Books – Page 2 – Lauren's Hot Blog

Writing Sex for the River People

I have to admit I’m often a little frustrated by Amazon. So far, I have exactly two books in their system. Both are distinguished by the relationship between their characters. That is to say, their characters aren’t related at all. Not if they’re having sex with each other.

The characters in One Room are business associates, forced to share a hotel room because of a convention in town. According to one review, the story is a polemic against Christianity. The conventioneers are evangelicals, and one of the preachers does a little groping in the elevator. Two or three paragraphs, I’m thinking, do not a polemic make. This particular preacher is an asshole, which a surprising number of them are, but it’s just a passing incident and hardly different than if I’d made the jerk a Shriner or an Elk at a convention. People are known to misbehave when they’re in a town where no one knows them.

The main point here, of course, is that you can write about sex and publish the story on Amazon, but you have to be careful about how you do it. No one under eighteen can be involved in anything sexual. Incest is right out. No sex with animals, except maybe werewolves, but only when they’re human.

This is a good example of something you can’t do on Amazon. The title alone will likely get the book thrown into “blocked” status, since it certainly implies there’s incest going on. It might even get blocked for something as innocent as the author’s pen name. And, of course, there’s simply no way that cover illustration is ever going to be allowed. There are naked boobs! Children might be watching, for fuck sake! Mind you, I sort of like that effect. Even though it’s a photograph, it has the look of those old painted covers that once adorned the better sort of one-off porn novels hidden behind the counter at the smoke shop.

I’ll be honest, an author might get away with this for a while. Amazon has humans who can pass final judgment on the titles they allow, but initially you’re dealing with bots, and bots may not catch the boobs, the implication of the title, or the “cuss word” in the author’s name (I wonder if I should use that one on a title or two, but maybe change it to “Randi”). In any case, they’ll eventually catch you, and while they probably won’t ban a commercial publisher who tries to slip in an incest title from time to time, they’re a lot more likely to do so to a self-published author.

If one were to use this old Victorian photo as the basis of a story, some routes would be just fine at Amazon, while others would definitely not be. If the story suggests that this is a Victorian gentleman enjoying the company of a pair of filles de joi from the local brothel, it would probably pass muster. On the other hand, if your story implies that this is young Lord Humpe, passing the time by nibbling on his sister’s cunt while his other sister plays with his generative member, it won’t be long for the list. In actual fact, I have no idea who these people were, though a pimp and two of his stable would likely be a safe enough guess. About the only thing I can say for sure is that it’s a studio shot, since real Victorian houses didn’t have painted canvas walls behind the sofa.

You could not, in any case, actually use the photo in your book, or on the cover. Not only are there naked boobs, there’s also a naked dick. There’s a good chance they wouldn’t even allow that inside the book.

This is another good example of a book you won’t find on Amazon. You will, naturally, find it on Lot’s Cave, and on several other online marketplaces. The cover, curiously enough, might just pass muster at the river site, the model’s breasts being sufficiently covered by her hair, but the subject matter would never make it. It’s a pretty good little book, in my personal opinion, though I suppose you could argue I might be slightly prejudiced in its favor. I got a little experimental with this one, keeping the story flowing, but changing the narrator, so you end up with a continuous first-person story told by four different people. I think it works rather nicely.

Cover Design and Naughty Literature

Books need covers. Even books that never appear in physical form, which the majority of mine don’t. But where to get the covers?

This one came from Lot’s Cave, which is where the majority spring from. Sis and Her Friend is filled with the same incestuous behavior as are the bulk of my books. The bulk written under this particular name, at least. These are the easy covers. I just send them the manuscript and they take it from there, formatting the file for various outlets, and commissioning a cover design. It takes a few weeks this way, but the finished product seems worth the wait.

There are a couple of exceptions, naturally. Two of my books were written for a more mainstream audience. Mostly, that means nobody is fucking a sibling or parent. Amazon won’t carry books where that sort of thing is going on. They seem to be okay with characters fucking unrelated people, though, as long as everyone is an adult. They don’t allow any underage sex, and that’s probably as it should be, even if it makes writing “high school” sex stories a bit predictable, since everyone has to be a senior.

The cover for One Room, which was done by the nice people at C.E.B. Pubs (who publish my Amazon-rated books), was one where I had a bit more input. Some things are obvious about this one. To begin with, the model is wearing sexy lingerie, but everything is still modestly covered up. You can’t have naked tits on Amazon’s bookshelf. I’ve often thought it would be nice if you could, as nudity sells more books than semi-nudity.

For this book, I selected the photo from a set I’d purchased for my website. The full set ended up in the members’ section, where, so far as I can tell, no one has ever seen the rest of them. I’m seriously thinking of shutting down that section. I don’t have the money to make it big and comprehensive, and not too many people want to spend the money on a subscription when there isn’t very much material there.

I have to suspect that I might sell a few more copies of the book if I could put this image on the cover instead of the one that was used. But I can’t. I have to use what the sellers will allow and, again, I’m not in a position to become a major publisher and sell my own books through a big on-line store.

I’ll admit I had a little help with this one. The girl holding the candelabra is a stock photo, and the license says we can’t sell more than 50,000 copies of the book without paying an additional fee. So far, I’m afraid, there’s very little danger it’s going to cost any more. The blood dripping down at the top is another stock photo, superimposed on the first. Then that background image was imported into InDesign, where the title and my name were added.

This one, unlike the others, also had to be made in a high-resolution version suitable for print reproduction. Lust for Blood is currently available in Kindle, ePub, print, and audiobook editions. That almost wasn’t possible, by the way. Originally it had a bit of incest added to the mix. Somewhere along the line I realized it was potentially a more mainstream title, so the incest came out. Lord Muntglare and his sister, Lady Anna, may still end up naked in his photographic studio, but she only has sex with her friend, Suzanne, and it’s their guest his lordship jerks off over. A simple change such as that is the difference between a book that can be sold on Amazon and one that can’t.

I can’t help thinking this shot would make a great cover for the book I’m currently writing, but I’m afraid it would be too limiting when it comes to markets. I’m fairly sure this will be another Lot’s Cave title, since it contains some obvious fetish content, and may include a certain amount of incest as well (I haven’t got quite that far yet, but I think it’s coming). Even with some carefully-placed text, I don’t think Amazon would ever allow that image.

It Depends on How You Look At It

My latest release from Lot’s Cave is Sis and Her Friend. It has all the most popular elements. A set of 18-year-old, brother-sister twins, cheerleaders, group sex, and a horny mom getting it on with her kids. Obviously, this is one of those books that you won’t be seeing on Amazon.

I decided to go a little Rashomon on this one, though I didn’t ape Kurosawa to the extent of retelling the exact same incident from multiple viewpoints. Rather, the story unfolds in a continuous narrative, but each part of the narrative is told by a different narrator. This might be an interesting candidate for an audiobook, provided I could find four narrators who were willing to share the royalties. Well, two, at least. There’s one guy and three gals, but I suppose all three women could be voiced by the same person.

Speaking of audiobooks, Lust for Blood is progressing nicely. My publisher tells me that the narration should be done in a few days. What I’ve listened to so far sounds pretty good. I’ve also added a few more outlets for the ebook, as I’ve added a Lot’s Cave edition to the one published by C.E.B. Pubs. To be honest, while there’s a lot of sex in Lust for Blood, it’s still tame enough to be allowed on Amazon, so Lot’s Cave is doing this more as a courtesy than because it really fits their usual catalogue. Not a bit of incest to be found. It does have its share of lesbians, servant sex, randy aristocrats, and a few vampires to keep the reader occupied. There’s just no one screwing any close relatives.

Catching Up

I obviously should write in this blog more often. I realized recently that I’d had nothing to say since Darwin Day, while quite a lot has happened since then. The audiobook version of One Room seems to be languishing, with the sound files long past due. I suppose that means I need to ask my publisher to cancel the contract and find another narrator for that story.

It’s another story with Lust for Blood. The audio version of that is coming along nicely, with only ten chapters left to go. My publisher has been sending me the audio files as they’re received. It’s going to be a nice audiobook, presuming no one at Audible suddenly decides it’s too racy or something.

In other developments, Sis and her Friend should be out before much longer. I don’t have a lot of control on scheduling for the books that will carry the #TooHotForAmazon tag. The tamer stuff comes out a lot faster than the incest stories.

Just now, I’m working on a new story, with incidents starting as a high school senior (because, you know, all characters have to be at least eighteen), and continuing from there. It’s not quite the book an early fan suggested, but it’s sometimes headed in that direction. The original suggestion was a book about women who could pee standing up. Some are good at this; some are not. I’m only really good at it when I’m writing. In actual practice it’s more likely to go down my leg.

This young lady seems to have the knack for it. My story does include a certain amount of outdoor peeing. And indoor peeing. I have no idea if this girl has ever peed on Fearless Leader, though I’d suspect not. There’s not much point in speculating on a model’s actual personality anyway. The stories I write are fiction, even if there may be a bit of reality here and there. The girl in the picture is a professional model, I paid to use her pictures, and that’s about all I can say about her. That’s a combination of a licensing stipulation and the fact that, really, I don’t know anything about her to begin with.

I’ll admit I’m suffering from a bit of writer’s block at the moment, lying on the floor of a school friend’s family room with my tongue in her pussy. I’ll figure it out. Since it’s a pee story, or possibly a pee book, I have to presume continuing is going to mean someone gets peed on.

You’ll just have to wait and see.

International Darwin Day

In 1859, Charles Darwin published On The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection. The world really hasn’t been the same since. Darwin’s book laid down the basic principles of evolution. Or, perhaps, it might better be said that he organized existing principles into a unified theory. Evolution wasn’t new with Darwin. His own grandfather, Erasmus Darwin, had written on the subject. So had others.

What Darwin did was put it all together. He then sat on it for years, only finally collecting all his ideas into a publishable whole after receiving a manuscript from Alfred Russell Wallace, whose own theory closely matched his own. It has been suggested that Darwin’s tardiness in publishing had a lot to do with his wife, who was quite religious. Concern for his wife’s feelings has also been cited as the reason Darwin was reluctant to make public statements about his own atheism.

If you haven’t guessed by now, this is going to be one of those serious posts. Sex is involved, certainly, for that is the general means through which evolutionary changes are transmitted. It’s just not the main thrust of the essay.

Some people, my own mother among them, hate the very idea of evolution. Their concept of human origins begins and ends with Genesis, so anything that suggests this isn’t how it happened is simply ignored. You can’t entirely blame Christians for this attitude, of course. If Adam and Eve weren’t real people, and the events chronicled in Genesis never actually happened, then there’s no reason for their religion to even exist. The whole thrust of Christian belief in Jesus is that his willing sacrifice served to atone for original sin. If there was no Fall, no forbidden fruit, no garden, no first man and woman, then there is also no original sin to atone for.

Original sin is a weird idea to begin with. It was apparently something Paul thought up, because I’ve spoken to a number of rabbis and they all agree that it’s not a Jewish concept. Neither is hell, for that matter. There doesn’t seem to be any fixed notion of what comes after death, but they all seem fairly sure it isn’t eternal punishment. More of a three-part set of vague possibilities, consisting of heaven (or maybe reincarnation), a one-year or shorter sentence in Gehenna, or complete oblivion and it’s as if you never existed.

Evolutionary scientists today tell us that there was never a first man or woman in the sense of a first male or female member of our exact species. At some point along a scale including millions of generations we gradually evolved from earlier forms. And, while we are presumably a discrete species today, and would be unable to mate with, say, Homo erectus and produce fertile offspring, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t some point along the evolutionary trail where the current version of humanity couldn’t have successfully mated with those on either end of the generational trail. There’s no reason, really, to even think that both sexes reached the same stages of development at the same time. As long as they got there within a few hundred generations of each other there’d be no problems with reproducing.

It’s like the chicken/egg question. The only really logical answer is the egg, since whatever chickens were before they became unquestionably chickens was still a bird and still laid eggs.

There are those who like to argue that order cannot arise from chaos. They think of evolution as just a lot of random events, and argue that the odds of them all coming together are simply too high to be possible. The “747 assembled from a junkyard by a tornado” analogy is a common one. But that’s not how it works. Evolution doesn’t just gather up all of these random parts and toss them together. It’s a cumulative process, occurring over thousands of generations. Some mutations prove to be useful and, if they give the carrier a slight advantage over others when it comes to reproduction, they can be incorporated into following generations. If they’re not useful, they tend to die out. There’s none of this X-Men, sudden ridiculous superhuman abilities sort of thing. Several million years ago, our ancestors were as hairy as any modern great ape. Over the generations we lost most of that hair, probably because we didn’t really need it, or perhaps because less hairy individuals were thought of as more attractive and were therefore more sought after as mates.

I can think of several of my female friends who would welcome a genetic mutation that finally eliminated all body hair except what’s on top of their heads. Perhaps, one day, this will come to be. For now, they just have to shave, wax, or use some other technique to get rid of unwanted body hair.

When an anti-evolutionist uses that 747 tale as an argument in favor of “intelligent design,” he’s really arguing against himself. Intelligent Design argues that whatever we see today was made just as it is, by a brilliant designer, who always turns out to be God. The thing is, when they throw in the 747, they’re rather forgetting that if you applied intelligent design principles to the question, you’d expect the Wright brothers would have designed and built a 747 in their bicycle shop in 1903, and not wasted all those years as airplanes evolved from what was, essentially, just a powered glider.

Evolution is a theory. That means it’s been proven about as thoroughly as possible given contemporary scientific capabilities. Theories are, in science, essentially facts. It’s simply that a basic tenet of science is that any theory has to be falsifiable. There has to be something that could prove it wrong, which means that even the most robust theories, like evolution and gravity, are always subject to revision in the face of new evidence. The proverbial Devonian rabbit, for example. This is why God has never risen to the level of a theory. There’s simply no possible way to prove that he exists, or that he doesn’t, because the very definition of God includes being outside of time and space.

By the way, if you get someone telling you a theory isn’t a law, point out that, no, a theory is a higher classification. A law is something that will always produce the same results under the same conditions, so Newton’s laws of motion are laws because they always work, but they’re only a part of the theory of gravity, which includes them and a great deal more. Science keeps getting closer. Einstein modified Newton, Hawking has modified both, and in the future other mathematicians and physicists will no doubt further refine the theory.

Personally, I accept evolution. Notice I said “accept” and not “believe in.” Evolution isn’t a belief, it just is. You either accept that this is how everything living today came to be, or you don’t. If you don’t, then I suppose you can watch a movie such as Is Genesis Real? without laughing your ass off while wondering where the hell these clowns got their PhDs.

Doing Sis and Other Writing

I finished a new story a couple days ago. I’m calling this one Sis and Her Friend, which no doubt tells you that it won’t be going to Amazon any time soon. I’ve sent it to Lot’s Cave, where no one has any trouble with a little fictional incest–or much anything else, for that matter. They may decide to submit it for Kindle, but I doubt it would be accepted. Any time your hero starts off masturbating with his sister, and ends up screwing his mother, it’s unlikely the story will pass muster with Amazon’s censors, who don’t care so much about legality–stories like that are completely legal, since they don’t involve real people–as they do about whether some reader will complain because Jesus told him not to do that. Hell, Amazon will turn down a book because there are tits on the cover. (That’s not the actual cover, by the way.)

People sometimes ask me why I write incest stories. Honestly, I write them because they sell. Sex stories sell in any case, but sex stories featuring close relatives sell even better. There are no doubt psychological reasons behind that. I’m not sure what they are, exactly. Perhaps the idea that sex is permitted, but sex with relatives isn’t. Not in our culture, at least. There are a number of countries where it’s perfectly legal to have sex with your parent, child, or sibling as long as everyone is an adult at the time. This is why “genuine” incest porn tends to come from places like Japan and France, where the restrictions involve marriage but not sex.

Obviously, not everything I write involves incest. Lust for Blood doesn’t, though there may be a moment here and there when you start to wonder if it’s going to. It very nearly did, until I realized I potentially had a mainstream novel on my hands. So the brief moments went away, or were modified to eliminate any genuine incest between Lord Muntglare and his sister and substitute, perhaps, something implied but not something you could be sure of. He’s photographed her naked, and he’s known for seducing his models, but whether there was anything untoward betwixt the noble siblings is never even mentioned.

Lady Anna, in any case, is far more interested in having sex with her school friend, Suzanne, or with her lady’s maid, than she is in bedding any man. Suzanne is more flexible, sleeping happily with Lady Anna, but apparently just as happily romping in the forest with the earl. She comes from the professional class, her father having been a barrister, but not the nobility, so perhaps she’s thinking in terms of her long-term financial security as much as of sexual satisfaction.

Or she may just be bi. You get to decide that when you read the story.

And I really wish that you would. It’s quite a good story, with a decidedly Victorian feel.

Religious Freedom Day 2018

Some officially proclaimed “days” sound a lot better in the abstract than in reality. For instance, yesterday, in addition to being Martin Luther King Day, was also National Hat Day and National Strawberry Ice Cream Day. Today, January 16, is National Fig Newton Day, National Nothing Day, National Without a Scalpel Day, and National Religious Freedom Day. I can certainly get behind National Fig Newton Day. After all, observance is easy and tasty. National Without a Scalpel Day sounds a bit odd, but honors one of the greatest advances in medicine in centuries, the modern ability to perform many surgeries without making a large incision. Anyone can do nothing, so National Nothing Day is also easy, if perhaps a little silly.

The big one today is National Religious Freedom Day. It merits a public Presidential proclamation, and some presidential tweeting. It just sounds so essentially American, arguing that everyone should have the freedom to observe their own faith, according to its tenets. That doesn’t stop it from being a horrible idea.

(Wikimedia Commons. Public domain in USA)

President Trump’s proclamation includes the sentence, “No American–whether a nun, nurse, baker, or business owner–should be forced to choose between the tenets of faith or adherence to the law.” This sounds good, but the reality is far from good. What Fearless Leader is saying here is that religious belief should be held as superior to actual law. There has never been a time in history where this has worked out to everyone’s benefit. Civil law made murder illegal, but religious law said burning witches was just fine and the Church used to have the power to tell the civil authorities what to do. (The church, technically, never killed a single witch or heretic, as the ecclesiastic courts that handed down the sentence turned the prisoners over to the local civil authorities for execution.)

The problem is that those religious figures shouting the loudest that their religious freedom is being infringed are almost always those whose real complaint is that their freedom to persecute someone with different beliefs is being infringed. The President’s proclamation repeats the myth that some of our ancestors came here seeking religious freedom, a statement nearly always meant to refer to the Pilgrims of the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

Oliver Cromwell (Wikimedia commons; public domain image)

The Pilgrims didn’t have the slightest interest in religious freedom except for their own sect. Anyone else could go hang. If you disagreed with the religious/civil authorities in the colony, you either went into exile, like Roger Williams, made a show of outward conformity, or ended up on the gallows. The Puritans weren’t subjected to any real persecution in England, so much as they were expected to support the established church, which they believed to be corrupted. Not that many years after the Pilgrims landed in Plymouth, their Puritan brethren back home fomented a rebellion, launched the English Civil War, murdered the King, and installed Oliver Cromwell as a religio-military dictator. Things might have improved slightly for Puritans during that period, but they were fairly horrible for anyone else.

The United Kingdom of today, while it still has an established church, no longer tries to enforce conformity to that church. At least, not beyond the rather narrow confines of royal succession, which requires the monarch to be a communicant of the Church of England. Given that the monarch is also the titular head of the Church, it’s not illogical to make membership a requirement for the office.

To modern, militant American Christians, religious freedom today is strongly connected to suppressing gay rights. Christians dislike gays, which is curious, really, since the “prohibition” is Old Testament law, and Jesus never said anything on the topic. The New Testament condemnation comes from Paul, not Jesus. I don’t even find that surprising. If you’re actually paying attention, particularly in the hours before the crucifixion, it’s difficult to miss the gay overtones in Jesus’s life. Here was a man who never married, spent most of his time hanging around with a dozen other men, and, in the final hours of his life, informed the disciple “that [he] loved” that, from that time on, Jesus’ mother was now his mother as well. The final act of Jesus’ life was to die on a cross. The next to last was apparently an impromptu gay commitment ceremony.

James Madison (Wikimedia Commons; Public Domain image)

The religious freedom that the President and his supporters are trying to impose is mostly the freedom to discriminate. They aren’t even remotely in favor of true religious freedom. And they forget that the only true guarantee of religious freedom is a strictly secular government. This is what our Founding Fathers created for us. For all the blather about how our laws and Constitution are biblically-based, even a casual look at the original sources calls that a lie. Probably the closest thing to an influence is the constitutional requirement for two witnesses in treason cases, which reflects a biblical law requiring two witnesses in a capital case. Except the Constitution also allows confession, while Jewish law forbids it. And there’s certainly nothing in American law that requires a perjurer to be punished with the same punishment as he was trying to inflict on his victim.

In any case, the United States wouldn’t even exist if our Founding Fathers had actually been strong Christians, since they would never have violated God’s clear command to just do whatever the hell the king told them to do. Kings got their powers from God, and disobeying a king was exactly the same as disobeying God.

The fact is, religion is incapable of moderation and inherently immoral. Each religion aggrandizes its own members, and denigrates everyone outside its reach. And if the Islamic fanatics of ISIS are being condemned by many American Christians for their actions, it may be as much because the Americans wish that they could do the same thing, not because they think there’s anything wrong with persecuting and even murdering non-believers. Christians have a nearly two thousand year history of doing exactly that, only becoming “civilized” in the last couple hundred years, and only because most Christians live in countries where secular governments have managed to limit their power. Where Christianity is not limited by an effective government, they still like to kill people who disagree with them. There are places in Africa and Oceania where Christians are still burning witches at the stake, or slaughtering neighbors who don’t share their faith. The efforts to impose the death penalty for homosexuality in Uganda were heavily sponsored and encouraged by American missionaries.

The truth is, what we need even more than freedom of religion is freedom from it. I’m not going to say that, without religion, there would be no wars, but there would certainly have been a lot fewer of them in the last twenty years.

And, yes, I know this is after midnight, but only in the Eastern time zone.

Return to LaurenMilfinger.com

Literature and Masturbation

This was the book where I began my autobiographical series, writing under my “real” name. Sure, Lauren Milfinger isn’t my actual name, but it’s the one I’m using for my web site, twitter account, and everything else, so it might as well be. I’m even using it on more or less legitimate novels, such as Lust for Blood, which doesn’t have any of the really kinky stuff you’ll find in the other novels.

So far, I’ve done three books in this series. Across the Pond, the second, is about my college summer break, when I went to England and stayed with my Uncle Ralph and his horny family. It was a bit of a shock when I discovered that my fraternal-twin cousins, Eve and Andrew, were sort of screwing each other. I say “sort of,” because they weren’t fucking, but Eve was fine with her brother screwing her in the ass, and she loved sucking his cock and having him eat her. It was a contraception thing. She was fine with her father putting his vasectomized cock in her pussy. I couldn’t blame her. Uncle Ralph had a gorgeous, ten-inch schlong and amazing self-control. It seemed like he could fuck forever. Andrew could still get her pregnant, so for him it was oral or anal.

Perhaps needless to say, I got it on with all of them. Eve was definitely the kinkiest of the bunch, by the way.

For now, the autobiographies have concluded with the recent release of They All Cum at Carlisle’s. That was the summer when I taught a creative writing course at an adults-only nudist colony. It was a great place. Everybody was fucking everybody, and my brother Sam arrived for a visit halfway through my stay. What can I say about Sam? He’s tall, handsome, and has an eleven-and-a-half-inch cock. He was very popular while he was there. Just to make the summer complete, the camp’s owner, a gorgeous young lady, took the train back to New York with me (sex on a train is a blast), and, when she went home, my cousin Eve popped over from England and we renewed that wet, kinky relationship.

As you may have noticed, I love sex. One of the joys of putting my website on line was getting to run around my apartment naked and tease Jim, my web guy. I’m not a kid anymore, but I’m still in good shape, and Jim is in his sixties and hung like a fucking horse. Don’t knock older guys. Some of them are still pretty good in the sack. A lot of young guys cum too quickly. Older guys tend to last longer, and lasting longer means I get to cum more times before he does. Mostly thanks to porn, a lot of younger guys will eat pussy now, but, again, the older ones seem to do it better. Other women, to be brutally honest, do it best.

It would be nice if I could have a hung guy and a horny woman living here, ready to take care of my every sexual need, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards. Most nights I just have to take care of myself. I’m not complaining. There’s an art to masturbation. It’s the one form of love making where you never have any doubts about you being the most important part of it all. I love working my fingers into my pussy, feeling the juices welling up from deep inside me. I can cum a dozen times or more while I’m fingering myself. Using a big vibrator can accomplish even more. I’ve had a silicone monster working inside me for a couple hours at a time and felt like I was cumming continuously the whole time it was buzzing away in there.

Just in case you need a new vibrator– and who doesn’t, really?–you can’t beat these people. Good prices and great products, and if you use my links I get a little commission and it all helps to keep me writing.

I’m working on one of the “tamer” books at the moment. If you’re one of the lucky few who’ve read Lust for Blood, you’ll know that the lady’s maid in the book, the lusty Maureen O’Leary, has a secret life as a writer of Victorian pornography. One of the books she’s written is The Erotic Adventures of a Lady’s Maid. It occurred to me that this wasn’t a bad idea for a real book, so I’m busily producing her magnum opus. When I say “tamer,” I mean that the book can be sold on Amazon, so it’s still loaded with sex. It’s just that there’s no incest, or peeing, or any of the stuff that upsets them. You have to be careful with Amazon.

Happy 2018!

So, just what did you expect me to be doing at midnight on New Year’s Eve? Okay, sure, that’s not me in the picture, but I find it inspiring, and I plan to bring in the new year just as naked, and doing pretty much the same thing. I’m not wandering over to Times Square. There’s just too much of a hassle these days, with security check points and all the other nuisances. I suppose they may deter terrorists attacks, but life was a lot easier when you could just walk over there and join the crowd. No, I’ll just stay here in my apartment and play with myself. With any luck at all, when the ball drops in Times Square I’ll be in the middle of a massive orgasm.

What do I have planned for 2018? I’ll be writing more, obviously. I’m currently working on The Erotic Adventures of a Lady’s Maid. This is supposed to one of the books written by Maureen O’Leary, the maid in Lust for Blood. No vampires in this one, obviously; just a lot of sex. Lots and lots of sex.

As you may recall from Lust for Blood, Maureen’s sexual exploits tended towards self-pleasuring and lesbian interludes with her employer and her employer’s best friend. Cecily Margaret Freelove (pronounced Freh’-liv), the heroine of The Erotic Adventures of a Lady’s Maid, isn’t quite so exclusive. She certainly enjoys masturbating, spending a good part of the train trip to her new job with her skirts up around her waist and her fingers working on her pussy, but she also enjoys ordinary, heterosexual fucking. Perhaps needless to say, she also tends to get it on with her mistress, an aristocratic lady who is still quite slim and beautiful at 35.

What lady doesn’t enjoy diddling herself until she’s cum a few times? Sure, you’ll find a few religious types who think the whole idea of an orgasm is something horrible and evil, but, put bluntly, those people are fucking crazy. Women enjoy cumming. So do men, I’m told, but they’re a bit more limited in how much pleasure they can derive from masturbating because men, most of them, can only cum once and then they have to stop and rest, while a woman can just keep going. I figure I’m usually good for a minimum of four orgasms per session, and that’s when I don’t have a lot of time to put into the exercise.

It’s nights such as this when I sometimes think I might claim my computer has stopped working and call Jim to come over and fix it. There’s nothing wrong with my computer, but Jim has a great dick, and it feels so fucking good when he’s working it in and out of my cunt. I find that, at this stage of life, I enjoy screwing a lot more than I did when I was younger and had to worry about getting accidentally knocked up. Now I can fuck all I like and there’s essentially no chance in hell of getting pregnant.

It might do some Washington people a world of good to get laid more often. I mean, I know a lot of Republicans are like my mother, and figure sex is evil, something foisted upon humanity by the Devil, and to be avoided at all costs. But Republicans also seem to think that poverty is good for you, and do their damnedest to keep everyone except the rich people they work for poor. Maybe if they got laid more often they’d be happier and more inclined to actually give a shit about their constituents.

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Cumming at Carlisle’s

My latest book was released on Saturday, December 9, to the usual blast of promotional tweets and no noticeable critical attention. They All Cum at Carlisle’s is part 3 of my “autobiographical” series. The other two books are The Life of Lauren, which started it all off, and Across the Pond.

The series isn’t exactly chronological. The first book starts with me in high school and finishes fairly recently. The second is set between my freshman and sophomore years in college, and Carlisle’s is set when I was 30. That was a helluva year, because I spent the summer at Carlisle’s Nature Resort, where the dress code was officially “clothing optional,” but “just go naked” was more what was meant. Usually, the only person you’d regularly see wearing anything was Julia Carlisle, the 26-year-old co-owner (with her brother, Jordon) of the establishment. Julia was often seen in a bikini, because she spent a lot of time in the office, on the “public” side of the boundary fence and hedges. That was where people checked in, and where there was a reasonable expectation that the odd non-nudist might show up from time to time.

Julia was a gorgeous brunette, who bore a certain resemblance to a young Bettie Page, and did everything she could to emphasize that. Jordon was actually three years older than his sister, but absolutely hated anything to do with bookkeeping and the tedium of running a popular resort property, so he did the maintenance and let his sister run the place. He was fairly popular with the female guests, since he was handy, could fix stuff if it was broke, and had a 13″ dick that always seemed ready to spring to attention at the first hint of interest.

The sort of thing you might see by the pool at Carlisle’s. Full photo set will be in my member area.

Carlisle’s was what you’d call an “adult” nature resort. No kids allowed. Most naturist places are crawling with the little darlings, and, in general, they’re safer there than they are in the clothed world. Social nudists are, for the most part, surprisingly prudish. Carlisle’s, and another place I used to go, Hidden Cove, didn’t allow anyone under eighteen, so the usual horror of hardons didn’t apply, and people would sometimes fuck right out in the splendors of nature. It used to be that way, at least. Hidden Cove was bought by a fucking church, so now the place is clothing-mandatory and praise Jesus.
Considering it was Reverend fucking Killjoy’s church that bought the place, I couldn’t help wondering if he was still pulling the “holy anointing oil” and “tower of blessing” stunt on the high school seniors.

Not me, and not Rev. Killjoy, but a pic just like this is more or less what got me my scholarship. (set and video in member area.)

I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much about the old pervert, though, considering he paid for an Ivy League education for me once I had pictures of him with his cock in my mouth. I wouldn’t call it blackmail, exactly. Okay, maybe I would. The statute of limitations ran out on that years ago, so what does it matter?

Julia and I became great friends during my stay. Neither of us are lesbians, exactly, but we’re definitely flexible. Perhaps not as flexible as my friend Hilda, who’s a professional contortionist, and can eat her own pussy, but flexible enough. (Hilda might be worth a story on her own, come to think of it.) Julia and I took the train back to my place in New York, which was an experience in itself. If you’ve never had sex in an Amtrak roomette, you haven’t lived.

There was a lot of this stuff going on at Carlisle’s.

While I was at Carlisle’s, I found myself teaching a creative writing class. Some of the stories my students produced are included in the book, and some of them are pretty wild. One of the students stated, very clearly, that nothing in his sister’s story of a family orgy upon their arrival at the resort was true. Naturally, we all figured that it was. One guy apparently wants to be the next John Norman. Norman, if you’re unfamiliar with the guy, wrote the Gor series, which includes a lot of “women should be sex slaves and men should be the masters” nonsense (along with some mistress-slave relationships as a counterpoint). His story is included, and it’s fairly awful, but might just appeal to a certain demographic. Everyone else can just read and say, “This guy’s an idiot.” (My student, not Norman, whose day job is philosophy professor.)

They All Cum at Carlisle’s is fairly typical of my autobiographic books, or, for that matter, my Lot’s Cave books. There’s a lot of sex, a certain amount of incest and, I hope, some decent literary value.

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