Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 135
December 10, 2011
So fucking true, so hard to live by
Pema Chödrön, quoted in Learning to Breathe: My Yearlong Quest to Bring Calm to My Life by Priscilla Warner. I actually responded to someone on OkCupid because they listed Pema Chödrön as one of their favorite writers, but the more I get in touch with what I'm supposed to be doing right now, who I'm supposed to be, the time I'm supposed to take to sit and focus and feel and explore, the more I realize that looking for external validation like that is always, always the direct road to self-hatred. Giving over any part of myself for someone else to judge and find wanting, when I do the very same thing every day? Not helping. Never has, never will, and yet, I'm weak too, sometimes. I want things I can't have. I fail hard at the Serenity Prayer almost every day. I can only pick myself up from those failures and keep trying. I can't undo the book that's not on the shelves, the essay that never was, bounced checks, whatever. I can only not doom myself further by assuming that once a failure, always a failure. I don't think (and certainly don't hope) life works like that. Every day is a chance to remake myself into someone I can be proud of, someone who can live up to being vulnerable in all its utter shakiness.
So instead I'm trying to find ways to live this unstable life as best I can, with all its stops and starts and ups and downs and recognize that sometimes the greatest moments, the biggest lessons, come when everything is on the verge of falling apart, or feels that way. Being financially, emotionally, physically vulnerable, fearing that I have no words, especially when I've made a promise that I will have words, have done the ultimate hubris and called myself a writer and staked something on that...well, it's fucking hard. Some days, impossible. But thankfully, there are more days. Like today.
December 8, 2011
Call for sex diarists!
We know that bisexual women in open relationships aren't the only people having sex in New York City. You, the readers, are all having sex — or at least trying to, probably. And however successful you are, we want to hear about it. Especially if you're not the "typical" sex diary author. Maybe you're married with kids. Maybe you were born during the L.B.J. administration. Maybe you're a gay fireman. Maybe you're a gay, old, married fireman. Whoever you are, however much ass you get, we want you to share a week in your sex life. Our Sex Diaries editor, Rachel Kramer Bussel, is looking for new submissions. Get in touch with her at sexdiaries@nymag.com.
Why Best Sex Writing 2012 is my favorite of all my books, and the one I most want you to read
Thank you for your support! I have a limited number of copies avaialble for Amazon.com review. You must promise to review it by January 31st and get your request in by December 14th. Your signed by me copy will be mailed out next week via media mail. I will delete this one call the copies are taken. Email bestsexwriting2012 at gmail.com with "Amazon" in the subject line and your name, US mailing address and Amazon.com profile so I know you are eligible (or a link to a previous Amazon review).
The book has original pieces and reprints from everywhere from Ms. ("Sex, Lies and Hush Money") to Reason ("You Can Have Sex With Them; Just Don’t Photograph Them" to Playboy ("The Dynamics of Sexual Acceleration") to The Village Voice ("Guys Who Like Fat Chicks") to Salon ("The Worship of Female Pleasure" and "Dating With an STD") to The Rumpus ("The Careless Language of Sexual Violence") to Guernica ("An Unfortunate Discharge Early in My Naval Career") to SexIs Magazine ("Latina Glitter" and "Penis Gagging, BDSM, and Rape Fantasy: The Truth about Kinky Sexting"), plus literary fiction stars and some preeminent commentators on sexuality, and many more offerings from a range of ages, backgrounds, locations, topics, etc. I'm especially proud of the media criticism, which is intense, unrelenting, powerful, political and vital; I speak of Roxane Gay's "The Careless Language of Sexual Violence," which takes The New York Times to task over its coverage of an underage rape victim, and Thomas S. Roche's "Men Who 'Buy Sex' Commit More Crimes: Newsweek, Trafficking, and the Lie of Fabricated Sex Studies," which challenges the newsweekly's coverage of the issue of sex trafficking nad utterly unqualified fawning over Melissa Farley. The book touches on atheism, SlutWalk, sex work from a first-person perspective, sex scandals, sex after a lover dies, male sexual education, obscenity law, teen sex and the law, and much more.
If you do plan to buy it, as with all books, pre-ordering them has a dual impact on the book's sales, meaning your sale counts not just for one book, but means that the bookseller your purchasing from will stock extra copies. All sales are great, but pre-orders are extra special, a heads up as a way to support your favorite authors.
Best Sex Writing 2012: The State of Today’s Sexual Culture is a nonfiction anthology edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, with Susie Bright as guest judge, to be published by Cleis Press in January 2012. It is available for pre-order at Amazon (other links below). Email bestsexwriting2012 at gmail.com if you have any questions; to request a review copy, email Brenda Knight at bknight at cleispress.com.
Pre-order Best Sex Writing 2012:
Kindle (coming soon)
Nook (coming soon)
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore
Table of contents:
When the Sex Guru Met the Sex Panic Susie Bright
Beyond the Headlines: Real Sex Secrets Rachel Kramer Bussel (see below)
Sluts, Walking Amanda Marcotte
Criminalizing Circumcision: Self-Hatred as Public Policy Marty Klein
The Worship of Female Pleasure Tracy Clark-Flory
Sex, Lies, and Hush Money Katherine Spillar
The Dynamics of Sexual Acceleration Chris Sweeney
Atheists Do It Better: Why Leaving Religion Leads to Better Sex Greta Christina
To All the Butches I Loved between 1995 and 2005: An Open Letter about Selling Sex, Selling Out, and Soldiering On Amber Dawn
I Want You to Want Me Hugo Schwyzer
Grief, Resilience, and My 66th Birthday Gift Joan Price
Latina Glitter Rachel Rabbit White
Dating with an STD Lynn Harris
You Can Have Sex With Them; Just Don’t Photograph Them Radley Balko
An Unfortunate Discharge Early in My Naval Career Tim Elhajj
Guys Who Like Fat Chicks Camille Dodero
The Careless Language of Sexual Violence. Roxane Gay
Men Who “Buy Sex” Commit More Crimes: Newsweek, Trafficking, and the Lie of Fabricated Sex Studies Thomas Roche
Taking Liberties Tracy Quan
Why Lying about Monogamy Matters Susie Bright
Losing the Meatpacking District: A Queer History of Leather Culture Abby Tallmer
Penis Gagging, BDSM, and Rape Fantasy: The Truth about Kinky Sexting Rachel Kramer Bussel
Adrian’s Penis: Care and Handling Adrian Colesberry
The Continuing Criminalization of Teen Sex Ellen Friedrichs
Love Grenade Lidia Yuknavitch
Pottymouth Kevin Sampsell
Beyond the Headlines: Real Sex Secrets
Rachel Kramer Bussel
I think about sex a lot—every day, in fact. I don’t mean that in an “I want to get it on” way, but in a “What are other people up to?” way. I’m a voyeur, first and foremost, and this extends to my writing. I’m naturally curious about what other people think about sex, from their intimate lives to how their sexuality translates to the larger world.
With the Best Sex Writing series, I get to merge my voyeuristic self with my journalism leanings, and peek into the lives, public and private, of those around me. This volume in the series doesn’t pull any punches; the authors have strong opinions, whether it’s Marty Klein sticking up for circumcision in the face of an effort in California to criminalize it, Roxane Gay taking the New York Times to task for its treatment of an 11-year-old rape victim, Thomas Roche calling out Newsweek for its shoddy reporting about prostitution, or Radley Balko examining a child pornography charge.
There are also more personal takes on sex here that go beyond facile headlines or easy answers, that aren’t about making a point so much as exploring what real-life sex is like in all its beauty, drama, and messiness. Whether it’s Amber Dawn and Tracy Quan sharing the truth about their lives as sex workers, or Hugo Schwyzer explaining the damage our culture does to men with its mythology about their innate sexual prowess, or Tim Elhajj’s first-person account of pre–don’t ask, don’t tell military life, these authors show you a side of sex that you rarely see.
What you are about to read are stories, all true, some reported on the streets and some recorded from lived experience, from the front lines of sexuality. They deal with topics you read about in the headlines, and some topics you may never have considered. They are but a small sampling of the many kinds of sexual stories I received in the submission process.
Part of why I think sex never goes out of style, as a topic or activity, is that it is so very complex. There is no one way to do it, nor two, nor three. Sex can be mundane or mind-blowing, and for those who are trying to get from the former to the latter, there is a plethora of resources but also a host of misinformation purveyed by snake oil salesmen.
In Best Sex Writing 2012, you will read about subjects as diverse as “Guys Who Like Fat Chicks,” the care an handling of a man’s penis, and the glamour and glitter of the Latina drag world. Abby Tallmer, telling a story set in a very specific time and place—the gay leather clubs of New York’s Meatpacking District in the 1990s—manages to capture why sexual community is so vital, and why, I’d venture, those who lack such a community wind up mired in sex scandals. Tallmer writes, “These clubs gave us a place to feel that we were no longer outsiders—or rather, they made us feel that it was better to be outsiders, together, than to force ourselves to be just like everybody else.”
I’m especially pleased to present stories about the kinds of sexuality and sexual issues that don’t always make the headlines, from Lynn Harris’s investigation of dating with an STD to Hugo Schwyzer’s moving look at men’s need to be sexually desired and what happens when boys and men are told that that wanting to be desired is wrong. Joan Price gives some insight into elder sexuality, as well as into what it’s like to purchase the services of a sexual healer. The topic of elder sex is often treated with horror or disgust, or the focus is placed on concern over STDs—which is a worthy topic this series has explored before. But Price, author of two books on elder sexuality (her piece here is excerpted from Naked At Our Age), obliges the reader to see the humanity behind her age. She writes, “My birthday erotic massage from a gentle stranger changed something in me. It showed me that I was still a responsive, fully sexual woman, getting ready to emerge from the cocoon of mourning into reexperiencing life. I realized that one big reason I ended up on Sunyata’s massage table was so that I could get ready to reenter the world.”
Not all, or even most, of the reading here is “easy.” Much of it is challenging and heartbreaking. Roxane Gay’s media criticism centers on a New York Times story about a Texas gang rape and why “The Careless Language of Sexual Violence” distorts our understanding about rape. You may think such a piece doesn’t belong in an anthology with this title, but until we rid our world of sexual violence so that everyone can freely express themselves sexually, we need to hear searing indictments of media or those in power who ignore injustice.
As an editor, I’m not only looking for pieces that I agree with, or identify with, but for work that illuminates something new about a topic that’s been around forever. The authors here dig deep, challenging both mainstream ideas about sex and a few sex-positive sacred cows. Ellen Friedrichs sticks up for the right of teenagers to be sexual without throwing parents, school boards, and other adults into a sex panic. Amanda Marcotte explores the fast-moving SlutWalk protest phenomenon, which has garnered criticisms from various sides, from being futile to only appealing to white women.
I will quote Abby Tallmer again, because I don’t hear the words “sexual liberation” often enough these days. What moves me most about her piece is that you don’t have to be a New Yorker, queer, leather, or kinky to understand what she’s talking about. I’m 100 percent with her when she writes, “Back then, many of us believed that gay liberation was rooted in sexual liberation, and we believed that liberation was rooted in the right—no, the need—to claim ownership of our bodies, to experience and celebrate sexuality in as many forms as possible, limited only by our time and imagination.” I hope this applies in 2012 just as much as it did in the 1970s, 80s, or 90s.
The truth is, I could have filled a book twice this size. Every day, stories are breaking, and being told, about sex—some wondrous, some heartbreaking. This is not a one-handed read, but it is a book that will stimulate your largest sex organ: your brain. Whether you live and breathe sex, you are curious about sex, or somewhere in between, I hope Best Sex Writing 2012 informs, incites, and inspires you. I hope it inspires you to write and tell your own sexual story, because I believe the more we talk about the many ways sex moves us, the more we work toward a world where sexual shame, ignorance, homophobia, and violence are diminished.
I’d love to hear your thoughts about this book and what you think are the hot topics around sex. Feel free to email me at rachel at bestsexwriting.com with your comments and suggestions for next year’s anthology.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York
November 2011
How to make me feel special
Katy Perry blue hair Barbie® doll for charity
December 7, 2011
When fiction is the most honest way to tell emotional truths
Thinking about that story reminded me how, for me, I so often use real events to inspire erotic fiction. Sometimes it's a straightforward telling, pretty much, or based on my sexual experiences, but more often, it's a tidbit of information, a snapshot of something I saw or did or heard about, and I transpose that into the setting of the story. One of the things I champion and cherish about erotica is that it has the ability to take negative sexual experiences and turn them into positive ones. Same could be said for any kind of fiction but I think sex is so fraught that it's especially important. So remember that column I wrote, "The Nonconsensual Play Party Voyeur"? That was an experience I'd be happy to never relive, but I realized that while my personal experience was negative, the setting was a good one for a story, so I used it.
The other story I'd submitted, which I plan to submit elsewhere, was inspired by a friend who worked in a chocolate shop. I remember I was going on and on about the chocolate and someone tasting it and the sensuality of that experience that I was almost at the word count and the sex hadn't even started!
As someone who writes both personal nonfiction as well as fiction, I often am faced with the task of figuring out the best medium for what I want to say, and I've found that often, it's in fiction that I can tell the most honest emotional truth. To tell certain things via nonfiction, if we are sticking to the strict definition of nonfiction (which, if you read memoirs, you will know are full of composite characters, compressed timelines, made-up characters, and other ways authors massage the truthiness of their stories), is often too blunt, and would require so much overexplaining or simply wouldn't get at what I actually want to say.
I'm thinking of a very particular moment that my mind keeps going back to over and over and over again, so much so that I know I need to figure out why I cannot forget it. I remember exactly what I was wearing, what I was thinking, what I was feeling. I was in hyper-aware mode, taking in every sound, sight; it was a night when I felt as if I were watching myself in a movie, so I was extremely conscious of what was happening, yet also felt a bit removed from it. So it's not that I don't have the raw facts, but rather that this is not about "facts." It's about what that moment felt like; it was one of the most emotionally vulnerable moments I've probably ever experienced. I think about it as if I could go back and relive it, and I wonder if I'd have done anything differently. If it were a movie scene, it would last less than a minute, but it would be pivotal, because it was for me. I feel in some ways as if my whole year has, in some ways, been driven by that moment.
I haven't figured out yet how to tell that story, how to make sense of it. Maybe I don't have enough distance from it, maybe I don't know what it symbolizes in my real life yet to be able to transpose it into a fictional life. But I know it's there for a reason, and I know that any time I creep toward an encounter that feels vaguely close to that level of emotional rawness, I'm right back there, and that's why it's not so much about the strict facts as the deeper truth.
When I first started writing erotica, and for a good long time, I thought that I had to basically tell the story the way it happened, if it was true. I thought that was how to be honest, but fiction demands a different level of honesty, a different purpose. Sometimes the two are one and the same, but not always.
It reminded me of "The End," which I am going to put in my solo collection. I love that story, even though it was hell to live through. Here's, well, the end of "The End." It's a bit overwrought, but I don't think it's a coincidence that the work that I'm most proud of is often work that stems from emotionally intense moments and experiences, like the one I described above. Neither of the stories I sent to Zane are that wrenching, and that is too much for me to live with all the time. But I'm learning to appreciate the moments that don't let me go, even when I try to let them go. They are there for a reason, and I have to both be patient and probing in figuring out what that reason is.
I reach, reach, reach inside her, desperately searching, hoping to wrench us back to wherever we are supposed to be, back to where we were—a week, a month, a lifetime—ago. I draw out this process, watch myself as if from afar as my hand slides inside her, as I lube myself up and try to cram all of me into her, make a lasting impression. I have my entire had inside her yet I feel more removed from her than I have ever felt. She might as well still be in Florida. She might as well still be a stranger, this might as well still be our first date where I laughed so much because I was so nervous. I'd rather this be any of those nights, even the ones where I was so drunk and afraid, so powerless and unsure; anything would be better than this slow death, this slow withering until we are nothing more than two girls in a room with tears in our eyes and an ocean of questions and scars and hurt between us. I can't predict what will come after this most pregnant of silences, can't know the depths of pain that will puncture me beyond the horrors of my imagination, can't know that I will regret everything I might have, could have, did do wrong.
She turns over on her stomach, face hidden from my searching eyes, and I fumble to reconnect, to slide into her like nothing is wrong, like it's just a matter of finding a comfortable angle. I finally have had enough, cannot keep going with the charade that pressing myself against her will fill all the gaps that still exist between us. But for whatever twisted reasons we need this, this final time. And this is the last time, because nothing is worth feeling so utterly and completely alone while you're fucking your girlfriend before you break up. No power trip or blazing orgasm, no heart-pounding breathless finish, no sadistic impulse or mistaken nostalgia is worth this much pain.
I don't know how to say what I have to, what I'm terrified to, how to ask questions whose answers I know I won't want to hear. There's no book I can read that will teach me how to make her g-spot tell me her secrets, tell me those fantasies and dreams that don't come from her pussy but from her heart. The end, it turns out, is nothing like the beginning. There is no promise of something more, some grand future of possibility, the infinite ways of knowing each other just waiting to be discovered. There is no hope that we can merge, in all the ways love can make you do, into something so much greater than the sum of our parts. The end is like what they say about death, where your whole life flashes in front of your eyes. I see moments, fragments—my hand up her skirt on the street, taking her in the doorway of a friend's apartment, so fiercely she can barely sink down to the ground, her on her knees in the bathroom, surprising me as she buries her face into me, no room to protest, grinding the edge of a knife along her back, slapping her tits until they are raw and red—but they seem so far away right now, like a movie, someone's else's pornographic memories. They don't make me smile, and I don't want them anymore. I want to bury myself in her and never let go, hold on to something that has just fluttered away in the wind, fine as the glittering sparkles she wears on her eyes, miniscule and almost opaque, too minute to ever recapture. But all I can do is back away, as slowly as I can, so slowly that it seems as if I am hardly moving, and before I know it, I, and she, we, are gone, almost like we never existed.
December 5, 2011
300+ cupcakes for you tonight!
December 4, 2011
Want me to hand feed you a cupcake? Come to our party on Monday!
Whose story?
I find myself working on two pieces related to some recent dates, and I do wonder, if things had worked out, if I'd even heard back from the person afterward, would I need to parse things out in writing? Probably, because the fact is, it was momentous for me. It was novel and revelatory for me. That is how I try to approach all my writing, and yet it's a tension. As I sat in the audience and listened to stories about online dating at How I Learned, I did ask myself what it would feel like to be on the other side of some of those stories, to be in the audience and hear about yourself as the horror story of online dating?
Except that's not the story I want to tell. The dual stories I want to tell are, I hope, about broader topics, one related to fashion, one related to, well, so many truly elemental aspects of life, one that gets at the heart of why I think sex is a window into everything else. For me it would be far more unnatural not to write about it, and not just because sometimes I'm asked for a "crazy sex story" or am responding to a query.
I know what it's like to give up, to pull yourself out of the equation because you're scared that what you have to say is stupid, has been said before, is irrelevant. I know what it's like to be so deathly afraid of success you'll do anything to avoid it, will run far from its path, will fight it with everything in your being. It's so easy to convince yourself success is for other people, and yes, I know that may sound strange to those who see me as "successful." I'm not saying I'm not, but the question, I guess, is "Whose success? By whose measure?" Back before I started writing erotica, or when I was just starting out, I'd have looked at my life now and thought, "Wow, you've done so much," something I hear a lot and that makes me want to hurl.
In the now, though, I know both that I've done a lot, and that I've said no no no to success, to money, to going beyond the status quo. I've let myself believe that I didn't belong at the party, even when I got an engraved invitation. I do it now, almost every week; I come up with an idea and belabor it to the point that either it's moot or I'm sure someone else said it better, smarter, faster.
I also know that I don't go into any situation, unless it's reading a book or reviewing an event, "looking for a story." It's my life, and I'm trying to live it to the best of my ability. It's especially topsy-turvy these days and my to do lists sprawl all over pages and pages and I get so close to the end and then so, so afraid. I think figuring out one's story is an ongoing process, and it's especially tricky because you might think you know what that story is, and then the story shifts, or the landscape shifts, or your shift. Something inside you shrinks, or grows, or moves, and the story that looked so settled, plotted, precise, is now words floating in the air, not quite right each time you try to set them down. My mind is like that, racing, leaping, wishing it could just land once and for all, receive The Answer to The Big Questions from, I don't know who. A god I'm not sure I believe in? Someone who's bed I've somehow conned my way into? It's much easier to think anyone else has those answers than that either I do, or no one does.
I'm writing this post partly as a kick in the ass to get going on those stories while they're still fresh, and to focus on the parts that matter, the parts I can authoritatively speak to: what it felt like, for me. I do things like wonder: What if that's the "wrong" feeling to have? What if I sound naive or foolish? I feel like a teenager in some ways, a total dating novice. Is this what it's like for everyone? Is this normal, or would other women relate to my dilemmas?
I finished some work this week that in some ways is the same old story, not even one I want to go over again, and yet, it won't leave me alone. It's there in my head, not all the time, but enough that I can't totally forget it. Again, it shifts, and in turn, changes me. I'd love to say that every time I write something I shift for the better, that I become that person I'm striving to be, but that is asking a lot from mere words. I do know that when I choose to give up, when I'm sure my story is worthless, so sure that even writing it down on my computer—the one I'm so grateful I "had" to buy in Emeryville in January, and now would be unable to work without—I learn nothing. I don't advance and I daresay I regress. And no, not every story needs to be written down. Some of them are best giggled over on the phone, at coffee shops. Some are too painful to ever even let out of my head. Some are so ridiculous that they have to be seen to be believed, and I just need someone to laugh, darkly, with me.
At the end of this crazy year, which has taken me to so many places and yet is concluding with more time spent in my literal home and my neighborhood than I've spent in almost a decade, I know that I want to ditch the part of me that lives with that fear, that holds it so close to her she doesn't always even feel or see it. It's just there, like a second skin. I know that this week, when I took risks, big ones, just that act of reaching past the fear, of trying to outsmart it, even if that meant writing fast before I second-guessed myself completely, felt better than the best compliment from someone I admire, than the most gloriously sunny afternoon I spent in Seattle, than the cookie I ate for one of the most delicious dinners of the year. Yes, a part of me wants to know what will happen, wants to be successful in ways I am afraid to even dream of, but a bigger part of me knows that the real victory isn't always having an audience for your story, but in knowing what that story is, even if it's just for a single, slippery moment.
Watch me read hamburger porn story "Eat Me" from Gotta Have it: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex
Here's the amazing lineup again, if you haven't bought this book it's a winner, and a great holiday gift. I'm hoping it does well enough that I get to do another book of short shorts, because publishing so many new authors and such a range of stories was a lot of fun. If you like the book (or just the idea of the book), do me a favor and "like" it on Amazon, and if you're so inclined, write a review. Thank you!
Order Gotta Have It from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition (ebook)
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Nook edition (ebook)
Books-a-Million
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
Introduction: Short, Sweet and Totally Sexy
Seven-Letter Word Heather Lin
No Blame, No Shame Jeremy Edwards
Wasn't It Good? Andrea Dale
The Things a Woman Will Make a Man Do for Her Isabelle Gray
Special Collections Fiona Curtis
Wonderland Madeline Elayne
Red Light Angela Caperton
My Femme Evan Mora
Genesis Shanna Germain
Serious Moonlight Michael A. Gonzales
Too Wondrous to Measure Salome Wilde
Hors d'Oeuvre Stan Kent
Missed Connection Tigress Healy
Ties That Bind Daniel Burnell
Eat Me Marina Saint
Jarret Shane Allison
Lucky Number Fifty-One Jennifer Peters
Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler Tara Young
Spunk Sylvia Lowry
Time Cecilia Tan
Dining in the Dark Elizabeth Daniels
Downpour Elle
Need-Leash Mike Kimera
Crushed Satin Organza Carmel Lockyer
Not on the Mouth Cole Riley
Hot Buns on a Sunday Afternoon Erica Rivera
Feel the Burn Thomas S. Roche
Trixie Jen Cross
Police Dogging Elizabeth Coldwell
Tip Me Kiki DeLovely
Marxist Theory Elizabeth Hyder
The Dirty Things She Says Sinclair Sexsmith
Laughter in Hades Teresa Noelle Roberts
The Quick Stop Shashauna P. Thomas
Pain Surfer Cate Ellink
After Ten Years Christen Clifford
Over His Shoulder Maximilian Lagos
Manners Rachel Kramer Bussel (read it in full here)
Veronica's Ass Matt Conklin
Punishment Befitting the Crime D. L. King
Lies Kristina Wright
A Forced Witness Vampirique Dezire
Concensus Denise Hoffner
Don't Struggle Valerie Alexander
Plotter Monocle
Intercept Burton Lawrence
Not a Bang, but a Whimper Jacqueline Applebee
Suggestion Emerald
Hands Free Effie Merryl
Remembering the Wrinkles Penelope Friday
Leaves Elise Hepner
The Copilot Mike Bruno
Pierced Kirsty Logan
Last-Time Lesbian Geneva King
Anal-yzed Donna George Storey
Independence Day Kate Pearce
Going Bald Craig J. Sorensen
Continuing Education Anya Levin
Meet Me in the Kitchen Giselle Renarde
Over the Line Helia Brookes
Not Just a Myth Heidi Champa
Hunger Maria See
The Tipping Point Lolita Lopez
The Advantage of Working from Home Kay Jaybee
For Dessert Jordana Winters
Good Neighbors Mercy Loomis
Laugh Sommer Marsden
A Good Stiff One Kathleen Bradean
Vacation Pictures Robert Peregrine
Introduction: Short, Sweet and Totally Sexy
Everyone needs a break from his or her everyday life sometimes, and what better way to escape than with a short story that gets right to the point? The authors of the sixty-nine stories you hold in your hand understand exactly how to pique your interest and get you off , and they do it all in 1,200 words or less. You don't need long to get drawn into the drama, tension and lust.
I received close to three hundred submissions for this collection, more than I ever have before, and I think that's because no one, writer or reader alike, can resist a short story that seduces instantaneously. These stories aren't all about quickie sex, though there's plenty of that. There are strangers who meet and know right away they must have each other, neighbors, travel mates, coworkers and long-term couples such as those in "After Ten Years" and "Remembering the Wrinkles" who are looking for ways to hold on to that spark. There are stories of sex in libraries, vacation sex and lots of outdoor sex—in the rain, in the street, all over. There are lovers with pecan rolls dripping in caramel, and meals where lovers feast on nothing but each other. There are even a few stories with no actual sex in them at all—you'll have to hunt those down and see why anticipation can be the sexiest act of all.
There's humor, kink, flirtation, Godzilla, missed connections, sex toys, and one very bold census taker. But I don't want to take up too much of your time that could be better spent getting intimately acquainted with these short but incredibly sexy stories. I hope you will savor them, read them aloud and return to your favorites again and again. Because all of us have a few minutes set aside for a quickie, don't we?
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City[image error]
