Another new one. Hotel erotica is now closed and this one and the erotic spanking anthology are open. Please support my books so I can keep editing more anthologies - this will be my 50th!
Call for Submissions
Bisexual Women themed erotic anthology (title TK)
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
To be published by Cleis Press
Deadline: September 1, 2011 (earlier submissions preferred)
Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel is looking for erotic stories featuring bisexual women in all their diversity. The more creative, memorable and hot, the better. Please avoid clichés, or if you're going to use them, turn them on their heads. I will leave the definition of "bisexual" up to you; the final anthology will feature a range of characters, settings and scenarios, from those in monogamous relationships to those in open relationships, single women, bicurious, etc. Plots centered around identity politics are not desired; these are erotic stories first and foremost. Please keep in mind that with an anthology centered around a theme such as this, my job as editor is to create a widely varied collection, so the more unique your story, the better its chances. Stories can be told in first, second or third person POV, but should focus on the experience of a bisexual woman (whether she identifies as "bisexual" or not). Though less desired, stories from the viewpoint of the partner of a bisexual woman will be considered. Authors of all genders and sexual orientations are welcome. Please see any of my previous anthologies, such as Orgasmic and Fast Girls, for an idea of the kinds of stories I'm looking for.
Payment: Contributors will receive $50/story and 2 copies of the anthology on publication. Contract is for one-time rights.
How to submit: Include story title and byline at top of first page. Send double spaced Times or Times New Roman 12 point black font Word document (.doc only, NOT .docx) OR RTF of 1,500-4,000 word story. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) required. Include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 word or less bio in the third person to biwomenantho@gmail.com. If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. I will be accepting stories on a rolling basis so the sooner you submit, the better. Cleis Press has final approval over the manuscript so you can expect a final answer by February 2012.
I’ve been seeing numerous recent submissions that do not conform to my guidelines. They are there for a reason and submissions not meeting these guidelines will not be considered. Please read and follow them or risk your submission being rejected or returned for reformatting. If you have any questions, please contact me at biwomenantho@gmail.com
About the editor: Rachel Kramer Bussel (http://www.rachelkramerbussel.com) is the editor of 38 anthologies, including Gotta Have It, Surrender, Best Bondage Erotica 2011, Bottoms Up, Spanked, The Mile High Club, Do Not Disturb, He’s on Top, She’s on Top, Tasting Him, Tasting Her, Crossdressing, Dirty Girls, and is Best Sex Writing Series Editor. She is Senior Editor at Penthouse Variations, writes a column for SexIs Magazine, and hosted and curated In The Flesh Reading Series in New York for five years. Her writing has been published in over 100 anthologies, including Susie Bright’s X: The Erotic Treasury, Best American Erotica 2004 and 2006, and Zane’s Purple Panties and the New York Times bestseller Succulent: Chocolate Flava II. She has written for Cosmopolitan, The Daily Beast, Fresh Yarn, Mediabistro, Newsday, New York Post, Penthouse, Time Out New York, Zink and other publications.
Showing posts with label erotic writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label erotic writing. Show all posts
Sh! recaps
Me being me, my last day is super hectic, but I've had a brilliant time and definitely want to come back for all the places/people I've missed seeing. I spent last night in bed with lovely supermarket foodstuffs watching and being inspired by Working Girl and reading a book I'm writing about after so much running around and didn't feel guilty about not being out and about in the least. I could use less guilt, more me. Trying trying trying...2011 is all about overhauling my life, or if it's not, it should be. Reluctant to go home just yet but hoping I'll be back while I still somewhat know my way around London a bit more, having taken the Tube lots, plus the overground and the train out to Hitchin.
Thanks to everyone who showed up at Sh! and made the evening so wonderful and did recaps! Who needs MSM anyway? (I say jokingly, but of course, cause I'm a media whore and always will be. But in this case, I was so moved by the people who came out and what they said about my work. When I visited England in 2002 for my friend's wedding, I never ever could've predicted books with my name on the spine would be on shelves. Next stop, Waterstone's, who are big on YA. A girlcan has to dream.)
Justine Elyot
Lucy Felthouse
KD Grace
Janine Ashbless
More when I'm back. As always, make sure to visit Cupcakes Take the Cake for reports on cupcake adventures.
cupcakes at You Don't Bring Me Flowers
Thanks to everyone who showed up at Sh! and made the evening so wonderful and did recaps! Who needs MSM anyway? (I say jokingly, but of course, cause I'm a media whore and always will be. But in this case, I was so moved by the people who came out and what they said about my work. When I visited England in 2002 for my friend's wedding, I never ever could've predicted books with my name on the spine would be on shelves. Next stop, Waterstone's, who are big on YA. A girl
Justine Elyot
Lucy Felthouse
KD Grace
Janine Ashbless
More when I'm back. As always, make sure to visit Cupcakes Take the Cake for reports on cupcake adventures.
cupcakes at You Don't Bring Me Flowers
"The Weight" to be published in Best Bondage Erotica 2012
Lately I am trying to be lighter, physically and mentally. I'm working on getting to my goal weight and fitting (better) into this slinky tight tan dress I bought that's basically the same dress I have in gray but is tighter for whatever reason. Mentally, well, it's tough. Yesterday was a day of such highs and lows. I waved like a fool on the Staten Island Ferry looking for my friend, watched two little kids instantly bond over drawing, laughed over nothing with friends old and new, and went to my friend Cheryl's wake. I was okay...as long as I didn't walk by the big box with my friend's body inside it. I could admire the gigantic, bigger-than-I've-ever-seen flower displays. I even took a prayer card even though my thoughts on prayer are a bit muddled.
I'm working on purging both belongings and negative, unhelpful thoughts, along with the extra pounds, and talking to my friends and seeing how they each deal with their grief was telling. I don't think there's a right way or wrong way, and I teeter between being so outraged for Cheryl, that her life was cut short, and recognizing that my outage isn't going to bring her back. I can't feel light about her death, in any sense of the word, but I am honored to have known her and heartened to keep on seeing such an outpouring of support and love for her.
I will probably be working on this lightening that my whole life. So the fact that I wrote this story is both interesting and fitting. I'd say curious but to me it represents the way I think of BDSM when it works perfectly, which is like this yin and yang, people who have different urges, but urges that contrast perfectly in their extremity. Or what I think of as extremity; obviously that word means different things to different people. There are definitely things I've done I never thought I'd do and things I have and do think about that I'm not sure I'll ever do, and a lot of that comes out in fiction. "Foot and Mouth" you'll have to wait until next year for, but "The Weight" is going to be in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and the part that is curious but also complimentary is that desire for weight on someone else, for the force of a body as a weapon.
I, like my protagonist, am much more partial to the human body as a tool than I am anything else when it comes to kinky play, and by "body" I mean both body parts but even more so the mind. In this excerpt you'll see that it's both this character, Damian, the narrator is so attuned to, but also the phrase his knee, the look on his face, his eyes. It's all of those body parts working in concert with both her and all that has come before. For me it's the kind of story I long to write, and am proud of, but couldn't do every day, just like I couldn't do anything like that every day. It's part of, maybe, my recovery process, my getting over someone who is seemingly ubiquitous, inescapable. Or maybe it's something else I'm not even aware of. But I'm looking forward to sharing this story with the world. It will close out my book, which should be in stores by Thanksgiving. I'm working on more food stories, lighter ones, ones that dance around their kinks, rather than dropping them on the reader so, well, heavily. I'm writing a story named after a Cyndi Lauper song now. But I also think that "lighter" is relative. We all have light and darkness inside us and for me lightness is a goal not at the expense of mental or emotional weight, but as a coping mechanism. Anyway, here is an excerpt from "The Weight." More bondage erotica excerpts closer to pub date! Much of the book, and my introduction explores this, features women tying up men, because that was what the majority of the submissions included, so I hope you femdom types will buy it. I think there is a wonderful mix of types of bondage and motivations for it, and I hope I'll get to keep on editing more bondage erotica because it's always an interesting process.
This is fiction, for sure, but the kind of fiction I sometimes think is more truthful than any essay I write could ever be.
From "The Weight" by me:
I don’t gulp in greedy deep breaths of air; that would be too obvious. I take the smallest breaths I can, savoring them, making do with what I can get, while I can. He rises just enough to turn me over, settling down again with his knee planted firmly against my pussy, so firmly it hurts a little. He’s not trying to make me wet, or make me like it. I know that much by now. He’s trying to simply tell me that even his knee owns me, that even his knee can make me do anything he demands.
It’s the look on his face that makes me shudder as surely as if someone zapped me. I can breathe a little now, but I can’t move, not really. He has me pinned, strapped in as surely as the fanciest of handcuffs. The shudder rises from my red-painted toenails on up. I tremble against him where his knee is greeting me, and he shifts so the pressure lands at my wrists, where he’s raised them above my head. At any moment he might shift both wrists into one meaty palm and tickle me, threatening my bladder, threatening my control.
I’m tempted to bite my lip, but I don’t. He’d only force them apart, force my mouth, like the rest of me, open, shove something, probably his fingers, many of them, inside. I’m not sure if I miss his weight yet, because I love how strong he is, how his strength brought to bear full bore demands an equal showing of strength from me. I look up at him, not sure which Damian I will see. Sometimes his hazel eyes are dark and stormy, and he’ll lean down and bite my lip, digging his teeth in, clamping down until I mewl to get away, and then giving me a few extra seconds of pain before rising and spitting into my mouth. Sometimes he’ll raise his hand so suddenly I hardly have time to be aware of what’s about to happen, then strike my cheek so hard my ears ring. Sometimes he shackles my arms above my head, to the cuffs secured to the headboard, and pinches my nose and mouth shut, holding them tighter and tighter until I start to truly thrash, and then he’ll let go of one hand, keeping the other in place. Like I said, I’m not into all the accoutrements of bondage, but I gladly give him my arms, and savor the tightness of a cuff or the sweetly deceptive smoothness of a silk scarf, even though he is my favorite sex toy of all.
I'm working on purging both belongings and negative, unhelpful thoughts, along with the extra pounds, and talking to my friends and seeing how they each deal with their grief was telling. I don't think there's a right way or wrong way, and I teeter between being so outraged for Cheryl, that her life was cut short, and recognizing that my outage isn't going to bring her back. I can't feel light about her death, in any sense of the word, but I am honored to have known her and heartened to keep on seeing such an outpouring of support and love for her.
I will probably be working on this lightening that my whole life. So the fact that I wrote this story is both interesting and fitting. I'd say curious but to me it represents the way I think of BDSM when it works perfectly, which is like this yin and yang, people who have different urges, but urges that contrast perfectly in their extremity. Or what I think of as extremity; obviously that word means different things to different people. There are definitely things I've done I never thought I'd do and things I have and do think about that I'm not sure I'll ever do, and a lot of that comes out in fiction. "Foot and Mouth" you'll have to wait until next year for, but "The Weight" is going to be in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and the part that is curious but also complimentary is that desire for weight on someone else, for the force of a body as a weapon.
I, like my protagonist, am much more partial to the human body as a tool than I am anything else when it comes to kinky play, and by "body" I mean both body parts but even more so the mind. In this excerpt you'll see that it's both this character, Damian, the narrator is so attuned to, but also the phrase his knee, the look on his face, his eyes. It's all of those body parts working in concert with both her and all that has come before. For me it's the kind of story I long to write, and am proud of, but couldn't do every day, just like I couldn't do anything like that every day. It's part of, maybe, my recovery process, my getting over someone who is seemingly ubiquitous, inescapable. Or maybe it's something else I'm not even aware of. But I'm looking forward to sharing this story with the world. It will close out my book, which should be in stores by Thanksgiving. I'm working on more food stories, lighter ones, ones that dance around their kinks, rather than dropping them on the reader so, well, heavily. I'm writing a story named after a Cyndi Lauper song now. But I also think that "lighter" is relative. We all have light and darkness inside us and for me lightness is a goal not at the expense of mental or emotional weight, but as a coping mechanism. Anyway, here is an excerpt from "The Weight." More bondage erotica excerpts closer to pub date! Much of the book, and my introduction explores this, features women tying up men, because that was what the majority of the submissions included, so I hope you femdom types will buy it. I think there is a wonderful mix of types of bondage and motivations for it, and I hope I'll get to keep on editing more bondage erotica because it's always an interesting process.
This is fiction, for sure, but the kind of fiction I sometimes think is more truthful than any essay I write could ever be.
From "The Weight" by me:
I don’t gulp in greedy deep breaths of air; that would be too obvious. I take the smallest breaths I can, savoring them, making do with what I can get, while I can. He rises just enough to turn me over, settling down again with his knee planted firmly against my pussy, so firmly it hurts a little. He’s not trying to make me wet, or make me like it. I know that much by now. He’s trying to simply tell me that even his knee owns me, that even his knee can make me do anything he demands.
It’s the look on his face that makes me shudder as surely as if someone zapped me. I can breathe a little now, but I can’t move, not really. He has me pinned, strapped in as surely as the fanciest of handcuffs. The shudder rises from my red-painted toenails on up. I tremble against him where his knee is greeting me, and he shifts so the pressure lands at my wrists, where he’s raised them above my head. At any moment he might shift both wrists into one meaty palm and tickle me, threatening my bladder, threatening my control.
I’m tempted to bite my lip, but I don’t. He’d only force them apart, force my mouth, like the rest of me, open, shove something, probably his fingers, many of them, inside. I’m not sure if I miss his weight yet, because I love how strong he is, how his strength brought to bear full bore demands an equal showing of strength from me. I look up at him, not sure which Damian I will see. Sometimes his hazel eyes are dark and stormy, and he’ll lean down and bite my lip, digging his teeth in, clamping down until I mewl to get away, and then giving me a few extra seconds of pain before rising and spitting into my mouth. Sometimes he’ll raise his hand so suddenly I hardly have time to be aware of what’s about to happen, then strike my cheek so hard my ears ring. Sometimes he shackles my arms above my head, to the cuffs secured to the headboard, and pinches my nose and mouth shut, holding them tighter and tighter until I start to truly thrash, and then he’ll let go of one hand, keeping the other in place. Like I said, I’m not into all the accoutrements of bondage, but I gladly give him my arms, and savor the tightness of a cuff or the sweetly deceptive smoothness of a silk scarf, even though he is my favorite sex toy of all.
From the bondage erotica trenches
I have a giant pile of pending and overdue writing, fiction and nonfiction, as well as reading and editing for anthologies, awaiting me. Sometimes the to do lists get so big and scary that I feel instantly paralyzed. Writing even one word feels hopeless, and yet that's what I have to do, and that's what always makes me feel better. I've seen the results of not writing, both the money I didn't make but even worse, the lack it causes inside me, faced with the book I hold in my hands without my essay and photo, or that space on the bookstore shelves where I know my book could've been, if only. It's why I'm such a devotee of Justine Musk's blog Tribal Writer and why I just ordered Steven Pressfield's book Do The Work. Sometimes I need a kick in the ass or, ahem, slap in the face, to force me out of my worst thoughts about myself and into the writing. Money, sadly, is not a motivator. By now, failure looming should be, but it isn't.
I've realized that I like to set goals where I give something up. I'm hoping I can go this year without drinking a drop of alcohol, both because I think it's healthier for me, and simply didn't live up to that goal the last few years. I just decided not to do any more readings, save for Seattle and London, until I finish the YA novel draft I'm working on. That felt like a proactive, good decision, in that being surrounded by people who have, in fact, written a book, only serves to remind me of my lack, and it feels wasteful to me, of both time and money. But that is only half the equation. Giving up doing certain activities will only aid me if I take Pressfield's advice and spend 2 hours a day writing. Or more. I rarely do.
So one of the things I'm working on, that should be no big deal considering how many erotica stories I've already written in the last ten or so years, is for Best Bondage Erotica 2012. I will release the table of contents once it's finalized in a few months, but I can tell you that for the first time for a kinky anthology of mine that wasn't specifically about the topic, the majority of the stories I received, and that are currently in my manuscript, feature male bottoms/submissives/bondees. Which I think is a wonderful and welcome change, but means my story needs to fill the other side of the equation. I am working on two, actually, and one is the kind of story I often write. Playful, cute, fun, kinky. There's feathers and tickling and sadism. And that's great. I like writing those kinds of stories but they feel "light" to me in a sense that the other one I'm working on doesn't. I won't say frivolous, because I think the point of erotica is to arouse and entertain and I think my story will do that.
But the other type of story, the one I am trying to write more of because it makes me feel more "like a writer" is the deeper, darker kind, the ones like "The End" or "Espionage" or the upcoming "Punching Bag," which will be published in Tristan Taormino's anthology Take Me There: Trans and Genderqueer Erotica. They're intense, dark, heavy, which is perhaps ironic, or perhaps fitting, since the story I'm working on is called "The Weight." It taps into what I love about writing erotica, which is figuring out certain aspects of my kinks in fictional form and articulating them. But no matter how open-minded I try to be, and considering I have a tattoo with the word "open" I'd say I strive for that as much as I can, it's still daunting and unnerving to go there. The lighter, breezier, more playful stories, like "Monica and Me" or "Doing the Dishes," the ones that will get laughs at a reading, are easier on some level because they don't push my buttons. They don't make me uneasy. They don't ever make me wonder, in the deepest recesses of my mind, "What is wrong with me? Why would I fantasize about that?" And one is not better than the other, but I will admit that I'm prejudiced, when it comes to my own writing, toward the darker kind of story. It's where I'm trying to go in my nonfiction too; does this make me look flawed, imperfect, foolish...because I am, and I'm human? Then yes, put it in.
I know that, and I know that's what I gravitate to in pieces I read, the people who, at least, on the page, are unafraid to go there, even if they too have to fake it til they make it. So that's where I'm at this weekend on that one teeny tiny piece. Maybe I'll scrap it, save it for another time, go back to the long, lighter, funnier piece for the Major Media Company that wants my fiction rather than my mini memoir. But I hope I will push myself and try to forget about all the what-ifs, the who-might-read-this-and-think-x, the what-does-this-say-about-me, and instead just bottom to the story and give it all of myself, as openly and guilelessly and freely as I'm capable of.
I've realized that I like to set goals where I give something up. I'm hoping I can go this year without drinking a drop of alcohol, both because I think it's healthier for me, and simply didn't live up to that goal the last few years. I just decided not to do any more readings, save for Seattle and London, until I finish the YA novel draft I'm working on. That felt like a proactive, good decision, in that being surrounded by people who have, in fact, written a book, only serves to remind me of my lack, and it feels wasteful to me, of both time and money. But that is only half the equation. Giving up doing certain activities will only aid me if I take Pressfield's advice and spend 2 hours a day writing. Or more. I rarely do.
So one of the things I'm working on, that should be no big deal considering how many erotica stories I've already written in the last ten or so years, is for Best Bondage Erotica 2012. I will release the table of contents once it's finalized in a few months, but I can tell you that for the first time for a kinky anthology of mine that wasn't specifically about the topic, the majority of the stories I received, and that are currently in my manuscript, feature male bottoms/submissives/bondees. Which I think is a wonderful and welcome change, but means my story needs to fill the other side of the equation. I am working on two, actually, and one is the kind of story I often write. Playful, cute, fun, kinky. There's feathers and tickling and sadism. And that's great. I like writing those kinds of stories but they feel "light" to me in a sense that the other one I'm working on doesn't. I won't say frivolous, because I think the point of erotica is to arouse and entertain and I think my story will do that.
But the other type of story, the one I am trying to write more of because it makes me feel more "like a writer" is the deeper, darker kind, the ones like "The End" or "Espionage" or the upcoming "Punching Bag," which will be published in Tristan Taormino's anthology Take Me There: Trans and Genderqueer Erotica. They're intense, dark, heavy, which is perhaps ironic, or perhaps fitting, since the story I'm working on is called "The Weight." It taps into what I love about writing erotica, which is figuring out certain aspects of my kinks in fictional form and articulating them. But no matter how open-minded I try to be, and considering I have a tattoo with the word "open" I'd say I strive for that as much as I can, it's still daunting and unnerving to go there. The lighter, breezier, more playful stories, like "Monica and Me" or "Doing the Dishes," the ones that will get laughs at a reading, are easier on some level because they don't push my buttons. They don't make me uneasy. They don't ever make me wonder, in the deepest recesses of my mind, "What is wrong with me? Why would I fantasize about that?" And one is not better than the other, but I will admit that I'm prejudiced, when it comes to my own writing, toward the darker kind of story. It's where I'm trying to go in my nonfiction too; does this make me look flawed, imperfect, foolish...because I am, and I'm human? Then yes, put it in.
I know that, and I know that's what I gravitate to in pieces I read, the people who, at least, on the page, are unafraid to go there, even if they too have to fake it til they make it. So that's where I'm at this weekend on that one teeny tiny piece. Maybe I'll scrap it, save it for another time, go back to the long, lighter, funnier piece for the Major Media Company that wants my fiction rather than my mini memoir. But I hope I will push myself and try to forget about all the what-ifs, the who-might-read-this-and-think-x, the what-does-this-say-about-me, and instead just bottom to the story and give it all of myself, as openly and guilelessly and freely as I'm capable of.
My stripper shoe story "Good Luck Charm"
You can read the whole story plus other sex and shoes stories in, yes, the anthology called Sex & Shoes which is for sale for only $2.49! I'm reading it live Friday night at Ravenous Nights at Happy Ending Lounge, 302 Broome Street, NYC - see you there! I'll also be posting some more of my stories from my own anthologies soon, may possibly sell some as one-offs on Amazon but I'm happy to share a few here too.
May 6, 8-10 pm
In the old days, we would’ve barked, “Girls! Girls! Girls!”
That’s because May’s Ravenous Nights celebrates the daring dazzle of burlesque and stripping, and it’s shaping up to be a great night. Joining host Lori Perkins: authors Logan Belle, Rachel Kramer Bussel, and Aimee DeLong, all of whom will share risque tales with us.
And we’re fortunate that head mistress of NY School of Burlesque, Jo “Boobs” Weldon, will join us. She authored The Burlesque Handbook and has teasingly offered to give us a lesson or two!
So help us extol the thrill of stripping, give away door prizes galore — and maybe expose a secret or two in the bump and grind!
Event details:
Free. 8 to 10 pm. Dress: street casual.
Happy Ending Lounge
302 Broome Street (between Eldridge and Forsyth)
New York, NY
www.happyendinglounge.com
Good Luck Charm
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
As soon as I saw the shoes in the sex shop, I knew I had to get them for Daisy. They were the most outrageous, over-the-top, attention-getting pair I’d ever seen (and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of stripper shoes in my day). These had the requisite five-inch heels, ones that would make her already long, slim, gorgeous legs seem even hotter, but they had the added-bonus of being casino-themed, with white-painted black dice twisting against each other to form the heel. Below her sole, in the catch-all see-through area, were embedded poker chips and more dice. They were the kind of shoes that could turn anyone into a gambler, begging the numbers to turn up just right, just like they’d beg Daisy to rub her almost-naked body all over them as they sat with their hard cocks straining toward her. Or rather, toward Dolores, her stripper alter-ego.
See, Daisy’s really a dyke, and we met when I was one of her customers. She’s been with guys, as have I, and we can both get off on a good cock-pounding, but when it comes to everything sensual and emotional, we’re strictly girls’ girls. We complement each other in many ways, though, primarily in that she’s the ultimate exhibitionist, while I’m a voyeur through and through. I work a straight nine-to-five job (it’s nothing worth sharing the details of) and she works five nights a week at one of the many strip clubs Austin has to offer. It’s perfect because I have time to go watch her do her thing, which makes me horny as all get-out. I guess you could say I’m the opposite of the jealous type. I love that my girlfriend’s a stripper, love that she can use her beautiful body to earn a living and to liven things up in the bedroom.
So back to the shoes. I was visiting my friend Kim in St. Paul, who’d insisted we head to this adult store before hitting the local bar. I would’ve brought Daisy with me, but she had to work, and I was missing her terribly. Then I saw the shoes and knew they’d be the perfect thing to bring back to her; they may as well have had her name on them. I picked one up and felt a charge race through my body, one that let me know Daisy and I, at the very least, would have fun with these shoes.
But I wanted more than just fun. Or rather, part of my fun is in helping her do her job. I love watching her tease the men who come to her to get hard, horny, and frustrated. I love knowing that I’m the one who will get to feel these shoes pressing against my back while I fuck her, but they will be mesmerized by the sight of them that they’ll slip dollars into her G-string.
I bought the shoes, and the first thing I did when was alone was christen one of them with my pussy, rubbing it against me as I moaned Daisy’s name. Then I licked my juices off and called her. “I got you something on my trip, and you’re gonna like it.”
“What’d you get me in St. Paul?” she scoffed. It’s not like Austin is New York or L.A., but that doesn’t stop Daisy from being somewhat of a city snob.
“Just something that’ll make you even sexier than you are. Something that’ll make me want to touch myself.” I almost added, “Something you can wear to work,” but since she pretty much only wears some glitter, a G-string, shoes and maybe a barrette or two, that would be giving it away.
May 6, 8-10 pm
In the old days, we would’ve barked, “Girls! Girls! Girls!”
That’s because May’s Ravenous Nights celebrates the daring dazzle of burlesque and stripping, and it’s shaping up to be a great night. Joining host Lori Perkins: authors Logan Belle, Rachel Kramer Bussel, and Aimee DeLong, all of whom will share risque tales with us.
And we’re fortunate that head mistress of NY School of Burlesque, Jo “Boobs” Weldon, will join us. She authored The Burlesque Handbook and has teasingly offered to give us a lesson or two!
So help us extol the thrill of stripping, give away door prizes galore — and maybe expose a secret or two in the bump and grind!
Event details:
Free. 8 to 10 pm. Dress: street casual.
Happy Ending Lounge
302 Broome Street (between Eldridge and Forsyth)
New York, NY
www.happyendinglounge.com
Good Luck Charm
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
As soon as I saw the shoes in the sex shop, I knew I had to get them for Daisy. They were the most outrageous, over-the-top, attention-getting pair I’d ever seen (and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of stripper shoes in my day). These had the requisite five-inch heels, ones that would make her already long, slim, gorgeous legs seem even hotter, but they had the added-bonus of being casino-themed, with white-painted black dice twisting against each other to form the heel. Below her sole, in the catch-all see-through area, were embedded poker chips and more dice. They were the kind of shoes that could turn anyone into a gambler, begging the numbers to turn up just right, just like they’d beg Daisy to rub her almost-naked body all over them as they sat with their hard cocks straining toward her. Or rather, toward Dolores, her stripper alter-ego.
See, Daisy’s really a dyke, and we met when I was one of her customers. She’s been with guys, as have I, and we can both get off on a good cock-pounding, but when it comes to everything sensual and emotional, we’re strictly girls’ girls. We complement each other in many ways, though, primarily in that she’s the ultimate exhibitionist, while I’m a voyeur through and through. I work a straight nine-to-five job (it’s nothing worth sharing the details of) and she works five nights a week at one of the many strip clubs Austin has to offer. It’s perfect because I have time to go watch her do her thing, which makes me horny as all get-out. I guess you could say I’m the opposite of the jealous type. I love that my girlfriend’s a stripper, love that she can use her beautiful body to earn a living and to liven things up in the bedroom.
So back to the shoes. I was visiting my friend Kim in St. Paul, who’d insisted we head to this adult store before hitting the local bar. I would’ve brought Daisy with me, but she had to work, and I was missing her terribly. Then I saw the shoes and knew they’d be the perfect thing to bring back to her; they may as well have had her name on them. I picked one up and felt a charge race through my body, one that let me know Daisy and I, at the very least, would have fun with these shoes.
But I wanted more than just fun. Or rather, part of my fun is in helping her do her job. I love watching her tease the men who come to her to get hard, horny, and frustrated. I love knowing that I’m the one who will get to feel these shoes pressing against my back while I fuck her, but they will be mesmerized by the sight of them that they’ll slip dollars into her G-string.
I bought the shoes, and the first thing I did when was alone was christen one of them with my pussy, rubbing it against me as I moaned Daisy’s name. Then I licked my juices off and called her. “I got you something on my trip, and you’re gonna like it.”
“What’d you get me in St. Paul?” she scoffed. It’s not like Austin is New York or L.A., but that doesn’t stop Daisy from being somewhat of a city snob.
“Just something that’ll make you even sexier than you are. Something that’ll make me want to touch myself.” I almost added, “Something you can wear to work,” but since she pretty much only wears some glitter, a G-string, shoes and maybe a barrette or two, that would be giving it away.
My Learning Annex class on How To Write Erotica, only 99 cents!
You can catch the live Ustream on Sunday, March 27th at 5 pm EST or download it afterward - only 99 cents! I'm condensing the How to Write Erotica class (aka Erotica 101) I teach into two twenty-minute segments for an online class at The Learning Annex. Click here to register.
The demand for erotica has never been greater and it's one of the easiest ways to break into professional writing. Author Rachel Bussel teaches you the dirty little secrets of how to turn your erotic stories from an idea to a titillating story. Inst:
The demand for erotica has never been greater and it's one of the easiest ways to break into professional writing. Author Rachel Bussel teaches you the dirty little secrets of how to turn your erotic stories from an idea to a titillating story. Inst:
Vegas, baby! I'm speaking at the Sex in Sin City conference
I will post when I have exact panel details, but I will be speaking about erotica editing at this awesome Sex in Sin City conference in September. And it's my chance to revisit Vegas - I haven't been since 2002, well before I became a cupcake blogger, and Las Vegas is a big cupcake city.
Sex in Sin City
Las Vegas
The Erotic Authors Association’s Inaugural Conference
September 9-10, 2011
The Flamingo Hotel, Las Vegas, Nevada
Join authors, artists, publishers and fans for an amazing weekend of readings, panels and industry networking. The conference will be capped by a reception at the Flamingo’s Terrace Balcony. This is the first convention designed for readers, authors and those who enjoy the erotic side of life.
When: Sept. 9-10 2011, Flamingo Las Vegas
Registration: The cost will be $165 until August 1. After August 1 $185. No refunds 30 days before the event.
Rooms: $99 a night, double occupancy (room registration link coming soon!)
Flamingo Las Vegas
The Flamingo
September 8-10, 2011
3555 Las Vegas Blvd. South,
Las Vegas, NV 89109
888-902-9929
The Flamingo has graciously reserved a block of deluxe rooms at the price of $99.00 per night.
Sex in Sin City
Las Vegas
The Erotic Authors Association’s Inaugural Conference
September 9-10, 2011
The Flamingo Hotel, Las Vegas, Nevada
Join authors, artists, publishers and fans for an amazing weekend of readings, panels and industry networking. The conference will be capped by a reception at the Flamingo’s Terrace Balcony. This is the first convention designed for readers, authors and those who enjoy the erotic side of life.
When: Sept. 9-10 2011, Flamingo Las Vegas
Registration: The cost will be $165 until August 1. After August 1 $185. No refunds 30 days before the event.
Rooms: $99 a night, double occupancy (room registration link coming soon!)
Flamingo Las Vegas
The Flamingo
September 8-10, 2011
3555 Las Vegas Blvd. South,
Las Vegas, NV 89109
888-902-9929
The Flamingo has graciously reserved a block of deluxe rooms at the price of $99.00 per night.
Threesome erotica story "Anything for Her" in Anything for Her
My threesome story “Anything for Her” is in the Xcite Books e-book anthology called...Anything for Her. I think this will also be a print book, like Sex at Work, which arrived in the mail this week.
Anything for Her by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Emma is so hot for her girlfriend, Jenny, she'll do anything to please her, including inviting Jenny's new crush, Damon, into their bed. She doesn't think she's all that into men, but Damon soon wins her over and she winds up fully enjoying their triple play, getting stuffed with his cock with her beautiful babe by her side. Her initially selfless act turns out to be one that brings her the joy of watching them as Jenny fulfills her fantasy and being a very eager participant.
I've got a lot more stories coming out...not all are winners, but the point is, they're finished. I finished them, not got 90% of the way through and gave in to my inner voice telling me, "Everyone else's will be better than yours." I hear that way too much.
I’m trying not to be the slacker girl I once was…can’t make up for past sins, but I can push myself to keep on writing, even when I hate it, even when I think it sucks. My new motto is not just the perfect is the enemy of the good, but the perfect is the enemy of the mediocre. So far it’s working…I’m even producing some things that I really like. Fancy that!
Anything for Her by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Emma is so hot for her girlfriend, Jenny, she'll do anything to please her, including inviting Jenny's new crush, Damon, into their bed. She doesn't think she's all that into men, but Damon soon wins her over and she winds up fully enjoying their triple play, getting stuffed with his cock with her beautiful babe by her side. Her initially selfless act turns out to be one that brings her the joy of watching them as Jenny fulfills her fantasy and being a very eager participant.
I've got a lot more stories coming out...not all are winners, but the point is, they're finished. I finished them, not got 90% of the way through and gave in to my inner voice telling me, "Everyone else's will be better than yours." I hear that way too much.
I’m trying not to be the slacker girl I once was…can’t make up for past sins, but I can push myself to keep on writing, even when I hate it, even when I think it sucks. My new motto is not just the perfect is the enemy of the good, but the perfect is the enemy of the mediocre. So far it’s working…I’m even producing some things that I really like. Fancy that!
3 free erotica stories by me as featured author at ERWA
I'm the featured author for March at Erotica Readers & Writers Association, which is the #1 site I recommend to erotica writers. They have mailing lists, columns, articles, galleries where you can submit your work and, best of all, an extensive calls for submission section. Click on the titles below to read the stories in full, for free, at ERWA, and click on the book covers to be taken to each book's site or a blog post with table of contents, introduction and purchasing links (and in the case of Spanked, book trailer, my very first).
"Belted" from Surrender
"Chilly Girl" from Smooth
"The Depths of Despair" from Spanked
"Belted" from Surrender
"Chilly Girl" from Smooth
"The Depths of Despair" from Spanked
Interview with Lena Chen about my anthologies and feminism
I've been busy with multiple writing and editing projects, plus was hit by a whammy of a headache/illness this week, so haven't had much time to blog, but wanted to share this interview Lena Chen did with me about erotic writing and feminism. While I don't characterize my 35 erotica anthologies as "feminist" per se (I don't feel it's my place to one way or another), I do think I bring a feminist bent to the Best Sex Writing anthologies I've edited and...stay tuned next week for the announcement about Best Sex Writing 2012, with a fabulous guest judge and a very firm May 1st deadline.
I'll be very eager to read your nonfiction submissions. And in the meantime, I have an April 1st deadline for calls for my erotic romance, kinky couples and Best Bondage Erotica 2011 anthologies which are all wide open - I read submissions on an ongoing basis and so far have gotten very few submissions, so I highly encourage you to get yours in early and make them stand out! (Note: I consider all submissions received by the deadline, but since I consider stories as I go, the later stories are sent, the fewer spots that are open. I always welcome excellent writers though and have so many great stories in my upcoming books which I will be sharing closer to pub date - this summer/fall Obsessed and Women in Lust will be out!)
I'll be very eager to read your nonfiction submissions. And in the meantime, I have an April 1st deadline for calls for my erotic romance, kinky couples and Best Bondage Erotica 2011 anthologies which are all wide open - I read submissions on an ongoing basis and so far have gotten very few submissions, so I highly encourage you to get yours in early and make them stand out! (Note: I consider all submissions received by the deadline, but since I consider stories as I go, the later stories are sent, the fewer spots that are open. I always welcome excellent writers though and have so many great stories in my upcoming books which I will be sharing closer to pub date - this summer/fall Obsessed and Women in Lust will be out!)
How your bondage erotica gets made: Megan Butcher on "The Apiary" from Best Bondage Erotica 2011
I taught a few classes at Shag in Williamsburg, Brooklyn this year. I always hope my students will submit work to my anthologies, but sadly, it rarely happens. Megan Butcher was an exception, and I'm proud to include her story "The Apiary" in Best Bondage Erotica 2011 and to have had her read at In The Flesh. Because it wasn't financially feasible for me, right now I don't have any erotic writing classes planned, but if you'd like to host one, feel free to contact me at rachelkramerbussel at gmail.com - I am open to arranging these with my 2011 travel plans as well, which include London, Seattle, Denver, Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Madison (Wisconsin), Los Angeles and possibly other cities.
Here she is at Venus Envy:
The story had its genesis in a writing class I took with Rachel in Brooklyn last February. I walked in thinking that the class would be huge and I'd be able to lose myself a bit if I didn't want to stick out. It was in a nice little shop called SHAG. I walked down the steep and narrow stairs into a white-washed, low-ceilinged basement and saw 5 chairs ranged behind two perpendicular tables. Oh boy.
It was great, though it passed in a bit of a blur. Mostly I remember what I saw in my mind during the 5 minute writing exercises. It was during the first one, I believe, that we were to write something about a chair, and The Apiary was born.
Here she is at Venus Envy:
The story had its genesis in a writing class I took with Rachel in Brooklyn last February. I walked in thinking that the class would be huge and I'd be able to lose myself a bit if I didn't want to stick out. It was in a nice little shop called SHAG. I walked down the steep and narrow stairs into a white-washed, low-ceilinged basement and saw 5 chairs ranged behind two perpendicular tables. Oh boy.
It was great, though it passed in a bit of a blur. Mostly I remember what I saw in my mind during the 5 minute writing exercises. It was during the first one, I believe, that we were to write something about a chair, and The Apiary was born.
Go Team Cupcake, and Team Cleis (Press)
Because I got this card in the mail today (I turn 35 on Wednesday - yes, I'm a Scorpio!) from the whipsmart, amazing women of Cleis Press, and because I deal with them on a weekly if not daily basis, and am so honored to have Best Bondage Erotica 2011 coming out for my birthday and so many 2011 and 2012 anthologies in the works, I just wanted to say how proud I am and have been to work with Cleis Press for the last decade. They published my very first story, “Monica and Me,” in Best Lesbian Erotica 2001, edited by Tristan Taormino, just about ten years ago. I will never forget standing in the Chelsea Barnes & Noble with tears in my eyes seeing that beautiful byline.
I edit for them, and I also try my hardest to submit to as many of their anthologies as I can. Those calls challenge and push me as a writer to not be complacent. I have published probably over 100 erotica stories, I don’t know exactly, but the ones that I love, the ones that make my senses come alive, that preoccupy me, are the ones that make me feel the need to go deeper, to tell more than just a sex story. I consider them my publishing family, and this is not at all to knock other publishers I work with, who I’m of course a fan of as well, but to say that they have been there for me and with me and encouraged me and watched me grow as a writer and editor. I have learned a ton and I look forward to many more collaborations as we put out more kinky erotica and erotic romance and short shorts and who knows what else.
I love the way their books look and feel, the covers they get and the ritual of their annual anthologies. I love that I’ve befriended so many wonderful writers and editors through our mutual work with Cleis. I love working for a feminist, independent publisher whose offices are now in the town where I went to college (Berkeley, California). Go Team Cupcake, and Team Cleis, of which I am truly honored to be a part.
Part of why I love working with them is that I believe in the work they do, and have learned so much from their books (and been entertained and aroused), but they are also amazing people. This isn't just me telling you to buy their books, but me thanking the women who put so much time and energy into those books and the vision they had for their press in 1980. I'm so proud to be part of your world and have you be on my team and believe in me and collaborate with me. Anthologies are pure collaboration, between editor and publisher, and editor and authors (and, later, between authors, editors and readers), and that suits me very well. I enjoy the process of creating something from nothing, where not all the pressure is on me. I enjoy creating books where the whole is so much greater than the sum of its parts. I enjoy seeing what happens when we go from a call for submissions to a fleshed-out, varied, sexy book.
To read more about their history, click here. A huge thank you to Frédérique Delacoste, Brenda Knight, Felice Newman, Kat Sanborn and Kara Wuest. You rock!
Violet Blue calls my "Espionage" "one of the most powerful stories I've ever read
Two very cool bits of news. First, editor Violet Blue has this to say about my second person story "Espionage" that she included in Best Women's Erotica 2011 (Cleis Press):
Not only famous in erotic writing, Rachel Kramer Bussel is an online media sensation. In one of the most powerful stories I’ve ever read, “Espionage” seems to pull from a very deep place to create a story I’ve returned to more than once. Here, we are the girl at the party who’s been having a torrid affair with the man of the house, seeing his wife for the first time as guests float in and out and finally mustering up the force to do something that dares him to be ours, even if just for that one intense moment that rips our fishnets.
Second is that I don't have my author copies yet, but I read that for free with my free sample I downloaded from the Kindle edition. Many Cleis Press anthologies, including my Peep Show, Bottoms Up, Fast Girls, Orgasmic, Smooth, Passion, Please, Sir, Please, Ma'am and Spanked (probably others too) now allow you to preview the book, reading the introdution and one story, sometimes part of a second. So check it out and read her sexy, ice cream-meltingly sweet and dripping and luscious introduction.
You can also order the paperback from Amazon or directly from Cleis Press.
Here's the start of my story "Espionage:"
You tuck your new pink and black coat, the one purchased earlier in the day just for this special evening, around your body, pull it tight like it’s cold out, except you’re indoors and the fire is roaring. You are cold, but it’s the kind of cold that can’t be heated by rubbing two sticks together or turning up the thermostat, the kind of cold that can only be vanquished once your heart catches up. Your heart is cautiously icy, watching and waiting; it isn’t safe to let it melt just yet.
Instead, you look—you could say spy, except you have an invitation, an elaborate listing of reasons this will be the party to end all parties, delivered right to your inbox. You’ve been promised bubble baths, servants, champagne, s’mores, drugs, debauchery. Those things intrigue you, sure, since you’re used to zoning out in front of the tv, quiet dinner parties, wholesome events like comedy shows and trivia nights, but you’d have shown up for gin rummy if it were held right here, in these rooms that hold a life that will never be yours, a life you’ve been given glimpses of but never truly peeked inside. Even better than any promise of party pampering, you’ve been granted access to this sacred space, this love shack you’ve up til now only imagined vividly. This is your chance to enter the inner sanctum, and you cling to it in the same way you hold your coat, and your heart—close. Still, despite the tacit permission, you feel like a spy, an Anaïs Nin emissary, as you walk through the rooms that make up their home, their urban house of love and lust and lasciviousness, a house you will never inhabit no matter how many times you fuck the master of it.
And while I don't necessarily "set out" to write bisexual protagonists, bisexuality weaves its way into many of my stories. In part, it's because I'm bi, and in part, it's because in erotica it adds all sorts of nuances and intrigues—you can definitely have those without it, but I like mixing things up.
You feel his eyes follow you around the room, feel his palms sweat as you tilt your head back and let the journalist whose byline you’ve read countless times tilt your head against her breast and slide her red lipstick over your lips, painting them as if she were making love to you. In a way, maybe she is, her fingers crushing your jaw, the not-quite-liquid, not-quite-solid of the waxy ruby pressing hard against your hips, hard the way he used to crush them, hard the way you like it.
She laughs an almost evil laugh that makes you wonder what else she could do with the lipstick, and feel a frisson of static pass from her small, bony hands into your cheeks when she pinches them, inspecting her work. You wonder, of course, if he’s fucked her, even though it shouldn’t really matter. Lots of things that shouldn’t matter take up space in your mind, fragments of jealousy on permanent repeat. You pucker up just to give your lips something to do, someone to make contact with who is not him. Her tongue traces the red, teases, darts but doesn’t claim you as her wicked laugh did. You let her know, with your lips, that she could have you, but she simply pulls back and smiles, her nails digging into your upper arm. Suddenly you want to pull her bleached blonde hair, tug hard until she can’t even make a sound, the feral domme inside of you wicking at your insides, aching to be let out for a moment. Instead you just smile wide and she slinks away to find another victim.
After, you think the lipstick will be smeared—that’s only right, isn’t it, after someone’s just fucked you with a tube from Mac?—but instead, it’s perfect. Redder than red, redder than you’d ever dare in your daily life. Fancy that. They should put that in an ad campaign. You go back to your spying-cum-ogling, your lips now signaling that you are the hussy you know yourself to be, the other woman come seeking vengeance, seeking something you will never have because it belongs to someone else.
Read the whole story in Best Women's Erotica 2011.
Not only famous in erotic writing, Rachel Kramer Bussel is an online media sensation. In one of the most powerful stories I’ve ever read, “Espionage” seems to pull from a very deep place to create a story I’ve returned to more than once. Here, we are the girl at the party who’s been having a torrid affair with the man of the house, seeing his wife for the first time as guests float in and out and finally mustering up the force to do something that dares him to be ours, even if just for that one intense moment that rips our fishnets.
Second is that I don't have my author copies yet, but I read that for free with my free sample I downloaded from the Kindle edition. Many Cleis Press anthologies, including my Peep Show, Bottoms Up, Fast Girls, Orgasmic, Smooth, Passion, Please, Sir, Please, Ma'am and Spanked (probably others too) now allow you to preview the book, reading the introdution and one story, sometimes part of a second. So check it out and read her sexy, ice cream-meltingly sweet and dripping and luscious introduction.
You can also order the paperback from Amazon or directly from Cleis Press.
Here's the start of my story "Espionage:"
You tuck your new pink and black coat, the one purchased earlier in the day just for this special evening, around your body, pull it tight like it’s cold out, except you’re indoors and the fire is roaring. You are cold, but it’s the kind of cold that can’t be heated by rubbing two sticks together or turning up the thermostat, the kind of cold that can only be vanquished once your heart catches up. Your heart is cautiously icy, watching and waiting; it isn’t safe to let it melt just yet.
Instead, you look—you could say spy, except you have an invitation, an elaborate listing of reasons this will be the party to end all parties, delivered right to your inbox. You’ve been promised bubble baths, servants, champagne, s’mores, drugs, debauchery. Those things intrigue you, sure, since you’re used to zoning out in front of the tv, quiet dinner parties, wholesome events like comedy shows and trivia nights, but you’d have shown up for gin rummy if it were held right here, in these rooms that hold a life that will never be yours, a life you’ve been given glimpses of but never truly peeked inside. Even better than any promise of party pampering, you’ve been granted access to this sacred space, this love shack you’ve up til now only imagined vividly. This is your chance to enter the inner sanctum, and you cling to it in the same way you hold your coat, and your heart—close. Still, despite the tacit permission, you feel like a spy, an Anaïs Nin emissary, as you walk through the rooms that make up their home, their urban house of love and lust and lasciviousness, a house you will never inhabit no matter how many times you fuck the master of it.
And while I don't necessarily "set out" to write bisexual protagonists, bisexuality weaves its way into many of my stories. In part, it's because I'm bi, and in part, it's because in erotica it adds all sorts of nuances and intrigues—you can definitely have those without it, but I like mixing things up.
You feel his eyes follow you around the room, feel his palms sweat as you tilt your head back and let the journalist whose byline you’ve read countless times tilt your head against her breast and slide her red lipstick over your lips, painting them as if she were making love to you. In a way, maybe she is, her fingers crushing your jaw, the not-quite-liquid, not-quite-solid of the waxy ruby pressing hard against your hips, hard the way he used to crush them, hard the way you like it.
She laughs an almost evil laugh that makes you wonder what else she could do with the lipstick, and feel a frisson of static pass from her small, bony hands into your cheeks when she pinches them, inspecting her work. You wonder, of course, if he’s fucked her, even though it shouldn’t really matter. Lots of things that shouldn’t matter take up space in your mind, fragments of jealousy on permanent repeat. You pucker up just to give your lips something to do, someone to make contact with who is not him. Her tongue traces the red, teases, darts but doesn’t claim you as her wicked laugh did. You let her know, with your lips, that she could have you, but she simply pulls back and smiles, her nails digging into your upper arm. Suddenly you want to pull her bleached blonde hair, tug hard until she can’t even make a sound, the feral domme inside of you wicking at your insides, aching to be let out for a moment. Instead you just smile wide and she slinks away to find another victim.
After, you think the lipstick will be smeared—that’s only right, isn’t it, after someone’s just fucked you with a tube from Mac?—but instead, it’s perfect. Redder than red, redder than you’d ever dare in your daily life. Fancy that. They should put that in an ad campaign. You go back to your spying-cum-ogling, your lips now signaling that you are the hussy you know yourself to be, the other woman come seeking vengeance, seeking something you will never have because it belongs to someone else.
Read the whole story in Best Women's Erotica 2011.
