Review Tuesday: Sacred Exchange edited by Lisabet Sarai and S.F. Mayfair - #BDSM #Spirituality #ReviewTuesday

Sacred Exchange edited by Lisabet Sarai and S.F. Mayfair

Blue Moon Books, 2003

I don’t normally review my own books. Who would believe an author’s evaluation of her own work, after all? How could such a review be objective? (On the other hand, given the emotions any book can evoke, maybe there’s no such thing as an objective review.)

A few days ago, however, I picked up and began re-rereading an old copy of Sacred Exchange, the literary BDSM anthology I edited with fellow ERWA member S.F. (Seneca) Mayfair way back in 2003. This was my third published book, after Raw Silk and Incognito. I was deeply interested in dominance and submission, especially in the psychological and spiritual aspects. In conversations with Seneca, I discovered a kindred soul. Thus we set out to solicit contributions to a collection of erotic stories that would explore this (we felt) neglected aspect of BDSM.

I vividly remember the process of calling for submissions, reading and evaluating, bargaining with Seneca about which stories we should finally include. Back then, authors had to send manuscripts by snail mail. Likewise, contracts were handled in print. Creating the book took an incredible amount of work, but I was truly proud of the result.

Rereading the anthology more than twenty years later, I am still impressed by the creativity, variety and the heat of the stories it includes. Science fiction, fantasy, erotic romance, gritty realism, my own historical vignette – the book is a smorgasbord of D/s erotic visions, linked only by their focus beyond the physical trappings of BDSM. The gender diversity is pretty amazing too: there are straight, lesbian, gay and transgender tales, not to mention a few that defy categorization.

Some the contributors are still legendary in the erotica community: M. Christian, Simon Shepard, Mike Kimera, Portia da Costa. Many of the authors have faded out of sight, though, or at least out of my sight. Revisiting their visions was both pleasurable and humbling. Publishing this book felt like a powerful statement, yet twenty years later the volume is out of print and I’ve lost touch with most of the people who made it shine.

Among my favorite stories is Anne Tourney’s haunting and lyrical tale “Come for Me, Dark Man”:

Night after night she wakes from a parched sleep. She hears the whistle of a freight train rolling by, so close that its juddering motion rattles the windows. She has heard that imploring cry for so many years that it never wakes her any more, but tonight the call has changed. Could that be her song, warped into the train’s low moan? Her heart pounds, her breath catches in her mouth, and her fingers stroke the sweaty groove between her breasts. Her flesh feels unfamiliar. Her heart is offbeat.

Another standout is Netzach Stern’s sweet, hot femdom story “Martin’s Reward”.

Her soft, wood-brown eyes are warm as she drops my genitals and raises her foot over them. The threat of sole, the threat of heel. Implied and stark. I twitch to painful hardness, which she presses until it points horizontally, her bootsole over it. A heated glance passes between us. I look down at my cock again, her sole like a hawk’s shadow over a rabbit.

Then there’s Stefan Aries’ remarkably honest “Fuckwise”, about an online Dom poseur who is challenged to become the real thing. A dark, complicated, messy story, it still carries the hint of redemption in the trust his submissive offers to him.

Mel Smith’s “Living in Hell” chronicles the painful, ecstatic bond between a powerful alien and the lowly human who turns out to be his fated mate. “Sentry” by Tom Piccirilli offers a remarkable inner monologue from a body guard suffering to protect the female rock star to whom he is devoted. Andrea Dale’s fantasy “Return to Wildwood” imagines the traditional Green Man as a tricky dominant with a penchant for bondage.

There’s something for everyone in this book. Still, it never sold well. It could be that readers wanted more whips and chains, less devotion or angst. Or perhaps the book was too unpredictable. Indeed, one of the two reviews on Amazon (sad, right?) complains about the diversity – “a target market covering everyone in the world”.

Oh well. I was amazed by what Seneca and I had brought to life when the book was first published. I might be even prouder now than I was when I first held a copy in my hands.