Dancing With Myself Release: “The Solution”

Today is the release date for Dancing With Myself, an anthology of self-love erotica. What a beautiful phrase–“self-love.” In all it senses. Interestingly, one might argue that the protagonist of my piece in this anthology, “The Solution,” doesn’t have a lot of reason to love herself.

“The Solution” is a story that’s been on my mind for a while. Even with this, it’s still not fully purged; I suspect it’s one of those beasties that might turn into a novel one day. I starting writing it when I was reflecting on how several of my favorite erotic novels–everything from Megan Hart’s Tear You Apart to  Kate Chopin’s The Awakening–center around adultery.

What’s up with that?

I’ve got theories: not the lies, but the secrecy certainly touches on something in me, and I’ve always been personally a bit skeptical of monogamy. It’s definitely something more fun to read and write about than to do, but there is that fascination that always surrounds people behaving badly.

 

I wondered if Dom had ever worried about me, all the nights I’d been out late. Maybe he’d been glad to have his space, just as I was glad to have mine on those evenings he claimed to have meetings or buddies waiting for him at some bar. Once I figured out where he’d really been going, I claimed more than space. I took pleasure, I took control. That was what it felt like at the time, at least.

The story centers, then, around that headspace–the thrill of doing what you know is wrong, but feeling justified in it anyway. A place where selfishness isn’t quite the same as self-love. But it’s as much about the other people involved in these brief-lived affairs, some of them one or two-night infidelities:

Dirty, he’d called me when I showed him how to get me off. I’d grabbed his hand and guided it to where mine now was, riding his fingers and rutting against his palm. His wrist had twisted in my grip and he’d panted about my perversity. I’m not sure which part he found so perverse. When I’d gone further, grasping his cock to control how it slid inside me, he’d been able to say nothing at all. Had that been worth violating my marriage vows for? That, and Heather, and Claire and Matt, and Joshua’s lips wrapping around my nipples as his fingers cupped and kneaded my ass, and Scott’s grin as he followed me down the dim corridor…

It’s a story about memory, and having it all at once, and having none of it, and learning how to love yourself once again. After all, you’re the one person you have no choice but to be faithful to.

 

Dancing With Myself is available on Amazon and Smashwords. More updates will be added to “The Solution’s” story page as they come.

 

 

Episode 2 of Smutty Storytelling: Sex Languages

Sex Languages: Romance vs. Porn vs. Erotica in the Quest for Sexual Connection

As recent events have made all too clear, our society is deprived of ways to communicate honestly about sex, desire, and consent. One potential source of language comes from the words that turn us on. In this episode, T.C. and Betina discuss a range of sex languages: the bestselling romance novel, purely sexual pornography, and literary erotica, which offers a balance between the emotions, the mind, and the senses.

 

It’s exciting to get back in the swing of things with the Smutty Storytelling podcast! In this episode, Betina and I discuss a topic that’s interested us for a long time–the different “modes” of erotic storytelling (Betina calls them “Sex Languages”, which I love) and what experiences they offer readers. Let’s go beyond “I know it when I see it”! We offer recommendations and share our frustrations and our joys with each language. We also acknowledge some of the ways erotic writing can offer an opportunity to express desires and needs we’re not otherwise able to express, along with some of the risks of sex languages that don’t reflect real intimacy (in all its strengths and flaws) or offer a skewed perspective of human sexuality.

You can listen to the podcast here, or check us out on Soundcloud and iTunes.

One of my New Year’s resolutions is to start typing transcripts for each episode, too, so keep an eye out for those in the coming weeks.

A Big Book Release

2018 is off to a great start in terms of gigantic book releases…

The one I want to point you to today is the Big Book of Submission Vol 2’s paperback release (on Barnes & Noble and Amazon)!

While each story is under 1,200 words, 69 of them add up to quite the package.

Speaking of kinky flash fiction and/or insights into power–weren’t we?–I also have a short but sweet piece up at Bare Back magazine:

I’ve always wanted to feel power. The thing itself, not its effects or trappings. The effects aren’t bad; like hell I’m going to protest getting what I want. But they’re not exactly what I want, if that makes sense. I don’t care so much about the symptoms, but I want the disease.
Power is a disease, as you always bring up at some point in our political-philosophical-spiritual conversations. I nod along to your sermon, which I do agree with. Power is killing the world with deaths of a thousand cuts, exploitation, extraction. But that’s not what I’m talking about when I talk about the power I want.
It’s not in the slinky black PVC dress, though it looks great on the model online, and neither is it in the fishnets barely visible under my thigh-high leather boots. The netting imprints a pattern on my skin for the rest of the night. I love how the boots gleam and hug my calves, but those heels—“Shouldn’t you be the one in a torture device?” I ask.
You’ve marched and signed petitions against torture, the real kind I mean, but our conversations never get lost in that particular labyrinth. It makes so much difference when it’s consensual that it takes an effort to connect the two meanings of the word. Also, you don’t preach half as much when we’re playing—fucking with power.
Your hands rub my aches away. There’s a special energy in that, in your hands moving warm and firm over my heels, my ankles, up to my diamond-stamped thighs. Your touch somehow reaches into my flesh, soothing and exciting at once, and all at my command.
Still, this was just costuming. Turning me into someone else, or at least the imitation of her. It can make me feel freer or more obvious, but it’s not a source of true power. True power I’ll be able to feel in complete nakedness. True power I keep searching for, and you let me mark and bind your flesh into a map.

I’ll have more fresh updates in the next week–the next episode of the Smutty Storytelling podcast, in which Betina Cipher and I discuss erotic genres and ‘sex languages”; and a unique story in the Dancing With Myself anthology of “self-love” erotica!

2017 Year in Review

Not all New Year’s resolutions pan out, but this one did–in December 2016, I resolved to send out at least one story submission every month. That meant lots of tracking new calls, lots of brainstorming and nurturing of plot bunnies, and of course, lots of writing! But I feel like the work paid off: this was an excellent year, and I’m honored to have been included in anthologies from Mofo Pubs, SynCyr, and Cleis Press. Not to mention flash fiction on several websites and  in magazines. Many pieces are femdom f/m, of course, though publications this year also include f/f, m/m, and stories where gender and/or pairing aren’t categorized. Genre-wise, the majority of pieces are contemporary, literary, and about the “real world,” though there is also a ghost or two.

You can see a full list of my published fiction under my “Stories” tab.

“Soft, Rough” in the Wanderlust anthology 

Now she saw them in juxtaposition, as if the image from the mirror had carried over and overlaid what lay before her eyes. Not a single creature but two of them, very different in shape. He was made of curves—muscle and thickness, shoulders, ass, the thin but silken-soft layer of fat beneath the fine hair on his stomach, the roundness of his erection and balls. She was angular, from cheekbones to her small, sharp breasts.

Again she turned her head, looking in the mirror to confirm it. From this perspective, even her ears seemed to stick out in their usual way, points to break up the circle of her hair and head. She recognized herself. No startled moment of seeing a stranger, a ghost haunting the bed.

“Her Perfume” on Bright DesireMay 31

She squirms under me, moving until my mouth is over the curve of one breast, exactly where she wants it. But then I have to give chase in order to run my tongue around the aureole, to offer any focused attention. She’s not evading me—I know how much she likes to feel me lap and suck on her—it’s just hard for her to keep still. I find it flattering, the way the slightest brush of my lips or fingertips is enough to make her jump.

“My Body is a Haunted House” in the Hotel anthology

“Actually,” Cate said, “I wondered if we could ride together?”

Monica accepted with, she hoped, not too obvious eagerness. Or too obvious nerves. As they rode to the restaurant, Sara drowsed in the back seat, face turned to the distant clouds of smoke. Cate’s elegant hands curled over the leather-cushioned steering wheel. A faint pale stripe showed where the wedding ring had been.

“Deliver Us” in the Sacrilege anthology

Ryan might have made a mistake in telling her that his first awakening to bondage had come through some C-movie about an exorcism. Watching that lissome teenager writhe, strapped down on the table—just a kid himself, he’d known something was going on, something even beyond the desperate, weirdly poignant straining for salvation. Years later, he found out exactly what. And years after that, he confessed.

And now he was about to lose his immortal soul over it.

But God, Ann looked good in a Roman collar.

“Annunciation” in the Sacrilege anthology

When I was nineteen, just as I consciously acknowledged that I desired women, I happened to visit an art museum. Women adorned every wall—larger than life, in intricate miniature, clothed in historical costumes, clothed in drapes of fabric, clothed in flowers, clothed in nothing… I explored my response to each, coaxing forth desire like a shy creature from the corners of my being, unsure if it was rabid, ready to bite.

Young martyrs collapsed on desolate moors, riverbanks, arena sands, the gray stones of a Roman street. I stopped before one, her dark hair spread around her like a pool of ink or blood, her nakedness covered only by some haphazard snow. God had sent it to protect her modesty; the painter was less motivated.

Suddenly in imagination…the snow became a cushion, a bed.

“Fantasies” in the Getting It anthology

She released her mouth’s tension with a soft pop. “I think I’d mess up the statistics. The ones they quote on every side of the feminist debates. Or maybe lots of women feel the way I do but don’t know how to articulate it.”

“Yeah?” He responded to the thoughtful tone her voice took on. “How do you feel?”

She gently squeezed his neck, hinting that the question was impertinent. Or only unnecessary, since she wanted to tell him anyway.

“Silver Bracelets” in the Getting It anthology

She comes very near to telling him, I liked your present so much that I tried to eat it. Knowing he’d understand, he’d get the joke, and even the part of it that isn’t a joke. But she holds back.

…Her boyfriend’s given her a pair of handcuffs, but she’s afraid of coming on to him too strong.

“The Bodies of Ghosts” in the Haunted anthology and as a free standalone ebook

Yet my arousal didn’t feel perverse or completely unexpected. Grief excuses a lot of things. Probably because it drives a lot of things. It’s love without means of communication, helpless caring without anything to hope or fear for. It’s passion, it’s pain, it’s wanting without a chance of ever being satisfied. Without an outlet.

Binding Him Between” as a free flash fiction on this blog

Colin glanced around them, and a corner of his mouth pulled in an achingly familiar way. “Not the most romantic place for a reunion.”

“I know.” Lucas joined in his laughter, almost giddy. “But the, um…the magic is bound to your physical…remains.”

“I see.” He raised his hands—each caught in a loop of shadow-soft cord, tied in turn to Lucas’s right wrist. He smirked. “Bound?”

“I can keep you as long as we’re joined like this. Or until sunrise, whichever comes first.”

“Well…” He stepped closer. “I think we can make the best of it.”

“The Depths of You” in The Erotic Review magazine (free to read)

Performance anxiety? Sure, some. But I’m good at what I do to you. I know it. I know just the depth, rhythm, angle to take you apart. Then to pull you back together, so you burst again. All the while driving into you towards my own pleasure, my own ascent and plummet into something dark, full, and for each moment, enough.

Somewhere in that helpless satisfaction is the thing that scares me so fucking much.”

“First Slap” in The Big Book of Submission, Volume 2

“Can I slap you?”

He was struck by how she asked the question. Clearly, but softly, revealing not shyness but a sort of respect for the request’s significance. It was the same way she had suggested their first kiss, resolving his private uncertainty over the nature of a conversation which had grown steadily warmer and more intimate. Then, in what seemed like a continuation of their exchange, the kisses went on, deepening until her lips turned red and his felt swollen and helpless but not numb, not exactly.

“Outnumbered” in Aotearotica, Volume 4

They’ve been going at it for almost an hour—just the two of them, one on one, but really, she’s got him outnumbered. The cuffs help.

He strains at them suddenly, so hard the bedposts groan. She chuckles. They’ll hold. He’d hold, too, even if in the moment he doesn’t realize it. She slows down, giving him more space to ask for anything he needs. If he isn’t too proud.

Silence. She goes back to what she’s doing, riding out his reaction. Under her he bucks, trembles, struggles. A body in tension and frantic release.

Plus a poem in Cliterature’s Birth Control issue to round the year out!

Book sale alert: Red Velvet and Absinthe

Book alert: the Red Velvet and Absinthe anthology is currently on sale at 10% of its original price (99 cents instead of $9.99)!

This anthology of Gothic erotic fiction is quite possibly the best book of erotica I’ve ever read. I’m not in it, but you might say it’s in me. Every piece is lush and dazzling, with a diversity of orientations, kinks, and dynamics between couples. Some stories lean more toward romance, some toward horror, some toward pure smut. There are classics like vampires and werewolves (reimagined in interesting new ways) and some stranger encounters with enchanted–or haunted–paintings, a hangman, and a dom who might be the Green Fairy herself.

Poetry in Cliterature Journal

In an exciting slip into a new genre, I have a poem, “Stiff-Necked in Respect Life Month,” out in Cliterature’s latest issue–Birth Control

As you might expect from the title, it’s about a struggle with Catholicism on many fronts (and was actually written in October). It is, for now, the final home of a first line that badly wanted to begin something–a blog post, a flash fiction, and ultimately a poem:

My bedside drawer holds a rosary and a vibrator...

‘Tis the Season for…Kinky Flash Fiction

I didn’t plan it this way, but I have three flash fiction publications this month and they’re all pretty wonderfully perverse. So it’s a great time to work out the end-of-year tension and get your freak on in under 2,000 words.

Today, my short piece “The Depths of You” goes live at the Erotic Review magazine. A little long to be technically flash fiction, it’s a sort of prose poem about why it can be scary to use a strap-on:

Performance anxiety? Sure, some. But I’m good at what I do to you. I know it. I know just the depth, rhythm, angle to take you apart. Then to pull you back together, so you burst again. All the while driving into you towards my own pleasure, my own ascent and plummet into something dark, full, and for each moment, enough.

Somewhere in that helpless satisfaction is the thing that scares me so fucking much.

It’s better, sometimes, when you’re not facing me. When it’s just sensation. Our bodies slide with the same motions, friction traveling along the length of the silicone cock inside you to my clit, and that’s all we share. An encompassing awareness that we only need to feel. Not something to think about or communicate or soften with kisses. I hear your gasps and moans but your breath falls on the pillow; I don’t feel its wet heat lick my face. I don’t look into your eyes and drop into them, those beautiful dark bottomless pits.

But the kinky December fun doesn’t end there! I also have a piece in The Big Book of Submission, Volume 2edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and coming out December 19. It’s titled “First Slap”:

“Can I slap you?”

He was struck by how she asked the question. Clearly, but softly, revealing not shyness but a sort of respect for the request’s significance. It was the same way she had suggested their first kiss, resolving his private uncertainty over the nature of a conversation which had grown steadily warmer and more intimate.

Lastly, a longer flash piece with a bondage theme, “Outnumbered,” will be part of New Zealand-based erotic journal Aotearotica, Volume 4.

They’ve been going at it for almost an hour—just the two of them, one on one, but really, she’s got him outnumbered. The cuffs help.

He strains at them suddenly, so hard the bedposts groan. She chuckles. They’ll hold. He’d hold, too, even if in the moment he doesn’t realize it. She slows down, giving him more space to ask for anything he needs. If he isn’t too proud.

Silence. She goes back to what she’s doing, riding out his reaction. Under her he bucks, trembles, struggles. A body in tension and frantic release.

 

First Episode of “Smutty Storytelling”!

I’m excited to share the first episode of the Smutty Storytelling podcast, where my fellow erotica writer and editor Betina Cipher and I discuss the craft of sexy wordsmithing. In this first episode, we talk about how to use Point of View and tense, with examples from our stories in Getting It (though you don’t have to have read the stories to follow along!).

You can follow us on SoundCloud and we’ll soon be on iTunes as well. We’re recording the second episode next week–is there a topic related to erotica writing + editing you’d like to hear about? Let us know!

More Free Fiction for Halloween

It’s the 31st of October and I still haven’t picked out my costume. From the array of cosplay/Ren Faire odds and ends in the back of my closet, I’ll have to decide what to go with based on the weather. If it dips below freezing, I’ll probably choose the Victorian frock coat in which to hand out candy rather than the ball gown or diaphanous nightie (candlestick and running shoes optional).

In the following story, let’s assume the characters are somewhere October 31st-November 1st remains well above freezing.

“I see.” He raised his hands—each caught in a loop of shadow-soft cord, tied in turn to Lucas’s right wrist. He smirked. “Bound?

“I can keep you as long as we’re joined like this. Or until sunrise, whichever comes first.”

“Binding Him Between”

Lucas hadn’t been to the cemetery since the funeral. He hadn’t seen the point. If anything, it’d only make Colin seem even more impossibly distant. But he remembered, he knew exactly where to go. Through the dark, he found his way to the line of glossy granite stones and shorter grass between the oaks.

With each step, his hold tightened on the rope in his pocket—it felt more like ribbon, or vapor, or the finest silk scarf, so barely tangible that it might be crushed to nothingness in his fingers or slip free and vanish into the night. Insubstantial as the barrier between lives was supposed to be at this hour, at this time of the year.

When a witch accosts you on the street, says to your face exactly what you most want, and presses a gift on you… Lucas was desperate enough to try anything.

He crouched at Colin’s headstone and lit the candle from his other pocket. Hoping the surrounding markers and trees blocked the flame, he repeated what the self-proclaimed warlock had told him. It sounded like dog Latin to Lucas, but there was some comfort in words so devoid of meaning—free of the pressure to make sense. Things had stopped making sense at the doors of the emergency room eight months ago.

The shadows cast by the candle stirred over the ground. Stirred, like liquid. Lucas stumbled back as the brown grass disappeared under mist, and the mist rocked with waves like the surface of a silver lake. He took a deep breath. The directions on this point had been very simple, very clear. He pulled the cord out of his pocket, knotted one end around his right wrist, and reached into the grave.

It didn’t feel like anything at first.

He cried out when another hand found his.

But he didn’t hesitate, plunging his other hand into the mist. His fingers closed around those holding his, traced down them to find the wrist. Unable to see beyond the silver ground, he tied two more knots by touch, then tightened his grip and pulled.

Colin stepped out with the same lanky, unusual grace he’d always had. That was all Lucas saw before throwing his arms around him, pulled tight in return by two bound hands grasping his sweater. He hid his face against Colin’s neck, scratched by his suit collar. He smelled like…nothing, really, a pure absence of scent, but underneath that a glimmer of warmth that Lucas knew was Colin, again, at last, and he opened his mouth as if he could swallow it. That made Colin chuckle.

Lucas stepped back. Unable to help himself, he reached up and brushed back an untamed lock of hair that Colin had rarely let him correct in life. Now he allowed it. Colin’s forehead was unlined, from pain or confusion or anything else. Despite the warm candlelight, the illumination that touched his body glowed silver. Maybe that was why he looked…different. Yet if anything, better. Not healthier, but more visibly himself. Free of some veil Lucas had never noticed until it was stripped off.

Colin glanced around them, and a corner of his mouth pulled in an achingly familiar way. “Not the most romantic place for a reunion.”

“I know.” Lucas joined in his laughter, almost giddy. “But the, um…the magic is bound to your physical…remains.”

“I see.” He raised his hands—each caught in a loop of shadow-soft cord, tied in turn to Lucas’s right wrist. He smirked. “Bound?

“I can keep you as long as we’re joined like this. Or until sunrise, whichever comes first.”

“Well…” He stepped closer. “I think we can make the best of it.”

He kissed Lucas’s smile away. That warmth in his scent infused the taste of him too, and the smooth pressure of his lips and slickness of his tongue seemed to melt through Lucas.

Because he couldn’t help himself, in between their kisses, Lucas asked, “How has it been?”

“Missing you is the worst part.” Colin nipped his jaw lightly, in his old playful way. He didn’t ask how it had been for Lucas, for which he was grateful. That was over now, at least for one night.

He unbuttoned Colin’s suit and ironed blue shirt—blocking out the day he had taken both from their shared closet to hand to Colin’s sister—then pulled the cloth down his shoulders and as much of his arms as their bonds allowed. Colin returned the favor of undressing him, tugging up the hem of his thin sweater. Thank God it wasn’t a cold autumn. Even if it had been, the warmth now beating off Colin seemed to reach through his fingers into every inch of Lucas’s flesh.

“Wait.” Lucas pushed him prone on the ground, taking advantage of his untied left hand to explore his lover. Touching all of him, whole, alive. Or if not exactly that, still present. In some thrilling way, more present than he had ever been before.

Colin caught Lucas’s face between his hands and pulled him up for another kiss. Lucas parted his lips for him, sipping at his tongue even as he groped between them to undo Colin’s fly. Colin kicked off his shoes, and after Lucas pulled back to strip off his own jeans, he felt his lover’s silk-stockinged soles run along his calves. Just as they’d used to do on lazy evenings in bed.

He pulled down trousers, briefs, and pressed his face to Colin’s navel, nuzzling, nipping at the skin above his hips. He licked his way down until bittersweet-musky hair met his tongue, and then he found Colin’s cock, and he savored it the way he always did.

Oh.” There was a new surprise in Colin’s voice, mixed with the old appreciation. As if it felt different now. His fingers curled in Lucas’s hair, not pulling but tangling.

Lucas was never able to take him all the way in, even now when he felt so hungry for him, but he’d always thought Colin was just the right length. His left hand stroked the rest of the shaft that he couldn’t reach, in between slipping lower to hold his balls. The warmth and a salty taste, like sweat or precome but airier, filled his mouth, the undeniable presence filling all of him.

With a gentle twist in his hair, Colin drew his mouth away and guided him higher along his body.

“Yes,” Lucas said, straddling him. “I want you everywhere.”

He had to get up on his knees so that Colin’s bound hands could reach between his legs, and then he was parting for his fingers, sinking onto them, shivering and gasping.

Colin met his eyes, and his brows lifted. He added a third finger, coiling deep with a practiced gesture made easier by Lucas’s arousal—and earlier preparation.

“I got ready for you…before coming here…” He bent his head, breaking the connection of their gazes, not embarrassed but nearly overwhelmed between Colin’s expression and the sensation uncoiling inside of him. “I…really fucking hoped this would work.”

They both laughed—not for long. Lucas was breathless as he fell across his lover, hips hiked to let his hand keep working. Colin was…beyond that, it seemed, into a new level of awe and ecstasy and focus. The beckoning of his fingers against Lucas’s prostate made him cry out, then bite into the suit fabric bunched at Colin’s shoulder to keep from shouting.

“Come on,” he nearly whimpered. “I’m ready for you. I’m so ready.”

Colin took his fingers away, and Lucas reached down to guide him in.

They’d always used condoms before, but it didn’t seem to matter now. Colin’s cock, still slick from Lucas’s mouth and pulsing with silver warmth, joined their bodies with a smooth stroke. Lucas twisted his hips, finding a rhythm that he matched.

Eyes hot, tasting salt, Lucas sat up, taking him deeper. He shoved Colin’s bound hands over his head and began to ride him. Colin groaned approvingly, but he’d never been one to submit with complete passivity; he drove several thrusts home as Lucas stroked himself with his free hand. He was already close. Yet the unbelievably of the situation kept him from giving himself over to it, as if that would be taking it for granted. He remained conscious of every centimeter Colin moved inside him, every brush of his knuckles over his own cock. He didn’t let this blur together, adding up into the suffusion of orgasm. He didn’t let himself forget Colin.

Not that he could. Not that he really ever had.

Too soon, but after an eternity, he came with a fall of pearlescent drops across both their stomachs.

He released Colin’s hands, and they gripped his thigh, nails digging sweetly into the flesh. At other times they might have held his waist, his ass, adding leverage to pump him up and down. Now any touch was enough. Lucas lowered his head and they kissed as Colin finished inside him with slower, deep-rocking strokes.

“Stay in me,” Lucas murmured.

Colin’s voice caressed his ear. “Do you remember the night I stayed inside you until I was hard again?”

Lucas grinned.

Colin’s responses weren’t much faster than they had been in life, but effortless and sure. As they night passed, they encountered the inevitable faltering or uncertainties, but nothing a word or gesture couldn’t clarify. Except, of course, the biggest confusion, the dizziness of the miracle of being together at all. Unable to explain—Lucas didn’t waste words talking about the warlock or why he’d believed him—they only made the most of it. At one point Colin switched, something he rarely did but showed no hesitation about now, and spread his legs for Lucas, who’d probably be sore in the morning but didn’t care, couldn’t care; he would have endured real pain to have this night again.

And then the night was over.

As dawn made the horizon a bruised apricot, Colin began to undo the knots in the cord. “We shouldn’t remain joined much longer. When I return, I want to go alone.”

He looked at Lucas deliberately. After a moment, Lucas nodded. He did have things to live for. Sometimes they were easy to forget. But Colin had always been good at reminding him.

Then Colin whispered, “Same time next year?”

Lucas didn’t have a word stronger than “Yes,” so that was what he said. When the sun rose, its light was no more dazzling than the silvery brightness of Colin’s smile when he did.

The mist slipped between them but could not eclipse it.

Lucas headed home with the rope and candle in his pocket, alone, eyes steady on the path before him.

~end

If you’re looking for more erotic ghost stories, “Bodies of Ghosts” is still free at all major ebook retailers, and it’s included in the new Haunted anthology from Mofo Pubs. Happy Halloween!

 

Haunted is now out!

Haunted, Mofo Pubs’ latest volume of literary erotica, is out today–just in time for Halloween! Treat yourself to the eerie, sexy, chilling and thrilling:

 

A young man feels a peculiar hunger to be loved, one he can’t survive without sating in a series of vivid homoerotic dreams that blur the boundaries of fantasy and fact, desire and love. 

A hesitant dominant struggling with a recent breakup and the loss of her grandmother, finds a mysterious man in her living room with her grandmother’s rosary and an appetite for submission.

Years after a summer romance with a young male model, a woman finds herself driven to search through online porn for photos and videos that might feature him.

A man is tormented by the erotic demands of his soulmate—with whom he shares an intimacy so deep they can literally hear one another’s thoughts. 

A British soldier is haunted by memories of his lost lover and comrade in arms. 

A grieving woman moves into a basement apartment, which she discovers already has a resident.

 

 

Last week I wrote about music for making love to ghosts, and if that’s your thing, good news: Mofo editor Parker Marlo has put together her own playlist for this anthology.  Check it out on Spotify.

 

Read Bodies of Ghosts free:

Mofo Website

Amazon

iBooks

Kobo

Nook

 

Get all the stories in Haunted:

Mofo Website

Amazon

iBooks

Kobo