eXcessica new releases

LORD MELCHIOR

By Varian Krylov

www.excessica.com

Length: Short Story

Category: Menage, Historical

Heat Level: eXcess 4

Price: $2.99

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Long ago and far away, Lord Melchior ruled over his lands and his serfs with an iron hand. Taken from their homes at the cusp of adolescence and brought up in strict segregation, the boys and girls of his realm learned total obedience and rigid chastity. But when naïve Zaccheus and Rasha were chosen to serve their master in his castle, they soon discovered that one of Lord Melchior’s greatest pleasures was forcing his innocent young servants to violate the very laws he himself has imposed on them all their lives.

ACROSS THE THRESHOLD

By habu

www.excessica.com

Length: Super-Novel

Category: Anthology

Heat Level: eXcess 3

Price: 5.99

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What gay male can ever forget his first full-blown sexual experience—a particularly memorable first time, given the conventions of society? The first time can be the culmination of long-held frustration, or completely casual and come as a complete surprise. It can be traumatic or sought; imprisoning or releasing, disappointing or far beyond the wildest dream. First times can be prearranged or ritualistic; spontaneous or unexpected by both parties. The first time could have been instigated by a predator, a new lover, or a savior, or even by the first timer himself. The situation and venue can be sordid or off-the-cuff convenient, or might involve silken sheets, candles, champagne, prolonged seduction and foreplay.

But for most men, the one thing it cannot be is forgotten.

This anthology provides a treasure trove of thirty-five short stories of separate, varied “first time” gay male experiences, from the stalked to long anticipated, from the romantic to the brutal, for the young or not so young. The one central theme of all of these stories, however, is the experiences depicted all result in the beginning of a new lifestyle, not the ending of a world.

A TWISTED BARD’S TALE

By Selena Kitt

www.excessica.com

Length: Short Short

Category: Lesbian, Historical

Heat Level: eXcess 2

Price: 0.99

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Did you ever wonder what started the feud between the Capulets and the Montagues? Check out this naughty version of Romeo and Juliet - you’ll be surprised and delighted by this twisted Bard’s tale!

photo credit: verybigjen

Sex sells.

That’s what all advertising teaches, right? And we see it, we’re inundated with it, we know it.

So you would think that sex would be primarily what would sell in something written specifically about sex… like romance novels, for example. In fact, sex has become such the perceived focus in romance, a whole new genre has sprung up in recent years– “erotic” romance novels, where we’ve upped the ante considerably. Men no longer sport manhoods and women don’t have “sheaths” to house them. Cock and pussy are right out there in the open.

It’s obvious. Sex is what sells.

Right?

No, contrary to popular opinion, it’s not the sex that gets the reader to turn those pages.

It’s the pain.

Copyblogger says so. It must be true!

Romance readers don’t keep picking up hundreds of titles a year because they want to read about sex. They come back, again and again, to read about the pain. Happy is boring. Pain is interesting. The more pain, the better. Authors just keep turning and turning and turning the screws, and readers writhe in painful ecstasy like a hot BDSM submissive slut on her way to orgasmic heaven.

And that’s just where the reader is headed, of course. And so are the characters.

Because a good Dom writer knows when to stop with the pain and start with the pleasure. To weave them together in a tapestry of delightfully terrible bliss.

To quote one of my husband’s favorite movies: (and if you name it first in the comments, I’ll give you a copy of my newest Phaze release: Sacred Spots. I’d give you an eXcessica book, but none of them currently released really have romance-y satisfying sorts of happily ever afters, and that doesn’t seem quite fair in a post about romance!

Life is pain, Princess. Anyone who tells you anything different is selling something.

Ah there’s the paradox. Because the romance novel requires, in almost all cases, a happily ever after, even if real life doesn’t always end that way. The pain has to end some time. Pain is interesting, and it works as both a marketing tool (as Copyblogger points out) and a plot vehicle, because the absence of pain feels so good. Believe me, the world looks like a tremendously more beautiful place the day after I have a migraine - much more so than on days I don’t.

As Copyblogger points out:

If the problem is bad enough, any solution feels miraculous.

As with my migraines… just the absence of pain can feel like a resolution! If you’ve put your two main characters through enough misery, all you have to do is bring them back together to satisfy the reader. Sex is a great way to do that… and of course, it’s no accident that the literal orgasm serves as a symbolic redemption for all those pages of horrible pain and misunderstanding and despair.

And once you’ve reached your climax–and in erotic romance, it’s usually simultaneous, or pretty darned close, plot-climax and characters’-climax–it’s time to go. A little cuddling afterward is fine, but not too much.

We all know what happens when a book or series or movie jumps the shark when it comes to the “too much cuddling” phase.

Anyone else remember Moonlighting? Hot and riveting… until they got together

Then… pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt.

Where’s the remote?

So in all this talk about sex and porn these past few weeks, it’s good to remember what really “sells” (in Copyblogger language) or appeals (in authorly language) might look like sex, and sound like sex, and feel like sex… but it isn’t really sex. Sex only serves as a symbol - it’s the closest we can come (every pun intended) as humans to one another, to redemption, to wholeness.

And we all know the journey toward that climax is what makes the ending so damned good.

Doesn’t that go for everything?

And if there’s an obstacle or two in the way? A lot of twists and turns and dead ends and fears you might not make it… and even, oh yes, even a lot of little pain involved in the process?

Oh yes.

That’s right. All romance readers are pain sluts. And the most experienced Doms writers can take them on a twisting, aching ride to Nirvana - again and again and again.

And hey…we writers don’t even need any Viagra!

~*~*~Selena Kitt~*~*~

I don’t know about other authors, but my life is hectic at the best of times. My writing is something that has to be fitted in around two jobs, three kids, assorted pets, not to mention other interests. Some days I truly wish I had multiple personalities and could therefore delegate some of the more boring tasks. Failing that, I wish my kids could be more [bleep] helpful!

Most of my work is written in hurried bursts during quiet interludes at the office, or whilst waiting for a pan of assorted items to cook for the evening meal. At the office, I have devised several methods for hiding the true nature of my writing. Any document I work on whilst there is always re-named as something innocuous. I often use acronyms of the true title so that any passing colleague is blissfully unaware that SMH.doc is in fact erotica, as opposed to an innocent letter.

One particular story was named html.doc for ages as I was supposed to be working my way through a HTML and CSS tutorial. Well I was – but I was also writing pages of steamy sex at the same time.

Working at home is less fraught. Since my laptop is password protected and strictly for my use only, I can work on anything I like without the risk of being caught. The only problem I have there is the constant distraction of domestic chaos.

Have you tried writing a sex scene while WW3 is raging in the adjacent room? No? Then try it sometime and see how far you get!

He slowly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the curve of her breasts as she held her breath almost to the point of asphyxiation. When she felt the first touch of calloused fingers, Melissa moaned softly. Her traitorous body wanted him, even if every nerve in her body screamed that it was wrong to feel this way about her cousin. . .

“MUM! Issy won’t let me go on her computer. I hate her!”

“GO AWAY!”

Cue the sound of screaming before my bedroom door rudely bangs open. “Mum! Tell him! He’s annoying me!” my younger daughter cries petulantly as her brother throws things at her from the relative safety of the bathroom.

“Oh for [bleep] stop bickering!” I mutter crossly as I minimise my document window. Once the argument has been sorted out in the best tradition of parental diplomacy (both offspring sent to their respective rooms under the threat of extreme violence), I return to my story.

Ryan pushed her down on to the hard mattress and smiled slowly as he raked his gaze across her semi naked body. Melissa watched helplessly as he unzipped his jeans. Even though she was aware that anybody could walk in on them, the fear of reprisal was not enough to make her run away. When the denim finally slid down his taut, muscular thighs, she gasped out loud in shock. . .

The phone rings, jarring my concentration once again. A sullen teen on the end of the line asks in a monosyllabic tone to speak to my eldest daughter.

“Phone for you!” I yell, trying to make myself heard above the thumping dance music emanating from my daughters bedroom. The music momentarily deafens the entire neighbourhood as her bedroom door opens. My Britney Wannbe flounces in and snatches the phone from me with a disdainful toss of her dyed hair before flouncing back out, talking a foreign language of ‘yeah, whatever, he’s so fit…yeah…like well fit!’

I pull a face at her, but she is oblivious – I don’t blip on her radar unless she wants my cash, my clothes, or my make-up. In that order.

By now my characters are in a state of severe coitus interruptus and frankly I know how they feel.

I wistfully dream of a sun kissed patio beside an azure pool, where I wish I was sitting in the shade of a lemon tree, able to write for hours with no distractions. However, knowing my luck, I would probably end up being cursed with writers block in the unlikely event opportunity gave me a winning lotto ticket. Still, I’m certain the pool boy and a nice bottle of Chianti would soften the blow.

In the meantime, I should be able to give my characters a mutually satisfying orgasm before the Bolognese is ready . . .

Dinner’s cummmmmiinnng!

Pasta anyone?

Rachelle LeMonnier

The problems of being an erotic author are many and varied. This erotic author, for example, is seriously considering moving into the more generally accepted ’straight’ genre of romantic or ‘chick lit’ fiction, not least because then I could finally let my mum and dad read something I’ve written!

In fact, telling people is one of the biggest reasons I am considering moving into a more ‘acceptable’ area of fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed. All my friends know I write erotica, as does my partner and my mother, but I can’t let them read anything I write, nor can I tell people at my volunteer work who ask me what I do. The follow-up question to “Oh, I’m an author” is always some variation of “Oh? What do you write?” A total nightmare if you’re in a very conservative situation.

Add to that the difficulty of getting it published in the real world – let’s face it, nothing feels as good as seeing your work in print – and the continual problems of finding new vocabulary for basic human anatomy and you have a rough idea of why non-sexual romantic stuff might be preferable for me.

Of course, the problem there is that I just write sex too damn well, and I bloody well enjoy it. For the time being I guess I’ll just have to continue typing away, producing marvellous works of literary genius that just happen to be filled with pages and pages of raunchy sex and deal with the consequences. Though, looking as sweet and innocent and I do, it is always fun to drop a bombshell now and then.

“So Emelia, what is it that you do?”

“Oh, I write porn…”

Emelia Bell

I’ll admit that I’m not an experienced writer. The past year has been one filled with learning. Most of what I put on paper in the beginning was junk. Words ran through my head until I started to write them down. Today I feel like I have accomplished something. I took the first steps of a journey into an unknown future in late 2006.

Many people I talk to now started to write back in school already. They learned everything from the technical aspects of a sentence to proper grammar and correct punctuation. Often years of classes preceded any submissions for them. It’s not difficult to find authors with ten, fifteen, or even twenty years experience.

That makes me wonder this. Can one way make it easier to spin a good story over the other? Does it still take natural ability and imagination no matter how much is learned in school? Will a discerning reader pick out the differences between the two?

I don’t know if there is a correct answer. Each person has their own idea of what they want when they read a story. I’m no expert. There are more questions than answers in my head. I just know that learning from books, teachers, or other authors should never stop. In my opinion, if I personally don’t improve, I stagnate, and that isn’t acceptable.

Alexys Quinn