Tag Archives: realism in erotica

So what really is the difference between porn and erotica?

2 Apr

I’m talking about writing, by the way, not those funny pictures of unlikely people doing unusual things to each other, with props.

No, I’m trying to figure out what elevates erotica from the status of pornography. I’m not the first to have done this. There is a prevailing view among erotica authors that what we do is not porn. I like to think so too. But when I try to put my finger on the thing that makes it that way, I can’t quite manage it. I’m hoping that by the time I get to the end of this post, I’ll have figured it out.

More talk about smut but not actual smut through here

Shameless self-promotion

29 Mar

I have a new collection of short stories called Payback, which is now available in various places.

Let me know if you like it.

Twitterotica – a #FuckMeFriday story: An angel’s #wake

25 Mar

This is for this week’s piece of Twitterotica to mark #FuckMeFriday (Ruby Kiddell and Aisling Weaver’s weekly writing challenge). The prompt is #wake and is justifiable. Barely.

+++++

After a ten days on vacation with her husband and mother-in-law, Christa snapped.

“You’re taking the children and your mother on the glass-bottomed boat tour,” she told Miles. “I’m having a massage.” Wisely, he chose not to argue.

The masseuse was fully booked, so Christa decided to take a long, hot bath. She surveyed herself in the mirror as the water ran. Her hair was like straw, albeit with some fresh sun-bleached highlights, and the tan lines around her boobs were uneven. One shoulder seemed to have caught the sun more, probably while she was in the pool being piggy-in-the-middle for the boys. She ran a hand over her midriff and tutted at the bloat. The effect was emphasised by her foliage-free lady garden, the product of a different and unexpected interpretation of the words “Bikini Line” by the Scottish girl who had waxed her before the vacation. Evidently in Scotland all the women wore candy floss bikinis that required the full Brazilian. Two weeks later, it still felt unnaturally smooth. But at least the swelling had gone down.

As the water’s heat began to penetrate Christa’s bones, her mind turned back to Miles. He had been looking very fine as he left with the children. She had caught a glimpse of him in his shorts and tight-fitting surf splash top. The sunshine caught the blond hairs on his legs and arms in a halo, like the wake of an angel.

Christa sighed and leaned back in the water, the surface tickling her ears. Her hand drifted back to the smoothness of her crotch. He hadn’t changed much in the fifteen years since college, when his tall, wiry frame had first caught her attention on the tennis court. Their first time had been in the college boat club, under the tarpaulin of a rowing boat.

It was desperately uncomfortable, but somehow they had manoeuvred into a position where Miles could reach under her. More smut through here

Do you want me to suck your lance, baby?

24 Feb

Over at Erotica for All, Tiffany Reisz has made a passionate plea for writers to take the euphemism out of fuck talk, or ‘erotica’ as we like to circumlocutarily denominate it.

As she says:

In my writing, I tend to err on the side of the standard–it’s a cock, it’s a penis, or it’s implied. When I write, “he pushed inside her,” readers are pretty sure I’m not talking about a man penetrating a women with a matchbox car, a tube of chapstick, or a cell phone. I’ve seen other writers use flowery euphemisms for the penis during sex scenes– “lance,” “sword,” “manhood.” Manhood is a particularly odd one for me. I’ve never had a penis in my womanhood so why would I have a manhood in my vagina. And the sword metaphors freak me out a little. Sword? Lance? Really?

And that’s the truth of it. The only synonym for cock that I can swallow is dick, and cock just has that percussive sound to it that makes my stomach tingle. Dick has its place, but for me it’s second best to cock. Weapon is too aggressive. I mean, even with rough sex it’s not a weapon. And lance… I mean, have those people ever seen a lance? Or, if they’ve seen a lance, have they ever seen a penis? Or a cock for that matter.

More rude thoughts through here

Story: The crumbling bark of the spicewood tree

19 Feb

This story was inspired by Will Crimson aka Redbud from The Erotic Writer, an author who confesses that his characters are “ravishingly perfect specimens of humanity”. So I wondered what it would be like to write about The Perfect, and you know, it was much more fulfilling than I’d imagined.

*****

Come hiking, he’d said. It’ll be fun, he’d said. We can see the great outdoors, he’d said.

He hadn’t mentioned the rain, the bugs or the fact that the shower was actually a freezing cold dribble of water in a log cabin smelling of pee. She wasn’t even sure which animal’s pee it was.

Liberty stepped out of the bathroom clutching her towel. Her shoulders ached, her arms ached, her legs ached and she could feel a headache coming on. Nothing in her backpack was dry. She was going to have to put on wet clothes, and go out into the rain, to get wetter, and colder and damn damn damn Cody for bringing her here. She considered her panties and discarded them, stepping into her shorts and working the wet material up her legs. At least I waxed, she thought. Her sports bra was sodden but it was better than nothing. At least she hadn’t brought any white t-shirts–her pink one had mascara stains on it from a leaking bottle. The others were unworn but soaked. She wrestled herself into the dark green one, and cursed as she noticed that the mascara stains had also run onto the white logo on the front, saying ‘Fashionista’.

“Are you ready, baby?” Cody called from behind the door. Liberty’s annoyance softened. He was such a gentleman, never barging in on her like some other boyfriends she could think of. She imagined him in a tuxedo, and nearly sighed.

“Almost.” She pulled on her wet socks and strapped on her boots, wincing as they squelched when she walked. Her toenails were already chipped and she could only imagine how they were going to smell later on. Liberty took one last look around the cabin, at the log walls with small gaps in them and the basic, prison-issue beds and the hardboard floor. Two more days until they reached civilization. At least there were no mirrors.

Liberty put on her brightest smile and opened the door. Cody was leaning against the wall, arms folded and looking as handsome as sunshine. She loved the way that nothing he wore seemed to contain his biceps and the hairs on his arms glinted golden in the morning light. Yes, a tuxedo. Whenever he was ready to ask.

Cody looked her up and down, appraisingly.

“Mmm, honey, you look fantastic. How do you manage to look sexy in the middle of nowhere in just a tee and shorts?” He leaned down and gave her a crushing kiss. There were some compensations to being on a Cody Malone backwoods trip.

They clumped through the rain along the trail. It was dead; a September weekday in Virginia and they had met only a few hikers going either way since yesterday. The rain was so loud on the trees that they couldn’t talk properly. After about half an hour, Liberty had almost got past the fact that she was permanently wet. The forest was beautiful. The trees gave off a scent in the warm, wet air that warmed her heart. What were they?

“Wait.” Cody raised his hand and Liberty almost walked into it. She looked around, nervously.

“What is it?”

He raised a finger to his lips, then motioned for them to go up the slope, off the path. He was like a marine in some war movie, she thought. She followed him, staring around, wondering what had caught his attention, then getting distracted by his round, tight buttocks. They rolled a little as he walked.

Cody stopped. He pointed.

“What?”

He shushed her and came round behind her to lean down and point straight ahead. Liberty squinted, enjoying the sensation of being almost enveloped by her enormous man. Then, somehow, she noticed an almost imperceptible movement, something snuffling in the trees.

“A wild boar,” Cody whispered. Liberty stared, fascinated and repelled by the hairy creature.

“If it was the hunting season, I’d be getting us some roasted wild pig tonight,” he murmured. “But we’d better let the thing be.”

Liberty moved backwards and then stumbled on a root and fell back into Cody’s arms.

“Quick, he’s noticed us. Run!”

Cody began to outpace her in the woods as the boar pursued them. Then, with a terrifying crack, Liberty caught her foot on a fallen branch and fell, crying out as she crashed to the ground. Cody turned to help her. Liberty stretched out her hand, then squealed as she realised from his face that the boar was almost on them. She turned over and saw the creature careering towards her.

Cody picked up a stick and made an enormous, rasping, bear-like roar. The boar screeched to a halt, and then scampered away as quickly as it had arrived as Cody roared and roared again. He chased the boar for a couple of yards, then turned back to Liberty.

He knelt down next to her, shrugging off his pack. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Liberty sniffed, the rain mixing with the tears of relief that streaked her face, and nodded. She tried to get up, but Cody lifted her up in his strong arms and then set her down gently. She tested her ankle, gingerly and hobbled a few steps.

“Is your ankle okay?” Cody’s concern was stamped on his face. Liberty clung onto him, not wanting to let go. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and afraid in the forest. What would come at them next? She nodded again, tearfully, and then wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You were so brave.”

He hugged her back, then tilted her head up with one hand. “You know I would never let anything happen to you.”

She melted into his kiss, and moulded her body to his, trying to bend each bone in her body to fit his muscular chest and his taut midriff. She could feel his hot, hard cock pressing against her. He wanted her, and she was his to take.

With a grunt, he lifted her up by her legs and carried her through the rain, until she felt the bark of a tree against her back. He bore into her with his tongue, and his hands dived into her shorts, undoing the button then forcing the wet material off her until he could reach down and run his hands down to her elegant pussy mound, waxed into a single strip. She sighed as he began to rub her while he held her up, pressed against the tree. She was wet inside as well as outside and his breathing became heavier and heavier.

Liberty reached down and fumbled with his fly, her cold fingers slipping against the buttons. With a frustrated rip, she tore them apart, and felt inside his shorts for his cock. It sprang out and she gasped in anticipation. Cody leaned closer to her and she guided it to the edge of her cunt. He responded to the wetness of her opening, pushing just half his head inside, then rocking up and down to get more and more of his tremendous girth into her.

Cody began to rock harder, still holding her up against the tree, and she could feel the smooth bark rubbing away at her back. Some of it crumbled, and the scent from the tree washed over her nose. More bark disintegrated as Cody began fucking her harder and harder, his legs pumping up and down as he drilled into her, deeper and deeper until it felt as though he was holding her up with his cock rather than his hands.

The rain lashed onto Liberty’s face as she stared at Cody’s jaw, clenched in concentration, and then she closed her eyes and leaned back, feeling his cock drive up inside her, and Cody’s heavier breathing, and found herself getting closer and closer to the edge. It was going to be the fuck to end all fucks, the perfect moment. Her back rubbed against the bark of the tree and she was consumed by its scent: earthy yet sweet. Warmth rose up from her belly, she was on the edge, and she could hear Cody’s excitement, and feel him grasp her with his hands as he came closer.

Then it was over, with Cody pumping himself into her, crushing her thighs in his fists, shuddering and jerking as he came and came and came. He leaned into her, so that her body was pinned to the spicewood tree, and finally let her legs down gently to the earth.

It was exquisite agony. Liberty was on the edge, willing him to continue. Just for a couple more thrusts. I’m so close, she pleaded, silently. It’s just a few strokes away.

And as he lowered her legs to the floor, the tension and the desire began to ebb away, and Liberty felt like thumping the chest of the man who had brought her to the brink, and then left her there. She willed him to move his hand back to her… her area, her pussy, no, her cunt, just to rub her, to bring her back to up and tip her over so that she could scream into the forest.

But Cody was still breathing heavily, and then caught his breath and gave her a romantic, chaste, useless kiss on her bottom lip and looked into her eyes. She was tingling in frustration, trying to hold on to the ocean with her bare hands. It had to be him. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t, anyway, and never in front of him.

“I love you,” Cody whispered. And in that moment, for just that second, Liberty hated him.