Remittance Girl

Remittance Girl is a writer of literary erotica, commonly known as smut.

Poem for an Unmet Woman

I have painted the lines of your body across the sky. Mixed stains on mental palettes to match the unnamed tone of the skin behind your knee. Imagined the crease at the corner of your mouth contorted by pleasure, then laughter, then pain. I’ve composed the whirwind of your orgasms, ethereal breath, the sound of…

Mining Emotions

I’ve been watching the coverage of the Chilean miners being rescued and it’s made me ponder something. I don’t think I’m the only person who has felt torn while watching this. I’m very glad to know they are being rescued. I’m glad that in 2010, 33 men’s lives matter enough to bring together the funding,…

So You Want to Write Erotica

I’ve received a lot of emails asking me about becoming an erotica writer and so I decided to post a specific email and show my response, mostly so I can just refer people to this page instead of repeating myself. The email below is paraphrased Hello, I’m an aspiring erotica writer. I’d like to know…

Cafes & Graveyards

Recently, I’ve been spending a lot of time watching the living and the dead. London is an excellent place to observe either, or both. Like all very old cities, it’s more graveyard than metropolitan centre, since more people have died and been buried here than are currently living in the place. In graveyards and on…

But no more

It is one of nature’s great cruelties that the body decays long before desire slides into somnolence and need’s nagging chatter falls quiet. For years, I consoled myself with kind white lies like cool, plumped pillows for the delicately dispositioned and the terminally terminal. The flesh has failed under the drag of time and so…

The Tower

As she passes, I catch the scent and my entrails coil and knot like a ball of newly born snakes. My sister reeks of her despicable habits. No matter how thoroughly she bathes, I can smell it: the stench of peasant seed. All the baths in Persia, all the perfume in Venice cannot cover the…

In Memoriam

‘Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. In Memoriam, Tennyson What matters your inner thigh, petal soft, white as milk now? And your shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world? Who remembers your sharp wit, clever serpent’s tongue? Or every small kindness and selfless act,…

Innocence

If I could brush my lips across your skin anew. Escape the gravity well of all the other skins I have tasted. Unknow the inevitable knowing of what comes next. Erase the salt of sweat, the sensation of a live thing against my mouth. Unburden myself of expectation and the dull surety of history. Discover…

How We Read

It’s my intention to try and document the journey of my way towards a PhD as transparently as possible. So amidst the pieces of fiction I post, you’re going to see the occasional essay dealing with subjects related to my focus. If you’re only here for the erotica, you might want to skip these. If…

Fast Forward – 2

(continued from part 1) The old man looks down at the scattered photographs, moving them into some semblance of order. His nails are neat, but his knuckles are thickened by years of injury. “You could have come to me.” She wheezes a laugh. “Turned up on your doorstep? What would you have done then?” “Fucked…