I write a lot about female desire. So imagine my delight (and surprise) at hearing that my story “Dance For Me” had been accepted for inclusion in sassy Rose Caraway’s latest project and anthology: For the Men: And the Women Who Love Them.
Featuring twenty-five stories from twenty-five authors, editor Rose Caraway’s vision for the anthology was to curate “a space for men to partake in the erotic” and to “eliminate assumptions, obliterate out-dated generalizations” about masculinity and male sexuality.
As the title emphasizes, it’s a space that overtly welcomes men, but where men and women readers are of course, both welcome. Here, I very much agree with Rose, in the anthology’s introduction, when she declares ‘the gained strength that comes from our intersecting sexual paths can create a level of intimacy that is more fruitful than you can imagine.”
I believe that is the place where my story “Dance for Me” sits. On its simplest level, it’s a narrative of seduction. It’s also an exploration of how having the courage to own one’s sexuality and explore it through “mutually intersecting” sexual fantasy can deepen intimacy.
Like a courtesan from another era, I must dance for the pleasure of my Dom. Dance for his pleasure and his favour.
I’ve always been interested in the inherent theatricality in sexuality. Dressing up, creating scenes, becoming the one who watches or is watched … Showing parts of our inner secret selves that don’t always get to come out in our everyday lives. So many possibilities in the staging of desire.
I’m standing in this cage. In the centre of a fetish club dance floor. In a leopard-skin corselet. It could look like I planned this, but I didn’t. It’s my first time here, my first play session with this dark-suited Dom, after several intense online interactions. The decisive click of his handcuffs securing the cage door. Ensnaring me in his scene of submission. Arms folded, smiling at my indignation.
“Dance for me.”
I look around at the club full of diversely dressed and undressed people. Bodies poured into and spilling out of latex, leather and fishnets. Unexpected revelations of flesh, piercings and tattoos. Some have stopped their conversations or caresses, or are looking over their drinks, surveying my predicament with interest.
“Please me, and I shall ensure your … release … in more ways than one.”
Cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment, I try to focus on the music, washing over me in waves. Try to focus on his beguiling promise of release. The effect this has on my body. This slow burn, beginning already in my clitoris.
“Disappoint me, and I might make you spend the evening in there.” He kisses my hand, wound around the elegantly-crafted iron bars, and closer to me, whispers: “But I doubt you’ll disappoint.” He steps back, swirls his scotch, withdraws to a velvet couch at the dance floor’s edge. Best seat in the house, I think.
Which brings me to my love of dancing. Perhaps obsession would be the more truthful word. For me, a dance-floor is the place where I can fuse my passion for music with my body’s hunger for rhythm, sensation, sweat and expressive movement. Athletes love to hone and push their body through activities like running, swimming, weight training. I love to do this through dancing. I love how eventually my mind switches off. I become headless, nothing but breath and sensations. I’ll dance alone, while I’m cooking or doing housework. But when someone is watching me, I cannot deny there is an extra charge.When that someone is someone I’m attracted to, the charge soars.
If I could find a way to dance while I write, I would. So, the next best thing was to challenge myself to write an erotic story around the idea of dancing for someone as an act of seduction; translating such a deeply physical act into words and imagery.
Just breathe in the music.
Yellow glow of the spotlight turns my skin into warm pelt. I’m a restless cat in a cage. Tossing my mane of tawny hair, the sensual layers of rhythms are fusing with my limbs, my hips. My dance becomes part of the music. Sure now of my movements, I throw myself lightly from side to side of the cage, writhing down and up, sometimes facing my Dom, mock-imploring him for my release. Sometimes I show him my back, the curves of my ass emphasised by black suspenders; teasing him with a coquettish glance over one shoulder.
I’m in the cage, but he’s the one ensnared.
Dancing can be such an art of erotic and sexual expression – for oneself but also for others.
For me, a dance-floor is the place where I can fuse my passion for music with my body’s hunger for rhythm, sensation, sweat and expressive movement.
Trained in acting and dance from a young age, I was entranced by the magic of being on-stage performing for an audience. I guess it’s no surprise that I saw (and revelled in) the theatre in sex as I grew older and gained sexual experience. I was drawn to exploring the theatrical elements of sex long before I knew there was such a thing as BDSM or kink.
Even now, I shy away from identifying myself in conventional BDSM categories – I am not a sub or a Dom or even a switch. I have elements of all of these within me, and I do enjoy exploring power exchange in sexual play – both on and off the page. That power exchange, happens for me as I access different archetypes within, and I interact with whatever is coming up in those I am intimate with.
Lovers of kink are welcome to see and enjoy the kink elements in my story – they are certainly present. But I try, always, to write inclusively, so that readers of all predilections will find something to draw them into the story, something they will relate to.
I was drawn to exploring the theatrical elements of sex long before I knew there was such a thing as BDSM or kink.
By now, curious reader, you may have guessed that some of this story is autobiographical; and some of it is fiction. The “true” part is I got to be “the girl in the cage” that night; I got to access my Middle-Eastern temple dancer, my Salome, my dancing whore, my “courtesan from another era”. I feel all these parts of me when I dance, and it was a total and utter liberation to let them all out, in the service of pleasing the man I was there with.
He was certainly that. And to focus for a moment on him, he said he’d never had a woman dance like that for him before, and the line in the story after the dance is, word for word, what he said to me.
As the lovely Rose observes “erotic fiction has the capacity to liberate our minds and bodies … fantasy can be that powerful.” So, if you’re a man reading this who’s never indulged in a book of erotica – just for you – maybe now is the moment. And if you’re a woman who wants to inspire that man in your life to dive a little deeper into his sexual depths, imagine the look on his face if you gave him this.
You can read more on my thoughts behind “Dance For Me” – and male desire – as I chat to Rose over on Stupid Fish Productions . There’s also a saucy excerpt to whet your appetite. Head over there in the coming weeks to find out more of the fabulous authors and stories featured, and as listed in the pic below. But I understand if you can’t wait – and you want it all now. So – here’s where to get it.
Reviews are now popping up, come read what fellow erotica writer Malin James has to say – here …
Also, the book will soon be available on Audible, narrated by Rose Caraway, engineered by Big Daddy Dayv Caraway.
Table of Contents
A big congratulations to Rose, Dayv, and all the authors from all over the world who have contributed to opening up this erotic space … For the Men.