, though you’ll find them in plenty of bedrooms, in the blogosphere, and in fetish clubs. After putting together the anthologies He’s on Top and She’s on Top, I wanted to look at BDSM from the bottom’s perspective. Why would a man want to give up control? What does he get out of such an arrangement? These stories show you some of the tantalizing possibilities out there for sniveling men and the women who love them.

Men who crave the company of a dominant woman find her with wives, girlfriends, and dominatrices, sometimes bringing out the kinky tendencies of their partners, other times tapping into what’s already well developed, yet we rarely hear their authentic voices telling us what makes them shiver with fear and excitement. There’s still a taboo element to our leaders—in business, government, and the home—voluntarily relinquishing the top spot. Men are taught to be the hunters, not the hunted, and when the tables are turned, many are all too thrilled to be treated like scum. The flipside is that any woman who can lure a submissive man into her lair knows just how valuable a prize she’s gotten and will surely want to keep him happy, even if this means putting her foot down, literally, upon him, as the boss in “Secretary’s Day” does to her new hire.

“Masturbation without permission was strictly forbidden. This was the most difficult for me because I got so worked up being Rikka’s little whore that I desperately needed to jerk off,” writes Alex Mendra in “Zero Sum Game.” He describes his setup with the commanding Rikka as “perfection,” striving to be everything she desires, but delighting in each form of punishment she cooks up, whether a firm spanking across his ass or the sudsy scene she cooks up for him.

In Stephen Elliott’s “It’s Cold Outside,” the element of realism he so beautifully captures takes us far beyond the clichéd Catwoman fantasy into the stuff of real life, where a woman commandeers the body of the narrator while her boyfriend is asleep. She leaves him tied up, helpless—and horny, and he takes her marks with him, literally and figuratively, when they part.

In “The Mean Girl,” Teresa Noelle Roberts writes of a man reminiscing about his first fantasy domme, now embodied by his real-life Cruella. “I tasted every humiliation I’d ever faced in my hopeless pursuit of Muffy Spaulding—made new and fresh and delicious because now it was coming from Heather, whom I loved. Whom I really did worship, kinky games aside.”

There’s also plenty of humor here. In “A Different Kind of Reality Show” by D. L. King, the author takes us behind the TV screen, where a man is controlled by a cacophony of women’s voices, each taking more delight than the next in ordering him to humiliate himself for their pleasure.

Debra Hyde encapsulates perfectly why the “unruly” man doesn’t just wish to be tamed, but needs to be. “Fear no longer dominates; submission does. I am vessel and vassal—tool and toy, the means to her pleasure. I am hers.” If those words resonate with you, making you long for a woman to come along and grab you by the scruff of your neck, or order you to your knees, or simply control you with one fierce, all-knowing look, then this is the book for you. Go ahead, say the words out loud: “Yes, Ma’am.” Wherever your domme is, she’ll hear you.

Rachel Kramer Bussel New York City

Please, Ma'am

And Best Bondage Erotica 2012 isn't strictly (ha!) about female dominance, but it's heavily influenced by female dominance, as my introduction attests (and Midori wrote the foreword!).

Introduction to Best Bondage Erotica 2012
Tying Men Up: Dominant Women Storm the Pages

I was surprised this year to see that, unlike with previous anthologies in this series, the overwhelming majority of stories submitted to Best Bondage Erotica 2012 involved women tying up and tormenting men. It was a theme I couldn’t ignore, and you will see it heavily represented in these pages. I’ve pondered why exactly that theme showed up at this time, and while I don’t have any firm conclusions, I can say that the range of scenarios you’ll find here showcase a wide range of ingenuity.

What I especially appreciate is that we get to see a variety of dominant women, some exacting a kind of (consensual) revenge, some giving eager men exactly what they deserve, as with the couple in Teresa Noelle Roberts’s “Suffer for Me.” She writes:

I began with his nipple.

When I caught it in between my long red fingernails, he braced himself for a twist, a cruel pinch. I could see in his wide, entreating eyes that he both feared and hoped for it.

Instead, I caressed first one then the other with all the delicacy I could muster, applying just enough pressure so it pleasured rather than tickled. Then I took one into my mouth, licking and sucking and teasing the little nub, nipping down enough to vary the kind of pleasure he experienced, but not enough to push it over into real pain.

This narrator, who we know only as “Ma’am,” is exploring the delight of being in charge, of plotting out what she will do to make Martin “suffer,” and it’s a delicious tale, one of many, of a woman coming into her own erotic power, with a willing, deserving man at her mercy.

And even though Terry in Giselle Renarde’s “Dry Rub” is not quite as eager a bondage participant as Martin, it’s clear that while he is not at first in on the plan, he too is getting off, in his own way. That is the beauty, to me, of bondage: when even what seems like a punishment can turn into a delightful, demanding and delicious torment, one you may not know why you like, but your body cannot lie. Instead, it’s Gina’s turn to enjoy the fact that she can have her husband any way she wants him. “She still had a grip on his hair, and his face looked so pitiful in her hands that she almost wanted to laugh. He was desperate, poor boy, and she wouldn’t give in. Tonight he was a tool of her pleasure, nothing more.”

Speaking of ingenuity, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the bold, gutsy, brilliant characters you’ll read about here who are so obsessed with bondage they’ll even tie themselves up to experience that delicious, chilling thrill. In Shoshanna Evers’s opening story “Melting Ice,” Amanda constructs a careful experiment in the art of self-bondage, one she’s been dreaming about for years. “She’d been so ready for this. The entire afternoon had been her foreplay.”

In “Parting Ways,” Tenille Brown shows us that you don’t have to be the binder or the bondee to enjoy the sight of a man squirming and writhing. Anyone who’s been tied up and exulted in the thrilling frustration of it will relate when she writes, “Derek shivered with the need to break free. He bit his bottom lip at the pleasure of being unable to.”

While there is plenty of female domination in these pages, for those who want to read about women who delight in the submissive satisfaction of being trapped by a Dominant’s mind, there’s plenty of that here too. In Kay Jaybee’s “The Cupboard Under the Stairs,” the not knowing what will happen next is all part of the fun. “A fresh surge of uncertainty zipped through Kristi. She’d thought the blindfold was the change in routine. It seemed she was wrong.” That love/hate relationship many subs feel is captured in Helen Sedgwick’s “Cumaná” when she writes, “I didn’t know if I should be enjoying this, if I should make him stop, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t, the tight pinching on my nipples at once unbearable and intoxicating.” Indeed, “unbearable and intoxicating” could also describe events in all of the stories in this naughty little book.

Bondage comes vividly alive in these twenty-four tales of everything from corsets to cling wrap, from couples dedicated to bondage to those just discovering its pleasures. You’ll find a range of stories from playful to perverse that I hope will give you some new ideas to try out⎯in your mind and beyond.

Rachel Kramer Bussel New York City

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Tuesday, March 06, 2012

Yes, I'm speaking at MOMENTUMCON where former U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Joycelen Elders is speaking

Crazy, but so is almost everything about my professional life these days, including the fact that I can work from bed in my pajamas (I will be fully clothed when I speak on a panel and teach erotica at MOMENTUMCON though!). See the full schedule here. My events are on Sunday, April 1st, 9:30 am-12:10 pm.

New York, NY – The 2nd annual MOMENTUM Conference ( will have former U.S. Surgeon General, Dr. Joycelyn Elders join its closing keynote plenary on April 1st, 2012. MOMENTUM will take place in Washington DC from March 30th through April 1st, 2012...

In response to the addition of Dr. Elders to the closing plenary, MOMENTUM has extended the regular registration fee of $100 until March 10th. After March 10th, registration will be $150.

MOMENTUM is geared toward anyone interested in intelligent conversations about the influence of new media on sexuality. After a sold out first year in 2011, MOMENTUM has expanded its space, presenters and sessions, with over 40 sessions and 60 presenters. MOMENTUM will cover a wide range of viewpoints on sexuality, and the program is sure to have something of interest to everyone. The conference will be held at the Crystal City Marriott at Reagan Airport. MOMENTUM brings together the best people in their fields of the LGBTQ, sex-work, BDSM and non-monogamous communities. Speakers will discuss ways to bridge the baffling dichotomies our culture creates around sexuality.

Each participant in MOMENTUM will leave the conference with new perspectives, new connections and a plan to carry the MOMENTUM forward into 2012 and beyond.

Pre-registration is required to attend MOMENTUM. Go to or for registration.

For more information, please contact Tess Danesi
Email: Twitter: @momentumcon

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Thursday, March 01, 2012

Happy birthday, Mary Lou Lord!

Happy birthday to my favorite singer, who has a new album coming out that I am expecting in my mailbox very soon (yay Kickstarter), Mary Lou Lord! Here's her cover of Lucinda Williams' "Metal Firecracker," which reminds me of certain songs of Mary Lou's, and has this way of sounding, to me, new and classic at the same time.