The Carmine Club Chronicles #nano

Ah, November.

To the sane, non-noveling types, that means turkey and preparations for Christmas. To me, it means something else entirely, or it has for the last four years.

Time once again for Nanowrimo. Never heard of it? Affectionately shortened to Nano, the event is simply an agreement among the thousands of us who sign up annually to try to write a 50K word story during November. That's not quite seventeen hundred words a day. There's a handy-dandy little thingamabob posted on the top right of my blog so you (and I!) can track my progress.

Last year I wrote Wildly Inappropriate. The year before I penned When a Soldier Cries, which has been pulled back from the publisher that accepted it. I plan to rewrite and resubmit elsewhere in December. The year before that, I wrote Soft Sounds of Pleasure. This year, I'm writing a novel titled The Carmine Club Chronicles. Tentative plans exist for this story to be offered by Silver Publishing, beginning in January or February as a serial novel, with each episode consisting of around 10K words. New episodes would be published monthly thereafter for twelve months. If all goes according to plan, by month's end, I should have half the novel written.

The story explores female sex fantasies through the experiences of Cameron Calloway. Cam's a motivated younger man, determined to get ahead in his job for an emerging southern corporate baron, Scott Declan.  Cam's Recruitment, a brief introductory background story, is available free from Silver Publishing here. I solemnly promise to explore the top female sexual fantasies throughout this story. I might also deviate into some transgressional erotica territory.

I thought I'd share the words written today.


(unedited and subject to deletion)

The Carmine Club Chronicles

For a club whose sole purpose was stated to be the satisfaction of female sexual fantasies, there wasn't a woman in sight. Even the bartender was male. Cameron Calloway tried not to stare. How the man could casually mix drinks with his cock on display was something Cam couldn't quite wrap his head around. The attendant's scarlet cutaway jacket was worn over a bare chest, the color made brighter by the long mahogany bar he labored behind. An ebony bowtie, much like Cam's, was fastened around the young man's bare throat, giving him a look of exposure Cam found disconcerting. But not as disconcerting as he found the young man's pants. Suspenders held up black trousers that had more in common with chaps, exposing his cock and balls, and when he turned to grab a new bottle of seltzer, his ass. A wide cock ring made of what appeared to be a flat band of rubber matching his jacket constricted the base of a decent-sized shaft. Golden C's interlocked on top of the servant's flushed organ.

Cam's cock reacted to the painful-looking image, threatening to harden. He realized he was staring again. Brushing his tuxedo sleeve back from his watch, more in hopes his boss might notice the timepiece than to check the hour, he wished for the hundredth time the ballroom doors would open. He was ready for the auction to get underway. He hadn't endured the myriad blood tests and online video psychological profiling session required to gain his temporary membership card  just to talk shop with the handful of Declan employees littering the well-groomed crowd of men. He didn’t know anyone else.

His boss's back remained turned toward Cam while he held court with his employees. Cam didn't believe kissing Scott's ass was the right move tonight. Scott had subtly demanded he be here. Cam was present. He eyed his watch yet again. The visible movement filling the square rose gold case on his wrist proved the used Cartier Santos-Dumont skeleton was running, though the blued-steel hands had barely moved since he last time he'd checked.  It was still five minutes to nine. Cam suppressed an impatient sigh.

He'd be bidding, of course. Scott would never promote an associate who sat on the sidelines and watched. At the beginning of the week, Scott handed Cam a shot at the keys to the Promised Land—a chance at a coveted position inside Declan Corporation—along with an order to join his 'club'. Being a southern gentleman, Scott Declan always couched his orders as invitations. Cam rattled the ice cubes in his empty glass and recalled his boss' exact words.

The ultimate high any man can achieve is gratifyin' a woman sexual desires, whatever they may be. Knowing you can satisfy any woman, anytime, anywhere, no matter what she needs, is a power trip unlike any other. Face it, Cam, we both know it's not that hard to get a man off, but a woman… ah, they're marvelously complex little things. Any man who knows he can do that will exhibit that confidence in his day-to-day tasks, I believe. Carmine House provides the ideal place for learning what makes women tick."

 There was no fee to join, Scott promised, leaving Cam to ponder what the real cost of Carmine Club might be. Silver spoon frat boy types like his boss might be used to scraping the cream off life, but Cam had grown up waking at four in the morning to milk the cows, figuratively speaking. He'd checked into the antebellum mansion a couple of hours earlier, making the long drive to the coast in record time after working three-quarters of the day. So far, the only women he'd seen had been fully dressed.

The mellow voice of the blues singer vibrating through the well-concealed sound system pulsed with the kind of longing Cam felt. Not the basic longing of his stirring cock. Longing to fit in, to have these affable southern boys do more than tolerate him. He didn't desire to walk among them as an equal. He'd learned better than to want that. They'd never accept one not native to their magnolia-and-moonlight-studded land, unless they had no other choice, a lesson Cam learned at The University of Georgia during his undergraduate days. That was fine. What these privileged sons of Dixie respected was power, same as anywhere else. Cam planned on obtaining that power. First, through the work he did for Scott at Declan Corporation, negotiating whatever Scott needed negotiated. Second, by proving his mastery of the club's raison d'être, the satisfaction of females in the bedroom. Cam was determined to dominate both arenas. Then Scott would have no choice but to award him the coveted office in the executive suite of company's new headquarters slated to be built in the upper part of the state. Fresh off a successful week persuading reluctant building owners to sell their holding in the four-city-block area Scott had picked out in Sparta, South Carolina, Cam was more than ready to celebrate by getting laid. Restlessly, he selected an hors d'oeuvre pick from a crystal cup and skewered another marinated oyster from the narrow china tray lined with romaine lettuce.

The baritone buzz of conversation fell silent. The void was punctuated by the ringing sound of stilettos striking a wooden floor. There was carpet beneath Cam's highly polished black leather shoes, so the sound had to be coming from behind the sealed pair of ten-foot doors. The doors swung open. Cam strained to see above the sea of dark-clad shoulders, discarding the ivory-tinted pick in a discrete waste bin half-hidden behind a lush green plant.

"Welcome to Carmine Club's January event, gentlemen. The auction begins in thirty-five minutes. Please come in."

Scott turned from the group he'd been talking with since Cam had stepped into the room.  "That's Willa Seachrist. She owns Carmine House. I'll introduce you."

 She was blonde. Long bangs swept to one side of a flawless oval face reminiscent of the porcelain figurines in the glass fronted mahogany bookcases scattered along the public areas of the resort. He doubted the smooth river of golden hair falling to her shoulders was natural, but the effect was nice. She studied him with blue eyes that didn't match the smile on her painted lips. Those eyes did, however, match the sequined dress flowing over her elegant figure. To Cam, the high scooped neckline and elbow-length sleeves said 'look but don’t touch', despite the fact it rode high on her long thighs. To an ear such as Cam's, attuned to discerning the unspoken though tiny inflections, Scott's voice betrayed his boss' desire to do more than touch Willa Seachrist when he made the introductions.

Cam supposed banging the sex club's owner would be considered a trophy fuck. The river of diamonds cascading from her ears underscored the woman's high maintenance message.

"Welcome to Carmine Club, Cameron. I trust Mr. Declan has filled you in on how our little auction works?" She tilted her head, offering her cheek for Scott to kiss. To Cam's eye, Scott lingered overlong with his lips pressed to the powdered perfection.

Declan had explained the procedure briefly Mostly, his boss merely dangled this carrot in front of Cam's nose before diverting the discussion to business matters. Unwilling to appear a complete novice, Cam nodded confidently, once. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Seachrist." The only thing remotely naked about the plantation's owner was her left ring finger.

She traced the studs down his snowy shirtfront with a long fingertip lacquered in rose. Each tiny click of her nail across his onyx shirt studs sounded to Cam as though she counted his assets. "Willa, darlin'. Call me Willa." Her voice flowed much like her dress. Silhouetted against the stark white walls of the antebellum mansion's massive ballroom, she looked to Cam like a column of dark ice, the kind people don’t see on highways, making them lose control.

Scott gripped Cam's elbow, walking him past Willa so others could enter. "The auction's very simple, really." He gestured toward the long room and stepped back. Cam blinked. The large brass luggage carts seen dotting the property during his arrival had been pressed into double-duty. On the red carpet lining each stand a naked woman knelt, arms raised above her head. Silver metal handcuffs glittered like diamonds against the mellow brass of each service cart. "You were given a marble, right?"

Cam slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers, fingering the red glass sphere embellished with his name in gold. So much like a personalized golf ball, he'd had to laugh when he'd opened the leather case he'd been given at check-in. "Yes."

Cam surveyed the long line of carts, mentally reciting the number defining how high he could afford to go. Would three grand be enough? He could manage four, even five grand, he supposed, but going into debt for pussy would derail his other plans.

The row of masked eyes and rosy, outthrust nipples made it hard to think about mundane things like real estate. The carpeted carts, the masks, and the women's bare skin were the only color in the room, save for the gilded mirrors and the similarly toned frames on the French loveseats scattered about that looked too delicate to support a man's frame. One mirror soaring nearly to the ceiling he calculated to be sixteen feet. Positioned at the end of the room, it reflected a long row of curvy bottoms resting upon folded legs.

Pounding feet made him turn his head. A line of men dressed like the bartender ran into the room. Their outstretched cocks bounced with every step. One man stopped by each cart. They snapped into a position of attention, hands clasped behind their backs to stand motionless. Willa Seachrist valued obedience along with money, Cam decided. He couldn't help holding his breath. His heart thundered beneath the fine cotton pin tucks covering his chest.

"Prepare them." The honeyed drawl came from their hostess. The liveried attendants moved into action. Hands were raised, falling on bare breasts and asses. Innocent nipples were given hard tweaks. Small cries of outrage joined the percussion of skin against skin. The melody made Cam's cock start to harden. As the blows fell, the attendants turned the carts, giving the male club members a good look at the occupants.

"Like I told you, you have to bid to make book. Not every female member puts a fantasy in the books every time. There can be up to six winning bidders for one woman. A winning bid gives you the right to drop your ball. Willa won’t allow the bidding to go crazy. When she decides the price is sufficient, she stops the bidding."

From the corner of his eye, Cam saw Scott's gesture. Tearing his gaze away from the spectacle, he noticed the white-draped table positioned in front of the marble fireplace for the first time. A small wooden box rested on top. The handle protruding from the side of the box made it resemble an antique coffee grinder.

"The winning bidders drop their ball into the top of the box. Willa turns the crank and pulls out the drawer. The ball in the tray decides which bidder will provide the fantasy."

A show of money and the element of chance. Willa might look like a porcelain doll, but the woman's mind—assuming she'd come up with this scenario—worked as elegantly as Cam's watch.

Good luck to all of my friends participating in Nano 2012! Feel free to harass me if you see me noodling about on Facebook this month without posting my word count for the day. ;-)

Dirty Mind vs. Debit Card: Was This Sexism By Another Name?

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Dirty Minds vs. Debit Card: Shades of Consent

Welcome today's Dirty Mind, Skye Warren. Some writers come through my door knowing what they want to say. Skye was one. Grab a cup of coffee with me and let's give her the floor.

I have always seen the world in shades of consent. When the teenage boy leans in for a kiss, does the girl give explicit consent first? Probably not, so he learns early on to search for clues. Or maybe he learns just to go for it, and deal with the consequences after.

It doesn’t stop there. Even when we’re older, the entire dating ritual is an elegant-awkward dance toward mating. The first date, the third? Wait until they’re married, and then what – is consent implicit?

For me, the issue of consent has never been confined to erotica. It’s in all fiction, everywhere, because that’s the crux of conflict. In fact, I can write in couched terms, pretty it up, and sell it as anything I want. Science fiction, horror, general fiction. It’s only if I want to be direct does it come up, because then I’m writing about sex, which by default of our genre structure makes it erotica, and that’s what’s under fire.

And let me be blunt – all of erotica is under fire. This has nothing to do with right and wrong, and everything to do with repression. Sound extreme? Here’s an example. I can write a book where a woman is burned to death, burned to a crisp, in horrible, gory detail that makes me want to vomit. That can sell to a publisher, sell in Barnes & Noble, and be sold via Paypal. The book is The Mummy by Anne Rice, by the way, and it’s a good book.

But I cannot write a girl who spreads her legs calmly, reconsiders, politely requests that the man stop – “No, thank you.” And he continues to have sex with her anyway. That’s not allowed. Which scenario is more wrong? Well, honestly it’s a matter of opinion, but I can tell you for damn sure which one I’d prefer happen to me.

Paypal is telling me that a 19 year old man having consensual sex is so morally reprehensible that they cannot sell it, and yet the burning to a crisp in explicit language is just A-okay. So don’t tell me this is about morality – that doesn’t make any sense. This is about the fact that some Paypal execs don’t like women reading about sex.

Paypal executives are telling me that I am allowed to get raped, but I should not be allowed to read about it. And I certainly shouldn’t write about it. If Paypal executives want to make the world a better place, how about they target rapists, not rape fiction. It’s the real thing that’s hurting women, not the book.

“The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read. Not by any other person, and not even by yourself at some later date. Otherwise you begin excusing yourself.’ – Margaret Atwood

The truth is that rape happens. The truth is that sometimes sex hurts. Sometimes it’s violent and gritty and painful and disgusting, and it does not stop being any of those things if you don’t let us write about it.

I first heard about the Paypal ban from Bookstrand. I shrugged. Maybe I should have been up-in-arms at that point, but I found their stance on the matter and certain correspondence that became public to be so poorly done that I was not sad not to do business with them anymore. They pulled all my books (not just the two in question) although my understanding is that they pulled virtually all indies. Next came All Romance, who kindly reviewed all my work and decided those two books were “dubious consent” (as opposed to “nonconsent”, which would have required them to remove it completely). That was fine.

Last came Smashwords, and I will admit that the initial letter from its founder Mark Coker really pissed me off. It took until then for me to see red. This was a company that dedicated itself to indie writing, and here was the perfect opportunity to be an advocate, and they turned their back! He didn’t just say that they had to do it to keep the site running for everyone else, which I would have understood, but said that it was an “oversight” that these hadn’t been banned all along! Thank goodness Paypal stepped in to remind him that they should be in the censorship business.

And then he added insult to injury with the parting shot, “If you’re going to push the limits, push the limits of great writing, not the limits of legality.” As if I don’t push the limits of great writing already, which Mark Coker knows, not because he’s read my books, but because of my subject matter. As if I have ever written anything illegal (I haven’t). Subsequent letters have been worded much better, but I can’t forget this one. For me, this one is their true colors. The rest is damage control. So I pulled all my books from Smashwords, even the ones that did not violate their fabulous new terms of service.

Call me oversensitive, but I have felt this censorship mess like a physical blow. It isn’t even all about my books, it’s about what I read, the authors I respect. They are wrong. What I like is wrong. What’s in my head is wrong-wrong-wrong.

Well, like Mark Coker, thank goodness. Thank goodness I have PayPal to teach me better. Thank goodness a man can drag me behind a dumpster, but now I’ll know better than to say anything. Don’t write about. Don’t talk about it. Now I know: sexual violence against women should not be discussed in the open. Thank you, Paypal.

Wow, that’s what I call author voice.  
It’s becoming apparent many readers and writers turn to the sub-genre of transgressive erotica because it’s being used as a vehicle to help many woman process the reality of violence through reading rape fiction, or writing it. Corporate America is telling women our fantasies are wrong, Yet I see no major outcry from the women who have a PayPal card tucked into their wallet. Have any of your readers weighed in on the fact you now have very limited outlets to publish the type of story they want to read? Or has the lack of mainstream news coverage prevented them from realizing the truth?

One of the hardest things for me to deal with has been the cannibalism within the erotica/erotic romance authorship community. I saw one author say that he “refused to stand up with rapists and pedophiles.” You know you have to have a tough skin as an author, and I think I do, but those words cut me. I’m not a rapist. I’m not a pedophile. But I think that kind of attitude, while extreme, represents what is so tough about this whole thing. Even if they understand that it’s not really that, it’s hard for anyone to stand up for something with the word “rape” in it. It’s hard for people to stand up for something with the word “incest” in it, even if it’s fiction. And even when some truly great, mainstream writers come out to advocate, it is still prefaced with “Now I wouldn’t read any of this kind of stuff, but...” (Oh, me too. Makes me wonder where all those millions of dollars spent on romance are coming from.)

So that’s one reason. The other is that Bookstrand and Smashwords didn’t have the kind of readership that Amazon and B&N and even All Romance do, and my “dubious consent” books are still allowed there. Honestly, one of the reasons that I am speaking out here is because I have a suspicion that all this was just a precursor. I am waiting for the death knell from  Amazon. I really hope I’m wrong about this. I hope they see all the fuss and figure that censorship just isn’t worth the trouble for them.

If there’s something to be grateful for in all of this, it’s that it’s opened up discussion. Readers have contacted me to show their support, and I am so grateful for each one of those letters. It’s even opened up discussion between authors of this banned erotica, this series being one example.
I have had some of the same experiences with other authors. It’s as if they believe, by suppressing fiction about pedophilia--the real deal, I mean, will make it stop happening. A nineteen year old male is far enough past the age of consent to make his own decisions about his sex partners--and he likely has been doing so for quite some time. But genuine sexual abuse of minors, and actual rapes happen every day. How is not writing legal fiction about it going to stop an all-too-sad reality? Shall we leave the victims valid experiences out of our fiction? Won’t that make them feel even more guilty and isolated, if these topics are so taboo they cannot be touched in a work of imagination?

When I first read this question, I wanted to talk about how, from a geopolitical standpoint, the places with the highest censorship rates are the ones with the worst forms of oppression. How, throughout history, the times of highest sexual repression were the ones with the most sexual violence. Because really, it’s easier to talk about broad social trends than concrete things.

That’s part of why I write, too. The fiction acts as a buffer. Many of the reader emails I’ve gotten have said that I nailed the experience of being raped and the aftereffects. They said it was disturbing, but so painfully accurate. And the subtext is there, sometimes more blatant than others: so, you’ve experienced it. Because how else would I know? For that matter, how would they know it’s accurate unless they had experienced it?

Not every one of my readers has been raped. Some of them have told me they haven’t been, so what are they relating to? I think even without a distinct “No, stop” experience in their past, those feelings of powerlessness are pervasive. Almost every woman I know has at least one story – that one time they were groped or shamed or somethinged and it haunts them even now. For better or worse, it’s a shared part of the female existence.

Not everyone wants to share that experience, with me or anyone, and that’s their prerogative not to read my books. I don’t take offensive – it can be painful! What’s offensive is the idea that I shouldn’t share that with anyone. That someone else doesn’t deserve to read words giving voice to her pain, and know she’s not alone with it.

There is a commonality to why a lot of us read transgressive erotica. Women who have never been raped report having rape fantasies to a surprising degree. For any card company to wipe this type of story off the shelf is a slap in the face to me. Telling an adult woman she cannot choose to read a book to tap into that emotional exploration seems an outrage.

Do you mind telling us roughly how many copies of your banned titles were sold before they were taken down? Has having your titles banned affected your creativity? Are you concerned now about what might be next on the chopping block, in light of the overall lack of outcry?

Keep Me Safe has sold 3,000 copies since it was released in November 2011, and only about 100 copies came from the bookstores it’s now banned from, Smashwords and Bookstrand. Trust in Me came out mid-February, right before this whole thing blew up. It’s sold over 500 copies since then, less than ten of those came from Smashwords/Bookstrand.

It’s ironic that the bookstores with the lowest volume were the ones who decided to restrict their offerings, but then maybe that’s part of the reason why it happened. Larger bookstores like Amazon and B&N work directly with the credit cards (where XXX porn is regularly transacted), whereas these smaller stores go through a third party like Paypal.

And I can understand that, but both of them could not point the finger at us crazy indie authors fast enough when they came out with their censorship decisions. God, if we only knew where to draw the line, they wouldn’t have to clean up this mess! And yet, for years they have happily taken our money without uttering a peep. If they want to impress us with their implacable morality, how about they calculate the royalties they’ve earned from these horribly obscene and offensive titles and donate them to a rape victim advocacy groups?

The censorship has absolutely affected my creativity. Combined with certain recent political events, my lady parts are feeling distinctly unwelcome. I’m a little bit in shock about it all. Why are banks telling me what to read? Why are politicians telling me who to have sex with? Is this some sort of feminist candid camera, and someone’s going to jump out and say, “Surprise, we actually do respect you!” I would like my 21st century back now, please.

Skye, I appreciate your taking the time to speak out and give readers as well as other writers another facet to the prism we see this targeted sub-genre through. Skye may be found on her website and blog, as well as on Twitter @skye_warren.

Remember: Submissions Call for Transgressional Erotica Anthology. Cover Image created and donated by Narcisse Navarre.

Dirty Mind vs. Debit Card: I Questioned Whether I Was a Monster

Today's Dirty Mind is Monocle.

One of my previous guests suggested I track Monocle down and sweet-talk him into participating in the series.  I'm delighted I did, and I think you will be as well.

Good morning, Monocle, and thank you for letting me twist your arm into talking with me about your erotica and your feelings about the Paypal ban. Though it has yet to affect you directly, you've brought an entirely different perspective to this week's conversation, and one I feel we needed, particularly in light of some things brought up by previous Dirty Minds participants. 

Hello, Eden.  Here we go.

I write a lot of different kinds of erotica, but the majority of my writing before about 2009 fell into or very close to categories which PayPal currently bans transactions for. Most of those stories are non-consent, or ‘dubious-consent’, or ‘reluctance’ - though the latter two might fall into some grey area for PayPal. Frankly it’s hard to tell, given the capriciousness, or odd selectivity of their enforcement. I’ve also written a lot of alien/monster/nonhuman erotica (and yes, much of that is also non-cons, which isn’t really bestiality, but again, probably comes close to that grey area.

Much of my earlier writing was self-exploration of the themes. It was, in many ways, the navel-gazing of someone trying to figure out exactly what monsters were inside him, and to own them. I didn’t start out with any noble goals to write transgressive literature or to explore any psyche besides my own. The latter came later, the former much later, when I realized I actually wrote passably and wanted to get better.

To me, all these stories served two purposes. First, they were arousing. I wrote them because they turned me on. I wrote “rape for the purpose of titillation” quite intentionally. Second, I wrote them to figure out exactly what about them turned me on and why. And I got some answers.

Since I started writing erotica seriously, I’ve always shared it online. First on usenet, then on ASSTR and similar sites, and since 2009 on my shared blog. Also in 2009 and 2010, I took most of my non-cons and similar erotica off the public spaces and moved them behind passwords and into books, in my case published by Republica Press. Republica’s credo was to give its writers freedom to explore whatever they wanted. It wasn’t afraid of the darker, or weirder, or squickier stuff. Emma, Republica’s editor, encouraged me to get my first book together with them, a collection of 100 flash-fictions, nearly all of them non-con or strange in nature, because she knew there was an audience for it. And she was right.

One of my more recent n/c stories, called 'Give In', which has not made it into any book, is to me, the reason why non-consent - even ‘non-consent for tillation has value.

In some ways the story is a metaphor for the non-cons fantasy itself. If you're inclined to have this kind of fantasy - and many of us are - you’re going to have them one way or the other. There’s nothing you can – or should, in my opinion – do to fight the fact that those are your fantasies. Understand them, fine. Learn, perhaps where they come from within yourself, but there’s nothing wrong with having them, or enjoying them. I don’t think anyone is messed up for having rape fantasies. The messed-up only happens when the bright line between the mind and the real world is crossed.

And there’s more. 'Give In' taught me that non-cons stories had still more to them, when a woman who had experienced sexual assault commented on the story. It was humbling, but the story had given her something positive, and it was amazing to think about.

The gist of the comment was that in some situations of rape, the victim’s body’s own self-protection - such as lubrication, can feel like a betrayal when it’s not. Physical pleasure can be forced on someone, and they are not to ‘blame’ for it. Many victims are additionally victimized (from inside and out) by the belief that they shouldn’t have felt anything, or felt only the pain of the violation. Human physical and emotional self-protection works against that. It’s not “sit back and enjoy it if there’s nothing else you can do”, but “forgive yourself for being human, and having human reactions in extreme circumstances.” These were not ‘lessons’ I set out to ‘teach’ - that’s arrogance and hubris beyond the pale. But I wanted to explore, in the story, that very set-up of rapists (true fantasy rapists) whose overt goal is not simply to have a fuck of an unwilling victim, but to orchestrate and coerce her surrender to pleasure.

Other comments on this  and other non-cons erotica I’ve written revealed conflict in my readers - whether or not they had personal experience with sexual assault. As readers, there is guilt and freedom, to associate with the victim or the perpetrator. To allow yourself into those head-spaces, and imagine what it would be like. People feel guilty about getting pleasure doing that - about imagining these things. I know I used to. But writing the stories, and reading others’, and reading the comments, and thinking about ‘whys' is what lets you look into the darker crevices of your own mind. 


As a man, I questioned whether I was a monster. Did I actually want to do these things? Did I think so little of women to turn them into objects? Was I in control of myself? And, over time, first after realizing I had to ask those questions, and then spending time to think; to make sure I was answering non-reflexively, I came to answers. Yes, I do, sometimes want to do these things, but I will not. The division between imagination and reality is a hard bright line. Do I think of women as things? No. I think of women as people, and equals. And yet sometimes, I want them to be my things as well. Does that affect the way I treat, for example, female colleagues?  My Wife? My neighbors? And the answer came back no. It’s an interesting process of self interrogation - you have to question whether or not you’re fooling yourself, if you’re being truly honest. It took me a lot of time. But it’s the process of knowing yourself.

So, given that non-cons has been, essentially an examination of myself, what does this mean for the reader? As an aside, it logically follows, that all the monstery/alienish stories are similar. Think of the invisible monster of Forbidden Planet- but with a much bigger libido. I’ve read of that particular monster called ‘the Id monster’ because it was an expression of Morbius’ Id - in the Freudian sense; his passions and fears manifested. Similarly all my beasties - human and non - are Id monsters.

Earlier in my writing, I didn’t think about it. I put the stories out there, and people read them or not, and thought what they thought. In recent years, and especially now as I’ve become more conscious - and desirous - of the interaction between writer and reader, I’ve thought more about it. If a reader can use stories like these to explore their own reactions, to look into themselves about the ‘why’ they react the way they do - then there’s more to these stories than ‘rape for titillation,’ and, maybe even something important. We’re the only animals with any hint of this kind of imagination. The ability to conceive of things that we could do - and even want to do - and still not do them for a myriad of reasons, including internal and external morality.  And yes, some people will be (I hope) turned on.

Do you want to tell us why you’re a man who writes erotica from the female perspective, Monocle?  We had a previous post from a woman who writes M/M erotica. Her insight on her motives was very interesting. 

It’s another evolution thing. I found I was always more attracted to erotica either from the female POV, or that seemed designed to appeal to women.  That’s not to say romantica or anything, but the writing that most turned me on seemed targeted at turning on women. Second, being male, and always wondering at the strange creatures that are women, I wanted to try to understand them better; and to do so I figured to imagine what it might be like. In some ways a lot of it was guesswork - even talking to women doesn’t get one that far in what it feels like on the visceral level. The language between the sexes - when I was thinking about it this way - didn’t seem adequate. Plus, there weren’t really many women I knew comfortable talking sex and sexuality to that depth with me - and I wasn't as comfortable then with it as I am now. 

Third (I know, long list!), my early stories in this POV got, at the time, positive response - from both men and women. A lot of women thought I was also a woman writer. I took it as a point of pride I could write believably from the woman’s POV, and had also read and seen enough to know that male erotica writers often had a much harder time of it with the female audience. So, up to around 2009 or so, I was usually cryptic about my gender to the commenters I interacted with, an happy enough to let readers guess.

Last, and this took a lot more time and discussion to think through, one reason I wrote so much from the woman’s POV was to protect myself. Sure, as writer I was both the monster (human or otherwise) as well as the heroine, but not being the antagonist I could avoid confronting the feelings and motivations for these transgressive acts in first person. I could be more distant, even somewhat analytic, when seeing it through different eyes. In the last three years, I’ve made much more of a shift towards male protagonists, because I’m in a different place in my self exploration - and I’m now consciously exploring writing as craft as well as simply a vector for scenes and stories that turn me on. However, I still haven’t written a complete, overt first-person male POV non-cons story. I realize that ten, or five years ago, I was unconsciously afraid of doing so. I’m not any more, so it’s on my list.


Remittance Girl, my first guest author and I had a wide-ranging discussion. Part of it touched on the advent of the e-reader and the liberty they afford. A reader of erotica no longer has to pullout a paperback with a lurid cover. RG and I  agreed that new-found sense of privacy brought more readers to the sub-genre, but is also what’s keeping women silent about this issue. 

No doubt! It’s a double edged sword. On my blog - on any blog - you get a lot more readers than commenters. On the ‘Obsidian Lens’ part of my blog, which puts the darker themed stories behind a password, some readers have found that the privacy afforded makes them more comfortable to comment. Still, many (certainly not all) who read the most transgressive materials are either consciously or unconsciously dealing with the guilt of their desire to do so, and that tends to keep them from speaking - and speaking out - about it.


Where can readers find your titles?My publisher, Republica will close doors at the end of the month. Until that time, my titles may be purchased through them. I have 5 books at Republica. The first, Nightmares and Visions, is a series of 100 flash-fictions (averaging 500-600 words each). Almost all of them deal with various forms of non-consent and reluctance with different levels of intensity. All of them are in first person female POV. The fact of the 100 makes it pretty relentless if you read many at a time, which is sort of a meta-point about the whole subject matter. It’s not for someone who knows what they like, or who is not afraid. The other 4 I made with a theme “Through a … Lens”, and the nature of the lens hinted at the content of the stories. “Silvered” is more romantic stories, “Ethereal” is Science Fiction and Fantasy (with different aspects of consent and non-) “Tinted” is general consent-edgy stories, and “Haunted” is Fantasy/Horror (including my one story where the protagonist does not survive to the end). That’s all very sales-y and I don’t intend to do that.
No problem, I'll state right now, I prodded you to include this information. It's my goal to show readers what they're going to be giving away if an outcry is not made over Paypal's policy. How will they know what's being taken unless they buy a book or two? Stop blushing. <grin> Writing continues to be a personal journey for me. I suspect it is for most writers. Being a hobbyist at it, I’m very inconsistent. Since I started seriously in ‘98, I’ve gone for periods of 6 months to over a year producing little or nothing new fiction at all. I’m in one of those now, even though I’ve been active in other ways - things like filthy micropoetry on twitter, and which I post daily. I want to improve my craft of writing, explore more themes - both common and uncommon. I want to write for myself, but I also want to be read. I want to be able to be read by those interested, and I want to learn what my stories - and stories like mine - make people think about and feel. That means having my blog space, and it means having the books I’ve finished available to the public. I am my own gatekeeper. If I let it out of my head - if any writer lets their monsters out - I don’t want to grant PayPal or some webmaster somewhere permission or power to keep it away from people who wish to see it.

Hrm. Now for closing, I have to think of something. It’s extra hard, perhaps, because I’ve been so dry of writing this past year. Recently the ideas have been starting to come again, but still the fingers-to-keyboard have been sluggish. I have never written anything that doesn’t turn me on at least a little, and prefer to write things that grab me by the throat - or cock - and make me write them. I think my best stories came out (literally and figuratively) in that way. As an aside, coming at writing with a desire to ‘write better’ is sometimes a challenge to ‘writing instinctively.’ The former may be higher quality, the latter is, I feel more visceral and true for me. I have yet to internalize ‘all writing is rewriting’ because I have always hated rewriting.

Look at me ramble. Truth of the matter is, one major reason I started writing - and sharing - because I couldn't find the kind of twisted, perverted, nasty stuff online that I wanted to read myself. So I made it. And in some ways, that remains a big motivation. If I have an idea that wants expression, putting my characters - all shades of myself, in the final analysis - in different perils, or perpetrating the acts of monsters (human or otherwise), then I act on that.

There’s another way that writing - and reading - frees us of the constraints of our civilized or moralized world. Our imaginations are unfettered. I can reach through this screen and take you, the reader, right now. Don’t think I’m not thinking about it. Right now. There’s nothing you can do about it except close the page. But you and I - we’re free to do these things because no one is standing over us saying I can’t write this and you can’t read it, or buy it, or what have you. And that’s the way it should be. And if you’re still reading it, knowing the utterly obscene and awful things I’m thinking of doing to you right now, well, that’ll be our secret, won’t it?

(grinning) I probably shouldn't say 'Bring it," should I? Not in front of all these readers. So,instead, I'll say thank you so much for taking the time to work out this interview with me. I had a delightful time, and I appreciate the effort you made to be utterly honest. I'm very pleased to say Moncocle submitted 'Give In' to my Transgressive Erotica Anthology call. The best part of this series, for me, has been getting to know these authors as people. As I suspected, not one dirty old man wearing a sweat-stained wife-beater and smoking a cigar while plotting to exploit real-life women in the bunch. So far, all I can see PayPal protecting me from is exercising my free will and using my own funds to read the legal content of my choosing. How about you? These authors and I love comments. Have you learned anything this week about erotica, and the people who write it? Those of you who write in the sub-genre,and those of you who never have, but are true rebels at heart and want to give it a try, please don't forget the Transgressive Erotica Submission Call. I'm late posting tonight because Blogger and I had a fight about posting the image, and Blogger won.