What gets you or your mate hotter than sin? There are a million different fantasies out there, and as an erotic author, I use them shamelessly. One fantasy which seems to strike a chord in a lot of women is the MFM fantasy. I mean who wouldn’t want to have two hunky men pleasuring their body? Another is the FMF. While I can take it or leave it, I have many friends that find this even hotter than having two men pleasure them.  While using these fantasies in my writing is extremely easy, it makes me wonder how much more difficult it would be to find this in reality, or if a person would want to.

Mr. Trace has had  a fantasy for years of sharing me with another man, and while it makes our sessions extremely hot,  I don’t know if I’m exactly comfortable with sharing our bed with another person.  I think a lot of it has to do with trust.   Trust in myself not to become jealous, or have my husband jealous, but also trusting enough to share my body with another man.  Let’s face it, men are normally physically stronger than women. It’s just the way God designed us, and it takes a great deal of faith for a woman to trust her body to another person.  That he won’t hurt it or do something to it that she simply doesn’t want.

Even if after deciding I’m ready to make this a reality, the logistics of it are enough to boggle the mind.  For one who would I ask to become a third in my sexual relationship?  And if I don’t feel comfortable asking a friend to participate, this leaves a complete stranger.  Again the trust issue arises.  Not that I don’t trust my husband to protect me, but the unknown can really put a damper on any excitement I might be feeling.  Plus how do I go about finding a complete stranger.  It’s not as if I can walk up to a stranger on the street and say, “Would you be interested in coming home and fucking me?  Oh and by the way,  my husband would really love to watch!”   The poor man would run away screaming for sure.

There’s always the option of looking on the internet for a third, but that in itself can be dangerous too.  This just leaves me wanting to throw my hands up in the air in exasperation and say screw it, and stay with the fantasy.

What do you think, am I over analzizing this? Or is it easier than I think?

We all have them, even if we never talk about them. They’re the ones who’ve shaped us, emotionally and sexually, the ones who haunt us occasionally and pepper our thoughts with ‘what if’s. Yes, I’m talking about exes.

There are all sorts of exes, and I’ll cover some of the key ones below, but I’ll bet you a pound to a penny that you have at least one Toxic Ex lurking in your past.

For the sake of ease I’ll be referring to the exes as male, but I’m fairly sure that all the types cross over to the fairer sex. I’m an equal opportunity bloggist, after all.

The Mirage Ex: You know the type I mean. You vaguely remember them, you’re sure you fucked them, but since you broke up they’ve vanished off the face of the planet and they didn’t leave that strong an impression when you were together. It’s almost as if, for a couple of months, you hallucinated that you were in a relationship.

The Friendly Ex: Now this ex actually splits into subdivisions. The basic premise is simple— an Ex to whom you still talk and occasionally see. Maybe you have mutual friends, sometimes you hear what they’re up to and you have no animosity towards him. Perhaps, like Chris Evans and Billie Piper, or Hugh Grant and Elizabeth Hurley, you’ve actually managed to salvage a genuine friendship from the wreckage. Just be careful no-one gets the wrong idea.

The subdivision would be the overly friendly ex: he calls just a little bit too often, makes obscene suggestions when he’s drunk. In fact he’s only just a step away from Obsessive Ex…

The Obsessive Ex: It ended years ago, but for some reason you’re still stuck with him. He calls you up all the time, you have the distinct impression that his occasional, pitiful, Facebook status update is about you and, every so often, he demands yet another autopsy of your long-since-failed relationship. Perhaps he’s merely lovesick, perhaps he thinks you’re an easier prospect than starting from scratch, but every so often he suggests that you give it another try, usually beginning in the bedroom. Either way you’re not going to go there and you often wish he had turned out to be a Mirage Ex.

The Booty Call Ex: This is basically an extrapolation of the friendly ex. You still talk occasionally and see each other for drinks, you’d introduce him to someone as a ‘friend’ rather than an ex, but every so often, when you’re both single and horny, you’ll meet up for a quick fuck to scratch the itch. You have no desire to get back with him, but the fact that he knows what pushes your buttons, added to the excitement of a ‘new’ partner, makes for an excellent booty call. You’ll keep his number, just in case…

The Toxic Ex: As with the Friendly Ex, this splits into two subdivisions- the Vindictive Toxic Ex and the Unknowing Toxic Ex.

The Vindictive Toxic Ex is like a sexually transmitted disease. Unpleasant, contracted after sexual relations, socially embarrassing and a possible threat to your current relationship. He pursues you every time you’re in a new relationship, sends you messages, flirts inappropriately and will not leave you alone. For your own part you know he’s bad for you and you try and avoid him, but it’s difficult in the face of his relentless pursuit. Even worse you have the distinct impression, if not actual proof, that he’s been telling things about you to mutual friends that you would rather they did not know. Who needs an enemy with an ex like this?

The Unknowing Toxic Ex is just as bad for you, emotionally, as the Vindictive sort, but this guy doesn’t even have to try. He’s the ex who you describe as ‘the one who got away’—the boyfriend you still regret losing. The feelings you had for him were deep and real and, no matter what reason ended your relationship, chances are it wasn’t your decision. He knows nothing about you now, you’ve been apart for years, but you’re still following him avidly. You look at his pictures through mutual friends on Facebook, Google his name, send him anonymous e-mails and dating site invitations and all the time know he never thinks of you at all. In fact, you have a sneaking suspicion that you’re rapidly falling into the role of Obsessive Ex.

Even a new love doesn’t quite heal the breach in your heart, because the love you had for your ex burned so brightly. All you can do is keep on keeping on and hope no-one ever finds out how much you still think about him.

I think everyone has a selection of these exes in their past but, as I said before, I’d bet anything that nearly everyone has a Toxic Ex. I know I do and he’s still poisoning me emotionally whenever I think of him. I’ve found my own treatment, however, that’s almost as good as a cure—I’ve written him into a story. Once I had him pinned to the page like a butterfly specimen I found I could shape and mould him into a completely new character. You know how they say familiarity breeds contempt? Well, having spent nearly a year writing him into a story I was more than familiar with him and I’ve had enough. If ever I feel myself softening towards him I just have to re-read the story and it’s like a vaccination—anti-Toxic-Ex!

My name’s Aden Kains. Okay, that’s my pen name. The one I’ve decided to use for writing erotic short fiction…or hmm, maybe a novella, too. And I guess I’m one of the newest fresh published erotic short fiction authors on the scene here at eXcessica.com—I’ve just made my first sale!

The Last Death of Ron and Melanie, a short, is listed under “coming soon.” I’m not going to tell you what it’s about, at least not here. Instead, I’ll do a little shameless self promotion and say, read the blurb and excerpt.

And hopefully, you’ll also get something out of my Sunday blogs, starting with this one. I’ll be contributing every second Sunday.

I don’t know whether you write under a pen name, but I’ve decided it’s the best option for me, because I don’t know whether my friends, colleagues and family would think less of me if I wrote under my real name and they read my stories. Let’s face it, erotic fiction is the hot market today, but it’s not for everyone. I’m quite capable of writing a good non-erotic short story, too, but I like writing erotica. It’s fun, challenging, and…um…stimulating. And if my writing stimulates a reader’s emotions, senses and body, then I’ve done my job well. Crafting a good erotic story isn’t easy because it all starts with a believable situation, characters and dialogue. Sex for the sake of sex in writing just doesn’t work. You make it work by closing your eyes and putting yourself into the character for a few minutes. What would he or she do now? What does it feel like? At least, that’s how I do it.

Who’s your biggest fan? I wish it was my wife, because I’d love to share my stories with her. There was a time when we’d go away for a weekend together and buy a steamy magazine and curl up in bed with it and read it together, or watch a good erotic film together. But I think she changed with motherhood (we’re now parents of a teen), and over the last thirteen years, she’s become very conventional. I have to say, it actually hurt a bit when I shared the news with her that The Last Death of Ron and Melanie was going to be published as an eBook, and all she said was, “That’s not something I’d brag about.”

We erotic fiction authors need someone to vet our words. Fortunately, I do have a biggest fan who’s insisting on reading everything I write, first. I’ve written several, actually, and recently my friend Lorie has read most of them. She’s open minded, fun and a cougar. She said she liked all the stories and they made her really hot over a weekend that she read them. Well, if they had that effect, then I know I’m pretty good at this kind of fiction.

I’m the kind of person to whom developing lasting friendships and relationships with people, is important. Consequently, most of my stories are about the relationships—on various levels—between my characters. If The Last Death of Ron and Melanie strikes an emotional chord with a reader, then I know the story’s accomplished what I wanted it to do.

The Last Death of Ron and Melanie was the first piece of erotic short fiction I’ve written in about six years. I’m not sure why I got away from it. Life, work, and raising a child and trying to maintain a balance, I suppose. The story was actually two years in the crafting. I started writing it on a train, and I finished it on a train—albeit two years later. I couldn’t figure out where to take it from the middle…and then in one day on a two-hour train trip home from a day at head office, it all um…came together. Largely thanks to an adrenalin rush from anxiety disorder—the little mental health thing that I live with every day now in a new state of normal. Some days, it’s actually quite good for the creativity. After not knowing where to take the story, I saw the ending clearly, and banged it out.

How did you get into writing erotica? For me, it was a bit of an experiment back in 2001. I was starting—yes, in mid-life, I admit—to explore my own sexuality more, and look for a way to make a non-erotic story that I’d originally written for a creative writing class in university over 20 years ago, work better. Adding an erotic dimension helped me develop the characters and the storyline more, and turned it into a great story. Fresh on the heels of my first sale, I’ve finally just submitted that one for publication…

As a follow on from my last blog I thought I’d discuss Internet Dating again. Okay - I know I slated it last time. And with good reason!! It’s imperfect at the best of times, and downright crap at the worst. But for once I’m having fun with it  - mainly because I’ve had a change of approach.

No, despite what I suggested last time, I didn’t change my profile to:

Sexy, blonde: loves cooking, cleaning, and is a very easy lay.

Whilst it would have secured me enough dates to keep me busy into the next millennia, it’s not really what I’m about. Of course I love cooking and cleaning – I mean, what woman doesn’t? But I prefer it when a man shows an interest in me beyond what I can do with a pair of rubber gloves and a sink plunger…

This time, I rewrote my profile to reflect me, the real me, and I refrained from saying I was ‘bubbly, cute, and an all round nice person who enjoys nights out with somebody special.’ If you read a random sample of profiles on any site, you can guarantee that these characteristics will crop up with boring regularity.

Well that’s not me!

So I made damn sure that my profile said differently. Perhaps I came across as slightly opinionated, but hey, I can be that in real life. I also quoted a line of poetry I like, just to emphasise that I’m no dumb blonde. Actually, I’m a brunette, but you get the idea. Well whatever. It seems to have done the trick. I’m currently talking to three very interesting guys who enjoy books, sports, art house films, and are keen to meet me.

Am I having fun?

Damn right I am!

I fully intend to serial-date lots of men until I find one who’s worth seeing on a more permanent footing. If that takes a long time, then so be it. I’m in no rush to meet Mr Right. I’m quite happy playing with lots of Mr Right Nows.

Ps. Posting a nude picture of myself wielding a huge dildo did no harm either…

An ongoing discussion within the erotic writing and reading community is to define the difference between erotic literature and pornographic literature and when does erotic writing become pornographic. There’s a similar discussion going on with romance writers and readers of when does romance become erotic. Since I don’t read or write straight romance, I won’t get into that discussion. Here is the definition of pornography: Sexually explicit pictures, writing, or other material whose primary purpose is to cause sexual arousal. Back to Erotica vs Pornography or if you prefer smut. The purpose of both, I think you’ll all agree, is to sexually scintillate and stimulate the reader. Some say that pornography goes farther than erotica and therefore appeals to men more than woman. Then again, define goes farther. I know there are erotic stories that go every bit as far as pornographic stories and I can’t see how gender has anything whatsoever to do with the difference. Therefore, that doesn’t work for me.

Among other things, I write erotic romance or erotica. I suppose, though I have written mostly erotic romance, I have strayed over the imaginary border between erotic and smut on a couple occasions. I consider Bananaz such a story. What was the difference? Simple. Erotic and pornographic alike, both contain sex and were approximately equally explicit. Therefore one could say erotic romance is romance with pornographic scenes. The difference was in the story. The pornographic story was pornography there was no story. If you took the sex away, you were left with next to nothing. Not so with erotic stories. If you removed all explicit sex scenes, you still had a story. It may have been weakened but a good writer could smooth it out and a story remained. The bottom line; no story it’s pornagraphic, story with pornographic scenes it’s erotic. I would be interested to hear your opinion.

Why is internet dating such a trial?

It should be easy. After all, how difficult can it be to scroll through dozens of online profiles and decide which ones sound the least dysfunctional?

Maybe I was naïve when I first started playing the game. I (stupidly) thought that people (men) were being honest when they filled out their little profiles and described themselves as, ‘honest’, ‘genuine’ and ‘single’.

Ha! Okay, so maybe some of them are all that and more. But a whole heap of them are ‘dishonest’, ‘scheming’, and ‘very attached’. Or is it that I’m just way too cynical these days?

But I do have the odd (and odd is sometimes more than apt) date that actually could be described as a success. If a guy isn’t too scary to look at, can hold a conversation, and makes me laugh, then I class the evening as a success. More often than not, however, we don’t get that far. I must send out the wrong vibes or something because I seem to be having zero success at finding a mate.

Just in case you’re wondering, no I’m not hideous, nor stupid. I’m just me. I think I’m great (thankfully), so why do all the internet profile men not agree with me? Maybe as one male friend suggested, it’s because I’m intimidating and too opinionated. Well that’s RUBBISH!

So I think its time for Plan B.

New profile blurb:

Attractive, busty blonde: loves cooking, cleaning, and is a very easy lay.

It would probably take me weeks to reply to all the messages I would receive in response…

My intention was to write something intelligent about…yes, you guessed it – writing!

But then I started musing about my love-life instead. It only took a few minutes. Love-life? Ha!

After all, who needs to cough up for expensive pyschoanalysis, when you can re-write the tale of your doomed relationship with the charmer who promised you, “5* all the way, baby!”, but only ever bought you a take-out from MacDonalds…

Looking on the bright side (and lets face it, somebody has to), I suppose my dalliances with dating and relationships have at least proven inspirational in a twisted kind of way. I find it very cathartic to spew my bitter recriminations into a fictional (ahem) story. As a result of several trainwrecks, sorry, relationships, several stories were born from the ensuing nuclear fall-out.

It’s rather satisfying to write about a heroine who eventually gets her man (the right one), after leaving the villain of the piece high and dry. (Yes, what fun it is writing Fred/Harry/Biff as a manipulative, conniving, cheating scumbag – and knowing that there is a very real chance they might read the finished story at some point).

Does the truth hurt, huh? Good!

Most of all I like to write happy endings. It makes me smile to send my characters off into the proverbial sunset loved up, shagged out, and ready to settle down for some happy-ever-after-sex.

So why does real life persistently fail to live up to the ideals of fiction?

Answers on a postcard please…

I’ve been searching for an idea now for over a week. You don’t want to know how many starts are in my recycle bin. Then a friend asked me a question as we chatted one evening. She wanted to know if I considered myself sexy.

I looked in the mirror and thought am I? Of course not. I’m not petite or reed thin and I don’t have a perfect tan. My pesky freckles and green eyes will always be with me. I could make a list of things I don’t like. Then I studied the whole picture. I tried to see myself as a stranger might but couldn’t.

This made me stop and try to define sexy. Images of skinny models popped into my head. Hot young men lounging in beds showing off their tanned buff bodies came next. This is what the media projects to us everywhere we look. Hold on though. Do I know anyone looking even close to that?

Many of us believe we have to be thin, gorgeous and dress just so to fit the role of sexy. Everyone has their own definition and image in their mind. I was guilty of thinking I needed to look like those size four models. It’s taken me years to realize the shape of our bodies really has nothing to do with it.

It’s all in our minds. Think about it. Whisper all the hot, wild things you want to do. Dare your partner to try something out of the norm. A raspy voice promising tantalizing touches can be almost hypnotic. Let your words tell them what your lips and tongue will do to them next. That’s sexy and has nothing to do with what your body looks like.

Sexy then to me is much simpler than what we look like. It’s all about attitude.

Someone I know calls me the sexiest and most erotic bitch in the world. I love it.

Alexys Quinn

What would be your idea of a perfect Saturday night? I picture a walk with my love as his dogs run ahead. The sounds of nature all around us as we wander through the fields to the sparkling stream in the distance. Sharing our deepest thoughts as we dangle our feet in the cool water. Or an evening inside. The cook preparing a fabulous dinner that we take to our bedroom. His favorite jazz playing in the background. A hot tub on the deck under the stars. Flying to a private cabin in the mountains. Even taking me sky-diving. My idea for the perfect Saturday night? Almost anything where the two of us can spend hours exploring each other. He’s what makes it perfect.

How about you?
Alexys Quinn