Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 92

2 new articles: "Sympathy for E.L. James" and "Wikipedia Thinks I'm a Lesbian..."

I have 2 new pieces up, my first for The Toast, "Sympathy for E.L. James," about the erotica community's response to the author of Fifty Shades of Grey.

I also wrote my first piece for the Boinkology sex and tech collection at Medium (if you like it, please click "Recommend" at the bottom), "Wikipedia Thinks I’m a Lesbian—And This Bisexual Is Okay With That".

Thanks for reading and have a great weekend! I'm cooking up more pieces for next week.

Every writer should read this...and then get writing!

Peter Mountford is SO spot on in his essay at The Weeklings, "Calling Bullshit on a Writer's Top 10 Excuses For Not Writing." I love it. And relate. And am going to do something about it!

I wrote about Delhi gang rape and sexual violence play Nirbhaya

I'm tempted to tell you I know nothing about theater, as a way to preface my bouncing-in-my-head fears that what I wrote about Edinburgh Festival Fringe play Nirbhaya sucks. But I won't, at least, not really. Also, I've ever used Kinja for a post before and had wanted to add it to Groupthink in the hope that it might get add to the main Jezebel page but I don't know how that works. If you do and want to let me know, email me at rachelkb at gmail.com - mainly I just wanted to share what I've been researching the past few weeks since I"m fascinated by it.

I'm not a theater expert, and am only an occasional theatergoer. But I was drawn to this play, its process and the passion behind it. I wish I could go see it for myself in two weeks. I can't, but maybe someone reading my post will. And maybe the more I push myself to write about things I'm interested in, whether or not I'm an "expert" or ever will be, the more I will position myself to move out of the box of "sex writer" and into the role of "writer." Which I already am, but have so many dreams and plans and hopes for. Now on to some of those hopes and dreams, happy that I wrote it anyway, and that the universe gave me a few little writing gifts this week. I am thankful, and grateful, and it will happen. And I'll keep pitching. Forever.

10 free copies of Cheeky Spanking Stories for Amazon reviewers

If you've signed up to review Serving Him , your copy has been sent; please post that review first before requesting this one. And thank you for your continued support! I want this book especially to succeed so I can go on to edit many more spanking erotica books. It's my favorite topic!

Another freebie for U.S. Amazon reviewers - I’ve got 10 copies left of Cheeky Spanking Stories ! Click the title to read my introduction and click here to read an excerpt from my nudist hotel spanking story “Marks." You must have an Amazon.com account you’ve made a purchase from and promise to review it within 6 weeks of receipt (books are being sent next week via media mail). In return you get a free, autographed copy of this spanking erotica anthology and my thanks! Email me at spankingantho at gmail.com with “Amazon" in the subject line. If you’d like to review the Kindle edition, same terms apply but you can be anywhere, just email spnakingantho at gmail.com with “Kindle" in the subject line and your email address (CANNOT be an @kindle.com address).

6 free copies of BDSM book Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission for Amazon reviewers, plus a kinky excerpt

On Wednesday I'm sending out another round of autographed copies of Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission to U.S. Amazon.com reviewers and I have 6 left. Want one? Email me at femalesubantho at gmail.com with "Amazon" in the subject line and your name and mailing address in the body. You MUST have an Amazon.com account you've made a purchase from at some point and by emailing, you agree to post your review within 6 weeks of receiving the book. Thank you!



One of the things I'm most proud of in my story "Subbing" is pushing some of my own boundaries; you can read the first two paragraphs here and a kinkier excerpt below. I've written erotica about sex work in "Lap Dance Lust," but from the perspective of the dancer. I've written about a bachelor party lap dance (even one for a gay erotica anthology!) but am not sure I've ever written from the perspective of a sex worker before, which I did with this story, and certainly plan to do again. Many of the stories in Serving Him push boundaries and I love that about the book. It takes kink to the dark place it sometimes is, and I think it's one of my hottest books. Pushing boundaries is something I'm working to achieve with my solo short story collection, to go beyond where I initially wanted to take a story into somewhere with more depth and complexity, which in turn, I hope, makes the stories even hotter. So I hope readers enjoy it; if you have, I'd love it if you'd post a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. And if you like this excerpt, I'd love it if you'd take a moment to click "like" on the upper right hand side of my Amazon.com profile. This lets Amazon know people want to read my books! The introduction and more Serving Him excerpt links can be found here.

From "Subbing" by Rachel Kramer Bussel (©Rachel Kramer Bussel; all rights reserved)

“Hello, Tina, sweetheart,” he said, his smile both sweet and sadistic at once. She glanced immediately at his crotch, a bad habit she’d picked up somewhere along the way with guys she was hot for. She could see the outline of his cock against his jeans. “Daddy wants to have a word with you.” He took the chair and ragged it across the room, resting his hand on his cock. She looked up at him, grateful he wasn’t overly polite, wasn’t polluting their time with niceties that would do nothing for her pussy. He knew what he wanted, and so did she. “I have your allowance right here,” he said, holding up what she could see was at least a hundred dollars more than her fee. “Crawl to me, pretty girl,” he said. “Crawl to Daddy.” She did, wondering if he could tell how wet she was, wondering if he knew this was her first time, wondering if any of that mattered.

He kept talking as she reached him, seamlessly sliding the bills into the waistband of her skirt. “I know it was really Janet who stole the car, but since you told me you did it, you’re going to get punished for it. You understand, don’t you?” Somehow, his voice was soothing, deep and sexy, like he was trying to seduce her, yet the power behind his words vibrated through the air. “Janet will get punished even worse,” he said, “but you need to learn not to cover for her. You never lie to your Daddy again, do you hear me?” He didn’t yell, but it was the quiet roar in his voice that cued her in. She knew she could back away if she wanted to, but she had no desire to escape; instead, she was irresistibly drawn to that cruel yet sweet voice, its roughness promising pain as well as tender understanding. “Now get me my whip,” he said, pointing to a riding crop sticking up out of his briefcase. “Bring it to me between those pretty lips.”

She shuddered as she did it, realizing it had been three months since she’d last been beaten, and two more since she’d had someone talk to her like this. Well, not like this, exactly; she’d only played at being a “bad girl,” but never Daddy’s bad girl. This was different, doubly, even triply hot for all the taboos they were breaking. “You’re keep your panties on, but I want you to show me how wet you are, Tina, show me how much you need to be punished.” She pulled down her panties and bent over with the crop between her teeth, her ass in the air. Taylor spread her legs just enough to show the stranger, her new insta-Daddy, how slick her sex was. She started to inch backward, and stopped. Her punishment wasn’t going to be a beating there, nor would there be a reward of his fingers or tongue or cock, as she was used to. Her real punishment was that she’d have to wait until later to touch herself there, where she most wanted it.

Read or listen to the whole story in Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission !

A free mile high club erotica story by me and a favor

Here's a free erotica story; if you like it, or me, or just want to do me a favor, please click "like" on the upper right hand side of my Amazon profile. I'm trying to get Amazon to like me and promote my books more so they sell better. Every little bit counts. I'm happy to like your Amazon page in return, just post a link in the comments or email me at rachelkb at gmail.com with your Amazon profile URL link - thanks! This story is from my anthology The Mile High Club: Plane Sex Stories (also available as an ebook on Kindle), a themed anthology I'm particularly proud of because it required seeking out the variety in a topic that could be monotonous. I'm also a sucker for erotica where there's no actual "sex" involved (in quotes because the definition of sex is often up to the reader, but I mean stories that are focused on things other than physical sexual interaction).



I've got some more freebies up on Goodreads and will be posting more soon. I'm wrapping up the last round of Cleis Press anthologies as well as my solo short story collection, which will have lots of very hot new stories and some of what I consider my greatest hits.

"Urgent Message" by Rachel Kramer Bussel (© Rachel Kramer Bussel; all rights reserved)

The fact that I have to travel a lot for my job as a fashion photographer has always been a sore spot with my boyfriend, Brandon. He works the day shift at a French restaurant, and in many ways is more of a homebody than I am. I like a fast-paced lifestyle, which is why I moved to New York in the first place, but even though he thrives on the energy at the restaurant, he’s happy to veg out in front of the TV or just explore the city. Still, we fell hard for each other and weren’t going to split up simply because sometimes I have to hop on a plane. The chemistry between us was strong right from the beginning, and hasn’t let up, so we’ve learned how to deal with my traveling with frequent phone calls and hours of hot sex when I return. We balance our nights out with ones cuddled in front of our fireplace (yes, we have one in our apartment), watching movies or having luxurious sex on our shag carpet.

When I have to go out of town, though, he practically sulks. Or at least he did until we devised a high-tech, ultramodern, yet perfectly dirty way of dealing with my absences. I had heard on the news that several airlines were now offering in-flight instant message and Internet services. What better way to keep in touch with my man than by sharing every X-rated thought I had, while on a plane filled with strangers?

Usually I try to fly first class, where I indulge in champagne and ice cream sundaes and generally pretend I’m on vacation, rather than heading off to work. But since I’d had to book a last-minute flight, I’d been stuck with the only seat left—a middle seat in coach. Oh well, how bad could it be? I thought.

If you’ve ever asked yourself that dangerously rhetorical question, you know the answer: very, very bad. I wound up stuck between a drooling older man and a fidgety teenager of indeterminate gender. Though I’d never cheat on Brandon, I’d at least have wished for some eye candy, a hunky man—or, hell, even a curvy, cleavage-baring woman—to keep the edges of my vision occupied. So I turned to what at first seemed like a last resort: I logged on to my computer. The teenager was listening to some very loud music and the old man was nodding off, often with his head collapsing onto my shoulder. As I waited for my laptop to load, I knew that at least I could get lost in the endless offerings of the Internet, which I often do even when I’m supposed to be retouching photos or replying to email. It offers endless distractions and can keep up with my ADD brain much better than even a juicy novel.

The prospect of going online was enough to make me forget about the cramped legroom—did I mention I’m five-eleven?—and lack of food service on a cross-country fight. I went on and immediately checked my email, then logged onto IM, hoping that even though this was a red-eye, one of my friends would be up. Well, one of them was⎯a very close, personal, sexy friend. There was Brandon, or rather, Randyboy69, as he so often was when he wasn’t at work. We’re an equal opportunity online addiction household.

Hey sexy, I typed, shifting in my seat as I pictured him wearing just a pair of gray cotton briefs as he watched the latest episode of “Entourage,” probably with a beer, or perhaps a joint, in hand.

You stuck at the airport? he wrote back.

No. I’m stuck in the hell that is coach. I’m high. In the sky, that is, I typed.

What do you mean?

What do I mean? I’m in the air. On my flight. They have wireless now, at least, while it lasts.

Fancy schmancy.

Not so much. But you can help me pass the time. Take out your cock. Show it to me.

I didn’t mean literally, even though he could have, via Skype. That vision might be a bit much to share with my seatmates, plus I wasn’t sure I could handle the prospect of Brandon’s powerful dick right in my face. But I wanted to picture it in all its hard, pounding, deliciousness, while he pictured me in my seat, getting nice and wet, just for him. If I’d been in my car, I’d have been tempted to ditch my shoot, turn around, drive home, and jump his bones.

You’re crazy, do you know that? And I’m not gonna show you my cock till you take your panties off. Get rid of them and shove them in the seat pocket in front of you. I dare you.

That was unfair. He knew I could never resist a dare, or an order, or even a mere naughty suggestion. That’s just the effect he has on me, which means that since we’ve been together, I’ve wound up fucking him in all sorts of public places, and we’ve gotten caught twice—that I know about. I’ve had to slink out of men’s bathroom stalls with my hair mussed after vigorous blow jobs, have had my cover nearly blown in the middle of an Alaska winter after a quickie in his parents’ kitchen (the coast had seemed clear), and many more adventures I’d have been way too shy, or at least, wary, to take part in before him.

But Brandon brings out the dirty girl inside me, the girl my straight-A, choir and track team member former self could never have imagined. Even now, I retain so much of my good-girl polish, at least on the outside. Before Brandon, I dated guys who would never think of wanting a lady on the streets and a whore in the bedroom. “Whore” probably wasn’t even in their vocabulary, whereas Brandon loved to taunt me with it, whispering it in my ear as I teetered on that perilous, wondrous brink of orgasm, knowing that the prospect of being a woman of the night would send me crashing over the edge.

Where are your panties, young lady? was blinking on my screen—in red. Next thing I knew, he’d be going to all caps.

Just a sec, I typed, feeling a rush of wetness soak said item of clothing.

My panties were already skimpy to begin with; I like to travel wearing my sexiest undies to remind me that while I may not have my man with me, I have something to look forward to when I go home. In fact, most of my plain-Jane, boring cotton panties have gone by the wayside in favor of silk, satin, lace and mesh in a rainbow of colors. Brandon has made his mark all over my body, and in my dresser drawers.

I pondered how best to go about this. Removing my bra in the locker room in college without showing my tits was easier than this maneuver would be. I placed the laptop on the tray in front of me, then undid my seat belt, trying to be as silent as possible so as not to attract attention. I reached into the waistband of my skirt and pushed one edge of my panties down one hip, then did the same with the other.

I had to get them down far enough so that I could wiggle them the rest of the way with my legs. My face was hot, and surely blushing, as he continued to type away, the screen refreshing as I squirmed. I wish I could see you slithering out of those panties, wish I could see between your legs to what they were covering. Even though I just tasted you this morning, baby, I miss you already. It’s just not the same without you, but I’m trying.

Tell me what you’re doing. I have my panties halfway down my thighs, I typed back in a flash, grateful for all those years of temping that had gifted me with the ability to type one-hundred words per minute, or one-handed, if need be. I wiggled against the seat, shifting one leg and hip, then the other, as I felt my panties move slowly down my legs.

I’ve got my dick poking out of the waistband of my briefs. I can see the head straining. I wish you were here to lick it. Oh god. I’m getting out the lube now, the one you got us last time, at that store…the one that made you scream when I rubbed it all over you. Every word he typed brought back memories of us doing it in various places. I’d found the lube at a sex superstore in Austin on my last trip there, and it had come in at just under three ounces, which allowed me to carry it on the plane.

We’d had so much fun with it, we’d quickly gone through that tiny bottle, and had to order a supersized one online. The image of his cock he was painting had me breathing hard. I bit my lip, wishing I had something to put in my mouth. He was setting off every hot button of my oral fixation.

I pushed my panties farther down, my hands on top of them over my skirt, keeping my eyes glued to the screen, as if what I were doing wasn’t completely deliberate. Maybe I could say I had an itch and was scratching it, if anyone noticed. I turned to my left, horrified suddenly when I realized my potential audience didn’t just include the people on either side of me, but those in the rest of my row as well. Any of them could glance over and see me slipping my hot pink panties down my legs, over my feet, and into the pouch filled with flight safety instructions and the airline’s magazine. It would be a gift to some lucky flight attendant or, if they did a lackluster job of cleaning, a future passenger. But I didn’t care about that; I cared about obeying Brandon’s order.

Well, Cindy? Are you done yet? I don’t have all day. I mean, I’m almost ready to come all over you, and I don’t want to ruin your pretty underwear.

That was a lie, because over the course of our relationship, we’ve ruined countless outfits, not to mention furniture. His come has splattered tabletops, stoves, kitchen tiles, bathtubs, and couches, not to mention every inch of my body. I’ve left wet spots in plenty of places that hotels would be horrified to know about (we do clean up after ourselves, as best we can, but it’s an imperfect science). I never mind if I have to replace a bra or pair of panties if what I gain in return is an explosive orgasm. That seems like a fair trade to me.

Almost, I managed to type back. The excruciating frustration of not being able to hear his voice, not being able to even whisper his name, let alone run my fingers along my hardened nipples or stroke myself between my legs, was unbearable but also arousing. The furtiveness was part of the turn-on, a complete contrast to his freedom to do whatever he wanted. For a brief moment I wondered if he was going to take a photo of his cock and send it to me, which would leave me no choice but to hastily shut down my laptop and hope I didn’t get reported to the airline authorities.

But Brandon didn’t do that. He relied on describing his delicious dick to me in explosive detail. He told me exactly where his hand was, how hard he was stroking himself. His cockhead looked red and ready to burst. He could feel the come bubbling up. He wanted to taste my panties. Oh wait—he was going through our laundry and fishing out a dirty pair to approximate what he couldn’t have. I was trying to read his text while inching my panties lower and lower. Finally they were poised at my skirt’s edge. I felt them trapping my legs as I widened them just so. Sometimes I hold my panties around my legs when I masturbate, legs up in the air, elastic keeping me in place like some erotic exercise band. I like the way they feel pressing against my skin, the resistance they form as my muscles flex, sending me on my way to climax. Now I looked down below me, as if I were searching for a missing pen, whisked them off and into my hand in what had to be three seconds, and shoved them way down deep in the pocket in front of me, nestled against a barf bag and a magazine.

My heart was pounding, and I’m sure my juices were leaking onto my skirt. I didn’t care anymore if they were visible. I did it! I typed, and I got the praise I’d been hoping for.

Very good. I like it when you listen to me, Cindy. I like it when you do whatever I ask you to. That means when you get home you’re going to get a very special reward. A gold star, if you will. I knew exactly what that meant. That was our code word for the glittery gold butt plug he’d bought me when I got that rave review from the Times. I’m not one of those insatiable anal babes who need it up the ass all the time. Getting fucked there is reserved for special occasions, ones that involved sensual bubble baths, oysters hand-fed to me, and me spending a long time across his lap getting spanked and fingered and filled. He prepares my ass so lovingly for the invasion it’s about to take, I practically melt around the plug. This happens maybe twice a year, and I never know when it will occur. It’s another area where I cede control to Brandon, knowing that he knows just how to please me.

As I was drifting off into an anal sex daydream, the captain came on and said we were going to have to put away all electronic devices. I hadn’t come yet, but I was in that preorgasmic state that is sometimes better than orgasm, where it feels like anything and everything could fill my cunt and I’d still crave more; where my pussy is almost in pain with need. It’s what I like to think of as the female equivalent of blue balls. It was so delicious that I almost forgot about Brandon for a second. I looked at the screen to see he’d told me that he’d poured some lube into his palm and was moving his hand up and down, fast as can be.

He’s let me watch him often enough that I knew exactly what he was doing now. Sometimes he ties me up, wrists bound with red rope behind my back, once in a while a ball gag shoved in my mouth, so I can’t touch myself—or him—and I just observe as he slowly, teasingly, jerks himself off, until by the end his hand and cock are one body part, moving in perfect sync until he spatters me with his come. I didn’t type anything back, just brought the screen closer to me as he stopped typing and I knew he was coming. Love you, will call soon, I typed as I closed my computer and slipped it back into its case. I shut my eyes and settled a blanket over my lap, hoping nobody had seen me.

I learned two things on that trip: coach isn’t so bad after all, if you know how to handle it, and there’s more than one way to join the mile high club—you don’t even have to be in the air to do it. I’m looking forward to my next trip, and I’m sure Brandon is, too.

One last plea: if you liked this story, please click "like" on the upper right hand side of my Amazon profile. You have my thanks!

Anal sex excerpt: "Delivery" by Emerald from Baby Got Back: Anal Erotica

Here's the third installment from Baby Got Back: Anal Erotica, my new anthology out this month (the first two excerpts were of "Brenda's Booty" by Tenille Brown and "Rectified" by Tiffany Reisz. My copies arrive very soon and I will be sending out 50 of them to Amazon.com reviewers (U.S. only). I have 6 copies not yet spoken for. Want one? You must have an Amazon.com account you've made a purchase from AND agree to post your review within 6 weeks of receipt. If you're okay on those counts, Email analantho at gmail.com with "Amazon" in the subject line and your name and mailing address in the body, and in a few weeks you'll get an autographed copy! Want to help the book? Rate it on Goodreads!

This excerpt is from "Delivery" by Emerald, and is set in that very sex-filled city, Las Vegas.

"Delivery" by Emerald

That was my cue. Subtly, I slid my hand up my dress and gripped one side of my thong, sliding it down a few inches before reaching for the other side, alternately slipping it lower ever so slowly so as not to evidence what I was doing. Once it was past my knees, I worked it over one ankle and then the other with the pointed toes of my boots. Reaching under the table, I snapped it up and slipped it into my handbag, all the while responding to my sisters with nods and murmurs at the appropriate times.

After a few seconds, I excused myself and stood up, heading for the hallway across the room. The heels of my boots clicked on the marble floor as I entered and headed down the dim passageway. I could see through the shadows that there was no one at the end of it, so Wesley must have ducked into the men’s room.

As I approached that door, it opened. Wesley stood leaning against the door frame, looking me up and down for an instant before opening it farther and backing up to let me in. I entered into his hard kiss before the door was even shut, Wesley gripping my waist with one hand as he flipped the lock on the door with the other. Then he plunged both hands up my dress, pushing me back against the cool counter. I held myself away from him, aware that I was wet enough to make a mess on his black suit, but he grabbed my ass and gave it a hard smack, promptly earning my uncontrolled press against his body. I ground myself against him as he spanked me twice more, making me push harder into him each time. By then I was panting in his ear, feeling the hard cock beneath his pants against my bare skin.

Table of Contents

Introduction: Prepared for Pleasure (read it here)

Brenda’s Booty Tenille Brown
Rectified Tiffany Reisz
Delivery Emerald
My Turn Anya Levin
A Winter’s Tail Veronica Wilde
No Rest for the Sick Medea Mor
Vin Rouge Pour Trois Erobintica
The Support Group Fiona Curtis
Lights Out Angela R. Sargenti
Bar None Mina Murray
Seat Belts Kate Dominic
Better Than a Massage Annabeth Leong
Body Heat Shoshanna Evers
What You Feel Like Talon Rihai and Salome Wilde
Her Kingdom for Her Ass Maggie Morton
A Taste of Jamaica D. Fostalove
Hard Astern Thomas S. Roche
In Training D. L. King
Everybody Knows Giselle Renarde
With Lucy in the Middle Kathleen Tudor
Keeping the British End Up M. Howard
Two-Timing Laura Antoniou
Plugged In Rachel Kramer Bussel

Buy Baby Got Back: Anal Erotica from (ebook links will be added when they're for sale):

Amazon

Bn.com

Books-a-Million

Powell's

IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)

Cleis Press

15 more shows I'd like to see at Edinburgh Fringe Festival

Since my initial post about 15 shows I wish I could see at Edinburgh Fringe Festival, I've discovered the Edinburgh Fringe Festival iPhone app, which makes scrolling through show listings and getting showtimes incredibly easy. I find it far easier than the website (not that the website is wonky, but you can see more show options at once on the app). I've been starring my favorites and found lots more. I'm still working my pitch mojo on making this happen; if you know any publications that would be good for me to contact, or have other Fringe suggestions, let me know at rachelkb at gmail.com. I have also been tracking flights daily and it's interesting to see how they do and don't vary. Skyscanner, I heart you. Without further ado, here are 15 more shows I'd like to see. Wish me luck on making it happen!

A Glee Inspired: Romeo and Juliet

Lady Rizo - this one's cheating a bit, since I know she's an amazing performer, having seen her in New York and London. But a) I think it'd be cool to say I've seen her in 3 countries and b) I just love her live shows. But her recorded cover of "Welcome to the Jungle" on her album Confidential.Explicit rocks too.

Banksy: The Room in the Elephant - I love a play with a warning: "The material in this play may not all be true."

H to He (I'm Turning Into a Man)

Head Over Heels in Saudi Arabia - I probably wouldn't be in town for this as it starts August 11th, but it looks interesting

Junk

My Pregnant Brother - "With barely more than a piece of sidewalk chalk to set her stage, Nutter traces a portrait of a unique family. As she puts aside the role of family caretaker to live her own life, her transgender sibling prepares to bring a child into the world he is not sure he can parent alone." See also mypregnantbrother.com

Oh My Irma

Operation: A Love Story

Party Piece

Penny Dreadful

White's Lies

Why Is John Lennon Wearing a Skirt?

Wing It, Dusty

XY

Why writing about feminism for The Frisky gave my week a big boost

I was thrilled to be asked to write a response piece for The Frisky, and what I wrote was: "Feminism Deserves Better Than 'Sex-Negative Vs. Sex-Positive.'" If you like it, I'd love it if you'd pass it on on Facebook and/or Twitter, etc. Thank you! A snippet:

Horowitz makes it sound like there is, and should be, yet another giant division within feminism—sex-negative vs. sex-positive, and that those lines are evenly divided. When she writes, “One of the truisms of sex-critical and sex-negative feminism is, ‘We can’t fuck our way to freedom,’” the default assumption is that sex-positive feminists are saying that we can, indeed, fuck our way to freedom. It’s not that simple—nor should it be. I won’t argue that many of her views probably are counter to those of many sex-positive feminists, but after reading her piece twice, I was left with the notion that in fact there are more commonalities than differences. I can only speak for myself, but I’m in favor of more sexual options for everyone, more sex education, and abolishing the idea that anything related to sex is “compulsory.”
Read the whole thing

A few reasons why this made me happy: I've been pitching and researching a lot, and it's slow going, so to be asked to write something, to be recognized as a person who'd have a strong opinion about sex-positive feminism and be able to articulate it, was a boost to my ego. Writing the piece made me realize just how many pieces of information I have floating in my head about the topic--though I'm sure given more time I could've come up with more. I had a brainstorm about a way to tie in beloved blog post (the Momastery one, read the essay to know what I'm talking about). That felt big to me, and I'm grateful. It's a little unusual of an analogy, but it felt fitting. Lastly, I'm proudest of having written it, fast. I've been plagued by writer's block and overthinking, which are tough habits to break. I'm still working on those. In this case, I thought about the piece as I traveled home from my mini-working vacation on Martha's Vineyard, then started furiously writing Thursday morning, took a meeting with the Literary Vixens, and came home and finished it.

Is it perfect? No, but nothing I write will ever be perfect because perfection is a myth. Is it work I'm proud of? Yes. Did I try my best? Yes. Do I think I contributed something valuable to the conversation? Yes. Will it help me pay my rent? Yes. Did writing it buoy me as I pitch, pitch, pitch? Yes. So it's all good. I am working hard to focus on the positive rather than the negative, the achievements rather than the times I got way too ahead of myself. I'm still trying to make a trip to Edinburgh happen. I feel like I'm on a precipice, and it's up to me which direction I head: down or up. I know well what down feels like, so I'm curious to feel the triumph of up again.

Read these sites: The Toast and Literary Vixens

The Toast is a new site geared toward women that's full of smart commentary on everything from pop culture, with a heavy emphasis on one of my favorite topics—books—and all sorts of topics. Read the introductory letter from the editors. My favorite piece so far is "The Top Ten Writers Whose Success You'll Resent This Year" by co-editor Mallory Ortberg. I'll contributing there soon!



I got a very pleasant surprise last week when I visited Literary Vixens, a beautifully designed site all about erotica and erotic romance, when I discovered that it's based in my town of Red Bank, New Jersey! They recently did a two part interview with Tiffany Reisz, author most recently of The Mistress, who also contributed to my Baby Got Back: Anal Erotica .