Web Site: http://www.remittancegirl.com
We’ve been having a very vibrant conversation on twitter about whether or not a writer of erotic fiction has an obligation to write their sex scenes as ‘safe’, i.e. with the participants wearing condoms. In a way, this is somewhat related to an earlier post I had on the pressure to write sex-positive erotica,...
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Once upon a time, long ago in a land far away (so keep your feminist panties on) there was a wise and powerful king. As despots go, he wasn’t a bad one. Within the context of his time, he was as benevolent as kings get. He cared for his country and his subjects, took...
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This pretty pink ribbon coils like a snake in my hand its power conserved like a spring waiting to strike and bite with the venom of a true story. This simple pink ribbon slides through my fingers a silky glide of flesh-coloured celuloid a hundred rose-tinted frames of nostalgic nightmares. This taut little ribbon...
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There is a very interesting article in the Atlantic, “The Ethics of Extreme Porn: Is Some Sex Wrong Even For Consenting Adults“. Being the Atlantic, although thorough, it also relates some very dogmatic and (to me) quite offensive responses. But the author has written a fairly well-reasoned piece. It is all in response to...
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The topic of the mindfuck has been on my mind of late. I’ve had ongoing discussions with @DarkGracie on the subject, and a lovely face-to-face conversation about it with two people from different ends of the power spectrum: MisterGryphon and Mollena. I’d like to state up front that what follows is a very personal...
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When death came to the old poet, it came not as a pale horse or a scythe-bearing monk. She came on an August afternoon, after the angry sun had nestled behind the ancient fig tree outside his window. No breeze stirred, despite the open doors. The poet sipped ragged breaths from the still and...
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Beyond debauchery lies a mute innocence. Not of a child, but of senses burned so raw that experience is reduced to the hiss of a dead television and only silence feels new. I’ve been a pilgrim in the searing desert of that soundless place, my heart burnished, my hymen restored and I wonder the...
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Silence cannot do away with the things that language cannot state. G. Bataille, Eroticism Darkened for atmosphere, the museum visitors move in whispering clutches, like clumps of reed in river water, through the artfully constructed maze of ancient destruction. Like all good exhibits, it has a narrative: a before, a during, an after. There...
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Most of you are probably too young to know this, but there was a time when, if you wanted to buy condoms, you had to go to the pharmacy counter and ask for them. A stern man or woman wearing the white, side-buttoned jacket of pharmaceutical authority would assess whether you were in fact...
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