Since I first had a book published I’ve been working my behind off to promote myself and my work and a large part of that has been networking. Once upon a time social networking was being charming to people at a cocktail party, but life is more random (and, some would argue, less glamorous) these days and the world of networking has the emphasis firmly on the ‘net’ now.
First on my list was Myspace. Apparently it’s the site de-rigeur for the teen generation, but I have to admit it falls somewhat short of my expectations. A clonky interface, complex to navigate, constantly having to sign in again and it’s hard to find people you know. I have an account, but I hate having to check it and rarely update my blog on there.
Secondly was the obvious choice as far as I was concerned: Facebook. I love Facebook, have used it before and set up a writing-specific account within moments. Since then I’ve had fun logging in and adding all sorts of whojits and gadgets to suit my use. Possibly my favourite so far is their blog-following widget, which does exactly as it says on the tin.
I’m not sure if blogging can be rightly called social networking, especially since I’m having trouble finding other, similar blogs, or even getting people to comment on here! Still, I suppose it gets me out there, somewhere…
Manic Readers is a more specific site, but so far I’m finding it excellent as a promotional tool and great fun to update, too. I can add my books, links, bio and free reads to my ‘author page’ as well as photos and audio clips. It does reviews, interviews and other fun, writerly things – I love it!
I’m still getting the hang of this networking malarkey. I do wonder how many people on Facebook got offended when a slutty erotic author added them as a ‘friend’ out of the blue, but that’s not really my problem – they can always hit ‘ignore’! I’m always looking for new friends, buddies or fans, however, so why not hunt me down on a networking site and add me in – I very rarely hit ‘ignore’…
Monday, 15 December 2008
Thursday, 11 December 2008
Keeping Up
The last week or so I've set myself a target of one thousand words per day. I actually managed to stick to it, too, for several days, but real life gets in the way. Occasionally you run out of time or out of energy or out of inspiration. Today it's energy - my thoughts are sticky and trickle like tar, each sentence is a struggle, each word a triumph as I grasp it--slipping away like a wet soap in the bath. And yet...yet the urge to write is still there, still as strong and vital as ever. I need to communicate, to set my thoughts down in black and white words. Even when thoughts trip through my mind I am forced to transmute them into deathless prose, changing a brief spurt of annoyance into a mental rant worthy of the stage. Every thing I say, every thought I think is subject to this translation--moving from the spoken to the written form.
I heard once, I think it was in Sister Act of all things, that if you wake up and you can think of nothing but writing, and you go through your day and can think of nothing but writing, and you go to sleep still thinking only of writing, then you are a writer. I cling to that some days, when I struggle with the act of writing, or people don't seem to be paying attention to what I write. Every day I am a writer, because I can think of nothing but writing.
I heard once, I think it was in Sister Act of all things, that if you wake up and you can think of nothing but writing, and you go through your day and can think of nothing but writing, and you go to sleep still thinking only of writing, then you are a writer. I cling to that some days, when I struggle with the act of writing, or people don't seem to be paying attention to what I write. Every day I am a writer, because I can think of nothing but writing.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
What's In A Name?
My career as an erotic author commenced only after discovering a nifty little website called Literotica, a free erotic reads site that encouraged authors to submit their own writing. In the early years of my acquaintance with this site I must have read hundreds and hundreds of different stories by different authors, so I'd count myself a minor authority on the topic about which I am going to rant.
Why oh why oh why can't erotic authors pick *normal* names for their characters?
I mean, this is a flaw that occurs in non-erotic writing too, but it seems to be far worse in erotica. I suspect it's due to some obligation the author feels to make their character 'sexy' and 'unusual', perhaps thinking that a Tom or an Alice can't possibly get involved in sexual misadventure.
Personally I think this is a load of old, smelly tripe. The whole point of erotica is that the author wants the reader to connect with the story and the characters--to see the situation and the people as realistic as far as they possibly can, because shortly you could be about to get them involved in some marginally unrealistically mind-blowing sex.
I hate picking names for my characters, but when I do I try to make them as normal as possible--Natalie, Andrew, Melissa, Richard, Katie, Alistair--names one would come across in everyday life. I refuse to provide examples of some of the sillier names I've seen in erotic writing, because I don't want this to get personal with any one author and made-up names are, by their very nature, easily recognisable and identifiable.
Just one more thing that occurs to me -- perhaps this is a cross-Atlantic thing again. I have noticed that Americans tend to go in for slightly more unusual names than we English. The use of boys' names for girls, surnames for boys' first names and so forth. I'd like to think that this is all it was-- a cultural clash between English and American, but somehow I doubt it. So, if you're ever planning on writing some erotica, please please consider calling your main character something terribly terribly normal. I'd love to see more Chris's and Carolines!
Why oh why oh why can't erotic authors pick *normal* names for their characters?
I mean, this is a flaw that occurs in non-erotic writing too, but it seems to be far worse in erotica. I suspect it's due to some obligation the author feels to make their character 'sexy' and 'unusual', perhaps thinking that a Tom or an Alice can't possibly get involved in sexual misadventure.
Personally I think this is a load of old, smelly tripe. The whole point of erotica is that the author wants the reader to connect with the story and the characters--to see the situation and the people as realistic as far as they possibly can, because shortly you could be about to get them involved in some marginally unrealistically mind-blowing sex.
I hate picking names for my characters, but when I do I try to make them as normal as possible--Natalie, Andrew, Melissa, Richard, Katie, Alistair--names one would come across in everyday life. I refuse to provide examples of some of the sillier names I've seen in erotic writing, because I don't want this to get personal with any one author and made-up names are, by their very nature, easily recognisable and identifiable.
Just one more thing that occurs to me -- perhaps this is a cross-Atlantic thing again. I have noticed that Americans tend to go in for slightly more unusual names than we English. The use of boys' names for girls, surnames for boys' first names and so forth. I'd like to think that this is all it was-- a cultural clash between English and American, but somehow I doubt it. So, if you're ever planning on writing some erotica, please please consider calling your main character something terribly terribly normal. I'd love to see more Chris's and Carolines!
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Yin & Yan
It always strikes me as curious how much we, as humans, deal in opposites and contrasts. This seems to be especially prevalent in sexual encounters, where a balance is required between dominance and submission. I’m not talking about the more extreme elements of this, which extend into the strictly defined world of BDSM, but rather the more vanilla of us who indulge in dominant and submissive behaviour without even questioning it.
When in bed with a man I long to be controlled and dominated. Occasionally I'll take control or dominance, but it's always just a brief foray that's fun, but not really exciting. It doesn’t turn me on to take control, though if I’m with a partner who enjoys it then that pleases me. It doesn’t, however, pleasure me.
What I really want, what I long for, is for that attempt at taking control to be overthrown. For him to push me off, use his strength to turn me over, push me down, hold me still while he punishes me. Even typing that thought out excites me. When it comes to sex I don’t want the polite niceties of a give-and-take relationship. I want rawness, animality, brutality—to a certain extent, anyway.
I can’t really understand the mentality that wants to take control. At least, not when I think about a heterosexual encounter. When I think about bedding a woman, the idea of control and domination has a much greater appeal. I love the idea of restraining her, of fighting for superiority and winning. It makes me shiver to think of tying her up and teasing her until she is beyond thinking and begs me to take her. I would love to fix a strap-on to me and turn her onto her front and fuck her until the air turned blue with her screams. Equally, though, I would want her to return the favour, without trying it I can’t decide which I would prefer or whether I would enjoy the experiences equally.
I wonder what element of being ‘female’ or ‘feminine’ it is that dictates to me, in such a basic, primal way, that it is arousing to be dominated by a man, but to dominate another woman. But then, bisexuality is a very complex aspect of sexuality and I try not to analyse it more than I absolutely have to.
When in bed with a man I long to be controlled and dominated. Occasionally I'll take control or dominance, but it's always just a brief foray that's fun, but not really exciting. It doesn’t turn me on to take control, though if I’m with a partner who enjoys it then that pleases me. It doesn’t, however, pleasure me.
What I really want, what I long for, is for that attempt at taking control to be overthrown. For him to push me off, use his strength to turn me over, push me down, hold me still while he punishes me. Even typing that thought out excites me. When it comes to sex I don’t want the polite niceties of a give-and-take relationship. I want rawness, animality, brutality—to a certain extent, anyway.
I can’t really understand the mentality that wants to take control. At least, not when I think about a heterosexual encounter. When I think about bedding a woman, the idea of control and domination has a much greater appeal. I love the idea of restraining her, of fighting for superiority and winning. It makes me shiver to think of tying her up and teasing her until she is beyond thinking and begs me to take her. I would love to fix a strap-on to me and turn her onto her front and fuck her until the air turned blue with her screams. Equally, though, I would want her to return the favour, without trying it I can’t decide which I would prefer or whether I would enjoy the experiences equally.
I wonder what element of being ‘female’ or ‘feminine’ it is that dictates to me, in such a basic, primal way, that it is arousing to be dominated by a man, but to dominate another woman. But then, bisexuality is a very complex aspect of sexuality and I try not to analyse it more than I absolutely have to.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
A Day's Delay...
From now onwards all my blog posts will appear a day earlier on my official site.
If you want to up to date with the very latest Emelia news and musings, then make your way to http://www.emeliabell.co.uk
If you just can't bear to leave the blogspot site, then all the posts will appear here, but 24 hours after they appear on http://www.emeliabell.co.uk
Look forward to seeing you there!
x
E
If you want to up to date with the very latest Emelia news and musings, then make your way to http://www.emeliabell.co.uk
If you just can't bear to leave the blogspot site, then all the posts will appear here, but 24 hours after they appear on http://www.emeliabell.co.uk
Look forward to seeing you there!
x
E
Friday, 5 December 2008
You say it best when you say nothing at all
A blank page is a very intimidating thing. Looking at this 'new post' page, just now, terrified me. I'm expected to type and create words that mean something, words that connect to other people, without knowing anything about those other people. Writing fiction is, perhaps, a little easier. I write fiction primarily for myself and when others enjoy it, it's just a big bonus. I create characters, worlds and stories in my head, then all I have to do is describe it. The blank page is almost encouraging then, those first few words of a story are easy, because you so desperately want to make it real.
This, however, this is hard. I'm writing this in the full expectation that others will read it and no real idea what they want to read about or how I come across. Like I said, it's intimidating.
Readers, if you're out there, comment on my posts, even if it's just ticking a box -- am I getting through? Or am I, as I fear, just manifesting a new-fangled form of insanity by typing to myself instead of talking...?
This, however, this is hard. I'm writing this in the full expectation that others will read it and no real idea what they want to read about or how I come across. Like I said, it's intimidating.
Readers, if you're out there, comment on my posts, even if it's just ticking a box -- am I getting through? Or am I, as I fear, just manifesting a new-fangled form of insanity by typing to myself instead of talking...?
Thursday, 4 December 2008
After all the hoo-hah of the American elections I have to admit that I was beginning to care less about any kind of American politics. Then along came proposition 8 which affected friends of mine. It made me feel queasy -- here in the UK we have civil partnerships which have the same benefits as marriage and it makes perfect sense to me. What right has the State to say who you can love? As long as you're two consenting adults hurting no-one else then who the hell has the right to speak against it?
So here was me getting all hot under the collar, but why do that when instead you can sing about it? Save me one of those prawn cocktails...
Prop 8 the Musical!
So here was me getting all hot under the collar, but why do that when instead you can sing about it? Save me one of those prawn cocktails...
Prop 8 the Musical!
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Like a fine wine...
I’m a big fan of vintage. I love the sound of the word – it has connotations of luxury, class, elegance, expensiveness. You can apply it to clothes, shoes, wine, cars, jewellery – some of my most favourite things. I am kind of glad that you can’t get vintage chocolate, but everything else is better when it’s aged a little – lovers included!
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
Unique
Someone asked me recently what it was that I thought made me unique. I couldn't give them an answer then and, a couple of days later, I'm still struggling to think of something.
Now don't get me wrong, this isn't because I don't think I'm unique or can;t think of anything, quite the opposite in fact. It's because every single thing about me is unique and how on earth can I delineate that?
I hate the current trend of pigeon-holing people. Oh she's blonde, he's gay, they're Christians, she's vegetarian -- how are those valid ways of describing people? Just going by one belief or apparently defining feature? I know it's in our nature, to some extent, to put people into boxes so we can help to define what box we ourselves belong in, but the truth of the matter is that each of us is different and individual. I grew out of trying to pigeon-hole myself a few years ago, when I exited my 'teens. It seems a very insecure, juvenile thing to do. There are many different people and groups I identify with, why limit myself?
I am unique because I am, because I'm me. I realise that may sound arrogant, but it isn't. I'm just as eager for acceptance as anyone else. I just don't want to be defined through one particular feature, whether it's the colour of my hair, my job, my sexuality, what I like or dislike - I'm unique because I am the only one who looks like me, thinks like me, talks like me and does what I do.
Now don't get me wrong, this isn't because I don't think I'm unique or can;t think of anything, quite the opposite in fact. It's because every single thing about me is unique and how on earth can I delineate that?
I hate the current trend of pigeon-holing people. Oh she's blonde, he's gay, they're Christians, she's vegetarian -- how are those valid ways of describing people? Just going by one belief or apparently defining feature? I know it's in our nature, to some extent, to put people into boxes so we can help to define what box we ourselves belong in, but the truth of the matter is that each of us is different and individual. I grew out of trying to pigeon-hole myself a few years ago, when I exited my 'teens. It seems a very insecure, juvenile thing to do. There are many different people and groups I identify with, why limit myself?
I am unique because I am, because I'm me. I realise that may sound arrogant, but it isn't. I'm just as eager for acceptance as anyone else. I just don't want to be defined through one particular feature, whether it's the colour of my hair, my job, my sexuality, what I like or dislike - I'm unique because I am the only one who looks like me, thinks like me, talks like me and does what I do.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Blush
You know, it’s pretty hard to make me blush. A long hard gaze into my eyes might do it. A truly genuine compliment might do it. Reading something that makes my pulse race might do it. A deep, lingering kiss might do it. Watching two people share a deep, lingering kiss might do it. As for anything else, well, can you do it?
Sunday, 30 November 2008
When I grow up
When I was a little girl I wanted to be a traffic warden, because I thought they got to keep all the money people put into the machines. There are all sorts of jobs that people want to do when they grow up, just off the top of my head I can think of-
-ballerina
-president of the world
-fireman
-astronaut
-owner of a sweet shop
-Willy Wonker himself
-train driver
OK, I'm all out now, but I think you'll find that nowhere on that list is 'Erotic Author' likely to appear, and yet it turns out it's a job I really love doing as an adult. I suppose, if pressed, I might admit that, just as I thought a traffic warden got to keep all the money, perhaps a teeny part of me had assumed that an erotic author got all the sex -- no -- all the interesting sex.
Whilst this has not necessarily turned out to be so as a general rule, things seem to be looking up. Bring it on, says I, cos I like my job!
-ballerina
-president of the world
-fireman
-astronaut
-owner of a sweet shop
-Willy Wonker himself
-train driver
OK, I'm all out now, but I think you'll find that nowhere on that list is 'Erotic Author' likely to appear, and yet it turns out it's a job I really love doing as an adult. I suppose, if pressed, I might admit that, just as I thought a traffic warden got to keep all the money, perhaps a teeny part of me had assumed that an erotic author got all the sex -- no -- all the interesting sex.
Whilst this has not necessarily turned out to be so as a general rule, things seem to be looking up. Bring it on, says I, cos I like my job!
Saturday, 29 November 2008
Web-tastic!
Hurrah hurrah - development of the official Emelia Bell website is well under way. Whilst I fully realise that this may not be exactly exciting for you, it is, nevertheless, immensely exciting for me. You'll like me when I'm excited
I can't wait to tell you more about the website when it's done!
For now I'm looking forwards to a lazy weekend, seeing friends, making cake and - hopefully - a nice long lie-in tomorrow. I need a great deal of lying in to make me habitable :-D
I can't wait to tell you more about the website when it's done!
For now I'm looking forwards to a lazy weekend, seeing friends, making cake and - hopefully - a nice long lie-in tomorrow. I need a great deal of lying in to make me habitable :-D
Friday, 28 November 2008
Thank you
Over the years I have had a number of online friends. People who I connect with over some site or another, then start e-mailing, move onto a chat programme like MSN and sometimes it even progresses to phone calls and webcam.
These friends have been both men and women, some of them come and go, some of them stay in my life, to all of them I wish to offer a great big thank you. You buoy me up when I am down, trust me with your own problems, ask me bizarre questions that make me think, offer me compliments and flirt with me. My confidence has grown because of your friendships and flirting. Many of my stories have been inspired by the conversations we have had, either directly or simply from the rush of feel-good you caused.
To all of you, past, present and future…
Thank you
x
Me
These friends have been both men and women, some of them come and go, some of them stay in my life, to all of them I wish to offer a great big thank you. You buoy me up when I am down, trust me with your own problems, ask me bizarre questions that make me think, offer me compliments and flirt with me. My confidence has grown because of your friendships and flirting. Many of my stories have been inspired by the conversations we have had, either directly or simply from the rush of feel-good you caused.
To all of you, past, present and future…
Thank you
x
Me
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
November really is a dreary month. The weather is grey, getting colder and the clocks go back so what little daylight we have is foreshortened by an hour. Summer is a long time behind you, the joys of wearing your winter wardrobe have worn thin and Christmas is still a long time coming, even though it seems to be on every TV and shop-front you go near.
Where I currently live there's no fireplace, nor am I allowed to have pets so that's two of my favourite ways to stay warm and pass a November evening gone - no fire, not cat to pet. Only one option left - snuggling up under a feather duvet or three with a good book and a special someone... and the good book isn't essential ;-)
If you're feeling as glum as I was yesterday and the constant grey gloominess is getting you down, then take a leaf out of my book and go to bed early - it's good for your health, believe me!
Where I currently live there's no fireplace, nor am I allowed to have pets so that's two of my favourite ways to stay warm and pass a November evening gone - no fire, not cat to pet. Only one option left - snuggling up under a feather duvet or three with a good book and a special someone... and the good book isn't essential ;-)
If you're feeling as glum as I was yesterday and the constant grey gloominess is getting you down, then take a leaf out of my book and go to bed early - it's good for your health, believe me!
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Naughty Naughty
OK, I realise that, as an erotic author, this may seem like stating the blindingly obvious, but I have a very definite streak of naughty running through my veins. One of the things that 'gets' me is a change of routine - the unusual or dangerous. Add to that the element of exhibitionism I possess and you have a combustible sort of combination. That may explain why today, driving along the motorway (or freeway for those Americans amongst you) I spent half an hour bringing myself to orgasm. Dammit, it was a good one, too!
Have you ever got yourself off in a dangerous or public place? This isn't the first time I've done something like this, but I think I'll keep the other occasions under my hat for the time being, just in case I need something to blog about later ;-)
Have you ever got yourself off in a dangerous or public place? This isn't the first time I've done something like this, but I think I'll keep the other occasions under my hat for the time being, just in case I need something to blog about later ;-)
Monday, 24 November 2008
And I would run away...
The Irish group, The Corrs, did a song once about running away. It drifts into my head occasionally when the urge to abandon my responsibilities and just leg it somewhere far away. I remember when I first got a car. I hatched elaborate plans to always keep a sleeping bag and travel kit in the boot (trunk) just in case I felt the need, but somehow never really had the nerve to really do it. Nowadays I often feel the pull of the unknown, but am too duty-bound to my everyday life to really go for it. The best I can do is launch myself, unannounced, onto my parents, as I did this weekend. Then I get the opportunity to run away twice, when I get fed up of family life again I can go back to my solitary one up North...
One of these days, though, I'll book a ticket, pack a case and go somewhere far away and strange to me. One day...
One of these days, though, I'll book a ticket, pack a case and go somewhere far away and strange to me. One day...
Monday, 17 November 2008
NEW RELEASE!
Released today with eXcessica.com!
Buy it now from eXcessica, Fictionwise, Mobi and Amazon
Blurb:-
We all sometimes wonder what life would be like if we’d taken a different path. When Andrew and Melissa accidentally bump into each other ten years after their teenage romance came to an end they are given the chance to find out.
Andrew cannot help himself from pursuing Melissa once he’s been up close and personal, but exploring his emotions and his sexuality leads him down a dark path that compromises his integrity and sense of self. Meanwhile, beguiled by Andrew’s seduction and the lure of passions past, Melissa risks everything when, in a heated moment of weakness, she succumbs to temptation.
Have Andrew and Melissa got a real chance of making it, or has fate thrown them a taste of ecstasy as part of some great cosmic tease?
Excerpt:-
She paused a moment in the doorway, trying to get her bearings in relation to the directions the waiter had given her. She stepped forward as she pushed the button to open her umbrella. It sprang open with enough vigour to throw her off balance and she stumbled into the street, bumping into a tall Mackintoshed man with an armful of books.
“Oh fuck! I am so sorry. Are they OK?” She cringed as the books slid from his arms and landed with a splashy thud onto the watery pavement.
She bent down to try and help pick them up, but her bag slid forwards off her shoulder, and she dropped her umbrella, showering the poor man with even more water.
She gave up trying to help and stood up – unfortunately at the very same moment as he did.
“Ouch!”
“Fuck!”
“I’m sorry,” they both said, backing away and nursing their bruised foreheads.
“No, I’m sorry,” they said in unison again.
She smiled and blinked as she tried to focus. Mostly what she saw was the grey Mackintosh and the stack of books - Essentials of Engineering Mathematics, Aerodynamics for Students, Aerodynamics for Engineering Students, fifth edition - an engineer, obviously. Then, through the rain and the blurred vision, she saw his face swim into focus.
Warm brown eyes, full lips, springy dark hair, and a nose more remarkable for its character than its elegance.
“Andrew?”
“Melissa?”
Both stood rigid. She hadn’t been called Melissa for years and hearing her name spoken by him felt like the past had catapulted into her chest and winded her. She searched every contour of his face eagerly, trying to find the changes and the similarities wrought by ten years. Her eyes lingered on his mouth; his full lips, and a slow chill trickled through her body as if an ice cube had been slipped down the back of her neck.
She shuddered and swayed, heat and cold raging in her as she looked into his eyes and remembered…his young, bony body pushing sharply against her softer form, grinding her into the wall she leant against. That kiss had taken her by surprise as much as the first one had. The first was shocking in its suddenness and passion; this one in its passion and skill.
She reeled at his mastery of the kiss, her mouth and body opening up to him, offering herself as his lips had pressed into hers, bruising them. His tongue had thrust roughly into her mouth, exploring the hot hollows and crevices of her cheeks, entwining itself with her tongue.
Occasionally she felt the slight scrape of his train-track braces, but the danger and discomfort of the metal wire against her tender lips only fed into the kinky sado-masochistic nature of their relationship so far.
His hand had gripped the back of her neck tightly, his fingertips digging in—holding her to him and threatening at the same time. He had taken possession of her and she gave herself up to him utterly…
A cold droplet from her umbrella hit the side of her face. She jolted back to the present and the young face, so twisted in passion, morphed into the older, calmer face of the man before her.
Buy it now from eXcessica, Fictionwise, Mobi and Amazon
Blurb:-
We all sometimes wonder what life would be like if we’d taken a different path. When Andrew and Melissa accidentally bump into each other ten years after their teenage romance came to an end they are given the chance to find out.
Andrew cannot help himself from pursuing Melissa once he’s been up close and personal, but exploring his emotions and his sexuality leads him down a dark path that compromises his integrity and sense of self. Meanwhile, beguiled by Andrew’s seduction and the lure of passions past, Melissa risks everything when, in a heated moment of weakness, she succumbs to temptation.
Have Andrew and Melissa got a real chance of making it, or has fate thrown them a taste of ecstasy as part of some great cosmic tease?
Excerpt:-
She paused a moment in the doorway, trying to get her bearings in relation to the directions the waiter had given her. She stepped forward as she pushed the button to open her umbrella. It sprang open with enough vigour to throw her off balance and she stumbled into the street, bumping into a tall Mackintoshed man with an armful of books.
“Oh fuck! I am so sorry. Are they OK?” She cringed as the books slid from his arms and landed with a splashy thud onto the watery pavement.
She bent down to try and help pick them up, but her bag slid forwards off her shoulder, and she dropped her umbrella, showering the poor man with even more water.
She gave up trying to help and stood up – unfortunately at the very same moment as he did.
“Ouch!”
“Fuck!”
“I’m sorry,” they both said, backing away and nursing their bruised foreheads.
“No, I’m sorry,” they said in unison again.
She smiled and blinked as she tried to focus. Mostly what she saw was the grey Mackintosh and the stack of books - Essentials of Engineering Mathematics, Aerodynamics for Students, Aerodynamics for Engineering Students, fifth edition - an engineer, obviously. Then, through the rain and the blurred vision, she saw his face swim into focus.
Warm brown eyes, full lips, springy dark hair, and a nose more remarkable for its character than its elegance.
“Andrew?”
“Melissa?”
Both stood rigid. She hadn’t been called Melissa for years and hearing her name spoken by him felt like the past had catapulted into her chest and winded her. She searched every contour of his face eagerly, trying to find the changes and the similarities wrought by ten years. Her eyes lingered on his mouth; his full lips, and a slow chill trickled through her body as if an ice cube had been slipped down the back of her neck.
She shuddered and swayed, heat and cold raging in her as she looked into his eyes and remembered…his young, bony body pushing sharply against her softer form, grinding her into the wall she leant against. That kiss had taken her by surprise as much as the first one had. The first was shocking in its suddenness and passion; this one in its passion and skill.
She reeled at his mastery of the kiss, her mouth and body opening up to him, offering herself as his lips had pressed into hers, bruising them. His tongue had thrust roughly into her mouth, exploring the hot hollows and crevices of her cheeks, entwining itself with her tongue.
Occasionally she felt the slight scrape of his train-track braces, but the danger and discomfort of the metal wire against her tender lips only fed into the kinky sado-masochistic nature of their relationship so far.
His hand had gripped the back of her neck tightly, his fingertips digging in—holding her to him and threatening at the same time. He had taken possession of her and she gave herself up to him utterly…
A cold droplet from her umbrella hit the side of her face. She jolted back to the present and the young face, so twisted in passion, morphed into the older, calmer face of the man before her.
Thursday, 13 November 2008
The Ex Files...
We all have them, even if we never talk about them. They’re the ones who’ve shaped us, emotionally and sexually, the ones who haunt us occasionally and pepper our thoughts with ‘what if’s. Yes, I’m talking about exes.
There are all sorts of exes, and I’ll cover some of the key ones below, but I’ll bet you a pound to a penny that you have at least one Toxic Ex lurking in your past.
For the sake of ease I’ll be referring to the exes as male, but I’m fairly sure that all the types cross over to the fairer sex. I’m an equal opportunity bloggist, after all.
The Mirage Ex: You know the type I mean. You vaguely remember them, you’re sure you fucked them, but since you broke up they’ve vanished off the face of the planet and they didn’t leave that strong an impression when you were together. It’s almost as if, for a couple of months, you hallucinated that you were in a relationship.
The Friendly Ex: Now this ex actually splits into subdivisions. The basic premise is simple— an Ex to whom you still talk and occasionally see. Maybe you have mutual friends, sometimes you hear what they’re up to and you have no animosity towards him. Perhaps, like Chris Evans and Billie Piper, or Hugh Grant and Elizabeth Hurley, you’ve actually managed to salvage a genuine friendship from the wreckage. Just be careful no-one gets the wrong idea.
The subdivision would be the overly friendly ex: he calls just a little bit too often, makes obscene suggestions when he’s drunk. In fact he’s only just a step away from Obsessive Ex…
The Obsessive Ex: It ended years ago, but for some reason you’re still stuck with him. He calls you up all the time, you have the distinct impression that his occasional, pitiful, Facebook status update is about you and, every so often, he demands yet another autopsy of your long-since-failed relationship. Perhaps he’s merely lovesick, perhaps he thinks you’re an easier prospect than starting from scratch, but every so often he suggests that you give it another try, usually beginning in the bedroom. Either way you’re not going to go there and you often wish he had turned out to be a Mirage Ex.
The Booty Call Ex: This is basically an extrapolation of the friendly ex. You still talk occasionally and see each other for drinks, you’d introduce him to someone as a ‘friend’ rather than an ex, but every so often, when you’re both single and horny, you’ll meet up for a quick fuck to scratch the itch. You have no desire to get back with him, but the fact that he knows what pushes your buttons, added to the excitement of a ‘new’ partner, makes for an excellent booty call. You’ll keep his number, just in case…
The Toxic Ex: As with the Friendly Ex, this splits into two subdivisions- the Vindictive Toxic Ex and the Unknowing Toxic Ex.
The Vindictive Toxic Ex is like a sexually transmitted disease. Unpleasant, contracted after sexual relations, socially embarrassing and a possible threat to your current relationship. He pursues you every time you’re in a new relationship, sends you messages, flirts inappropriately and will not leave you alone. For your own part you know he’s bad for you and you try and avoid him, but it’s difficult in the face of his relentless pursuit. Even worse you have the distinct impression, if not actual proof, that he’s been telling things about you to mutual friends that you would rather they did not know. Who needs an enemy with an ex like this?
The Unknowing Toxic Ex is just as bad for you, emotionally, as the Vindictive sort, but this guy doesn’t even have to try. He’s the ex who you describe as ‘the one who got away’—the boyfriend you still regret losing. The feelings you had for him were deep and real and, no matter what reason ended your relationship, chances are it wasn’t your decision. He knows nothing about you now, you’ve been apart for years, but you’re still following him avidly. You look at his pictures through mutual friends on Facebook, Google his name, send him anonymous e-mails and dating site invitations and all the time know he never thinks of you at all. In fact, you have a sneaking suspicion that you’re rapidly falling into the role of Obsessive Ex.
Even a new love doesn’t quite heal the breach in your heart, because the love you had for your ex burned so brightly. All you can do is keep on keeping on and hope no-one ever finds out how much you still think about him.
I think everyone has a selection of these exes in their past but, as I said before, I’d bet anything that nearly everyone has a Toxic Ex. I know I do and he’s still poisoning me emotionally whenever I think of him. I’ve found my own treatment, however, that’s almost as good as a cure—I’ve written him into a story. Once I had him pinned to the page like a butterfly specimen I found I could shape and mould him into a completely new character. You know how they say familiarity breeds contempt? Well, having spent nearly a year writing him into a story I was more than familiar with him and I’ve had enough. If ever I feel myself softening towards him I just have to re-read the story and it’s like a vaccination—anti-Toxic-Ex!
There are all sorts of exes, and I’ll cover some of the key ones below, but I’ll bet you a pound to a penny that you have at least one Toxic Ex lurking in your past.
For the sake of ease I’ll be referring to the exes as male, but I’m fairly sure that all the types cross over to the fairer sex. I’m an equal opportunity bloggist, after all.
The Mirage Ex: You know the type I mean. You vaguely remember them, you’re sure you fucked them, but since you broke up they’ve vanished off the face of the planet and they didn’t leave that strong an impression when you were together. It’s almost as if, for a couple of months, you hallucinated that you were in a relationship.
The Friendly Ex: Now this ex actually splits into subdivisions. The basic premise is simple— an Ex to whom you still talk and occasionally see. Maybe you have mutual friends, sometimes you hear what they’re up to and you have no animosity towards him. Perhaps, like Chris Evans and Billie Piper, or Hugh Grant and Elizabeth Hurley, you’ve actually managed to salvage a genuine friendship from the wreckage. Just be careful no-one gets the wrong idea.
The subdivision would be the overly friendly ex: he calls just a little bit too often, makes obscene suggestions when he’s drunk. In fact he’s only just a step away from Obsessive Ex…
The Obsessive Ex: It ended years ago, but for some reason you’re still stuck with him. He calls you up all the time, you have the distinct impression that his occasional, pitiful, Facebook status update is about you and, every so often, he demands yet another autopsy of your long-since-failed relationship. Perhaps he’s merely lovesick, perhaps he thinks you’re an easier prospect than starting from scratch, but every so often he suggests that you give it another try, usually beginning in the bedroom. Either way you’re not going to go there and you often wish he had turned out to be a Mirage Ex.
The Booty Call Ex: This is basically an extrapolation of the friendly ex. You still talk occasionally and see each other for drinks, you’d introduce him to someone as a ‘friend’ rather than an ex, but every so often, when you’re both single and horny, you’ll meet up for a quick fuck to scratch the itch. You have no desire to get back with him, but the fact that he knows what pushes your buttons, added to the excitement of a ‘new’ partner, makes for an excellent booty call. You’ll keep his number, just in case…
The Toxic Ex: As with the Friendly Ex, this splits into two subdivisions- the Vindictive Toxic Ex and the Unknowing Toxic Ex.
The Vindictive Toxic Ex is like a sexually transmitted disease. Unpleasant, contracted after sexual relations, socially embarrassing and a possible threat to your current relationship. He pursues you every time you’re in a new relationship, sends you messages, flirts inappropriately and will not leave you alone. For your own part you know he’s bad for you and you try and avoid him, but it’s difficult in the face of his relentless pursuit. Even worse you have the distinct impression, if not actual proof, that he’s been telling things about you to mutual friends that you would rather they did not know. Who needs an enemy with an ex like this?
The Unknowing Toxic Ex is just as bad for you, emotionally, as the Vindictive sort, but this guy doesn’t even have to try. He’s the ex who you describe as ‘the one who got away’—the boyfriend you still regret losing. The feelings you had for him were deep and real and, no matter what reason ended your relationship, chances are it wasn’t your decision. He knows nothing about you now, you’ve been apart for years, but you’re still following him avidly. You look at his pictures through mutual friends on Facebook, Google his name, send him anonymous e-mails and dating site invitations and all the time know he never thinks of you at all. In fact, you have a sneaking suspicion that you’re rapidly falling into the role of Obsessive Ex.
Even a new love doesn’t quite heal the breach in your heart, because the love you had for your ex burned so brightly. All you can do is keep on keeping on and hope no-one ever finds out how much you still think about him.
I think everyone has a selection of these exes in their past but, as I said before, I’d bet anything that nearly everyone has a Toxic Ex. I know I do and he’s still poisoning me emotionally whenever I think of him. I’ve found my own treatment, however, that’s almost as good as a cure—I’ve written him into a story. Once I had him pinned to the page like a butterfly specimen I found I could shape and mould him into a completely new character. You know how they say familiarity breeds contempt? Well, having spent nearly a year writing him into a story I was more than familiar with him and I’ve had enough. If ever I feel myself softening towards him I just have to re-read the story and it’s like a vaccination—anti-Toxic-Ex!
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Free Read!!
For all of you who are thinking about buying one of my books, but wanted to get an idea of my style and skills first, as well as for those of you who just want to get your rocks off for free -- your time has come!
Download it now, free and easy to do
FREE READ AVAILABLE HERE
TThe Big Performance
When a stage manager gets carried away reading erotic poetry in an empty theatre she imagines an audience is watching her and does something she’s only fantasised about. However someone really is watching her and before long the pair of them are putting on a really big performance!
EXCERPT
I closed my eyes then, imagined what it would be like to be on stage for real, in front of an audience full of people and saying “when you fucked me” over and over. My body was hot and tingling and I put my hand between my legs, running my thumb over the seam of my jeans, sending gentle pressure down to the hot and responsive spot underneath.
“When you touched me, When you fucked me, When you touched me, When you fucked me, fucked me, fucked me, fucked me.”
I was so turned on now. I loved the thought of sitting up here, stroking myself and saying dirty words with a whole theatre-full of people watching me, getting off on me getting myself off.
I pulled in my stomach and slid my fingers down inside the waistband of my jeans. I pushed the soft cotton of my panties aside and slipped my forefinger into the crease of my pussy.
I couldn’t believe how wet I was, the moisture had seeped all along my lips and wetted my finger as soon as I touched myself. I circled my finger a couple of times, then added a second finger.
I ran my fingers down between my lips, slumping down in the chair so my hips were thrust forward to give me easier access. I pictured myself naked, or in skimpy underwear sat, just like this, on stage with a busily silent auditorium.
I could hear my own breath harsh and ragged in the silence, filling the huge, empty space. My hand was working fast now, slipping and rubbing across my pussy as I panted for breath and muttered those two lines from the poem over and over.
Download it now, free and easy to do
FREE READ AVAILABLE HERE
TThe Big Performance
When a stage manager gets carried away reading erotic poetry in an empty theatre she imagines an audience is watching her and does something she’s only fantasised about. However someone really is watching her and before long the pair of them are putting on a really big performance!
EXCERPT
I closed my eyes then, imagined what it would be like to be on stage for real, in front of an audience full of people and saying “when you fucked me” over and over. My body was hot and tingling and I put my hand between my legs, running my thumb over the seam of my jeans, sending gentle pressure down to the hot and responsive spot underneath.
“When you touched me, When you fucked me, When you touched me, When you fucked me, fucked me, fucked me, fucked me.”
I was so turned on now. I loved the thought of sitting up here, stroking myself and saying dirty words with a whole theatre-full of people watching me, getting off on me getting myself off.
I pulled in my stomach and slid my fingers down inside the waistband of my jeans. I pushed the soft cotton of my panties aside and slipped my forefinger into the crease of my pussy.
I couldn’t believe how wet I was, the moisture had seeped all along my lips and wetted my finger as soon as I touched myself. I circled my finger a couple of times, then added a second finger.
I ran my fingers down between my lips, slumping down in the chair so my hips were thrust forward to give me easier access. I pictured myself naked, or in skimpy underwear sat, just like this, on stage with a busily silent auditorium.
I could hear my own breath harsh and ragged in the silence, filling the huge, empty space. My hand was working fast now, slipping and rubbing across my pussy as I panted for breath and muttered those two lines from the poem over and over.
Friday, 31 October 2008
The Mothman Cometh...
It is, after all, Hallo’w’een--or Samhain—today so I will break from my usual tradition of blogging purely writerly and/or erotic topics and move to the whimsical if not downright spoooooky.
My husband told me recently about a creature called the Mothman. Apparently this is a furry beast with strong hindquarters and no arms. It has glowing red eyes and enormous wings and appears to people in remote areas just before a monumental in cident of some kind. Some people regard it as a harbinger of personal doom, whilst others are more positive and view it as a kindly warning of impending danger. Whichever it is, the outcome generally remains the same: disaster.
I had never heard of this being before and, to me, even the name was faintly comical, never mind the mystical beast itself. I burst out laughing and won myself some black marks in hubby’s book – here’s why.
We were driving along a narrow country lane. It was late at night and the rain was driving down on us almost horizontally. Dead leaves whipped across the car, occasionally flapping against the windscreen in a gruesomely visceral manner. Suddenly, from out of the shadows on the verge, sprung a creature about the height of the car bonnet. Its eyes reflected the car’s headlights and two small, pointed horns glinted faintly in the reflected glow.
Hubby slammed the brakes down and swerved the car violently to avoid it, almost skidding on the wet leaf slime and muttering strange curses under his breath.
I laughed nervously and turned to get a second look at the skittery Muntjack deer now backing away from the road where it had nearly met its death.
“What’s the matter? You missed it, it’s fine. Calm down.”
Only surly silence met my soothing comments. I waited a moment, then tried again.
“What’s wrong with you? You missed the deer and we’re fine.”
A grumpy shrug, then a terse comment was volunteered. “It just freaked me out ‘cos I was thinking about something.”
“What?” I was shocked – hubby is pretty hard to freak out generally, even though I sometimes try to ruffle his feathers for fun.
“The Mothman.” His voice got low and he mumbled, half as if he was scared of saying it out loud, and half as if he were ashamed.
“The Mothman?” I laughed a little. “What the fuck is a Mothman when it’s at home?” And that’s when he told me the ghoulish tale that had been running through his mind when we rounded the corner and came upon a crouched, furry beast with horns and glowing eyes.
Well, I nearly bust a gut laughing at him, then had to spend the rest of the journey reassuring him that it was really a deer and I bet that the Mothman was actually a guardian angel trying to protect people, but they misunderstood his intentions.
As for me, well, I’m just bloody grateful he hadn’t told me the tale beforehand, otherwise I, too, might have freaked out at the pair of glowing eyes waiting in the shadows by the side of the road!
If you want to read a bit more about Mothman, then there’s some articles on Wikipedia that you can find here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mothman
x
~E~
My husband told me recently about a creature called the Mothman. Apparently this is a furry beast with strong hindquarters and no arms. It has glowing red eyes and enormous wings and appears to people in remote areas just before a monumental in cident of some kind. Some people regard it as a harbinger of personal doom, whilst others are more positive and view it as a kindly warning of impending danger. Whichever it is, the outcome generally remains the same: disaster.
I had never heard of this being before and, to me, even the name was faintly comical, never mind the mystical beast itself. I burst out laughing and won myself some black marks in hubby’s book – here’s why.
We were driving along a narrow country lane. It was late at night and the rain was driving down on us almost horizontally. Dead leaves whipped across the car, occasionally flapping against the windscreen in a gruesomely visceral manner. Suddenly, from out of the shadows on the verge, sprung a creature about the height of the car bonnet. Its eyes reflected the car’s headlights and two small, pointed horns glinted faintly in the reflected glow.
Hubby slammed the brakes down and swerved the car violently to avoid it, almost skidding on the wet leaf slime and muttering strange curses under his breath.
I laughed nervously and turned to get a second look at the skittery Muntjack deer now backing away from the road where it had nearly met its death.
“What’s the matter? You missed it, it’s fine. Calm down.”
Only surly silence met my soothing comments. I waited a moment, then tried again.
“What’s wrong with you? You missed the deer and we’re fine.”
A grumpy shrug, then a terse comment was volunteered. “It just freaked me out ‘cos I was thinking about something.”
“What?” I was shocked – hubby is pretty hard to freak out generally, even though I sometimes try to ruffle his feathers for fun.
“The Mothman.” His voice got low and he mumbled, half as if he was scared of saying it out loud, and half as if he were ashamed.
“The Mothman?” I laughed a little. “What the fuck is a Mothman when it’s at home?” And that’s when he told me the ghoulish tale that had been running through his mind when we rounded the corner and came upon a crouched, furry beast with horns and glowing eyes.
Well, I nearly bust a gut laughing at him, then had to spend the rest of the journey reassuring him that it was really a deer and I bet that the Mothman was actually a guardian angel trying to protect people, but they misunderstood his intentions.
As for me, well, I’m just bloody grateful he hadn’t told me the tale beforehand, otherwise I, too, might have freaked out at the pair of glowing eyes waiting in the shadows by the side of the road!
If you want to read a bit more about Mothman, then there’s some articles on Wikipedia that you can find here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mothman
x
~E~
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