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.

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 ;-)

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!

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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.

Going Straight: to porn or not to porn

The problems of being an erotic author are many and varied. This erotic author, for example, is seriously considering moving into the more generally accepted genre of romantic or ‘chick lit’ fiction, not least because then I could finally let my mum and dad read something I’ve written!

In fact, telling people is one of the biggest reasons I am considering moving into a more ‘acceptable’ area of fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed. All my friends know I write erotica, as does my partner and my mother, but I can’t let them read anything I write, nor can I tell people at my volunteer work who ask me what I do. The follow-up question to “Oh, I’m an author” is always some variation of “Oh? What do you write?” A total nightmare if you’re in a very conservative situation.

Add to that the difficulty of getting it published in the real world – and I’m sorry, however wonderful e-publishing is, it’s just not the same as being in print – and the continual problems of finding new vocabulary for basic human anatomy and you have a rough idea of why non-sexual romantic stuff might be preferable for me.

Of course, the problem there is that I just write sex too damn well, and I bloody well enjoy it. For the time being I guess I’ll just have to continue typing away, producing marvellous works of literary genius that just happen to be filled with pages and pages of raunchy sex and deal with the consequences. Though, looking as sweet and innocent and I do, it’s always fun to drop a bombshell now and then.

“So Emelia, what is it that you do?”

“Oh, I write porn…”

Getting There

Hey, if you're interested in buying my work then don't worry - things are moving on apace! The edit & blurb have been done, the book cover is being decided upon as I type then there's just a bit of formatting and we're up and running. Watch this space - A Bad Influence, Part One - new and improved - coming soon!


I will post a full preview - book cover, blurb, excerpt and link as soon as it's ready to go.



For more information and further erotic authors see

www.excessica.com

The Reason Why...

I have set up this blog in order to promote my writing and to inform my 'fans' of new writing being published. I know this is a terribly dull first post, I promise I will try my best to remedy that.

I have been writing erotica for about two years now and, whilst I am hoping to eventually write some 'straight' novels, where sex is just an interesting side dish rather than the main course, I will probably always write erotica as well. I just enjoy it too much to stop. I love all sorts of different scenarios, setting them up so they're enticing and compelling and then carefully writing the sex scenes so that they lead the reader through the sexual act without launching them back into the real world through an incautious word or clumsy phrasing. I would simply love to be making some money from my writing. Not necessarily a living, because that might take the joy out of writing it, but a bit of extra money just to prove how much pleasure people get out of the work I've put into a piece - well - that would really mean something.

Please mark me as a favourite and come back to check my blog - I'll be having some work up for sale soon. In the meantime, here is a little excerpt to wet your whistle...

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We sat chatting for a while, getting deeper and deeper into the bottle of vodka. The discussion was getting pretty intimate now, talking about sex and fantasies. Compared to them I felt pretty inexperienced and my fantasies seemed pretty tame, so I kept quiet and just listened. Mark’s deep, educated vowels rolled around Louise’s sweet, husky tones, whilst both of them vocalised sexual ideas that made me flush with embarrassment and desire.

Mark noticed how quiet I was – how I swayed to the music and he grabbed hold of my hands to pull me up. He put his arms around me – holding me up as much as holding me to him – and started swaying with me, his cheek against mine.

Softly he began to repeat my own fantasies back to me. Things I had told him on the phone, late at night, my tongue loosened by arousal, were now fed back to me in soft, husky tones, his breath caressing my ear as his lips almost touched it.

I was so drunk that everything had a dreamlike quality about it, but I was vaguely aware that he was speaking just loud enough for Louise to hear and she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, leaning forwards, her eyes fixed on me.

As I looked at her she got up – walking over to join us. Standing behind me she put her arms around my waist and leaned her cheek on my shoulder with her lips against my neck her body swaying with ours. Softly she added her own fantasies in my other ear, whispering against my neck the things she wanted to do to me. I was lulled into an erotic trance by the music, the movement, the alcohol and the whispering, the hypnotic whispering that swept through me like a chill.

I sighed when Louise’s hands slid under my top and stroked my stomach and, when she took hold of it and tugged it up I was compliant, allowing myself to be undressed. I could feel the slippery silk of her camisole top pressed against my naked back and the soft cotton of Mark’s t-shirt against my front.

Mark’s hands were stroking my hair and my upper back, whilst Louise’s stroked my belly and breasts. When her hands slipped downwards, under my waistband, I tensed for a moment but soon relaxed into the sleepy desire that overcame me and made me unable to resist her skillful fingers stroking and teasing me.

She seemed to be struggling to reach that most intimate part of me so, almost unconsciously, I pulled my stomach in so she could penetrate my clothing and finally touch me as I wanted her to. Realising it was impossible, I tried to reach down to undo my jeans, but Mark held my arms firmly around his neck, restraining me, as Louise slowly undid the buttons: each button a further step into arousal.

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The above is an excerpt from my novel-in-progress, For Love or Money, soon to be released on www.excessica.com