Writing for the market - not! #market #smut #contrariness

Market? Do I have a market?

I suppose I must. I mean, not all the rows on my monthly royalty statements are zero. However, I suspect that the people who buy my work don’t fit easily into any category, because my writing doesn’t either. They don’t constitute a Market with a capital M. I’m not particularly popular with Erotic Romance Readers, or Suspense Readers, or BDSM Readers, or Science Fiction Readers, or Steampunk Readers, though I’ve written in all those genres. Actually about the only identifiable group who seems to consistently like my work is the community of other erotic authors.

Definitely not what you’d call a large market, though I’ll admit it’s one I respect and for which I’m grateful...

The funny thing is, to a very large extent, I understand what’s popular in the different genres where I dabble. I believe that I could write exactly what the market wants, if I set my mind to it. Another lusty virgin seduced by a dark, seductive, haunted dominant? I cut my literary teeth on that trope, in my very first novel. (Okay, Kate wasn’t exactly a virgin, but she was a total newbie as far as BDSM was concerned.) Been there, done that. Although tales of power exchange push my personal buttons more than almost any scenario, the world now has more than enough books with that basic plot. I have little desire to write another.

In fact, I’ll admit that when it comes to my writing, I have a contrary streak a mile wide. I love to experiment with different genres. When I do, my first thoughts involve ways that I can give the genre an original twist. For example, I wrote a feline shape shifter romance in which the hero was originally an ordinary cat. I wrote another shape shifter romance about Quetzlcoatl the feathered serpent. In The Gazillionaire and the Virgin, the bossy billionaire is a woman and the virgin is a guy (a nerdy professor who is borderline Asperger’s). In my multi-genre opus RajasthaniMoon, I challenged myself to include the classic elements of as many genres as I could. I ended up with a steampunk/ BDSM/ multicultural/ menage/ werewolf/ Rubenesque/ Bollywood tale that I personally think is pretty brilliant (or at least, a huge amount of fun), but which apparently left readers puzzled.

These narrative choices do not endear me to the capital M erotic romance market. What about pure erotica, though? There are millions of readers looking for stroke fiction and thousands of authors publishing it. I can write fuck-and-suck stories with the best of them (with correct grammar, spelling and punctuation, too!) Perhaps that should be my target market.

Alas, sex for the sake of sex bores me, almost as much as love for the sake of the happy ending. If I were desperate for money, I’d probably try my hand at hard-core porn, and I suspect I’d be at least moderately successful, but writing as I do mostly for the pleasure of the experience, I want more than just the mechanics. I’ve received reviews from folks who bought my erotica collections, complaining that the stories weren’t sufficiently graphic. Yes, I know. They had characters. Conflict. Plot.

On the other hand, I find myself struggling to tone down the raw sex in my romance. I make my editors squeamish. Then there’s the problem that my characters always want to have sex with the wrong people, instead of staying focused on their soul mates.

In my latest books (the Vegas Babes series), I’ve dabbled in the shallows of porn, but I’m not sure I’m going to continue in that mold. I’m starting to find the process of writing unmitigated smut a bit tedious. I also feel sheepish about these volumes, despite the fact that they’re selling well; I wrote them really fast and I know they’re not up to the standard, craft-wise, of my best work. So what, right? But that bugs me.

I could write popular erotic romance or utterly filthy smut if I forced myself to do it. I’m quite certain. Despite my contrariness, I’m actually good at taking direction. (I am a sub, after all.) The commissioned stories I’ve written for CustomErotica Source have been highly praised. Clients have written comments telling me how I brought their fantasies to life, exactly as they imagined.

I understand how fiction works and how language can manipulate emotion. I feel as though I have decent control over the tools of my craft – better than the majority of published authors today. I’m confident I could bring those tools to bear in order to construct, if not a best seller, at least a series of books that would sell much better than what I write now.

The bottom line, though: I don’t want to do that. I’m not trying to make my living at this. I can write what I like – even if only a few people share my tastes. My true market consists of the relatively rare individuals who care about originality in fiction and who appreciate the way a story is told as much as the story itself.

Boogie Night (#celebrity #porn #writing)

I live in a foreign country where porn is seriously illegal. I'm here by the grace of a government that could kick me out at any time. So these days my husband and I no longer indulge in the porn we used to watch occasionally, back when we lived in the U.S. -- back in the days of video tape cassettes. That's okay. Back then, most of the movies we sampled were rather boring and stereotyped, with buff, bulging, heavily-waxed protagonists who looked like plastic and “plots” so flimsy they didn't deserve the label. I don't find purely physical sex very erotic, in literature or in film. So much of the time, our porn experiences were rather disappointing. (Fortunately I had my resident stud to console me in the face of this disappointment!)

It looks as though the adult film industry may have matured, especially since so many women have joined the directorial ranks. Every quarter, when I write the Erotic Lure newsletter for the Erotica Readers & Writers Association, I survey the Best in Adult Films pages and pick out a couple of titles that look appealing. I'd love to have the chance to check some of them out, to see if my intuitions are correct. Alas, that's not really practical.

I love my adopted country, but I do feel rather isolated. I have to keep Lisabet Sarai strictly under wraps here. I don't get the chance to hobnob in person with my fellow erotica authors. I've known several of the Grip posters for nearly a decade, but I haven't actually met any of them in meat space.

Before we moved here, though, for one short period, I was part of the New York City erotica “scene” and it was a heady experience indeed.

Picture this: the dim, brick-walled basement of a funky bar in the Bowery, well-known as a venue for erotica gatherings. I'd attended several events there hosted by Rachel Kramer Bussell, doyenne of the New York erotica community. Now I'm hosting a release party myself, for not one but two new books: my third novel, Ruby's Rules, and the BDSM and spirituality anthology Sacred Exchange, co-edited by me and S.F. Mayfair.

The room is not exactly full – I've always been terrible at promotion – but the modest crowd includes both strangers and dear friends. One of the authors represented in Sacred Exchange has come all the way from western Pennsylvania to participate and to meet me. My closest girlfriend has driven in from New Jersey. Rachel is there, with her current flame. A small but appreciative group sips red wine or martinis, chats, laughs, and waits for the reading.

I am wearing a tight burgundy velvet cocktail dress with a halter neck that accentuates my cleavage. Underneath I'm wearing very little – the costume won't allow it. Despite the horrible pronated arches that usually keep me in flats, I've donned the highest heels I own. My hair is a wild mass of curls. I've exchanged my glasses for contact lenses and I've done the best I can with the unfamiliar eyeshadow, mascara and blush.

I climb the two steps to the podium in the corner, nervousness fluttering in my gut like a trapped bird. There's a spotlight trained on the pedestal, which is fortunate because otherwise I never would have been able to see the pages of my book. A hush comes over the crowd as they notice I've moved into position. I purse my lips around the mike and try to sound husky and sexy. I begin to read from the first chapter of my novel featuring the brilliant, ruthless and irresistible Ruby Maxwell Chen:

My silence is making my unfortunate guest even more nervous.

I lean forward slightly. Under the desk, I smoothly part my legs and spread them wide. Mr. Dalton’s eyes grow round and his mouth falls open at the sight of the black lace garters against my pale skin, and the jet triangle of hair framed between them.

“Well, Mr. Dalton,” I say finally, “I need time to consider the details of your proposal. However, I am confident that we can come to some understanding.”

“Uh...I...” He is rendered incoherent with confusion, embarrassment, and, I can clearly see, lust. I delicately part my silky fur to expose the damp pink folds of my cunt. I have been planning this for the past ten minutes, and I am wet with anticipation.

“I believe that you have said enough, Mr. Dalton. I will give you my answer shortly. In the meantime, I would appreciate your removing your jacket, your trousers and whatever you have on underneath.”

He wants to run, but my eyes hold him, my eyes and that moist, inviting chasm between my thighs. “Now,” I say, allowing a hint of sternness into my voice.

He complies, as I expect. My eyes give him no respite as he awkwardly sheds his clothes. He wears tight blue briefs that highlight every detail of his straining cock. The showy underwear is a present from his girlfriend, perhaps; he is too caught up in his ambitions to have a wife.

A blush is spreading over his fair complexion, and he hesitates to remove the briefs, though they hide nothing. I tap my pen on the desktop, feigning impatience. In truth, I love the suspense, the gradual, reluctant submission, the slow exposure of vulnerable flesh.

I continue for ten or fifteen minutes, losing my anxiety as the story takes over. I can feel the gaze of the audience. I am Ruby's voice. Though I'm two decades older and far less gorgeous than my heroine, I identify with her as I read. I am transformed into an object of desire.

The bar is silent when I stop. Then comes the applause: not thunderous – there aren't enough people here to thunder – but enthusiastic. I realize that my pulse is racing. When I excuse myself to go to the ladies' room, I discover that my panties are distinctly damp.

I return and the crowd closes around me, offering me copies of my books to sign.

For one moment in time, that one precious night, I felt like a star. 

 

Taking Back My Power (#guestblog #porn #bdsm @JewelBoxFilms )

By Kay Brandt (Guest Blogger)

“You know, Kay,” the owner and CEO of a well-to-do porn company told me over a noon time meeting in his spacious office back in 2012, “you're very talented. I think your Cherry movies are really good.”

“Thank you,” I replied, “I can do the same for you. I've just won a bunch of awards for those films and have so many ideas for other concepts...”

“Yes, that's great, but...”

He didn't need to say another word. I had a bad feeling what was coming next. I'd seen that look in his stiff facial expression too many times over the years from other execs. There was doubt there, and information he couldn't express about why a “but” existed in his thoughts. And truthfully, I wasn't interested in his lame excuses. He was too hesitant and cautious for my tastes. Multimillionaire porn company owners are always so cautious and afraid of change. You'd think they'd opt for being more experimental because in reality, they have all the money they need. The truth of the situation was that this particular company owner was looking for a cheap solution to adding more content to his website. And he thought I might be the person to fulfill his need to produce more micro-budget sex-flicks. I was desperate for a job, having been out of work for months since my former company was sold off. Turning down work wasn't in my wallet's best interest. Although I felt my stomach clench realizing what I was signing myself up for, I nodded politely with a confident smile and told him, “Yes.”

I returned home after that meeting elated at the prospect of making another movie, but reluctant to sell away one of my better ideas. It's in my nature to outdo previous efforts and strive for the best. The blank page on my computer screen scared me, though. I'd accepted the daunting task to downsize, not upgrade creatively and the strain of harnessing then squashing my ideas felt terrible. The script I'd promised to write for this company owner was the second script I'd written since my Cherry films. The first one was a lesbian comedy, and for this particular script, I wanted to flex my chops and write BDSM.

Now, BDSM is a tricky genre for porn. As an author I can freely roam the darker, more honest edges of the genre without the rules and regulations that surprisingly exist in adult films. If the BDSM action is set in a romantic or loving environment, then it's passable. There are just a couple of XXX sites that push the boundaries of acceptable and non-acceptable kinky content in the industry and it's a shocker that the sites have survived as well as thrived. The main rule for making a BDSM film is that nothing can be seen as non-consent. Every act must be fully consensual between those involved. I'm not particularly drawn to non-con and I've never actually wrote a story based on the theme, so, I was cool with creating within the restrictions. I simply needed a good story, and characters... and somehow the story would have to work filmed with basically no money.

Within the safe parameters I came up with a very naughty idea for a series called “Against Her Will.” An all-girl concept about a young woman coming to terms with the arrangements her parents made before their untimely deaths. Their Will was in the hands of a power-wielding dominatrix—a woman her subservient parents had worshiped for many years. As outlandish as the idea might sound, at the time it made perfect sense to me. The story was dark and twisted and would make fully consensual BDSM seem a tad naughtier.

I hired an incredibly hot ensemble cast of girls who weren't “typical' porn, like mega-boobs Sheridan Love and the gorgeous Asian blow job queen, Jessica Bangkok as the main Domme/sub combo. The cast also included Missy Martinez, who I'd previously hired for the Cherry movies, Alana Evans, Joslyn James (yeah-Tiger Woods former girlfriend), Odette Delacroix, Alison Moore, the illustrious list goes on. The challenge was to stretch $12K – my entire shooting budget – as far as I could to make this concept believable. My only option proved to be shooting the entire first episode in one day. ONE DAY. In case you've never shot a quality porno in one day before, let me explain what that looks like:

Five sex scenes filmed in fifteen hours with a healthy amount of dialogue recited in between, plus wardrobe changes and makeup fixes throughout. Somewhere in that time frame a meal must be served and bathroom breaks given. I'd committed to basically doing the impossible, and my ass was on the line to prove it could be accomplished. Filming three sex scenes in one production day is daunting and tough to do. Pushing five sex scenes in one day is borderline insane – and one of the scenes was a five girl orgy! Although I'd won an AVN award for Best All Girl Group scene in 2012 (the scene was from Cherry 2) for a scene that featured four girls making love on a couch in a private sex club, five was a number I had no experience with. And yes, filming five girls having sex is much more challenging than just four. The fifth girl changes the lesbian orgy dynamic completely. But I wasn't afraid. And my lack of fear was only enhanced when my director of photography, Mike Quasar, said, “That's a hot idea, Kay! Even in all my years making thousands of pornos, I've never filmed a five girl orgy!”

That sold the deal for me when Mike approved my incredibly ambitious plan. For one long day we filmed the first “Against Her Will” movie and it went shockingly well. Nine girls and a crew of four filmed a decadent lesbian BDSM film in a short fifteen hours, including the five-girl orgy, and when it was over, I felt I could do another one... and another one... and as many as the company owner would give me.

I only made one more. The information supplied was that the movies just didn't sell well. Since then I've had my suspicions about what the real reasons for the series being cut short were. But that's all in the past...

My books-to-be-written slate always had BDSM concepts on it. Personally, I'm deeply intrigued by the genre and all its mystery. Yes, I write/direct explicit porn, but my private life is rather vanilla. Originally, the synopsis that served as a place holder on the slate for BDSM was Against Her Will in literary form. Nearly a year had passed and I was only a few thousand words in. Unlike The World of Cherry series which flowed from screen to book effortlessly, Against Her Will wasn't translating well. Worse, it didn't inspire me to dig in. Mentally, I floated on the surface of the story until I realized that the story within me was quite different than Against Her Will. It would still be about a young woman awakening to a strange reality, but not like the one I'd written for Sheridan Love to play. The protagonist in the At Mother's Command novella series is a unique character in an extraordinary circumstance beyond her control. She's the innocent center of a bizarre world were everyone is living the BDSM lifestyle... except for her.

As a writer I often wonder where these characters come from. They arrive without warning on occasion and grow in my head until it's time for them to move out. That's the best way for me to describe what giving birth to a character, or set of characters, often feels like. The day comes when they need to go and live their lives on paper, or a computer... and I'm their guide once their out in the world. It was a wild ride tethered as guide to Max, Stella, Rocco, and of course, Sumera and I'm excited to share their journey with curious readers.

The first release in my new BDSM “family drama” At Mother's Command, is now available on Amazon, All Romance, B&N, and Smashwords. Maybe few other brave online distributors, too. But don't try to find it on iBooks or Kobo – the book's been banned on those two sites simply because it has “mother” in the title and falls into the erotica category.

Excerpt from “At Mother's Command”

“Are you hungry?” Marielle asked Roan, her male slave-in-training. “It's been hours since Mommy M fed you last. Is there a rumbling in your belly for more of me?”

Bound to a custom-made restraining board with ropes tied around his wrists and ankles, naked sub boy, Roan, was rolled by Marielle on the wheeled apparatus to the full-body mirror in her private play room. Sumera had gifted the visiting Domme with the bondage device designed specifically to Roan's measurements and it restrained him perfectly.

Blinded by the dusky sun flashing off the mirror, Roan closed his eyes and replied, “Yes, Mommy M. I'm starving.”

Cupping his tender balls in her cold hands, Marielle made him shiver. She'd reached the point where watching Roan suffer had lost its impact. The game needed a shift into more erotic play rather than continued subjection.

“Ahhh... you're swelling again.” She'd fondled his thick member on and off during the grueling afternoon training session, viciously bringing him to the edge of orgasm repeatedly without allowing release. Having spent a week at Sumera's retreat for the final part of Roan's initiation, it was their last day to decide if an agreement between them should be finalized.

Marielle's intuition had been speaking loudly to her, convincing her this boy was ready for a contract. Roan was a special type of sub, who could hold her interest endlessly... or at least for a year or two. Long-term D/s relationships weren't her thing, but Roan caused her to second guess her beliefs. She wouldn't know for sure unless she took his manhood deep within her and made it hers.

“And look how big mama's boy gets.” Marielle twirled the metal rings fastened on the length of his oversized cock—one under the fat rim of the swollen head and the other secured tightly around the base. For a young Caucasian man with a medium build, Roan's cock was out of proportion with the rest of his body. This pleased Marielle, as her last sub wasn't endowed like him. She found Roan's cock to be mesmerizing, and worthy of putting inside her coveted cunt.

“But your beast must behave first,” explained Marielle, tickling his meaty flesh and tugging at the rings.“Or else Mommy M thinks Roan's growing penis means he's been a bad boy who doesn't listen.”

About the Author

Kay Brandt is an erotic, romantic storyteller, award-winning adult filmmaker and bestselling author, delivering a passionate blend of story and explicit content. In the 1990's her creative expression was writing erotic stage plays like the critically acclaimed "Kiss Me Twisted", which many years later evolved into the X-rated films, "Cherry episode 1" and "Cherry 2". Since 2009 Kay has written/directed/produced more than forty X-rated films, many winning AVN and XBIZ awards, for top companies like Adam & Eve, Digital Playground, New Sensations and Girlfriends Films. The "Cherry" films, are the two biggest budget lesbian adult films ever made and since their release in 2011 have been deemed erotic classics. Kay's current creative passions include writing/directing a new genre of adult films based on erotic books. "Safe Landings," a feature based on Kay's dramatic romance novel and the upcoming epic movie based on Selena Kitt's New York Times bestseller "Babysitting the Baumgartners" are the first two book-based adult films from Adam & Eve. Share the journey into Kay's naughty mind and indulge in the explicit fantasy worlds she creates for your pleasure.

Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Kay-Brandt/e/B008AC6306/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

At Mother's Command on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/At-Mothers-Command-Kay-Brandt-ebook/dp/B01JAI387Y/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8#nav-subnav

Twitter: https://twitter.com/jewelboxfilms

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kay.brandt.75

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7979109.Kay_Brandt

Addictive Desires

By Big Ed Magusson (Guest Blogger)

Hi, I’m Big Ed, and I’m a sex addict.

I also write porn.

Well, actually I haven’t considered myself an addict in over a decade. I did have a problem with compulsive sexual behavior in my late twenties, and I spent five years in twelve step groups working through it and getting beyond that behavior. I also learned to differentiate “acting out behavior due to psychological issues” from “high libido with limited outlet” issues.

The latter is where the “write porn” comes from. Writing erotica of all stripes provides a great libido outlet that harms no one. It might even provide some pleasure to my readers. ;-)

The compulsive behaviors were for me, and for many, environmental as much as anything. There’s a great study with rats that showed they were much more likely to become addicted to heroin if they were socially isolated from other rats (read more about it here). I was living in cities where I had few friends, doing the workaholic routine, and desperately wanting human touch, and in particular female touch.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, there’s a way to get that. It’s called a lap dance. Back then they could be had for twenty dollars a song, with the amount of touch allowed varying from state to state and club to club. I wasn’t spending my money on anything else so why not?

The problem was, it’s a slippery slope. When does the desire turn into a crutch? How long before an occasional fun trip becomes every Saturday, regardless of budget, regardless of other plans? And how does that seep into your soul?

I tried to capture this in my story, The Fix:

* * *

I usually start jonesing on Thursdays. This week, it starts Wednesday. Three long days before I can see her.

As usual, once the adrenaline rush starts, work becomes a blur. My pulse throbs. My skin crackles. The testosterone soaks into my soul. I don't give a damn about PowerPoint, not that I ever did. I mark time, desperate for the weekend, desperate for the relief.

It doesn't help that Wednesday is the staff meeting from Hell. Two hours of listening to my boss and his favorite flunky extol the virtues of their most recent shuffling of org structure boxes and the new software tools they've bought to quote 'streamline our efficiency' endquote. I tune out. I can already hear the music in my mind. Fortunately, before it’s my turn for 'around the table' reporting, my cubicle mate pokes me. My boss frowns when I explain the most recent code snafu that will delay me finishing the beautiful graphs for his European conference. I promise I'll have them Friday close of business, which seems to mollify him a bit. Just a bit.

Wednesday afternoon does not improve. The data scrolling across my screen doesn’t make sense. I do another line walkthrough of the code. I don’t see anything wrong. I try some hand calculations. They don’t match my screen. When the janitor fires up the vacuum cleaner, I give up and head out. Once again, I have nothing to show for my day.

At home, I pop a Boston Market Frozen Meatloaf Dinner in the microwave and turn on Entertainment Tonight. It’s mindless, but it’s better than the news, which is better than the silence if I turn the TV off. The distraction helps a little. After I've eaten and washed my fork and glass, my mind drifts back to her. I sit back on the couch, open my pants, and masturbate to my first orgasm of the evening.

It’s okay. I mean, it’s an orgasm, so how bad can it be? Other than the mess, of course. I throw my shirt in the laundry and look for a book to read. Preferably one that I haven’t reread so recently that I can remember it all. I take my time and settle on a dog-eared worn favorite. It fills my evening until it’s time for bed.

I can’t sleep, though. Every time I clear my mind, thoughts of her slink back in and my blood heats. I give up and throw back the covers and stroke myself to another orgasm. It’s not enough, so I go for a third. Finally, sheer exhaustion overwhelms me and I drift into dreamland.

* * *

This first story spawned a series of stories on addictive behavior (which is now available in an anthology ebook, details below). As I explored this corner of sexuality, I realized that most work on addiction focused on how destructive it was. Very little pointed out just how much fun addictive behaviors are.

For the dirty secret of addictions is that they’re enjoyable. We get addicted to things that bring us pleasure—not to doing our taxes or eating lima beans. The addiction comes when we choose the pleasure over the longer term consequences. Sex has one of the great pleasures. So shouldn’t serious sexual addiction discussions reflect that?

My story Sugar follows an older man funding a young woman’s college education. He describes his pleasure at her company in the following excerpt:

* * *

On the drive to Denver in my BMW, she’s her usual chatty self. She talks about finals and studying and the big party at the Student Union at the beginning of the week. I ask how her roommates are doing and learn the sordid details of their recent failed romances and adventures in overdoing the alcohol. She accuses me of rolling my eyes, but I remind her that I was young once too, and can recall when the most important question in the world was where we were going to score our next joint.

She looks a bit abashed, and I chuckle. She’s never admitted to doing drugs, but sometimes her stories have convenient gaps in them. I don’t call her on them. I’m her lover, after all, not her father.

The restaurant valet gives us the usual double look. As usual, she ignores it, and as usual, it bothers me just a bit. I shake it off as we head inside.

The conversation continues its pleasant ramble over dinner. The only dissonant note is when I ask about her job search. She haltingly says there’s been no change.

“The offer’s still open,” I say.

She shakes her head. “And the answer’s the same. I can’t work for you.”

“It’d be good experience. And the company would pay for your MBA.”

She gives me a pained, pleading look.

I drop the subject. When she talks about her roommate’s job offer from Ernst & Young, I tell her about a consulting job they did for us a decade ago. We talk the nuts and bolts of business well through dessert, and she hangs on my every word.

I’m feeling like a king as we leave. She tucks her arm into mine and nestles close. When the valet brings the car, she smiles at him, and then gives me a kiss on the cheek. The valet can’t hide his envy.

Eat your heart out, kid.

I could float home.

Instead, I take the drive slow, savoring it. A beautiful young woman in a BMW, after a fabulous meal. Does it get any better than this?

At home, by unspoken understanding, we head up to the master suite. She grabs her overnight bag and excuses herself. While she’s in the bathroom, I turn back the sheets, undress, and get out the condoms. I stretch out on the bed and casually play with myself while I wait for her.

When she appears, she’s stunning. As usual. She’s in black thigh highs, a sheer robe, and the tiniest bra and g-string she owns. The necklace hangs at the top of her cleavage, a sparkling star against the tan of her skin and the black of her lingerie.

She smiles, confident and pleased at my reaction. She raises an eyebrow, silently acknowledging my appreciation. Then she slowly strolls forward, each foot placed precisely, each sway of her hips and her breasts fighting for my eyes and attention.

At the foot of the bed, she gestures toward my erection. “Is that for me?”

I laugh.

She kicks off her heels as she crawls onto the bed. With a lick of her lips, she gingerly takes my cock in one hand and sweeps her hair back. She looks me in the eye and then lowers her mouth.

* * *

As I wrote these stories, I realized that the growth in self-awareness was as much a part of addiction as the acts themselves. In The Fog of San Francisco, the narrator returns from an amazing lap dance in a seedy club:

* * *

Back in the hotel room, late that night, I realized that there was only one thing I wanted to do. I wanted to go back to the club with a condom and have Melani cuddle me while my cock nestled inside her.

I also realized that there was one thing I absolutely could not do. I couldn’t go back to the club with a condom and ask Melani to fuck me. You don’t pull the goddess into the gutter. You don’t suck the feast into the filth.

Which... which is what I was.

Sandy knew it. I knew it. Melani knew it—but didn’t mind.

And that broke my heart.

I couldn’t be the pathetic loser who talked about how tight a stripper’s ass was while he fucked her. I couldn’t be the guy who lived for handjobs under the table. I couldn’t be the one who emptied his wallet yearning for just a caress...

I couldn’t...

I couldn’t...

I couldn’t go back.

Somehow I got undressed, curled under the blankets in a fetal position, and cried. I cried until I fell asleep.

Morning brought blinding sun. Once again, I’d forgotten to close the curtains. I woke groggy, but when I stood my head was clear. I paused in front of the window. The fog had gone and the sun glittered off the Bay. Blue, beyond what I thought blue could be. Clean, as if God had wiped the grit from the air. As I stood there, breathing deep, a sense of warmth filled my body.

Church bells pealed, and I followed the sound to see a small Catholic church near the hotel. I smiled as I watched the happy people gathering in the square outside.

I threw my clothes on and headed down. I could slip into a back pew and have breakfast after. It felt like a day for, well, as cliché as it is, it felt like a new day.

* * *

Ultimately, I think the real challenge in addressing addiction in literary erotica is that it goes straight at the contradiction I opened with: is there a contradiction between being a former addict and a porn writer? I.e., do erotic and addictive story elements mix?

Hopefully, with these excerpts, I’ve shown that they can.

* * *

More of Big Ed’s work and stories can be found at BE’s Place, www.besplace.com, and BE’s Place Books, www.besplacebooks.com. His Addictive Desires anthology is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.

Addictive Desires

by Big Ed Magusson

There’s a richness of experience where desire and addiction collide, rarely explored in literary erotica. The twelve stories in this collection portray individuals dealing with addictive desires in both blatant and subtle ways. From a man obsessed with checking online porn, to one who doesn't understand why his sugar baby wants to move on, some are stories of cluelessness. Others are stories of redemption--due to love or simply grown self-awareness. They each capture the depth of desire mixed with a need for more than simply sex.

Review Tuesday: Driving the Stripper Mobile by Larry Archer

Driving the Stripper Mobile

By Larry Archer

Imagine a world where everyone is sexually satisfied. Where no matter how horny you are, there’s always someone more than happy to help you out. Where love is real and special, but sexual jealousy is close to non-existent, so you can explore the infinite varieties of the flesh with different partners without alienating your soul mate. Picture a universe where sex has been divorced from guilt, where you can enjoy your own body and the bodies of others without shame, no matter how deviant your desires.

This is Larry Archer’s universe. Welcome!

In Driving the Stripper Mobile, Mr. Archer takes readers on a light-hearted trip to Las Vegas, into the sex-drenched back rooms of a strip club named the Fox’s Den. Our hero Don is down and desperate. He’s lost his wife and his job; if he can’t scrape together a bit of cash, his apartment is next. He spends his time drinking and fantasizing about the strippers, but he’s too depressed to take any action.

He doesn’t deserve his hard luck. Jenny, a sweet-tempered, intelligent dancer, strikes up a conversation with him and discovers he’s a decent guy who needs a break – not to mention a fuck. For on thing, he’s not really jealous when she comes on to other men – and women – in the club. It just makes him hornier. The connection between them grows stronger, even when she sucks off the club owner Larry, and his wife Roxy (generally, and appropriately, known as “Foxy”). Meanwhile, Larry, a tough guy with a dubious and intimidating history, hires Don to build and drive the Stripper Mobile, a truck outfitted in the back with an air conditioned plexi-glass box big enough to accommodate two of Larry’s dancers. It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it! Don manages to make the publicity stunt hugely successful, despite the – um - distractions of the gorgeous girls he’s ferrying about.

The Stripper Mobile cruises up and down the Vegas streets, showing the tourists and locals alike just how wild life is in the Den. Back at the club, things get hotter and crazier by the minute, as Jenny takes on an entire table of college boys, with a bit of help from the MILF wife of another staff member. If anything, this brings Don and Jenny closer – he loves all of her, including her sexual insatiability, and he recognizes how important that acceptance is to her.

Driving the Stripper Mobile is pure smut, with non-stop sexual action from beginning to end. It doesn’t feel cliched or exploitative, though, largely because the author’s enthusiasm shines on every page. You can tell that Mr. Archer is writing about what arouses him personally. That raises the book above your run-of-the-mill porn. I don’t usually find this sort of wall-to-wall sex all that arousing, but let me tell you, I had some amazing dreams after reading this just before bed.

I’ve given this book only three stars because the writing needs some work. Mr. Archer’s dialogue tends to be stiff and unrealistic (very few people talk in compound sentences), and there are some serious problems with head-hopping. That’s the editor in me speaking, though. I suspect that a lot of readers wouldn’t notice these flaws.

Despite these issues, I enjoyed the book. I particularly liked Mr. Archer’s portrayal of women. Jenny, Foxy, Sally, Pat and the other female characters are unapologetic when it comes to their love of sex, including sex with other women. The men don’t look down on them for being sluts – they appreciate them wholeheartedly. These guys aren’t threatened by the women, either. When they’re not participating, they enjoy watching, happy to be taken along for the ride.

Let Larry Archer take you for a ride in the Stripper Mobile. If, like me, you enjoy sex in all its variations, you won’t be sorry.