Sunday, 31 October 2010

Most normal people would be getting drunk right about now.

There's not even a movie I can summon the patience to watch. Texas Chainsaw Massacre doesn't scare me. There was a novelty to it, I got it the first time, I have no wish to see it again. It's pretty boring. "Halloween" is boring, the music and her screeching just takes away any scare factor. These are all good movies, I just don't have it in me to be scared by them. Creeped out, not scared. I tried Martin, because of the association between vampirism and rape, in particular in Martin's case but I don't like the quality of that film. Even if I watched these movies with a friend or relative, we'd just have a laugh, neither of us would be scared.

Don't get me started on The Excorsist. It's too hilarious. I think it was either the book to this or The Devil's Advocate..actually probably both that got me startled at night, good I wanted that, but have you ever seen the movie Devil's Advocate? Keanu Reeves? Are you having a laugh? And I keep waiting for Al Pacino to burst out with hoo ah!

But I did get creeped out tonight and I'll not complain there isn't enough provocation in that sense. I got sent an email which made me nauseous. It was teen girls complete with crooked teeth and braces topless. It was so so disgusting. The photos also looked fake, and they just looked so creepy and odd, creeply smiles, creepy eyes and creepy stuck from someone else's bodies. Ew. It's the first time I've ever seen something like this and it's going to haunt me, but not in a good horror movie way, in a bloody gee thanks a lot for sending me some shit which you should have just kept to yourself you DISGUSTING PAEDOPHILE way.

My ideal Halloween would be to have someone around to visit a graveyard with me. Yes. True. It'd be pitch dark and we'd have a bottle of alcohol and just be freezing and talking.

The place where I live, there's no houses. So there's no trick or treating. It's just pub brawls and I don't feel like even going anywhere near that area when I'm on my own. I want silence. Silence is the best. I have it now. And that's probably why I'm kind of smiling writing this. It adds to my never mind graveyard, even the corner of a field fantasy under a tree. Drunk. Fucked. Without consent. Slapped. Spanked. Twisted. All orchestrated by Master.

Saturday, 30 October 2010

"When the rape fantasy becomes a reality." This woman angered me.

"Two weeks ago, my gentle and loving boyfriend of three months held me down and forced me to have sex with him against my will, and then told me I had asked for it. And technically, he was right.

Jacob and I had only been dating about a month and a half when I intimated that I had a rape fantasy. Over the years, I’d had my share of experience with role-playing and rough sex. I vividly recall a male friend of mine in college telling me that I had a distinct air of “sexual prey” about me, and me thinking that this was a huge compliment. Being dominated and playing the innocent who secretly wasn’t had been my currency and had guided the sexual dynamic I forged with partners for the last 10 years. But only for the last few months had I allowed myself to entertain what I considered to be the final frontier— a simulated rape.

The problem, of course, was that since we’d never discussed it, his decision to enact it without any prior dialogue, without my consent, robbed me of the control that would’ve made it a rape fantasy rather than an out-and-out rape.

Growing up as I did in an era where the phrase “no means no” was seared into my brain from grade school on, I was nervous about revealing my dirty secret to Jacob, worried I’d scare off my relatively na├»ve partner or make him think I was sick. I was relieved and excited when he told me he would be into trying it out. From there, the content of our emails, texts and video chats became decidedly faux-rapey, as I told him how I wanted him to hold me down, force my legs apart and screw me even as I begged him to stop. It was foreplay, and it got me incredibly hot. In my mind, it was still very much in the realm of fantasy, and I was secure in knowing that if and when I decided to take things to the next level—i.e., act out the fantasy—the inevitable and, for me, dreaded conversation involving safe words and boundaries (things I’d always associated with schoolmarms and humorless girls who’d read too much Third Wave feminism) would have to happen.

I never got the chance to have that conversation before things went horribly wrong. To celebrate Jacob’s birthday, I’d booked us a room in a fancy hotel, where we’d proceeded to make very quick work of every surface in the first few hours of our stay. Late that night, we returned home from a tame evening out, both totally sober. We’d been arguing intermittently and there was a strange vibe between us when I flounced onto the overstuffed bed in my underwear, pouting petulantly. As he crawled on top of me, I rather sternly informed him that I didn’t want to have sex with him. To my horror, he got a menacing look on his face and ignored my protests. I knew after a few misguided attempts to block him from entering me that he thought what was happening was drastically different from what I knew to be taking place. To him, this was the fantasy I’d been talking about. To me, it was not. The problem, of course, was that since we’d never discussed it, his decision to enact it without any prior dialogue, without my consent, robbed me of the control that would’ve made it a rape fantasy rather than an out-and-out rape.

As the knowledge of what was happening dawned on me and the seconds crawled by, I made the decision to lay as mute and motionless as possible, to drive home the point that it wasn’t, in fact, what I wanted and I wasn’t enjoying what he was doing. I was worried that fighting back would only make him think I was play-acting all the more, and I didn’t feel imperiled enough to try to hurt him in the service of getting him to stop. When it was over, I lay there, shaken. When I finally sat up, I whispered to Jacob that what happened wasn’t what he thought happened. And it was then that what might feasibly have been dealt with as simply an unfortunate miscommunication (a very unfortunate one) took on the weight of an irrevocable transgression. Horrified at the suggestion that he’d misread my signals and overtaken me, Jacob began to lash out. He insisted that I was to blame, that I’d made him into a monster and led him down the road to ruin by suggesting the fantasy in the first place. He furiously maintained that despite what I said, I could’ve stopped him. I could’ve uttered the magic words that would’ve made him know I was serious, that I wanted him to stop, that this was not, in fact, my fantasy. But because I didn’t, I was, as he eloquently put it, asking for it.

If this had happened to any one of my friends, indeed any woman I know, I’d have been the first to rail against any sort of “blame the victim” stance. But knowing what I know about my own reticence to set concrete limits, not out of laziness but out of sheer spite for what I’d always thought was a lame, overwrought, touchy-feely set of principles, I can’t assuage myself fully from blame.

In the days and hours and weeks since that night in the hotel room, I fought hard to make Jacob understand that I didn’t blame him entirely for what happened. I knew I’d failed to explain my boundaries to him, but the incident itself wasn’t what had upset me as much as his single-minded belief that I and I alone was responsible for the f**k-up. His lack of compassion and empathy proved to me that he wasn’t the sort of person I could rely on when things got, as it were, rough. Maybe with the right person, the relationship could’ve recovered from such a catastrophic misunderstanding. But I’ll never know. I’ll never let such a catastrophic misunderstanding happen again."

I think why it infuriates me, why this woman Anouk infuriates me, is what she has written. It's part fairytale and then part recounting of a disaster. I feel like I've been given half the story when all the story is needed. I also find it difficult to not judge someone who looks down on safewords to the extent she does. Granted not every sexual relationship has a safe word but she looks down on them so flippantly with a sentence like, "involving safe words and boundaries (things I’d always associated with schoolmarms and humorless girls who’d read too much Third Wave feminism)."

She comes across as the kind of woman I actually hate; using your sexuality as a currency. She comes across as fake, "I vividly recall a male friend of mine in college telling me that I had a distinct air of “sexual prey” about me, and me thinking that this was a huge compliment. Being dominated and playing the innocent who secretly wasn’t had been my currency and had guided the sexual dynamic I forged with partners for the last 10 years."

What happened to her was rape no doubt from what she describes later on.

It's also the worst case scenerio of a woman who's too into role play, not naive or innocent, but actually someone who had her own play turned visciously on her.

I think Jacob reacted from guilt and I think he was very, very nervous about this whole thing. I'm not justifying his actions. I could well be wrong about him also. The fact is he raped her and he shows no remorse. I also think he's going to be messed up forever.

Some comments are about our culture. Blame the victim. And related to that, some are about this "We’d been arguing intermittently and there was a strange vibe between us when I flounced onto the overstuffed bed in my underwear, pouting petulantly." I understand people's judgement about this but to me it's not about what she is or isn't wearing or actually even her behaviour, she was edgy and we can all act dumb when we're edgy but it's about the fact that like I say we're looking at her as a human being and so far we're seeing someone who's been through a hell but also someone that some commentators and myself have problems with as a person. She's putting herself out there and we're judging. In my opinion this was rape, this was wrong, it hurt her a lot and despite my judgement, these three things remain facts. I have sympathy for her.

"Sit on your hands, Rosie"

I am glad to post about Lissa Matthews newest book, Cracklin Rosie. Her blog is and she posts snippets of her books on there beforehand as well. She's one of my favourite authors, everytime I read her book I send her a message.

Her books are so intense, they have a lot of emotional depth as well as erotica. They also have a lyricism and the people are very real and not at all quaint. My favourite part of Lissa's newest, is Decker our hero not giving up. He absolutely claims our heroine, Rosie, she's pretty much his from the start and she's a real woman who needs a real man. I know people have a problem with that word, real. By real, I mean someone without frills and has dimensions that we're allowed to see. I've read books where the heroine has resistance to the hero but this one is better because it's real and it doesn't go into cariacture.

Lissa writing speaks for itself so I wil leave you with a blurb, two excerpts and a link. Happy Halloween for tomorrow!


A tool for every job. A belt for every occasion…

Blue Jeans and Hard Hats, Book 2

Food is Rosie’s life, and life is good. She loves it, makes it, serves it in her diner, writes about it in her blog, and she’s happy. At least until a storm puts a rather large tree limb through her roof, and a sex-in-a-tool-belt roofer on top of her cabin.

But that’s not where she wants him. No, she wants him behind her with a strip of leather in his hand. That’s what makes her edgy—vulnerability is not her style. Except the more prickly she gets with him, the more he turns on the charm.

Decker arrives in Blue Ridge, Georgia, with nothing on his mind but a job and some new scenery. His legendary patience is tested from the first moment he meets sharp-tongued Rosie. She’s got hips that sway, non-stop curves and a mouth that needs to be filled with things that are much sweeter than vinegar.

A few singe-worthy kisses, and Decker uncovers passions that will likely earn her every red stripe she’s begging for. And Rosie discovers Decker’s got a hunger burning deep inside to give her anything and everything she needs. Maybe even…forever.

Warning: Between the sheets of this book you’ll find a twist on a decadent southern dessert, sweet rose wine, picnic table sexiness, truck sex, a man who knows how to give a spanking and a woman who knows how to bend over a hot yummy lap.

Mmm. Mmm. Mmm!

I hope y’all enjoy this book. It’s a little longer than Sweet Caroline. It’s a little darker, as some have put it. There’s a little bit of power play going on, but as in all my books, it’s subtle. I like subtle.

Rosie is feisty. Decker is hot. They are firecrackers together."

"“You want me to get his order?”

Rosie glanced at Decker who was staring at her. Evidently, Caroline had picked up on Rosie wanting more than to live vicariously through her and Buck, too. She shifted her gaze back to Betsy, her partner at the counter this morning. “No, I’ll get to him. Eventually.”

Problem wasn’t her getting to him. Problem was him getting to her. And the longer he remained in Blue Ridge, the more he got to her. She’d just admitted to wanting him, just told him she couldn’t sleep because of him. She shouldn’t be admitting things like that. She knew deep down it wasn’t going to deter him, either. Hell no, it was only to make him more determined.

“You sure? I don’t mind. Thinkin’ I might like to get more than his order.”

Rosie would be irritated if it was anyone else, but Betsy was pushing sixty-five. She winked at the other waitress. “Go for it then, Bets. He might be into cougars.”

Betsy laughed. “You bad girl. That man is young enough to be my son. Sadly, I don’t think he comes in here to see me. I believe he’s only got eyes for you.”

Yes, Rosie knew that to be true. He did. And it sucked. He was still staring at her, too, smiling. She didn’t know his friend Buck all that well, but at the moment, she wanted to kill him for asking Decker to come and work on her house. Which in turn would lead to her wanting to kill Caroline because Rosie had no doubt the other woman had mentioned it to Buck. Yeah, mass murder all around.

“He’s a good one.”

Rosie snorted. “How do you know that?”

“I can just tell. You know, my Bert proposed to me three days after we met. The heart knows.”

“So your heart knows that the roofer is what? A good man?”

“Yes. But more importantly, your heart knows it, too.”

“Things don’t happen like that anymore, Bets.”

“Oh, girl, please. The heart is the same. The feelings are the same. The details may be different, but in the end the heart knows. He’s one of the good ones. He’s one of the few worthy ones. Now, are you gonna go get his order or…?

“I’m going. I’m going. You drive a hard bargain. You know that?”

“That’s my job. You’re the granddaughter I never had. Now scoot and stop giving that young man such a hard time.”

Rosie stuck her tongue out at the grandmother she never had and made her way to the other end of the counter. It just wasn’t as easy as Betsy made it sound. Rosie wished it were, but… She shook her head and glared at Decker. “You want the usual? To go?”

“Nope. I’m not in a hurry this morning.”

Of course not. “Well, we’re pretty busy, so how about I get it all bagged up for you anyway and you can give up your seat for another customer. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You’re not being very hospitable, Rosie. Might have to talk to your manager.”

It’s not that she didn’t want him around. It’s that she wanted him around too much. It threw her off her game. She didn’t know how to handle a man’s interest like his. Hell, she didn’t know how to handle her own interest in him. She was thirty-seven years old and had never come across a man as potent as him—straight sun-streaked brown hair to his collar, black-rimmed glasses with skulls on the frames, dark chocolate eyes, and tattoos. He had tattoos up and down his back. She’d seen him once without his shirt and stared and drooled like a damn fool. He was gorgeous. At least to her. Most people in town gave him a wide berth until he smiled at them. Then they warmed up, shaking his hand, talking to him, making him feel welcome and at home in their little community. She didn’t want him feeling at home here. She wanted him to go home, back to wherever he came from.

And speaking of that damned smile of his. It was very disarming and melted every woman, even ones older than Betsy, into a puddle. He had eyes for only one woman though.

Why couldn’t he have been one of those overweight, beer-bellied, crack-showing blue-collar guys? It would have made life lately so much easier.

“I am the manager.”

Then there was the megawatt grin. His teeth were pearly white in his tan face, straight and beautiful. Could teeth be beautiful?

“Well, isn’t that fortunate for you? Not to mention, I never said I was anything close to a gentleman.”

He hadn’t, but she knew he was. He opened doors for little old ladies. He shook hands with little old men. He smiled, made small talk with people, and she knew he’d give his last dollar to anyone that might need it. He had that bad-boy look yes, but he was a gentleman through and through. It sucked. Why couldn’t he be a jerk? “Seriously, Decker, what can I get you? We are busy, and I just…I don’t like you.”

“So you were lying out at the truck?”

“No I wasn’t lying. I don’t lie.” At least not to anyone but herself. “I said I wanted you. I said nothing at all about liking you.”

“Ouch.” He placed a hand over his heart as though he really was wounded. “If I believed you that would sting. But, lucky for you, I don’t and my feelings are tougher than that. I can withstand the abuse. Especially now that I know the truth.”

Of course he could take it. She’d been dishing it out to him since he arrived at her cabin and he’d been smiling all the while. There was no way she’d be able to win with him. She was going to lose her heart and in the end, she was the one that would bear the wound. “What do you want from me?”

“For starters, how about dinner? A little kindness maybe? And some conversation.”

“That’s it?” She knew that wasn’t it. She didn’t want that to be it. She wanted there to be so much more.

“Well, I said for starters.”"

Available to buy at

K's excerpt,

"She sat across from him, tense, nervous, fiddling with the menu, the napkin, the edge of the table. She checked the salt and pepper shakers, the half-full ketchup bottle and frowned. She looked around then immediately looked back down when she noticed people looking in their direction.

“Sit on your hands, Rosie.”

“What?” Her wide blue gaze snapped up to his face.

“Sit on your hands. Now.”


“Because you won’t calm down and relax. So, I’ll say it one more time before I come and do it for you. Sit on your hands. One under each cheek.”
Decker didn’t think she would do it but after a few minutes of her looking all around and her teeth worrying her bottom lip, she rocked on the seat as she slid one hand then the other under her bottom.

Her face was bright red, and she was staring a hole right through the middle of his chest. “Rosie, look at me.”

“I am.”

She was. Literal little brat. “Look at my face.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, she did as he asked. There was heat mixed with uncertainty mixed with that ever-present sliver of defiance. He was growing to love that part of her. It made her need for spankings and sexual teasing all the more fun, and watching her walls crumble and fall when she began pleading for the orgasms… Yeah, he was growing to love all those things about her.

“Tell me something you enjoy about owning the diner and don’t look away from my face.”

“The freedom of not working for anyone else.”

That was easy enough. “How so?”

“Well… When I was in culinary school, I had to work to pay rent and such and since I’d worked in the diner all my life, I worked in a restaurant. They were open twenty-four hours so my schedule was pretty flexible around school. I hated being at the whim of someone else though. Working here was different because I was practically running the place during high school, but working down in Atlanta, having someone to report to, having to follow their rules, and their schedules and not having any say about anything... I just hated it. I knew then I would want my own business. I didn’t know it was going to be the diner, but I knew I’d want to work for myself.”

“Why don’t you spank yourself?”

The question caught her completely off guard exactly as he’d intended. Those blue orbs widened again and she was speechless, her mouth opening and closing with nothing coming from between her lips. Betsy, their waitress, chose just that moment to bring their plates. The older woman was boisterous and kind and at the diner as much as Rosie was. She was always giving him an appraising eye, too, flirting with him. He liked it and flirted right back with her, even though she was old enough to be his grandmother. He wanted Rosie to see him as a guy, as a fun guy. He didn’t want her to see him as a threat to her world and if he could win Betsy over, well, maybe she’d put in a good, encouraging word for him.

The woman’s gaze shifted back and forth between Decker and Rosie, twinkling the whole time. She was full of mischief and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she knew his feelings and intentions with Rosie and was firmly in his corner. “Is there anything else I can get you two?”

“I’m set,” Decker beamed, looked down at his plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and fried okra. “Though more tea might be good. Oh and I’m gonna want dessert.”

“Sugar, you can have anything your little heart desires.”

“Don’t encourage him, Bets.”

“Oh hush, now. I don’t know why I shouldn’t. He’s perfectly harmless.”

“Harmless, my ass.”

Decker smirked at the glowering look Rosie gave both he and Betsy. “I think we’re good here for a bit, Betsy.”

“You just holler if that changes.”

She moved on to the other customers at other tables in their section, and Decker turned his attention back to his date. “Chicken and dumplings? I don’t think I’ve ever had that.”

“Seriously? Never?”

“Nope. Mind if I snag a bite?”

“Can I move my hands from under my ass?”

“Yep. I’m proud of you by the way for keeping them there and for asking to remove them.”

“Yeah well…I’m going to wash them now.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I just bet you will.”

She slid out of the booth and as she started to walk by, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Kiss me.”

“What? Here?”

“Yes, here. Kiss me.”


“I’m not letting you go until you do.” She looked around. The nervousness was back, and she was thrown off kilter. He both loved it and felt bad about it, but she needed to get over this hesitation about them being in public together. “Kiss me, Rosie.”

“Oh all right,” she sighed. She leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“No. Not good enough.”

She sighed again and when he tugged on her arm, she leaned in again and kissed him for real this time. It was eerily similar to the kiss he’d given her here in the diner a few days before. There was no tongue, but there was heat and intent and he could live with that. “Good girl,” he whispered against her lips. “Go wash your hands. Dinner’s getting cold.”"

Friday, 29 October 2010


That's a pretty controversial book cover. It's definitely a child. Not a child dressing up but a child as a child and then to read a book where the man is obsessed with this child, Lolita, we're on dangerous territory. I've seen a movie adaptation of Lolita, I've read a little from the book. The books I admire are Anneke Jacob's As She's Told, not just when I'm feeling naughty, books that push because they're written by people who are talented, not just vomiting out sentences for shock value like that Marie Claire bitch (google it).

Only last week there was a photoshoot of two young women from Glee which caused controversy. And it only took a shot of one placing her hand on the other's clothed arse to have some people shouting. I'm completely against homophobia. To me, you can call it outrage at two "young girls" (the actresses are both in their twenties) but I say if you have a problem with one woman's hand on the other's arse, you're a homophobe, the kind who thinks it's not appropriate to have any kind of homosexuality on tv before watershed. Well excuse them for not being straight fine upstanding citizens in your eyes. What will upset your high standards next? Perhaps the fact it's okay to have Natalie Portman in a movie where she's how old, five,?, holding a gun but it's sensationalist to see her kiss another woman when she's nearly 30 now probably.

The rest of the Glee photoshoot had jock with a heart Finn in the middle of the colourful, candy, yes Lolita esque type of photoshoot. But someone said there is a difference between the Lolita thing and paedophilia and a difference between a woman dressing up in knee high socks and a young girl..and a man who isn't a closet paedophile should be able to differentiate. I have newfound respect when I read the late Kurt Cobain replied to the record company when they asked him to erase the privates of the baby in the water on Nevermind, to put a sticker over the privates saying that if this offends you must be a closet paedophile.

And, the jock from Glee was fully clothed whereas the women weren't and apparently it's equality between the sexes when the men are undressed too. Uh huh.

There's not one erotica book I have read which doesn't have an element of taboo. Sex, desire, and why limit it to fantasy if it's between two consenting adults, I'll come on to the adult word in a minute, is not politically correct. I would much rather read a book that pushes me than one which is merely just arousing.

Have you heard about a movie called Great Balls of Fire? Dennis Quaid plays Jerry Lee Lewis who did that famous song, you'll know when you hear those words, and Winona Ryder plays the young girl he marries. She was his "first cousin once removed" but the point I am making is she was 15 and it caused a scandal. He was 23. That're pretty huge right there, enough to make people shriek but had he been 33, it would have added shriek. I don't know their relationship, perhaps she was like the character Lolita, perhaps she was even the opposite. Whether I think this is right or wrong depends on things which I don't know about those two.

But I know Lolita from the book and movie. I know the first time the man Humbert sees her and what he describes. I know he uses the words nymphets and childlike. And I know some people will cry over what they haven't yet read. Right. Wrong. This is freedom of expression. Vladimir Nobokov had written a book about obsession and his beautiful articulation drew me in. So I don't particularly care about right and wrong in a book. And, if Nobokov was more like Humbert than we'll ever know, then I won't defend him but I won't demand society shouldn't know about Lolita. It's one of those books that sort of makes me even more alive.

Thursday, 28 October 2010

Don't worry, I don't get women either.

On the one hand some women say they want variation in models but those same women will turn their noses up and block their minds and say why are they sticking HER in our face and she's not got the face to model. It's not even rude, it's intolerant and forget about fair/unfair, they just will never be happy.

Look if some one bothers you that much, just don't look. Yet, you insist on looking again and just continuing to show yourself up.

For the record, I'm 5ft 2, clearly not a model and I don't have aspirations to be but I don't get intimidated by 6ft women in magazines who have different bone structures, hair and what have you to me because I believe I'm as beautiful as they are, I'm just not a model, that's all it is. I don't need a magazine to tell me I'm doing okay looks wise, I believe in myself enough, If I pick up a magazine once in a while, it's for the pretty pictures and I can see they are just that and pretty to me is broad. Disabled. Plus size. Black. Petite. Sharp chin. Round chin. It's all out there and it should be out there and why should it not be out there in magazines too?

And I know some women and men can only look up to or admire certain characteristics, it doesn't bother me, it's their thing.

Monday, 25 October 2010

Pretty by Kate Mikkai


When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother “What will I be? Will I be pretty? ” Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? What comes next? Oh right, will I be rich which is almost pretty depending on where you shop. And the pretty question infects from conception passing blood and breath into cells. The word hangs from our mothers’ hearts in a shrill of fluorescent floodlight of worry.

“Will I be wanted? Worthy? Pretty? But puberty left me this funhouse mirror dry add: teeth set at science fiction angles, crooked nose, face donkey-long, and pox-marked where the hormones went finger-painting my poor mother.

“How could this happen? You’ll have porcelain skin as soon as we can see a dermatologist.” “You sucked your thumb. That’s why your teeth look like that! ” “You were hit in the face with a Frisbee when you were six, otherwise your nose would have been fine! ”

Don’t worry; we will get it all fixed she would say, grasping my face, twisting it this way and that as if it were a cabbage she might buy. But, this is not about her. Not her fault she, too, was raised to believe the greatest asset she could bestow upon her awkward little girl was a marketable appearance.

By sixteen I was pickled by ointments, medications, peroxides. Teeth corralled into steel prongs, laying in a hospital bed. Face packed with gauze, cushioning the brand new nose the surgeon had carved.

Belly gorged on two pints of my own blood I had swallowed under anesthesia, and every convulsive twist, like my body screaming at me from the inside out “What did you let them do to you? ” All the while, this never ending chorus groaning on and on like the IV needle dripping liquid beauty into my blood.

“Will I be pretty? ” Will I be pretty like my mother, unwrapping the gift wrap to reveal the bouquet of daughter her $10,000 bought her? Pretty? Pretty.

And now I have not seen my own face in ten years. I have not seen my own face in ten years, but this is not about me! This is about the self-mutilating circus we have painted ourselves clowns in. About women who will prowl thirty stores in six malls to find the right cocktail dress, but haven’t a clue where to find fulfillment or how to wear joy, wandering through life shackled to a shopping bag, beneath those two pretty syllables.

This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, “Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? , ” I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer no.

The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters. You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing, but you will never be merely “pretty.”

Katie Makkai

You really have to look up her video where shes performing this on youtube. It's BRILLIANT. I got this from Kitty Thomas' wordpress blog. Kitty also write an honest post about "pretty." I like that word. Pretty is a pretty word. It sounds pretty. When someone calls you pretty, it's nice and when someone special calls you pretty, it's beautiful. It's just the value placed on it by yes, you will always hear this word from me, society. Like Kitty writes and like Kate is making a point, you can trawl stores looking for the perfect cocktail dress and you can to the grocery store and you're supposed to be on show. You are on show, people can see you but sexuality comes from inside. If you're going out to fetch a pint of milk without make up or you got caught in the rain, you should NEVER feel inferior about yourself.

Sunday, 24 October 2010


I would love to keep this blog a hot bed of sexual excitement, however look at this


I know this is a cult movie...

And I'd pay for a used cd but I wouldn't pay 18 pounds for it. You can get two hardcover books for that price.

Let's just say I'm currently writing this listening to the "Main Title" in its entireity and it's not from the cd nor amazon sample. I think the pricing is absolutely ridiculous and nauseating. These people are dicks.

I have, however, the comfort of this to get me through;

Well, for Christmas (at three quarters the price listed on BN I may add!) along with my beloved Comfort Food hardcover.

(& did you notice the "Yes, Sir" book?)

Saturday, 23 October 2010

Hogtied and helpless. A story I am writing, more added.

I thought it best to post the story from the start each time I add more to it. Rather than having a link to the previous part of the story. That way, we may just have wandered into some sort of organised system here. Oh look bang on midnight.

This story is dedicated to Sir.

I woke up suspended 6ft in air. I couldn’t move. When I looked up, I saw the sky swirling around me. I had a sudden chest pain, I was petrified, but I couldn’t speak. I was in a strange place. I had been kidnapped, my hands and feet were tied up, my mouth was gagged. As of this moment, I was being carried over a stranger’s shoulder.

I smelled something unfamiliar which made me feel sick though the cloth in my mouth. I puked up all over the stranger’s shoulder. I felt something big manhandle my weak, queasy body, and I was now like a jelly in someone’s arms, someone who was strange, being held over a sink. My head was shoved towards water. It was running and it was cold. It was relief.

I felt my face being touched, underneath my mouth, I could now make out that male fingers were wiping me. I breathed in and in that moment felt a jolt. Still tied, I was plonked onto a kitchen chair. How I didn’t fall, I don’t know. Something harsh gripped my hair. My head was being pulled up by my hair. I heard a scraping sound. My eyes were forced to make contact with a strange man sitting opposite me.

I was..angry? Angry should have been the correct feeling. I ANGRILY studied his face. The stupidity of it was that I hoped to get an answer. Why are you doing this to me? How much at your mercy am I?

The gag around my mouth was loosened. I kept looking at the stranger. My lips felt swollen. I swallowed. If I could move, I would have fetched myself a drink of water. Ice cold water is what I needed. Craved. But I was tied up everywhere but my mouth. When I looked down, my legs were tied to my knees, to my cunt, to my breasts, to my neck and to my fists. I could shake my head so the cloth gag was loose.

“Get it over with” was on my lips as my body was shoved on the table. Instead I could only yelp with pain. I felt a sharp smack on my bottom. ANGRILY, I knew that I was COMPLETELY at his mercy.

I thought there was going to be a knife. Either death or freedom from my binds. Instead, I felt tighter. I started hyperventilating. I felt a hand on my face. I pressed into it. Mercy. NO. He slapped my cheek. My head turned to one side out of surprise and pain. I started to cry and my breath came out thick and fast. My head was pulled upward again. Lips touched mine. He was going to kiss me. Please. NO. I got spit in my mouth. I lifted my eyes towards him. I felt like a whore.

It dawned on me that I was going to be treated like a whore. I was going to get raped. I was going to have his cock fucking the consent away, my cunt to be a whore for his cock. I listened out to any small sound, grasping at it, it was a clue as to what was going to happen to me next. I had almost lost my life once, drowning but I never became afraid of water. But I was afraid of being unsupported and balancing at a height and I know that that contributed to only a few meagre attempts that I made to struggle in my binds and attempt to throw my body off the table. I wasn‘t so afraid that I would rather get raped than throw my helpless, tied body off and feel that short fall to the ground. Whatever was going on in my head I couldn’t explain, instead I just listened.

The anticipation chilled me. I had forgotten about my heat beating violently. There was nothing at this moment I could control.

“Smell.” I lifted my eyes up to my a finger. I smelled it. I had no choice. “This is what I smell like.” He leaned down so I could see his lips.

I could cry. I could fake cry. Surely I could fake cry when my life was in danger. He was turning this into some delicious sex fantasy to him and I felt that he was going to take his time to enjoy it, that there was some sensuality in this for him. I wanted to know what was to happen. I wanted to say, just tell me what is going to happen next. So that I could know and be prepared. I’d take the smack, the sudden hit to my face. But my mind was also wanting to block some of this out by distancing myself as an observer. It’s stupid but I looked at the ceiling lights above me, I knew that I liked the room, humour linked to danger.

This Christmas, Comfort Food.

I'm very happy that Kitty Thomas' Comfort Food is now available to buy in hardcover. It will be the ONLY kinky book I own in hard cover. It's available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble (BN are doing it cheaper). As I'm not in America and have to wait about a fortnight before I get it, as something that would make me happy as a sort of conquest is that I will ask this person who says they are not getting me anything to do with sex at all ever (!) as a present, to buy the book that changed my life for Christmas. And when I get it, I can just imagine being a little fetishy over the cover, you know trying to bend it a little, smell it..

I've signed up to Kitty Thomas' newsletters and she says that her next book Guilty Pleasures is going to be available in December. Comfort Food created a bit of a storm, it got people talking, it provoked and it also in its non conventional extremely intense way woo-ed people. So I am looking forward to Guilty Pleasures in December!

Teaser book descrip of Comfort Food

BOOK DESCRIPTION: Emily Vargas has been taken captive. As part of his conditioning methods, her captor refuses to speak to her, knowing how much she craves human contact. He's far too beautiful to be a monster. Combined with his lack of violence toward her, this has her walking a fine line at the edge of sanity. Told in the first person from Emily's perspective, Comfort Food explores what happens when all expectations of pleasure and pain are turned upside down, as whips become comfort and chicken soup becomes punishment. DISCLAIMER: This is not a story about consensual BDSM. This is a story about "actual" slavery. If reading an erotic story without safewords makes you uncomfortable, this is not the book for you. This is a work of fiction, and the author does not endorse or condone any behavior done to another human being without their consent. REVIEWS: " . . . dark, provocative, and glaringly honest . . ." H. Turley, Reader "Disturbing, twisted, and just plain weird . . . " Amy, GoodReads Reviewer " . . . an intelligently written, well-researched and very erotic exploration of the extremity of power dynamics . . . It's refreshing to read someone brave enough to tackle erotic themes that are truly taboo and seldom published." - Remittance Girl, Reader and author of "Gaijin" and other erotic novellas "They are a match made in a twisted sort of hell. I don't, as a rule, like erotica, but I'm likely to check out Ms. Thomas' future work just to see how far she can push the envelope." - A Taste For Ebooks, Review Blog


It's a mad world this internet. I love it but..

Don't say in comments what you wouldn't to someone's face.

It's very simple. Being very aware of internet bullying campaigns, youtube, facebook, there are people who are absolutely viscious. Fair enough you don't like something or someone but to use language like I would run her over and kick her (actually where they said they would kick her- I'm not going to print, it's too degrading but you can guess), I don't care how annoying their appearance or persona is, how are YOU even human? Having a blog, you can take things further, you can write paragraphs and talk about things on YOUR space but the internet also acts a great shield, the abuser suffers no real remorse for their actions.

Thursday, 21 October 2010

Do you think sisterhood exists? Is it exclusive to some?

I'm thinking just leave the question as it is. My own opinion is that whilst I'm obviously human, I care about things that other people care about, I find it's really about how you take any treatment given to you and I find rising above it, NOT ignoring helps. If I write I have felt excluded it will come across as nothing but a VICTIM stamp and a plea for attention. So I won't go there. The reason I ask the question is just I feel and I see around me, hypocrisy, judgement and basically non sisterhood between women. I've always despised the bitchy nature that seems to be associated with women, fact is I think men are equally as guilty. I don't hate other women, I don't hate men, I don't feel it necessary to even place my trust in them as a whole, in general, I'm not cynical about them, I think people generalise and underestimate too much- but that's just it I think women underestimate others. Not just me. I mean in general. There's too much judgement I feel. I wish it was like childhood in a way, you know when you were 3 and you sat and played with anyone, I wish that innocence wasn't replaced by cynicism because I really don't think it's been replaced by knowledge.

There's an exclusion which is more so in some races and so called cultures, there's a lot of stupidity too, like skin colours in your own race. How light you are or how dark.

The jealousy argument is void as I don't think that it's a reason for being a fuck to someone. Like I say I mean this in general. I am cryptic when I need to be but if I have to say something, I will go ahead and say it, I'm not afraid of dropping names because I'd say the same thing to their face. Sad thing is the cliche of looking your "enemy" in the eyes isn't only get more animosity. But that's a whole other post, probably entitled "Is respect completely dead?"

And I wonder just how much judgement comes with support? Can support between women be unconditional?

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

"Today I found something beautiful and decided to break it."

"I wanted to see it shatter in my hand and crumble at my feet. Her name is Emily Vargas. She's bright and educated and stunning. Articulate. She'll want someone to talk to her."

Comfort Food by Kitty Thomas.

I like that but not this

I'd like to add a few more words to this post, an explanation maybe if I feel I need to, in the future.

Worth a read.

The first link is for something I read about bullying. I found it to be relatively non apologetic, as opposed to some accounts which quite frankly anger me. Why are YOU calling yourself a "weird kid" when the bully is the weird kid and they're a sociopath, I don't care what age they. Bullying is not acceptable and the bullshit continues about it being tough love, the norm and a way of working out your social status. Stop already. It's WEIRD, STRANGE, MAD to pick on someone.

The second link has my own thoughts.

Tuesday, 19 October 2010

I'm not the real author of Kinky.

*snort* Sorry, here's some links to my other blog.

Monday, 18 October 2010

I happen to quite like Mondays.

Something good always happens.

I started looking at Black Lace Publishing yesterday. I once read something about this woman in the country, maybe Wild in the Country,?!, and then something about a woman who was boss of all these men. I still remember "Wild In The Country," there's two men, one who's semi game keeper from Lady Chatterley's Lover without the social conscious and the other man was more enigmatic but she wasn't as sexually attracted to him at first, he was polite, posh, not as animalistic- or obviously animalistic. Anyway, I wish I kept the book, you can tell when something is written by a british author provided they don't sell out, Victoria Blisse, Charlotte Stein, these authors have a way with words.

Too bad about the aftertaste of yesterday's post eh.

Sunday, 17 October 2010

I promise I won't do this again.

It's deeply unsettling but also when you detach your stomach from the rest of your body, actually very funny so I thought I would share.

"Cherie was an incredible strength during those months. She knew her own life was about to change and for her it was equally frightening, in some ways even more so [...]

However, that night she cradled me in her arms and soothed me; told me what I needed to be told; strengthened me; made me feel that what I was about to do was right. I had no doubt that I had to go for it, but I needed the reassurance and, above all, the emotional ballast.

In many ways, I am very emotionally self-sufficient; in some ways, too much so. I make emotional commitment because it comes naturally to me. But I fear it also; fear the loss of control and the fact that the consequences of caring can be painful; fear the dependence; perhaps fear learning the lesson, from love that goes wrong, that human nature is frail and unreliable after all.

On that night of 12 May 1994, I needed that love Cherie gave me, selfishly. I devoured it to give me strength, I was an animal following my instinct, knowing I would need every ounce of emotional power and resilience to cope with what lay ahead. I was exhilarated, afraid and determined, in roughly equal quantities."

From Tony Blair's memoir A Journey, published by Hutchinson

So this is from an article which wasnt that great a read in my opinion. I feel it's only telling a quarter of the story and as usual we're going around in circles.

Saturday, 16 October 2010

Dear Tallie. A letter of longing from Captain Boa.

But a little intro first. Captain Boa, Ry as only Tallie is allowed to call him (as I want it that way) is one of my favourite characters from books never mind certain sections of books, Erotica. The book is called At Her Captain's Command. Boa is half variant and half human, test tube born. He's not a unicorn nor does he dazzle in the sunlight, he's a freak of nature by means of his birth. He's on this planet, I mean I forget what it's called and he can't get over Tallie Rosseau's feminity, Tallie also harbouring the feelings meaning horniness over Cap Boa. They eventually have to do something mega dangerous as part of their work but in their isolated, harsh environment, they create an explosion of fire together by having animal sex.

"Did you get the instructions about the right way of doing the zip of your flight suit over those stupendously large breasts of yours? I hope that they don't accidentally fall out again whilst I have to push you out of the plane when we go on our next mega dangerous part of our job part..I'm glad you've stopped screaming and yelling when you jump out the plane, that you're going to die because you're not going to die Tallie, your parachute has never failed you and your boobs yet. I have to say you looked like a mad bird with constipation issues the last I was forced to push you but what part of this is the fourth time I tell you to jump out did you not understand? I know you are not built for combat my delicious little computer hacker so it's okay I will protect you/i.e. push you out of planes for as long as we are stuck on this dead end probably flat as opposed to round planet of ours."


So I have put an excerpt, blurb and publishers details for this book and you'll see what I mean about cum slut. (Not).

"Her Captain's Command: Done in the first person, for him and for her, this is an erotic tale of eventual submission and darkly tangled lust and love. Set on a distant planet, in the midst of harsh survival, a man and a woman test the boundaries of need. When they believe there is no other chance."

"Yeah right, you are not questioning a thing, because your Captain eyed your boobs," I mutter under my breath. Then, I grab the pack with the MAXY stuff in it. "Get real!"

But I figure that is as close to the truth as I’m going admit to myself on this one, as I leave my quarters and hope to hell he really did like my boobs. They were quite spectacular in that wet tee shirt.

"I’m going to what?" I hiss four hours later, looking at Captain Boa’s toughly grim expression.

"That’s what I said, Private Rousseau. The team is going to parachute out of this heap and you’re going to buddy up with me, since you’ve never dropped before. Now, get up here so I can hook you up!"

All around me in the cargo Skitter, the other six men of "the team" are putting on their parachutes. I’d been really nervous wondering what the heck was going on, but Captain Boa’s silence and his intense stares kept me quiet. In the interim of four hours, and with no briefing as promised, I was imagining many things, but never this. I have this terribly awful feeling we’re going into a war zone, and suddenly, I feel as though Captain Boa has betrayed me.

He steps closer to me and lowers his voice beneath the noise in the cargo hold. "Are you thinking of disobeying an order, private?" he asks me coldly.

This is my life, damn it, and I find myself brave enough to look up at him. "No, but I’ve never been in combat before, you should know that!"

The Captain grabs the hooks on my flight suit and hauls me toward him to begin hooking me up to him. "I do," he answers grimly. "That is why, Private Rousseau." He tugs on a hook and jostles me closer. I’m nearly hugging him! "You are going to do exactly, and I mean, exactly everything I say, the minute I say it! This is not going to be orders, private. This is going to be reaction on your part. Do not think. If I tell you to hit the dirt. Do it! Do not think if I tell you to go left, right, or stop. Just do it! If I tell you, to stay in place, a nuclear blast is not going to uproot you!"

I’m mesmerized by Captain Boa’s fierceness as he looks down at me. We are so close. We’ve never been this close before. Not even when he grabbed me in the hall. He has to feel me shaking. I can see his concern and that nearly undoes me. His vivid blue eyes are sharp with it.

"It’s a go! Drop one!" The intercom blares around us.

"Hook your hands in my belt here, Rousseau!" Captain Boa shouts over the noise.

"But, I–!"


I’m screaming! Captain Boa gave me no chance. He just pushed both of us out the flight hatchway, and then he wrapped his arms around my head. My screams are muffled in his throat as a huge wind flings us bodily over and over! The air sucks at my breath and I can’t breathe anymore, then suddenly everything goes black.


At Her Captain's Command comes in an ebook with two other stories which to be honest I haven't paid much attention to.

Friday, 15 October 2010

Weekend naughty read for you all.

I haven't bought a book for weeks but this one I just bought and read. It's by one of my favourite authors and people, Amarinda Jones. The ebook is called Bad Girl and that title and cover are seductive as it is, what made me go ahead and buy it so late in my evening, was the excerpt. It's a hot, sex tease of an excerpt, full of wicked words and explicit actions, a sexy woman and a man who we have an inkling wants more than just to fuck her, he wants to posess, own her and have her as his.

What I loved about the book is that I got to read about a strong heroine who had many thoughts and emotions at this stage in their relationship and that Amarinda writes so beautifully that you can see her dimensions and never think, oh I can't relate to this, no matter that you think the heroine is different to you or the fact that the story is not your story, Ms Jones is a great writer and the book gave me that feeling when you read good Erotica; you're excited, you're interested but you're also INTO it. I had planned to read an Annabelle Joseph book or At Her Captain's Command ("cum slut."Fuck yes.I'll explain the injoke later) but this one by Amarinda, I'm going to have another read again tonight after reading it once already. It's very, very GOOD.

The book also contains a stupendously hot alley scene, words like cunt and suck are mentioned, and oh well, maybe another time, eh. *smile*

For six months Kealea and Christopher have been lovers, while consensually enjoying multiple partners. For a while it worked for Kealea. She wanted no commitment, and she craved the excitement and thrill of being taken by each new lover. But it’s not enough. She wants forever with Christopher. How can she make him realize there’s so much more to be enjoyed than wild sex?

Christopher shares Kealea’s desires, but he’s not sure how to change what they have into what they both crave. What if everything changes? Sex has always been easy, but loving could unleash consequences neither of them can handle. What is he to do? When another man shows interest in Kealea, Christopher knows he must make a move, or lose the woman he loves…for good.

Be Warned: multiple partners, menage sex, anal sex, bondage, public exhibition.

Adult Excerpt: (be warned)

“You’re a bad girl. I saw what you did.”

“I can do what I like.” Kealea drew in a shallow breath as she fought the restrictive feeling of being trapped by rope. She was naked and it wasn’t the first time Christopher tied her up. She was on her hands and knees, her forearms roped to her upper thighs. With her head bowed down in submission, her ass was exposed and vulnerable to whatever he chose to do.

She jumped as Christopher smacked her bare flesh—hard.

Kealea squinted, willing herself not to moan. Christopher knew she loved being spanked. It was both a joy and a punishment for her. There was something so raw and primal that appealed to her, being in this wicked position. The heat of his palm, the sound of the slap and the sting of his hand sent a wild rush of excitement coursing through her veins. The punishment was fighting the urge to enjoy it.

Smack! Smack!

Kealea bit her lower lip. She knew what this was about. He was jealous, and lately it was a common occurrence. But that wasn’t her problem. Either Christopher should declare he wanted Kealea for himself or let her go on choosing those men that amused her without questioning her actions. Knowing he didn’t believe in monogamy was fine. She had always known what their relationship would be like, and entered it with both eyes open. Christopher slept with whomever he pleased and Kealea did the same. They had a mutual understanding, but lately a tension lurked between them she couldn’t shake.

I’ll be damned if I’ll be held accountable for my actions when he’s doing the same or worse. “You don’t own me.”

Christopher’s hand strayed in between her butt cheeks. “Don’t I, baby?”

“No—we’re free agents.” They had been for six months. While they always came back to the other, both of them indulged in liaisons. On the whole, Kealea enjoyed her diverse sexual encounters. But of late, she wanted more. Maybe he finally understands. Maybe that moment with Hutch pushed him into realization. Maybe…

“Nothing is free.” His finger touched her anus. Kealea closed her eyes. Her legs were so tightly bound, the pressure of his finger invading her small opening was intense. Hot. Perfect. Keep pushing. That’s what Christopher liked to do. He enjoyed pushing her past her comfort zone and making her come like no other man could.

“You knew I was watching you.” He dropped down on his haunches.

Yes, she did. Kealea knew what Christopher was like. She squirmed and raised her ass to meet his hand. “You and I…” Kealea hesitated. What was the right word to explain their relationship?

Christopher continued working his finger inside her. “Yes, what?”

“We’re complicated.” Yeah, that was it. “And messy and bad.” So bad it was good.

Christopher leaned over her body and whispered in her ear. “But you like being bad.”

Yes. His hot, hard, naked body teased her flesh. Kealea wanted his body slammed down on her not hovering above. “I want more.”


If he had to ask now, Kealea knew he didn’t get her at all. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Christopher’s voice was soft and low in her ear. “How little we know each other, baby.” He then removed his hand and lifted up from her. “You have to pay a penalty.”

Kealea shivered. He gave the best punishments. “For what?”

“For being a bad girl.” He slapped her ass one last time. “Daniel, come in here.”

Her head jerked up. “I don’t want anyone but you.” Couldn’t he see the reasons behind why she acted the way he did?

“Liar.” Christopher’s smile was thin and tight.

He was right of course. By himself, Christopher was sexually amazing. With another, it added the cherry.

“Please Chris…” Kealea wasn’t sure what she was begging for. More? Less? Faster?

“You should have thought of that before you fucked the other man.” His hand came down on her ass two more times. “You’re a bad girl.”

Oh yes. Kealea awaited her punishment.

It really is like noise sometimes.

Thursday, 14 October 2010

Oh you wicked dream.

Mostly my dreams are strange and random. Not epic, just very weird, very much a mix of things. I don't analyse them for that reason but I had a dream last night which involved Slow Burn and Lulu. It was implied that I sold copies. Doesn't it sound like I am some egotistical ambitious first time author who REALLY wants her book to sell? At least just one copy! (Maybe I don't get informed if my book sells a copy).

I didn't think I would sell more than one copy when I self published last week. And I'm not so naive as to think one person is going to read the book and spread the word on the internet. I didn't write Comfort Food, my book is not as good, hey I know what I wrote, but when I sent out invitations to my page on facebook (I know, I know) which I did to promote the book, and I got people liking the page, I know some of it is out of the fact I am a facebook friend and these people are happy for me, but I wonder what it's going to take for someone to click on the links on that page and click buy.

I'm perfectly happy in being honest about my feelings on this. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's a slap in the face to have a book out there just not selling, but it defeats the purpose. You see, I want someone to read my book. I write as a hobby but I don't self publish as a hobby. To be frank, far from it.

I loved seeing my book in a simple book format, the cover of the book is very basic and not a cover I would chosen, it was an automated cover but just seeing my story all put together and to be read like a book, I was a little proud of the work and time I put in.

I'm still going to write, I'm still proud of what I wrote and what I write now, the differences and the improvements I have yet to accomplish because I know my strengths and weaknesses but I have had people compliment my writing and saying I SHOULD publish, in particular Slow burn, to which I have always said meh and now I know there is not much point in publishing, sure I haven't given up on the fact Slow Burn may sell one copy by this time next year, and even the fact that it may one day build a reputation..but I'm also cynical. A bit bitter. Mills and Boon, big companies, they have a formula, I was once hoping to publish under them because I bought my Erotica from them and I feel proud of what they did for me.. but I felt there were too many guidelines. I had to tweak my work too much. And I know typing that on here means I will never get to publish for them but I'm not in this to make money. As naive and idealistic as that sounds, I'm not about making money. And I can add that I just want to change things but in the world we live in, people will just laugh at that. That's fine but I will always be honest and I believe in submitting my thoughts onto this blog, I don't have a problem in the world knowing things about me, especially when it comes to a minor heartbreak I'm going through at the moment, as trite as it sounds.

It's the fact that when I write, I want to be read, you know? And it seems like it's okay to have it up free on my blog which makes my blog feel cheap, you can compliment me on a post or send me a message but you can't buy my book, that sort of thing, that's what is running through my mind.

I will keep writing because part of the reason I don't want to change my books to fit in with the guidelines of some publishing companies is that I don't believe in the stories they are selling and I don't believe in giving the readers what they want. I believe in putting something out there that's inside you- and then going from there. That's my main motivation for writing and since I started, it's been about just being honest, not selling out or buying into one idea or selling it- one hero, the stereotypical hero- not that that's not someone else's truth but the vast majority of books are about a Fabio- still. To me, it actually makes me ashamed to be a woman. Really. I'm being serious. And I wanted to change that. But see, the hope I have in doing that is rapidly diminishing day by day, and part of that is because I haven't sold a copy of my book, and yes I know it's early days, I've been through that on this post but also because when authors who have been around for longer than me and have publishing contracts with companies, it makes me feel the big divide between me and them. Not that they are "better" than me, more worthy than me, I don't have self esteem issues, although they are better writers, their work reads as a better written story, again in the past when I have tried to be honest, it comes across as "deprication", no it's me being honest, but because it feels like I'm being drowned out and it's about the companies and the power and the reputations.

Wednesday, 13 October 2010

Story of O. And questions regarding Return to the Chateau, of the non did Pauline Reage write this variety.

Yes she wrote Return and I wrote O to piss my mother off.

So there we have it.

One thing that I can't get out of my mind, is when O is on the boat to a party, wearing an Owl mask with that beautiful music and the moonlight and wind on her body covered by a simple garment. O looks so free, so graceful, so submissive. I must have mentioned the word free a few times whenever I talk about O, or even submission in general, I suppose by free I mean non repressed, not oppressed. I can't speak about whether she is free because she is no longer human as quoted from someone and also because she is a sexual slave now and she has disengaged from herself. I need to go back to the book and this post is about a few of my thoughts regarding the movie Histoire De O.

Critics talk about glamourising. Movies glamourise guns and they glamourise drugs. Things that are not supposed to be glamourised. But they also glamourise prostituion and sex. O is not about prostitution no matter what a critic will say,and like I have said before no one in their sane mind watches Pretty Woman and then joins a hooker agency.

But there is no reason BDSM should remain seedy. Or "wrong." As if it is like shooting someone or taking heroine. Or even infedility. So if BDSM is glamourised, so be it. For me the movie has moments of beauty and a style that is glamourous no doubt but certainly we see O's pain when she is whipped. When she shakes her head, that comes across as real. I don't feel it is selling BDSM, but the ending of the movie, taking it further than where O is at Sir Stephen's total command and will at the party in her owl mask, and contuining on to her talking to Sir Stephen about Jacqueline's induction at the Chateau goes back to the love theme. I quote from someone else, in love are we, any of us, the Dominant or the submissive ever free?

And it seems like O is more palatable if it is a love story. She is doing this for Rene and then Sir Stephen. She wouldn't just become a sexual slave "just like that," it must be for love! But I'm not going to take issue with the author's idea and with the film maker's ending or even the reason the story of O came into existence.

I enjoyed the movie but for Jacqueline. I think the actress who played Jac has probably the most exquisite bone structure and facial features that I have seen on screen but she was dull. Now perhaps she is like that in the book but I watched this movie called The Image which is based on a somewhat classic BDSM book and the young woman there is a model, a pretty object and a submissive, but the actress who played her was quite good. I just couldn't care less about Jac. One thing I liked was the fact she was no questions asked submissive and I took that in that way rather than the fact that her face just couldn't show us any emotions if it tried. Sorry to sound bitchy but come on O is a little in love with Jac..I as the audience shouldn't be left to wonder how the heck this could possibly be, it would be like falling in love with your favourite Barbie. There's no depth and O I could relate to despite what the critics of the story say, as a woman of depth.

My favourite parts of the movie are the ending I'm on the fence about even though adaptations should have their freedom and the beginning of the movie. The two beginnings. O's journey to total submission and obeying her lover Rene. The beginning and end mark the two points in her journey so far where O has evolved into a sexual slave.

There's a philosophy, another one, that total posession is to give away because you know you can do that, that O is Rene's property, he possesses her completely so he can give her Sir Stephen. Baring in mind, Stephen is no stranger to Rene.

So no more questioning motives, why is O doing this, why is Rene doing this, who is Sir Stephen beyond the older male and Dominant figure, what is the story of O really about...I watched a movie about a woman's journey into becoming a sexual slave. I don't know how accurate it is but I know it wasn't inaccurate and that the actress who played O had grace and charisma. And there was style mixed with substance. It's not like the book, the book is grittier but it wasn't a stupid movie. I liked it as much as The Image because it wasn't The Secretary, because O and The Image is about submission in terms of slavery, in terms of slavery over love in the sense they are both not conventional stories and I'm bored of The Secretary and I'm bored with even the lesser conventional love stories. I'm no cynic and I believe in love, I will fall in love fully I know it, but I'm worried about the importance people place on it, as if we have no worth without it, but that's for another time.

Now, I am interested and curious about Return of Chateau. I have read reviews which say it's more disengaged, the author of O can not have written this! But, I am all the more curious to read a book which is about sexual slavery. Perhaps O is not written well...perhaps the author thinks she has no personality because she is a sexual slave..oh that just makes me more curious because I really have to read it and see a journey of a sexual slave. How has O changed in her personality? And I want to believe that what has been written is that O has changed in her personality but the world has misunderstood a strong sexual slave girl for an disinterested, bored left over of a character. I want to believe someone wrote a sequel in which they gave an account of sexual slavery, full with imperfect characters except the character of O, who knows who she is and will carry on in her mission and the world unless they live it will continue to relate abuse to sexual slavery and unworthiness. As for Sir Stephen, does he leave O? And is this the book that has the "other ending" to O? Where she kills herself seeing as she is no longer Sir Stephen's slave.

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

Now I'm taking a step back. My book Slow burn is available from Amazon Kindle

My job is done now.

Here are the links if you are interested. You should be able to get a preview/excerpt/sample on amazon if you click on send sample. IF not there is a link to an excerpt on Lulu and on my facebook page and on this blog. I'm very sorry there is no image for this book. I did try my best as you know.

Thank you for your interest and that's me done with regards to Slow Burn. I have material for a sequel but I will only publish that if there is enough interest in this book. I can rest my eyes a bit now!

Vampires cheer me up.

I should make myself a tshirt that says that.

In between having a strange bug virus and looking at amazon first thing in the morning thinking oh I don't have the strength just now (regarding my book) I've been in need of something other than Story of O. (I'll come back to that another time).

I want to watch a Hammer Horror movie. I want to see Christopher Lee and his numerous nymph vampirises. I want to see red, red blood and sharp teeth poking out of a mouth just after Lee says something in a dead posh voice!

There was a time I could watch such a movie or even.. Countess Dracula. There was a softness and sensuality even in the harshness and the women had personality in their looks, some had pencil thin eyebrows, nearly all had heaving bosoms and big hair and they were a million times better and than the all too knowing imitators today. I could sense the vulnerability and I could sense the evil in them.

Just before I went to sleep yesterday,I was listening to that song Flightless Bird American Mouth. I always feel how fittingly it is used in Twilight and how fitting it is to the characters Bella and Edward. It's atmospheric, powerful and playful all at the same time. Twilight takes care of some of my need for sensual vampires. I'm not into The Vampire Diaries although I will give True Blood a chance, I at least like the kooky vibe to it.

"No one will surrender tonight. But I won't give in. I know what I want."

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.

What a stupid lamb.

What a sick masochistic lion."

Bella is the fragile human and Edward the dominant vampire. There are so many metaphors and subtext in Twilight that never fail to make me smile. The conversation about the lion and the lamb. The knowledge that Edward could easily destroy Bella. In fact, in Twilight it just so happens Bella's blood is the most potent to Edward. He has to struggle against that all the time, suppress his need to just break her. And no doubt he could break her. When I read their first sex scene in the Twilight series, I literally went back again and again to where the bed Edward fucks Bella in is destroyed, the wood, the pillows, the quilt, the sheets, unusable again; Edward is suppressing his violent need to fuck Bella to the extent she's no longer human. Hmm, it's delicious. I don't know about love, but Stephanie Meyer has managed to more than sneak in posession and its power to even the superficial, shallow youth today.

Monday, 11 October 2010

Excerpt from Slow Burn.

Available to buy for two quid from

Excerpt from Slow Burn

Mel walked through the corridor hearing whispers of “oh my god that new police man” and “he’s fit“, snorting to herself. The girls in their twenties at this college became 14 year olds for any idiot in trousers.

“What do you think Melinda?” Sarah got right in her face and laughed. “Would he tempt the sweet innocent little virgin here?” She crooned mockingly.

“Not after you get your grubby paws on him. And my name is M E L A N I E.” She spoke each letter clearly and loudly treating Sarah like the idiot she was.

Sarah laughed. It was a dumb imitation of a witches cackle. But then again dumb imitation was all Sarah was. Mel ignored her and straightened her body.

“Virgin” What a joke. If anyone really knew what she was like..if anyone took the time to get to know her they’d be shocked. She…oh but she couldn’t get into that now.

The Headmaster came out of his room. He was talking with another guy..oh hello..

“Melanie..a word please.”

Shit what now! Why the fuck was everyone so against her? She kept to herself but was always in some sort of trouble.

“Hi” It was the police man person.

It took her a substantial effort not to say it back. She looked accident..straight into his eyes. They were big and grey..just stunning. She felt her pulse speed up but she ignored him. Not even giving him a smile. It’s not like he perved over her but she wouldn’t be a bimbo. Not now anyway.

“Take a seat.” The Head said to her. He was such a prissy thing. He was a tall guy, quite broad too and he knew some of the girls liked his build but she hated him. You know it stopped being cool to soak up female attention like a pathetic bitch quite a long while ago. But then judging by his hair he was still living in the 80’s.

She was surprised to see police guy come back in this room. He brought a chair with him.

“I’m Detective Stevens” He extended his hand towards her. Closing her fingers around his hand, he shook it gently and she did the same to his. He was firm, gentle, strong. Fucking best handshake ever.

“Melanie Hawes.” She caught his gaze on her. She could imagine him being pretty popular. He had charm. It wasn’t in your face..he just seemed.. nice.

She saw him sit down. He had quite a sturdy body, his uniform was neatly put together but he still looked cool. He had curlyish brown hair, his features somehow strong and gentle at the same time. Well, she wasn’t a poet..I suppose you could say he was kind of “hot.”

She looked at his badges as the Head asked her something about fitting in.

They had this conversation twice now. Yes SHE really should do more to fit in blah blah blah.

She looked at the prude..some men faked being sexy and some were just naturally sexy. Detective Stevens ..she could tell he was just in touch with his sexuality. She just knew.

“We’ve been asking other students this,” Detective Sexy smiled at her, “Melanie, where were you last Friday after your last class?”

Say my name against my neck as you screw me against the wall. Yeah she really did think that. It almost made her giggle. Fucking giggle.

“Melanie?” So he was persistent. She would have to use firm and gentle again.. and throw in intelligent to describe his voice.

“Ermm“ Let’s see “I went to the library after Chemistry class and I must have been there till ..6 I would say..then I..went to my locker..and then I went home.” She didn’t exactly know why she drew that sentence out that much.

“I’ve been hearing rumours to the contrary” She heard Head Master Weird-Fuck move his chair forward.

Have you indeed?

“Yes Sir?” She kept her tone professional.

“You were seen walking the corridor just after 7.”

“Just after 7?”

“7-15 to be precise.”

Oh screw him. And not in that way either.

“The doors close at 7.”

“No.” The idiot said condescendingly.

“Yes they do. “ She said passionately. “I had to wait for my ride outside once bang on 7.”

“Not on a Friday.”


She was confused. How could this happen? “Seen walking in the corridor at 7” ??

“Could you leave us two?” It was the Detective. He said it to the Headmaster. She would have smirked had this not been serious.

She looked straight ahead at the Detective who was watching the Head walk out. She saw he was being professional, wanting to keep this private. She saw every flicker of his the door handle clicked..he only now looked at her.

She didn’t feel angry with him. Nor uncomfortable. But she was confused.

“I’m sorry about this.” He said to her. Sorry? Was this normally how Detectives spoke?

“Are you going to lock me up?” Shit. Why the fuck did she say that?!

He laughed.

“Not even if you’re guilty…and that won’t be my job” He winked at her. It wasn’t sleazy from him, just friendly.

He got up. She saw him lift his chair slightly. He walked towards her side of the desk carrying his chair. She saw the veins in his forearm. She saw he actually wasn’t that tall. That must have been why she looked into his eyes as she walked past him earlier.

“When you finished Chemistry did you go to the library straight away?” He asked her.


“And you stayed in the library for how long again?”

“I would say until 6.”

“You wear a watch?”


“May I see?”

She stretched her arm out. His fingers stayed on her wrist slightly as he saw the face of her watch.

“Thank you.” He said as he moved his fingers away.

Rest your arm she thought.

“After the library,” He cleared his throat “where did you go?”

“I went to my locker.”

Fuck. She had the full force of his gaze on her face. Why was she feeling hot and wet from just this?

She looked at him and blushed. It was just a reaction she guessed. And Holy God almighty he blushed too. It wasn’t just the top of his cheeks. It didn’t make him look any less manly but it did make her start breathing heavily.

She didn’t know how to breathe when he asked her “What did you do at your locker?”

“I collected my books for the weekend. Mathematics and Physics.” Normally her memory was pathetic but all this adrenaline or whatever rushing through was making her mind work like a miracle.

“Say that again.”


His eyes went to her lips. “I couldn’t quite get you the first time. Say it again.”

But her voice wasn’t that breathy..considering the circumstances.

“I collected my Mathematics and Physics books for the weekend.”

She heard his breath hitch because for some reason she had actually moved her chair towards him.

“Melanie, what did you do next?” His voice was lower. It was.

“I closed the door of my locker” She meant to sound cheeky. “I turned my key” She leaned forward. “I waited until it made a click.”

“Then?” He wasn’t phased. And it was spoken against her face. His lips almost touched hers.

“Then..” When she moved her lips she could have taken his. She could have leaned further forward..”I dropped my books..I bent down. To pick my books up.”

“What did you do after you picked your books up?”


“I..walked along the corridor. I walked to the door. I left the building.” She whispered.

“Did you see the time?”

“No. Sir. But it would have only been till up to quarter past 6 at the most.”

“Call me Michael.”

Damn. Cute name but he didn’t pick up on the “Sir” either.

“That will be all Melanie.” He leaned forward even more ..almost as if he meant to kiss the top of her head.

She didn’t kiss him as she wanted to. She just wanted to kiss him, it was inexplicable really. She wanted to do a whole lot fucking more to him but he was a stubborn one. He would have to make the first move. She would have to change her panties every time at this rate, so hot wet and sticky was she from his interrogation.

But he sat watching her, not even moving. She got up and saw his gaze go up her body. He really could have just kissed any part of it that he wished. Any. Especially..

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She felt like some Goddess with him looking at her so earnestly like that.

“Tomorrow? Why?” Her voice sounded a little ragged.

“It’s standard procedure. “He then got up and she saw him straighten his clothes. No matter how cool and comfortable he was, he had some trouble tying to be professional she thought.

She could have complained. So she did. “Why is it standard procedure? Or is it just for me?”

He stopped straightening his shirt.

“I just need to know more details. From everyone. We’ve ran out of time today. You should get to your next class anyway.”

She looked him over. Liar. But she didn’t say anything. Instead she smiled the sweetest smile she could, “What time tomorrow?”

“You’ll be informed.”

She walked up to him. His eyes literally sparked. Dumb word but it was a fucking spark.

“Tomorrow then, Michael.” God this felt good. Fuck reality, she would play bad girl to his detective. She walked out the door, to put it bluntly she needed to touch herself imagining his eyes on her but she wouldn’t go to the bathroom. She WOULD go to class.

Buying Slow Burn on e book whether on computer or kindle

Here's the thing,

If you go on Lulu publishing and do a search for Slow burn (or Slow Burn) Pallavi Agarwal under ebooks you will get my book. I only have a copy and paste link and am unable to upload any click and buy tab here on my blog or a clickable link.

Although the price of the book is now 2 uk pounds - it may still come up as 2.99 on the search, which is incorrect.

I have tried my utmost best to put a preview on there but it's just not happening and why should you buy the book if you don't have an excerpt? I have contacted the publishers and am waiting a response. Meanwhile, I have put a link on my product on lulu to a blog post where you can read a preview for Slowburn. (The post above this one).

I have a facebook page, search pallavi agarwal new erotica author and there is a preview, image, proper price, everything there.

Either tomorrow or day after, if you go on amazon, if you go on the kindle section, and do the same search, amazon uk or international, you should be able to buy Slow Burn for 3 US dollars and the appropriate UK price (they calculate according to the US price). I have tried to put an image but no luck there. I will try again and then send amazon an email. I will put up the link only once it's available to buy with or without the image. You're just going to have to imagine a sexy man and woman for now!

It was very easy to upload my ebook but it took me hours daily on both sites to try and get the small details such as excerpt and image and when it doesn't happen , one wonders if one should just bang on a Big Company's door and risk "you must tone this down" or editing to lose what you like. It's been a headache with no benefits so far, initially I was happy my book was out there, now I know no one has bought it even though they said they would and my facebook page has had some interest (I sent out invites lol)and I started with this book as I had received messages saying I am amazing/they can't stop thinking about the book.

However does self publishing work?

I do so love it when thoughts are provoked.

"The pressure put on men to be initiators, yet avoid seeming creepy or aggressive leads to an unpleasant double bind. After all, the same gross cultural pressures that make women into objects force men into instigators; how many women do you know who proposed to their husbands? So how can a man express hi...s sexual needs without being tarred as a creep? After all, the point of promoting sex-positive attitudes is for everyone to be able to be open about their needs and desires, right?"

Unfortunately it's a big bummer that I can't read the whole article due to a tech hitch but this has been taken from literotica. I got an update from these people. I actually posted them a story but I don't think in the 5 years that have gone by it's been published on Lit. *throws rattle* Or it has and my username was something so casually perverted, I can't remember it and therefore searching for the story (the title being something very casually perverted) would be too much for me.

Now, there are some men, and I have seen this, who will look at young girls in a short skirts and just look, I have actually watched them looking and they continue to be on their little mission.

I'm not saying that as soon as we reach 18, hey it's okay, we're women, we know it all, pretty much this is a developing thing and there are girls who are mature for their age, genuinly not just putting on an act, but there is something in me that says, okay under 18 with a man say in his twenties even, a little creepy. That's probably the societal conditioning in me and yet I won't glare at such a couple and act all wronged for the whole of womankind, afterall individuals are indviduals.

"There she is; short skirt on nice legs, tight blouse and a pretty bra, "fuck me" heels and a smile. She's dancing around in the room, with a real wiggle.

She looks great.

But when a chap "rises to the bait" of this provocatively-dressed female, he can be accused of all manner of things unpleasant, sometimes in Court, and it is often quoted that what the female wears has nothing to do with it. He thinks she's giving "Come and get me" signals. She says "No it ain't".
This causes no end of confusion and has led to some weird trials in the UK."

If I were to put on a short skirt, tight blouse and wear a pretty bra and I did it just for me and with no intention of attracting male attention, just for argument's sake, it's incredibly naive of me to assume that no man wouldn't be just a bit more into me. Like it or not, intentional or not, you put your body on display in some sort of way and I mean that as a compliment and not as some grandma tut tutting, then you're going to get male attention to an extent. Men are going to want to look at you and thinking about you in sexual situations. They're probably going to want to feel you up sooner or later. Of course if a man just walks up to you and starts to pinch your arse, he is a creep. Why? There are boundaries.

Some men will say wearing a short skirt and a tight blouse means you should expect to be raped, as if you have comitted the crime whereas obviously it's only the man who has raped you who has comitted the crime.

There is a strong line and you know when that line has been crossed but a real creep doesn't care about that at any point. No remorse. No nothing.

Then, there's a desire from some women to have a man in their lives who is alpha and dominant. People say in fiction these men are heroes whereas in reality, they are creeps. But are they? I think about certain things I have read in fiction, and put myself in that situation, imagining it. I would feel the same as the heroine, angry. But in the story the man shows plenty of humanity, there is actually no rape. So, the men are alpha and dominant and their actions are left of center, not conventional but they are not creepy men.

It's become a thing to just call a man who eyes up a woman in a short skirt, oh "creep," "pervert." But you have to wonder when another man walks past the same woman, if he hasn't noticed as much of the woman's legs as the men beforehand.

There's also this thing of look but don't touch. I'm not big into sticking your tits in someone's face and then shoving em away and say uh uh uh. That's a total sex tease. That doesn't justify rape. Nothing justifies rape but in society, it seems we can have a naked woman on a magazine with gigantic boobs and sticking out her arse doggy style and it's okay to "express your sexuality" by reading a magazine, but that's all you should do? I'm also not big into saying ooh yeah I just sang a song called Hit Me Baby or Don't Cha (lol; sp!) and I feel so empowered.

There is a way to talk to women, not these mythical creatures as it turns out, but human beings also with a sex drive, also with wants, needs, different sides, personalities amomgst us, flesh and blood, feelings and thoughts, submissive, dominant or neither much, all of us are different, which does not require manipulation, an act of any sort.

I believe men and women SHOULD be honest about their sexuality though it's fucking hard to be so sometimes, and they can be if they develop a sense of humour but most of all have some manners. You don't have to feel like you're too nice for women. Just don't bother with the women and if it seems most women aren't into you, it's not your time. Write. Live. Do something but don't become bitter and start calling women bitches or sluts.

Sunday, 10 October 2010

I'm going to go through this criticism of Story of O bit by bit

Because when submissive women are called passive and bdsm is likened to some "matryric" abuse and flagellation, then i have a lot to say.

"Woman as Victim:
Story of O

The Story of O, by Pauline Reage, incorporates, along with all literary pornography, principles and characters already isolated in my discussion of children's fairy tales. The female as a figure of innocence and evil enters the adult world--the brutal world of genitalia. The female manifests in her adult form--cunt. She emerges defined by the hole between her legs. In addition, Story of O is more than simple pornography. It claims to define epistemologically what a woman is, what she needs, her processes of thinking and feeling, her proper place. It links men and women in an erotic dance of some magnitude: the sado-masochistic complexion of O is not trivial--it is formulated as a cosmic principle which articulates, absolutely, the feminine."

O already has a cunt, the story is about the fullfillment of her cunt. I will talk more later about this.

I agree the complexion of O is not trivial and that's why I am writing this. Whereas the critic is writing from one side, I hope to bring another side.

"Also, O is particularly compelling for me because I once believed it to be what its defenders claim--the mystical revelation of the true, eternal, and sacral destiny of women."

I personally although I know there will be women into bdsm who are from a different point of view, do not care for the anything mystical. Whether Story of O is a mystical revelation, is beyond me. I simply read it as a story of one woman's journey and although I am a fan, I'm not O and my journey will be quite different because no other woman but O herself is O. All women in O although they are slaves, they are all different personalities, none of that disappears so I don't believe Story of O to be any comment on women's destiny of any sort. To me that would reading too much into it.

"The book was absorbed as a pulsating, erotic, secular Christianity (the joy in pure suffering, woman as Christ figure)."

Oh please. I remember in the movie Dead Poets Society, the character Neal wears a wreath on his head and some people said oh he's a matyr, a Jesus figure. No he wore a wreath because we just saw him in a play where his character wears a wreath and he loved acting as much as living and wanted to hold onto that. I know some people get joy in pure suffering but what if some people do not get joy from THAT? When O suffers, that's part of her bdsm journey, it's not because her motivation was to suffer. Again, I think this is reading too much into it. The story reads as a journey, I don't even get how you can see the author making a comment about O as a Christ figure.

"I experienced O with the same infantile abandon as the NEWSWEEK reviewer who wrote: "What lifts this fascinating book above mere perversity is its movement toward the transcendence of the self through a gift of the self . . . to give the body, to allow it to be ravaged, exploited, and totally possessed can be an act of consequence, if it is done with love for the sake of love." 1 Any clear-headed appraisal of O will show the situation, O's condition, her behavior, and most importantly her attitude toward her oppressor as a logical scenario incorporating Judeo-Christian values of service and self-sacrifice and universal notions of womanhood, a logical scenario demonstrating the psychology of submission and self-hatred found in all oppressed peoples. O is a book of astounding political significance."

If a book is "merely" perverted, why can't that just be the case? If we are not allowed to even write out our perversions, which are not politically correct, there are many grey areas, then that's sad.

The book is about love but I also believe it's also about conditioning. Love is a feeling but being captive and possessed can lead to feelings for the captor and the Dominant and Master. You give your body to them, you're sharing your soul with them. I actually don't believe you're giving away your soul to them. I don't think the Dominant is the oppressor, I think they're the opposite of that word unless they are a bully and there's a line between acts of bdsm and bullying which a true Dominant will understand fully no matter their emotions and hardships as human beings themselves.

Self hatred? Picture this. A woman with passions in her life and in love with her boyfriend. Same woman decides to explore bdsm. Boyfriend is not an abuser. Simple as that.

It's not about saying hurt me. Whip me because you want to treat me like SHIT. It's about saying I will take on anything for you. I will explore the whipping because I want to know. I want to know more than the sexuality I am experiencing at the moment. I don't understand it some times but I believe in experience, exploration, knowledge. I also believe in giving myself fully not as some form of dead meat to be sacrificed because I'm a human with a living, beating heart but because I believe in giving my body to my Dominant fully.

"This is, then, the story of O: O is taken by her lover Rene to Roissy and cloistered there; she is fucked, sucked, raped, whipped, humiliated, and tortured on a regular and continuing basis--she is programmed to be an erotic slave, Rene's personal whore; after being properly trained she is sent home with her lover; her lover gives her to Sir Stephen, his half-brother; she is fucked, sucked, raped, whipped, humiliated, and tortured on a regular and continuing basis; she is ordered to become the lover of Jacqueline and to recruit her for Roissy, which she does; she is sent to Anne-Marie to be branded with Sir Stephen's mark and to have rings with his insignia inserted in her cunt; she serves as an erotic model for Jacqueline's younger sister Natalie who is infatuated with her; she is taken to a party masked as an owl, led on a leash by Natalie, and there plundered, despoiled, raped, gangbanged; realizing that there is nothing else left for Sir Stephen to do with her or to her, fearing that he will abandon her, she asks his permission to kill herself and receives it. Q.E.D., pornography is never big on plot."

O is asked if she wants this, she's also warned, she's asked are you sure. She says yes. Of course if she is hell bent on self destruction, she would say yes but you have to differentiate between a victim bent on self destruction and a woman who WANTS bdsm. O is going to cry at the whippings and say no when they're hurting her, what would you expect her do? Laugh like she's posessed, brain washed? Again, bdsm is not brainwashing and the condiotioning element is not brainwashing. O is not saying yes, whip me harder because like I say it's not about "hurt me please."

O is a sexual slave, not an abused junkie, a sexual slave who has given her body to be possessed by as Dominants and Masters see fit. She's not a woman who is walking down a dark alley metaphorically and literally. And she's not pushed to a wall and raped by a gang and if she happens to enjoy it that makes her more of a dirty slut to those men. She is taken because she is a slave. Her enjoyment comes from the fullfillment of her purpose, what she signed up for; to become a sexual slave.

And when Sir Stephen is to leave her, and he is her Master, as a slave, she WILL ask for consent to her death. It's not ultimate sacrifice, it's ultimate posession and now that Sir Stephen is leaving her, she is not posessed by him and therefore no more. This is a philisophy of bdsm and O is a book which is fiction and fantasy but anyone in the real world training to be a slave will know why O asks for consent to her death, it's as I have explained. This does not mean it's happening now as we speak all around and neither does it mean that men want to kill women.

I thought you said Story of O is more than pornography? You can't just call it pornographic when it suits you.

"Of course, like most summaries, the above is somewhat sketchy. I have not mentioned the quantities of cock that O sucks, or the anal assaults that she sustains, or the various rapes and tortures perpetrated on her by minor characters in the book, or the varieties of whips used, or described her clothing or the different kinds of nipple rouge, or the many ways in which she is chained, or the shapes and colors of the welts on her body."

Well you have just done it and in a very trivial way. Sure, if O sucks 100 cocks, then she sucks 100 cocks talking about it in any way doesn't change that but in the book it's not written like that nor was I counting the number of cocks. She is pleasuring the men.

At Roissy, the place where is she training to be a sexual slave, there are numerous men so of course she is to suck their cocks and the minor characters in the book have different personalities and the tortures are applied to them fittingly in the sense of if they have done something wrong or they are to be whipped as part of their training.

I will describe her clothing it is graceful, flowing and easy access. The clothing of a submissive and a slave girl.

Why so many different whips? They all have different strengths, stings, lengths.

O is chained in different ways as as her Dominant, Master sees fit. It's not about mutilation. It's about being bound and yes there will be helplessness in that. Vulnerability is not evil in my opinion. There is a line in bdsm between praying on vulnerability like a bully and testing the woman, pushing her.

"From the course of O's story emerges a clear mythological figure: she is woman, and to name her O, zero, emptiness, says it all."

If so, it's because she's being remade. Remade into a slave. She's not going to be punished for say a passion for photography, she's going to be punished if she doesn't follow her training obediently. Differentiate between losing one's personality and sexual slavery.

"Her ideal state is one of complete passivity,"

I disagree completely. We're talking about O.

And a true Dominant doesn't want a plastic blow up doll. They want a woman of complexities and a woman who can completely submit. O is that type of woman.

"..nothingness, a submission so absolute that she transcends human form (in becoming an owl)."

I thought that was about having wings and being a creature of the night?

"Only the hole between her legs is left to define her, and the symbol of that hole must surely be O."

Yes. O is her cunt. O is a cunt. She is her woman genetalia. But she's her Master's cunt.

"Much, however, even in the rarefied environs of pornography, necessarily interferes with the attainment of utter passivity. Given a body which takes up space, has needs, makes demands, is connected, even symbolically, to a personal history which is a sequence of likes, dislikes, skills, opinions, one is formed, shaped--one exists at the very least as positive space. And since in addition as a woman one is born guilty and carnal, personifying the sins of Eve and Pandora, the wickedness of Jezebel and Lucretia Borgia, O's transcendence of the species is truly phenomenal."

I think this is running with one argument. If you want to believe that about the book, if I can'r read into it like that but you can then that makes us different as people and readers and I won't criticise that but I think this argument is sort of running with one theory really and not having time for other sides. Some will say yeah but, K, isn't that what arguments kind of are.

"The thesis of O is simple. Woman is cunt, lustful, wanton. She must be punished, tamed, debased."

Punished for being lustful or wanton? Tamed and debased for having a high sex drive? Or, exploring her lusts and desires and wants? And punished, tamed when she is not obedient in the training she signed up for as being a slave girl. That's how I see it.

"She gives the gift of herself, her body, her well-being, her life, to her lover. This is as it should be--natural and good. It ends necessarily in her annihilation, which is also natural and good, as well as beautiful, because she fulfills her destiny:

As long as I am beaten and ravished on your behalf, I am naught but the thought of you, the desire of you, the obsession of you. That, I believe, is what you wanted. Well, I love you, and that is what I want too.

Then let him take her, if only to wound her! O hated herself for her own desire, and loathed Sir Stephen for the self-control he was displaying. She wanted him to love her, there, the truth was out: she wanted him to be chafing under the urge to touch her lips and penetrate her body, to devastate her if need be. . . . 3
. . . Yet he was certain that she was guilty and, without really wanting to, Rene was punishing her for a sin he knew nothing about (since it remained completely internal), although Sir Stephen had immediately detected it: her wantonness. 4
. . . no pleasure, no joy, no figment of her imagination could ever compete with the happiness she felt at the way he used her with such utter freedom, at the notion that he could do anything with her, that there was no limit, no restriction in the manner with which, on her body, he might search for pleasure. 5
O is totally possessed. That means that she is an object, with no control over her own mobility, capable of no assertion of personality. Her body is a body, in the same way that a pencil is a pencil, a bucket is a bucket, or, as Gertrude Stein pointedly said, a rose is a rose. It also means that O's energy, or power, as a woman, as Woman, is absorbed. Possession here denotes a biological transference of power which brings with it a commensurate spiritual strength to the possessor. O does more than offer herself; she is herself the offering. To offer herself would be prosaic Christian self-sacrifice, but as the offering she is the vehicle of the miraculous--she incorporates the divine.
Here sacrifice has its ancient, primal meaning: that which was given at the beginning becomes the gift. The first fruits of the harvest were dedicated to and consumed by the vegetation spirit which provided them. The destruction of the victim in human or animal sacrifice or the consumption of the offering was the very definition of the sacrifice--death was necessary because the victim was or represented the life-giving substance, the vital energy source, which had to be liberated, which only death could liberate. An actual death, the sacrifice per se, not only liberated benevolent energy but also ensured a propagation and increase of life energy (concretely expressed as fertility) by a sort of magical ecology, a recycling of basic energy, or raw power. O's victimization is the confirmation of her power, a power which is transcendental and which has as its essence the sacred processes of life, death, and regeneration.

But the full significance of possession, both mystically and mythologically, is not yet clear. In mystic experience communion (wrongly called possession sometimes) has meant the dissolution of the ego, the entry into ecstasy, union with and illumination of the godhead. The experience of communion has been the province of the mystic, prophet, or visionary, those who were able to alchemize their energy into pure spirit and this spirit into a state of grace. Possession, rightly defined, is the perversion of the mystic experience; it is by its very nature demonic because its goal is power, its means are violence and oppression. It spills the blood of its victim and in doing so estranges itself from life-giving union. O's lover thinks that she gives herself freely but if she did not, he would take her anyway. Their relationship is the incarnation of demonic possession:

Thus he would possess her as a god possesses his creatures, whom he lays hold of in the guise of a monster or bird, of an invisible spirit or a state of ecstasy. He did not wish to leave her. The more he surrendered her, the more he would hold her dear. The fact that he gave her was to him a proof, and ought to be for her as well, that she belonged to him: one can only give what belongs to you. He gave her only to reclaim her immediately, to reclaim her enriched in his eyes, like some common object which had been used for some divine purpose and has thus been consecrated. For a long time he had wanted to prostitute her, and he was delighted to feel that the pleasure he was deriving was even greater than he had hoped, and that it bound him to her all the more so because, through it, she would be more humiliated and ravished. Since she loved him, she could not help loving whatever derived from him. 6
A precise corollary of possession is prostitution. The prostitute, the woman as object, is defined by the usage to which the possessor puts her. Her subjugation is the signet of his power. Prostitution means for the woman the carnal annihilation of will and choice, but for the man it once again signifies an increase in power, pure and simple. To call the power of the possessor, which he demonstrates by playing superpimp, divine, or to confuse it with ecstasy or communion, is to grossly misunderstand. "All the mouths that had probed her mouth, all the hands that had seized her breasts and belly, all the members that had been thrust into her had so perfectly provided the living proof that she was worthy of being prostituted and had, so to speak, sanctified her." 7 Of course, it is not O who is sanctified, but Rene, or Sir Stephen, or the others, through her.
O's prostitution is a vicious caricature of old-world religious prostitution. The ancient sacral prostitution of the Hebrews, Greeks, Indians, et al., was the ritual expression of respect and veneration for the powers of fertility and generation. The priestesses/prostitutes of the temple were literal personifications of the life energy of the earth goddess, and transferred that energy to those who participated in her rites. The cosmic principles, articulated as divine male and divine female, were ritually united in the temple because clearly only through their continuing and repeated union could the fertility of the earth and the well-being of a people be ensured. Sacred prostitution was "nothing less than an act of communion with god (or godhead) and was as remote from sensuality as the Christian act of communion is remote from gluttony." 8 O and all of the women at Roissy are distinguished by their sterility and bear no resemblance whatsoever to any known goddess. No mention is ever made of conception or menstruation, and procreation is never a consequence of fucking. O's fertility has been rendered O. There is nothing sacred about O's prostitution.

O's degradation is occasioned by the male need for and fear of initiation into manhood. Initiation rites generally include a period of absolute solitude, isolation, followed by tests of physical courage, mental endurance, often through torture and physical mutilation, resulting in a permanent scar or tattoo which marks the successful initiate. The process of initiation is designed to reveal the values, rites, and rules of manhood and confers on the initiate the responsibilities and privileges of manhood. What occurs at Roissy is a clear perversion of real initiation. Rene and the others mutilate O's body, but they are themselves untouched. Her body substitutes for their bodies. O is marked with the scars which they should bear. She undergoes their ordeal for them, endures the solitude and isolation, the torture, the mutilation. In trying to become gods, they have bypassed the necessary rigors of becoming men. The fact that the tortures must be repeated endlessly, not only on O but on large numbers of women who are forced as well as persuaded, demonstrates that the men of Roissy never in fact become men, are never initiates, never achieve the security of realized manhood.

What would be the sign of the initiate, the final mark or scar, manifests in the case of O as an ultimate expression of sadism. The rings through O's cunt with Sir Stephen's name and heraldry, and the brand on her ass, are permanent wedding rings rightly placed. They mark her as an owned object and in no way symbolize the passage into maturity and freedom. The same might be said of the conventional wedding ring.

O, in her never-ending role as surrogate everything, also is the direct sexual link between Sir Stephen and Rene. That the two men love each other and fuck each other through O is made clear by the fact that Sir Stephen uses O anally most of the time. The consequences of misdirecting sexual energy are awesome indeed.

But what is most extraordinary about Story of O is the mind-boggling literary style of Pauline Reage, its author. O is wanton yet pure, Sir Stephen is cruel yet kind, Rene is brutal yet gentle, a wall is black yet white. Everything is what it is, what it isn't, and its direct opposite. That technique, which is so skillfully executed, might help to account for the compelling irrationality of Story of O. For those women who are convinced yet doubtful, attracted yet repelled, there is this schema for self-protection: the double-double think that the author engages in is very easy to deal with if we just realize that we only have to double-double unthink it.

To sum up, Story of O is a story of psychic cannibalism, demonic possession, a story which posits men and women as being at opposite poles of the universe--the survival of one dependent on the absolute destruction of the other. It asks, like many stories, who is the most powerful, and it answers: men are, literally over women's dead bodies."

Self hatred and wounding on O's part is because she loves Rene so why is she able to get pleasure from another man? It's because the man is training O and thus treating her is his sexual slave, her body to get pleasure when HE says and wants, that's what giving your body away fully, having it possessed is about.

The book is yes about posession and power exchange but I don't believe it's about evil or abuse although there is evil and abuse in the book but that is not the main concept of O. The main concept- bdsm. Sir Stephen and Rene are neither the perfect heroes nor the conventional ones, O is not conventional Erotica. Does bdsm only have room for perfect men as Dominants or Masters? No, but it does allow them to evolve into perfect Doms and Masters.

Implying Story of O is some kind of wicked candy luring women is the kind of bullshit where you just can't believe in anything you don't understand. Yes it is provacative and controversial but I see things in the story and in bdsm that once I read about them, talk about them, live them I grasp an understanding.

O is NOT a prostitute. She is not prostituiting herself and neither is she giving her cunt away for a price, though there is a price to pay in a lot of things, she's not asking for her death when she signs up at Roissy.

The critic is going with her argument and running with it and talking about matyrs, demons and religion. I don't agree with this side. So I will leave this at my final point, addressing freedom and objectivity. Freedom for O comes from choosing to submit to Rene. She is also attracted to Jaquline and through her training, gets the courage and method to explore that,to be able to be powerful enough to explore it. O's freedom comes from exploring sexuality through her Dominant's terms which are also her terms. There are things new to her and when she is branded and the initialof her Master, as someone who is going through bdsm, I know what is like to feel something AFTER you feel the pain. When I hit myself on a table, I don't smile later on. When I submit to Sir, I know what has gone on, I know what I have given, what Sir has taken, I know why, I know how he sees me, we're in constant communication, I have full knowledge. I have been taken somewhere. I could be in chains and I am free.