Reflections On My Writing

Ever wonder what the author is thinking about when writing those steamy scenes? What's the difference between pornography and erotica? What distinctions do you make in your own mind? Ben shares a little from his heart on this matter.

Reflections On My Writing

by

Ben Hannigan

Sex is something that is always special. Sex holds a power regardless of time, of space, sex can be gentle, sex can be rough, it can hurt, it can heal. Sex is something that I write about often but I would like to think that the focus of my work isn’t sex. Sex to me is something that is both beautiful and terrifying. It opens you up as a person in ways that cannot be foreseen; opening up to a lover in a kiss bares your soul in ways that simply talking will never do. To me if a lover is to cheat, taking them back if they confessed to fucking another would be easy but sharing a slow loving passionate kiss would be far harder and I take these views about what is meaningful into my writing.

The passion, the love, the desire I believe must come from more than sex, more than the simple act of making love. My characters have in my mind an image and a personality before they have their sexuality. In the piece that I am currently writing for this blog, I tried to create not only a plausible relationship but also create characters that are real and more importantly, can draw on the emotions of a reader. The erotic for me as a writer is more about the build-up to the act than the act itself. While the act is exciting; the moments of frantic thrusting, kissing, tasting, biting and the ultimate explosion of release, the teasing passionate build-up of anticipation, the lingering longing kisses and the slow gentle stroking are the things that keep me coming back to a piece, to an author. The foreplay and the lust have to intertwine in a deeper story. Simple sex has nothing in my view, it has no substance, no draw and no interest. If we use an analogy of food, crude hypersexualised writing that is concerned with the reproductive act and nothing more is a fast food hamburger, whereas the full piece focusing on the hunt, the chase and the challenge of courtship as well as the highs and lows of two lives colliding.

Sex without a reason to me isn’t interesting so I try to create a world for my characters. I want them to feel like people. Erotica that doesn’t have that feel of realism for me is similar to porn on the screen, it doesn’t feel quite right, it feels hollow and doesn’t have the same depth to it. For some reason, it doesn’t grab my attention and hold it. For me starting at “he was inside her deep, fast, rough, the sweat dripping down his back as he moved, driving his lover down into the silk”doesn’t appeal in the same was as starting at say, “they sat opposite each other at the bar table, she rubbed her bare foot over the younger girls thigh as their hands touched gently as they moved, reaching for the bread”. That’s not to say that the sex isn’t interesting or something that I want to read about, but it I think requires building up to it.

The role of the author, I believe is to inspire and create a world that a reader can lose themselves in for as long as it takes them to read. To create a world that you can be lost in eagerly awaiting the next instalment. I draw my inspiration from conversations with other writers, friends, things I read or have seen. I start with an image and spend my time trying to put the ‘thousand words’ that image contains onto paper.

I want to thank my fellow writers on Storytime for their encouragement, patience, and guidance as I test my new wings. They provide inspiration and support that I didn't realize I needed until I had it. There are people I talk to about my life, my writing, my hope and dreams; they know who they are and they are an amazing help. Thanks to all!

 





Swingers - Pt 3

Are you entranced by the magical spell woven in this tale yet? I sure am.  I can't wait for each installment, anxious for the next weekly post.  Wow, do they know how to have fun or what?

We've heard Colb's side of things, this week we get to hear from Tangyr.

Swingers Pt 3

by

Abyrne Mostyn

Tangyr fought hard to keep the smirk from becoming a giggle. She knew she had Colb’s attention, not because she could see the evidence of his need jutting through the loose trews he favored, but because of his breathing...or lack thereof. The odd hitch betraying him even before she heard the exhale as she turned to close her door. No matter what the scenario, she could always tell when she heard that catch; it was almost as if he could do nothing but a long, slow, shallow inhaling and that was not enough to fuel him so he never let it out again. After a spell there would be a mad ‘whoosh’, a hard heavy sighing sound as he had to let go some air for there to be room for more.

Making sure to give a sashay of her hips as she began to reach for the handle, she knew that he was well on his way to their morning rendezvous when his breathing caught. The moment protracted, ending when the film of her linen shift stirred with the hard exhale he had no choice but to let out from across the hall. Breathe or pass out; as of yet breathing had always won. They had lingered long enough and she softly closed the door fighting to stifle the fit of laughter vying for the surface. His erratic breathing in these moments always giving him away.

Almost from the night they had met she had started to piece together what would drive him and what he could do without, all by listening to him breathe.  From the first they had possessed an electric connection.  The kind of meeting where you shake hands and do the nicey-nice but somewhere between the clasping of hands and the letting go part you missed the words because you learned everything you needed to know about them by touching. His breath had caught in that moment and her whole body had nearly shuddered.  It was what she imagined finding the other half of yourself was like.

That party was the first that they had been together, the pull to be so close to one another that it was nearly impossible to tell where one began and the other ended was irresistible. Choosing a partner for the night a forgone conclusion, and saying goodbye in the morning a sorrow not familiar to swingers. Maybe it was the moonlight. Maybe it was the drumming. Whatever it was, it was intense. Although they had re-enacted that night many times; in the loft, in a long forgotten wood-ringed meadow, in every conceivable place they had been; it was never the same as that first night; sometimes it was better.

It had been a September bonfire party. Fall had come early that year and the evening was crisp with smells from the on-gong harvests. The group had gathered at a member’s barn a few miles outside of town. The fire already ablaze when she first saw it, and roaring its call by the time they had all arrived and were gathered round it. Men had been given implements for drumming; women, Murphy bells, they danced and drummed well into the night under a full moon.

Colb had held a gourd looking thing with taught skin of some kind across the opening for the drum head, and it released a higher pitch than those around him when he struck it. She knew every time as she went past the moment when he noticed her as his drumbeat was suddenly out of rhythm. Rhythm required breathing. It was hard not to giggle at the realization. Even now sitting here getting ready for another party, she could not stifle the giggles and let out a loud bit of laughter, slamming her hand across her mouth too late to stop it echoing.

That night had seemed to end in the space of that drumbeat. They had retired to a secluded area, and just a moment later it has seemed to be daybreak and time to go. Swinging had never been somber, but that morning had defined it. The temerity of the night underscored by his parting demand, “Tell me your name.”

The months to the following March gathering seemed endless. It should have been December but they were not in the same area for that party. The antithesis of the time it took the first night to end, she’d aged an eternity waiting to see him again. Seemingly he had too by the ‘starving man offered bread’ look on his face when she walked into the party . The room seemed to heave a collective sigh as they released their baited breath in unison, turning back to their respective conversations. A beeline would have taken too long to reach him and yet she tried to make her path to him seem random. She failed. He failed. They met in the middle of the room and found that with so much hanging between them they had no idea what to say, instead clasping hands and letting what was between them do the talking.

They knew in that moment that there was no way they could continue coming on someone else’s arm, hoping to be in the same group to see one another and immediately sought the host. Before the night was ended, hearts were broken while theirs connected. None would lose their invitation to come, but all would be banned if there were any lingering animosities come June. They left the gathering and their partners before dawn broke, the first and last time they were together in and out of the party.

Sitting back on the settee this night, her giggles and smirking resolving to a well fulfilled smile, she knew that had been one of the best decisions of their lives. Was it destined to be? Or was it circumstance? The September moon? The music and dancing? The protracted, anguishing wait for March hoping then to see one another again? Whatever it was it was something. It was everything; and yet it was so much more.

Swingers - Pt 2

 

Get a free preview here of Abyrne's  story!  Scroll to the bottom to catch the first part if you missed that. Now, let's join Tangyr and Colb at the party.
 

Swingers Pt 2

by

Abyrne Mostyn

With the soft ‘snick’ of the door, he glanced about the room finding nothing of note. It was a simple room made for nothing in particular, save preparation. This was new. Usually, they would gather in a room with those from the group that evening and mingle away until something or someone triggered their interest and they moved to a room apart from the crowd. Tonight with its props was bound to be interesting. At parties past they had been paired up randomly instead of left to mingle and select by their own choices. From what he had seen in his bag, this night might be as well. How intriguing. How exciting. Would they know, or would the adventure be finding ‘the one’?

Every party was different, and yet the same. The evening’s festivities concluded there was always a take away, and that was what made it worth returning time and time again. You never knew what the take away would be. Colb and Tangyr had made the take away their secret prize. Each morning as they left, neither would tell what they had been given as their ‘keepsake’, instead rushing home to show the other what, and how.

Pondering this, sitting on a small sofa thinking back over the past, catching the lilting laughter from across the hall as Tangyr found something amusing, the previous March popped to mind. The theme that night had been tropical and everyone had come dressed for a luau. The party had proceeded as it usually did, each couple finding a space, and their gifts in one of the rooms above. Colb had brought home coconut body oil and massage implements, while his partner that night, a svelte blonde had gotten a grass skirt with a pearl thong. Tangyr had gotten a fun prize, a collection of edible fruit body paints, all the flavors of the islands. They had put them to good use upon reaching their upper west side loft that morning.

Between the coconut oil and the various fruit smells you would never have guessed that a cold March wind was blowing through Boston. Tangyr sprawled out on the throw looking every bit fresh from the islands.  They had escaped to the beach for a Sunday morning, listening to a steel drums cd they had from their honeymoon to the Caribbean years before. Her dark hair fanned out above her, long tan legs and curvy shape wearing nothing but fruit body paint and a smile. She was radiant. Her generous curves flush with excitement; he could not help but be aroused. She was perfect.

Perfection of course being speculative. To him she was everything and then some. More than a mouthful, but just right for his hands. Her stomach not ‘Hollywood rail’ but more reminiscent of Hollywood Rat Pack days. Curves and cushion. Soft and feminine. The kind of female that a man could lose himself in and not worry about breaking. Sturdy. Strong. A woman made for a man like him. She was not flab, but she shook a little with the tickle of the watercolor brush when he applied the paints. Sexy as hell.

She was erotic defined. Not afraid or so intimidated by herself to let herself be seen. To be touched. To be tasted. God how he had done all of that and more. Her silhouette in the other doorway tonight nearly had him grabbing her and whisking them back home. Her ass, high and heart shaped made him drool. She would jab at herself as having ‘too much in the tank’, though he believed it was just so she could hear him say how much he loved it, and show her. Watching that door close across the hall had been painful. Even now, the evidence of his want for her making him have to shift on his journey down memory lane back to their Sunday in Hawaii.

Watching her was easily his favorite past time, but watching her paint herself where she wanted him to go was like winning Super bowl tickets sitting on the sidelines with the players. He nearly blew twice when she drew the tiniest trail...so close, but not quite where he was dying to be. Painstakingly slow she drew his path, giving him explicit directions on where to begin and where the “X” was on this treasure map of hers. Changing flavors here and there, explaining the need for variety and complementing tastes and such, he was nearly rabid by the time she had stopped giggling, was done and ready.

The most difficult was to return the torture. Nibbling here, sucking there, and flatting his lips together to suck tight to the trail but not overshoot and miss the rest of his journey. Her moans, and squeals changing over to wails and weeping as he gave back exactly along the path, teasing her higher.

Stopping just short of the end, looking up with a wicked grin, grabbing the mango orange paint, spreading her wide and pouring half the jar along the rift of her. Her speechless moment of confusion becoming a raspy wail when he announced, “I have decided to finish the treasure hunt later...I rather feel like snorkeling.”

Without Wings

Without Wings

by

Macie Snow

My dream is to flly

high in the sky

A bird flies

across the skies

over the trees

across the oceans and seas.

And people like me

wishin to be

up there in the sky

careless and free.

But take away those wings

and what do we see?

That which was once careless and frree

Is now trapped on the ground with me

Longing to once again be

In the sky where it belongs

Instead of gazing up at the stars

looking near and far

To find a way back

to the sky.

It saddens me

to find this bird

who belongs in the sky

is stuck with me.

Both of us without wings

unable to escape

this doldrum we call home

unable to truly be

Free. 

Faere Warrior: Passion's Price Pt 4

People are never what they seem.  Isn't it amazing the things you find out when you look beyond  the surface?  Of course what did you expect with a man who is contracted to the Fae, and a woman who is, . . . how old is she?

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Faere Warrior: Passion's Price

Pt 4

by Ellie Mack

     Salena stood in the steaming shower, the pulsing water massaging her skin.  After slaying she felt the effects of age.   She'd managed to reach six of the demons before a guardian showed up.  There had been one in Versailles that she managed to avoid. They were on opposite sides, the guardians and slayers.  

     Guardians worked with the demon masters; protecting them, using their own magic to send their lower caste brethren back through the portals to emerge from the next opening.  Slayers were sanctioned by the church.  Their mission was clear -  destroy the demonic hoards. 

     The Guardians used Seelie weapons to send them back.  What were they thinking?  They would only return at a different location. The lower caste demons were mindless for the most part, depraved evil with single minded focus:  destroy human kind.  It was her calling to protect the human race.  She'd been chosen.

    Salena stretched her neck while leaning against the marble enclosure.  Her body ached in places that she didn't know was possible to ache.  With a heavy sigh she shut the water off, and grabbed the towel.  She rubbed herself with minimal effort, dripping a trail of water as she forced her steps to the bed.  Tired, so very tired. Exhausted, she flopped on the bed, her towel falling open.  It didn't matter, she was too tired to care.  Her last thought was the knowledge that she'd have to use more of her precious elixir, or add another glamour tat, before the new moon.

   As she slipped into black oblivion, the masking spells faded.  The flawless physique was a maze of glyphs and runes.  A ring of glyphs encircled each breast, making a bra of sorts of the tattooed protections.  A series of runes covered the bottom fullness of each breast.  A maze of glyphs covered her lower abs, down over her triangular patch of hair, down between her legs, even over her labia.  the tops of her thighs were covered with long Celtic knot work that had been spelled.  His mark was on her inside thigh, on the top of her left breast just above her heart, and on her ass cheek.

  She sighed, exhaling deeply, with thoughts of Him. 

    She touched her breast. The scarred textured skin of his insignia ring branded into her skin, the reminder that above all else, she was His.  Instantly she was transported to stand before Him.  She knelt, naked in full submission to her master.  she waited until He recognized her.

    "Salena"  His voice rough and scratchy. "Why have you been so long in coming?"

    "I've been searching for the cuffs and torque that would free you, my Lord."  Her head remained down.  She was not allowed to view Him until he commanded her.

    "Any progress?"  A soft rustling of fabric, a slight jangling as he rose, then clipped footfall approaching her.

    "Not yet, my love.  I've come across another guardian."

    He moved her hair aside, and kissed her neck.  She shivered; this made it all worthwhile.  His touch was exquisite.  "How many humans have you offered yourself to since you've come to me?"

    Her mind raced. she knew better than to lie.  "Three, my Lord.  None that compare to you."

    He jerked her hair back pulling her head up.  She quickly squinted her eyes closed, but couldn't help the gasp that escaped her.   "Fucking whore!  YOU'RE MINE!" He roared over her, then slapped her so hard it knocked her to the floor.

    "Always yours, my Lord."  She knelt in full submission, her body folded over itself, head laid on the floor."

    "And what of this guardian?"  He circled her, she  knew the whip was coming.  Her body tingling in anticipation.

   "I only saw him from a distance.  I avoided contact, but I took out six demons."

    "Look at me!" He commanded.  She raised her eyes, viewing her lover as if it were the first time.  He was magnificent.  No human could ever compare to Him.  Salena swallowed hard, her mouth already salivating for his touch, for his pleasures.  She'd do anything for Him and He knew it.  

  "You'll stay close to the guardian.  He'll lead you to the torque."   He bent to her kissing her rough, demanding.   She was instantly wet.  He would torture her, beat her, whip her, but bring her to paradise more times than she could count.  It was worth any pain to be His. To be pleasured by Him, to have Him claim her as His own.  She was forbidden from using His name until she had managed to free Him from this Fae prison. 


             *                                     *                                       *                                         *

    Her body spasmed on the bed, naked in the moonlight. Welts appeared, beaded lines of blood rising.  Siann sat crouched next to her body, licking the blood from each line as it appeared.  The human was never aware during these episodes.  The taste of blood stirred the beast within her small form.  She could sink her teeth in fully, and this pathetic human would never know.  It would serve her right.

    Siann thought of the irony, the human giving her self over to His pleasure, while allowing Siann her own pleasure with her earthly form.  Humans were easy to toy with.  Once given over to their sensual pleasure, they could do whatever they wanted with them.  Siann sank her teeth into the full roundness of Selena's breast, feeling the tear of her flesh.  she lapped at the flow then suckled, drawing more of the elixir tainted blood from the helpless form.  the elixir was never meant for humans.  It only drove them to madness quicker. 

    Blood lust overcame Siann, and she bit her human again, lapping at the flow. A third time she bit, practically tearing a mouthful of flesh away.  It had been ages since she was allowed to feast, but she knew He would banish her if she destroyed Selena's human form.  She lapped eagerly until the flow ceased.  Siann growled, desiring more.  She watched as Selena's body spasmed and twitched in the moonlight. She needed more.  More blood to satisfy her taste.  She lept from the bed, and sauntered down the hall towards the atrium.  The small door that had been installed for her feline form allowed he to come and go as she pleased.  Although her taste was for human blood, a rabbit or squirrel would have to suffice.  She glanced at her reflection in the glass door as she passed.  Her mouth covered in the red blood just fueled her desire for more.  The sleek lines of a Siamese suited her well.  she rolled her shoulders with grace and power as she stalked towards her next prey.


           *                                          *                                   *                                         *



   Keegan always hated the first day of class.  He'd spent one year at the Uni back home; since then, it was a different place every semester.   He only had three classes this time:  Dr. Mubarak's Archaeology of the United States and Egyptology in the Modern Era, and Dr. Kincaid's Studies in Mythology.  

    He chuckled; if the professors had only seen half of what he had seen, it would change the way they taught.  If not for the fact that in the real world he needed the education to land the job of his dreams he'd fore go the headache.  It was a sweet deal really.  The Fae funded his college, provided a sizable bank account, and whatever ride he desired.  They funded all travel expenses in exchange for fueling his body with immortality in order to fulfill his role as Guardian.  Well, he hadn't quite made it to Guardian level yet he was still a Warrior.  Still, the benefits were sweet. 

    He took his seat at the back of the lecture hall.  His large size often made it difficult for his more petite classmates to see around him.  Inevitably one of these petite beauties were always drawn to him.   It was okay, he enjoyed the attention.  They were often fun, sweet girls that filled his time.  But he couldn't get Salena off his mind.  He combed his fingers through his hair as we watched the students filing in, thinking of his night with Salena. 

   "Hey, heard the professor's pretty hot.  You here for that, or to actually study this lame ass subject?"

   He turned to the voice beside him.  It was  one of the jocks he'd seen at the bar the night he'd met Salena.  "What?"

   "The professor.  Suppose to be super hot.  Or are you a Joneser?"

   "You want to nail some old man?  What the hell is wrong with you?"

    "NO!  Asswipe.  Dr. Mubarak's a chick.  A super hot stellar."  He scooted back in his chair. "There she is."  He motioned to the front of the class with a head nudge.

    Keegan opened his notebook, adjusting it on the desk shaking his head at the jock. He heard the movements at the front, and out of the corner of his vision saw a form moving about.  He raised his eyes noticing the spelling of the name on the blackboard.  He scanned the area.  Bent down, fiddling with wires, was the instructor.  When she rose,  Keegan's mouth about hit his desk.