Married people erotica, or hot champagne sex in my Best Erotic Romance story

The other day I discovered a review of my book /Best Bondage Erotica 2011 by Steve in Pennsylvania on Amazon that said:

Wished there were some stories from real couples in long-term monogamous relationships. Almost every story is kinky, disconnected sex. Empty and sad to someone like me in a good, loving marriage. Apparently, erotica doesn't exist for married couples. Unfortunate, because the stories here don't touch the excitement found in a committed, trusting relationship.



This incensed me, and I ranted on Tumblr about it. Then I started reading the new Kristina Wright anthology Best Erotic Romance, which I highly recommend, and found some pretty hot married sex in my story "Our Own Private Champagne Room," about a wife who's jealous of her husband's strip club past that she just found out about, and sets about creating the title setting, with, I think, some pretty hot results. And let me just say that I think even the kinkiest, filthiest sex can be about "lovemaking" in the sense of intimacy and connection; for me, it certainly has been, sometimes even more so than moments of what would more traditionally called "lovemaking." I'm so, so over both the division of "loving sex" and "casual sex" as well as "making love" and "fucking," not to mention the denigration of the latter, along with the bazillion other ways our culture is so damn prudish it makes me ashamed to live in it sometimes. Now, this person is totally entitled to their opinion and I wish them luck in their quest for married people erotica, but I'm over trying to engage someone like that, but I will engage you, if you're reading this.



From "Our Own Private Champagne Room" by me:

I put down the bottle and again climb up next to my husband, straddling him, and offer him a champagne-soaked nipple. He greedily takes it in his mouth. I reach for his hands and place them on my ass. He grabs me like he hasn't grabbed me in years. His lips, his hands, his cock presing up against me, are all reminders of what I want us to be like again. The fire didn't exactly go out, but it has fizzled, and only when I hear the roar release from his lips, then feel Derek tearing my nightie right down the middle, do I realize exactly how much I've missed it.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't try to reassure me with words. Instead he lifts me up, my legs wrapped around him, the wet filmy fabric clinging to me. He doesn't bring me to the bed, but instead slams me up against the wall. He keeps me pinned there while undoing his pants. "Is this what you want, Sarah? You want me right here, like this?"

"Yes, yes, yes," I cry when he shifts me just so and places the tip of his cock inside me. He is lighting the spark that is making our relationship explode, making it crackle and sizzle and burn the way it should have been all along. I know has he plunges inside me, holding me tight, his face buried in my neck, that no matter what happened in those champagne rooms, it was never like this. Derek pounds into me, overtaking me, and I cling to him, my thighs straining, my nails digging into his back.

He is fucking me, that's the only way to describe this, yet in his its way, his fucking is lovemaking too. It's the kind of fucking a couple can engage in who knows that there is no one else they'd rather be with, so they can slam and rock and thrust and claw, scream and pound and yell and bite, and be assured that the other person wants every ounce of ferocious, almost violent energy they have to share. He doesn't say anything, not even my name, just growls into my ear, a sound that's so beautiful I start to cry a little when I come. He used to tell me not to cry, but now he knows that when it happens, it means I'm so overwhelmed with not just love and lust but destiny, rightness, perfection, that I can do nothing else. I squeeze him hard, and then I come again when he starts to fill me with his passion. He stops thrusting and simply lets himself be inside me, making me his and telling me he's mine.

And if you like erotic romance, do also check out my books Passion: Erotic Romance for Women and Obsessed: Erotic Romance for Women (and guess what? both my stories, "Five Senses" and "I Want to Hold Your Hand," respectively, have, yes, married couples having sex!).

Affair sex vs. married sex from "Anatomy of an Affair" by Kerry Cohen

Hear Kerry Cohen (writing as Michelle Perrot) read from this piece and talk about the aftermath tonight, tomorrow and Tuesday in Eugene, Portland and Seattle. I'll post my Q&A with her ASAP because it's fascinating and I'm SO proud to have published this original, not-seen-anywhere-else piece in Best Sex Writing 2010. I hope we get a big showing from poly people because I think outspoken, proud people who are willing to grapple publicly with what it means to reject our fucked up culture of compulsory monogamy are truly sexual outlaws, which is the theme of the anthology. Actually, scratch that - it's the general public who needs to hear voices like Kerry's, to understand that you can be married, be a good mom, be a smart, savvy person and still opt out of monogamy and (OMG!) be happy.





From "Anatomy of an Affair" by Kerry Cohen:

I don’t want 1950s-style advice about “date nights” and lingerie and role-playing. I don’t want to “spice up my marriage.” I want rough sex. Dirty, spit in his mouth sex. Wet, disgusting, nasty talk about pussies and cum and fuck-me sex. The kind of hate fucking where afterward you can’t move. And the bottom line is that I don’t want that kind of sex with my husband, this man I love.

For a number of years, of course, I assumed I would forgo this sort of sex. It was worth it to keep my marriage intact. Marriage is about compromise. It’s about some degree of sacrifice. Honestly, if what I would have to sacrifice were something other than the sort of sex that most fills me, I’d be happy to oblige. But sexual desire is so intensely personal, so completely something you don’t control. I can’t just decide that I will no longer crave that sort of sex, and our desires don’t always fit well with the monogamy our culture demands.

The running psychological theory is that we eroticize what has shamed, hurt, or frightened us, that our “lovemap cartographic systems,” as described by John Money, the famous John Hopkins psychologist, are learned. If that’s true, it could be argued that I spent my childhood feeling helpless, unable to control the ways in which my parents emotionally wounded me. As the years went by I tried to control the world where it felt out of control. I pursued men vigorously. I yelled at them when they hurt me, tried to force them into being who I wanted them to be. These were the men I had the best sex with, the ones who wanted to make clear who was really in charge once we got in the bedroom, the kind who made me go blind mid-orgasm, who told me my pussy was so wet and their cocks were aching with need for me, who smacked my ass while we did it from behind. These were the kind of men I never would have married. I wanted to get married, to share my life with someone.

I chose my husband because he was not one of these men.

Read the entire essay in Best Sex Writing 2010, which is for sale from publisher Cleis Press and:




Indiebound



Amazon.com



Bn.com



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