Thursday, January 26, 2012

Fun with celebrities...

I am the first to admit I am a tad celebrity obsessed. I've always been that way. Something about certain actors just fires my imagination...and my libido. A lot of times when I'm writing, an actor's physique, appearance, or manner will fill out the details of my character.

So it probably won't surprise anyone that I spend a lot of time wondering which celebrities are kinky and if they are, which way they swing on the fetish tree. I think we can all agree on Brad and Angelina...after all, the National Enquirer reported on a maid finding "equipment" in their hotel room, and then there was the time the police were called out because of "strange screams" coming from their room. Ahh...the imagination wanders. I'm guessing they're both switches.

Then there's Rihanna. Clearly a masochist. I'm a little worried about this girl. We all like to play edgy but there's a line between kink and abuse. Read my book Deep in the Woods, honey. And be careful!

Madonna, yawn. Everyone knows she's a long time perv. How about the closeted kinksters? My guesses (and these are soooooo guesses and one sue me please.) Natalie Portman, sub. George Clooney, daddy dom. Robert Downey, Jr, dom. Jessica Alba, sub. Halle Berry, sub (I know, I know, it's weird!) David Fincher, complete, all out sadist scary leather freak. Russell badly want him to be a demanding, overbearing dom but I think he's probably just a sexy vanilla guy. Oh yeah, and Gerard Butler and Clive Owens...doms.

In my books so far I've based doms on Daniel Craig, Joe Manganiello, Alexander Skarsgard, Gabriel Aubry, Brad Pitt, Gregoire Colin, a couple of guys named Jim and Bryan that I met on, and of course, my friend "W" whose photos you all are always drooling over in my Hall of Hotness. Yeah, Lily Mine sooo came from him. Watched Jane Eyre recently, and believe me, Michael Fassbender's book is coming soon. Sigh..

Anyway, I just wanted to give props where props were due and thank all the hot men who have inspired me, and fantasize a little about who has a secret kinky life.

I also wanted to ask you, the readers, which celebrities turn you on and trigger your kinky radar? Share!

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

A great big leather boot out of the closet

I’ve been invited to be on a panel on m/s erotic fiction with Laura Antoniou and David Stein at the next Masters/Slaves conference. (The panel’s not for sure yet, but probably will be.) Wow!

This makes my head buzz, for a bunch of reasons. One, sharing the stage with these folks would be one hell of an honour. Two, this is right out of the blue. Let’s face it, even in bdsm circles, as an author I’m pretty obscure and anything but prolific. With only two books to my credit, I lack the exposure that comes with a string of publications. Not many people in the room will have heard of me. Three, even worse, I’m so deep in the closet that (as I’ve said more than once), I might as well be in Narnia. I’ve never appeared publicly, gone to a fetish event or attended so much as a munch. I’m about to go from hiding in the White Queen’s sleigh to a stage with Laura Antoniou. How would you feel?

Yes, I’m going. I can’t pass up a chance like this. And hell, it’s not till Labour Day weekend; no need to worry just yet. I can start worrying in June. About things like – ye gods! – what the hell I’m going to wear! And what if someone from my other life recognizes me? (Yeah, supposedly they’ll be as embarrassed as I am – sure. They can read my books and know waaaaay more about my deranged mind than I will ever know about them.) And what on earth do I talk to leather folks about? Me with my vast experience – not. People go to these things year after year; they’ll all know each other, and I’ll be skirting the walls trying to look like I’m not in the least uncomfortable.

And if there’s some private event I get to see, with sex going on, where the hell do I look? Eek! One of the reasons I’m so deep in the closet is that sex and bdsm are very, very private for me. I honestly don’t want to see people engaging in naughty acts out in the open. At least I don’t think I do. Do I?

Don’t ask me if I want to participate. The answer’s no. Zero ambiguity there.

It will of course be a good opportunity for me to sell my books. (Safely with the vendors! Whew!) And it occurred to me that I might be able to use this to push myself to get Book Three written so I can promote it at the event. I doubt I can get it done in time, my schedule and writing speed being what they are. The other two books took me years. But I’m going to at least give it a shot. It’s what I’ve needed all along – a deadline! The procrastinator’s friend! Hurray!

One good thing – it’s got to be good for at least two or three blog posts, don’t you think?

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Gender and BDSM

When you come across a heterosexual male submissive in a book, often he's a powerful male who needs to be able to be relieved of responsibilities for a while -- it's an escape for him. For example, a CEO of a large company, or perhaps a police officer... someone who needs to let someone else be in charge for a while.

But most female submissives, as written in books, need someone to take care of them. For whatever reason (finances, lack of responsibility, some emotionally crippling issue), they aren't capable of standing on their own two feet, and they need a dominant man to take care of them.

I know there are exceptions to the rule for both cases, not all male submissives are Super Alpha Males with the exception of the woman they submit to, and there are a lot of female submissive characters who are capable of standing on their own two feet without a man to take care of them. I'm just saying that it seems to me, in the majority of heterosexual BDSM books my first two statements hold true.

I write strong female characters who choose to submit. Or maybe it's not a choice, maybe they are just wired that way, but that's a whole 'nother discussion. The point is, I write strong women characters who are surviving on their own just fine when they finally meet the Dominant of their dreams. In an online discussion about Safeword Rainbow I saw someone say, "If Viv can take care of herself then why is she submitting to him?"  That's at least one person who thinks all submissive women are weak, or who doesn't understand a strong women can choose to submit.  

I enjoy books where the submissive is male, mainly because I can usually relate to the male submissives (as they are written in books) more than I can relate to the way so many female submissives are written.

I'm not criticizing any specific book where the female can't stand on her own two feet, as there are some very good books written from that standpoint. In fact, it's a nice fantasy in some cases, to be totally taken care of. I'm just pointing out the gender difference. It's more of a statement about the way our society is structured than a statement about any specific book.

There is something else about the "savior Dom" scenario that bothers me. If the submissive isn't capable of standing on her own two feet, then once she's living with the Dom she doesn't really have an escape clause. At what point does it become, "I consent to whatever you want to do to me because I've got it made here and if I move out I have no way to rent an apartment or even buy food", instead of "I could easily leave and support myself if I wanted, but I choose to live here and submit to you".  The first is not true consent in my eyes, but the second is. I can think of a few books where the author uses the first scenario to create what amounts to a TPE where the slave is eventually truly trapped, and they are great books as far as fantasy BDSM goes.  If you want to use finances to turn it into "coerced consent" or even "forced consent", then sure, it can make for a fantastic fantasy.... and perhaps that's why this scenario gets used so much.  Or in the case of the truly savior Dom, the kind who saves and then insists on a college education and then helps them find a good job, maybe we should blame all of those Disney princesses who needed their prince to come along and save them. But then, I'm not exactly normal. I prefer The Paper Bag Princess to Sleeping Beauty.

Again, I'm not slamming books written this way, I'm just looking at the big picture: Submissive male characters usually get to be alpha males in their outside life and submissive only with the woman they love; while it seems to me most submissive women characters are written as helpless females who need someone to take care of them.

I don't think there is anything wrong with enjoying a book where the woman needs someone to step in and save her, I've enjoyed plenty of them, and if I'm in the mood for a "real slave" sort of book then sometimes that can fit the bill perfectly. Overall though, I much prefer to see a strong and capable woman submit to a strong and capable man.

How do you prefer the female submissive to be portrayed?

Friday, January 13, 2012


I would love to say we, as authors, aren't taken aback when someone dislikes a book we've written.  And if there are any authors who are the slightest bit like me, they're surprised, too, when someone loves a book they've written. I think it's because, in a very real way, that is "us" typed all over those pages. Even when our characters are doing and saying things in real life that we might not, their actions still come out of some little corner of our mind.  And sometimes that's a little funky to see---a character doing something rather appalling.  Some of my characters have actually embarrassed me.

Maybe I could consciously set out to write a story that more readers would like.  I could follow the formula of popular erotica and use plots with proven track records.  But, truth is, I write what I write because I have a story to tell.  Sure, I hope you like the characters (or dislike the ones I'd prefer you dislike); enjoy the action, the sex, but I write what turns me on, and I like to think I couch it in some realism.  The girl doesn't always get the guy; sometimes people want different things and have to part ways, and sometimes a character is too selfish or damaged to provide what another character needs.

Does that sound of out place in erotica?  If so, I'm glad.  I'm tired of seeing female characters going to pick up their dry cleaning, throwing themselves on the counter and fucking the guy who's sorting clothes.  Some of my female characters have a few pounds to lose, and some of the males are probably too harsh for most tastes.  Not everyone is rich or beautiful or living in a remote castle.  One of my characters in "Sub U" was a raging alcoholic.  But that's life.

I was dinged rather badly by a reviewer who said "Sub U' just wasn't what she expected.  I am really, really, really glad to hear that.  I hope my characters continue to make mistakes, do the unexpected, and unwittingly throw a screw or two in the works of their lives.  Don't we all do that?

Do real-to-life problems and flawed characters interfere with your enjoyment of erotica?

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Is kink a coat or a skin?

I'm in a bit of a bind, because I have nothing to write about that's either remotely kinky or sexy. Call it post-holiday stress, or the ongoing plague-like illness I have, or just the blahs. Whatever it is, I'm just not feeling kink lately.

I'm sure it will come back. I hope so anyway! But if it doesn't, I'll survive that too. One of the things I often wonder about is the genesis of kink/fetish tendencies in people. I've been kinky for so long, since I was a child really, that in my case I think it must be genetic. Something that happened with no outside influence, especially considering the conservatism of the house where I grew up.

But then there are people for whom kink clicks on at a later time, sometimes when they are already in their twilight years. I've met such people on They are amazed by this whole new world.

Aside from the question of where it begins, there's the question of where it ends. On Fetlife, there are many purist types who identify with kink so strongly that it is literally who they are, above and beyond everything else. For them, the idea that they might lost interest in kink one day is ludicrous. How can they stop being who they are (whether Master, submissive, slave...)?

But for me, kink has always been just one of the many quirks that makes up me. It's not the indicator by which I define who I am, by any means. For some people, this means I'm not really kinky...that I'm just...what's the phrase?...a bedroom player. I don't think that's true either.

What I've decided is that maybe, for some people kink is a skin. They wear it all the time and plan to feel at home in it until they die. For others, it's a coat they put on when they wish to. When they're in the mood. When they need to comfort or excitement of whatever it is they do in kink-related terms. When they are done with it, they put the coat away until it's needed again.

My coat is off right now, but it's around, hanging over on the wall or whatever. What is kink for you? A skin or a coat? How long have you been kinky? Do you think you'll be kinky until you die?

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Finding somewhere to land

In my now continuing tradition of combining blog posts with novel writing, I’m going to provide another kinky fantasy vignette for you on my way to Book Three. Might as well hatch two creative birds with one egg. (Don’t you hate the “killing two birds” image? I’ve never heard of twin birds in one egg, come to think of it; why not? Okay, I just looked it up. Apparently they do occur – think of double-yolked eggs -- but there’s not enough room for both to develop so either only one hatches or none. There’s your fact for the day. But I digress.)

What turns me on today? As always, the idea of a man imposing his will on a woman, when she has essentially agreed to such imposition in advance. Agreed more or less, and in general rather than in any specific particulars. The antithesis of topping from below. Her flesh as his plaything. Her emotions, her sensations, her suffering as his toy.

If you need visible, openly expressed love to accompany this, stop reading now. Love, or at least basic caring are there under the surface; take my word for it. But if the power’s not real, then the frisson isn’t there; not for me. Fear comes from genuine power, not game-playing. Treating someone like an object more or less rules out romance, for that scene at least. And if you want what happens to be “fair,” look elsewhere. D/s – my version at least – isn’t made to be fair.

I actually wrote this a while back, thinking about two people sharing their fantasies. Two people who want to engage in d/s but who aren’t there yet.

You want to know my fantasies, do you? You’re sure? And do I want to tell them to you? My private, scary, absolutely secret fantasies that I’ve held protected all these years?

You asked if I trust you. Do I? Not to turn away from me, if my thoughts are weirder than your own? I don’t know. I think I do. But what will be going on behind your eyes?

All right. I’ll take a leap. What the hell. It’s a blind leap, because really, what do I know about what goes on in your skull? I’ll have to trust those arms of yours; that they can catch me and hold me tight. Whatever I am.

It starts with a sensation. A hand around my wrist. I’ve got narrow wrists, and the hand is big, and very strong. My hand twists, but can’t begin to break its grip. My other hand tries to help, and is caught in its turn. Both my arms are twisted behind my back, almost to the point of pain.

“Behave,” says a voice. A deep voice. Both my wrists are in one hand now, pulled up high on my back. I try to wriggle out, but pain stops me. I can feel the straps wrapping around my wrists, pulling my elbows toward each other behind my back. Small yanks, knots being pulled tight. I can’t move my arms. A hand keeps my bound forearms in its grip, while another hand, warm and heavy, takes each bare thrust-out breast in turn, and squeezes. I can feel your erection pressing my hip.

“Back of the couch.” The hands are guiding me now; I twist away and stumble, but they have me by the upper arms.

“Wait! No!”

“Yes. Over the couch, now.”

“Please! I’m sorry! You don’t have to –“

The back of the couch is against my knees, the front of my thighs. A hand presses me over. Jackknifed, I’m staring at the red weave, the tiny flecks of yellow, the indentation in the cushion where minutes before I sat with a book. Before I’d snarled about whose turn it was to do the bills.

This is going to hurt. My breathing shallows in apprehension. My ass cheeks try to cringe; but they’re exposed and beyond rescue. I’m straining against the hand holding me down, thighs trembling and clenching around my slick core.

God, I need this. God, I’m scared.

Leather snaps, making me jump. A sting, and another, and another, each one just bearable. The pain is building, but I’m still outside it. Then you accelerate, and now I’m sucking in breath with a hiss at each blow, and now I’m yelling, and then I’m crying. The leather tails keep falling, and I’m there to meet them. And when the whipping stops and you slide inside me I know what I am, and what I need, and who you are. The world has a centre, and we’ve found it.

Now while I can say that you have to take my version of d/s or leave it, I’ve had so many reviews that say my books go too far that uncertainty creeps in. (Latest one is today; see Amazon.) I never saw Maia as obliterated, but half the book’s readers see her that way. So what do you think? Can I find somewhere to land?