Sex and Creativity

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TE new coverI’m working hard on the final rewrite of The Exhibition, the third novel of The Executive Decisions Trilogy, and I can’t immerse myself in a major writing project without being reminded of just how closely linked sexuality and creativity are. Since I’m up to my ears at the moment, I’m sharing an archive post with you today that talks about just that subject, a subject I think is always worth revisiting. I hope you enjoy it.

Sex and creativity are often seen by dictators as subversive activities.  –Erica Jong

My husband knows I’m always looking for interesting articles about sex. He sent me one the other day about masturbation as a treatment for restless leg syndrome (It’s orgasm that actually seems to help. The means is optional.) This led us to an impromptu  discussion of all of the other benefits of sex. Sex is a good sleep aid, sex can help with weight loss, sex can improve skin, hair and nails, just to name a few. There was even a recent article in Psychology Today about semen as an anti-depressant. The jury, however, is still out on whether sex is an aid or a deterrent to creativity.

For the naysayers, abstinence has long been touted as a way to focus sexual energy for creative purposes. On the other hand, a study at the University of Newcastle-on-Tyne and the Open University showed that professional poets and artists had almost twice as many sex partners as other people. The study also showed that the number of sex partners increased as creative output went up. The conclusion drawn was that the more creative you are, the more sex partners you were likely to have.

I’m sure that’s a simplification, but I wonder which came first: the sex or the creativity? Is it the creative force that makes us horny, or is it being horny that makes us creative? My guess is that every writer, poet or artist would answer that question differently. However, I don’t think there’s any denying the close connection between the creative force and sexuality. Nor do I think that’s particularly surprising. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Freud was right. It IS all about sex. But I wonder whether we really understand just what sex is all about.

Yes, the basic biology is obvious, but we humans haven’t had sex simply to procreate in a very long time now. We’ve evolved to want, to expect, even to need more from the sex act than just the next generation. Perhaps that goes hand-in- hand with our cultural evolution, what sets us apart from our animal cousins — at least in our own eyes. For humans, all things seem to have evolved two meanings. First there is the concrete realm in which we’re born, nurtured, thrive, reproduce and die. But we develop another level of meaning when we no longer have to use all of our energy just to survive. When starvation is no longer an issue, food and its preparation and presentation become art. When keeping out the cold is no longer an issue, clothing becomes fashion, and magazines tell us how we can be walking galleries for the art of clothing. When finding shelter from the elements is no longer necessary, our very homes become an artistic expression of ourselves. In a world where all our basic needs have evolved more than one meaning, the artistic expression becomes as important as the function.

But all of these necessities are mundane. Sex is not. For our ancestors, sex was the magic by which two people become three. Today sex is the magic by which two people become one, or by which one person becomes more herself or himself. On one hand procreation has given way to re-creation,  but on the other hand, how can an act that has evolved from the very need to create the next generation be rooted in anything but creativity?

How can the process of creating be anything but sexual? Writing a story is a penetrative act resulting in something larger, something much more alive than the words on the page, than the idea conceived. That’s heady stuff. That’s the writer in full rut. It’s intimate, it’s messy, it’s rough and tumble, it’s voyeurism and exhibitionism and full-on heat. If it isn’t, then there hardly seems to be a point.

That being said, anyone who has had good sex, lingering sex in which time seemed no longer to exist, will recall that what mattered was the wonder of the act itself, the amazing intimacy with the other. Any writer or artist knows that experience up close and personal. At some point the creative act itself becomes the sum total of existence. The writer’s world shrinks to and expands out from that act, and the end no longer matters.

So how did I get from masturbation for restless leg syndrome to once more worshiping at the altar of the Divine Creative Sexual Force? Well I suppose it’s all just a part of the journey isn’t it? And besides, where else would I go with it?

And here’s a little excerpt from Identity Crisis, book two of the Executive Decisions Trilogy, to make your weekend sizzle.

Blurb:

PR rep extraordinaire, Kendra Davis, is elated when she gets the chance to work for her hero, reclusive, romance novelist, Tess Delaney. Her elation is short-lived when she discovers that Tess is none other than Garrett Thorne, the bad-boy brother of business tycoon and eco-warrior, Ellison Thorne, who is engaged to her best friend, Dee Henning. Kendra blames Garrett for the comedy of errors that nearly destroyed their relationship. Garrett doesn’t like Kendra either, but he’s desperate. His alter-ego, Tess has been nominated for the prestigious Golden Kiss Award. No one knows who Tess really is, and he needs Kendra to play Tess for the awards.

When Tess is stalked by a rabid fan, the two unite to protect her identity. With Kendra, the body and Garrett the soul of Tess Delaney, is there room in this strange ménage for romance? Can a woman who doesn’t exist understand their hearts even better than they do?

IC new coverExcerpt from Identity Crisis:

Garrett had just pulled out his cell phone to call again, when he looked up to find Kendra standing at the bar with a drink in her hand, and his knees nearly gave from relief. One of the designer fashion boys was chatting her up. And immediately the relief was replaced with something a lot more tetchy. He shoved past a knot of Goths who mumbled and gave him a few nasty looks, but he was way past being polite at the moment.

‘The Porsche outside, it’s mine,’ Fashion Boy was telling Kendra, preening with one hand while he held a beer in the other. ‘Bought it with my bonus from last year. It’s one helluva ride.’ He moved in closer. ‘If you’re interested.’

‘I’m not.’

‘She’s not.’

Both he and Kendra spoke at the same time.

The man raised his hands and backed away, and Garrett grabbed her by the arm, none-too gently and marched her toward the door. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ He said, half shoving her out into the warm summer air, past the curious gaze of the bouncers.

‘What do you mean where have I been?’ She yanked her arm away. ‘I was dancing. I looked around and you were nowhere to be found. So I went to the bar to wait. I figured that would be the first place you’d look for me, and why are you so angry?’

‘Why am I so angry? You scared the shit out of me, that’s why I’m so angry.’ He jerked her closer to him. ‘One minute you’re dancing with me and the next minute the incredible hulk steps in between us and then you’re gone.’

‘Where are we going?’ she said, pulling back.

He jerked her forward. ‘Home, damn it. We’re going home where it’s safe.’ He half marched, half dragged her through the parking lot across the road and to the edge of the park before she gave him a shove, pulled away from him altogether and turned on him.

‘Fuck you, Garrett! I haven’t done anything wrong and even if I had, you’re not my father. I’ll go home when I’m damn good and ready.’

‘So what? You want to go back and ride banker boy’s Porsche, do you? Is that it? He buys you a drink and you let him give you a ride.’

That she didn’t slap him was the first shock, the second was that she didn’t turn back to the Boiling Point, but that she headed on into the park at a pace that a race horse would have struggled to keep up with.

‘I bought my own drink, you asshole. And I came with you. You’re the only one who gets to give me a ride.’

‘Kendra. Kendra, I’m sorry. Kendra wait!’ He struggled to catch up with her. ‘I just panicked when I couldn’t find you. I’m sorry, okay. I panicked.’

‘And you just assumed that I was on the make. Fuck you, Garrett! Fuck you!’

It was then that he realized she was leading him off the main path into the darkened edge of the park. ‘Kendra, where are you going?’

She didn’t respond, so he kept following her up a winding path deeper into the center of the park.

At the top of the hill in a grove of hawthorn trees and rose bushes in fragrant full-bloom, there was a bench. The leaves of the trees admitted a tiny pool of light from the street lamps just above it. ‘Kendra, where the hell are you going?’ He grabbed her hand, and she turned on him so quickly that he thought for sure this was when she would slap him, certainly he couldn’t blame her, but instead she fisted both hands in the front of his hoodie and pulled him to her in an angry kiss, then one hand migrated into the front of his track bottoms, and inside his boxer.

‘God, Kendra, what the –’ she swallowed up his words, biting his lip, sucking his tongue, licking at the back of his teeth and his hard pallet until he couldn’t breathe. Her fist around his cock was a strangle hold and even in its discomfort it felt like he was in heaven. ‘Kendra, I can’t …’ He tried to push her hand away, but the other hand snaked in and jerked his bottoms and boxers down over his ass until he could feel the night air on bare flesh. He wriggled and squirmed his heart racing in his chest. ‘Jesus, Kendra, you can’t be serious. This is a public place. What if someone –’

She bit his lip hard enough that he wondered if she’d drawn blood, and his cock surged so strongly in her hand that he feared he’d come right there. ‘Shut up, Garrett,’ she growled against his mouth. ‘I need you to fuck me, so just shut up.’

He heard the crackle of foil and with a slight of hand that nearly took his breath away she sheathed him in the condom, then with hands that seemed as full of anger and need as the rest of her, she ripped open the fly of her shredded jeans and shoved them down. Christ! There were no panties! ‘I need you, Garrett.’ She struggled to breath. ‘I need you to fuck me right now. I can’t wait. Right now. Right now!’ She turned her back to him still shoving and pushing at the jeans until they were down around her thighs and the rounded heart shape of her bottom shown in the pale light. Then she bent over and rested a palm onto the seat of the park bench. With the other hand, she reached behind her, grabbed his hip and pulled him up close until his cock pressed into the valley between her buttocks. ‘Do it, Garrett. I can’t stand it any longer. Do it now!’ She wasn’t trying to be quiet. She wasn’t trying to be subtle. She didn’t care that there were other people still using the park, that they might get caught, and Garrett felt like he’d burst at the very thought of what they were doing – and where. She opened herself to him and shifted her hips, while he, with one hand low on her back and the other on his cock fumbled and maneuvered until he slid home. She grunted a curse and pushed back onto him hard, and they both cried out as they began to thrust.

Her beret tumbled off behind the park bench and he grabbed at her ponytail as it fell free reining her in with it. He yanked her back toward him like it might help him control her somehow. He yanked her back until he could bury his mouth against her neck, rake her pulse point with his teeth, suckle and nip until the sounds coming from both their throats were feral groans and grunts.

With a quick movement, she unhooked her bra, grabbed his free hand and guided it to the bounce and the fullness of her breasts, nipples tight and puckered against the rake of his thumb. Then she grabbed his hand from her hair and guided his fingers to her mouth, licking and nibbling before she shoved them down between her legs, down to the heavy strain of her clit.

They were both too far gone to hold back much longer, and it took little more than a stroke between her legs before she came, growling and straining and nearly collapsing onto the bench as he came juddering in hard waves inside her.

It was only as their breathing began to return to normal that he could hear her sniffles. As he pulled out, she stood and wiped her nose on the back of her hand, then jerked her jeans up as though they had made her angry somehow.

She stuffed her bra into the pocket of his hoodie with a hard shove, bent to retrieve her beret, and was already heading down the path before he could deal with the condom and get settled back into his track bottoms.

Blrub for The Exhibition:

(Out soon!)

Successful NYC gallery owner, Stacie Emerson, is ex-fiancée to one Thorne brother and ex-wife to the other. Though the three have made peace, Ellison Thorne’s friend, wildlife photographer, Harris Walker, still doesn’t like her. When Stacie convinces Harris to exhibit his work for the opening of her new gallery she never intended to include him in her other more hazardous plans. But when those plans draw the attention of dangerous business tycoon, Terrance Jamison, Harris comes to her aid. In the shadow of a threat only Stacie understands, can she dare let Harris into her life and make room for love?

Why Rachel Kincaid Writes Challenging Erotica

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It’s my pleasure to welcome Rachel Kincaid to A Hopeful Romantic, knowing that anywhere romantic is probably not where you’d normally find Rachel, but I loved her piece, Second Chance, which she read at Smut by the Sea,  and knowing that it was uncharactoristic of what she typically writes, I asked her if she would be my guest and talk a bit about why she writes ‘challenging’ erotica. Welcome, Rachel! It’s such a pleasure to have you here!

I met KD Grace at Eroticon 2013 in London when she ran a wonderful session about finessing a sex scene. I then met her again at Smut by the Sea and like all nervous writers we were twittering about what we were going to read and comparing plots. Everyone was surprised when I said that I was going to be reading a lovely little premature ejaculation story. It appeared incongruent. How can you have ‘nice’ and ‘premature ejaculation’ in the same sentence? I also stated that I had written a nice little necrophilia story but that the host had asked me to err on the side of caution. I really struggled with this, I don’t naturally do caution or toned down stuff so ‘Second Chance’ was it.

Rachel KincadeIMG_20130630_055146I have been writing non-fiction stuff for years so when I first forayed into the world of fiction I cast my mind around for things that I wanted to read. Remittance Girl wrote a wonderful piece about a writers first love, our reader, and how initially that is ourselves and that over time it progresses to a style where we have a ‘map’ of what our readers/fans want from our work. My own reading is very varied. I am a huge Terry Pratchett fan because you can re-read all of his books and find new things in them. That is what I love about it and what I aspire to do, to write a book that stands up to being read more than once. It is why Dan Brown and EL James gets such a slating. They write tomes that are discarded because they offer something insubstantial, disposable. I love Agatha Christie and Roald Dahl’s Tales of the Unexpected, I like trying to work out what is going to happen next and who dunnit. Huxley’s Brave New World, Orwells 1984, Margaret Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale all challenge me and leave tendrils of their plots lingering in my conscience.

So here I am; a well educated, well read (ish) woman writing erotica. Writing any genre well you need to read a lot of it. I have read right across the landscape from soft and gentle romance to porn and through to erotic horror. I found that I instantly forgot the fluff, I don’t recall the plots or the authors (unless they are really bad). I’m not knocking the softer stuff, I have read enough of it, but it does not float my boat and nor is it usually well written. The work that I recall is not necessarily the stuff that I would do with a sexual partner, it might be too extreme, or full of pathos, or heart breaking sadness.  Erotica, for me, is about escapism, this may not be into something soft and fluffy, it may be dystopian horror or an excellent flogging BDSM scene. Talking to my fellow writers and readers these are the plots that they remember too. Ask any writer all they want is for their stuff to be read…and remembered, this is why I try to write something ‘different’.

Now being different is dangerous. I run the risk of not being published, that I will turn the reader off and alienate them, of people asking me to tone down so that I ‘fit in’. I don’t fit in and that is what people like, they like edgy and different. Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop, Oasis (before all the terrible cocaine choices they made), Andy Warhole, Marquis De Sade, Margaret Thatcher (subliminal messaging about me putting her next to Sade? Maybe), Lawrence of Arabia, Mary Shelly. All of these people are ‘different’ in their own ways and are loved or remembered because of it not in-spite of it.

In my mind stories should be about escaping into something where we do not normally go. In addition to this if I am writing something about places where people have not gone, I have a responsibility to educate too, to give the correct information; something EL James epically failed at. As did, in my opinion, Pauline Reage in her classic Story of O, the anal training is written by someone who has not experienced it or understands the bio-mechanical elements of what she had written, although she does eloquently explore the emotional state. I care about my reader, I want to take them down the rabbit hole, to show them how far it goes, excite them, turn them on, thrill them, scare them. I often tweet that I am mean to them too because I dump them in the middle of a plot and as soon as they get their bearings I whip the legs out from under them. I can always see where the line is, and I always cross it; life is more fun that way. Nice and nasty? No, not really. I am a firm believer in that people have a lot more intelligence than they give themselves credit for. I do not believe in dumbing down. It is like those well crafted documentaries e. g. Wonders of the Solar System, that get across difficult concepts without alienating anyone. There is no need to over simplify things. Sex is not simple, it never has been and never will be, so why make it so? In all of my writing if I pitch it right, then the very smart ones are not bored, the less intellectually gifted can keep up and then the mainstream are in for a treat too.

Once I started to write, or think about writing, outside the usual boy meets girl, girl is tempted away by the ‘bad’ man but goes back for the ‘good’ boy. Oh shoot me now! Dull as ditchwater. Why can’t she marry the nice boy and have great hot wild sex with the bad man and then possibly have even hotter sex with both of them…at the same time. Now that is much more interesting.

To expand it even further (because you can always go further), sex does not just happen to young and nubile people. Some of the best sex I have had is after my body is covered in stretch marks, with wobbley bottomed cellulite and there was probably a fanny fart thrown in there for good measure. So if this is when I have enjoyed sex the most, why not write for that audience too? I don’t want to stop having wild sex until the day that I die, at about 100 should do, preferably no sooner.

Combining all of this opens up so many opportunities and challenges for me as a writer and communicator. Today I am releasing my first piece of writing with Naughty Night’s Press called Just Let Go. Very exciting. As is my want, it is not a traditional erotic story; no one orgasms, there is not sex in the traditional sense but I guarantee you that it is exciting and sexy and erotic. A challenge to write? Yes. A challenge to read? No, because it will whisk you along and take you somewhere special. After you read it you will remember it (I hope) and it should stand up to being read more than once.

So here I am, a new erotica writer, daring to be different, daring to stand out from the crowd, taking a gamble and being prepared to fail. Want to come with me on this ride?

Just Let Gohttp://naughtynightspress.com/nnpstore2/index.php?main_page=product_info&Rachel Kincaia storyAReNHSJUSTLETGORachelKincaidcPath=5&products_id=96

How do you get a charismatic and professional dynamo in a high-powered profession to let go a little?
You tie her up and keep her guessing.

Catherine rushes home for a date with her husband and Dom, and what follows is an adventure in sensory deprivation, bondage, and the magic that can happen when both Dom and sub have needs and gifts that fit so well together.

How does Catherine manage to keep it all together? What does it take to get a woman accustomed to command to surrender?

And how far does her Dom go to get her there?

Excerpt from Just Let Go:

 “Tonight.“

That was all the text stated. Her mind emptied of all the meetings and reports and detritus of office life that crammed into her head. It was as though someone had jump-started her heart because it leapt out of her throat. Catherine ran her tongue around her dry mouth and over her teeth, making strange semi circles with its tip. She wondered what he would be up to, what he would have planned for her. Rubbing her fingers over her lips, she sat there in contemplation.

Catherine had everything. She was pretty, smart, witty, friendly, with a high-powered job; she had it all. In fact she was very happy with her life, particularly at this moment.

At that instant Tina entered. “Just some more letters for you to sign and I…” She halted mid–sentence and stared boggle–eyed at Catherine before gathering herself; “Oooh, you look like the cat who got the cream. What are you up to?”

Coughing, covering up the moment required to try and pull her thoughts together, Catherine stated bluntly, “Nothing.” It was complete failure trying to maintain any semblance of decorum around Tina.

“I know a smirk when I see one. What are you planning?”

Catherine looked Tina squarely in the eye like her father had taught her during all business meetings. “It was just a text,” she said with all the haughtiness she could muster.

Snorting, Tina exclaimed, “Just a text, my arse! You are on a promise. It looks like sex for you tonight, m’lady.”

Find Rachel Kincaid Here:

Rachel Kincaid blog http://rachelkincaid4.blogspot.co.uk/

About Rachel Kincaid

Rachel Kincaid is a professional woman who thinks and writes about sex a lot. She Is a firm believer that erotica should not just be about the young a nubile, nor should it be dull and uninteresting. Her writing frequently covers taboo topics in new and interesting ways, thishas earned her a cult following across the globe.

 

 

Sweet Proposal by Celia J Anderson

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Sweet ProposalBooks, chocolate and a Jacuzzi: could there be a better combination? Gorgeous Geordie Leo arrives in Clayton-on-the-Bream with a mission to make his mark. When he reveals his ideas for a bespoke bookshop and chocolate-themed cafe, struggling writer Mab can’t resist his plea for help.

However, Leo’s timing is disastrous. Engaged to flighty, super-thin Sophie and knowing that Mab is up to her neck in a mysterious scheme of her own, Leo fights hard to ignore the warm, sensual friendship that is growing between them. When their eclectic mix of family and friends weigh in to help, the dream seems almost possible, but can Leo ignore Mab’s shady past? As they battle with sabotage, jealousy, vindictive neighbours and unpredictable relationships, Mab and Leo find that even chocolate can’t always make miracles happen . . .

Available from:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

*****

Excerpt:

Leo swerved to avoid a dead badger. The A1 was still so quiet that groups of starlings rose in disgruntled crowds as he disturbed their breakfast, and the café where he had once eaten the best bacon sandwich of his life was firmly shuttered.

He gave in to the violent rumblings of his stomach and reached into the glove box, tearing the emergency chocolate bar open with his teeth and chewing until the bitter sweetness melted on his tongue, soothing and sensual. Chocolate and the future – they were closely linked in Leo’s mind. He sighed deeply. It was a pity that Sophie didn’t share his enthusiasm, but he supposed it was hard to get enthusiastic about a chocolate-based dream when all you ate was lettuce. Sophie was only twenty-five after all, ten years younger than Leo, stunningly beautiful and harder to amuse than a teenager on a family holiday. Maybe after they were married she would realise what a brilliant opportunity this move was going to be, and would be ready to leave Newcastle and her weird friends behind.

Stretching his legs, Leo decided that this cab must have been designed for a much smaller man. He yawned, felt his eyelids droop and blinked furiously, thinking of hot baths and strong coffee. He’d had no sleep for almost twenty-four hours. Celebrating was fine, but work would have to come first from now on. It was time for the Chocolate Project. The excitement that had been building up in waves washed over Leo again, and he gave the middle-aged lady driving towards him the full benefit of his flashing grin and dimples. He saw her jaw drop and laughed for the sheer joy of living – at last, Leo was about to make his mark, and no one was going to stop him.

*****

Author Bio:

When she’s not marking children’s work, or writing stories involving pants, Celia spends far too much time on Facebook (Celia Joy Anderson) and does a lot of walking to counteract the cooking, eating and drinking which form another of her hobbies. She blogs as part of the Romaniacs online writers’ group – http://theromaniacgroup.wordpress.com and tweets as @CeliaAnderson1. Her own website was recently launched thanks to Lucy Felthouse – http://celiajanderson.co.uk and she has an author page on Facebook (Celia J Anderson)

Her ultimate dream is to have her children’s books published too. Usually sea-starved in the depths of the Midlands, she can often be found wandering happily around Brighton visiting her two daughters and pretending to collect ideas for her next book.

Lily Harlem Talks about the C Word & the New Harlem Dae Sexy as Hell Trilogy

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Lily and Emmy VirginSAH_sidebar_readerquoteCunt, now there is a word that can make people gasp, or smile, or their hackles go up. Even seeing it spelled out can make some people tremble. I use it in my novels sparingly – note the word sparingly – because I like the impact it has. But because of its power, it can also be a word that knocks readers from a moment when you really want them to be immersed in the story – but more about that in a minute.

First of all, a quick sweep around the world wide web about the origins of this complex word.. (not a polemic, just a bit of info!)

It seems that etymologists debate the word cunt but the overall belief is that the word derives from the Proto-Germanic word kunton meaning the female genitals. What is known for sure is that by the 13th century cunt was being widely used. The earliest known citation of the word comes from a street in London known as Gropecunte Lane. This name was common in many towns in Britain as the street where prostitutes conducted their business. The street name described the activity that took place, e.g. grope meaning to touch for sexual pleasure and cunte meaning female genitalia. This street existed under its current name in London up until fairly recently when the residents decided to change its name to something a little more PC – I’m just guessing at this new name LOL!

So originally cunt didn’t have the obscene connotations it has today, it was merely a noun for the ladies private parts. But over the years its meaning evolved, by Shakespeare’s day it seems to have become quite obscene and although the great playwright never actually used the word in any of his completed plays, before him, Chaucer did in Canterbury Tales.

However, moving forward a few centuries, the way in which Anais Nin used cunt in her writing is pertinent, titillating and I think beautiful. Erotica is more likely to use cunt with acceptance & grace unlike the rest of society who’ve pushed cunt to the outer rims of the majorities vocabulary. For a long time cunt was an outcast. Only uncouths and drunks used the word that once all enjoyed so merrily, until fairly recently when, luckily for it – society liked to shock.

Now it is the golden age of cunt, everybody uses it from the humblest beggar to politicians in a way they hope will get a gasping reaction at their daring. There is, however, also a long-standing movement among feminists that seeks to reclaim cunt not only as acceptable, but as an honorific, in much the same way that queer has been reappropriated by LGBT people. I for one, hope they succeed.

But despite its resurgence many are still confused on when and in what company it is okay to say the previously unutterable…

lily and Emmy virgincumminstreetUntil the feminists are victorious in changing the general population’s opinion of the word, utilising cunt in the modern age is a difficult balancing act. If you underutilize or refuse to say it then you are missing out on one of the most powerful words in the English language. If you overutilise cunt then you run the risk that people will think you’re either a misogynist or a feminist, depending on your gender, and cunt will lose all its punch and forcefulness. (information sourced from Live Leaks, sexloveliberation)

So, back to Anais Nin who paved the way for modern day erotica authors and readers. Since I have a new trilogy out this week – Sexy as Hell co-written with Natalie Dae – that uses the word cunt in several different ways I thought I’d share a few examples of how Natalie and I like to work it into stories.

This is the first snippet, and what I should point out is that cunt is in the very first line of the very first book. Why? Because it shocks, it hooks, it shows us a lot about not just the female lead, Zara, but also the reaction of the man she says it to. Here goes…

Excerpt from The Virgin, book #1 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy

Chapter One

“Lick my cunt,” I said.

I wondered what Victor saw, standing there fully dressed as he was against my bedroom wall. A woman sprawled out on the bed, naked, her fingers spreading her slit apart, or me, Zara Watson, the girl he’d picked up in a coffee shop after work? Or so he’d like to think. I’d picked him up, but I wasn’t about to let him in on how. It had been easy, making him believe he had the gift of the gab, what it took to successfully snare a woman, but in reality I’d orchestrated every move. I doubted his ego could take the truth.

“What?” he asked, dark eyebrows going up, eyes widening.

Lily and Emmy VirgindaisySo he wasn’t as sophisticated as he’d made out. In my experience, they were all the same. Confident and all-knowing until someone like me threw them. Came out with a simple statement that had them reeling. No idea how to claw back their self-assured air without a pause to take in what had been said. The shock of it was usually too much. Hang on, lady, you’re not meant to be saying things like that to me. It should be the other way around. I ought to be shocking you.

“You heard me,” I said, holding back a smirk. “So?”

He remained where he stood, more was the pity, and smiled, a tactic I’d seen so many times before. I‘d bet his mind was swirling, him trying to think what he could say that would get him back on top. I only wished he would get on top, or at least do something that would live up to the promise of his sexy words in the coffee shop. I sighed. All mouth and no trousers, that one. Shame he still had his trousers on. Black ones that matched his shirt. A grey silk tie that could be taken two ways—he was either a stuffy prig or had no choice but to wear it for his profession. And he’d told me all about that. An architect, don’t you know, well paid and with a flashy car that he’d wasted no time in describing to me. As though a hunk of metal was of interest. The only hunk I was interested in was him, and the way things were going, I wouldn’t be getting my mitts on him as quickly as I’d envisaged. Shame, because he was a great-looking guy and I wouldn’t be surprised if his body matched the aesthetic appeal of his face.

“A bit forward, aren’t you?” he said, rubbing the cute, vertical dink he had in his chin.

“Is that a problem?” I leant back, bracing myself on my hands. My breasts didn’t move. Pert things, they’d brought many a man to his knees. A pity this one wasn’t on them between my legs now, supping the cunt I’d so graciously offered.

“Well…” He frowned, seemingly at a loss on what to say.

“Well what?” I smiled inwardly. Talk about getting to him. I could almost see him trying to hold in a squirm.

“You…you didn’t seem this type when we met.” He lifted one hand, running his fingers through his floppy brown hair. Sprinkles of silver weaved through his sideburns and the wispy, longer hairs at his temple.

“And what type is that?” I was enjoying myself.

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Zara goes on to ask him how a naked lady on a bed, asking him to ‘lick her cunt’ can fail to turn him on. It’s clear from his reaction that it’s that one word that’s thrown him, the straw that broke the camel’s back in this scene, and a great place to start his character development.

This next snippet is from book #3 The Vixen, a shorter excerpt because it’s quite plot heavy and I don’t want to throw spoilers around, but I wanted to use it as an example of cunt being a word filled with hate and the power it can have when used that way. Plus it’s such a short, hard word on the tongue, can be almost spat out, that even when reading and not saying it out loud it still reverberates.

*****

I hadn’t had to put the incredulous in my voice, because I could recall my shock when they’d asked me, or rather Conner had told me what I had to do.

Conner. I’d told myself I’d never say his name, never think it, but things had changed. He was the one who’d liked the games the best, the others had just watched with folded arms and amused sneers on their faces.

Cunts.

*****

This is just a tiny section of Zara’s thoughts in that scene, but I still think the depth of her hate is evident on the page from that final word.

Finally, an example of cunt used in a heated moment which leads to lots of loving and caring and written as a thought while in the heroine, Zara’s, point of view.

This is taken from book #2 The Player.

lily and Emmy VirginSAH_magazine_coverOh, God, he meant it. The fire in his eyes was plain to see. I’d pushed him way too far. What the hell had he and Ollie been talking about?

He shoved me and I fell onto the bed, the backs of my knees against the edge of the mattress. Still standing he straddled them, loomed above me, staring down with such menace in his eyes I knew I really should give him a snippet of the truth before he exploded in spectacular fashion. His cock tented his jeans—oh, yes, it tented them quite nicely—and I clenched my cunt muscles to stave off the stirrings of desire.

“I don’t know the proper rules,” I said. There, there was some truth. “All I know are mine and the games that I play. I don’t know any other way. Satisfied?”

My chest went up and down as I fought to catch my breath. It seemed as though my admission had taken all the air out of me, had left me weak and boneless, vulnerable—something I’d vowed never to be again.

*****

Fairly subtle in that last one, but I like how it is in the protagonist’s thoughts, again it tells us a detail about her, how she thinks, that she’s comfortable with the word if she has it in her head like that, and also that she uses it in different ways herself.

On a different note, KD and I were recently at a reading in Cardiff with fellow erotica and erotic romance authors Lucy Felthouse and Kay Jaybee and we had a question and answer panel at the end of the readings and the open mic. One of the audience asked us about using the ‘c-word’ in our books. I took the route of it having positive female connotations in history as a noun and that I found it particularly useful when writing. I also put forward that if readers are picking up erotica they’re not too likely to be shocked by a single word. This seemed to be a general opinion of the other authors on the panel, and I know full well, because I’ve read and loved all of their work, that they, too, use cunt in a variety of different ways.

Do share your thoughts, I will do my best to check in and say hi! And again, I’ve just skimmed the surface on this subject, it can be debated at length…

Lily x

 Sexy as Hell Trilogy  –

The Virgin, The Player and The Vixen

By Harlem Dae

Sexy as Hell is an erotic trilogy that will submerge you into the black heart of a world of bondage and discipline, Dominance and submission, sadism and masochism.

Dare to take this twisting journey with Victor and you’ll learn the ropes with him, experience every carnal sensation and fall into a dark and dangerous love that grips like a fist and binds like a collar.

Get to know Zara, his sultry teacher, and you’ll gasp when she doles out her sinful instructions but then delight in the stunning results she not only demands but achieves. It seems Heaven and Hell are not so far apart when she holds the reins.

Victor has his layers peeled back, but when he does the same to try to get to his Vixen’s core, a revelation appears. Because Zara is a woman whose vast sexual experience is both her strength and her weakness; she can inflict pain and pleasure, make lusty demands and instruct, but she needs so much more, she needs…

Yes, the time has come to for her to admit to her needs and confess to the repairing her soul hungers for. A sea of memories, a lifetime of control requires an acknowledgement that will cut through her barriers, and there’s only one man up for the job—her virgin, her student, her newly trained monster, Victor Partridge.

Please note, in order to enjoy Victor and Zara’s adventures, the trilogy must be read in order.

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About the Authors

Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae have been writing together for several years on top of their individual author projects. Their joint name is now Harlem Dae. They enjoy being represented by traditional houses including HarperCollins and Total-E- Bound as well self-publishing their sexy stories on Amazon. Both live in the UK and gain great satisfaction from bouncing characters and their raunchy antics back and forth, growing, nurturing and stoking plot lines until they steam off the page and push boundaries. They consider themselves to be solitary, whacky, spontaneous and desirous for many things including perfection and are frequently caught sending messages back and forth referring to each other as Rodney and Delboy.

Buy Links

Amazon US

The Virgin – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00E251FBW

The Player – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00E251FOO

The Vixen – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00E251KU8

Amazon UK

The Virgin – http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Virgin-Trilogy-Erotic-ebook/dp/B00E251FBW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374518725&sr=1-1

The Player – http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Player-Trilogy-Erotic-ebook/dp/B00E251FOO/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374518725&sr=1-2

The Vixen – http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Vixen-Trilogy-Erotic-ebook/dp/B00E251KU8/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374518774&sr=1-3

Author Links

Harlem Dae website http://www.harlemdae.com

Harlem Dae on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/NatalieDaeandLilyHarlem

Harlem Dae on Amazon US http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Harlem%20Dae&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank

Amazon UK  http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Harlem%20Dae&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank

 

August Al Fresco: Outdoor Naughtiness & Fabulous Prizes

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When the sun’s out and the air is warm and smells of summer flowers or sea breezes, the whole British outdoors is like one gigantic aphrodesiac. And you can count on the fabulous Blisses not missing that delicious fact. So love is in the air along with hot sex and fabulous prizes during August Al Fresco. Here’s how you can celebrate.  And enjoy the sizzling summer excerpt from my novel, Elemental Fire, Book Three of the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy.

 

 

Comment on this post to be in to win one of these fabulous prizes:

A Kindle  and £50 worth of Total-E-Bound ebooks.

or £50 worth of Xcite ebooks

And be sure to check out all the August Alfresco posts at http://smutalfresco.co.uk and comment on each one to have more chances to win.

All terms and conditions are available at smutalfresco.co.uk and the winners will be announced on the 1st September at the website.

 

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Elemental Fire Blurb:

Obsessed with revenge, KENNET LUCIAN makes a deal with a demon, a deal he comes to regret when he meets TARA STONE, head of the Elemental Coven, and a powerful witch with a desire for revenge at least as great as his. Even though the attraction between the two is magnetic and the lust combustive, Kennet must betray her to accomplish his goal, which is ultimately her goal as well; to put a final end to the demon, Deacon’s, reign of terror. But can Tara trust the man who has wormed his way into her heart and the heart of the Elemental Coven? Can she trust LUCIA, the demon with whom Kennet is allied, a demon with her own agenda. The path to Deacon’s destruction is far from clear, and the price that must be paid to be free of him forever may be too high, even for Tara Stone.

Excerpt from Elemental Fire:

This time the dream was warm and sexy, and she found herself in a deep cave. She felt safe and comfortable. No one could touch her here. This was her domain. Caves were always her safe place, and they so often elicited a pavlovian effect on her body. Caves were the place of powerful dream magic. Caves were the place where she always felt sexy by association. And even now, even in the Dream World, she felt deeply aroused, more so than she had since Anderson had been lost to her.

kd-lht-buttonShe undid her blouse and slid her hand inside to caress her breasts. It felt like forever since she’d had a good fuck, and Goddess, she ached for her loss. As one hand tugged at her burgeoning nipples, the other worried open the fly of her walking trousers and slid down onto her mons. She’d left Elemental Cottage in a hurry, so there was no underwear to contend with. She stroked her soft curls for a few minutes, teasing, anticipating, her hips shifting and undulating against the ground. Then, when she could take it no longer, she slid two fingers deep into the gape of her pussy, wriggling and maneuvering to where she was hottest and wettest. Just one stroke of her clit and she came in shutters and jerks. She hadn’t realized she’d been that desperate for relief. But she had been distracted lately.

It was then she noticed the exquisite woman with long golden hair sitting so close that her knees practically touched Tara’s ribs. It came as no surprise to her, though surely it should have, but then this was a dream, wasn’t it? The woman’s robe pooled around her and ebbed and flowed like fire.

‘You feel better now, don’t you my darling, Tara?’ She asked. Her voice made Tara feel like she was melting into warm, delicious nothingness and seeping into the cave floor.

Tara nodded and moaned softly, for some reason unable to speak, for some reason just wanting to remain in the presence of this woman, whoever she was. It brushed her consciousness fleetingly that maybe she should be concerned about the strange woman in her dreams, but the thought passed quickly, and she lay quietly next to her.

‘Good,’ the woman said, stroking Tara’s hair away from her forehead. ‘I need you to feel better. All of us need you to feel better. We have work to do, and we cannot do it when you’re mourning your losses.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, of course I know about your Anderson. And I know that you do not fuck the living. Such a foolish girl you are to deny yourself the very pleasure you so willingly offer the dead. Elemental Cottage is not a nunnery, my darling.’ She leaned down low and kissed Tara on the mouth. Her breath smelled like the fells in high summer. Then she tisk-tisked and gently stroked Tara’s pubic curls. ‘You need more than you can manage with your hand, my sweet girl, no matter how gifted you are in the arts of pleasure. You practice sex magic, surely you know this.’ She brushed slender fingers up Tara’s belly and over the mounds of her breasts. Tara arched up into her heated caresses. ‘Shall I bring you just what you need to make you feel better? Would you like that, my dear?’

Tara could only whimper and nod.

Once again she brushed Tara’s lips with hers adding the slightest flick of her tongue, and for an instant, the kiss felt predatory, devouring. Or had Tara only imagined it? ‘Do not worry, my love,’ the woman said as she pulled away. ‘I shall send you just what you need. Wait here, and rest a little.’ Then she disappeared leaving Tara to writhe and moan on the floor of the cave.

From far away someone shook her arm, someone called to her in distressed tones, trying to bring her back to the Waking World. But she didn’t want to go back. It was safe and warm and happy here. There was nothing but sadness in the Waking World. She just wanted to sleep here in the cave and wait for whoever the beautiful woman would bring to her.

But the shaking and jostling continued. She slapped the hand away but it kept coming back to shake her. She was just ready to tell whoever it was to bugger off, when she opened her eyes and looked up to see the outline of a man leaning over her. Even in the darkness, the energy emanating from him was magnetic. Everything inside her tightened with anticipation, and Goddess, she wanted him. Surely she was still dreaming.

‘Are you alright?’ His voice vibrated through her chest and his touch felt electric, full of magic. ‘I thought you were dead, then I heard you moaning. I guess you were dreaming. I was worried and then …’

They both realized at the same time that her shirt was open and so were her trousers, and one hand still rested on her mons. She could feel the man’s gaze taking in the situation, and he twigged. ‘Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I thought you were — ’

‘I was! Dreaming, I mean.’ She quickly jerked her hand out of her trousers and tugged her open blouse across her bare breasts. ‘I was dreaming, and she said she’d send someone and …’ She blinked hard and looked around at the night sky. She couldn’t have been asleep long, but everything felt unreal, different. Was she still dreaming? Dreams could be so powerful at times, so confusing. She reached up to touch his face and felt a surge of magic — some new, some old. Some very old. Had she enfleshed a ghost because of her horny dream? When she walked at night, ghosts did sometimes follow her onto the fells in hopes that she would enflesh them and allow them to experience for a little while the pleasures afforded the living. And any other time she would happily oblige. But when she walked at night, she always sent them away. This was her place, her alone time. No one was welcome to disturb her here, and most ghosts knew that. Had she been that out of it? Was she that desperate for a fuck that her unconscious had broken her own rules?’

The man sat back on his haunches and looked down at her. In the darkness she could only make out his silhouette dominated by broad shoulders, but it was enough to make her  own arousal spike. Certainly if she had enfleshed him, she couldn’t leave him in the state he was now, no doubt, in because of her.

He gave a little gasp of surprise when she off-balanced him, pulled him down to her and kissed him. ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ she managed before she drew him into another kiss.

‘I might say the same about you,’ he replied.

Cheeky ghost, she thought, but she kissed him again. This time he returned the favour. And the power surge she felt went clear from her mouth down to the base of her spine and back again. His eyes fluttered, he gasped against her mouth, clearly feeling what she felt, and there was no disguising the press of his heavy erection against the fly of his walking trousers.

‘What the hell was that?’ She gasped, not entirely sure she wasn’t going to come just from their last kiss.

He pulled back from her with a start, one hand against his lips and the other resting low on his belly. ‘If you do that again, I can’t guarantee what will… If you do that again.’

For a tightly stretched second, they froze in each other’s gaze. Then she forced words up through her throat, struggling to breathe through her arousal. ‘I can’t … I need …’

‘Me too,’ He whispered. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes in the darkness, but his gaze was baking hot against her.

Focus. Damn it, she needed to be able to focus, to think. She forced a deep breath and then they were both speaking at the same time.

‘I’m sorry … I didn’t … I wouldn’t …’

‘I don’t know what just happened,’ he gasped.

‘Me neither,’ she managed.

Then they were on each other. He yanked the clasp from her hair and clawed it free from the ponytail. She curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him on top of her, down between her open legs, lifting her hips, wrapping her ankles around his waist and thrusting up to meet him. The sounds coming from his throat were deep-chested, wild, and she wasn’t sure where his grunts and growls left off and hers began as he thrust and ground against her, shoving her arse into the soft moss with his efforts.

‘I need to get to you,’ he gasped pulling away from her, tugging and fumbling at her trousers until they were down over her hips.

She toed one of her boots off and kicked it aside, and he lifted her leg free of her trousers while she shoved open his fly and slid her hand into his boxers until she could wrap her fingers around his heavy cock.

He gasped and pushed her hand away. ‘Don’t do that. I’ll come in your hand and I don’t want to come there. He trapped both her wrists above her head with a large hand while he nuzzled his way into her shirt and battled with his trousers until his butt was bare.

Then he released her hands and kissed his way down her belly, shoving her legs further apart as he went, lowering his face, biting the inside of her left thigh just below the swell of her pussy. She yelped and drenched herself. He fingered her open and ran his tongue up from her perineum all the way to her clit and bit again. And she came, bellowing her orgasm into the cool night air. ‘I want you in me, I want you in me,’ she gasped, even before she could breathe again, even before the waves inside her had dissipated.

He positioned himself and pushed into her deep and hard and they both growled like angry wolves. She grabbed his arse cheeks in an effort to pull him still deeper into her. He dug into the moss with his feet, shoved up onto his knees and lifted her until her shoulders rested in the moss and her hips were in the air, knees pressing upward against her breasts. Then he rolled with her and pulled her on top of him. With one trembling hand he shoved her blouse off her shoulders and her breasts bounced freely into his cupping fingers. With the other hand he expertly found her clit, and resting the flat of his palm on her mound, he stroked and rubbed with the pad of his thumb.

One wave of orgasm collapsed in on the next, like the waves breaking against the cliffs at St Bee’s Head. Then both of his hands settled to her hips and he thrust up nearly bucking her off in his efforts to penetrate still deeper. His grip on her hips was bruising, and she slammed into him harder and harder with each thrust, emotions swirling around, emotions that she didn’t want to feel, emotions that she did want to feel, emotions that she had wanted to feel from the time she was a little girl. And somewhere in the midst of their thrusting and pushing, she realized that not all of the emotions were hers. But she couldn’t think, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the in and out, push and shove, like a mantra, like a spell being woven in rhythm, in repetition, in sync.

And then they both came, screaming and raging and rolling in the moss until he was once again on top of her, his weight feeling like the weight of the world, and yet at the same time feeling like a blanket protecting her from the depths of her own pain. How could this be? How could she ever experience anything like this with some strange horny ghost on the fells?

She found herself with a million questions, and yet by the time she caught her breath, she was fast asleep. To her total surprise, he had crossed the dream threshold and they were chasing the dream together.

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