Vera Commentary: The Erotica Nazi!

I love Seinfeld, can't you tell?

 

Is erotica bad for you? Well, not really. But some people like to think so.

Over the weekend, I received an e-mail from one of the distributors I use to publish my titles. The distributor, Smashwords, pretty much said in so many words that PayPal was threatening to stop their services if certain erotica titles didn’t disappear. These titles are of the incest, pseudo-incest (Step-Daddy, Step-Brother, etc…) and rape, bestiality kind. I, for one, have seen all of these titles published on Smashwords and other distributors such as Amazon.

Naturally there was a bit of an uproar in the writing community. Some were claiming conspiracy theory involving Amazon. Some were claiming another conspiracy theory involving other distributors. Some were claiming their freedom of speech was being violated. Some were saying erotica was being targeted (which isn’t necessarily a stretch of the truth). Some were implying other literary genres will be attacked soon enough.

My stance might surprise you: I think it’s a good move by Smashwords. Now hear me out.

Erotica has been around for ages, even dating back to the Bible. (Don’t believe me? Read Song of Solomon and see what you find.) The genre has grown over the past several years and there are many sub-categories within it. Interracial, fetish, rubenesque, BDSM, etc. Some like straight erotica, while others like the taboo stories (such as the pseudo-incest that is quite popular). Now do I judge those who write the taboo stories? No, but I choose not to read them.  However, I do believe it is the taboo stories that give all erotica writers a bad name. I’ve seen stories that had a rape association with them. I’ve seen stories that had a child molestation element to them. I’ve also seen stories that claim to be BDSM and they were non-consensual stories. And yes, these were on Smashwords.

Now these stories are different from let’s say, Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin, where there is a major storyline involving incest. And these stories are different from A Time to Kill by John Grisham where a major storyline involves child rape. What about Gone with the Wind? Feminists have argued for years that Rhett Butler didn’t ravish Scarlett, he raped her. I can go on and on with plenty of other examples but the point is, the aforementioned books use those taboo subjects as a means to further other storylines in the book; they are not the only storyline.

When people hear erotica, they immediately associate it with porn. Erotica is not porn and porn is not erotica. Let’s be clear on that:

Porn: Boy Meets Girl. Boy Does Girl. The End.

Erotica: Boy Meets Girl. Girl’s not sure if she likes Boy. Boy proceeds to chase Girl. Girl lets Boy chase her. Eventually, Boy gets Girl and gives her the hot luscious. The End.

Lastly, BDSM is always, always consensual. Safe, sane, consensual. BDSM comes in many forms and is particularly hot and passionate when the parties involve love each other. My husband and I have been a part of the Lifestyle for several years now and we’ve seen a lot in the scene. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.

There are authors who write porn and I know a few. There are authors who write erotica and I’m one of them. Erotica is beautiful. There is nothing wrong expressing your love (or lust) to someone by written word. To me, erotica is no different from a Barry White or Marvin Gaye song. In fact, one of the most sensual love songs that is played all the time, Crusin’ by Smokey Robinson, is about sex. The pictures I have posted on this blog are examples of erotica. Could I post hard-core porn stills on here? Sure. But if you want to see porn, there are plenty of other sites for that. This isn’t one of them.

I’m all about the First Amendment and people should have the right to publish whatever they want, no matter how stupid I think it is.  However, I also have the same right to not read it. And publishers have the same right to not publish it.

And there you have it,

-V.

An Erotic Intoxication: Dear Diary, Pt. I

Dear Diary,

Once again, I dropped him off at the airport with the promise he’ll see me again in a few weeks. It’s a schedule I’m still getting used to: he flies in once a month (sometimes twice if I’m lucky), he’ll spend some time with me for a few days and then he flies back out. I’m not supposed to get too attached. Well, it’s too late for that. Isn’t it funny how the ones you should never get attached to are always the ones you do? I’ve had some pretty awful luck with men lately. I’m wondering who did I piss off so badly in a former life where I have to deal with the heaping pile of flaming shit that is known as ex-boyfriends.

It seems that every man I meet has some sort of issue with him and I’m stupid enough to try to fix it. I’m sorry, that’s not even true. I’m stupid enough to try to fix him. Let’s break down the most recent candidates in the campaign I’m running called, ‘I Can Change Him! Really, I Can!’ I’m telling you these candidates are more interesting than any political fool out there.

First, there was Michael. He was married but tried to convince me he was only with his wife because of the kids. Ladies, never believe a man when he says that. It simply means he doesn’t want to pay child support. Yeah, he told me this after I opened my legs to him. Amazing how fast they closed afterwards.

Then there was Eddie, the suave drug-dealer who blinded me with expensive jewelry and an even more expensive handbag habit I picked up. Not to mention, I also know how to make cocaine and bag it. I’m sure my parents would be thrilled with the skills their hard-earned dollars for  my college education gave me.

Finally, there was Joe. The darling preacher man who always prayed for me, my family, and friends. Joe was a deacon at a nearby church and I often wondered why a man that fine and full of Christ was so single. Well, Joe was full of something all right but it wasn’t the Holy Ghost. The first night we were in bed together, Joe was more excited about my asshole than my cunt. It only took one time to make me realize there is a difference between being a closet freak and being in the closet.

Now I have a new candidate in my campaign. I just hate the fact I’m attached to him even though I promised myself I wouldn’t be. Ugh. Why do I get involved with men who are the bad boys? I always do. Bad boys are more exciting but the drama and headache that comes with them is not worth it. I always tell my girls if they want a good man, go boring. Boring is good, safe, and you never wonder if you have enough bail money.

I’m hoping Clay will end my spell of good guys gone asshole. Clay falls into the category of two types of men women should never date: musicians and actors. He’s both. Didn’t I tell you I have the worst luck with men?

We met at Fry’s Electronics. Yeah, not the typical place where two people would hook up but I just happened to be there and so did Clay. Clay was standing at one of the aisles, looking at the cover of a CD. I clumsily bumped into him. Texting and walking isn’t something I recommend.

Anyway, when I bumped into Clay, I knocked the CD out of his hand and reached down to get it at the same time he did. At a brief glance, our eyes met. Now it wasn’t fireworks, let’s be clear. It wasn’t angels singing and a gospel choir didn’t appear out of nowhere. But there was a definite interest from both sides.

“You look familiar…” I began to say to him. Truth is, I recognized him immediately. I thought back to the collection of magazine covers I’m currently holding hostage in my bedroom. They’re conveniently right next to my naughty drawer with the various lubes and toys.

“I do?” Clay coyly smiled. “Where have you seen me?”

I’ve DVR’d every interview, guest appearance, and watched endless reruns of his show, The Thief like it was the only program on TV. I would not say I’m obsessive, though. Okay, maybe a little. “A few places,” I nodded.

After briefly making small talk, we exchanged numbers and I went about my merry way. I was giddy for the rest of the day and even my girls were wondering what the hell was going on but I didn’t dare to tell them. Would they have believed me? I wasn’t sure if I believed it. For a while, I thought I just ran into someone who looked awfully similar to Clay but wasn’t him. Sure, he’s hotter than the August sun but let’s face it: fans don’t fuck their favorite celebrity.

Well, not all fans. I just happened to be one of the lucky ones.

To be continued…

Whitney!

My parents are from the old-school. I’m talking they actually went out and bought records for the new albums that came out. My parents’ record collection is pretty astounding from Duke Ellington to The Ohio Players to Patti Labelle to Roger and Zapp. They still have all of the records which I think I’ll one day inherit to my husband’s anti-hoarding amusement.

I remember when I was a little girl, I was looking at one cover in particular. And I kept staring at it and staring at it and staring at it. It was this one:

I didn’t know who she was at the time. All I knew she was beautiful. I would soon found out who she was and was just amazed by how big of a voice can come out from someone so tiny. You see, back in my time (I’m so dating my age here), we didn’t have the Beyonces, the Katy Perrys, the Rhiannas, the Xtinas. We had Whitney. Celine and Mariah would come later but let’s face it, they both – while hugely talented in their own careers – are Whitney clones. Even Mariah and Celine will admit they were inspired by Whitney.

I think every little girl in the late 80s and early 90s wanted to be just like Whitney Houston. She was classy. She never cursed. She was, by all accounts, America’s princess. She had The Voice. My favorite song of hers at the time was “I’m Your Baby Tonight” which I still play often on my iPod. Of course, my favorite song of hers now is “Million Dollar Bill”, which often reminds me of my husband.

Despite Whitney’s struggles, she was the type of person you rooted for. Sure, she’s made some pretty famous missteps (“Oh hell to the nah!” and my personal favorite, “Crack is wack!”, not to mention an unflattering reality show she did with ex-husband, Bobby Brown) but behind the glitz and glamour, she was still a human being with demons she fought on a daily basis to overcome. Whitney once admitted in an interview several years ago that the ideal of being perfect all the time was too much to bear and she could no longer handle it.

She had been to rehab several times and by some accounts, she was on the way back on top with a movie coming out this summer. Those close to her can attest the last few hours of her life were happy moments; she was getting ready to appear at an event hosted by her longtime mentor, Clive Davis, and was pretty excited about it.

They always say the good die young and I believe there’s a lot of truth in that. I hope Whitney finally has the peace in Heaven she could not get on Earth. Can you imagine how awesome the Heavenly choir sounds like now? Just wow.

I leave this post with an amazing reblog of sorts by my good friend and awesome blogger, Rincewind, when he took over the Intoxication for a week last year. God bless you, Whitney. We’ll always love you.

Amazing Black Girls: Whitney

And there you have it,

-V.

Sneak Peek of Dear Diary

Hello Everyone,

So I was going to publish Dear Diary this week but unfortunately, I got caught up with writing a certain sequel (*coughS&MIIIcough*) that I didn’t have time to polish and edit the freebie being released. So it’s been delayed until next Monday, February 13th.

Some things: one, it’s not a romantic Valentine’s Day story. The story is dedicated to you, the reader, for supporting me. It’s also one of two stories I’m releasing in between Gettin’ It and S&M III. If you followed the Facebook page, I mentioned I’m releasing another story next month (that one will be paid). Do the mental math and you have an idea on when S&M III will be released.

Something else that’s different: Dear Diary is written in first-person. Writing in first-person is pretty challenging and it’s not something I like to do often. There are so many things I have to do when I write in first-person and use so many tenses. Still, it’s fun to push myself.

As some of you may have noticed with Gettin’ It, I’m slowly moving away from the erotica-only genre of storytelling. Not that I won’t publish anymore erotica at all (several titles coming out this year are erotica stories) but I really want to tell a story that just happens to have some really, really hot fucking added in. I want the stories to be a mixture of sweet and sexy. How often do you find that in erotica?

Alright, I think I talked more than I should have. Here’s the sneak peek of Dear Diary, available next Monday, February 13th. Book cover will debut sometime over the weekend. You’re welcome.

****

A few days passed by and I started to wonder if Clay was just one of those typical guys; you know the type that’ll say they’ll call you but they never do. One night, a small pint of strawberry Haagen-Dazs was begging me to eat it and there I stood in my kitchen, wallowing my sorrows and fattening my thighs with creamy delight. Calling Clay wasn’t an option. You see, I can be brave in many aspects of my life. On Black Friday, I’ll cut a bitch up for the last pair of $200 jeans on sale. Swerving in and out of traffic to get home to watch Grey’s Anatomy is something I’ve done often.

But calling a man? Making the first move? I just don’t do that. Maybe I’m traditional in that aspect. Or maybe I’m just chicken-shit. Hmm…I think I’m the former, and not the latter.

Still, staring at his number made me both batty and sad. But I refused to call. I guess I’m just stubborn in that manner. I had to quickly get over being stubborn, though. Just when I was about to stick a match to Clay’s number and use it to light a vanilla candle, my phone rang.  It was an unlisted number and since I don’t answer unfamiliar calls, it went straight to voicemail. But then the phone kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing. I finally pick it up because it was probably someone or something urgent.

“Yes, can I speak with Renee?” A voice said on the other end.

It was him. Clay called me. I recognized his voice instantly. Even though he often uses American accents when he does movie roles, I was very familiar with his native British tongue. “Speaking.”

“You may not remember me but I’m Clay. I met you a few days ago at Fry’s? You were wearing a yellow sundress and sandals?”

He remembered what I was wearing? “You have a good memory.”

“It’s not hard to remember a woman wearing a sundress and sandals in the dead of winter,” he laughed.

What can I say? It was laundry day. “I have eclectic tastes.”

“I’m sure you do,” Clay laughed.

 I was surprisingly comfortable when I was talking to him and for a brief second I questioned if it was truly him I was talking to. My celebrity crush was actually talking to me! I was in awe. We chatted for a bit more and he asked if I would go out on a friendly date with him. I jumped at the chance and we set the date for the following weekend. I couldn’t sleep all night wondering how the date was going to pan out. Would he actually like me again? What should I wear? What topics should I bring up? Would it even matter?

It’s one thing to go out with a cute guy. It’s an entirely different ball game to go out with your celebrity crush. No fantasy I’ve ever had – sweet and innocent or Jenna Jameson-inspired – was ever remotely close to the reality I experienced.  I have to re-live our first date just for you, Diary. There is a warning: it’s so hot, your pages might catch fire.

****

The following weekend, I drove to the ritzy hotel Clay was staying in. He was in town doing promotional work for a movie he starred in. I went past the concierge and headed straight for the elevator. I pressed the button for the fourteenth floor and was on my way. I didn’t know what to expect and truth to be told, sex was the least on my mind despite me meeting him at his hotel. Believe it or not, seeing him on a casual date made me happy enough.

I knocked on his door and am greeted by sheer hotness. Let me describe this beautiful man for you: Clay is a tall glass of wonderful chocolate goodness. He’s Black, tall and muscular. He often wears a goatee and has these deep brown eyes that look into the depths of your soul. Okay, that might have sounded a bit cheesy but it’s true. He’s just gorgeous no matter how I describe him. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans. Hell, he could have been wearing a potato sack and I would have loved it the same.

“Renee, you made it,” my name rolled off his tongue. He was surprised that I showed up. There was no way in blue hell I was going to miss this date. “Please, come in.”

When I entered his suite, it was so romantic. The lights were dimmed and the curtains are open to see the city lights. A few candles were lit and room service was ordered. I had already decided whether or not he typically did this with other women, Clay was definitely getting into my panties that night. 

He helped me out of my jacket and I give him a gift I picked out specifically for him. “You didn’t have to,” Clay smiled at me.

“I know.” Trust me, I did know. The gift created a dent to my barely there savings account. But I felt obligated to give him something. Clay opened the box and held the cashmere sweater to his chest. “It’s a large.”

Clay smiled. “Thank you, darling,” he said as he put the sweater away and stood closer to me, “but I’m an extra large.”

The heat rose between my thighs and quickly spread throughout my body. “I bet you are,” I barely whisper before his lips are crushed against mine.  

Something ravenous takes over us and before I knew it, I was on top of him as we fall to the bed. I straddle his waist and our tongues play with each other. His lips were so soft and tender; his tongue was experienced and welcoming.

Filed Under WTF?: Um, I’m not eating that…

You know, I could never understand men’s fascination with women swallowing their cum. Maybe some of my male readers can help me understand the logistics. But that’s not important to this post (um…maybe it is…). My wonderful but oh-so-kinky hub-hubs showed me this link, we both knew it had to go on the blog:

http://scienceblogs.com/grrlscientist/2010/06/natural_harvest_a_collection_o.php

If you followed the link, you would’ve seen the title heading of: Natural Harvest: A Collection of Semen-Based Recipes.  Did you catch that last part? Semen-based recipes. 

According to author, Fotie Photenhauer, here is why you should add a little jizz in your jello:

Semen is not only nutritious, but it also has a wonderful texture and amazing cooking properties. Like fine wine and cheeses, the taste of semen is complex and dynamic. Semen is inexpensive to produce and is commonly available in many, if not most, homes and restaurants. Despite all of these positive qualities, semen remains neglected as a food. This book hopes to change that. Once you overcome any initial hesitation, you will be surprised to learn how wonderful semen is in the kitchen. Semen is an exciting ingredient that can give every dish you make an interesting twist. If you are a passionate cook and are not afraid to experiment with new ingredients – you will love this cook book!

Um, yeah…

You have to go the book’s page and read the comments…I’m begging you to…or you’ll miss this gem:

When I get home from work every day, my kids’ and wife’s eyes just light right up. Why do they light up? Cause when Daddy gets home, he pops a viagra pill, and for the next 2 hours he masturbates non-stop until he has just enough semen to spruce up dinner. You can’t store it, fresh cum is the only way to go. By the time my cock is red, the wife and kids are already sitting at the dinner table, food all prepared and waiting on me. Next thing you know, a big smile stretches across my face to see my whole family gobbling down a little piece of me in their gravy :’) Brings tears to my eyes and I am filled with overwhelming joy. Buy this book if you truly want to have a religious experience at the dinner table every evening! Hell, even holding this book and reading through the recipes will have you licking your lips and talking to God! IT IS THAT F**KING AMAZING!

I love being a blogger.

And there you have it,

-V.

Credit: Science Blogs.com and lulu.com.

LOL Bondage

Reblogged from Erotixx:

I wonder what my husband thinks of this when I start yapping too much...

Behind the Pen: Making of Dear Diary

 

I’m starting a new series on the Intoxication called Behind the Pen (heavily borrowed from Behind the Music). Sometimes people ask me how I come up with ideas for books or storylines and I like to show you a little (just a little or I’ll frighten you) what was going on in my brain when I came up with a certain book.

We’re going to take a look at Dear Diary. It’s about a woman who shares with her diary, her encounter with a famous actor because no one else would believe her if she told them. I got the idea from several places: a gossip message board I regularly visit, a TV show, a previous encounter, and well, just my weird brain. It seems to work out pretty well, I think.

I chose to write the short in first-person because I wanted the reader to experience what the main character, Renee, is thinking and feeling when she meets up with certain A-list celebrity actor/musician, Clay. She’s not giddy, even though she acts like on the inside. Instead, she’s in a perpetual state of ‘WTF?’, which I felt was more reasonable and believable. If your favorite celebrity asked you out on a date, how would you react? 

So I needed an alpha male as Clay. I described a Black male, tale, chocolately, and just oh-so-wonderful. The more I wrote, the more I thought about I was actually describing this guy:

 

Lawd have mercy...

I’ve always had a crush on Idris Elba  since me and Mr. K. had become big fans of The Wire. And then we saw him on Luther, and it just solidified my little girl crush on him. Of course, he was an inspiration for the actor, Clay, in Dear Diary (brownie points if you can figure out the connection between the character name and Idris).

Another part of this story is an encounter I had years ago with a certain WWE wrestler. No, I didn’t sleep with him but he very politely propositioned me. Come to think of it, if I didn’t have company with me at the time, I probably would’ve jumped on him and rode him into the sunset. I still think of said wrestler very fondly even though I no longer look at him as a piece of cock (well, maybe I still do…)

So that’s pretty much it. Not as convoluted as one would expect. I’m pretty simple when it comes to characters.

And there you have it,

-V.