Posts Tagged ‘erotica’
It’s happening! Say Please readings and bookings have begun. So far, I have two dates:
April 12 – New York City at Bluestockings
April 22 – Boston, venue TBA
And a few more in progress, to be scheduled ASAP:
March 27 or April 1 – San Francisco
May 1/2 – Portland
May 3/7 – Seattle
I still don’t have dates for these, but I want to make it here in April/May:
If you’re interested in reading or helping me to create a reading in your city, please let me know ASAP! The easiest way for me to ensure that I can make it (especially to those three cities I have yet to book) is to get a gig at a college which can actually pay me. If you’ve got any contacts in these cities, please let me know.
Do y’all remember the Sugarbutch Star stories? It was a series where readers sent in a scenario and I wrote up the story. This is the last of the 5 stories from the 2008 “contest,” the others being Eileen, Matt, Green-Eyed Girl, and Maze. This story idea comes from blkndblue.
Warning: This story is long, about 18 pages. Click the “read more” at the end to read the final scene (it’s worth it, promise). I figure it’s a good way to kick off a (happy, sexy) new year.
Thanks to Dacia & BB Rydell for help with edits!
Sugarbutch Star: blckndblue
THE PINK DRESS
Emily emerges from the dressing room slowly, suddenly shy, though I’ve seen her naked in dozens of compromised positions. She fidgets with the dress, her hair, sucks in her stomach, but her eyes are lit up and she’s biting back a playful smile. She wants to wear this dress. Her inner three-year-old princess is aflame. “What do you think?” Emily asks; but the question isn’t really about my preference. She wants me to want it so she has permission to wear it. Then she doesn’t have to want it for herself; she is absolved of her own desires. I want to her to have permission to want anything on her body that she is drawn to, regardless of its gendered implications.
I finger the skirt of the baby pink dress, its satin fabric, abundant for its near-full skirt. She looks amazing in the plunging neckline in a gentle scoop, which shows off her round breasts generously. Sleeveless, it gathers at the waist where a thick white band wraps around, tying in a ribbon at the back. It could have been a bridesmaid’s dress, or a prom dress, or maybe someone’s fancy party dress. She’s been eyeing this dress in the window display, and today was the day it came down. She asked them to set it aside for her.
“So?” She is trying so hard to be patient. The words come out in a rush. “Do you like it?”
I come up behind her as she looks in the full-length mirror barely visible behind racks of gently used clothes. I wrap my arm around her waist, pull her gently back to me as she sighs, then smooths the skirt down.
“I think it’s perfect,” I say, my lips next to her ear. “No question.”
“Really?” She’s not sure I mean it, but she wants me to. “But it’s so … femme.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say.
“But, I’m not femme!” She argues.
“What do you mean? Of course you are,” I say.
“No, I mean …” she struggles for the words. “I’m not high femme. I hate that term. I almost always wear jeans and tee shirts.” We’ve been dating for on and off for a few years. We both have primary partners, but we make time to play and go on dates. When she dresses up, she adds heels and lipstick, rarely anything more. She has some impressive lingerie, but seldom wears dresses. She wears power suits for her professional office work, where she has to keep control and is in charge of a dozen people’s activities on a daily basis. She spends a lot of time looking put together, climbing the corporate ladder, and fighting the male privilege in her office, and she’d rather kick around in something comfortable and durable when she has the option.
“I know that’s what you prefer, and it’s perfect—your ass looks great in jeans,” I counter. “Look, you’re twice the femme most self-identified high femmes are. You’re at home in your body, awake in your skin, not judgmental about your own waistline or anyone else’s. And you have your circle of femme friends without gossip or backstabbing. If that’s not high femme, I don’t know what is.”
“Yeah, but you have to say that.”
“And I want to. I know the dress is a stretch … but it’s amazing on you. It looks like it was made for you. Doesn’t it?” I ask the passing sales girl. “Doesn’t it look like it was made for her?”
“It is, like, so cut perfectly for your body,” the girl, probably barely twenty, replies. “It makes your curves look even more curvy. It’s practically, like, perfect.”
“Yeah. Perfect,” I echo, and Emily grins at herself in the mirror.
“It is, isn’t it. Yeah. Okay,” she kisses my cheek and zips back into the dressing room, and buys the dress.
The date is my idea, and a surprise. I enlist her friend Sam, a gay boy also known as Serena, who does a fierce drag queen act and has every feminizing, over-the-top accessory one would need. We’ve been out drinking and galavanting dozens of nights in the past few years. Sometimes Emily and I go see him perform. Last time, he did a Judy Garland number with an incredible outfit from the forties that made him look like a black and white movie star.
“I could never do that,” Emily must’ve whispered to me five times that night, but the spark in her eyes told me that she wanted to. I knew Sam would love to see Emily all dressed up.
And tonight, with this pink dress, he’s going to help. I enlist Sam because Emily doesn’t have the femme things I need, and I can’t afford to buy them all. I meet Sam around the corner and pick up the fluffy underskirt that’s used to puff out full skirts, called a crinoline.
I knock on Emily’s door, and she throws it open. “I’m here to pick up the dress,” I say, after kissing her hello. She fetches it from her bedroom, still in the thrift store’s lavender-colored paper bag with their logo on it, and hands it to me across the threshold.
“Thank you. Now, you remember what I told you? What’s the plan?”
“First, I’m getting my nails done across the street. Then I’m going to go to Sam’s at 5pm to get my hair and makeup done. Then I’ll come meet you at your place, and bring the bra and panties.” I know she doesn’t wear the white bra and panty set with the lace trim often. I like that she saves it for me.
“What time, at my apartment?”
“Good. Perfect. Don’t be late,” I add. As if she would be. She shifts her weight from foot to foot very slightly and I can see her ears beginning to flush pink.
I tuck the box with the crinoline under the arm that holds her dress in a shopping bag and draw her to me with the other, smiling as our faces get closer, drinking in her skin and hair and the sweet way her body fits.
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Good girl,” I say, and kiss her.
At seven twenty-eight, she knocks on my apartment door. I greet her with more kisses and lead her into the bedroom before she sets her purse down. Some of the things are laid out on the bed: the crinoline skirt, white thigh-high stockings, a white garter belt, and her new pink dress, which I had dry cleaned and pressed just this morning. I see her hand flicker slightly as she reaches out and touch the dress, then pulls it back and makes a fist.
“Are you ready for tonight?” I take a seat in the small armchair in the corner of my bedroom and I take a sip of the glass of water I’d poured just before she arrived, with extra ice so she can hear the clink of it in the glass. She nods. I notice Emily picks at her nails, then stop when she realizes she is probably chipping her nail polish. She must be nervous. The icy liquid is cool in my mouth and I feel it run down my throat. Her chestnut hair is mostly a silhouetted shadow, but I can see it is piled on top of her hair in spirals and curls in a way that is much more complicated than she would usually entertain. It reveals the curve of her neck, which swoops into her collarbone and, later, will lead right to her cleavage.
“Did Sam send you with jewelry?” I ask.
“Get it out, and put it on the top of the dresser.” I cleared it in anticipation. She goes to her bag, removes a couple small boxes and a tiny clutch purse, then arranges it all so each are neat and not touching, then goes back to standing, shifting her weight from foot to foot and looking around the room.
“Take off your clothes,” I say. “Slowly. Fold each piece and put them on the bed.” She starts with her v-neck grey fitted girly tee shirt, quickly pulling it over her head. “I said slowly,” I say, and she pauses, moves a little slower. She folds the thin fabric easily and places it on the bed, then steps out of her low, simple black flats. She’s not wearing a bra; she often doesn’t, not encouraging the curve of her breasts to be shown off. Her bare skin glows in the lamplight. She pulls down her tight blue jeans and steps out of them, folding them a little thoughtlessly, but I don’t tell her to slow down again. She slides her plain black cotton underwear down over her legs and adds it to the pile. She fingers the worn grey tee shirt and looks at it longingly, then glances at the lingerie laid out on the bed and moves her hand to touch it, smiling as her fingertips make contact, her face relaxing.
She stands again, naked this time, crosses her arms in front of herself, then drops her arms and holds one wrist with her hand. After a moment she straightens up, and clasps her hands behind her back like she is presenting herself to me, a blank canvas. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, drops her hip, but tries to stay still. She bites her lip.
“Very nice,” I murmur from my corner. I uncross and recross my legs, ankle to knee, and pick up the cane from next to my chair. I can see her nipples, even in the shadows, hard and dark. “Get the bra and panties out of your bag, lay them on the bed.” She does. “Now, get dressed. Start with the garter belt.” She takes a breath and turns to the bed, picking it up and sliding it up her legs, securing it in place.
“Now the stockings,” I say. “And the bra. Leave the panties off, for now.” She dresses quickly, fumbling a little with the clasps and the delicate fabric, sitting on the side of the bed to fasten the stockings to the lace. “Now the petticoat.” She looks at me a little questioning, then realizes I mean the white crinoline skirt, and pulls it in a flourish from the bed to step into it.
“The dress,” I say. She pulls it over her head, evens it over the petticoat, and does her best to tie the white bow behind her back. With the extra layers of under the skirt, the pink dress is even more stunning than it was in the store. “And the jewelry,” I say, as she admires herself in the mirror hanging over the dresser. She takes a step closer and puts small two-stone droplet earrings in; they’re delicate, just an inch or so long, hanging just enough to move when she does and sparkle when the light hits them. She reaches for the matching necklace and raises her elbows to buckle the clasp behind her neck. Her fingers tremble and it takes her three tries to hook it correctly.
Emily steps back and looks at her reflection, buzzing, hardly containing the thrill of happiness at her own reflection. Her smile is as big as I’ve ever seen it. She turns her head, then shakes it to see the sparkle of the earrings, tilts her chin down to see her fancy hair-do, fluffs the skirt out to the side, and finally twirls, watching the dress in the mirror and laughing, giddy.
“Come here,” I say. She turns her head to me and takes short, quick steps across the room to where I am sitting next to the window in her stockinged feet. She notices the cane I have been stroking.
“Is that for me?” she asks.
“It’s for your ass. For later.” I set it on the table with my glass and reach out for her waist, pull her on to my lap. “Very nice,” I say, stroking the skin on her arm, the the slick fabric of the top of the dress, brushing my fingers against her breasts and nipples. I offer my mouth for a kiss and she wraps her arms around my neck, opening her mouth, gently kissing back. “You look gorgeous.”
“You really think so?” she bats her eyelashes. She looks like a sunrise, peeking over the horizon, breaking the dark, reaching up into the sky. She still looks like herself—just polished up a little, enhanced, prettied.
“Really. Very much.” We kiss again and I get lost in her lips, her tongue, the way her hands grasp gently at my neck and shoulders. I let my hands trace her stockings, wander up under the many layers under her dress. “Do you like the crinoline?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” she breathes. “Is that what Sam gave you?”
“Yes. On loan.”
“It’s so … pretty.”
“You’re pretty, sweetheart.”
She smiles shyly, kisses me again.
“Did you like getting your nails done, and your hair and make-up done?”
“Yes! It was really fun. More than I thought it would be. I thought it would be weird but it makes me feel fancy. And important. And … ” she lowers her voice, her eyes a little and brings her hands up to straighten my tie, pinch my collar between her fingers. “And I knew I was doing it for you. That you would like it.”
“Mmm. And you did a very good job getting all ready for me.” I find the patch of skin at the top of her stockings, her sweet smooth inner thigh, and rest my hand there gently.
“I like doing what you say.” It lets her mind rest, she’s explained to me, and is a relief to trust enough to follow orders instead of second guessing and being in charge of everything.
“I know. And I have a few more things to do before we go to dinner. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” I toss her a questioning look and she corrects herself. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I take a breath. “I’m going to warm you up for the evening. I want to give you something that will serve as a reminder that this body—” I shift my hand quickly and palm her pussy, making her gasp, then quickly attempt to maintain her composure and keep her eyes open, looking at me, “—this pretty little body of yours is mine to play with tonight.”
She nods, quick, tiny movements of her head, and her eyes flicker with a hint of nervousness.
“Are you worried?”
“No, sir. I know you will take good care of me.”
“That’s right. Good.” I move my hand away and she breathes in, her thighs quiver. I lean in to kiss her again, bring my hands to her waist and then up to cup her chin, neck, the back of her head, careful not to mess up her hair. She relaxes, her mouth softens. She tastes like cream.
“Get up and bend over my lap. I’m going to make some marks on your ass before we go out.”
She delicately places herself over me with more care than usual, though we’ve been in this position many times. She doesn’t want to muss herself. This chair is perfect for over-the-knee spankings, with wide, low arm rests. Her stockinged tiptoes just barely reach the floor. She arches her back automatically, presenting her ass and slit to my right hand.
I caress her neck and shift my arm to cradle her collarbone and begin peeling up the layers of her pretty pink dress and petticoat. The peach of her ass is perfectly framed by her stockings and garter belt, the layers pushed up to her hips. Softly, I bring my hand to her thighs and ass and begin caressing.
“So nice,” I murmur into her ear. I start with some rapid tap-tap-taps with my fingers tight together on the sweet spots on her ass, the ones that make the flesh shake and that makes her muscles relax. She sighs, keeps breathing, keeps filling her lungs and breathing into the increasing sensation. She’s done enough yoga, we’ve played with enough sensation play—she knows how to open.
I keep going with light taps and occasional full-handed gentle swats until I can see a pink flush starting, just a hint. She loves being hit; she snuggles down into it as if I was reading her a bedtime story. I increase my swing, raising my arm higher, and give her a few open-palmed, but not too hard yet. Her skin is fair and it is easy to leave long-lasting marks, easy to bruise and break capillaries on the surface of her skin.
Which is exactly what I want.
I continue, warming up her ass until it is bright and hot, flushed and red, beginning to show some darker parts where it will be easy to leave marks. She moans, sinking into me, humming with pleasure. When we are both warm, when my shoulder feels like it is loose and liquid and easy, I raise my arm high and let fly a few hard wallops, pausing in between, but just for a moment, to let her react. Her body shudders and I feel her tense, then relax, over my lap. I can feel the impact of my hand through her and onto my thighs, can feel her growing heat and intensity. I let my hand down again, and again, allowing gravity to pull me, sucking up the power she’s handing over while I have her upturned and stunned, ready to take more.
I lean down so my mouth is by her ear again. “You are doing so well. Your ass is nice and red and starting to bruise. I’m going to get my cane out now.”
She manages to move her neck slightly, twists her head and looks up at me, and nods just a little. I grip the cane from the side table and it feels hard, solid in my hand. It slices through the air with a hiss and I love the way it extends my arm. The last time we used the cane, she told me every time she sat down, she thought about what I’d done and how I’d used her. That it made her wet to have to act like she could sit normally, when really it was excruciatingly painful. That’s how I want it to be tonight. Something to take away from the terror of being so femme, over the top femme, in public. Something to distract her.
The first hit with the cane is a little off, and not too hard. She gasps but does not squirm. The second is two centimeters toward her thighs and harder. Immediately a light stripe appears. She jumps a little and lets one arm drop, grabbing on to my pant leg, as she lets out her breath in a long thin stream through her teeth. The third, quicker now, is at a different angle, crossing the first two. She sucks air back in and lets out a laugh, bubbling like champagne, thrilling and tickling my nose. Good. She’s warm, dropping into that blurry area past the sharp pain and into sensation.
The next dozen or so are more rapid, in succession, some lighter and some fiercely hard and biting. She takes it well. She gasps and begins squirming, but not away, not off of my lap, just to wriggle and shake off some of the building energy. I fall into a pattern of hard-hard-quick-quick-soft-caress where my eyes glaze and my cock hardens. I can see her slit becoming wet, swollen, as pink as her sweet round ass cheeks.
The striping is beautiful, thin welts rising on bull’s eye circles where my hands bruised her first. I can already see some small places where my handiwork reveals itself.
I lean low against her ear again. “It’s going to hurt for a while when you sit,” I say, as a slide the cane away and bring my hand to her singed bottom. It is so tender and sensitive, like stretched skin over the frame of a drum, reverberating with every touch.
She moans. “Thank you, sir.”
I bring her up onto my lap again to hold her for a minute, her ass already uncomfortable. Sitting at the restaurant is going to be excruciating. I stroke her hair and neck, offer her some water and she takes it. She snuggles against my chest, lets me sooth her, then rocks a little on my lap and I realize she is searching for my cock.
“Looking for something?” I ask.
She falters, remembers herself. “No, sir.”
She nods, tries not to look disappointed.
“I have one more thing for you before we leave. Ready?”
She nods again, brings one hand up to her mouth to bite one finger, a childish gesture of nervousness.
I almost laugh. “Nothing bad, sweet girl. This is a present. A surprise.”
Her eyes light up as she slips off my lap. I go over to the closet where I stashed the bag, then sit on the bed, patting the bedspread next to me. She shuffles slowly over the thin carpet in her stockings, smoothing out the skirt of her dress and walking slowly because her legs are still weak from being bent over my lap and beaten. She brings her hands behind her, to touch her ass, as she walks, and I can tell the muscles are already sore.
I hand her the bag. She gives me a shy smile and pulls the shoe box out of the plain white shopping bag. Her eyes widen. She realizes she only brought the flat black shoes she came in.
“Oh!” She exclaims when she opens the box. They took me a few days to find: the exact pink shade as the dress, with a small strap over the arch of her foot, delicate white trim, and a tall, thin four inch heel. She pulls them both out and pushes the wrapping aside on the bed, holds them flat in her hands, grinning. “May I?”
I slip off the bed to kneel in front of her, holding my hand out. She blushes—adorable—and hands the shoes to me, offers me her foot so I can slide them on, one at a time.
She laughs, and twirls. “I feel like these are fancy shoes from my fairy godmother, and I’m Cinderella!”
“You look amazing,” I say, standing up, and offer my hands to help her stand. It may take a minute to get used to them. I take her in my arms again and she melts into me, offering her mouth for more kisses.
When I pull away I take the delicate white panties still laid out on the bed and offer them to her. “Put these on, we wouldn’t want you getting your dress any more wet than it already is. Freshen up your lipstick and let’s go to dinner. Are you hungry?” Her lipstick is smeared from kissing me, and she hasn’t noticed. It’s probably on my mouth. I quickly wipe my mouth in the bathroom mirror and when I come back in, she’s sitting on the bed to step into her panties, pulling them up over her shoes and stockings, leaving them on the outside, so they can be the first thing that comes off later. She stands and picks up the tiny clutch purse she laid out on the dresser, checking her make-up in the dresser mirror. I slide my suit coat over my shoulders, watching her twist the lipstick up and pucker her lips. She would never do these things on her own, but she is flushed and giddy and thrilled, ready to go.
I’m thrilled to announce the table of contents and cover for my upcoming (and very first!) anthology, Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica, coming in April 2012 from Cleis Press.
The description, via Amazon:
Sinclair Sexsmith presents a cornucopia of lesbian kink — tantalizing tales rich in variety and saucy details of girls put in their place — and held there firmly. A girly-girl reaps a sweet punishment for refusing to mess up her oh-so-pink lipstick and a well-equipped top takes charge. Whether readers dream of surrendering to a lover or of taking control, Say Please offers plenty of erotic inspiration and gives readers exactly what they want!
In “The Cruelest Kind,” Kiki Delovely’s naughty narrator gets her just desserts from her butch girlfriend with some fierce back alley bondage while D.L. King’s domme makes her submissive strip before un unseen audience, binds her to a bench, and gives her a good strapping in “A Public Spectacle.” Anna Watson’ bored housewife gets more than she bargains for in “The Keys” when she follows a lesbian animal trainer out to a queer bar and anything goes in Xan West’s sexy “Strong” when a transgender butch and genderqueer sub engage in some very tough love.
And here are the contents. I am SO thrilled to have so many pieces by amazing writers. Seriously, these are some of the best of the best, I can’t wait to see the whole thing all together.
Introduction by Sinclair Sexsmith
Baseball Cap by Miriam Perez
First Ride by Wendi Kali
A Slap in the Face by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Housewife by Gigi Frost
Call Me Sir by BB Rydell
All of Me by Amelia Thornton
Taking Direction by Vie La Guerre
Black Hanky by Sassafras Lowrey
Spanking Booth by Dusty Horn
The Cruelest Kind by Kiki Delovely
Going the Distance by Elaine Miller
She Spoiled Me by Shawna Elizabeth
Gentleman Caller by Sossity Chiricuzio
Three Weeks and Two Days by Meridith Guy
Counting Love by August InFlux
Purge by Marie See
A Public Spectacle by DL King
The Keys by Anna Watson
Coming of Age by Dilo Keith
Not Without Permission by Sinclair Sexsmith
Feathers Have Weight by Alysia Angel
Strong by Xan West
Unworthy As I Am by Elizabeth Thorne
I’ve created a Twitter account for Say Please, a Facebook page, and a Twitter list to follow the authors, so you can keep up with all of us if you’d like. There is nothing at all at the book’s wordpress site yet, but there will be.
Keep an eye out for a blog tour, book release party in New York, review copies, and readings around the country, including (but hopefully not limited to) New York City, Seattle, Portland, Durham, and Boston.
I am so excited about this!
I mentioned that I’ve been webmastering for Madison Young’s newest website, Perversions of Lesbian Lust, and we are looking for lesbian erotica to feature on BOTH the free preview site and in the member’s side.
The Feminist Porn Network of Web sites is now accepting written Lesbian and Queer Erotica. Please email Madison Young at [email protected] with submissions for consideration.
PerversionsofLesbianLust.com – Pulp Lesbian and Queer Fiction Erotica Stories:
Each piece should be around 1000 words no more than 1500 words. $25 for each piece excepted. Looking for pieces from lesbian and queer identified writers.
Rights are non-exclusive; submissions are ongoing.
You can keep up with the new stuff on Madison Young’s Feminist Porn Network by following the new feministpornnetwork.tumblr.com.
A couple notes from around the blog world that you may be interested in. Have a lovely weekend, all. More updates here are in progress.
BUTCH Voices Conference Requests Blog Links
BUTCH Voices folks are gearing up for the second bi-annual national conference in August, and they are looking to put a list of queer bloggers in their program, “open to all our Masculine of Center and Queer allies much like the conference“.
To have your blog listed, DM or @-reply their Twitter account, @BUTCHVoices with your linkand contact information and they will be in touch with you.
Madison Young Launches “Perversions of Lesbian Lust”
Here’s a shot from one of the first galleries, featuring Bettina Doll:
I suspect you’ll hear more from me about Perversions in the future.
Review of Boi Meets Girl on Amazon
I wrote a review of Boi Meets Girl: Brett & Melanie on Amazon for Tony Comstock & Comstock films. I caught a screening of that film at the LGBT Center a few months ago and it was fantastic, as was the Q&A with Tony after. I highly recommend it if you’re a queer porn collector. It’s real and fun and hot, and the interviews with Brett & Melanie are so familiar. It almost felt exposing, but I think that meant that it was incredible effective.
Taormino’s new anthology Take Me There: Transgender & Genderqueer Erotica
In mainstream media, the erotic identities, sex lives, and fantasies of transgender and genderqueer people are often oversimplified, sensationalized, or invisible. Take Me There is an erotica collection unlike any other that celebrates the pleasure, heat, and diversity of transgender and genderqueer sexualities. The power of seeing and being seen is a central theme in the anthology; it’s not simply about passing or not passing (an idea often explored with transgender characters), but about being acknowledged and desired in a sexual context.
The book takes you from San Francisco to Israel, from heartache to lust, from stranger sex to a 10 year anniversary, from ballet shoes to butt plug bondage tables, from fumbling teenagers to leatherclad bears, from MTF and FTM—and in between and beyond.
There is an incredible line-up of writers who have contributed to this anthology, including Kate Bornstein, S. Bear Bergman, Ivan Coyote, Patrick Califia, Julia Serano, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Toni Amato, and many more. I’m really thrilled to have one of my stories included in here. More details on the book are available on Tristan Taormino’s tumblr.
If you’d like to support this book, the best thing you can do is to pre-order it on Amazon. Amazon bases its in stock copies on the amount of pre-orders, so it would significantly help to make it widely available if you can spare the $11 on the pre-order copy.
Lesbian Sex Mafia kicks off Leather Pride Week with Laura Antoniou Tonight
At the LGBT Center, 8pm. She’s teaching Tell Me What You Want, What You Really Really Want:
“Often, when we try to tell our partners what we like or want, those words are filtered through things like expectations, projection, fear, shame and verbal shortcuts. Play a little card game with Laura and push your flirting talents up a notch! Expand your creativity and verbal skills beyond “I like flogging” or “anything you want” through an interactive game and exercise. Learn how creative communication and courageous risk-taking can make your relationship and play more intimate, satisfying and fun. Say what you mean, and mean what you say – and make it seductive.”
Where: LGBT Center, 208 West 13th St. (7th/8th Ave)
When: Friday, June 17, 2011; 8:00-10:00PM (Leather Pride weekend)
Cost: $5/LSM members, $10/Non members
Laura Antoniou is the author of the well known Marketplace series of erotic novels. As a presenter, panelist, and keynote speaker, Laura has appeared at dozens of conferences over more than twenty years, both entertaining and delivering an occasional verbal indictment. She has also appeared at colleges and universities, including NYU, Rutgers, Columbia and the University of Washington. Laura lives in Queens, NY with her wife Karen, and happily serves as boy to Kim Attica. Friends have called her all sorts of names. Current favorites being “Renaissance Perv” by Midori, “Good Boy!” by Kim and of course, “best thing that ever happened to me” by Karen.
I had the pleasure of reading at Kathleen Warnock‘s New York City literary series Drunken! Careening! Writers! on Thursday night in celebration of the new release from Cleis Press, Best Lesbian Erotica 2011, in which I have a story.
Kiki DeLovely, Xan West, Charlotte Dare, D.L. King, Theda Hudson, and I all read excerpts from our pieces included in this year’s book, and Kathleen read from her introduction (and was her all-around amazing hostess self).
It was a blast of an event. It’s become a little bit of a holiday tradition, since BLE always comes out around this time of year and Kathleen has hosted the official New York City kickoff for quite a while, for as long as I’ve been in New York anyway. Kathleen always jokes, “Pick one up for grandma. Perfect gift.”
It’s my favorite erotica series. The quality is always amazing, and the 2011 edition is no exception. I think Kathleen said there are contributors from six different countries this year! I had to mention it in my recent Cliterotica: Lesbian Erotica Roundup for Lambda Literary Foundation, regardless that I have a story in there it’s an incredible anthology.
Here’s the description:
Edited by Kathleen Warnock, Selected and introduced by Lea DeLaria. In Best Lesbian Erotica 2011, women find love and lust in all the right places – kitchens, cars, dance clubs, dungeons, and even a flowerbed. This year’s guest judge is the anything-but-shy Lea DeLaria, the multi-talented writer, stand-up comic, singer, and actor. She has selected work from some of the best-known writers of lesbian erotic fiction as well as debuts of startling new talents. A 1958 Mercury Park Lane rides like a sexual time machine in D.L. King’s “Walk Like a Man.” In Betty Blue’s “The Garden of Earthly Delights,” a lost boi encounters a firespirit on a romantic celestial plane. In Kiki DeLovely’s “The Third Kiss,” a woman discovers it’s not a good idea to tell your crush your dreams about her – unless you want them to come true.
October and November have kind of gotten away from me, with three conferences and four college gigs and an erotic retreat and travel to three states and a new workshop, and oh yeah that whole new butch project thing. So I haven’t really been keeping up with the “Friday Reads” series I was trying to start, but I’ll just pick up where I left off, how about that.
Good timing, too, because Cleis Press, one of my favorite publishers, is having a winter holiday special: 20% off everything in stock!
We would like to extend a special invitation to Cleis Press & Viva Editions friends, family and colleagues to take advantage of our 2010 Gratitude and Giving holiday special. This is our way of saying we’re incredibly grateful for your enthusiasm, talent and support! From now until December 31st, we offer you and your network (your friends, family, coworkers, colleagues and neighbors) a 20% discount on all titles. Enter special offer code GG on your web order to receive your discount.
Here’s the fine print: Order as many or as few books as you like. Order as many times as you like. Offer good on any book in stock at time of ordering. Order through our web sites to receive discount. Must enter special offer code GG to receive discount. Cannot be combined with any other offer.
So hey, I have some recommendations for books you can pick up, if you don’t already have ‘em. And who knows, maybe somebody on your holiday gift list would like some books too, hmm?
Books Which Include My Work:
Many of these aren’t explicitly queer, but the sex is delicious and sensuous and sweet and brilliant, the power dynamics are amazing, the writing is impeccable. So file these under Classics You Should Read:
And last but not least, here’s some notable Queer Titles that I’m not in, but that I’ve read and are excellent:
I know you could probably just order all of these on Amazon, but the publisher and authors benefit greatly when you get ‘em from the source. All of these I highly recommend belong in your personal library.
Head over to Cleis Press’s website and browse through their dozens of other titles. If you like reading about sex and gender, chances are you’ll find a book or two you’ve been coveting over there.
Three summers ago, I started a project called the Sugarbutch Star. Maybe you remember: I asked folks for submissions for story ideas, outlines of erotic encounters with characters, plot, and setting, and then I would write up the story.
There were a couple reasons I did this. I wanted to deepen my writing, I wanted to continue writing erotic fiction, and I found that I could write variations on a theme that someone else gave me much easier than I could come up with my own scenarios. I was figuring out that that’s the kind of top I was, too—that when someone asked me to do a couple things, like, say, finger them and kiss them for a while, take their clothes off, throw them on the bed and fuck them until they came, that it was no problem for me to follow their requests, with variations and detail, in a way that was toppy and dominant. It was harder for me when I’d sleep with girls (or write characters, even) where anything was an option and I could do whatever I wanted. Sometimes I would freeze up. Not because I didn’t want to do anything, but because there were so many options, where do I even start?
I didn’t expect it, but these stories helped with that so much. Because the story content was someone else’s fantasy, because it was not from my own brain, even if it lined up with my desires, I didn’t feel guilty or shy about going for it all the way and really bringing all I had to that person’s idea for the erotic scene.
I didn’t even realize that I did feel shy or guilty about my desires up until doing this project, and once I realized that, it was much easier to notice and breathe through and decide whether I was going to let the guilt or shyness stop me, or not. It changed the way I top. It changed the way I write erotic stories.
And there were so many good scenarios that I decided to write up five “honorable mention” stories as short-shorts, which was great practice for me, too, because I noticed sometimes that my long stories took so long to finish. In addition, I wrote up five “finalists.” Then, once all ten stories were written and published here on Sugarbutch, I asked readers to vote for their favorite, and the person who submitted that scenario was henceforth known as a Sugarbutch Star.
So, these are the stories from the first year:
- Shanna: The Diner on the Corner Part One, Part Two. This story has been published in Best Lesbian Erotica 2009 and Sometimes She Lets Me: Best Butch Femme Erotica in 2010.
- Lady Brett Ashley: Threesome and a Purple Tie
- bird: The Hitchhiker
- Avah: Fucking a Porn Star
- Shannon: The Photo Shoot
- Grey: Charcoal Portrait in the Art Studio
- The Femme Top: Untitled, also published as “Make Me” in Frenzy: 60 Stories of Sudden Sex
- Jennifer: The Popsicle in the Library, also published in Afternoon Delight: Erotica for Couples
- Bad Bad Girl: The Straight Girl at the Dyke Bar
- Madeline: Her Mouth on My Cock
- Jefferson: Cross-Country Girl Adventures
And I made them into a chapbook. I did two printings of this chapbook, each editions of 100, and I’m not planning to do another printing. I have about a dozen left, and I’m selling them for $10 each which includes shipping anywhere in the US (if you’re outside the US, I may ask you to send a couple more bucks to cover shipping, depending on the cost, but I’m glad to send it to you).
Want one? Email me, and if you’re in the first 12, I will reserve a copy for you and send you further details (the easiest way for me is to accept payment via Paypal).
I did the Sugarbutch Star project for a second year, too, and I decided I would only pick five stories as finalists, no matter how good all the submissions were. These were what I finished for the second year:
- Eileen: Her Best Line
- Maze: The Girl in the Red Dress
- Matt: All Five Senses Part 1 & Part 2
- Green-Eyed Girl: The Study Date
I started the fifth story, but never finished it. I still think I might, but maybe it’s time to let that go. (It’s just such a good story! Or it would be, if I could ever finish it.)
So here it is folks … last call for the Sugarbutch Star Chapbooks.
In keeping with the tradition I started this summer, featuring a butch or femme book on Fridays to countdown to the Femme Conference and then the Butch Voices regional conferences, I’m going to keep that up and continue featuring books on Fridays.
I was going to write about The Well Of Loneliness, Gold mentioned it when I wrote up Crybaby Butch last week and I thought, “Of course! Why didn’t I have that on my list?” It’s such a classic butch book. I expected it to be droll and depressing, but when I finally read it (in a british women writers of the ’20s class in college) it was incredible—so engaging, so well written, so articulate in the feelings of this “mannish” woman’s love for another woman. I definitely recommend picking it up, if you haven’t read it.
But … in light of the ridiculous amount of depressing news this week, let’s not even go there, let’s not mention a book called The Well of Loneliness, let’s not fall down a well of loneliness ourselves. Instead, let’s move on to something much more fun: smut.
I know I’ve mentioned it here before, but it’s worth revisiting. Sometimes She Lets Me: Best Butch/Femme Erotica, edited by Tristan Taormino, is a collection of the best butch/femme stories from the 16 years Taormino was the series editor for Best Lesbian Erotica. There are very few smut books specifically and exclusively with butch/femme content; this is the most recent, and, arguably, the best.
It is steaming hot.
“Butch/femme is erotic iconography. Butch/femme is bulging jeans, smeared lipstick, stiletto heals, and sharp haircuts. It’s about being read and being seen. Sometimes it’s about passing or not passing. It’s about individual identity and a collective sense of community. It’s personal, political. It’s a sexual electricity and power exchange. It’s the visceral space between the flesh and the imagination.” — from the introduction by Tristan Taormino
Here’s the description from Cleis Press:
Does the swagger of a sure-footed butch make you swoon? Do your knees go weak when you see a femme straighten her stockings? A duet between two sorts of women, butch/femme is a potent sexual dynamic. Tristan Taormino chose her favorite butch/femme stories from the Best Lesbian Erotica series, which has sold over 200,000 copies in the 16 years she was editor. And if you think you know what goes in in the bedroom between femmes and butches, these 22 shorts will delight you with erotic surprises. In Joy Parks’s delicious “Sweet Thing,” the new femme librarian in town shows a butch baker a new trick in bed. The stud in “Tag!,” by D. Alexandria, finds her baby girl after a chase in the woods by scent alone. And the girl in a pleated skirt gets exactly what she wants from her Daddy in Peggy Munson’s “The Rock Wall.” Sometimes She Lets Me shows that it’s all about attitude — predicting who will wind up on top isn’t easy in stories by S. Bear Bergman, Rosalind Christine Lloyd, Samiya A. Bashir, and many more.
Includes contributions by Alison L. Smith, Joy Parks, S. Bear Bergman, Amie M. Evans, Samiya A. Bashir, Rosalind Christine Lloyd, Kristen Porter, Tara-Michelle Ziniuk, D. Alexandria, Anna Watson, Shannon Cummings, A. Lizbeth Babcock, Sparky, Elaine Miller, Isa Coffey, Skian McGuire, Jera Star, Toni Amato, Peggy Munson, Sandra Lee Golvin, and Sinclair Sexsmith.
Pick it up at your favorite local independent feminist queer-friendly bookstore (if you want them to stay in business, that is), from Cleis Press directly, from Powell’s books in Portland (hi, #bvpdx!) or, if you must, from Amazon.
Don’t forget! Just one week from today, Sideshow in New York City will feature a lovely erotica night.
Sideshow: The Queer Literary Carnival
Hosted by Cheryl B. & Sinclair Sexsmith
August 10 @ The Phoenix, 447 East 13th Street @ Avenue A
East Village, New York City
Doors, 7:30pm. Reading, 8pm.
Free! But we’ll pass the hat for donations to the readers
RSVP on Facebook!
August’s theme is HEAT WAVE EROTICA, starring:
Tamiko Beyer (Drunken Boat)
Rachel Kramer Bussel (In The Flesh)
Mildred Dred Gerestant (OUTMusic Spirit Award)
Kit Yan (Mr. Transman 2010)
… Read more about the readers.