A Sexual Soundtrack...

by Alison Tyler

You think I’m going to list my top ten favorite sexy songs, don’t you? But I can’t do it. I mean, I know that Marvin Gaye is probably the world’s number one “go to” man to create an erotic mood. Who can deny the power of Sexual Healing? And then there’s Otis Redding's "Try a Little Tenderness" and Teddy Pendergrass (Choose Me) and Barry White. Oh, god, Barry White.

But here’s the thing. My favorite music conjures memories of moments—flashbacks to my past—and while some songs might make sense in a sexual way—most do not. How many other people find Tom Waits’ “Such a Scream” an aphrodisiac? Is it only me?

Still, music and sex are permanently entwined in my life. I’m always on the lookout—or on the listen—for songs that will hit me, caress me, wrap me up tight. I’ve been like this for years. Anyone who knows my writing will recognize that I steal many story and book titles from song lyrics: You Can’t Always Get What You Want, With or Without You, Tiffany Twisted, Miss You, Slave to Love, Love at First Sting, Why Can’t I Be You?

So here I go. I’ll give it a shot. Not the sexiest songs every written. But the songs that have meant the most to me… and to my libido. In other words…

Favorite Songs to Dream to, to Kiss to, to Fuck to:

Venus in Furs: My first record player was a hand-me-down that only worked if you balanced the correct amount of change on the arm of the needle. Still, I managed to play my vinyl endlessly. I owned every Lou Reed and V.U. album released, and I spent hours listening to “Venus in Furs” (Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather, Shiny leather in the dark, Tongue of thongs, the belt that does await you, Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart) and fantasizing about what it would be like to make out to the soundtrack created by the Velvet Underground.


Crimson and Clover: This was my first real slow dance… to the Joan Jett version. In the back yard of my friend Stephanie’s house on a patio lit by candles, clinging to a boy I’d known for years. Understanding that everything was changing now. But not understanding why. (Yeah, my, my such a sweet thing, I wanna do everything. What a beautiful feeling…)

Tainted Love: Starting in junior high school, I worked at a beauty supply store. We sported teased 80s hair and wore too much cherry gloss and candy-tinted blush, and our music was the same, jell-O colored, sheer delight. Perfect to dance to, to kiss to, and according to my co-workers, to fuck to. Give me more, I wanted to beg the older girls I worked with as I soaked in all of their secrets. Tell me more. Tainted Love takes me there.

Comfortably Numb: I’ll admit, I don’t even remember his name. But he sold flowers from a stand outside of the clothes store where I worked. And he came over one night with a copy of The Wall. We made out hard, and I remember the way his big hands, more like paws, slid up and down my arms during Comfortably Numb. (There is no pain you are receiving…)

D'Yer Mak'er: My first real beau. He of the Zig-Zag man tattoo. He of the stolen Harleys. He of Led Zeppelin. And this one is my favorite. I might have written Girls of Summer for him, but he was no pussy Don Henley man. His music tastes were as dark and as hard as the rest of his world. And I know this is the sappiest of Zeppelin. But, Christ, when he disappeared, it’s all I could play.

I Put a Spell On You: In college, I won a contest for a deejay spot on UCLA’s alternative music station: State in 50 words or less why you want to be a deejay. I was the only entrant out of 300 who didn’t start my essay with “I want to be a deejay because…” I landed the midnight – 3 a.m. shift, and my boyfriend and I made love in the tiny little studio, fucking to Screaming Jay Hawkins’ I Put a Spell On You. So it wasn’t actually “alternative.” Nobody else was awake or listening.

Sign Your Name: Read my story 10 Minutes in the 80s, and you’ll understand why Terence Trent D'Arby made my line-up.

Protection: In the 90s, I was romanced to Massive Attack during a decadent affair that took place in a one-room flat by the railroad tracks. I still can’t hear any cut off Protection without thinking of Josh, and the two of us, pressed up against the cracked plaster wall as the next train rumbled by. (I'll stand in front of you. Take the force of the blow.)

Famous Blue Raincoat: This is all I have to say: Dawn. Paris. Balcony. And the background rumble of Leonard Cohen’s whiskey voice.

But my best, weirdest, wickedest sexual encounter occurred to the tune of Ode to Billy Joe. There, I’ve said it. I’ve laid my soul bare. Sweet little Bobbie Gentry crooned about that dusty, Delta day, while I was bent over, getting taken from behind. Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge, while my man was thrusting into me good and hard. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why. Shouldn’t we have been listening to NIN (I want to fuck you like an animal)? Or Nirvana (do it and do it again)? The Cure (punish me with kisses) or The Clash (No one will guide you)?

No, it was Bobbie Gentry.
And I’ll never forget it.

Laugh if you will. Point fingers if you must.

But please. Now, it’s your turn. Favorites? Guilty pleasures? Songs that make you go weak in the knees. Share them if you dare.

XXX,
Alison

“The time is gone, the song is over, thought I’d something more to say.”
—Pink Floyd

Best American Erotica

What does it mean to be the "best" at something? And who decides? It being the best really an objective thing that can be scored and measured? Or is it more subjective, due to the whims of the judges, the state of society, the weather?

These questions might be even more pertinent when we're talking about art-forms, such as painting or writing. I love Picasso's tweaked portraits, but am rarely moved by Monet's gorgeous gardens (even though I know I should be). And, even as a writer, I sometimes struggle to get through the classics, those books that have been deemed as the "best of" the past.

However you define "best," when it comes to erotica, this year's edition of Best American Erotica (which hits U.S. bookstores today) is likely to have a story that fits your definition. From a girl who smells of salt-sea and asks for star-shaped tattoos ("Blue Star," Sera Gamble) to a woman who goes in search of her husband's lover and finds way more than she expected ("Dangerous Games for Competent People, Kim Wright), these pieces show off the erotic storytelling ability of some of the most amazing writers in America. Chosen and edited by Susie Bright, the stories are hot as hell, filled with sexy men and women and they invite you to think and feel (in all senses of that word).

I'm honored (and still pinching myself) because I have a story in this year's collection as well! Susie Bright describes it this way, ”Shanna Germain’s story, "Entry Point," of a family camping trip, reveals a married couple who discover something in their own relationship because of their grown lesbian daughter’s example.”

For me, it’s a story of joy, discovery, sensuality, and hope. Of people coming together, physically and mentally. And however else you define it, I think that those are always the best kinds of stories. I hope you think so too.

Best,
Shanna

~~~~~~
Shanna Germain
www.shannagermain.com

Cowboy up!

It occurred to me, as I was writing this post, that those of you in the UK might be unfamiliar with the term 'cowboy up' and might be imagining all kinds of lewd activity - not that that's a problem, being as this blog is all for lewd activity. I was trying to think of an English equivalent and came up with 'stepping up to the plate' - then I realized that was probably about baseball (don't ask me to explain baseball which I 'think' is rounders with pajamas and lots of money) and that maybe 'girding your loins' might do.

It's about stepping up, being the man/woman, being a hero and from what I've read so far in 'Sex in Public' that kind of describes a lot of the stories in there.

What else can I say about sex in public? Most of us have probably tried some form of it during that intense stage of lust when you just can't wait to get your hands on someone. Why is it so exciting? I'm hoping you are going to tell me in your comments. Fresh air on your bare skin, the thought of being discovered or watched - all of those things make it a huge turn on.

Let me take you back, back into the dim distant past when sex in public was not something that happened when my kids walked in. Let me take you back to Epping Forest. The make-out place for us Essex lasses and our boyfriends. You'd think you were alone until a twig snapped or the police did one of their slow drive bys and thirty old cars turned on their headlights and tried to get out of the mud and trees.

They do say love is blind - lust definitely is.

Anyway, here's a short excerpt from 'Cowboy Up" When you read it, picture the guy at the top of this post(or substitute a nice cowgirl)and enjoy...


Jen sniffed. “I’ve grown up but what about you? Nothing’s changed. You’re still trying to get in my pants.”

He blew softly on her exposed neck and then bit down hard. “And you’re still letting me.” After another quick glance at his oblivious neighbors, he grabbed Jen’s ankle and placed her foot on the second rung of the metal fence. He slid his hand under her skirt and up her leg until he met the lacy edge of her panties.

“You’re soaking.” He stroked the damp sliver of silk until he could feel her swollen clit through the fabric. “I’m going to make you come right here in front of all these people, and you’re going to let me.”

Beneath that calm exterior she’d always been wild with him. They’d had sex in any number of public places. The element of discovery had turned them both on. He wondered if any other man dared challenge her like this anymore. He’d been the bad boy at school. The one the girls were told to keep away from. But he and Jen had been best friends from their first day when she’d punched him for trying to look under her skirt.

Thinking of skirts…he slid one callused finger beneath her panties and plunged it deep into her core. Her lush scent surrounded him as he worked her. The slick wet sounds were masked by the roars of the crowd.



Have a great Monday and I mustn't forget to mention the fabulous and amazing Valentine's Day contest coming up soon! I just wish I was allowed to enter it myself but I suspect that's not allowed.

Coming Attractions

It's February. It's hearts, it's flowers, it's smutty stories about hot cowboys... hang on...

Actually, why not? And brave soul Kate Pearce has manfully volunteered for the job of Cowboy Wrangler here at Lust Bites Towers. I suspect there will be several willing volunteers offering to be her "assistants". The Cowboys will be on parade on Monday. I think Kate might also be talking about the Sex in Public collection, but really, the cowboys are distracting me.

On Wednesday Alison Tyler is back talking Sex and Music – which is incidentally the title of another Wicked Words short story collection. Alison's Sex and Film post was one of our busiest ever for comments, so form an orderly queue on Wednesday and tell us what kind of music makes you squirm – in a good way.

On Friday Black Lace's First Lady Portia da Costa - who has been writing for the imprint since the Renaissance (what? I mean 1996) - will be here to tout her delicious forthcoming wares. Reprints of the classic erotic novels Continuum (one of the best selling BL novels ever) and Gothic Blue (a paranormal romance that was way ahead of its time.)

Happy viewing

Tilly aka Mathilde Madden
Dedicated to Urban Kinkery

PS Once again my picture is not really relevant to anything. But it's Becks, with a sword, on a horse, on fire - so I reckon I am forgiven.

On your marks...

The first line is the one that grabs you by the neck and holds on tight, according to The Rules of Writing. The flash of thigh that grabs someone's attention. That one line might be enough to hook or lose your reader, so better make it a damn good one.

Here’s the scene. Writer sits. Thinks. Writer wants a line that will introduce the character, set the scene, be both warmly familiar and interestingly fresh, while hinting at the pleasures yet to come. It’s a lot to ask of a line.

Writer sits.

Waits for genius to strike her on the head and scorch words on the page.

Writes ‘Once upon a time…’

In reality, the first line often is often just the place where the story starts. I could spend a day carefully crafting an opening line so that it throws a startling and tantalising image into the reader’s lap, or I could write three thousand words, scan to see where the action starts, and chop off the dross preceding it.

Still, there are occasions when a first line does drop from the sky, and somehow, miraculously, there’s enough in that one line to carry you for a whole story. There’s something hidden that needs to be explored. When I wrote ‘Housebound’, that’s exactly what happened.

Black Lace had put out a call for a Wicked Words anthology called ‘Sex in Public’. I thought – Public? I spend all my time indoors. So I started with that.

I wrote: ‘It’s been five months since I was last outside’, and a girl, her house, and her lover appeared in my head. The story unravelled in front of me.

‘Sex in Public’ is all about exhibitionism, so to celebrate the launch next week, we’re dropping our towels and giving you a sneak preview of the stories that were written by Lustbiters (and some of our lovely guests).

Throw the words ‘Sex in Public’ at a bunch of smutters, and this is what they came up with:

‘Marianna was a showgirl, a stripper, an artiste of bejewelled burlesque’
Kristina Lloyd – Marianna Multiple
An outrageous performance from Marianna and Mental Micky. You have to read this wild, fantastical story to believe it. Bring on the dancing girls!

‘Throughout her life she’d collected labels: visionary, romantic, rebel, slut.’
ADR Forte - Striptease

‘I was somewhat overdressed for a major-league ball game.’
Sophie Mouette – Make me come at the Ball Game
Playful, delicious and cheeky, a couple act decadent in their private box. Not exactly A Question of Sport…

‘Fee, fi, fo, fum, I’m going to bite your sexy bum.’
Madelynne Ellis – Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum
Lucy comes up with a very creative public fantasy for her ‘beautiful, blushing, double-scoop-chocolate-and-rum-truffle-ice-cream delicious boy.’

‘Mina climbed the steps of the temple with slow grace, a slight smudge of white against the steep staircase, flanked by her two dull-robed escorts.’
Olivia Knight – Innana’s Temple

‘Breathing deeply, I pause before the door to the Entertainment Chamber.’
Portia Da Costa – Public Domain
Mistress Cerise and her body servant Cicero dare to rebel in this wickedly playful fantasy from Portia da Costa. Lush.

‘Annabel and Mick are in the kitchen.’
Maya Hess – Day Fifty-one
Big Brother as it really should be.

‘For the twentieth time, Cauy Warner looked at his watch and back at the gate.’
Kate Pearce – Cowboy Up
Playboy rodeo champion Cauy comes back to his hometown to find his childhood sweetheart after ten years. Bucking broncos, red cowboy boots, break-ups and make-ups!

‘Miles knows that Laura likes rope.’
Mathilde Madden – Public Relations
A wonderful, submissive and twisty story ‘designed by the god(dess) of kink.’. Find out if Miles can control Miss Uncontrollable.


You know mine already. There’s a twist I don’t want to give away, so I can’t tell you much, other than what Kristina said (when I pinched her very hard):

‘Intriguing, dreamy, beautifully written, a little bit sleazy (car parks – yum) and ve-ery sexy’.

Want more? Sex in Public is out on February the 8th in the UK, and April 3rd in the US. We've also got a few copies to give away in our huge, throbbing Valentine's competition, which we'll be announcing soon.

Did we hook you?

Sneaking in under the radar…

Have you ever visited somewhere that just begged to be written about? Readers, have you ever been somewhere that you wanted to read a story about?

Last summer I visited Cornwall and found exactly such a place. Up in the hills, at the end of a muddy track, stands the lonely Iron Age village of Carn Euny, a place of tranquillity, and serenity, overlooking the distant Cornish coastlines.

The few photos I have to offer don’t even begin to capture the mystical stillness of the place. Stand there for a few minutes with your eyes closed and you can almost hear the whisper of voices through the ages.





I knew then I wanted to write about it, but the story itself didn’t materialise until several months later, which brings me to the point of this post. Hop over to the Erotica Readers and Writers Association Story Galleries by following the link below and for this month only, you can read the story Carn Euny inspired.

Click here, to read Carn Euny.

Hope you enjoy the read, and don’t forget to come back and tell me about your inspirational places.

Madelynne Ellis
Schedule Manager’s Bane

www.madelynne-ellis.com
www.madelynne-ellis.blogspot.com

Falling in Love Again...

Obsession, n.[L. obsessio]
2. The state of being besieged; - used specifically of a person beset by a spirit from without.


Back in the Olden Days it was easy writing for Black Lace …
Then we knew we were writing about sex. Hard-edged, transgressive, no-holds-barred, call-a-cunt-a-cunt sex that would get women hot and wet and breathless. Romance was irrelevant: this was Black Lace, not Mills & Boon. Our male characters could be handsome or ugly, attractive or repulsive, kind or cruel, comforting or provoking or downright frightening, just so long as they were, within that situation, finger-lickin’ hot. Hell, they didn’t even have to be human, or alive – In Cruel Enchantment I wrote sex with a dragon and with the walking dead (I wouldn’t get away with those nowadays, believe me).


So keen was I to avoid being seen to write about Love, as opposed to Sex, that even in situations where it was completely appropriate I wouldn’t mention it. It’s obvious to readers of Divine Torment that the two main characters are wildly in love, but I never once use the L-Word.


Everything changes … Nowadays romance is In and characters should live happily-ever-after together … eventually. I am actually very happy with the new paradigm (at least when I’m writing longer pieces of fiction) - partly because any character, male or female, who can shag their way through 80,000 words without ever becoming emotionally involved is one that I’m likely to find a bit repellent. Partly because there just isn’t anything more erotic than the experience of falling head over heels, obsessively, truly-madly-deeply in love. But it does result in some challenges for the writer...


First, you’ve got to make your male characters actually worthy of more than a one-night-stand. Not always easy: a pretty face and a big cock just aren’t enough.


And then there’s the emotional involvement… After all, I’m (mostly) writing about how a female character falls for a male. There’s the authorly obligation to write sincerely, and to feel what the character is feeling. Which means, since I’m currently working on two novellas plus a novel with rival male heroes, that at the moment I have to be hopelessly in love with four different fictional blokes: a werebear, a ginger eco-warrior, a Crowleyan chaos magician and a king of ancient Sumer… The hormonal overload can be painful at times. I catch myself watching eagerly in crowded areas for someone who doesn’t actually exist to turn up and meet me. And poor Mr Ashbless has to put up with me moping tragically around the house with a haunted look in my eyes and waking up at 3am for furtive liaisons with my computer.


Sometimes you just want to flee to the Arctic to get away from it all.


So, ’fess up, you writers – or is it just me?
Will anyone admit to Faking It instead – writing a hero they secretly found risible or boring?
Readers; it’s easy to fall for a fictional character you can see on screen, but do you ever get a real crush on a man who only exists in writing?

I’d love to know…


xxx
Janine Ashbless
http://www.janineashbless.com/
http://www.janineashbless.blogspot.com/
Janine Ashbless on Amazon.co.uk