an aspiring writer in my teens, I used a number of teen websites to
create a network of other young amateurs, among which I found a crop of
male erotica writers who, unsurprisingly, were the easiest to befriend.
For months my adolescent mind found excitement and titillation in the
honest fantasies of my peers as we weaved together through puberty. I
thought myself particularly avant-garde, answering questions about
female desires as a matter of research, and correcting grammar on
essays about dreams that left the writers' sheets covered in sweat or
worse. I was a privileged insider – until I became a subject. Reading
the fantasies of a complete stranger was one thing, but fantasies about
me were quite another. I backpedaled out of my oh-so-iconoclast image
faster than you could say O-face, and never quite thought to mix
literature and sex so intimately again.
Last month, I realized that I have by now lost the heeby-jeebies
associated with pervy little boys. The time had come to dig my hands
into the wide world of New York erotica that awaited spread-eagle at
the appropriately named Happy Ending lounge
at Rachel Kramer Bussel's "In the Flesh Erotica Series
LGBT Night." The next one takes place tomorrow (with free candy and
cupcakes), and although it won't highlight girl-on-girl action in
particular, it's sure to expose plenty of kinky secrets...
Continue reading "In the Flesh" here.
Photo by Stacie Joy[ read more... ]