Showing posts with label Violet Blue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Violet Blue. Show all posts
Sexy book covers with my stories: One Night Only and Best Lesbian Romance 2012
Will share more when the pub dates are closer but I’m excited that my story “Rock Star Rewards” will be published in Violet Blue’s anthology One Night Only: Erotic Encounters (a post-concert female domination story) and the lesbian French fry in Paris story I’d blogged about, “French Fried,” will be in Radclyffe’s Best Lesbian Romance 2012. Just saw the covers on Amazon and wow wow wow! I was in a little writing...I don't know what to call it, but it was not good, for a while, but am finally getting my nonfiction and fiction mind back and I hope there will be more news to share soon. In both areas I'm trying to push myself to be rigorous and fearless and use everything at my disposal, especially when I think, "I can't." I think that all the time and the only thing standing in my way is that very thought.
Bisexual guy + voyeur girlfriend in "The Female Gaze" in Sweet Confessions
Lately I've had some kind of issue with writing. I miss it, I think about it a lot, I come up with scenarios and titles, I start stories and essays and pitches but...I don't seem to quite finish them. Maybe I start too many, or maybe I sleep too late, or maybe I just need a vacation. It sucks, though, because I know those ideas could've been worthy and would've had a good chance of being accepted. I do have a few stories pending that my fingers are (virtually) crossed on, but I don't want to keep making that mistake over and over. It does mean that the stories I have sold, I'm extra proud of. One is "The Female Gaze," which will be in Violet Blue's July 1st Cleis Press anthology Sweet Confessions: Erotic Fantasies for Couples.
Below is all the sneak peek you're gonna get...you should pre-order the book so you can read the whole thing! The title was inspired by the seemingly umpteen times I had to read people like Laura Mulvey and John Berger and Michel Foucault in my women's studies classes at UC Berkeley. My politics were very different but one thing I think I can safely say remains the same is that I'm not an academic and never will be. The male gaze is an interesting concept but I think when it comes to erotica and sexuality so many of these topics can be played with, fucked with, if you will. No offense if you dig those writers; my point was my title played on that, and also the idea that "men are more visual than women," which I think is such a broad stereotype as to be useless. I'm totally a voyeur, much, much more so than I am an exhibitionist. I also kindof wanted to turn the straight guy + bisexual women trope on its head a bit. And I did (well, you can be the judge).
The Female Gaze
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Ever since they’d started dating three years before, Alex had been telling Rory about the boys who hit on him--the men, the bears, the daddies, the ones who looked like they were barely legal, the silver foxes, the shy boys who found in him a kinship, or just a look, a lust, an impulse. “The bartender comped my drink, then slipped me his number. Do I have to put on a wedding band before they get the picture?” he’d ask, chuckling as he kissed her lightly.
She ran her hands through his thick black hair before telling him that a wedding ring had never been a deterrent to men hooking up with other men. Maybe she should have been bothered by people checking out her man, the one who’d once been a model and graced ads for Calvin Klein underwear and Brooks Brothers before deciding that he really preferred environmental law. But she didn’t mind, not really, and certainly didn’t begrudge these men their hungry stares, their heartfelt offers. The women she could do without, the ones who blatantly clocked her man while they walked down the street, the ones who she could tell would him into the bathroom for a quickie if they thought they could get away with it. Rory wasn’t sure why, exactly, the former amused her and the latter annoyed her, but there it was. Actually, it was more than that; the thought of these men kissing her boyfriend, running their hands all over his firm, muscular body, swallowing his cock, plundering his bottom as she’d only fantasized about doing, well, it turned her on.
She couldn’t help but wonder if they saw in Alex the same things she did. Was that possible? Were they clairvoyant--or just horny? Was he just another pretty face or did they want him to speak to them in that booming, low voice? Did they want him to order them around, like she did? “Touch yourself for me. Show me how wet you are. Fuck yourself with the vibrator I got you.” Would Alex be a top or a bottom in bed with a man? The more these men propositioned him, the more Rory found these naughty images creeping into her mind when she was alone, when she let her fingers wander between her lips and her mind go free.
Below is all the sneak peek you're gonna get...you should pre-order the book so you can read the whole thing! The title was inspired by the seemingly umpteen times I had to read people like Laura Mulvey and John Berger and Michel Foucault in my women's studies classes at UC Berkeley. My politics were very different but one thing I think I can safely say remains the same is that I'm not an academic and never will be. The male gaze is an interesting concept but I think when it comes to erotica and sexuality so many of these topics can be played with, fucked with, if you will. No offense if you dig those writers; my point was my title played on that, and also the idea that "men are more visual than women," which I think is such a broad stereotype as to be useless. I'm totally a voyeur, much, much more so than I am an exhibitionist. I also kindof wanted to turn the straight guy + bisexual women trope on its head a bit. And I did (well, you can be the judge).
The Female Gaze
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Ever since they’d started dating three years before, Alex had been telling Rory about the boys who hit on him--the men, the bears, the daddies, the ones who looked like they were barely legal, the silver foxes, the shy boys who found in him a kinship, or just a look, a lust, an impulse. “The bartender comped my drink, then slipped me his number. Do I have to put on a wedding band before they get the picture?” he’d ask, chuckling as he kissed her lightly.
She ran her hands through his thick black hair before telling him that a wedding ring had never been a deterrent to men hooking up with other men. Maybe she should have been bothered by people checking out her man, the one who’d once been a model and graced ads for Calvin Klein underwear and Brooks Brothers before deciding that he really preferred environmental law. But she didn’t mind, not really, and certainly didn’t begrudge these men their hungry stares, their heartfelt offers. The women she could do without, the ones who blatantly clocked her man while they walked down the street, the ones who she could tell would him into the bathroom for a quickie if they thought they could get away with it. Rory wasn’t sure why, exactly, the former amused her and the latter annoyed her, but there it was. Actually, it was more than that; the thought of these men kissing her boyfriend, running their hands all over his firm, muscular body, swallowing his cock, plundering his bottom as she’d only fantasized about doing, well, it turned her on.
She couldn’t help but wonder if they saw in Alex the same things she did. Was that possible? Were they clairvoyant--or just horny? Was he just another pretty face or did they want him to speak to them in that booming, low voice? Did they want him to order them around, like she did? “Touch yourself for me. Show me how wet you are. Fuck yourself with the vibrator I got you.” Would Alex be a top or a bottom in bed with a man? The more these men propositioned him, the more Rory found these naughty images creeping into her mind when she was alone, when she let her fingers wander between her lips and her mind go free.
Last night at Booksmith, in photos
I have to run a few errands, like buying a case for my pretty new laptop (though I must admit, Tantek showed up and pulled out his 11-inch MacBook Air last night and it was so light, I wondered if that would't have been the better option), then catch a plane to Los Angeles - I'm on the Dr. Susan Block Show tonight, and I want to get me and all my huge amount of belongings settled into my hotel and just write. No dates, no ice skating, no phone calls, at least, for one day. I've been running around nonstop and have been feeling physically off. I Tweeted that the reading would be a success if I didn't cry. I didn't, at least, not on the outside, not there. At Booksmith I was proud of myself for reading that totally fraught story and so happy to hear my fellow authors. The after where I was a little sad, where I could recall exact phone calls made from exact streets, plans and dreams and fantasies, that was, well, after. That's another story for another time, but I was happy to remember some of the good parts, the ones that make anything not-so-good worth it.
photo of me before the reading by Violet Blue via Flickr - to be totally vain for a moment, I love this photo!
I will write more about how Booksmith is the best place ever to do readings; if you want to watch last night's, Click here. Thanks to everyone who showed up, to the guy who had me sign his birthday card with my lips, to the Sarge and Reputation and Wild Flag fan, to all my friends and to the Booksmith staff, who not only hosted a wonderful evening but really know their books. Thank you to Violet Blue, Susie Hara, Dusty Horn and Donna George Storey, who all breathed life into their stories that, much as I love the written word, it just doesn't have in the same way on the page. Dusty sold sexy calendars to benefit Lyon Martin Health Services (see photo below and, incidentally, I'll spank you anytime!). One of the highlights for me was chatting afterward with them about all manner of books.
Donna George Storey, Susie Hara, me, Dusty Horn, Violet Blue
Thanks, Josh, I hope you had a fabulous birthday! You were very cute - I kindof wanted to pinch your cheeks and make out with you, but in a friendly way. I was happy to sign your card with my eyeliner (before I was given a lovely purple pen) and lipstick.
Pin Up calendar as sold by the sexy Dusty Horn
I bought these at Booksmith (and they gave me the tote bag for free, which I will wear proudly). Looking forward to reading The People Who Watched Her Pass By by Scott Bradfield, Alice I Have Been by Melanie Benjamin and Stuff: Compuslive Hoarding and the Meaning of Things by Randy O. Frost and Gail Streketee.
And welcome to my hotel life world (which, I will say, has been greatly improved by the use of Skype):
Since editing Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories, I always take these. I've liked the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, but think they don't need to make the staff where crazy uniforms. I booked this via Quikbook for $93/night!
I kicked these off my bed getting comfortable. Oops!
Thank you especially Booksmith, everyone at Cleis Press, especially Kat for driving me to Emeryville, and Violet Blue, for whom I promise to return for a proper vacation and longer stay and mayhem and fun!
photo of me before the reading by Violet Blue via Flickr - to be totally vain for a moment, I love this photo!
I will write more about how Booksmith is the best place ever to do readings; if you want to watch last night's, Click here. Thanks to everyone who showed up, to the guy who had me sign his birthday card with my lips, to the Sarge and Reputation and Wild Flag fan, to all my friends and to the Booksmith staff, who not only hosted a wonderful evening but really know their books. Thank you to Violet Blue, Susie Hara, Dusty Horn and Donna George Storey, who all breathed life into their stories that, much as I love the written word, it just doesn't have in the same way on the page. Dusty sold sexy calendars to benefit Lyon Martin Health Services (see photo below and, incidentally, I'll spank you anytime!). One of the highlights for me was chatting afterward with them about all manner of books.
Donna George Storey, Susie Hara, me, Dusty Horn, Violet Blue
Thanks, Josh, I hope you had a fabulous birthday! You were very cute - I kindof wanted to pinch your cheeks and make out with you, but in a friendly way. I was happy to sign your card with my eyeliner (before I was given a lovely purple pen) and lipstick.
Pin Up calendar as sold by the sexy Dusty Horn
I bought these at Booksmith (and they gave me the tote bag for free, which I will wear proudly). Looking forward to reading The People Who Watched Her Pass By by Scott Bradfield, Alice I Have Been by Melanie Benjamin and Stuff: Compuslive Hoarding and the Meaning of Things by Randy O. Frost and Gail Streketee.
And welcome to my hotel life world (which, I will say, has been greatly improved by the use of Skype):
Since editing Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories, I always take these. I've liked the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, but think they don't need to make the staff where crazy uniforms. I booked this via Quikbook for $93/night!
I kicked these off my bed getting comfortable. Oops!
Thank you especially Booksmith, everyone at Cleis Press, especially Kat for driving me to Emeryville, and Violet Blue, for whom I promise to return for a proper vacation and longer stay and mayhem and fun!
West Coast book tour is this week: Berkeley, San Francisco, Los Angeles! All free, all with free cupcakes, and hot, hot stories.
I'll be doing a separate post about my 3 New York City events in February, but as a reminder, unless I'm already traveling or have a special occasion like a panel, this is my last year of doing a bazillion outside readings. I just can't pretend like I can afford them or that I'm rich, and it doesn't make financial sense to be running all over the country when I could be working smarter, better and trying to sell more books. So my point is: come see me in Berkeley, San Francisco and Los Angeles now! I'm hoping to get to a few other cities like Denver, Minneapolis and Milwaukee in 2011 as well, fingers crossed.
A reminder with Facebook links - I'd really love it if you'd spread the word. All these events are free, it's a chance to get the just-released Gotta Have It signed by me and contributors (Denise Hoffner, who wrote census taker erotica story "Concensus" in Gotta Have It, has been added to Thursday's Berkeley Good Vibrations reading) and I'm getting fabulous, unique cupcakes, different ones from different local bakers, for each event.
Saturday night I will also make my third appearance on The Dr. Susan Block Show - listen online! Saturday night, January 29th, 10:30 pm to midnight, PST, I'll be on with Shameless author Pamela Madsen - my interview with her will be up soon at SexIs Magazine.
January 27, 6:30-8 pm
READING AND EROTICA ADVICE WITH DONNA GEORGE STOREY
Join me and prolific local erotica writer Donna George Storey (author, Amorous Woman, contributor, Orgasmic, Gotta Have It) and Gotta Have It contributor Denise Hoffner as we read some of our favorite erotica and share erotic writing advice. Free!
Good Vibrations, 2504 San Pablo Avenue (at Dwight Way), Berkeley, CA
510-841-8987
Facebook invite (no need to RSVP though, but if you want to pass it on to friends)
January 28, 7:30 pm
READING WITH VIOLET BLUE AT BOOKSMITH
Me and superstar author and editor Violet Blue read along with Orgasmic contributors Susie Hara, Dusty Horn and Donna George Storey!
Free cupcakes!
Booksmith, 1644 Haight Street, San Francisco, CA
415-863-8688
Facebook invite (no need to RSVP though, but if you want to pass it on to friends)
February 1, 7 pm
COCO DE MER READING
Join me along with Eden Bradley (The Lovers), Pamela Madsen (Shameless) and Oriana Small, aka Ashley Blue (Girlvert) for a night of hot readings and free champagne and cupcakes in this beautiful setting!
At Coco de Mer, 8618 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA
310-652-0311
Facebook invite (no need to RSVP though, but if you want to pass it on to friends)
A reminder with Facebook links - I'd really love it if you'd spread the word. All these events are free, it's a chance to get the just-released Gotta Have It signed by me and contributors (Denise Hoffner, who wrote census taker erotica story "Concensus" in Gotta Have It, has been added to Thursday's Berkeley Good Vibrations reading) and I'm getting fabulous, unique cupcakes, different ones from different local bakers, for each event.
Saturday night I will also make my third appearance on The Dr. Susan Block Show - listen online! Saturday night, January 29th, 10:30 pm to midnight, PST, I'll be on with Shameless author Pamela Madsen - my interview with her will be up soon at SexIs Magazine.
January 27, 6:30-8 pm
READING AND EROTICA ADVICE WITH DONNA GEORGE STOREY
Join me and prolific local erotica writer Donna George Storey (author, Amorous Woman, contributor, Orgasmic, Gotta Have It) and Gotta Have It contributor Denise Hoffner as we read some of our favorite erotica and share erotic writing advice. Free!
Good Vibrations, 2504 San Pablo Avenue (at Dwight Way), Berkeley, CA
510-841-8987
Facebook invite (no need to RSVP though, but if you want to pass it on to friends)
January 28, 7:30 pm
READING WITH VIOLET BLUE AT BOOKSMITH
Me and superstar author and editor Violet Blue read along with Orgasmic contributors Susie Hara, Dusty Horn and Donna George Storey!
Free cupcakes!
Booksmith, 1644 Haight Street, San Francisco, CA
415-863-8688
Facebook invite (no need to RSVP though, but if you want to pass it on to friends)
February 1, 7 pm
COCO DE MER READING
Join me along with Eden Bradley (The Lovers), Pamela Madsen (Shameless) and Oriana Small, aka Ashley Blue (Girlvert) for a night of hot readings and free champagne and cupcakes in this beautiful setting!
At Coco de Mer, 8618 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA
310-652-0311
Facebook invite (no need to RSVP though, but if you want to pass it on to friends)
West Coast tour starts in 2 weeks
It's a mini tour, but since I'm flying across the country for it, I'm calling it a tour! After that I'm working to make events happen in other cities too. I'm itching to go back to Denver and Minneapolis and read at The Smitten Kitten and I'll be in Seattle in June and some other events are maybe in the works. I'll keep you posted!
January 27, 6:30-8 pm
READING AND EROTICA ADVICE WITH DONNA GEORGE STOREY
Join me and Orgasmic contributor Donna George Storey as we read some of our favorite erotica and share erotic writing advice. Free!
Good Vibrations, 2504 San Pablo Avenue (at Dwight Way), Berkeley, CA
510-841-8987
January 28, 7:30 pm
READING WITH VIOLET BLUE AT BOOKSMITH
Me and superstar author and editor Violet Blue read along with Orgasmic contributors Susie Hara, Dusty Horn and Donna George Storey!
Free cupcakes!
Booksmith, 1644 Haight Street, San Francisco, CA
415-863-8688
February 1, 7 pm
COCO DE MER READING
Join me along with Eden Bradley (The Lovers), Pamela Madsen (Shameless) and Oriana Small, aka Ashley Blue (Girlvert) for a night of hot readings and free champagne and cupcakes in this beautiful setting!
At Coco de Mer, 8618 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA
310 652 0311
January 27, 6:30-8 pm
READING AND EROTICA ADVICE WITH DONNA GEORGE STOREY
Join me and Orgasmic contributor Donna George Storey as we read some of our favorite erotica and share erotic writing advice. Free!
Good Vibrations, 2504 San Pablo Avenue (at Dwight Way), Berkeley, CA
510-841-8987
January 28, 7:30 pm
READING WITH VIOLET BLUE AT BOOKSMITH
Me and superstar author and editor Violet Blue read along with Orgasmic contributors Susie Hara, Dusty Horn and Donna George Storey!
Free cupcakes!
Booksmith, 1644 Haight Street, San Francisco, CA
415-863-8688
February 1, 7 pm
COCO DE MER READING
Join me along with Eden Bradley (The Lovers), Pamela Madsen (Shameless) and Oriana Small, aka Ashley Blue (Girlvert) for a night of hot readings and free champagne and cupcakes in this beautiful setting!
At Coco de Mer, 8618 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA
310 652 0311
Dusty Horn reading her lesbian erotica story "Share" from Orgasmic
Please join us, and tell your San Francisco/Bay Area friends, to join us on January 28th; here's the official Facebook invite if you want to let people know about it, but you don't need to RSVP. You'll be among the first to get your hands on Violet Blue's new book Total Flirt and copies of Gotta Have It: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex, with stories by me and Donna George Storey, will also be for sale! And free cupcakes, including vegan ones! Below is Dusty reading from her story "Share" from Orgasmic at Orgasm Night at In The Flesh. She also has a very hot story called "Subdue" in Best Bondage Erotica 2011 that I'm sure she'll sign at Booksmith too!
Free cupcakes at San Francisco reading with Violet Blue January 28th at Booksmith
To those who were at our last fabulous reading, it was packed, and we signed lots of books and gave out lots of cupcakes. I hope to do so again so pretty please, tell your SF friends about this one. I'll be reading "Espionage" from Best Women's Erotica 2011 (and it'll soon be available for your listening pleasure). Plus I get to host Dusty Horn (who Violet introduced me to at Litquake in 2009!), Susie Hara and Donna George Storey, both of whom I met via working with Susie Bright. See you at Booksmith! (And Donna George Storey and I also read the night before, January 27th, at Good Vibrations in Berkeley.)
I didn't title it "Fisting: A Love Story" but I could have
From my story "Espionage" in Best Women's Erotica 2011 by Violet Blue. I used all sorts of devices I don't normally - second person, a tense I'm not even sure what it's called ("In a few minutes, you will emerge..."). It's dark yet it's a love story, for sure. When I'm feeling down about how my writing isn't going as planned, sometimes I pick up this story and reread it. I'm making my way through the whole book, too. It's a keeper, and a great holiday gift for that special someone. Kindof funny because the one I wrote for Obsessed (my 2011 erotic romance anthology) is not this intense at all. It's more lighthearted, fun, but the love is there too. It takes all kinds, I guess, to quote an Aimee Mann song.
You are ready, so, so ready, and you take them in greedily, followed by four. His other hand finds places to pinch you—inner thigh, belly—as you open for him, spreading your legs as far as you can, willing yourself to relax. You—the part of you that makes these decisions—want this, want this final time, this heat, this heaviness, but your body is more cautious, closing around his fingers as the thumb attempts entry. Your body, your cunt, knows he is almost too large to fit inside but you have overruled your body before, turning pain into the most dazzling of erotic highs. This is not like the times he’s held you down and shoved his cock inside you, shocked you with the bluntness of it, making you play catchup. He can’t hurry this along. Instead he rotates his fingers and adds more lube and you grunt and bite your lip and feel him get a little further inside.
He goes in, and in, and in, thumb curled up and then there it is, the ball of his hand, this giant inside you. You’ve heard that the human heart is actually the size of a hand, and wonder if, right now, he is giving you a part of his heart, a part that is only for you, a part you can treasure as you feel its outline pressing the tender, thin walls of your pussy wider and wider. The tears come—of fear, relief, pleasure, love—all at once, and you are grateful for the dark. He can hear them, that’s fine, but seeing them is another story. Seeing them is a little too close for comfort. You lie there on the floor of the closet, stealing more than your seven minutes in a kinky kind of heaven, as his massive heart of a hand reels you in and lets you go. His other hand finds your clit, so hard and aching it could be a cock, and you think you’ll hurt him when you come like that, squeezing so tight, the energy rushing all around, making your fingers tingle and your head so light it could float away. You see stars behind your eyes and have to drop your legs to the ground. His hand makes love to you, makes love appear inside of you even as you know this has to be the end. You want all of him, all the potential he has to love someone, and this is just a teaser.
“I’m going to pull out,” he says after what could be three minutes, or thirty. You want to protest, because once he’s gone, the emptiness will be so huge you know that sex will never be enough to fill it. You reach for his wrist and he lets you take it, lets you half sit up and keep him there. There’s a stillness to this all, a calm, Zenlike focus combined with the way it makes your pussy take over everything. You can feel him shaking, are sure he is sweating, and you take your fill of him, then lie back and let him leave. The silence is not deafening, but awe-inspiring. You break it by leaning against his chest, listening to his heart beat. You manage to block out all the noise outside the closet.
You are ready, so, so ready, and you take them in greedily, followed by four. His other hand finds places to pinch you—inner thigh, belly—as you open for him, spreading your legs as far as you can, willing yourself to relax. You—the part of you that makes these decisions—want this, want this final time, this heat, this heaviness, but your body is more cautious, closing around his fingers as the thumb attempts entry. Your body, your cunt, knows he is almost too large to fit inside but you have overruled your body before, turning pain into the most dazzling of erotic highs. This is not like the times he’s held you down and shoved his cock inside you, shocked you with the bluntness of it, making you play catchup. He can’t hurry this along. Instead he rotates his fingers and adds more lube and you grunt and bite your lip and feel him get a little further inside.
He goes in, and in, and in, thumb curled up and then there it is, the ball of his hand, this giant inside you. You’ve heard that the human heart is actually the size of a hand, and wonder if, right now, he is giving you a part of his heart, a part that is only for you, a part you can treasure as you feel its outline pressing the tender, thin walls of your pussy wider and wider. The tears come—of fear, relief, pleasure, love—all at once, and you are grateful for the dark. He can hear them, that’s fine, but seeing them is another story. Seeing them is a little too close for comfort. You lie there on the floor of the closet, stealing more than your seven minutes in a kinky kind of heaven, as his massive heart of a hand reels you in and lets you go. His other hand finds your clit, so hard and aching it could be a cock, and you think you’ll hurt him when you come like that, squeezing so tight, the energy rushing all around, making your fingers tingle and your head so light it could float away. You see stars behind your eyes and have to drop your legs to the ground. His hand makes love to you, makes love appear inside of you even as you know this has to be the end. You want all of him, all the potential he has to love someone, and this is just a teaser.
“I’m going to pull out,” he says after what could be three minutes, or thirty. You want to protest, because once he’s gone, the emptiness will be so huge you know that sex will never be enough to fill it. You reach for his wrist and he lets you take it, lets you half sit up and keep him there. There’s a stillness to this all, a calm, Zenlike focus combined with the way it makes your pussy take over everything. You can feel him shaking, are sure he is sweating, and you take your fill of him, then lie back and let him leave. The silence is not deafening, but awe-inspiring. You break it by leaning against his chest, listening to his heart beat. You manage to block out all the noise outside the closet.
Autographed books at Barnes & Noble Greenwich Village
I moved to Mercer and West Third Street in Greenwich Village way back in August of 1996 when I first moved to NYC to go to NYU Law School (long story short, I didn't finish law school). I used to shop and stroll all over the area and one of those places I prowled was the Barnes & Noble at the corner of 6th Avenue and 8th Street.
I walked in on Saturday and saw this in their Fiction Anthologies section:
I then browsed and bought Passions of a Wicked Earl by Lorraine Heath, a historical romance, and said I was an author and asked to sign some books. They then gave me a pen and I signed all their stock, which was quite extensive. So if you're in NYC, check them out for signed books (and I'll post here if I sign other places), including the ones you see above and Please, Ma'am and I think a few others.
Not in NYC and want a signed book? If you're in the US, you can Paypal me at rachelkb at gmail.com $14 and I'll send you any of my Cleis Press books signed to whoever you'd like. If there's another book you ant, email me at that address and ask me if I have any spare copies, and if I do, I'd be happy to autograph them.
Speaking of books, check out Violet Blue's Top Hot Sex Books for Gifting, Coveting - I've read most of them, and those I haven't, I want to, and Passion and Best Bondage Erotica 2011 are on there!
I walked in on Saturday and saw this in their Fiction Anthologies section:
I then browsed and bought Passions of a Wicked Earl by Lorraine Heath, a historical romance, and said I was an author and asked to sign some books. They then gave me a pen and I signed all their stock, which was quite extensive. So if you're in NYC, check them out for signed books (and I'll post here if I sign other places), including the ones you see above and Please, Ma'am and I think a few others.
Not in NYC and want a signed book? If you're in the US, you can Paypal me at rachelkb at gmail.com $14 and I'll send you any of my Cleis Press books signed to whoever you'd like. If there's another book you ant, email me at that address and ask me if I have any spare copies, and if I do, I'd be happy to autograph them.
Speaking of books, check out Violet Blue's Top Hot Sex Books for Gifting, Coveting - I've read most of them, and those I haven't, I want to, and Passion and Best Bondage Erotica 2011 are on there!
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.
My story "Espionage" in Best Women's Erotica 2011
I told you about this when I first made the sale, but I'm thrilled that this book is out, and incredibly honored to be in it, especially because I pushed myself with this story, in a lot of ways. It's erotic but also more than that, I hope. Thank you to editor Violet Blue for including me in what I'm sure is a sexually sizzling collection (I don't have my copies yet but can't wait to read it). You can buy it now from Amazon or your local bookstore (click to find one). The Kindle edition will be on sale November 1st.
From the Cleis Press site:
"Suddenly this year, every single story is layered top to toe with explicit sex—hard and wet and mean and sweet, flowing with love and fused with characters who finally feel like us, with no apologies..." —from the Introduction
In Best Women's Erotica 2011, women are ready to stake their sexual claims like never before—with characters created by some of the most famous names in the erotica genre. Alison Tyler's naughty roommate threesome get more than they bargained for in the dangerous and delicious "Want"; an athlete in Sommer Marsden's "Laps" finds herself doing anything to please her trainer; and a mistress in Rachel Kramer Bussel's "Espionage" commands her lover for herself, if only for a searing moment, during a dinner party where she meets his wife.
With stories contributed by Alison Tyler, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Sommer Marsden, Jacqueline Applebee, Donna George Storey, Cecilia Tan, Louisa Harte, Louise Lagris, Chrissie Bentley, Alyssa Turner, Lana Fox, Amelia Thornton, Giselle Renarde, Valerie Alexander, Velvet Moore, Lola Olson, Kirsty Logan, Cynthia Hamilton, and Janine Ashbless.
For a little more of a teaser, here's the opening to "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.”
and a bit from the middle:
"His fat fingers find your wetness, a wetness that surprises even you. You didn’t come here for this; you’re supposed to be an observer, a spy, a detached spectator, not a participant. In the dark you can barely see a thing, can only feel. He wants his fingers to hurt, to hurt the way they used to, to hurt the way you used to like it, so your pussy is sore long after they’re gone. He twists them and slams them deep inside you, and even though you’re wet there, it does hurt in its way. He drops your wrists to press his hand against your cheek, to pin you in place, digits digging into the tender skin of your face, landing wherever they may.
You squirm, and aren’t sure if it’s to get away or to get him in deeper. Actually, that’s a lie; he’s always known better than you what you want, a trait that’s either the hottest thing ever or the apotheosis of infuriating. You push against him and instantly the mood changes; you are no longer simply star-crossed lovers reuniting, but something darker, deeper. You press hard with your hands, your hips, to fight him off—but not really. He pushes back with ease, his hand twisting your head into the wall, covering half your face. The harder he holds you there, the deeper the ache in your pussy. You try to twist to the side, give him an elbow blow, something to make him feel the impact, but he is more powerful than you by far. Even if he weren’t, though, he would be winning, because this, finally, is what you’ve come here for: to struggle, to writhe, to argue with your body, to try to tell him, and yourself, that this is over, knowing all the while it will never be over, not really."
From the Cleis Press site:
"Suddenly this year, every single story is layered top to toe with explicit sex—hard and wet and mean and sweet, flowing with love and fused with characters who finally feel like us, with no apologies..." —from the Introduction
In Best Women's Erotica 2011, women are ready to stake their sexual claims like never before—with characters created by some of the most famous names in the erotica genre. Alison Tyler's naughty roommate threesome get more than they bargained for in the dangerous and delicious "Want"; an athlete in Sommer Marsden's "Laps" finds herself doing anything to please her trainer; and a mistress in Rachel Kramer Bussel's "Espionage" commands her lover for herself, if only for a searing moment, during a dinner party where she meets his wife.
With stories contributed by Alison Tyler, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Sommer Marsden, Jacqueline Applebee, Donna George Storey, Cecilia Tan, Louisa Harte, Louise Lagris, Chrissie Bentley, Alyssa Turner, Lana Fox, Amelia Thornton, Giselle Renarde, Valerie Alexander, Velvet Moore, Lola Olson, Kirsty Logan, Cynthia Hamilton, and Janine Ashbless.
For a little more of a teaser, here's the opening to "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.”
and a bit from the middle:
"His fat fingers find your wetness, a wetness that surprises even you. You didn’t come here for this; you’re supposed to be an observer, a spy, a detached spectator, not a participant. In the dark you can barely see a thing, can only feel. He wants his fingers to hurt, to hurt the way they used to, to hurt the way you used to like it, so your pussy is sore long after they’re gone. He twists them and slams them deep inside you, and even though you’re wet there, it does hurt in its way. He drops your wrists to press his hand against your cheek, to pin you in place, digits digging into the tender skin of your face, landing wherever they may.
You squirm, and aren’t sure if it’s to get away or to get him in deeper. Actually, that’s a lie; he’s always known better than you what you want, a trait that’s either the hottest thing ever or the apotheosis of infuriating. You push against him and instantly the mood changes; you are no longer simply star-crossed lovers reuniting, but something darker, deeper. You press hard with your hands, your hips, to fight him off—but not really. He pushes back with ease, his hand twisting your head into the wall, covering half your face. The harder he holds you there, the deeper the ache in your pussy. You try to twist to the side, give him an elbow blow, something to make him feel the impact, but he is more powerful than you by far. Even if he weren’t, though, he would be winning, because this, finally, is what you’ve come here for: to struggle, to writhe, to argue with your body, to try to tell him, and yourself, that this is over, knowing all the while it will never be over, not really."
Fucking: What's feminism got to do with it?
I tried to write this last night and was so addled from doing the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer I could barely think, so here's what I've got so far, I hope to add to this, and apologies if it's a bit disjointed, but I wanted to get this up while it's still timely.
This is going to start with four cliched words: I'm a feminist but...I don't think feminism and fucking are quite as intertwined as they are sometimes tagged as being. That is not to say I think they're unrelated, but there is not always an obvious connection, and that's a good thing.
What do I mean? Well, let's look at Karen Owen and the Duke Fuck List. Much of the discussion about the list asked the question of whether what she wrote was an example of "feminist empowerment." But that idea in itself almost mocks feminism, because it means that anything a woman does is automatically assumed to be speaking for all women and having some grand meaning rather than an individual one.
Jasper Hamill wrote in Scotland's The Herald:
No-one admires the misogynistic way sports teams objectify women, so why on earth would we admire the same thing flipped on its head?
Why does that question automatically have to be asked? Why does every woman, whether or not she's a feminist, have to be a stand-in for all women and all of feminism? Isn't that just another version of putting women on a pedestal, except this time it's a feminist one?
Witness Catherine Cai in The Emery Wheel:
But to call Owen a feminist hero would be a disgusting misinterpretation of the events. By assigning worth to individuals based on appearances and sexual performances, she’s only reversing the roles, not doing away with them. In the end, Owen is not empowering women, but simply subscribing to the same patriarchal system that feminists have fought against for decades, one that insists on a dominant party and a subordinate party.
Feminism is also not about women’s domination over men, power plays, reversing the tables or spite. That counterproductive approach is what gave rise to such negative terms as “feminazi” and “manhater,” which, at the end of the day, only detract from the movement. Feminism should be about women’s self empowerment — a simple and worthy goal that’s too often lost in translation.
I think to take something that was never intended to be shown publicly (unless that is all a ruse and it was a wonderful media ploy, but I don't believe that) and try to assign some grander meaning on Owen's part is problematic, to say the least. Whether or not it was empowering for Owen is a different question from whether or not the list's public spectacle is "empowering" for all women. This is the same question that came up ad nauseam about Sex and the City, though there it was slightly more valid, as that was a television show aimed at the public, but still, it was never allowed to just be entertainment, and Samantha Jones was repeatedly held up as a negative example of "sexual empowerment." But was she trying to be a feminist heroine (or hero) or, like Owen, perhaps, just herself? Do we need to hold up every promiscuous woman as the "new" feminist icon?
This is not 1994, and we have moved on from the Tad Friend-coined term "do me feminism," though there are still plenty of feminist sex activists, women who are starting sex toy stores, sharing information, providing options.
The problem becomes when we start to make judgments against women like Owen because we don't want her to be held up as an icon. "That's fine for her, but..."
Tom Leonard in the Daily Mail, to my mind, misread the original Jezebel post when he wrote:
Meanwhile, critics are particularly offended that she is being held up as a champion of female sexuality and empowerment. Feminist icon status beckons.
Two websites that printed her ‘thesis’ claim they have been approached by the William Morris talent agency, the publisher HarperCollins and a film company, desperate to get hold of Owen to discuss book or film deals.
An editor at HarperCollins was quoted as speaking about the student’s ‘sense of self-empowerment’.
The women’s website Jezebel proclaimed: ‘Here’s another reminder that women can be as aggressive, or acquisitive, about sex as men can. And there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as all parties are consenting.’
I think this is the same reason that a lot of women, myself included, have struggled with our own masochism and kinkiness, especially when our play partners are men, because that seems to smack of some kind of antifeminist imagery. In other words, how can you be a feminist and like: to get tied up, verbally degraded, choked, spanked, exposed, etc., by a man? Those kinks are held up as examples that we often internalize about how we are supposed to behave, and rarely does the female dominant/male submissive get mentioned.
When I've edited the Best Sex Writing series, I get a disproportionate number of essays from feminist submissives grappling with how feminism and submission fit together. It's not that this is not a worthwhile topic to write about or consider, but the fact that we belabor it to such a degree means that we do think, on some level, that our individual actions need to be held up as some sort of heroic feminist acts, and that's where I think we've taken the political too far.
I also think that while of course the personal is political, that doesn't mean that everything about an individual's sex life can be reduced to politics. For example...I have trouble orgasming. I'm one of the women that new national sex survey is talking about (not literally, as I wasn't surveyed, but in general), but whenever I see that reduced to a "problem" or called anti-feminist, it makes me feel like there is something personally defective about me.
Perhaps the larger question is: does everything a feminist does have to be "feminist" or can it just be something she does? Because we are never all going to agree on what a proper feminist sex act is, in part because I don't think there can be such a definition. It's like we're being goaded to hold up Owen as a hero or dismiss her as a whore, and I would hope that we could recognize that people do not so easily fit into extremes, and that sex, of all things, is more complicated than that.
I think Megan Carpentier at Jezebel is dead right that women are told:
Don't watch porn, don't give blow jobs, don't go home with just anyone, don't give away the milk so that he doesn't think the cow is free. Don't be an exhibitionist, don't be submissive, don't engage in sex work, don't expect to be loved if you've been too slutty.
BUT, and this is a big but, those things are not then by definition, because they're excoriated by certain segments of society, feminist acts just because a feminist (or a woman) is doing them. That is my main point about this post. Not that feminism and sexuality aren't intertwined, but that we can stand up for sexuality without having to hold women to a higher standard because of feminism.
Or in the words of Jezebel commenter blueberryblackberry:
I practice BDSM and I'm a woman who tops men. It frustrates me when others try to politicize this into a feminist statement (and especially into some kind of bizarre "female supremacy" bullshit). My kink is my kink because it turns me on, not because it aligns with any social or political ideology.
For some kink or a fetish or their sexual expression might be linked to their feminism, but to assume it's so, or to imbue feminist ideals onto sexual acts and motivations without hearing from the participants, is a grave mistake in my opinion, especially when we have people like Rabbi Shmuley Boteach telling us that "How The Condom Culture is Killing Sex". The answer is not that "all casual sex is wonderful" or "empower" or "feminist," but that as autonomous adults, we have the option to engage in casual sex and discover whether it suits us or not.
I will have more to say, especially as this relates to topics like BDSM and female masochism, but I have to head back to the walk.
There is also a very interesting discussion going on at Violet Blue's blog Tiny Nibbles about what the definition of "sex-positive" is that I think can help inform this discussion.
This is going to start with four cliched words: I'm a feminist but...I don't think feminism and fucking are quite as intertwined as they are sometimes tagged as being. That is not to say I think they're unrelated, but there is not always an obvious connection, and that's a good thing.
What do I mean? Well, let's look at Karen Owen and the Duke Fuck List. Much of the discussion about the list asked the question of whether what she wrote was an example of "feminist empowerment." But that idea in itself almost mocks feminism, because it means that anything a woman does is automatically assumed to be speaking for all women and having some grand meaning rather than an individual one.
Jasper Hamill wrote in Scotland's The Herald:
No-one admires the misogynistic way sports teams objectify women, so why on earth would we admire the same thing flipped on its head?
Why does that question automatically have to be asked? Why does every woman, whether or not she's a feminist, have to be a stand-in for all women and all of feminism? Isn't that just another version of putting women on a pedestal, except this time it's a feminist one?
Witness Catherine Cai in The Emery Wheel:
But to call Owen a feminist hero would be a disgusting misinterpretation of the events. By assigning worth to individuals based on appearances and sexual performances, she’s only reversing the roles, not doing away with them. In the end, Owen is not empowering women, but simply subscribing to the same patriarchal system that feminists have fought against for decades, one that insists on a dominant party and a subordinate party.
Feminism is also not about women’s domination over men, power plays, reversing the tables or spite. That counterproductive approach is what gave rise to such negative terms as “feminazi” and “manhater,” which, at the end of the day, only detract from the movement. Feminism should be about women’s self empowerment — a simple and worthy goal that’s too often lost in translation.
I think to take something that was never intended to be shown publicly (unless that is all a ruse and it was a wonderful media ploy, but I don't believe that) and try to assign some grander meaning on Owen's part is problematic, to say the least. Whether or not it was empowering for Owen is a different question from whether or not the list's public spectacle is "empowering" for all women. This is the same question that came up ad nauseam about Sex and the City, though there it was slightly more valid, as that was a television show aimed at the public, but still, it was never allowed to just be entertainment, and Samantha Jones was repeatedly held up as a negative example of "sexual empowerment." But was she trying to be a feminist heroine (or hero) or, like Owen, perhaps, just herself? Do we need to hold up every promiscuous woman as the "new" feminist icon?
This is not 1994, and we have moved on from the Tad Friend-coined term "do me feminism," though there are still plenty of feminist sex activists, women who are starting sex toy stores, sharing information, providing options.
The problem becomes when we start to make judgments against women like Owen because we don't want her to be held up as an icon. "That's fine for her, but..."
Tom Leonard in the Daily Mail, to my mind, misread the original Jezebel post when he wrote:
Meanwhile, critics are particularly offended that she is being held up as a champion of female sexuality and empowerment. Feminist icon status beckons.
Two websites that printed her ‘thesis’ claim they have been approached by the William Morris talent agency, the publisher HarperCollins and a film company, desperate to get hold of Owen to discuss book or film deals.
An editor at HarperCollins was quoted as speaking about the student’s ‘sense of self-empowerment’.
The women’s website Jezebel proclaimed: ‘Here’s another reminder that women can be as aggressive, or acquisitive, about sex as men can. And there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as all parties are consenting.’
I think this is the same reason that a lot of women, myself included, have struggled with our own masochism and kinkiness, especially when our play partners are men, because that seems to smack of some kind of antifeminist imagery. In other words, how can you be a feminist and like: to get tied up, verbally degraded, choked, spanked, exposed, etc., by a man? Those kinks are held up as examples that we often internalize about how we are supposed to behave, and rarely does the female dominant/male submissive get mentioned.
When I've edited the Best Sex Writing series, I get a disproportionate number of essays from feminist submissives grappling with how feminism and submission fit together. It's not that this is not a worthwhile topic to write about or consider, but the fact that we belabor it to such a degree means that we do think, on some level, that our individual actions need to be held up as some sort of heroic feminist acts, and that's where I think we've taken the political too far.
I also think that while of course the personal is political, that doesn't mean that everything about an individual's sex life can be reduced to politics. For example...I have trouble orgasming. I'm one of the women that new national sex survey is talking about (not literally, as I wasn't surveyed, but in general), but whenever I see that reduced to a "problem" or called anti-feminist, it makes me feel like there is something personally defective about me.
Perhaps the larger question is: does everything a feminist does have to be "feminist" or can it just be something she does? Because we are never all going to agree on what a proper feminist sex act is, in part because I don't think there can be such a definition. It's like we're being goaded to hold up Owen as a hero or dismiss her as a whore, and I would hope that we could recognize that people do not so easily fit into extremes, and that sex, of all things, is more complicated than that.
I think Megan Carpentier at Jezebel is dead right that women are told:
Don't watch porn, don't give blow jobs, don't go home with just anyone, don't give away the milk so that he doesn't think the cow is free. Don't be an exhibitionist, don't be submissive, don't engage in sex work, don't expect to be loved if you've been too slutty.
BUT, and this is a big but, those things are not then by definition, because they're excoriated by certain segments of society, feminist acts just because a feminist (or a woman) is doing them. That is my main point about this post. Not that feminism and sexuality aren't intertwined, but that we can stand up for sexuality without having to hold women to a higher standard because of feminism.
Or in the words of Jezebel commenter blueberryblackberry:
I practice BDSM and I'm a woman who tops men. It frustrates me when others try to politicize this into a feminist statement (and especially into some kind of bizarre "female supremacy" bullshit). My kink is my kink because it turns me on, not because it aligns with any social or political ideology.
For some kink or a fetish or their sexual expression might be linked to their feminism, but to assume it's so, or to imbue feminist ideals onto sexual acts and motivations without hearing from the participants, is a grave mistake in my opinion, especially when we have people like Rabbi Shmuley Boteach telling us that "How The Condom Culture is Killing Sex". The answer is not that "all casual sex is wonderful" or "empower" or "feminist," but that as autonomous adults, we have the option to engage in casual sex and discover whether it suits us or not.
I will have more to say, especially as this relates to topics like BDSM and female masochism, but I have to head back to the walk.
There is also a very interesting discussion going on at Violet Blue's blog Tiny Nibbles about what the definition of "sex-positive" is that I think can help inform this discussion.
