Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Tomorrow is my parents’ 40th anniversary. Yes, they got married on April Fool’s Day, although I believe the date was unintentionally humorous. April 1 simply worked for their schedules. They were married less than two months after they met. In fact, my dad moved in with my mother after their first date. A week later, she told him to get lost. She was tired of his kind of crazy. And 40 years later, they’re still together.

I have my mom’s pocket calendar from the year they met. She penned in the meal with my dad and then assorted school business. There’s an appointment at a hairdresser, then suddenly the word “wedding.”

My mom had chosen five men at Harvard Grad School that she wanted to meet. She’d circled their photos in a little yearbook. My dad was one of the five. I don’t know if he was the first one she met or the last, or one in between. Even after hearing their history all these years, I still don’t know exactly what happened.

He came for dinner.
They stayed up all night talking.
12 hours later, he moved in.

What is this crazy little thing called love, anyway?

Last night, we went to dinner with a couple we only know casually. I asked how they met, and caught the woman’s instant blush.

“At University,” she said.
“During a party,” he added.
“I walked into the kitchen and saw him pounding spices on the floor. He’d worked up a sweat.” Her flush deepened.
“I told her ‘Vegans smell better,’ and offered her my armpit to sniff. She returned the favor, and we stood in the kitchen, breathing each other’s scents.”

13 years later, they’re still sniffing one another.

In honor of my parents’ big day (although, thank fucking god, they don’t read my blog), I thought I’d open comments up to ask for other stories. How’d you meet? Who sniffed who? How long before you knew he or she (or both!) was the one?

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Yes, I’m a bit scattered today. I had a different post up earlier, but on a second read, the piece felt unfinished, and unintentionally mean. So I need to revisit and revise before re-posting.

Born-Again Virgin

Last night, I dreamed I was buying a bungalow in my favorite part of Los Angeles—between Fairfax and La Brea, Melrose and Beverly, an area I lived in twice (with two different men), a neighborhood I’ve haunted since high school.

The funny part of the dream? I was buying the little Spanish-style duplex from our Governor.

Slow to wake up, my mind remained in this space, where I ran so many early mornings, four miles round trip right when most people start their commutes. All the way down to La Cienega, to peek in the windows at Trashy, a full loop back past Authentic Café and El Coyote. If you don’t know L.A., the names won’t have much meaning, but for me, waking up, I reveled in that that early-morning city air—it’s different by the beach, where I run now.

I wanted to live in L.A. from the time I was twelve. Every Christmas, my family would make the drive from Northern California to visit friends who lived near Griffith Park. My college essay for UCLA—the only school I wanted to attend, and the final one of six I got into—described how I would stay up late to watch the lights of the city flicker, then wake up early and sit out on the patio to witness the city waking up.

UCLA accepted me, but ultimately, I didn’t accept it. I never fit in with the crowd in my dorm, didn’t understand how to cope with the chaos. So I drifted off campus, to work on a newspaper, to hang with the big kids in the real world. I wasn’t a virgin when I got to school, but I pretended I was. Easier to deal with, I thought, than explain what I wanted. Brock had shown me the view of the world from being handcuffed to a bed. I didn’t realize (silly girl) other men would have no problem showing me that same panoramic vision. The few boys I dated seemed focused only on getting into my panties. Not one paid attention when I held out my wrists, when I bit my lip and looked down, when I did that coy sub dance that had worked so wordlessly well with Brock.

I met Adrian at a newspaper party. I was braless under a thin turquoise sweater—too thin out in the chill of the night—and he offered me his jacket when one of the ad men made a joke. He was chivalrous and sweet, and I am embarrassed to say that I didn’t think him up for the challenge that was me.

But I accepted a date, which turned out to be a tour of L.A.
My L.A.

Grauman’s Chinese Theater. The Tar Pits. The strip of Melrose that was still mostly thrift stores and the ever-funky Soap Plant, filled with off-the-wall t-shirts, wind-up toys, children’s books, incense, jewelry.

We ended at the observatory, out in his car, with a liquor bottle and his hand on my thigh. I had on stockings, always dressed in a costume as if life is a theater. He’d heard I was a virgin. I played that part so well. But when Adrian touched me, he looked into my eyes.

“You don’t move like a virgin.”

That laugh, from nowhere, both breathy and shy. My cheeks pink. Flushed. His eyes, not Brock’s, but like Brock’s. Seeing me in the dark. Knowing something else, something other people missed. His hand on my wrist. Gripping hard. Holding steady. His voice, darker suddenly, with that timbre of a dom.

A million years later, I’m still not over L.A.

XXX,
Alison

How to Get Me Wet

Or, at least, be the editor of my dreams.

In fairness, I thought I should post a Writers' Bill of Rights to balance my Editor's Rant.

Writers’ Bill of Rights

1. Writers should be paid. If an editor gets paid, the writers should be paid. I’m still irked by the editor who said she didn’t receive enough of an advance to pay the contributors in her anthology. This is something she should have stated up front in her guidelines, before she accepted the stories. I was too inexperienced to drop my piece from the book, but I don’t work with her anymore.

2. Writers should receive a response. Even if the response is No. (“No” is actually the note I received scrawled on the top of my first attempt into a big-time collection. Just the word NO written on the top of the story. But at least I knew the answer.)

3. Whenever possible, writers should be allowed to approve edits on their work. Or at least, major edits. If a title is changed, or a last line dropped (this has happened to me), an author should be alerted.

4. Schedules should be shared—again, whenever possible. Writers love to know when a book is due out, so they can tell their friends, family, strangers in the streets. Rachel Kramer Bussel is incredible about alerting authors to release dates.

5. Good news should travel. If a review comes out that positively mentions a writer’s story, this review should be forwarded to the writer.

6. Bad reviews should be kept to oneself. Enough of us are Google whores. We will undoubtedly sniff out the cruel reviews ourselves. No need to forward the ones that demolish our stories specifically. My editor at Masquerade loved to send me bad reviews of my books. They gave him glee. Sadist.

7. Writers should receive timely responses to update queries.

8. Submission guidelines should be clear and concise. Tell me what you want from me, and I will do my best to give it to you. (That said, I’ve absolutely read clear and concise guidelines and gone and done the opposite thing. I totally missed the boat on He’s On Top, writing from the sub POV instead of the Dom’s. And I once forgot to put sex into a story. Ooops.)

9. There should be a written contract between writer and the editor or publisher. Early on, an editor tried to tell me that no editors she knew held contracts with their contributors. That I was lucky to even get a contract from her. (It was an unfair contract, and I was arguing the point that let her sell my story without any further compensation.) Without a contract, how else can you protect your work?

10. ???

Do you agree with my items? What am I missing? (Aside from my sanity and another cup of coffee.)

XXX,
Alison

How to make me want to fuck you

Or at least, be the writer of my dreams.

I get like this. When I'm in major editing mode. I arrive at a place where I want to send an email out to all my authors. I've done this before, and I'm sure I'll do this again. But here is the short list of how to be the writer of my dreams:

1. Although it may take me 6 months (or more) to get back to you on a call for submission, please respond to me within 5 minutes when I make a bio request.

2. Be prepared to change your title (if I have a similar title in the book—most recently, I accepted three stories with the following titles: "The First Time," "Like the First Time," and "The First Time Since"), your character name (if I have overlapping character names, usually Jack or Mark or Julia or Mary), or your pen name (if you’ve never published under the name before and I have three other Kristinas in the book already, or if you are going under a name like HankieSpankie3000).

3. Don’t ask me ahead of time whether I pay by paypal or check or money order, or write me long queries about what happens when your story is accepted by multiple venues. Wait until I buy your story.

4. Forgive the occasional error that slips by me. (There is a book in which I’m published under Alsion Tyler. These things happen.)

5. Send me an angry email if I reject your story only if you don’t want to work with me again. I have a great memory for stories, and I will often come back to you and ask if I could use your piece somewhere else. But I also have a great memory for angry emails, which might make me rethink doing the above.

6. Do not send me a partially written story and tell me you’ll finish the piece if I like it. You are competing with people who have already finished and sent their stories to me. By the time I read your piece, I am generally under a super tight deadline. Neither you nor I have time to spare.

7. Don’t ask me to read the piece up on your blog. I think this is a clever way not to avoid being rejected, because you didn’t officially submit the story. But although I might find stories this way on my own (I discovered Madelynne Ellis’ amazing Twister story for G is for Games by cruising to her blog), I don’t generally follow suggested links.

8. Try not to send me multiple versions of the same story. I know sometimes people catch errors on subsequent reads, but consider waiting until I accept the piece, and then say you’ve found a glitch or two you want to have fixed. I will always work with you on this.

9. Be flexible. You might have sent me a story for one book, but I will want to put the piece somewhere else. I am a juggler at the editing stage. Trust that I will try to find the best home for your piece. Don't demand that the story be placed in the anthology you originally subbed to.

10. Know that I am just a person. I try to be an evolved person, yes. But I can’t help but let feelings color my judgment of stories. If you slam me in public, or trash my products, I’m going to have a difficult time working with you. One author blogged about how much he hated a font in one of our books. Look, I love a good font. But still. Another called me a member of the Right Wing Party because of an edit I requested (the edit involved avoiding an incestuous scenario). A third publicly demolished a title, cover photo, and color cover choice (all of which were out of my hands). At the end of the day, I’m still just a girl who reads a lot of porn and tries to put beautiful books together. I’m not terribly vindictive.

But I am human.

XXX,
Alison

Sex on a plane, in a car, on a boat

Well, they’re happy, aren’t they? That’s because they are never going to have the same sex twice. Of course, they’ve got it wrong from the start. I mean, clearly, they need my book. In the past decade, I think I’ve had sex in a bed three times. For some reason, bedrooms don’t call out to me in sexual way. I much prefer the kitchen table, shower, front deck, car, tree, picnic bench, movie theater, best friend’s sofa…

This is the nonfiction guide I’m working on, and I suppose I can now announce that as the book is up for on the Cleis Press site. My goal is to make this guide avant-garde and erotic, packed with lists, ideas, fantasies, sexy snippets. My problem is not that I don’t know what to put in, but that I don’t know what to leave out! (The kitchen sink? Naw. That was totally fucking cool...)

XXX,
Alison

P.S. More lists? Keep 'em coming....

I want to eat you

Tu me manque, in French – “you are lacking in me” – or, translated, ‘I miss you.’

This is a line from Nikki Magennis' fantastic story, "The Sound of One Hand Clapping." I am editing Hurts So Good. But this line leaped out at me. Because I once received a postcard from a French lover. A black-and-white card with a couple embracing. It's here somewhere. I'll dig tonight. He wrote this line in his sloppy cursive. I could barely read his writing and I could hardly read French.

My roommates, my friends in the dorm, all took turns trying to translate the card. We ended up with Tu me mange. I want to eat you? You want to eat me?

His Q was curved like his penis, you see.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Drink Me pendant is from Hoolala!

F is also for Flash Fucking

Have a quick moment? That is all you will need to read each of these ultra-short sex stories. Flash Fucking turns up the heat on this collection of 'flash fiction' designed to rev your motor up and leave you aching for more. From a naughty tease in an apartment window, to a breathless clothes in a heap romp, to a candy store tryst, these spicy stories are designed to give readers a thrill a minute. When there isn't enough time, never doubt what the power of a quickie will do.

This is one of the trio of books I'm striving to finish right now. I have a few extra stories for the book (the Table of Contents needs to max out at 60), which is fine because I'm also going to be editing Q is for Quickies, so some might find a home there. I have an unusual editing process. I mean, I think I do. I shuffle stories around for so many different reasons. I don't want two similarly themed pieces to knock wood, I mean bump fuzz, I mean sleep side by side. So I arrange by the lengths—short next to long—and the genres—hetero against lesbian near solo by the orgy above the gay behind the BDSM over the wax play, near the anal, around the corner from the fetish, below the blow jobs. This sort of book is like New York City. One big melting pot of kink.

I'm loving how many new authors (new to me, I should say) are in the line-up. My goal is always to introduce readers to fresh voices. Back to work now, but keep on adding your Top 10s for me! I'm delighted by these lists.

XXX,
Alison

F is for Fucking Machine

Oh, my god. See? I told you I shouldn't talk to anyone today. I just didn't stretch that out to emailing. I wrote to a friend about having my own fucking press. Meaning, of course, Pretty Things Press. I wasn't being angry or aggressive, really. Just talking like a sailor, which I like to do. When wine is involved. Or too much caffeine.

Got back this email poking fun at me:

I am laughing at 'my own fucking press' (as opposed to printing press).

Sounds fab! I want one.

Blushing hot pink. But then, you know, now that I think about it, I want one, too.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Truly loving the 10s. Keep 'em coming.

C is for Cheesecake

Enough people wrote to ask me for t'sade's cheesecake recipe, that I thought I'd give it a room (I mean a post) of its own.

This is the basic cheesecake, which is pretty good by itself.

* 2 pounds (4 8 oz. boxes) of cream cheese
** Fat-free cream cheese does not work at all
** Low-fat cream cheese isn't as sweet in this recipe
* 1 cup sugar
** Splenda works fairly well here, but changes the taste slightly
* 4 large eggs
* 2 tbs cream de cassis
** Optional, it is a current liquor which adds a bit of flavor

Make sure the cream cheese and eggs are room temperature. I found that it makes everything go so much easier if you take it out 4-5 hours before and leave it on the counter. You can do it with everything cold, but it blends much easier at room temperature. If you take it out earlier, unwrap the cheesecake and put it in the mixing bowl--getting warm cream cheese out of the foil wrapper is tedious.

Any size pan could probably be used. The original recipe used a 9 inch spring-form pan, but I've made it in the foil, one-use pans for the last couple of years to make cleanup easier. The only thing that really changes is the cooking times.

# Preheat over to 325 degrees. Put the tray somewhere near one-third to two-third's down.
# Blend cream cheese until very smooth. There should be no lumps or bright white spots in it. Keep on blending for at least five to ten minutes after you think you are done. I use a rubber spatula to scrape along the edge as I rotate the bowl for the mixer to get everything off the edge.
# Blend in the sugar. This needs to be blended completely in and will make it feel more liquidy. Keep blending for a few minutes past when you finish, the point of cheesecake is to get air into the mixture.
# Blend in the eggs, one at a time. This splatters a bit, more so when you dump all the eggs in at once.
# Pour into pans.
# Rap (pick up an inch or so and lightly drop; or hit the counter hard) the pan once or twice to break the largest of the bubbles.
# Bake for 45 to 55 minutes or until the top is cracked and it shakes like set Jello or pudding.
# Cool for 10 minutes.
# Put in fridge for 6 to 12 hours.

This is the cheesecake base. It comes out pretty sweet and rather fluffy.

== Sour Cream Topping ==

This is the topping I put on the cheesecake.

* 2 cups (1 pint) sour cream
* 1 tsp vanilla extract
* 1/4 cup sugar

This adds a bit of time to the end of the cooking process, and can be done when the cheesecake goes into the recpie.

# Mix all ingredients into the same bowl
# In step 6 of the base instructions, cook for 10 minutes less
# Pour the topping over the cheesecake and spready evenly
# Return to coven for 10-20 minutes

== Graham Crust ==

This is the basic crust I use with the cheesecake.

* 1 bag of graham crackers, crushed
** I prefer the texture of larger chunks, so I break it by hand instead of by the box
** You can also use cinnamon or chocolate graham crackers
* 1/4 to 1/2 cup melted butter
* 1/4 cup sugar

You need to finish everything before step #5 of the cheesecake base.

# Preheat oven to 325 degrees
# Mix all ingredients together
# Spread everything across the on bottom of pan
# Bake for 10 minutes

== White Chocolate ==

One of the first variants I made of the cheesecake was a white chocolate version. This is pretty simple to add.

* 6-12 oz white chocolate grated

The easiest way to grate if you have a food processor is to put the white chocolate in the freezer when you put everything else on the counter to warm up. Then use a food processor on the frozen chocolate (which reduces the amount of melting while grinding it up). Blocks of baker's chocolate are better than chips, chips don't grind up well.

# Add chocolate after step #3 of cheesecake base

== Bailey's Irish Cream ==

The second type I've done. This is another basic one.

* 1/2 cup Bailey's Irish Cream
** Many people prefer 1 cup
** The Mint and Caramel also works very well with this

Obviously, there isn't much to add to this.

# After step 3, add Bailey's Irish Cream

== Raspberry Sauce ==

A variant that mixes well with the white chocolate is to make a raspberry sauce to the cheesecake.

* 2 pounds raspberries, fresh or frozen
* 1 tbs corn starch
* 1/2 cup sugar
** Optional, I prefer it tart because it mixes with the sweetness of the cheesecake

This takes a bit longer than most of the other variants.

* In a sauce pan, cook down the raspberries over a slow heat until they resemble runny apple sauce. You need to stir constantly to prevent burning, but when they won't cook down anymore, you're done
* Add corn starch to thicken the sauce and simmer for another minute
* Add sugar, if desired
* Drain sauce. I have a small mesh strainer I used specifically for this. I pour in the sauce, then stir it until the translucent and seedless raspberry sauce comes out the bottom.
* After step 5 of the base cheesecake, cut the sauce into the mix with swirls and rap again.

== Fruit Toppings ==

One of the other variants was to add a bit of fruit on top of the sour cream topping.

* 1 can pie filling

And:

# Before step 9 of the cheesecake base, pour and spread topping over entire cheesecake.

XXX,
Alison

Jezebel Whore Trollop

All of my favorite words. Strung together on one sexy slip. I'm in heaven. (I just bought the slip, so you can't have it. But if you like the style, check out Electric Bluebird's ETSY store!)

The slip is perfect for me because I'm in that mood today. The mood where I'm scared I might say what I think instead of what I should. One of my favorite characters in the JK Rowling books was Kreacher, who would be obedient on the surface, and then mutter his true thoughts in a loud enough voice for others to hear. I am always a bit worried that my inner Kreacher will come out.

This hasn't happened too often to me. But every once in awhile, I seem to shock people by saying what I'm thinking. Like the time in high school, when this asshole gym coach was running around looking for his soccer balls. "Does Lorraine have my balls in the car? Has anyone seen my balls? Did she take my balls home to wash them?"

"I've got your balls right here," I said. I did. I mean, I knew where they were. But it was my inflection that made everyone die laughing.

When I dated Byron, I generally kept myself in check. On the surface, anyway. But often I would whisper my little one-liners to him at parties, and he would say them outloud, to the general appreciation of our friends. People thought I was nice back then. They thought I was sweet. I'm not. Really.

What's putting me in this mood today? God only knows. Deadlines? Pressure? I live for both. Or thrive on both. Otherwise, I wouldn't put myself into situations like this. Where I am juggling three different books at once. Right?

But I have the feeling I ought to stay away from people today. Lest my inner Kreacher comes out to play.

XXX,
Alison

P.P.S. Still tracking favorite tens here. Don't forget to add yours!

It's All About the Shoes

I am absolutely the sort of person who notices things like this. So I was charmed when Lady Raven sent me this link to shoes she has that are like the ones on my Sweet Thing cover.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. I am loving these favorite things lists!

Tied up and twisted

Know what I really love? Typing in "Bondage" on ETSY and having pages and pages of exquisite items pop up for my viewing pleasure. Surfing fetish paintings is just another one of the many little reward breaks I take when I'm as under pressure as I am right now. D is for Deadline in my little world. I'm not literally tied to my desk. But I should be.

So please bear with me while I push on through—and remember to share 10 of your favorites when you can. I know it's difficult not to be influenced by the other lists. Each time I read a new one, I think of items I've left off mine. Pretty soon, I'll have a list as long as Jo's!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Awesome art is from here.

I ♥ Leather

Madeline Moore has put up a spanking-new blog about L is for Leather. Visit and comment for a chance to win a copy of the book. For the whole line-up of authors, check out my own leather promo. (I'm too L is for Lazy to cut and paste.)

And check out this amazing handmade flog whip. Here's the write-up: This is a beautiful flogging whip, handcrafted from quality materials. It is made from recycled leather and sustainablely wild-crafted yew wood.

Recycled! I love that!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Don't forget to tell me ten things you like. I'll wait a week or so, and then choose a winner!

Tied up with String

I’ve been talking with Stephen Elliott about doing an interview for my Trollop Salon. I had all of these wicked (or possibly whacked-out) ideas. First, I wanted him to send me a list of his favorite things—I thought he might write a little paragraph about why each one made his list, and I would buy one of each item to give to a lucky commenter. Of course, that could get expensive if his favorite things included, say, a Sportster. Or an apartment in Paris.

Still, I could envision a box containing a variety of the items he’d named—a brown paper package tied up with string. But ultimately, I wanted more from him than a simple list. Is that bad? So then I thought that he might write a piece in which he jotted down what he was doing every hour in a 24-hour period (of those hours he was awake, at least). He’s tentatively agreed to do this. It’s the closest I can imagine to actually following him around and taking notes.

Why don’t I just interview him like a normal person? Because that’s been done. And also because he’s pervy and unusual, and I thought knowing what he was doing at odd hours of the day would be a turn-on. (At least, for a voyeur like me. I don’t know about you.) But while I’m waiting for him to send me his 24-hours with Stephen Elliott article (could we call it “Being Stephen Elliott”?), I wanted to post his list of some of his favorite things:

Drums and Guns by Low
Stoner by John Williams
The Royal Tenenbaums
small Moleskines that fit in your pocket
Dr. Bronner's Peppermint soap
t-shirts that are a little too tight with short short sleeves (but not sleeveless) and show your stomach sometimes, like the kind they sell for $19 at Kenneth Wyngart in the Castro (size medium)
Foray fine point pens, blue, that I buy 20 at a time
cheap silver earrings
Burgerjoint hamburgers and chocolate shakes
Good coffee
attention. i love attention

I adore this list. I mean, I practically worship it. Sure, I had to look up a few of the items. I know what Moleskines are. And I like Dr. Bronner’s soap, too. Good coffee. Check. (Well, really, any coffee. Coffee makes my world go around.)

Then I tried to think of what mine would be:

Gucci Rush
Sweet Tarts
Champagne
Opaque tights in a rainbow of colors
Russet Moon lipstick by Chanel
Good steel handcuffs
The Lone Pilgrim by Laurie Colwin
Going Places, the Gerard Depardieu movie where he fucks Patrick Dewaere in a beach house
Junk Food t-shirts, especially "I’m a Pepper" and Wonderwoman
Deadliest Catch
Elvis (well, really, the line about Elvis in the movie True Romance. You know, the “I’d fuck Elvis” line. But also Elvis. Should I put up pictures of me at Graceland? Or will you all stop speaking to me?)

I’m in that mood. That entertain me mood. Would you share 10 things you like? I might just put together a box of odds in ends—some of Stephen Elliott’s favorite things. Some of mine.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Chandler Burr reviewed Gucci Rush last week. I was nervous, because this is my favorite perfume. But he gave the scent a top rating: 5-star transcendent! Still I disagreed with his description ("But beneath the surface, Gucci Rush runs on lactones, marvelous synthetic molecules that give off the fresh-chilled aspect of yogurt, with a hint of the plastic container it comes in.") Yogurt and plastic? That’s not what I get when I take a whiff. For me, this fragrance is the embodiment of the color scarlet. I don’t know quite how else to describe it. Other than, in my head, it’s the smell of fame.

P.P.S. Oh, my god. This is a bondage bunny. I am in shock. And awe. Can I add it to my list of favorites?

Happily Ever Afters

Shanna sent me that groovy post about how to stay sane as a writer. The don’t-check-your-stats one. Have a hobby. Learn Ancient Greek. Ignore Amazon reviews. Don’t be a Google Whore. (I’m paraphrasing.)

Unfortunately, I’m not that type of person. I like to know what’s going on. I want to see where I stand. If someone doesn’t like what I’ve written, I want to know why. I received a review awhile back that stated my secondary characters weren’t as fleshed out as my heroes. That was a helpful note. With that in mind, I worked really hard on With or Without You to create a memorable best friend character.

And, um, she kind of outshone the heroine.

Live and learn. Right? WOWY should have been Nora’s book from the start. She’s gutsy and interesting and artistic.

But what I’ve discovered lately is something that has set my mind at ease a bit. It’s strange how my brain works. There is a reviewer on Amazon who hates me. Read two of my books, gave me 1-stars (and on one, his review is up twice, double-dinging me). I thought, Jesus, why does he even bother? And then I clicked around and read his reviews of Janine Ashbless, Kristina Lloyd, and Portia Da Costa.

On Darker Than Love, he gave Kristina a solid 4-star and added: Those readers that enjoy 'willing rapist' and some mild B&D will certainly rate the book at the 5 star maximum.... (Yes, that got my vote.)

On Cruel Enchantment, he says: All I can say to Janine Ashbless, the author, is thank you thank you for letting me play in your mind even if only for a short while... Buy this book and although you won't read it to your children you'll read these fairytales to yourself over and over .....

Of Gothic Blue, he says: The erotic sex is fantastic and superbly written and it's little wonder you'll have trouble finding any of this author's books in stock because most of them will be hidden away to be read at those most private of moments.

He loves them. I mean, he’s a mega-fan.

Of me?

I had real, and I mean real problems getting through the book without falling asleep. I will have to admit that speed reading has never served me so well.

I’m not his cup of coffee.
But they’re his cup of tea.

Another Amazon reviewer adored my Sweet Thing. She said:

Sweet Thing is one of the sexiest contemporary erotic novels out there. I loved the scenes between Jessica and Kelly (male) and the game-playing between her and Cooper. This novel will satisfy various sexual fantasies. I like the scene with the Popsicles. Very creative. I also like the contemporary feel of the novel. It's like an erotic chick-lit book. I couldn't put it down. I recommend Sweet Thing most highly. I shall definitely give Alison Tyler's other books a whirl.

But on a few other Black Lace writers? Simply not her speed.

Why does that make me feel better? Because sometimes it takes revelations like this for me to remember that we’re not all going to please everyone. That people who dislike my style might live for someone else’s. I know this seems obvious, but a crushing review is a crushing review. You find yourself questioning your abilities, wondering what you could have done better if only you’d tried.

But that’s simply not always the case. That Amazon reviewer who hates me? The one who said:

Most of the book deals with Lissa's being a bad bad little girl and Collin spanking his bad bad little girl. This interplay of conversation goes on so much in the book, 'Are you bad bad girl ...' that honest to goodness I had the urge to spank Collin to shut the heck up!

My guess is that he's never going to be into a spanking novel. The things he chose to highlight—hell, even after twenty edits, those scenes would be in the book. I like them.

Someone sent me a link to this post where people were discussing erotica/romance, and happily ever afters. One person kept plugging my books, specifically mentioning Sweet Thing. In the post directly below, another reader says, "I read Alison Tyler’s Sweet Thing in my local Borders a while ago. I got to about page 50 (I was speed reading to see if I wanted to buy) but it sucked, so I didn’t get it."

It’s a bit like dating, I guess.
Some readers and writers are never going to have a HEA.

I’m okay with that.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. This divine ring, from LovingAnvil, has LOVER on one side and FIGHTER on the other. How fucking cool is that?

Out Practicing Her Single Tail

Sweet Stephen Elliott says I can publish the email I mentioned here. You know, the sexy and surreal one.

"Sure. My week's good. I'm in some person's house in West Los Angeles. I've just met her. She's out back practicing her single tail with her live-in slave boyfriend. I'm chilling out in the living room. There's all these weird crosses on the wall. We had Subway for lunch. How do I find myself in these places?"

The sexy part? Um well, all of it. I must have spent weeks mentally decorating that living room. Envisioning different crosses. Picturing what the back yard might look like. The surreal part? "We had Subway for lunch." I just cracked up when I read that line. (It's how I found the email in my files. By searching for Subway.)

Oh, and just FYI:

The First Choice of Masters World Wide.

A single tail has long been the first choice of "Indoor Players" everywhere. I make this whip Stiff enough that you will have no trouble using it for the "Degan" style. And for you whip people out there that want a very flexible whip. These whips break in so smooth and flexible that they roll out in a perfectly straight line. Just ask anyone who owns one of my single tails and I am sure they will tell you they are a joy to throw. Imagine ... the hours of pleasure this beauty will bring you.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. I'm going to do a fresh Lipstick post this weekend, with snippets from the book, so stay tuned.

Got Lipstick?

Pretty Things Press is a boutique publishing house. We've been in business since 2002 and have brought out 17 books to date. Our latest is the luscious Lipstick on Her Collar and Other Tales of Lesbian Lust, edited by the delightful Sacchi Green and Rakelle Valencia. The book is astounding, featuring 22 creative authors including Cheyenne Blue, Scarlett French, Shanna Germain, Kristina Wright, Jean Roberta, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Teresa Noelle Roberts, and the editors themselves.

Here's a snippet from the foreword by Cecilia Tan: An anthology like this invites you to a cocktail party of possibilities. You'll mingle with some dykes who are accountants, computer programmers, and scholars, interspersed with the occasional horse-trainer, army sergeant, and drag king. Is there a lover in your life, or is she still a figment of your imagination? You might get a glimpse of her here, among the butch daddies and femme fatales and rogues, because there are representatives of every kind of woman in this book, having every kind of sex you (and twenty-two authors) can imagine. Welcome to the party!

Tell me about your favorite lipstick fantasy (or even your favorite lipstick) to win an advanced copy!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. I will find a hot excerpt to pose from the book shortly. I need to grab the file from my other computer.

In the lonely hours

I'm drinking wine and trying to organize the manuscript for Hurts So Good, while preparing myself to proof Open for Business, when all I really want to be doing is jumping onto the next project. Yes, I have that grass-is-always-greener-itis once more. There is no known cure, as far as I can tell. Well, perhaps if I were more Zen. If I truly understood that live-in-the-moment concept.

I don't know which moment I live in, but I think it's generally past or future. Or maybe I live in other people's moments. I received an email from Stephen Elliott once that described what he was in the middle of doing. The situation was so sexy and surreal, I think I lived in his moment for days!

I said I was drinking wine, right? My mind works differently when I'm drinking. Not slower, necessarily. I simply slide from thought to thought with fewer segues. I'm supposed to be plotting a novel, too. Plotting is difficult for me. My characters generally take me where they want to go regardless of what I've planned out for them. Often, the stubborn chicas wind up in the last places I want them to. I'm always surprised by how things turn out in my own books. (That's probably not a great concept to admit. But it's true.) Then again, I'm surprised by my own life, too. I have fallen into so many situations without a moment's planning.

That said, I'm an expert packer.
You should see my suitcase.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Love the lovely John Clark print!

I have big news

I mean new shoes.

Actually, I have both. New shoes to celebrate my big news...

A few months back (I think in April), The L. Perkins Agency took me on as a client. (Thank you so much for the recommendation, Rachel!) Recently, Ms. Perkins sold a collection of mine to Harlequin! I've admired the Harlequin line for years, and have been extremely honored to be listed as a writer they like in their guidelines.

I believe this is the first Harlequin anthology to be collected by an outside editor, and as you can imagine, I am beside myself! Ms. Perkins runs a fabulously informative blog about the industry called Agent in the Middle. Visit her site often to learn about the agent-side of deals like this. For me, I'm still walking around in a bit of a fog. And I'm doing so in my killer Spectators.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. For more useful tips, check out Lori Perkins' amazing resource The Insider's Guide to Getting an Agent.

I'm not really sleeping with her...

I swear. I simply asked for a picture of the corset she whispered to me about. And now I'm in love. Is this not gorgeous? But even more than that, I've been allowed to peek once more into someone else's world. I'd quote that t'sade line again if I had it handy.

Gorgeous stuff, Tessa.
Truly.

XXX,
Alison

In the dark

I’m driving yesterday and The Wall comes on.

Instantly, I’m back in high school, on a date with a flower-seller, watching the movie in my parents’ den. He’s pawing at me, and I’m kissing him, but I’m still watching bits of the film over his shoulder and fantasizing about Bob Geldof.

The room is dark, and his lips are soft, and his hands are all over me.

Before that, I didn’t know. I mean, I didn’t listen to Pink Floyd. The boys who smoked pot behind the gym listened to Floyd and Zeppelin. But I was this off-beat kid who liked Tom Waits and Lou Reed and Velvet Underground.

Sad to say that the boy was almost unimportant in this scene. I mean, I liked his hands and his lips, and the warmth of his body. But I had an almost religious epiphany watching the movie and listening to the music. One of those Eureka moments.

But he’s not unimportant, now that I think about it. Because the music is tied to kissing him. And to being a teenager in the dark. And to having a hungry boy’s hands on me. And to tilting my head back so that he can kiss my neck. And to putting my wrists up so he can lick those delicate veins, so he can grip my wrists in his own big hands. And to lifting my body ever so slightly and then slipping back down on him, jeans to jeans.

I’m driving yesterday, and The Wall comes on.

And I’m wearing a turquoise t-shirt and matching eye liner. I've got on my perfectly pegged Guess jeans and every girl’s favorite scent: Anais Anais.

I’m on a date with a flower-seller who has a cart across the street from the store where I work.

He’s been watching me walk by every day after high school.
He sells flowers.
He gives me one.

A flower for a kiss, he says.
Right here on the street, he says.

He has long sandy hair and his breath smells like marijuana, and he sells pretty flowers to people who walk by.

I’m driving yesterday, and The Wall comes on.

Will I ever hear that song without being a teenager in the dark once more?
I don’t know.
I don’t think so.

XXX,
Alison

Alphabet Erotica

Oh, my. Is this not the sweetest cover ever? I'm so going to have to buy the book to see what all of the other covers will look like!

Designed by Scott Idleman
26 full-color postcards suitable for mailing or collecting on glossy, high quality paper.

Spanning A through Z, this unique collection from Cleis Press's Erotic Alphabet Series presents all the book covers in full-color postcard format on high-quality glossy paper. Each sexy Vargas girl represents a different letter, seductively posed to highlight the best these books and letters have to offer visually. These tigresses and temptresses offer a provocative gift for highbrow erotic art connoisseurs and lowbrow eccentrics alike.

Seriously. This is what I'll be giving away for Christmas next year!

XXX,
Alison

Hurts So Good

Defending your kink. Now, there's something that never gets old to me. I adore having to stand up in front of the world and say, I like playing with pain, and I'm okay. Truly, I have no desire to recover from my fetishes. In fact, I think I'm at the point where I've accepted the kink I need to get off. But I feel as if I am quite often put in the position of defending these desires both in myself and in others. Becoming the champion for those who like to spank or be spanked, whip or be whipped, cane or be caned, flog or be... Hmmm. Yes, you can see where I'm going, I think. I probably don't need to spend nearly as much on Extreme Restraints as I do.

Don't mind me. I'm just rambling. Take a look at my beautiful new cover while I go get myself a double-shot of espresso and head back to the subs waiting to be read. My goal is to have 80% new voices in this book. New to me, anyway. I'm really impressed with the quality of the stories I've read so far. Writers never cease to amaze me with their talents and ability to tell a story I've never heard before.

XXX,
Alison

F-U-C-K

God, I love it when people go crazy with the alphabet. Just a few more titles, and we'll really be able to have fun with my ABC spines. For now, we can try to spell FUCK without U, or forget spelling anything at all and just slip-slide your way to Lust Bites for a K is for Kinky promo by Mathilde Madden!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Winner of the duo of spanking books is RPT. Please drop me a note at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com with your mailing address.

Oooh, Temptation

I've been waiting to use this little phrase for weeks now. I'm not just chuffed or dead chuffed. I'm chuffed to bits! Kara Wuest at Cleis Press spoke with me for my second Spotlight Interview. We were trying to brainstorm clever titles for the piece. She came up with On Temptation and Writing with Alison Tyler. (Mine was, "Alison Tyler Can't Spell F*CK without U.")

XXX,
Alison

Rusted brandy in a diamond glass
everything is made from dreams
time is made from honey slow and sweet
only the fools know what it means
—Tom Waits

P.S. I'll post the winner of Rachel's spanking books on Monday!

Martini Time

It is. Something about the noir-ness of martinis makes me happy. This is not a drunken blog. (Not yet anyway.) But raise a toast with me if you'd like.

To sex and olives.

XXX,
Alison

What IS Spanking?

Never fails. I was going to take a break this morning. Sleep in. Paint my toenails a charming shade of serpentine emerald. And then I received an email from red-hot redhead Kristina Lloyd who said:

I've heard spanking means different things in the UK than in the US. I had no idea. In Britain, spanking is just being slapped on the arse with a bare hand. But I heard that for you lot, spanking covers the whole gamut—caning, smacking, whipping, belting etc. and just generally being hit, not even always on the arse. Is this true? Cos if so, this is quite a major lost in translation. I need to know. What IS spanking?

At first, I thought I knew. I mean, I am the twisted puppy who has been looking up the word "spanking" in the dictionary since I was in grade school. (I loved this quote from spanking model Niki Flynn yesterday on Lust Bites: “I personally feel I was born kinky.”)

So I looked up the word again:

spanking

adjective
1. quick and energetic; "a brisk walk in the park"; "a lively gait"; "a merry chase"; "traveling at a rattling rate"; "a snappy pace"; "a spanking breeze" [syn: alert]

noun
1. the act of slapping on the buttocks; "he gave the brat a good spanking"

But as I was typing my response to Kristina Lloyd, I realized, fuck all. I don’t know. I would have thought that spanking includes over-the-knee, with a hairbrush, with a slipper, with a paddle, with a cane, with a crop, with a belt, with a hand, in the parlor, under the covers, at a stoplight… Jesus, what was I saying?

Ah, yes, spanking. I believe we Yanks do slip quite a few definitions under the spanking headline, although I don’t believe simply being hit = being spanked. But I’m not sure. So I thought I’d open up comments again and ask, “What does spanking mean to you?”

To complicate matters, I also want to address another topic that seems to come up often when spanking is discussed. In several of the stories I've been reading for my BDSM call, characters are forced to defend their desire to be spanked. Generally, a woman will hand an implement over to a partner and say, "Spank me with this." And the partner will say, "I don't condone violence against women," or some such dither. And then the woman will respond, "It's not violence if I'm asking for it."

I must have read 15 stories featuring this type of dialogue in the past three days. Then again on Lust Bites, up pop these questions: Do you really believe that the graphic titillating portrayal of violence against women is harmless? That it doesn’t legitimise and normalise those fantasies, or blur the boundaries between fantasy and reality?

And

The main problem with hardcore CP for an outsider is that by its nature it does not look consensual – we wonder if the "victims" have been bullied, drugged, forced or trafficked into taking part, since after all these are established facts within the wider sex industry. What is your experience within the CP industry? What producers can you recommend to us that are trustworthy?

First, I have my own question to ask—would these be an issue at all if Niki Flynn were Nick Flynn? If the same images were of a sub man finding himself in all sorts of erotically degrading positions at the hands of a Dom woman? I have to think that the answer is No. (I could be wrong. I'm willing to hear opposing view points.) But I get tired of people who want to play with power and pain having to defend their desires, having to say—I'm fine. I'm healthy. I'm a sub.

You know me—I really don't like to get involved in debates. I want everyone to get along. I like guests to feel welcomed and viewpoints to be honored. But as I've read through so many of these types of stories lately, and seen so many characters (so clearly the writers, as well) feeling the need to defend their desires—far more so than people who simply want to try anal, or have polyamorous relationships, or fuck in public—that I'd like to hear what people have to say.

I’ll give away copies of Rachel’s divine spanking collections just for fun.



And I’ll end with this quote from t’sade yesterday, which I loved:

One of my friends once confided to me that she fears reading my writing because I'm going to take something "utterly obscene and make her like it." Another told me that she didn't appreciate me "expanding her tiny little world." Doesn't stop me from trying. I was trying to get her into spanking, which is a rather mild fetish if you think about it.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Awesome art is from Suzanne Rachel Forbes, Fetish Portraits & Illustration, and the jolly jewelry is by Hoolala.

Yes, I ate her pussy.

Yes, I ate her pussy.

I did. I licked her sweet, juicy nether lips and swirled the tip of my tongue up and over, then round and round. When she cried out and threw back her long, perfect, Los Angeles-blonde hair, I pinched her clit between my thumb and forefinger. Her juices spread all over my mouth—glossy and dangerous—before her roommate, Charlie, kissed me clean.

Call that evening research if you must.
I called it making Ava come.

That was the first time I slept with another woman, and that rain-drenched evening changed my world in so many ways. But did fucking Ava make me a good writer?

I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, because I’m older now than she was then. (Crazy stuff, this getting older thing. I was 19 and an intern. She was the 27 year old green-eyed blonde who ran the music section of the newspaper where I worked.) But Ava’s also danced through my mind lately because of a concept I’ve been hearing a lot about. It started like this:

An editor I love said to me the other day, “We all know your stories are autobiographical. Everyone knows what you like.”

Sure. I’m pretty up front about my turn-ons. I list them on myspace, for the world to see—from boots and bondages to taboos and tequila. But I have written more than 1000 stories, penned more than 25 novels, edited 45-plus anthologies… I’d be too busy fucking to even think about writing if I did every last thing in those millions of words.

Still, the query rises: Do you write what you do? Do you do what you write? Look, I am open about being a voyeur. I want to know what’s in your refrigerator, your medicine cabinet, your lingerie drawer. I want to see Nikki’s shoes. I want to snoop through Kristina’s bookshelf. I want to eat all of the candy in Sommer’s stash. So perhaps some people ask that infamous question out of the same curiosity.

Unfortunately, sometimes the question shifts to a statement, transforms to something of a mantra. Not "Do you do it?" But instead "You can’t write it if you don’t do it." There is a faction that says you shouldn’t write as a lesbian if you’re straight, write as a man if you’re female, write as a sub if you’re dom.

And I have this to say on that subject:
Why on earth would that possibly be?

I didn’t need to dine on Ava’s pussy in order to write about what she tasted like. (Oh, sweet, so sweet that when I lick my lips I can almost taste her once more.)
I didn’t need to steal a knife to write my story Blades.
I don’t need a cock to write from Jack’s POV.

Perhaps, I have more experiences to draw from than some writers. But I’ve been penning porn since high school. The early stuff was nearly all fantasy. Which is real and which is not? Does it really matter? If you had to be what you write, or write what you do, you’d limit yourself so quickly. Why should erotic writers have to live the life in order to pen decadent fantasies?

As an editor, all I want from the writers who sub to me are good stories. Hardcore. Fast-paced. Sex-driven. I want them to make me wet. I want them to make me hard. I don’t care about the author’s gender, race, religion, etc. In fact, sometimes I don’t even want to know.

Tell me what you think.
I’m curious.

XXX,
Alison

Yes, Sir

My story for Yes, Sir was one of those lucky ones. The words just came pouring out. I'm giving you the opening—a tiny little teaser. You'll need to buy the book for the rest. I'm cruel, aren't I?

I have a phone meeting with a new editor in a few hours.
Wish me luck. My nerves are jangling.


The Art of Darkness

Killian said, “Put your hands over your head.”

I obeyed immediately, the “Yes, Sir,” coming quickly to my lips.

He clicked on the cuffs, looped the silver chain over the hook above our mattress, then looked down at me. His pale green eyes seemed to glow, like jade lit from within, and I could tell he wasn’t finished, even though sometimes all he needs is to see me cuffed. Sometimes that’s all it takes. But tonight, he had more serious plans.

“Spread your legs,” he said next, and I followed the command, just as quickly. “Yes, Sir,” punctuated the movement of my slim thighs parting on the cobalt-blue satin comforter. He bound my ankles securely with leather thongs attached to hooks on the bed frame, and I reveled in the pull on my muscles, the ache that started already.

“Mouth open,” Killian instructed, dangling the bright red rubber ball gag in front of me, and I parted my lips and lifted my neck to make it easier for him to fasten the buckle beneath my heavy, silver-streaked hair. The rubber tasted bitter, an obscene flavor I found oddly pleasing.

“Close your eyes,” Killian said finally, and that’s when I started getting scared.

Killian, I would have said, if the gag hadn’t been in the way. Killian, please.

The words sounded clear in my head, but as I could no longer speak, I hoped my eyes spoke loud enough for me. Hoped he understood what I was saying. Of course, he did. He knew me well enough by now. In fact, I had no doubt that he’d put in the gag before giving this instruction for the sole purpose to see if I’d obey.

“Close your eyes,” he repeated, his voice sterner now, and I drew in a deep breath through my nose, but kept my eyes open.

I felt as if I’d never blink again.

XXX,
Alison

Yes Sir, no Sir
Where do I go, Sir?
What do I do, Sir?
What do I say?
—Kinks

P.S. This necklace caught my eye. I love how happy the colors and the hearts are. This is definitely my type of Fuck You.