“I bring my…”

You might have heard me mention here and there the completely out of the blue conversations I have with people (more accurately, they with me) about sex. I don’t always talk about it, but I do often document it -letting them know I’m doing so of course. And I do it because I find that these random tidbits work great in my stories. Today was a great example.

I was talking to a friend about her no-strings relationship and she mentioned that it seems like the guy is getting more attached than she. The thing she said that really stood out?

“I bring my pussy to this relationship, not my heart.”

And yes, I wrote it down. Short story in progress.

The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker Makes An Impression


It seemed more than coincidence to me that I wound up with Suzanne Portnoy’s The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker in my hands to review. Its original release was in 2006, a year that flew right by me because I was in the midst of a separation from my two children’s father, moving back in with my mother, losing my full-time job and entering a brand new relationship.

At that time, the world around me was reading about a 40-year old divorcee’s wildly erotic adventures. Now fast forward seven years, the book has been re-released, and my life has changed dramatically and fresh meat like me got the opportunity to climb into bed with it for the very first time.

I knew when researching the book what is was about and what I didn’t want to write about it. Yes there is sex and yes it is sexy…very, very sexy. And I only got that out of the way to allow me to say that that there’s some really good stuff here. And in this instance the stuff I’m referring to is Suzanne’s superb writing.
The sex inside the pages wooed me, but Suzanne’s way with words wowed me.

The scenarios presented in this memoir were so magically painted that it almost read like an erotic novel, and while I believe that fantasy is great, anyone who knows me knows I like my sex with a little reality. That makes it perfect that there is plenty of emotion tied in with this erotic memoir’s mistress, Suzanne’s couplings.

No way does she does she make the mistake of confusing sex with love, not even in the beginning after she has sewn what she thought were her wild oats and settled down and married. She doesn’t look for love in sex – not in dives, not in sex clubs or in saunas.

She also doesn’t present us with a faux representation of what it’s like to be a mother of two, over forty, and sexing again in happening cities like London and New York a la Sex and the City’s Samantha Jones.

Suzanne has her share of thrills and her share of disappointments, and what will keep her readers turning the pages and ultimately hesitating to close the book is that through it all she gets right back up and tries again.
The Butcher, The Baker tugged me every which way. It made me happy to be currently married and out of the dating scene, but also made me wish I and made more of the free time I had between marriages.

However, The Butcher, The Baker is not just for the mature, divorced woman, it’s for the adventurous couple, it’s for the curious single, it’s for the voyeuristic man which she so eloquently writes about… it’s for the woman who wants to wrap her hands around a firm glass of cabernet and swallow hard as she devours every delicious word.

Something Different

I did a bit of browsing yesterday and found three calls I’m going to submit to. One is short non-fiction, the other two are fiction optional, but none are erotic.

I’m not intimidated. I’ve broken the non-fiction and fiction market before, but I found my little niche in erotica and that’s where I made a “name” for myself. Now, I’d like to step out a little, expand a little which I had always intended to do, but now I’m wondering, with the pile of published erotica that I’m sitting on, how seriously will people take me as a non-fiction/fiction writer?

I could be all inclusive in my bio, let them know about all of the “Best Of” Erotic Series I’ve been in, how popular my lesbian and spanking erotica is, or I could stick to the (very limited) “need to know” stuff, like the short biography I did on the late Bebe Moore Campbell, or my award winning essay on marriage or another award winner on child molestation.

But then I’d wonder if that’s enough. If they’d think I wasn’t a serious enough or seasoned enough writer.

I guess this is where regret comes into play, where I wish I had actually done what I said I would do years ago and remember to publish a little fiction and non-fiction while still doing erotica.
But, I lost my way, or got comfortable or something.

Maybe it’s never too late?