Tag Archives: Erotica

Oh, Just Don’t Even Bother: 50 Shades

50 Shades of Grey is a steaming pile of dog shit that can’t even compete with what your pooch is laying down.

Book, movie, whatever.

I’m that asshole who’s saying this without giving either the time of day. Do you know why? Because I work 6 days a week and life is too short to go out there reading and watching everything just to be fair before passing judgment on it. SUE ME.

But here’s the deal. Nearly every sex blogger on the planet is crying foul about this book/movie/steaming pile of shit, not just because of the bad writing.

When you get people like Jian Ghomeshi citing your book/movie/steaming pile of shit as an example of why he plays violent with sexual encounters like he does, maybe you’re doing something wrong.

BDSM is rough sex played by the rules. Yes, there are assholes who break rules, like Jian Ghomeshi and Christian Grey. They’re the kind of people that the online world and backchannels of BDSM will light up like a Christmas tree. Warning signs will be posted wide and far, if there’s any justice in this world.

Then you have the ridiculously subpar prose that shouldn’t have won any prizes, let alone space on any shelves.

does-50-shades-of-grey-deserve-its-criticism-L-G1jpcF

Example one: “Oh my,” I gasp as I bask briefly in the intensity of this visceral, primal attraction. “I feel it, too,” he says, his eyes clouded and intense.

Desire pools dark and deadly in my groin.

How are you supposed to get aroused by this? Really? Wow. People really need to improve their sex lives, and this ain’t where to start.

Example two: I want to clean my teeth. I eye Christian’s toothbrush. It would be like having him in my mouth. Hmm… Glancing guiltily over my shoulder at the door, I feel the bristles on the toothbrush. They are damp. He must have used it already. Grabbing it quickly, I squirt toothpaste on it and brush my teeth in double quick time. I feel so naughty. It’s such a thrill.

Wow. So risque. Actually, just gross. I’m not a germaphobe but sex is bad enough with all the crazy fluids exchanged. At least it’s fun. Using someone’s toothbrush isn’t sexy or hot, it’s just unhygienic to the nth. And it’s ridiculous writing.

How Not To Write

Wanna be a better writer? Butcher your adverbs. Kill them. Slaughter them. Leave them weeping in your wake. Look at that, all the descriptive ways I’ve suggested violence in just 4 phrases, nary an adverb in sight.

And this writing WON AWARDS? I’ll take a fucking flamethrower to the UK National Book Awards office one day if this happens again.

You want hot erotica? Scour the web. They’re out there. They’re making well-written stuff. They’re better than this hack.

Respect yourself. Aim higher. Don’t reward this bad content. And definitely do not confuse violent non-consensual sex with rich pretty-boys with what BDSM really is. It’s not even close.

Sexual Addiction? My Thoughts.

3115715258_a9d7e7550fSex addiction — which includes addiction to cybersex and porn — is one of the fastest, most destructive addictions on the rise out there.

Unfortunately, the discussion? It’s a joke. It’s always along the lines David Duchovny or Bill Clinton wisecracks. People fail to see that the nature of sex addiction is to destroy every relationship the addict has. It steals the addict from life, costs them friends and families, it shatters the respect others may have had for them, and instills a self-loathing of the lowest kind.

I remember captioning a television show (my day job) about cybersex addiction, for instance, where they stated simple cybersex/porn addictions could be fatal — cases had occurred where an addict remained seated, wrapped up in the porn/cybersex before them, for so many hours, that blood clots and cardiac events killed them. I’d never even considered that possibility. Continue reading

wishing otherwise

wistful jazz wails in the background. the drive bustles with beatniks and bohemians, baddies and babes. stale cigarette smoke wafts towards me. i see the source. you.

i only glance at you for the briefest second, but you catch my eye. that smoldering look you got’s really something else, i think, returning to my book. while i reread the same passage, i sense you watching me. this time, looking up, i slowly take you in.

you’ve got crumpled olive green cargo pants on, but they’re just tight enough around your round bubble ass. you’re wearing two tanktops, layered, one white and one black, and a leather jacket’s slung over your forearm, obscuring some of your tattoos. surprised at myself, i openly admire your breasts as i continue up you and meet your glance.

“glance” is too light a word for that look of yours. your eyes are locked on me like a fighter plane acquiring a target. so brazen, so bold. so intimidating.

i find myself wishing i had that in me, but today i don’t. i smile weakly, then break the gaze, dropping down to my book, back to my safety zone.

out of the corner of my eye, i see you shoot me a final glance as you join up with your approaching friend. sad to see you leave, i at least watch you go.

now, days later, i revel in my regret for the courage that came too late, and for the chance squandered so quickly.

momentary distractions


it’s the little transgressions that sometimes bring, for me, the deepest flares of desires. a passing glance, a mistaken brush… hopefully this evokes the mood of exploiting that ever so slightly.

_________

hot, hot heat engulfs those on the bus.

every window cracked, every jacket removed, but still the swelter wears on.

the bus rumbles along the blazing city streets, lurching in and out of stops, constantly upheld by construction crews struggling with upgrades plaguing the town. stagnation is the order of the day and exhaustion seems inescapable, universal.

the redhead in the pink tank top exhales wearily in her outward-facing bus seat and rolls her head around, stretching her neck. looking down, she studies her bare arms. beads of sweat cling to her. she smooths the moist beads along her forearm, then changes songs on her mp3 player.

her legs are damp with sweat, like the rest of her. a warm breeze blows in from the windows, causing her inner thighs to tingle slightly. hoping for more of the same, she half-stands, reverses her crossed legs, and shimmies her floral miniskirt back down before resuming contact with the sticky vinyl seat.

she glances up, still shifting herself, and catches him staring at her. she peers over her light sunglasses at him: sexy, full lips, thick dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin… and a wedding band. she looks at the band and then his eyes.

hand-portrait-1

he keeps her gaze, as if dominating her with his eyes, and twists the ring slowly around his finger, sliding it half off before putting it back in place. he presses his wide strong hands flat against his seersucker pants, letting them slip sideways slightly, each inching slightly lower on his inner thigh, as he lustfully looks her over.

her lips are slightly upturned with interest now. she pushes her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose. she subtly runs her tongue over her teeth with her mouth slightly open as she traces a finger under the strap of her tank top down towards her sweaty breast. she looks back to the man across the aisle.

he shifts in his seat, inhaling sharply. he eyes her, biting on his lower lip, his irises as dark as his imagined intentions. with his fingers, he makes repeated strokes along his inner thigh.

breaking their gaze and glancing down, she understands his motions. she knows what those fingers would be doing to her if they were inside her right now. what she would be doing.

she brings a fingertip to her lips and nibbles playfully. her full pink lips encase the tip perfectly. she nibbles her nail and he stares hungrily as she begins to further toy with him, subtly flicking her tongue lightly back and forth over her tip with serpentine skill. all the while, she gazes tauntingly at him.

glancing around, noticing no one seems wise to them, he picks up his leather attache and places it over his lap, where one hand remains resting atop his stiffening member, and he shifts himself awkwardly, having lost himself in the beads of sweat clinging in her cleavage, trickling down, and down…

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he’s fascinated by her pale breasts bouncing with the rough ride of that bus over the unfinished roads. he imagines that this is how she would look riding him — sweating, jiggling, wearied, still wanting, but wasted by the heat.

he looks at her, that desire playing in his mind, when his head dips weakly to the side and drops as he remembers that small matter of his life.

he glances down at his left hand spread flat over the black leather case, the gold ring gleaming on his olive skin. his face clouds in disappointed resolution. he sighs and smiles sadly at her, extending the ring finger and the band, flicking the gold almost derisively with his thumbnail.

she shrugs indifferently and smiles. she mouths the words, “my stop,” as she reaches up and pulls the bell cord.

she stands and smooths her crumpled sweat-dampened miniskirt down her bare thighs. she dips her sunglasses and winks coyly at the man and goes.

the doors close.

the man turns around and stares through the pane, watching the redhead swagger down the sidewalk, as if she even remotely senses the damage she’s done.

he sighs, leans his head back, closes his eyes, and under the attache, he rubs… imagining a different kind of cord in her hands, a different kind of release, a different kind of life.

Damien: Concludes

(To join the party where it starts, read part one here and part two here.)

When we left off, Damien was devouring me with oral. If you don’t want that, don’t read the earlier parts (you silly). We pick up well into his muff-diving ventures, where I’m on the verge of reaching my very happy place.

_________________

clutch your pictures of the pope
pray to god for love and hope

I didn’t care about potential spectators now. All I wanted was to come. Gasping, I let go of him and clutched the counter’s edge as I leaned away from him, spreading my legs the little further they could go. His tongue plunged into me, flicking and darting, as his thumb began feverishly massaging my clit.

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I accidentally bit my lip so hard it bled as my body shook its way to orgasm. Coming, I shuddered violently and collapsed against the wall. He continued sucking and nibbling, which was becoming unbearable now that I was through, so I forced him off of me, pulling his head up and away from my mounds until he was eye-level with me.

Still looking hungry — famished — he gnashed his mouth against mine. Our tongues began fighting with each other as he leaned his still-hard cock against me.

bring the virgin home for luck
bolt the door down, keep it shut

Biting my lip and taunting me, lightly toying with my pubes, he dug into his pocket and produced a condom. He tore the packet open, and before he could proceed, I took it from him.

Gripping his shaft’s base and tugging slowly, but hard, back and forth with my left hand, I used my right hand to slip the condom on his throbbing cock and unrolled it as slowly and deliberately as I could, tugging all the while, until the rubber extended fully.

He kissed me hard as I stroked him a few times more, but then he again pinned my arms behind my back as his cock fumbled its way to my vaginal opening and then, with pressure, slid tightly between my swollen, shivering lips.

i tried hard to mend my wicked ways

We fucked fast and furious, knowing the partygoers lingering across the lawn, seeing them flicker their flashlights on the leaves in the forest, past the greenhouse, the sounds of their shallow, distant laughter contrasting with our slurping, thumping, and the smacking of rapid fucking, all rounded out nicely by our endless gasps and groans.

the damage done
there’s nothing left to save

Neither of us were interested in making this a long, meaningful encounter, and that much was clear as he held my legs up and thrust deep and long into me, over and over and over and over again.

and i tried
and i tried
and i tried
and i tried

I’d never had such a frenzied, semi-public session of sex like that before, being only 20. Judging by Damien’s fevered thrusting, it was a new experience for him, too. I was so riled, so ready to come.

nude (53)

He bit his lip and gutterally groaned, moving his hands around my ass, and pulled me as hard onto his cock as he could, holding me there as long as he could, throbbing hard inside me, as he gyrated his cock ever so slightly. Mere moments of this, and I couldn’t help but orgasm. Gasping, I shuddered violently during that hard, sustained thrust, tremendously weakening his resolve as I collapsed against him.

He groaned and gritted his teeth, slowly pulling his cock out, then forcing it back in, hard. And again. And again.

and i tried


and i tried
and i tried

And I moaned. He thrust hard into me a fourth time, but this time, was rocked with convulsions and crumpled against me, coming almost painfully, groaning, with his neck and face covered in sweat as he gasped for breath, his mouth cupping my neck. “Mm,” he chuckled weakly, now wasted and spent.

clutch your pictures of the pope
just like i told you
pray to god for love and hope
just like i warned you

We stayed there for a few minutes, slumped, still wet, against each other, just getting our breaths back. I noticed the partygoers hadn’t advanced one bit.

“We could’ve taken our time after all.”

Damien looked outside, looked at me, and laughed.

“Mm, god, no. I wouldn’t change a thing. We did just fine,” he sighed, still exhausted.

“Beats the hell out of lame techno, at the very least.”

“Oh, hell, that might even beat the shit out of the Beasties, you know, and they rock. Hard.” He groaned softly, and nibbled my neck, softly singing their anthem. “You gotta fight for your right — to par-tay…”

I chuckled quietly.

With that, we tidied up at a nearby sink to return to the party. We kept the conversation light. Neither of us mentioned seeing each other again.

After that night, we ran in the same circles occasionally, and always shared a knowing smile, but nothing more. As cool as he was, you just knew he couldn’t be a “boyfriend.”

Didn’t matter. Before long, I was back with T. anyways.

T., who never did find out.

bring the virgin home for luck
just like i told you
bolt the door down, keep it shut
just like i warned you

Which is just as well… considering.

anonymous encounters

i awoke from a dream in the dead of night. this on my mind.

* * *

ge05

shared moments in darkness
suggested, stolen

but always squandered.

a refuge
in this detached loneliness,

you’re nothing of permanence

just fleeting

in the stupid immature hopes
something more might be

but in reality
nothing can be, nor will be

as all things end
just beyond that door.