The Big Book of Submission: Volume 2 – New Anthology Release

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Adrea Kore, Anthology Release, authenticity in writing, BDSM, conscious sexuality, Desire, erotic fiction, erotica, Female Sexuality, Kinks, multiple orgasms, rope, sexuality, Shibari, The Big Book of Submission: Volume 2

Kink. It’s an interesting word, in terms of its etymology.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary, defines it quite thoroughly:

1: a short tight twist or curl caused by a doubling or winding of something upon itself

2a : a mental or physical peculiarity : eccentricity, quirk

b : whim

3: a clever or unusual way of doing something

4: a cramp in some part of the body

5: an imperfection likely to cause difficulties in the operation of something

6: unconventional sexual taste or behavior

 

I’m thrilled and honoured to have my story “Roped In” selected to feature in The Big Book of Submission: Volume 2, published by Cleis Press and edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel.

The overarching kink explored in this anthology is, as the title suggests, the act of submission. Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel asserts in the Introduction that there are “so many ways to be submissive” and these stories artfully reveal that the spectrum of submissive scenarios, desires, and behaviours are as broad, creative and as varied as human sexuality itself.

The anthology boasts an array of stories that delve not just into the heat and eroticism of the physical sex, but, just as importantly, the psyche, emotions and sensations of the submissive state, and the dynamics of the relationship(s) that make these experiences possible. These more complex layers, in many of the stories I’ve read so far, are executed with startling insight, imagery and intelligence.

To quote from a glowing 4.5 star review for The Big Book of Submission: Volume 2 by blogger Bitches n Prose:

“… some of the things you can expect in the way of kink: BDSM (obviously), bondage, rope, training, power struggles, pet play, spanking, a host of different toys, affairs, pegging, role play, blades, gender play, tickling, different time periods, accents/language, food, and strangers. There’s bound (pun intended) to be something on this list that sets off your fires.”

As I’ve just begun reading the stories in my glossy, newly received author copy, I’ve been reflecting on these various meanings of the word “kink”, and how they can all apply to the concept of sexual kink: in physical, psychological, emotional and cultural terms. For example, there are depictions of the mental state of submissive desire akin to (1) “a short tight twist or curl caused by a … winding of something upon itself” in stories such as Sommer Marsden’s “Lightning Strike” and Anna Sky’s “Imago”; a twist that is only released when the desire is indulged or allowed.

Many stories expound on the emotional and psychological aspects of submission as (2) “a mental or physical peculiarity : eccentricity or quirk”, such as the eroticizing of shame in Jo Henny Wolf’s “Words” and the exhilaration that is felt when it is witnessed and accepted (or punished) by their Dominant partner. These quirks and peculiarities become portals to the submissive’s pleasure. As for “whims”, these are indulged aplenty; by following an erotic whim, many a story is born.

“A clever or unusual way of doing something”(3): If that “something” is sex, foreplay, the art of arousing another … then this definition is well and truly covered by the anthology as a whole.

Many of the characters experience their submissive needs for pain, humiliation, or domination, when unfulfilled, as physical pain, akin to “a cramp in some part of the body.” The story often unfolds around easing that cramp, releasing that tension.

For some people, knowing you have certain “kinks” can make them feel like they have a secret they have to hide, or that they themselves are (5) “an imperfection likely to cause difficulties in the operation of something”. By “something”, read conventional society. Many workplace cultures. Conservative families. Anthologies like The Big Book of Submission create vital, permissive spaces for the exploration of alternative pleasures. And kinks.

As a sexual being, I’ve known I was into restraint for a long time. If I could pinpoint the first moment, it would be when I was 20 and my first serious boyfriend, a blacksmith and blues singer, tied me up in the four-poster iron bed he’d designed and made himself. Two decades my senior, he made very effective use of those four bedposts. The foreplay and the sex was electrifying, and I suppose (however unconsciously) it was then I discovered that a little restraint in the sex-play magnified both the intensity of my orgasms and the number of them.

One could say it was natural progression that I went on to blindfolding my next boyfriend, stripping him and tying him, limbs splayed, to my big kitchen table, before having my way with him. Ahem. Enough self-revelation.

These two experiences are way back in my past, before I’d ever heard of the terms “kinky” or BDSM. I was just exploratory and creative and enjoyed finding ways to enhance sensations or sensory experience – for myself and others. I say this to simply point out that even if you don’t identify as “kinky” or of alternate sexuality, you’re likely to find plenty to enjoy in this anthology.

So maybe my own brand of kink is version (3): “a clever or unusual way of doing something.”

I’ve written before that I don’t really relate to the terms “Dominant” or “submissive”, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t explored and embodied both states, in my life and on the page. Nor does it mean I can’t engage with stories employing this framework.

What I’m enjoying in these stories is that each author is defining what it means to be submissive for themselves, and through their characters. And I think this is one of the strengths of this anthology – all the more apparent because of the intent and vision of the editor, Rachel Kramer Bussel. Assembled together, the stories truly showcase the diversity of submissive experiences. And in reading them, it’s like wandering through a kink club, and being able to magically slip into the skin and sensations of many different bodies /genders in different scenes throughout the various spaces.

More recently, I’ve had a few experiences with the intricate and erotic art of Shibari (erotic rope bondage). I’ve been a rope model, as well as exploring using rope in a sexuality workshop. As a writer, I wanted to explore elements of the practice of Shibari and some of the seemingly indescribable kinesthetic reactions I’ve had to being bound. As my character Yasmin says, it felt “beyond words”: the writer in me wanted to find the words.

Much of the action of “Roped In” takes place in a sexuality workshop. For several years, a lot of my sexual growth and exploration took place in these kinds of workshops, as I was studying to be a Tantric sex practitioner. In fact, some of my peak orgasmic and sexual experiences happened in these groups. I wanted to “demystify” some elements of the sex-positive lifestyle by setting the story in a similar kind of workshop space. These spaces are where I learnt and experienced so much about my sexuality and sexual relating; I hoped to show my characters learning skills they could use to enrich their own relationship.

Below is a little preview to “Roped In” – from the opening:

I thought I knew what rope felt like. Hard, salt-roughed rope that rigged a sail. The chafe of hessian rope against thigh on a make-shift swing. And knots? Practical things. Functional elements that kept your shoes on.

But this; this seductive slither of an embrace, trailing around my neck, snaking over and around both arms, encircling my waist like a possessive lover, this, I am not prepared for.

He hasn’t even tied a knot yet.

You wanted me here. Wanted to experience more (how did you put it?) elaborate possibilities than tying my wrists to the headboard.

 

*  *  *

So, discerning reader, whether your “kinkiness” is something you explore solely on the page, or whether you dip your toes in occasionally to kinky waters, or whether you’re the 24/7 kind of kinkster, you’re sure to find stories that intrigue, arouse, and galvanize you between these pages.

A huge “Congratulations” to all 69 authors! And thanks to publisher Cleis Press and to editor Rachel Kramer Bussel for making this anthology possible.

UPDATE: I’m so excited by the news that New York’s Publisher’s Weekly has reviewed the anthology very favourably, and that my story merited a mention, alongside authors Zodian Gray, Angela R. Sargenti, Dr J, Anna Sky and Giselle Renarde. You can read the review below.

The Big Book of Submission: Volume 2 – 69 Kinky Tales

So Many Ways to be Submissive …

(Available in E-Book or Paperback – Click on the Image to go straight to Amazon, or other buy-links below)

 

Nook

Google Play

Audio Book available soon via Audible

Read the Reviews

Chrissi Sepe

Bitches n Prose

Publisher’s Weekly

 

Read More by the Editor

 

 

 

“Peek Hour” – Featuring with Cosmo UK

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Adrea Kore, Creative Process, erotic fiction, erotica, Female Sexuality, On Writing, Peek Hour, Publications, sexuality, Voyeurism

Sometimes, as writers, we can forget to celebrate our achievements. We might strive for recognition, but when a little of it comes our way, we underplay it, or find it hard to embrace it.

Many erotica writers I know, including myself, take our writiing, our craft  and our subject matter seriously. We work just as hard at it as writers from other genres. We toil into the wee hours over stories, blog posts and reviews. We attend workshops and buy books on writing craft, and agonize over the right words to describe our subject.  We sacrifice parts of our social life in order to carve out a little more writing time. We engage self-awareness around our own sexual landscape, and around where sexuality sits culturally at any given time, sometimes committing to writing and revealing painful parts of our lives or our history.

I’ve been writing and publishing erotica for five years now.  It turns out that it wasn’t just a quick fling with those come-hither, wanton words. I passionately believe in erotica’s role in encouraging those who read it to become more empowered in their own sexual expression.  That writer-reader relationship sits right at the centre of my imperative to keep writing, and is why I value every person who takes a few minutes to comment on my work.

Yet, sometimes, I despair at the comparitively small sector of the potential reading populace that actually find their way to quality, well-crafted erotic fiction. Censorship and complex rules on certain sites around what can be shown on a cover, and what topics are taboo set up further obstacles, and these obstacles sometimes have intricate moral or political nuances. All things the writer of erotica has to negotiate. As if writing about sex wasn’t challenging enough …

So today, I am celebrating the publication of  my short story “Peek Hour” with Cosmopolitan UK Magazine. The lovely editor I’ve been dealing with informed me they have 6.5 million unique users every month. It’s undoubtedly the largest number of potential eyes on my work, and  that is both terrifying and super-exciting. It’s fantastic that magazines with such a large readership, encompassing diverse demographics. are looking at publishing edgier work that isn’t just about millionaires and virgins, and it’s encouraging that they want to support lesser-known authors.

Despite the background anxiety, I took myself out for coffee and cake to celebrate, and my walk definitely had more wiggle in it today. I want to take this moment to remind all you erotica writers out there: celebrate your achievements. You worked hard. You’re brave. And bold. And bad-ass. Even on days you don’t feel that way. You deserve a little decadence.

I wrote “Peek Hour” to explore a subversive little observation that popped into my head one day on the train to work. As women, we learn to deal with being on the receiving end of the male gaze every day; we of course respond to this in a diversity of ways depending on personal factors. Some of it is welcome, some of it is not. And sometimes it just depends on what kind of day we’re having, or who is doing the looking.

How would I explore a story where a woman was doing the looking?

My character, Roxy stood up in my head, and purred, “Buy me a ticket,  let’s get on that train and see what happens.”

So here it is.  A subversively sexy story, exploring voyeurism from a distinctly feminine perspective. For Roxy, a chance erotic encounter might just be the start of a new kind of journey.

Click on the pic (or the title) to read “Peek Hour“.

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The Lover’s Playground: Friday Flash #9

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Adrea Kore, Desire, Flash Fiction, Friday Flash, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, sexual relating, sexuality

It had become their sweet mid-week ritual.

Pasta at their local trattoria, served in huge parmesan-laced bowls, with a shared bottle of red. Their legs, under the table, intertwined like strands of tagliatelle.

Afterwards, they’d stroll three doors down for gelati, choosing their cool palette of pastel flavours, sampling from each other’s cups as the sweet mounds softened in the summer-night air.

They’d walk home through the quiet back-streets, taking slightly different routes, yet always arriving at the playground.

Carrie had come to think of it as their playground. Their twilight play-time world, after all the children were gone for the day.

Along the back of old wooden palings separating a back yard from the playground, the words “Love is Love”, in florid spray-painted flourishes, always made her smile. They had joked that the graffiti artist was no philosopher.

Chris would settle her on the swing, seat generous enough to cup the ample curves of her very grown-up buttocks. Standing behind, he’d wrap his arms around her, swaying gently, allowing the swing to take their gravity. Then he’d start to push her, sending the little girl in her skyward, squealing, higher and higher.

Carrie had come to think of it as their playground. Their twilight play-time world, after all the children were gone for the day.

One night, while she was still dizzy from the swing, he knelt in front of her, running his hands up the inside of her thighs.

“You haven’t got any underwear on.”  He gripped the chains, pulling the swing towards his waiting mouth.

“Too hot …” she murmured, as his tongue delved into her depths. Head back, gasping, she swallowed stars.

Sexual Hauntings: Touching Mystery through Writing Erotica

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Adrea Kore, archetypes, author intent, erotic fiction, erotica, Female Ejaculation, Female Sexuality, Luce Irigaray, multiple orgasms, On Writing, Sexual Mysteries, sexual relating, sexuality, Tantra, women writing sex

Away with my lover last weekend, I experienced something sublimely inexplicable, yet familiar, during foreplay. An explosion of silver sparks danced across the inside of my closed eyelids as we kissed deeply. These sparks are always accompanied by intense pleasure, and a feeling of closeness to my partner. Yet they also feel magical, and remind me of the idea in quantum physics (and in the Moby song “Stars”) that we humans are made of the stuff of stars, that we too can shimmer and gleam.

In a recent post on what makes a piece of fiction erotica, I touched on authorial intent, and I want to delve into this from another perspective here. The issue of intent for the writer is perhaps continuously evolving, shifting as one’s writing evolves. Intent is a drive, a strong motivation to write about certain subjects in certain ways, in the hope of certain outcomes. I believe intent is closely linked in with desire, but also our core values as experiencing, exploring beings.

One of my core beliefs is that we are more than just bodies; we are also energy, soul and spirit. So, when we engage in sex, we aren’t merely bodies grinding against one another. We cannot but share and merge our energy. Tantra is a practice and philosophy that reflects my beliefs, and I’ve been exploring it, both practically and theoretically, for almost two decades now. Tantra is a Sanskrit word that means “weaving” and aptly,  it weaves a spiritual philosophy developed over centuries with sexual and meditative practices. I’m drawn to it it also as a framework that acknowledges, supports and accepts the concept of a multi-orgasmic woman. And men, for that matter. Tantra was a world I felt confidently at home in. I was multi-orgasmic before I was Tantric, but Tantric practices such as breathing and visualization, as well as a more precise anatomical knowledge have definitely given me tools to strengthen my ecstatic experiences.

The shadow sides of our sexual psyches also intrigues me, and I see sex as a way of expressing different aspects of ourselves. Classical Tantra doesn’t encompass this side of our sexuality, but archetypal theories do. We can think of these other aspects of ourselves, like Jung did, as archetypes: the Vixen, the Warlock, the Witch, the Warrior, Venus, Pan. Through sex, we can put aside our everyday selves, and delve into other aspects of the psyche; we can allow them to come out and play.

… writing erotica is my own personal creative liminal zone, the point where sex merges into language, language into sex; two of my enduring fascinations.

Additionally, I take delight in the theatrical elements of sex; creating mood and atmosphere, using elements of costume and role play. Ahh, you mean kink, some of you will say, and yes of course many kink practices borrow from theatre. But kink is a loaded word, and one can play with all of these elements (even being tied up) without identifying as ‘kinky’. I did these things for a long, long time before I knew there were such concepts as kink or BDSM. I am inherently theatrical, creative and sensorily curious. I like to think of creative ways to enhance sensation. So these things drove me to dress up, put blindfolds on my partners, ice their nipples, tie them to tables. And to desire similar things done to me.

About five years ago, I began a Tantra teaching course. I didn’t complete it for lots of reasons, some of them, sadly, traumatic ones. But what I also realised is Tantra doesn’t encompass all of who I am sexually, nor how I want to explore sex. Around that time, I’d also written, performed and had my first erotica piece published. Why did I become an erotica writer, and not a sexuality educator?  Although the desire to run workshops on writing sex and exploring fantasy is definitely a future possibility, I can’t fully answer this question at present. Except to say that I need to be creative, and writing erotica is my own personal creative liminal zone, the point where sex merges into language, language into sex; two of my enduring fascinations.

I am (benevolently) haunted by certain intense, ecstatic, mysterious moments and discoveries on the map of my sexual experiences. More intriguingly,  it is those moments and sensations that seem beyond language, or logical explanation (or both) that haunt me; I am pulled back to the page time and time again, to the challenge of translating these most visceral, sometimes ethereal sensations into words and imagery. I write erotica partially in order to record these elements, but also to revel in the mystery.

In writing this list, I’m not trying to validate these moments as logical, nor am I trying or explain them. I’m simply naming them as a list of experiential “touchstones” that keep me connected to the mystery of sexuality, and keep me writing about sex. In fact, part of their personal portent for me, is that I don’t understand some of the experiences I’ve had intellectually. My body understands them. My senses felt their absolute veracity. It’s a searing contradicition, this knowing and not-knowing, and writing erotic fiction gives me a space to  both engage with and contemplate this paradox. They are  not puzzles I need to solve, rather they are mysteries I want to contemplate. Perhaps that’s also why I didn’t take the sexuality educator path.

Earthing Eros : the Makings of Erotica

Tags

Anais Nin, Delta of Venus, Desire, Eros, erotic fiction, erotica, Female Sexuality, Peek Hour, sexuality, Taboo, Tobsha Learner, Transgression

I sometimes get asked by readers and acquaintances new to the erotica genre what makes a piece of fiction “erotica”?  What distinguishes it from other fiction genres? And recently, some other erotica writers and I have been mulling over the question in a forum. Considering the diversity of erotica out there, the answer appears difficult to define.

A story can contain sex as an element, and yet not be erotica.

A story can be erotica, and yet not have an obvious sex scene in it.

“What?” I hear you ask. “Well, how do you know if it’s erotica?”

It is my observation from both reading and writing erotica that there are three primary elements present in a piece of fiction that place it within the genre of erotica: framing, focus and intent.

 Framing – The Erotic Gaze

In erotica, sex is the lens through which the character, events and themes of the story are framed. Effective erotica does not negate crafted story-telling – author Tobsha Learner in The Zipless Read reminds us that “like all good writing this does involve setting up the attraction, the obstacles, the psychology … of the characters”. This lens is then kept tightly focused on what occurs or is revealed through the characters’ sexual desires, thoughts, feelings and actions.  These elements are the vital components of the story, not merely floral embellishments; they are central to the plot, themes and character development. Remove the sexual elements, and the story collapses in on itself, disintegrates like the average short-term sexual-romantic relationship. Remove the sex or sexual elements, and there simply won’t be a story.

In non-erotica fiction genres such as mystery or historical drama, if there are sexual elements, they are not core to the central theme of the story. Sexual elements may illustrate an aspect of the development of a relationship, or the end of one, and be part of a sub-plot. But the main spine of the story is not the sex. Character growth and plot development might be mapped through depicting a descent into madness, or the recounting of a road trip, or the unravelling of a mystery.

So, what about romance? Doesn’t this genre have sex as a central element to the story? Along with emotional and psychological imperatives, yes, undoubtedly it does. But here, we move onto the element of focus, and see that the focus on sex in erotica differs in ways both subtle and substantial to romance.

Focus – Eros Up-Close

I spent half a semester at Uni studying the romance novel in a subject on popular culture, and I’ve retained very little of it. Except as an opportunity for feminist analysis, romance novels bored me,  and my discovery of interesting writing about sex such as Anais Nin’s Delta of Venus was a couple of years away. But I do recall that Mills and Boons novels are written to certain plot formulas – the desirable Mr Aloof must be introduced by page 7, the first obstacle to their union must occur by page 43 – that sort of thing. The formulaic approach alarmed my inner creative writer, and also disturbed me, because I believe fundamentally in the individuality of the reader and what the reader brings to the text. This is not an academic analysis of the romance novel. But I will draw some comparisons; how the focus on sex  achieves differing functions in the two genres.

Erotica, in comparison to romance, is generally far more explicit about the sexual acts and aspects. The remnants of ejaculate drying across the belly are as worthy of focus as the delirious intensity of mutual orgasm. Where romance revels in painting in pleasing sunset hues and sweeping brushstrokes the gloss of ‘perfect’ sex with perfect or almost-perfect people, the “erotic gaze” permits both this, but also the grainy close-ups, the incomplete orgasm, the portrayal of scars and flaws of the body and psyche as sexy.

Tobsha’s article observes that readers want to be “in the skin” of the protagonists, feeling “the aching frustration and longing and then the blissful release of orgasm, both in the emotional, physical and sometimes spiritual sense.” This kind of interiority begets a particular focus to the writing, a focus on the sensory and emotional realms. A focus on relating to the world and to the lover through the detail and delight of all of the senses. Language gets textural, sensual and becomes finely attuned to the smells of different skins, the sounds of arousal and orgasm. As Nin passionately declares about erotic writing in the preface to Delta, “how wrong it is not to mix it with emotion, hunger, desire, lust, whims, caprices, personal ties, deeper relationships that change its color, flavor, rhythms, intensities.”

Language gets textural, sensual and becomes finely attuned to the smells of different skins, the sounds of arousal and orgasm.

Erotica delves into the ambiguous, the taboo, the grotesque. Romance does not. It is comfortable with portraying these things alongside the sensual, the ecstatic, the celebratory elements of sex. Delta of Venus contains stories that explore bestiality, incestuous desires, paedophilia, and non-consensual sex, as well as more socially conventional themes of mutual seduction, virgins deflowered, and sexual awakenings.

Erotica can have a sense of humour about the messiness and awkwardness of sex, whereas romance takes itself very seriously.

Erotica can explore the eccentricities of human sexuality. In Tobsha Learner’s The Man Who Loved Sound, audiologist Quin falls in love with women via the tones and timbres of their voices. In Peek Hour I turn the misogynist tables and create a female voyeur character with an unrelenting case of penephilia (love of and enthusiasm for the penis). Romance sits within the narrow spectrum of normalcy – it is homogenised and pasteurised desire. It is also by and large heterosexual and monocentric, whereas erotica permits the exploration of alternative sexualities such as polyamory, kink, gay, queer and open relationships.

In this genre named after him, Eros can possess both god-like attributes and the frailties of humanity. Sometimes he misfires his arrows. Sometimes he refrains from flying, and takes the train.

Sex as a focus in erotica can be simply for its own sake. It can explore excessive, subversive, dangerous and addictive sexual behaviour without rancour. It can, but does not have to situate sex as a bonding activity, unlike romance. The characters that have sex do not have to live happily ever after. They do not even have to enjoy sex, depending on the intention of the writer.

Which brings me to the final aspect of erotic writing – that of intent. But, as it’s my intent to have your company for a little longer … that will be a whole other blog post.

Coming soon …

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‘Just a Fantasy?’ – Honouring Our Sexual Imaginations – 1

Tags

Adrea Kore, Desire, sexual fantasies, sexual fantasy, sexual relating, sexuality

“It’s just a fantasy, but …”

How many times have you said this to yourself about a dream or imagined scenario, then tried to dismiss it from your mind? You’ve tried to dismiss this image,  scenario or compelling thought that got you hot, made your eyes sparkle, and gave you – even if for a few moments – a feeling of vitality, or perhaps even power. Then you’ve dismissed it from your mind, and got on with the important business of rational, everyday living.

Or perhaps you’ve had someone close to you say this (a lover or close friend), then divulge something they find hard to express? And their words have seemed cloaked in a tone of shame, embarrassment, or wistfulness.

Why are so many of us conditioned to give so little attention to our sexual fantasies, to not see them as important? As important, say, as that great idea in that last business meeting that got the bosses’ attention, and on following it through, got us a promotion.

The slippery world of advertising is constantly trying to sell us things through tapping into common elements of sexual fantasies, but these ‘packaged dreams’ will never be as unique as your own.

Reframing our ideas about sexual fantasies can bring us into more positive relationship with our “secret sexual selves” – those aspects we may hide from ourselves and others, feeling that they are shameful, unacceptable or taboo. Yet unearthing and expressing these fantasies often hold the potential to re-connect us to our sexual aliveness and authenticity.

A sexual fantasy can be about:

          What we are doing.

          What is being done to us

          OR both.

It can be about imagining experiences, sensations, or scenarios in which you are directly involved, or watching –or both.

Fantasies can be about pain or pleasure or both.

And what one person perceives as pain may be another person’s version of pleasure. Flogging, spanking, neck-biting, nipple-clamping … these are just some examples of activities that individuals may have vastly different responses to. But is anyone wrong for fantasising or not fantasising about these elements? No.

This is the nature of a sexual fantasy: like a signature it is unique to you, and tells a story about you. Where you have been, who you are right now, and where you desire to go.

So what might be ways that we can “give voice” to our sexual fantasies, allowing the whole of our sexuality to speak? I’ll be exploring this more in the next installment of this post, as well as other questions around acknowledging and exploring sexual fantasies.

I’m a relatively new fish in the big blogging pond, but in reviewing my blog stats today, I noticed that my two or three ‘sexual fantasies‘ tags on this blog brought sixteen people to my blog in the last month. That’s a search every second day. That’s quite a lot of curiosity around one particular subject …

This isn’t surprising at all to me. Becoming an erotica writer has increased my ability to pay attention to this part of my imagination. And strengthened my belief that this aspect of ourselves has a vital connection to increased self-awareness, creativity, sexual fulfillment – and healing.

“The erotic can never be restricted to the body alone; the imagination always plays a part.”

Margaret Reynolds (Erotica Anthology)

Over the coming weeks, I’ll be posting more on this topic. Recently I ran a workshop at a weekend festival around sexuality on this very topic, which I’ll also be drawing some observations and material from. I’d love to hear your thoughts on sexual fantasies, too. Come on – let’s make it a conversation … I hate monologues.

Stay tuned, and meanwhile, sweet, sexy dreams …

Writing the Erotic – Where do We Begin?

Tags

Adrea Kore, Creative Process, Inspiration, Natalie Goldberg, On Writing, sexuality, Take Pen in Hand

In Writing Down the Bones, a wonderful classic on the craft of writing, author Natalie Goldberg discusses eroticism in one essay. She explains, and I agree, that any big topic, such as eroticism, can leave us generalizing, making grandiose statements, or never even starting because we think we don’t know enough.

“Always begin with yourself, and let that carry you,” she suggests. “Begin with something small and concrete – your teacup in its saucer, the thin slice of apple …Writing, she says, “is an act of discovery”. You want to discover your relationship to the topic, not the dictionary definition.”

Jodi Ellen Malpas: ‘Since Fifty Shades women have become addicted. They like to read about sex’

Tags

erotica, sexual relating, sexuality

It appears that reading erotica can help your sex life … and I’ve certainly had my own interesting feeback on the effect my stories have had on readers.

I’ve had emails and seen women at signings who have said that reading erotic literature has opened their minds and massively improved their sex lives. When you’re in a marriage for a long time you get regimented sex – you go to bed, he does this, you do that – and it gets boring. Reading erotica can certainly give women inspiration, and many of them have come back to me very pleased. A lot of men are thanking the explosion of erotic literature. I get loads of emails from happy husbands.

via Jodi Ellen Malpas: ‘Since Fifty Shades women have become addicted. They like to read about sex’ | Life and style | The Guardian.

‘Best Enjoyed Hard’ – Ripe Ideas & Fruity Poetry

Tags

Adrea Kore, Creative Process, Desire, erotic poetry, Little Raven, On Writing, sexuality

It’s not that I’m not enjoying
the soft fruit of your kiss
the luscious suck of lower lip
It’s just that I hunger for harder

I hope you’ve enjoyed my series of Posts this week focusing on erotic poetry. Perhaps something has inspired you to try penning your own, or you’ve discovered new authors through some of the erotic poetry I’ve featured, such as Adrienne Rich and Sappho. I’d love to hear from you with what you liked, or how any of my posts this week inspired you.

A poem can start with the smallest of ideas: an image in your mind on the edge of sleep, watching a petal drop from a flower, or a phrase mid-conversation.

This one started in a conversation with my partner, as we were assessing whether our bananas were ripe enough to add to breakfast. It got me thinking that yes, although most fruit is better when soft and ripe, with some fruit the opposite is the case.

Perhaps by then, I wasn’t really thinking about bananas.

So, diligent writer that I am, as soon as I had a moment I hastily sketched an image of a pear in my notebook, and wrote the words: “Some varieties of fruit are better consumed hard.” Like many of my ideas, I had no idea what would become of it at the time. Perhaps a female character would suggestively say it to her male lover at the right heated moment in a short story. Perhaps it would just stay in my notebook and rot.

And then, I let time mature, and (pardon the pun), ripen the idea, until a few months later, after meeting up with a few other erotica writers for drinks, the poem emerged later that night at home. It seemed to be a fusion of my first idea and the conversation that night around fruit as sexual metaphors. And – other things.

Creative process, like fruit, sometimes needs time to reach that point where a more complete idea is ripe for the plucking.

So once again, I’m delighted to be a Featured Writer with erotica publishers Little Raven, with my poem Best Enjoyed Hard. For your delectation …

Please Pick the Pear

Best Enjoyed Hard

Thanks for reading – would love to hear your thoughts. How did it make you feel? Did it remind you of a time when … ? Did you love or hate the imagery? Did it make you want to go and eat … fruit? Or write an erotic poem to your amour? Whisper in my virtual ear …

Yield – by Adrea Kore

Tags

Adrea Kore, erotic poetry, Female Sexuality, sexuality, women writing sex, Writing Sex

Here again, and, for the first time,

This aeons-old meeting-place

You and I make cross-roads of our arms

and our wanting speaks within

This exquisite tension

between permission and resistance

Poised, in the flesh of your instinctive seeking

Gustav Klimt – “The Kiss”

and my seeming witholding…

 

 

I await the secret knock

the whispered invocation

Scored, taut, across

the skin of you

To be sensed, like Braille,

blind-seeing, beyond where I resist

The night, for a moment, pauses;

We hold night in our mouths

 

 

As the weight of you,

the waiting of you, falls

into the arms of my sex

I yield, whilst somehow, still,

you are held by me;

I pour away,

an endless avalanche

of release.

 

 

©  Adrea Kore 2012

(Not to be reproduced or reprinted,

 in part or in whole, without permission of the author

 

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