Liz Everly's Blog, page 42

In the End, Women Always Win

In our world, women win every time. Click to buy.

By Alexa Day

The first version of this post was much angrier. In the days since then, I’ve walked things back a little. I don’t feel great about doing that because it feels like I’m giving in, but the truth is that I’m exhausted. I’m not interested in going high. As a woman of color and a daughter and granddaughter of immigrants, I have serious concerns about the future, and smiling through it isn’t going to address any of those concerns. I’m grateful to, and grateful for, those people who have fearlessly called out wrongdoing and ignorance. I’m grateful to and for those people who have quietly stood up to support and defend those who need it. I’m so happy those people exist and that they’re coming forward.

But we live in a huge world.

Having said that, I need you to understand that I’m also not interested in defenses, justifications, or any attempts to belittle, mock, or minimize my position. I don’t like the way I’m looking at people after last week. I don’t like the position I’ve been placed in. I don’t like having to walk myself back or talk myself down. Make no mistake. I am still very, very angry. If you don’t see why that is, or if you feel that I should feel something a little more convenient for you, I don’t know that I can help you.

Okay? Great.

I spent part of last week trying to figure out how I could most be of service now. Where am I needed? What can I contribute?

Like many others, I checked in with friends and colleagues, allies and advocates, to let them know that I stand ready to assist them. A month or two ago, I had considered surrendering my law license. I’m glad I didn’t go through with that. I’ve never been more grateful for it, which is saying something after almost twenty years of calling law school the biggest mistake of my life.

Then, after taking a bit of time to regroup, I returned to my writing. I have projects already in motion, and I can neglect them no longer.

This was not an easy decision to make.

In the wake of last week’s events, I asked myself if there was any point to continuing to write empowering stories about black women. I would never have imagined that I live in a country with so many people who either fully embrace bigotry and hatred, or are simply apathetic toward it. Why should I keep creating strong female characters, especially women who look like me, in this toxic environment?

I eventually arrived at a conclusion.

I have to keep writing romance because women always win in romance.

Last week, I watched the documentary Love Between the Covers again; it’s a film about romance fiction and the women who read and write it. I’ve probably seen it four or five times already, but this time, I heard its message a bit differently. The romance genre is dominated by women. When the stories are not about women or written by women, they are designed for women’s consumption. The world of romance is a woman’s world.

It is immense, and it is immensely powerful. It generates the revenue that sustains genre fiction as a whole. It is a force to be reckoned with.

Romance is home to thousands of women-owned businesses. It enables women to support their households and families.

Romance gives women artists a voice and a massive stage from which to reach a hungry audience of women.

The women who drive romance, both as content creators and as readers, are thriving. Women will desperately need an environment in which to thrive in the coming days, months, and years.

But consider the stories themselves.

In a romance novel, a woman will come out of the darkness, and she will win.

A woman will overcome her fears, and she will win.

A woman will survive impossible odds, and she will win.

A woman will decide her destiny, and she will win.

A woman will discover her power, and she will win.

No matter what happens to her, in a romance novel, a woman will win. The lone exception to this is the male/male romance, and even then, a woman will likely win as a consumer or a content creator.

I predict that romance, which has always been the target of misogynistic abuse, will come under unprecedented attack in the new regime. The new regime fears a world where women are always victorious. It will do whatever it takes to suppress this world. It will try to convince women that this is foolish or unimportant or unrealistic. It will use women as the means to subjugate a world designed by and for women.

I cannot stand by and permit this to happen.

My mission is to continue creating worlds where women win.

Every time. Every single time.

I am delighted to report that I have returned to work.

Follow Lady Smut.

Alexa Day is the USA Today bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with heroines who are anything but innocent. In her fictional worlds, strong, smart women discover excitement, adventure, and exceptional sex. A former bartender, one-time newspaper reporter, and licensed attorney, she likes her stories with just a touch of the inappropriate, and her literary mission is to stimulate the intellect and libido of her readers.

Women Who Make America Great

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

While we deliberately work to not politicize here as we write for all women (and men) of diverse cultures and political beliefs, it’s no secret that we here at Lady Smut are deeply emotionally affected by the results of this year’s presidential election. We had planned to do a whole day celebrating the anticipated first female POTUS of America, but we, as it turned out, wisely decided to wait for the results “just in case”.

Like other women who write romance, I’ve found it difficult to focus on writing about love after an election that cemented a large part of America supporting hate, and I had a similar difficulty when pondering what to write for today’s blog.

And then I thought, why not? Why not writer that post I’d had planned to contribute to our celebratory group blog post heralding a few of the woman who already make America great.

Couple in Chief.

For our planned group post, I’d chosen to write about the enviable love story that is the marriage of FLOTUS and POTUS–Michelle and Barack Obama. A model couple to all extents and purposes. Not perfect; none are. But clearly two people not only continually in love with one another, but also who deeply respect one another and value each other’s accomplishments. Even under the eyes of the world, they make sure to carve out time for their relationship. Being bereft of inspiration to write romance (which, incidentally, is not a requirement. Inspiration, that is.) I sometimes think of our Couple in Chief and how fortunate we’ve been to watch their relationship play out.

Michelle Obama, it must be said, by her own right is a wonder of a woman. Her speech at the Democratic convention was nothing short of remarkable. She’s raised two outstanding daughters under the unkind eyes of a rabid media and sexist populace. She heralded the resounding call at the Democratic convention that became more and more apporpos the opposition got dirtier and dirtier: “When they go low, we go high!”

 

This month, Michelle Obama was featured in Vogue magazine with a photo spread by the great Annie Liebowitz. Already, haters have posted claiming she’s a sell out for doing such a glamorous portfolio. I say, why did it take this long to put these two together?

 

“Everything we do is by choice,” she will tell me. “I could have spent eight years doing anything, and at some level, it would have been fine. I could have focused on flowers. I could have focused on decor. I could have focused on entertainment. Because any First Lady, rightfully, gets to define her role. There’s no legislative authority; you’re not elected. And that’s a wonderful gift of freedom.”

—quote from Vogue magazine interview with Michelle Obama.

And let’s not forget her infinite cool factor, best embodied by her ride in the carpool karaoke

 

Mike. Drop.

Michelle stands tall–statuesque–at the top of the heap, but she also stood side by side with Hillary Rodham Clinton in the push to election. She may have lost the election, but Hillary finished her run with the same class and example she exhibited throughout her campaign. Even in her concession speech, she urge disappointed voters to keep pressing on for change, to remain unified, and to work towards a better world.

“We’ve spent a year and a half bringing together millions of people from every corner of our country to say with one voice that we believe that the American dream is big enough for everyone — for people of all races and religions, for men and women, for immigrants, for LGBT people, and people with disabilities. For everyone. So now, our responsibility as citizens is to keep doing our part to build that better, stronger, fairer America we seek. And I know you will.”

 If you think she’s going away from American public service, boy, are you in for a surprise.


Amidst the hullaboo of the election, I’m sure I’m not the only one who missed that the first Latina senator was elected to office this year. Lady Smut blogger Madeline Iva pointed this out last week alerting me to this glimmer of hope amidst tragedy. The granddaughter of a Mexican immigrant, Senator-elect Catherine Cortez Mastro won a close race in Nevada.

If there’s some glimmer of hope, Nevada elected its first Latina senator: https://t.co/MEw37zSdft #ElectionNight

— Latina Magazine (@Latina) November 9, 2016

//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

“Our government is built on a system of checks and balances, and I will promise you this: I will be one hell of a check and balance on him,” she said during her victory speech on Wednesday. “Tonight we start our fight together… The diversity here is our strength and we will continue to be strong.”

“It’s not my voice I’m taking to Washington, it’s all of yours.”

–Senator-elect Catherine Cortez Mastro victory speech

26 Jun 2013, Austin, Texas, USA — Texas Sen. Wendy Davis, D-Fort Worth, begins a filibuster of SB 5 a bill that would tighten regulations on abortion providers in Texas, on the last day of the special session — Image by © Bob Daemmrich/Corbis

Let’s not forget warrior Wendy Davis who tackled practically the entire establishment of Texas when serving as a state senator to fight Senate Bill 5, which included more restrictive abortion regulations for Texas women, in an eleven hour filibuster. While her run for governor of Texas was ultimately unsuccessful, I’d be very surprised if we didn’t see her making a push on the national level soon.

And last, but never least, Senator Elizabeth Warren, that battle-ax who kept chopping and chopping and chopping away at the Republican nominee’s every absurd tweet and ignorant statement. Elizabeth Warren takes no shit from anyone–man or woman, and especially not men like the one recently elected. She will be laser-focused on this administration and may even lead the charge in the 2020 elections.

“We will stand up to bigotry. No compromises ever on this one. We will fight back against attacks on Latinos, on African Americans, on women’s, on Muslims, on immigrants, on disabled Americans, on anyone….Whether Donald Trump sits in a glass tower or sits in the White House, we will not give an inch on this, not now, not ever.”

–Elizabeth Warren at an AFL-CIO meeting last week

These are the women who already make America great. Right here. Right now. They are setting the bar into the stratosphere. As politicians, as advocates, as fighters, and as women they are leading the charge, a charge that we need now more than ever.

Follow Lady Smut. We’re already stronger together.

Writer, singer, editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten Hallie Krum avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities straight is hard enough work. She writes smart, sharp, and sexy romantic suspense. Her debut romantic suspense novel,   Wild on the Rocks,  is now available. Visit her website at  www.kierstenkrum.com  and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.

Untouchable, An Erotic Billionaire BDSM Free Read

By Elizabeth SaFleur

Continuing our series of Sexy Sunday Snippets, below is a free excerpt from Untouchable, a billionaire BDSM erotic romance. Wealthy, D.C. corporate attorney Carson Drake is the master of the romantic pre-emptive strike—until he meets London, the woman who tests every assumption he’s ever had about love.

~~~~~

The woman pushed off the railing and made her way to the circular staircase on the far side of the balcony.

Carson left his drink on a side table and proceeded toward the intriguing figure. Why the hell not? Rarely did he approach someone so early in the evening, but she piqued his interest. Perhaps she sought what he did—pleasure with no complications.

That’s why he liked Club Accendos. No hidden agenda. Defined roles. Clear deadlines—usually the end of the night. No one gets hurt. He laughed to himself. Well, not unless they want the pain.

As soon as the woman’s foot hit the second step down, her familiarity clicked into place. Holy hell. London.

In his peripheral vision, he watched another man join his progression toward her. He plowed through the crowd to reach the staircase first. He cut off the other Dominant with a flick of his eye. I’ll fight for this one. The man understood the warning. He walked by, unbothered by the nanosecond exchange.

As soon as London had descended halfway down the stairs, she froze. Her petulant chin lifted as she recognized him. Within seconds, she resumed her descent, her eyes full of her usual bravado.

When London reached the final step, he held out his hand to help her down. “Hello, sugar.”

She ignored his offer and tried to scoot by him. He captured her arm, lightly. He didn’t want to frighten her, merely get her attention. Her eyes flamed with annoyance and blood rushed to his cock.

She raised her chin. “Excuse me, but we haven’t been introduced.” Of course her voice contained her signature, throaty impudence.

He raised his eyebrow. Playing games? Fine. “I’m Carson Drake. Sit and talk?” He leveled his voice to the business tone she’d recognize, less of a Dominant and more of a diplomat.

Her shoulders relaxed a little but her eyes held debate.

He took her hesitation as a “yes.” He circled her waist and led her away from the crowd toward one of the side doors. As a Tribunal Council member, he had a private room—far from any potential interruptions.

London stopped short. “Where are we going?”

“Someplace more quiet.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you don’t have to.” He dropped his hold on her waist.

“Just talking?”

“Yes. Witnesses saw us leave. You’re safe.”

She let him pull her through a gothic arched door. A bodyguard closed it behind them.

He moved them down an expansive hallway lined with closed doors. Only after ushering her inside the last door at the end did he let go of her elbow. She immediately crossed her arms.

“It’s okay, sugar. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, so I can’t stay long.” She worked her bottom lip and shuffled her weight from foot to foot. Her eyes also darted to the bed in the corner. Perhaps she thought he’d take her right away? She knew his identity. She should know he was committed to due diligence. And he had to know why she was here—the last place on earth he’d expect London Chantelle.

He sat in one of two cushioned chairs set before a lit fireplace. He appreciated her luscious curves, beautifully illuminated by the amber glow of the low fire.

“Sit.” He beckoned her to join him.

“I like standing.”

“Sit.” The commanding tones of a Dom brought the expected result. As she lowered herself into the chair, her ponytail licked one shoulder. “Your hair is beautiful in this light,” he said. “More golden brown than I noticed before.”

She swallowed. “Thank you, um . . . I go by Tatiana.”

“It doesn’t suit you. Why not go with, say . . . London?”

Her mouth dropped to an “O” in alarm, and she leapt from her seat.

“Sit. Down.” He pointed to the chair.

“Please.” Her hazel eyes implored lenience, and her tone of voice surprised him. He liked the beseeching quality. It was quite a departure from her customary, unadulterated demand.

“Please what? You thought a simple mask and change of clothing meant I wouldn’t recognize you?”

“I hoped . . . maybe . . . I can’t do this.”

Before she could complete two steps, he’d risen from his chair and laid his hand on her shoulder. She stopped. He pressed his torso against her back, sending her firm ass into his crotch. He decided to like her stiletto boots. He was a tall man and they made her the perfect height. He waited to see if she’d object, at which point he’d back off. She didn’t move.

He pulled off the elastic holding her hair captive. A curtain of gold-laced chestnut silk cascaded free. He brushed her mane to one side and bared her shoulder. “That’s better.”

Her breathing sped up. “You said just talking.”

“Still, sweetness.” He inhaled her scent of Ivory soap and cinnamon Christmas cookies before stepping backward. “We are talking.”

She twisted to face him. “Carson, please . . .”

He liked how her emotions turned in an instant. She’d test his abilities to direct her psychology in a scene. He nearly laughed at himself. How quickly I have her bound and pleasured in my mind. “There. Now that’s a start. I rather like you begging me.”

“I don’t beg.”

And there goes that chin. “We’ll see.” He took another step back. His instincts told him she wouldn’t bolt.

“Take a seat, London.” He returned to his chair. “When you do, hands in your lap. After you listen to me you can decide if you wish to leave. It will be your choice.”

She hesitated, then nestled her behind onto the chair opposite him. She placed her hands in her lap. The thumb of one hand worked the palm of the other.

“Take off your mask. Show me your pretty face.”

She took a deep breath as her elegant fingers slipped off her disguise, pulling the fastening ribbon through her perfect hair. He wanted to capture her cheeks in his hands. He’d rub off the mask indents and erase the worry imprinted on her forehead.

“How long have you been without a master?” he asked.

“I-I’m not . . .” Her jawline hardened. “It’s none of your business.”

“That’s a shame. I’m good at business.” His mouth broke into a smile at the thought of bending her over her desk, papers sticking to her bared breasts, pens falling to the floor. He’d smack her ass with that leather portfolio she carried around like a shield. He wouldn’t stop until her engraved initials imprinted her skin.

“Why did you bring me here?” she whispered.

“You’re looking for a Dom. I’m a Dom looking for a sub.”

She flinched at his final word. “What do you want, Carson?”

What I want. Did it matter? He’d given up what he wanted long ago—a spirited submissive who matched his desires. Someone who might actually stick with him and not drop him the minute a better offer came through. He didn’t allow himself to think finding such a woman was possible anymore.

“Time. Willingness. Pleasure.” He folded his hands and laid his chin on his knuckles. “Now, I want to know what you want.”

“No, you don’t.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Toying with me will not get you anywhere, sweetness.”

“Isn’t that what you are doing with me?”

“Hardly.” He let silence take over the space.

“Then what?” she whispered after long minutes.

“Patience will be your first lesson tonight. Then I’ll consider you.”

“Consider me?” She gave him a hardened, fuck-off look.

“Yes. Last time. What do you want?”

He let a few seconds tick by. Then he stood. “If you won’t tell me why you’re here, what you seek, then I can’t help.”

“I-I didn’t mean . . . it isn’t easy . . .”

“You must answer my questions when I ask them. No delay. It’s for your safety and mine.”

Her lips pursed, her signal she realized she was losing. Her sassiness had its usual alluring appeal—futile, but adorable. She licked her bottom lip, the subtle move urging him forward.

“Stand,” he said.

She stood cautiously.

“What is your safeword?” he asked.

“Excuse me? A-a scene. With you? You’re a client. If anything ever got back—”

“Then we would both lose. And I don’t lose.”

“No, You take what you want and damn the consequences.”

“London.” He walked toward her and she backed around the chair. “What are you afraid of? Afraid you might get what you want? Experience what you’ve longed for?”

She let out a huff, but continued to retreat as he advanced. He sent her in a backward circle until she closed in on the canopied bed. Yes, most definitely submissive. The urge to discover how deep her desires ran raged through him like a brushfire.

“How would you know what I long for?” Her haughty chin jutted out.

“I want to know, London. Tell me.”

“Why?” She’d backed up until she connected with the bedpost.

“Fair question. And one I’ll answer. Given you and I dance well together at the boardroom table, why wouldn’t we here? Had I known your proclivities I might have offered. Why didn’t you come to me before?” How had he missed her signs?

“B-but you hate me.”

Now he was puzzled. “No, I don’t. You sometimes . . . irritate, but I could never hate you. Surely you noticed my tendencies.”

“Being a bully in a boardroom does not make you a Dominant I’d be interested in.”

“Ouch, London. That hurt.” He slapped his chest above his heart but kept his face stony.

“I didn’t think you could feel pain.”

“Everyone feels pain.” Her lips parted when he closed the last inch of distance between them. His thighs touched hers, and he softened his voice. “It pleases me you’re here. There’s no use in fighting this chemistry.” He hooked a thumb on his waistband. “One weekend.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“What will you do with your harem?”

He unbuckled his belt. “Your second lesson. Don’t force discipline with a smart mouth.”

“I don’t have that kind of time.” She raised her impertinent jawline—again.

Lesson three: discipline your haughty chin.

“Not enough time to learn discipline or not enough time, in general?” The loud rasp of leather yanked through his belt loops sent her attention to his torso.

“What are you doing?” Her panicked gaze shot to his face.

“I don’t have a collar on me.”

“I am wholly disinterested in being collared.”

“One weekend, London.” He grasped one of her hips with his free hand. “If you’re disappointed at any time, you can walk. I’ll never speak of it again. Our work together will go unaffected. No one—and I mean no one—but us will know.”

“Would you put that in writing?” Her eyes filled with mischief.

Priceless. London lured him toward a lightning storm. He could play. Hell, nothing appealed in the moment more than a weekend playing with her. Yes, this is what he wanted. Now he needed to know if she was willing.

“I’ll do one better.” He snaked the belt around her waist until the leather rested against her hips.

“I’m not a notch on a belt.”

“You could never be a notch, London Chantelle. You’re the whole belt, sugar.”

Her face softened, and the playfulness in her eyes died. He recognized the deliberation behind them, the wonder if she’d be safe, here and at work. She needn’t have worried. She might get scared, but mutual satisfaction was the only way his brand of sexual fulfillment worked.

“Say yes or no.” He pressed his torso to her corseted body, the last space between her body and his obliterated. “But say yes.”

“What will happen if I say yes?”

“What you want.  What you’ve probably always wanted.”

Her eyes misted with a surprising vulnerability. “Yes.”

~~~~~

 

What’s next? Read more in Untouchable, an Elite Doms of Washington novel.

Until then follow Lady Smut and get what you’ve always wanted, too.

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary erotic romance and she’s not afraid to get a little graphic about it  — “it” being the sex, the BDSM or Washington, DC society, which she regularly features in her series, the Elite Doms of Washington.

Dear men over forty,

by Isabelle Drake.

I little while back, I had an experience that got me thinking.

While at an intimate party, a guy came up to me and gave me the once over. You know what I’m talking about, that head to toe assessment. While I’m wondering why he didn’t have the decency to at least do that from a distance, so I could politely turn away and save us both additional awkwardness (and in his case some wasted time), he says, “hi.”

Before I finish this story, and get back to to the real point of this post, let me tell you guys, we hate the hi. Here are a woman’s options in response to the hi.

Be polite and say hi even if we have no interest in continuing the conversation. Most of us pick this, because of societal expectations and all that.
Say nothing, look away. The risk here is the follow -up hi.
Say nothing, snarl obviously, look away. Result, being bummed or annoyed that we had to act that way just to be left alone.

You’re thinking, what if she likes me? Wants me to say “hi”? If she likes you, don’t waste time on the hi. Just start talking. Bonus, if she doesn’t like you like that, she may be happy to chat about whatever it is you’ve just brought up.

Ok. Off that soap box and back to my party story then on to the soap box I came here to actually get up on.

After I reply with my polite hi, he asks me, “Are you here with anyone?” Me: yes. Him: Who? Me, pointing to my date, that guy. Him: The big one? Me thinking, yeah, at 6’4″ and 220, I guess he’s big: Yes. He gives my date that once over, then, I guess deciding I’m not worth getting punched in the face by the big guy, shrugs, says not a single word, then walks off. Seriously? No, this isn’t the only time this sort of thing has happened.

So, gents over forty, have you ever wondered why your wife/girlfriend/office romance/favorite barista and every other reasonable woman in your life reads super hot books with to-die-for heroes?

Aside from the fact that these books rock, it might be because these women miss days when a man spent more than three minutes trying to get their attention, seduce them, and get them into bed. I know, at forty+ it may seem like there isn’t time to waste on sexy getting-to-know-you conversation and that split-second too-long-to-be-polite stares might not net a night of sex, but I’m here to tell you, the night of sex you do after putting in some effort will be much, much better for it.

Contrast these approaches:

Approach A. You see a woman at a bar that you think is hot so you go right up to her. Instead of asking her name, you ask her if she has her own car there. She says yes. Then, you impress her with, “I’m a dentist because I’m good with my hands; want to go to my place? Okay if we take your car?”

Approach B. You see a woman at a bar. You think she’s hot, so you stare at her. She catches you starting and stares back. But then looks away. You move around to the other side of the bar. You stare again. She catches you again, stares back a bit longer, then looks away. You repeat this two more times. You do not get impatient. Instead, you get that her being stared at is turning her on. As a mature guy, you know if she didn’t think you were hot she would not stare back. Finally, when her body language tells you she’d ready to talk–shoulders facing you–you go up and say hi. You tell her your name. You ask her name. Then, you ask her something fun. Note ask – not tell. Why? She does not want to be impressed, she wants to have fun.

Since you are a man, I’ll be direct. Approach B is better.

Married men, you aren’t off the hook. You still can and should seduce your wife, so you too are going to want to go with approach B.

It’s never too late to switch it up and put some effort in. Next time a woman near you is reading something hot and looks up from the page with a misty expression and a soft sigh on her lips, remember what I told you.

Also remember, just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you can’t follow us here at Lady Smut. We’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep everyone–women and men–up to date.

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers.

Toni Morrison Says This is the Time to Regroup

by Madeline Iva

Does your soul hurt?

I’ve always tried to respond to shocking, unexpected set-backs with action.  It gets the body going, moves all the stress molecules around until finally those toxic chemicals drain away and at least my body feels back to normal again.  Taking action helps us feel more empowered, more in control.  It reminds us that we are strong and helps us remember the big picture.

If you want to take some kind of action, move the dial a fraction of an inch towards something better than what is happening right now, what do you do? Where do you go? Here are a few options…

From Man Repeller: Actions to Take Post Election — this link has lots of places to donate and other sources at the bottom to check out.  We’re talking donations and getting more information.

Here are 27 Little things you can do from Bustle.

More on What you can do now — from Huffpo.

Let’s not forget:

We now have a LATINA SENATOR!

Her victory takes place forgotten in a mine-field of blasted emotions, hopes, and prospects–but it’s still important. Catherine Cortez Masto–congrats.

People, that’s all I’ve got.

 

 

 

 

“The question isn’t who’s going to let me; it’s who is going to stop me.”

– Ayn Rand

****

From Isabelle Drake, thankful for strong women.

DID YOU STAY UP ALL NIGHT WATCHING THE ELECTION? NO? THEN YOU MISSED A F**K OF A LOT OF STRESS

We got this one, Susan B. (I think…)

I’ve experienced this (historic) election day in waves:

THE EXCITEMENT WAVE: 8:00am EST

I couldn’t get any work done today. I have things going on – my book came out last week. A blog tour for my book started yesterday. I got the galleys in the mail that need to be looked at right now.  But I knew I wasn’t going to get anything done today.  My book is all about a magic geek who wants power –because I think we need to get more young women and girls used to the idea that it’s okay NOT to be the insecure, shy, modest girl.  It’s okay to want to claim power.  It’s okay.

Look! My book–I’ll get to it tomorrow.

I’m too hyped.

THE EMOTIONAL WAVE: 2:14pm EST

I went to vote in the afternoon. Absolutely quiet at our voting center, as usual.

Before going I talked with an older friend of mine who always volunteers as an election official.  She said for the first time ever they were advised about what to do if someone came in with a gun, etc.

She also said that there would also be plain clothes police in each voting center of our fair city. Plain clothes—because uniforms would intimidate people. So, being the curious writer I am, I looked for them.  Indeed, at each entrance to where we voted was some young, fit, hipster guy playing with his phone. The guy in the voter booth behind me was hunched over his vote before I arrived, as I voted, and after I left.

There you have it.

When I got home I texted my half-sister asking if my grandmother (102) voted today. I was curious if she was as excited or more then when she was six and women got the vote. Then I just busted out crying because I was so moved thinking about that.

The weepies lasted through admiring all the pictures of women in white pantsuits, or any pantsuits at all…

Pantsuit nation.

NOTHING…IS…HAPPENING! 5:45pm EST

My sweetie noticing me hitting refresh on the computer rather aggressively and suggested we watch a movie instead of staring at my computer screen. Good idea! Also (shhhh) between you and me he is cranky as F*** with worry.  So we watched a movie and then tuned in at 8:30 – and…

OH MY F**KING CHRIST—ARE THEY TRYING TO KILL US? 9:02pm EST

I tuned in and JESUS! They’re saying he’s ahead in Virginia – Virginia! Until you see in the tiny print that they haven’t counted the most populace northern part of the state yet, or that it’s only one percent vote in or some other yank on my chain.

This is not good for our health people!

A writer friend texts me.

Rachel Maddow may commit seppuku on live television.

Good call!

And I don’t blame her if she does.

The Clinton people are on TV—literally saying–“Everyone take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.”

I trust you, Clinton people. Don’t f**k with me.

GETTING A GRIP: 9:23pm EST

Okay — I’m folding laundry, thinking about making kale chips. Starting to feel tired. Sweetie has trained me to have the bed time of a nine year old, so I’m starting to fade a little. Have champagne in the fridge – hope I survive the election/stress to drink it.

I mean, I get it.  Hillary’s people got the vote out–and so there are a LOT of votes to count.  Early returns suck because Democratic strong holds are often in the cities, which have the biggest populations—and naturally therefore take the longest to count. So you sit there biting your nails while it looks like the republicans have it all sewn up.

Just checked the internet and read that Clinton could still win without FL. Whew. Have eaten all the cookies in the house.  Have just remembered that what “I read it on the internet” is not really knowledge.

ON EDGE OF HEART PALPITATIONS 9:38pm

Why didn’t I listen to ALEXA DAY and watch LUKE CAGE or THE CROWN instead? Why? Why? Why?

I roll through CNN, MSNBC, NBC, whatever is on Twitter — tonight it’s BUZZFEED (??) and FIVETHIRTYEIGHT.  :(  I keep muting off one and flying to the other.  Very aware that their agenda is to *make news* and if this means keeping us on the edge of our seat then they will do that and do it well.  So they’re no help at all, is what I’m trying to say.

And NBC is talking to Glenn Beck.  I can’t even.  The mute button is on.

LOSING MY RELIGION, 10:16pm

WHAT THE F*CK IS GOING ON IN FLORIDA???? This is killing me.

F**king FBI.  F**king emails.

I brood on how deep the vein of misogyny goes in our rural counties. I can’t take any commentary.  She just took New Mexico.  I’m staring at the map on CNN willing everything to turn blue.

Grieving here.  Let’s go through the stages:

Disbelief. Yes. It was supposed to be easier than this.

Anger.  Very much so, yes.

I’m at bargaining at this point.

I SWEAR to the heavens that when Hillary wins, I will never ever EVER take it for granted again that a candidate I really, really, want to win will do so with no help from me other than voting.

I SWEAR I will volunteer at least sixty hours per major presidential election to help my candidate. Hillary, when she’s up for re-election, and whomever after that.

I shudder to think of what happens if things go the other way.  I am not going there.  I am not.

I’m going to check back in at 11pm.  If I live that long.

It’s Trump 167 to Clinton 131 right now. I try to calm myself in the face of chuckling newscasters–because oh, boy, you all would just love that wouldn’t you, mass media–some huge upset, some last minute dramatic turn of events. 

This is what I was thinking to calm myself:

When they say Florida is 95% in and where are the numbers going to come from? –actually, there ARE still numbers that can come in.  These are just projections.  There are voters out there standing in long lines.  They’re going to vote.  They haven’t finished tabulating.

Our state just went for Clinton.  Whew. We did our bit.  I would not have been able to live with myself if it didn’t.  I really wouldn’t.

Time to build the bomb shelter and go live in it for four years. 11:03 EST

She just jumped to 190.  I’m looking around–oh, she got California.

Me: “Hey, Clinton got Hawaii!”

Sweetie: “Why’s that exciting?”

Me: “I don’t know, I’m just excited about anything at this point.”

Everyone on fb is suddenly unhappy Sweetie says. 11:05pm 

No, my writer friend tweets: Ruh-roh. He just won North Carolina.

I feel sick.  I feel SO SICK. In my stomach.  Like deep waves of sick.

From the NYTimes. E tu, Brute?

The bonds market just plunged & the Asian stock market is in free fall.  11:30pm est

My writer friend tweeted me: Goodbye abortion rights. Goodbye Planned Parenthood.

We text jokes about holding each other’s hair while vomiting.

I text: I’m shocked about Utah. I thought they hated him. 

She says: Apparently not.  Hell, I don’t like her, and I’m a democrat.

She says: We would have won with Bernie.

I text: But when are we going to have a female president? Will we see it in your life time or mine?

She texts: Apparently not.

HOPE IS DYING HARD, BUT NOT COMPLETELY EXTINGUISHED 11:56pm EST 

It’s still possible.  We’re adding and doing the electoral math.  But it’s not looking good.  On the other hand, these are projections.  We’re taking them as gospel.  My hope is that people take the time to add and do the math and count allllllllll the votes.

But we’re feeling just so very, very sick. On the internet, hitting refresh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eyes Wide Shut: How I Plan to Avoid Election Coverage

If watching The Crown on Election Night is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

By Alexa Day

Pretty big day here in the States. Big enough that I probably don’t have to tell my friends in other nations what I’m talking about.

At long last, today is Election Day. Tomorrow, an election cycle that defies easy description will be over.

Because a great many people spent the last minutes of their lives in terror and agony so that I could vote, I will vote at some point today. And then I’ll go home and studiously avoid election coverage.

The way I see it, I have already done my duty as an American citizen. I researched the candidates, made up my mind, and kept half an eye out for information that might cause me to swing the other way. Today, I’m going to vote. That’s where my job ends.

I don’t need to see any more election coverage. I’m all set. I know a lot of you folks will be all over it for as long as it takes, but to me, watching the news today is going to be like watching a plane crash. From inside the plane.

Sure, my chances of surviving the crash are pretty good. That doesn’t mean I have to keep my eyes open.

I know I’m not the only one who is sick to death of election coverage. I started to see people unplugging as early as Sunday. So I thought I’d share some alternatives with you. If you want a way out of election coverage, I hope you find one here.

I’m going to presume that you’ve already considered some of the alternatives. You don’t need me to tell you that it might be a good time for a nice big glass of wine and a long hot bath. Or an evening of online shopping at The Stockroom or Good Vibrations or with our friends at Unbound. The Stockroom has a delightful sale happening right now, friends. And Unbound has a really cheeky Ballot Box — also on sale — for your enjoyment. Just saying.

If you’re a fan of robot sex (and you should know by now that I am), you’ll want to download Christine d’Abo’s Batteries Not Required. It’s a futuristic Christmas story featuring a heroine who must choose between sex robot and her devoted AI. Deep space has never been so hot. Seriously, if you’re going to say no to robot sex, I’m not sure I know you.

Click it and journey into history.

If you’re still feeling civic-minded, you should maybe have a look at Daughters of a Nation: A Black Suffragette Historical Romance Anthology. You’ll find four novellas featuring heroines involved in the movement for women’s suffrage. You know how much I love underserved periods in history, and I definitely do not think we’ve been paying attention to black suffragettes. The narrow gaze of popular entertainment certainly prefers the civil rights movement. But this anthology promises some exciting pairings in a variety of time periods, and I’m looking forward to discovering just how hot history can be.

And then there’s Netflix. Netflix has rescued me from so much of this year’s election coverage. Not only is it blissfully free of election news, it’s also enabled me to avoid campaign ads. The only place I see campaign ads these days is at work, and I only see a couple of them during a half-hour lunch break.

(This gives me hope for dodging trailers for the next Fifty Shades movie, but that’s another story for another day.)

Election Day is a perfect opportunity for me to rejoin Luke Cage, which I started watching a while back. When Rebecca Brooks told me that Misty Knight was in this superhero series, I knew I’d have to make room for a mini-binge or three. At first, I figured the series had been bumped over to Netflix because network television wasn’t ready for a superhero show set in Harlem with a predominantly black cast. I still think that’s part of the reason we won’t see Luke Cage on regular cable.

But honestly, Luke Cage is not really a story built for TV. To say that it’s a bit gritty is like saying there’s a little water in an Olympic-size pool. It’s violent. No one shies away from language. And it is spellbinding. Well worth your attention, even if Misty Knight’s hair isn’t anywhere near big enough. At least not by episode five.

Misty Knight is a girl after my own heart — this is not complicated for her at all.

I am more likely, however, to spend Election Night watching The Crown. I checked out the first two episodes over the weekend, and it’s taken everything I have to save the rest of the season for tonight. Tina Brown with The New York Times agrees; her recap of the first two episodes praises the drama as an alternative to election news.

The Crown breathes luxury. It’s sumptuous to behold, more so than I expected from a drama about Queen Elizabeth II. Everything looks rich, from the settings to the costumes to the quality of the film itself. The cast is incredible. John Lithgow is working it as Winston Churchill, and watching Matt Smith as Prince Philip made me forget he was ever The Doctor. (In fairness, I don’t think any of the new Doctors was The Doctor. My loyalties lie with Tom Baker.)

But I really want to talk about Jared Harris. I didn’t think it was possible to love Jared Harris more than I do. I’m a big fan of villains and hard-asses, and I love the quiet, understated power he brings to those roles. But as King George VI, a man who understands that his daughter will be queen sooner than anyone else suspects, he is vulnerable and warm in a way that makes his limited time on screen absolutely indelible.

I’m committed to not spoiling anything, but be on the lookout for two scenes. The king’s wedding present for his daughter tugged at me in an unexpected way. And the conversation he has with Prince Philip at the end of the first episode made me stand up and pump my fist. You have got to see that for yourselves.

I don’t mind DC at all when it’s sexed up like this. Click to get the series.

It’s nice to have something to look forward to on Election Day, but my colleague Elizabeth SaFleur reminded me that there’s something larger at stake, even larger than the future of the country. When I think of Elizabeth, I always think of D.C. at its sexiest. Her series, Elite Doms of Washington, takes place in a capital city that’s constantly smoldering. She shared with me her plans for avoiding the election coverage.

Elizabeth plans to spend the evening immersed in a Black Dagger Brotherhood audiobook. At 20+ hours, that should keep her away from the TV quite nicely. She also plans to do some star-gazing “outside on my screened-in porch … with my dog, both of us wrapped up in a blanket.”

(By the way, if you can’t get outside to watch nature, just know that The Weather Channel is planning nine hours of beautiful, soothing nature images tonight for your viewing pleasure.)

Elizabeth says that watching the stars in their courses “ensure[s] I keep the proper perspective that only star-gazing can bring: this time of discord will pass as it has over the ages. But just in case, I’ll light a candle for this world that no matter who wins we will move forward, gracefully, peacefully, and with unity.”

That’s my hope for the world, too, in the long term.

I just have to get through tonight first.

 

Not the Romance You Were Expecting: Brutal Game by Cara McKenna

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

It’s no secret that we here at Lady Smut are big–like, HUGE–fans of author Cara McKenna. Do a quick search of our site and you’ll see she practically has her own page here, if we did that sort of thing.

There’s good reason for this. McKenna writes complex, out-of-the-box, very sexy stories about a man and a woman, or a man and a man, or a man and a woman and a man, that are often deeply emotional and quite surprising. One of the things I like most about her is she seems to come up with pairings and scenarios I would never have imagined. Love in a mental hospital? Check. Love between a prisoner and a teacher? Check. And yet, none of these seems outlandish or disassociated from the real world because she invests her stories and characters with deep authenticity and realness that appears effortless but really, really is not.

Click on image to buy!

Enter Brutal Game, the sequel to McKenna’s popular Willing Victim in which a woman named Laurel enters into a sexual relationship with Flynn, a big, rough, bare-knuckle bruiser with a kink for rape role-play. By the end of Willing Victim, Laurel and Flynn realized they both want more than role-play sexy times and begin their HFN. (For the record, McKenna updated and re-released Willing Victim earlier this year. Lady Smut blogger Alexa Day prefers the original version. I couldn’t tell any real difference, but it’d been a while between readings.)

Brutal Game picks up about nine months after the end of Willing Victim. Laurel and Flynn are still together. “I love yous” have been exchanged and life moves onward apace until something unexpected happens that forces them to deep dive into the depths of their still new relationship and discover whether it can withstand the storm.

Look! A blurb!

Nine months ago Laurel walked into an underground boxing gym and found herself mesmerized by a stranger named Flynn—a man who fights hard and loves harder. Since then he’s taken her places where fear and curiosity clash in exquisite pleasure, where trust is the price of ecstasy, and in time their brutal game has become her kink as much as his.

But when real life intrudes and hard decisions demand action, will these two whose bond is rooted in fantasy take shelter in each other’s arms, or discover that lust is no substitute for a lasting commitment?

Click on image to buy!

Brutal Game is an exceptional story, an emotional tale about what comes after the HFN as a burgeoning relationship is severely tested. It’s the rare romance novel that feels rooted in real life, at times uncomfortably so, where the heroine and hero must confront a life-changing decision with care and grace while discovering whether their relatively new love can endure the outcome. It is emotional, genuine, shocking, gentle, sexy, sweet, and ultimately, truly lovely. A must read.

SPOILER ALERT:

Okay, Imma gonna spoil the holy crap outta this book from here on in because I cannot talk about why this book is so good without revealing key parts of the story. I highlighted the hell outta this story, and you’re gonna hear why. So DO NOT READ FURTHER if you don’t want a MAJOR PLOT POINT ruined for you. And I mean hacked to bloody death ruined. Really. STOP NOW.

******************************************************************************************************************************************

Still with me? Here we go.

THE REFRESHING PRACTICALITY OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP

Flynn has a refreshing healthy understanding of how his head works and what he needs in a relationship. He feels lucky to have found a woman who not only enthusiastically participates in his kink and gets off on it for her own reasons, but who also suits him outside the bed play. Laurel isn’t just suffering his kink.  She loves being the woman who can give him that needed outlet tied up with knowing that while he says horrible things to her while they role-play, beneath that is a deeper bond of trust and a gift only she can provide him. She’s also learned to notice when their kink goes beyond the line of play midway, eclipsed by the love they share and how they turn each other on, kink or kink-free.

It was the taboo, the wrongness of wanting it that made it hot. Or for Laurel, it was Flynn. It was the balance of a man strong enough to hurt her for real also being the one she trusted above all others. And it was having the power to grant his darkest, dirtiest wishes, and to see and hear and feel what it did to him.

 

Always contradictions with Flynn. Selfish and catering at once. Cruelty underpinned by blind trust. A no-nonsense, frequently tactless man, but under the surface possessing so much tenderness and loyalty and intuition.

 

Never let this moment cease to floor and humble her. Never let this man fail to amaze, and never let her fail to excite him. Never let familiarity curdle to boredom, she prayed. Let this feel so easy and so wrong and so right, always.

There is also this casual practicality to the physicality of their sex. It’s not all orgasms and starbursts every time and that’s okay. In Brutal Game, Laurel knows when her body is cooperating to get her there and when it’s not and Flynn is clued into this too. He knows the difference between sex and intimacy and doesn’t want one without the other if she’s not with him. She gets cramps during intercourse and doesn’t hide them, or needs an angle or position adjusted to ease pain, none of which squicks Flynn out and it shouldn’t.

The female body was like a car with no manual, a mystery designed to confound and bewitch the simple male brain. A man was lucky to get invited to dick around under the hood and go for a spin, but fuck if any of them knew how to service the thing.

 

“It amazes me how unafraid of the female body you are.”

“Helpful when you’re a straight guy.”

“No, you have no idea how terrified guys are of women’s bodily functions. And how gross it makes us feel. But you really don’t give a shit.”

Toward the end of Outlander, while tending Jamie, cleaning up his puke and blood leftover from Black Jack’s torture, Claire ruefully acknowledges that there’s a vast difference between romance and intimacy. That’s always stuck with me because usually there’s abundant emotional (and sexual, of course) intimacy, but little physical intimacy because “that’s not romantic.” We’re reading romance for escape or for fantasy and physical intimacy often is neither, and yet, it can be.

They’re also not always in each other’s pockets off the page. They’ll go a few days or even a week without seeing one another because life interferes. They live separately for good reasons and discuss needing emotional space without a BFD emo scene with wailing and gnashing of teeth. Almost like real couples dealing with life together and with HEA and HFN being the proper conclusion to a romance novel, we don’t get enough of that reality resonance.

LAUREL’S DEPRESSION

Laurel’s depression is revealed in Willing Victim, along with the fact that her mother was severely depressed, which significantly affected Laurel’s upbringing. Laurel fears becoming like her, especially since she wallows in her waitress job at a tourist trap restaurant in Boston’s Quincy Market rather than at a job that utilizes her engineering degree. Depression sucks and it’s often tough to talk about. Loved ones often don’t quite know how to deal with it. I wrote about the “Writing Through Depression” session that was held at the RWA National Conference in 2015. Several women there shared stories of how their husbands or partners not only didn’t support them in their depression, but often berated them for depressive episodes and symptoms. But in Brutal Game, Laurel’s depression is just par for the course with Flynn. He’s not a big fan for her sake, but he doesn’t love her in spite of the challenges that come with depression, it’s just a part of what it means to love her and be in a relationship with her. It’s not “oh my God, she has depression.” It’s matter of fact. Not embarrassing. Not a burden. Just a part of who she is that is a part of their lives together. Ditto with the anxiety Flynn copes with that drives him to the fighting ring to calm the noise in his head. Laurel gets that this is part of who Flynn is and this is what he needs to do to deal with it.

She’d gone through a long blue patch over the holidays, and at his urging got prescribed an antidepressant she could take on an as-needed basis. It seemed to be helping a lot.

 

“I feel like you get me. Whatever it is I offer, it’s something you want, or need. And if it isn’t always easy to be with you, when you’re depressed or whatever, I know I’m not easy to be with all the time either. I know I’m kind of a dick and I know being with me, sexually, takes you way outside your comfort zone.”

“That’s really not much of a sacrifice,” she said, blushing faintly.

“But it’s intense, and it takes effort. I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a favor,” she added.

“Neither’s taking care of you when you’re having a hard time.”

Tears welled and slipped free, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. “Thanks. It’s nice to hear you put it that way.”

“And takin’ care of you right now, this ain’t easy either. But it’s not a favor. It’s not even a duty. It’s just what we do for each other.”

My note after this exchange simply says “That’s love.”

THE PREGNANCY:

Despite taking realistic precautions, Laurel becomes pregnant. Laurel and Flynn seriously discuss abortion as an option. Neither of them know what they want or what to do, but Flynn makes it clear the choice is Laurel’s as she’s the one who would bear the most burden carrying and raising their child.

“‘My body, my choice’–that’s about the right to have an abortion, not about women being the ones who have to make the decision for the couple.”

“This little clump of tissue or whatever it looks like–if you decided to turn it into a baby–is going to have a bigger impact on your life than mine. It’d derail your career for the next couple of years at least. It’d force you to figure out how serious you are about me, and probably sooner than you planned to.”

We talk in Romancelandia of about that golden unicorn of alpha men who love and respect women, but Flynn really is an alpha feminist, a guy so supremely self-aware he doesn’t think twice about this. It’s Laurel’s decision and he is not at all resentful or angry about that.

“The pregnancy question…It didn’t scare him, not the way it might another man. It was out of his hands, and Flynn had long ago quit working himself up over things he couldn’t control. Whatever might ultimately come was Laurel’s decision. It was the simple not-knowing that was gnawing at him.”

That’s not to say Flynn isn’t tied up over the whole baby thing.

“It wasn’t his decision, but if she asked what he wanted her to do…Shit, be honest? Or refuse to say so she wouldn’t feel pressured? But refusing to say, was that supporting her choice or was that forcing her to make it completely on her own? He knew what he’d want her to do, but it felt so goddamn delicate, the question of whether or not to say.”

I’ll admit, it was a relief as I read that it was not all immediately happy baby time once Laurel became pregnant. In general, romance novels tend to treat pregnancy as the magical McGuffin. Even when it’s a single-parent situation or any number of variables and situations are utilized, the fact of being pregnant is usually a joyous affair for one or both parties involved. People insult romance novels by claiming it’s fantasy, those things never happen in real life. It’s not realistic. Well, in Brutal Game, it’s damn close. These two people love each other but they know that this unexpected pregnancy has serious repercussions, many of which they are not immediately prepared to deal with.

FLYNN’S RESPONSE

This doesn’t mean Flynn doesn’t care about Laurel and their child a whole damn lot. His response to what ultimately happens to their baby is emotional and difficult, raw and honest. McKenna lets Flynn feel every part of it and even acknowledge that he’s angry with Laurel even as he doesn’t like feeling that way and can’t figure out why he does. His feminism and sincere belief that it was HER decision to make doesn’t mean his feelings don’t count and aren’t important.

“But some other part of me…I dunno. It changed me up, imagining it. Or just knowin’ about it, knowin’ that was going on inside your body. I won’t lie, it felt really fucking profound.”

None of what Flynn’s feeling, though, means he doesn’t love Laurel, and he goes to pains to make sure she knows it.

“I’m gonna tell you something right now,” he said, “and I want you to remember it every time I’m angry with you, for as long as we’re together. I wouldn’t be this ripped up if I didn’t love you. I don’t waste my time feeling pissed or hurt or let down unless the person who managed to make me feel it actually matters to me. I’m not looking to change anything we’ve got. I just need to figure out what the fuck’s up with me. Or to sit and stew in it for however long it takes me to get over it.”

Holy crap, a healthy relationship with open communication and an alpha male unafraid to discuss his feelings. This really *is* a Romanelandia golden unicorn!

McKenna doesn’t tip toe through this part either. There no sense of words being carefully chosen nor does it feel as though the author is stomping around to preach a position. It just feels honest and real. Reading these portions, I just kept thinking “and people accuse Romance as being fantasy. No one would fantasize this.”

As I said above the spoiler fold, Brutal Game is an exceptional story. At some times uncomfortably close to real life, it explores what happens when a new relationship has to navigate treacherous, life-changing waters. It takes a visceral but practical approach to a couple contemplating abortion and a refreshing matter-of-fact attitude toward depression, two hot button social and emotional issue often over-burdened in fiction with the weight of “a very special episode” gravity. It’s funny, sweet, sexy, surprising, endearing, raw, and remarkable. A must read.

Follow Lady Smut. We like to play games. Some may be brutal.

 

Writer, singer, editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten Hallie Krum avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities straight is hard enough work. She writes smart, sharp, and sexy romantic suspense. Her debut romantic suspense novel,   Wild on the Rocks,  is now available. Visit her website at  www.kierstenkrum.com  and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

Is it summer? Is it fall? Who knows! While the weather is making up it’s mind, put down that rake and come on inside to enjoy our list of scintillating smexy links from around the world.

From Madeline:

What is erotica? Is it just a story with explicit sex? No no no.  Read her to get a handle on this evocative genre.

Romance as subversive lit – but y’know, in a good way.

Real life meet-cutes–did they end in an HEA?

From Elizabeth SaFleur:

Do you have attachment anxiety? These people are more likely to fall in love with an object.

Maybe we evolved to be monogamous. A look at why we might have and how that would benefit passing on your genes.

From Elizabeth Shore:

A surprising advocate in the growing acceptance of gay marriage – the NFL.

It’s a dildo, a healing stone, and a path to enlightenment! Meet the cool crystal Chakrubs and give yourself a little calming self love.

Missed your workout today? Not to worry – here are 11 sex positions that’ll make up for it.

Setting the record straight on blue balls.

Muslim beauty blogger Nura Afia is Covergirl’s new brand ambassador.