A Threesome is it really possible? Or is it the unicorn of sexual experiences?

feetWhat I mean by that is we’ve all seen a threesome played out on film whether it’s m/f/m or f/m/f or three guys or three women, but I don’t think it plays out the way it’s shown on screen I mean obviously on film there is someone there to yell cut and position everyone involved so that the action is shown in just the right way.

Can it be something else though. Can there be a deeper meaning? An emotional attachment that makes it more than just who’s body part fits where? Or would that create too much jealousy. Can you love two people equally or with there always be someone who takes the lead.

We are such complex creatures with a host of desires and needs but I think more than anything it’s our brain that gets in the way of pursuing what our hearts and bodies want. Society has also played a large part in telling us what is forbidden or taboo but as I write my next novel I’m finding more and more that the blinders I may have once worn are being ripped away.

Does it have to fade?

woman-218764_1280There is a certain thrill to a new romance. It makes your heart thump in your chest and your nerves come to life. It hits you right where the butterflies flutter in your stomach brushing their wings against your sensitive flesh. New romance is like a shiny penny winking at you from among the tarnished ones in nestled in your wallet.

You open your heart to new romance, to new love, and it feels like you’re Julie Andrews happy singing on a mountain top for the world to hear. You don’t have a care in the world – and why should you?

Love can fade, over time it often does but does it have to? After a recent trip away I find myself asking this question and I think the answer is yes.

Hear me out, before you think I’m a cynic. It does fade but that isn’t a bad thing because as the sense of a new romance dulls over time what develops in it’s place is a thing of beauty the romance that began with fluttering butterflies and twirling happiness mellows and like fine wine it deepens to something with a much complex flavor.

Would you trust someone you didn’t love to play out a deep dark fantasy? Maybe, but likely not. It’s the richness of a fully developed relationship that most crave. It’s what we long for on lonely nights. So while the thrill of butterflies can be alluring, it’s the full bodied wine, the rich dark chocolate that makes life sweet.

Love vs. Lust…Emotion vs Sex

body-143798_640In writing it can be a hard choice to make and the words an author uses can make all the difference. I write romance, yes it’s erotic with plenty of naughty bits, but at its core it’s still romance. It’s the happily ever after that drives me. It the journey that my characters take me on.

I strive for my characters to be as real as possible with authentic emotions. I want readers to feel their joy and heartbreak. I want them to feel the thrill of the chase and the characters confusion as they struggle to work through their issues.

If I’m doing my job properly then as a reader you tear up with them, and feel the throb of their desire as if it’s your own.

What drives the story forward then? What keeps us on the edge of our seats squirming in anticipation? What keeps those pages turning hour after hour?

Is it the way that a sexual encounter is described in finite detail? Or is it the emotional journey the gritty details in watching someone be torn down as they realize unknown things about themselves.

I actually hope it’s both. I hope that the image painted with my words is provocative enough to make you squirm while the emotion of the story leaves you warm and satisfied.

Emotional Attachment 

Watched a character I loved die tonight and I’m struggling with the writer in me who says it’s okay to take creative risks and the fan who is outraged that this happened. By the very definition story telling is propelled by conflict no one stays interested in a story without conflict or drama for long.

To be explicit or not to be explicit? That is the question.

I know it’s not what Shakespeare was talking about but it’s been on my mind lately. Do people read books with erotic themes simply because they are explicit? I mean sex sells right? I’ve said it myself when discussing my writing. Does it need to be explicit though? Is it the way that body parts and touching are described that keeps the pages turning?

A very dear friend of mine recently told me that I’m a great writer and they could see me eventually branching out into something more meaty, but here’s the thing I like romance and to me erotic romance if done right feels more real and authentic to me. Lets face it we all love to be in love and often spend a large portion of our lives chasing after love. Who wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall witnessing two people in the throws of passion.

Maybe it isn’t something we ever get to see in our real lives outside of fantasy and porn, but in our minds it can be anything the fantasy can dirty and primal and make your muscles tense with longing.

Do you need to say cock instead of penis? Or describe in detail the texture of a woman’s nipple against your tongue. Have we progressed past the flowery purple prose or are there still somethings that make us squirm? Words we can’t say? Words we won’t say? Words are very powerful I just happen to think the explicit ones make things more interesting.

BDSM and Writing

I read a lot. I always have nowadays it’s for research as well as for enjoyment purposes. In the novel I’m currently features a BDSM theme. I was a bit reluctant to venture too deeply into the world of BDSM due to all the backlash from FSOG but I”m glad that I have.

I find myself trying to answer “What does my character get out of this relationship?” I find myself struggling to answer though because I believe that sex is multifaceted and dynamic thing. I think if you can pigeonhole what you get out of it you’re probably doing it wrong.

So as I continue to write and take my characters on their journey my search continues for real and compelling BDSM experiences that will inspire my characters to boldly embrace their pleasure no matter what form it comes in.

SMUT a Four Letter Word?

Obviously it is, but is it a bad one?

When people hear that I’ve written a book they tend to be excited and generally ask what the book is about. The excitement lasts only briefly until I explain that the book is an Erotic Romance. It’s at this point that their eyes glaze over or they shift nervously frantically searching for a change in topic. Comments like “Oh you write smut” or You don’t seem like the kind of person who would write filth” are readily tossed around.

I found myself proclaiming “I do not write smut!” with a sense of indignation. Then it dawned on me when does it become smut? Where is the line between erotic romance or erotica and smut? Is it the amount of work that goes into piece? or the volume of sexual encounters? Maybe there is some type of equation to determine where the distinction occurs.

I once had someone tell me that they don’t read popcorn books meaning that they only read serious fiction and I’ve always viewed this comment as a type of book snobbery and I can’t help but wonder if smut has gotten a bad rap.

Is smut a four letter word? A work only worthy of being displayed covertly on the screens of e-readers and destined to be hidden with embarrassment under our beds?

I believe the distinction exists only in our minds and stems from our own views on sex. It’s difficult to say how or when these preconceived notions will change so for now at least the jury is still out on this four letter word.

30 Something D.I.N.K

Thirty Something D.I.N.K

By A.R McKinnon

 

Megan clutched the non-descript white paper bag with trembling fingers knowing that its contents had the power to change her life. She released a heavy sigh, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. She liked her life – was finally comfortable in her own skin and didn’t want anything to change.

With a growing sense of desperation she flipped through the pages of her personal planner, certain that she must have missed the small red dot that marked her period. On what seemed like the hundredth trip through the pages her heart fluttered in her chest, like the wings of a caged bird testing the confines of its prison. It wasn’t there and no amount of wishing would make it appear. She splashed water on her face; her skin was both clammy and flushed.

At thirty-two her biological clock should have been in full alarm – never mind ticking but she had been hitting the snooze button for so long she was sure her eggs were well past their expiration date or deep freeze for that matter and if she got her way they wouldn’t be thawed any time soon.

“Don’t you think it’s about time to start the family expansion?” She could almost hear the high pitched hopeful question her mother in-law voiced at every family gathering. “It would be really nice to become a grandma this year.”

Married less than two years and already her mother in-law was trying to saddle her with rug-rats. Forget the career she was trying to carve out for herself. She should pop out a kid and pray that by the time she was ready to go back to work some shark filling her maternity leave hadn’t taken her job right out from under her.

Her family had helpfully pointed out that David would make a great stay at home dad – and he would that was half the problem. His words from that long ago day eight years ago still haunted her.

“I’d like enough for my own football team one day.”

She had laughed thinking he was kidding. “Let me know how that works out for you!”

The subject had come up from time to time over the years but it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. She hadn’t ended up with the ring on her finger through false pretences. He had known all along how she felt.

He had made her promise to consider that the pitter-patter of little feet would be a possible part of their future, and she had considered it. She was just more content with the pitter-patter of paws.

Their fat spoiled silver tabby was her child as far as she was concerned, more independent than a baby or even a dog would be and perfectly suited for their lifestyle.

She looked around her beloved condo. If they had a baby, where the hell would they put it? Bye, bye home office, hello nursery? She didn’t think so! How did she dare tell David though?

He wanted a baby, wanted to be a father. Hell he went all googly-eyed and mushy any time he was within fifty feet of a baby.

Her stomach rolled with fear-laced dread. Could he have done this? Was it possible that it wasn’t an accident? She hadn’t been able to take oral contraceptives for the past three years and had to remind him to don protection on a number of occasions.

She shoved the thought away. He would never!  To force such a thing would be evil, but wasn’t her refusal to have a baby just as bad?

Perhaps not evil – but cruel at the very least, and if she never changed her mind would he grow tired of her refusal? Would he start looking for someone who would give him the family he craved?

She threw down the bag on the counter her emotions on a rollercoaster and stalked to the kitchen all glass and chrome – not suitable for children at all. Certainly not where a mother would bake cookies!

She poured a glass of her favourite merlot and took a sip, the flavour filling her mouth before she remembered herself and spat the contents into the sink.

Her entire body shook with the realization of what she had almost unwittingly done.

How could she have been so stupid? Just because she didn’t want a baby didn’t mean that she would intentionally harm one. If she was even pregnant.  “If”, such a small word capable of filling her with intense fear.

“Get a grip, You don’t know that there is a baby!”  The sound of her own voice alone in the condo startled her into action. No point in sitting here worrying about fictitious babies!  She plunked the wine glass on the counter cringing at the sharp crack that accompanied the movement.

Well see, that proved it mothers didn’t break glasses. certainly not their best glassware. Mothers were – well they were motherly, nurturing. That just wasn’t her.

Friends could call her a child hater all they wanted but there was nothing wrong with her not having wanted kids at her wedding. There was nothing wrong with wanting to enjoy a meal in a restaurant without kids screaming at the next table, behaving like monkeys hanging from trees, waiting for the opportune moment to fling their own feces.

There was nothing wrong with her. She still had value as a woman! Better still, she could sleep ’til noon on Saturday, if she wanted.

With eleven people in David’s family there was so much pressure to add branches to the family tree, and with only one month lacking a birthday his family had even decreed when she should become pregnant.

She felt the hot spill of tears leaving tracks on her cheeks and wanted to scream in helpless frustration. No matter what happened, or what choice was made, someone had to relent. They couldn’t both have their own way.

Back in the bathroom she tore open the pregnancy test quickly scanning the instructions. She took a deep breath and shoved the stick into her stream of urine.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from her throat. Nothing like squatting over a stick to make the biggest decision of your life.

She balanced the stick on the edge of the counter afraid to check the results. She could hear the relentless ticking of her wrist watch. It was the longest two minutes of her life.

The jangle of his keys in the front door were a welcome distraction. Snatching up the stick she stepped out of the bathroom to greet him. They had a lot to discuss.