Spank You Very Much

I mean, of course, thank you. You know, for telling me that I was going to have fun tonight. Because you were right. I had a blast. But I know you'll excuse my slurring because I'm a tiny bit... A wee little tad... The eensiest... Oh, fuck. I can't hide anything from you. Yes, I'm celebrating. (And by "celebrating," I mean I have a flute of champagne at my side while I type. And by "flute," I mean a big scarlet coffee mug.)

The Harlequin party was really lovely. The Gordon Biersch pub is the site of many memorable evenings from my past (and by "memorable," I mean, I may have fucked a bartender or two), so I did feel right at home in a "Who's-that-slut?" sort of way as I walked up the stairs. The view of the San Francisco Bay is extreme. When you grow up in the Bay Area, you can sometimes take Ess Eff (as David Lodge says, if I'm remembering correctly) for granted. But coming back into it—ah, hell. I'll go all Tony Bennett on you in a moment. No way around it: "The City" is one of the most beautiful in the world.

My editor at Harlequin was beyond delightful. Truly, I felt a bit like a celebrity. Yes, I know. Never Buy Your Own Hype. (Ta very much, Sommer. I can’t go anywhere without hearing your voice in my head.) But still. I was in awe meeting her, and she couldn't have been more welcoming. We talked about my upcoming anthology, and I'm sure I gushed nonstop about how excited I was to be working with Spice. My enthustiastic adjectives and extra exclamation points are probably still littering the bar.

To cap off the evening, I met the divine Saskia Walker, who I've been thrilled to work with for years, but have never met in person. She is a doll. A tall, goth, glossy brunette doll. SW was classy and charming, from tip to toe, and I could have spent all night talking with her. But instead, I played Cinderella and ducked out before final call.

Why? Because tomorrow is a big day for me. I'm the first on Rachel Kramer Bussel's virtual book tour for her new anthology Spanked! This is an honor I don't take lightly. Because spanking is serious business in my book. (Did I mention I've been drinking champagne? From a coffee mug?) Okay, then. I actually have a copy of Spanked to give away. And I've been trying to figure out what I'm going to make you do, I mean, what I'm going to ask you nicely to do in order to win.

But I'm drawing a blank at the moment. And by "drawing a blank," I mean I need to go refill my champagne, um, mug, and figure out which way is up. Is it that way? The way toward the kitchen? Where the bottle is still chilling in the fridge? Hmmm... I think so.

Back in a few hours with a quick contest!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. I have a funny story to share about my triple X's. But that will have to wait until later!

P is for Party Girl

That's me. No, I'm lying. It's not me at all. I don't know if I ever was a party girl. I'm more of a stand-against-the-wall girl. More of a sit-at-the-bar-and-watch-the-rest-of-the-folks girl. Voyeurism has never served me as well as it did at my last reunion. I adored hooking up with two old friends and watching all the rest of the people I couldn't remember from high school. But having to be on display, having to speak, having to interact—oh, god. I've met with many of my editors and publishers, and agony does not begin to describe the way I feel leading up to the event. I was in my early 20s when I met Richard Kasak from Masquerade and spilled my water on the table at lunch. Sadistic Dom that he is, he grimaced and said, "I wish you hadn't done that," while I sank lower in my chair, all fears realized.

We ended up with a solid working relationship. I became his go-to girl for quick turnaround. And I think he actually liked me, if only for my entertainment value. But that lunch sums up all of my distress at going out in public. That I will trip. Or spill. Or make a fool of myself in my high-heeled shoes.

And today—oh, yes, it's today—I'm going to a party.

Honestly, I'm honored, flattered, and excited. The party is for Harlequin writers. This is a dream come true—shocking or not. To my knowledge, Harlequin has never done a multi-authored collection before, put together by an outside editor. I'm the first. I get to gather up my favorite writers and bring them on this brand-new adventure with me. (I've been listed on Harlequin's Spice guidelines as a writer to check out. They like my style. I like theirs, too, so this is a definite well-made match. And I'm over the moon at the thought.)

But, man, oh, man. Today I am a ball of nerves. Can you be a ball of nerves? I'm a squiggle of nerves. A basket of nerves. A neon-sign of... All right, you get the idea. I've changed my outfit at least 16 times. This is what I'm thinking now: short dark polka dot skirt, opaque black hose, scarlet suede knee-high boots, Headbangers Ball t-shirt under semi-sheer long-sleeved tattoo shirt. What do you think? Do you need pictures?

I keep reminding myself that this is a party. People like parties. Parties are fun. And even if I trip, or spill my beer, or tip over in my high-heels, you'll all still love me. Right?

XXX,
Alison

So cool, it's scary

Neve Black sent me the sweetest little TROLLOP pendant. What's scary (to me) is that I had this necklace in my ETSY basket for weeks, and then when I went to pay—poof! Someone had bought the bauble out from under me. Well, NB had—without knowing that I was enamored of the necklace.

There are other sweet ones on the redsesame site. I like her Strumpet and Vamp and Siren ones, too. Maybe she'll do Harlot, Hussy, and Tart next. I'm also partial to Word Whore and Princess of Porn. Oooh, and Champagne Slattern for Kristina. (Not that I'm dropping hints, or anything.)

Anyway, ta very much! You made my day!
XXX,
Alison

Sommer in her PJs

All right, it's not Sommer in her PJs. It's Sommer's bed in her PJs! Sommer says: i seem to have a few pajamas. the only place they would all fit was the bed. hmm. and i gave away a few bags of them at Christmas...

That is some pajama collection. I swear. Ta very much for adding to the line-up of collections. And now I know what to get you for your birthday. Except what size does an Amazon wear?

XXX,
Alison

Made to Behave

I am in that mood—and I don't know why or how. Why I'm here. Or how I got here. The gray skies affect me. I know that. The early morning quiet. The wet asphalt smell of a city waking up. (Any city. Name the city. Paris. New York. San Francisco. London. I like to get up before the rest of the world rises. I like my coffee early.)

Blame my mood on M is for Master, the next book in the Alphabet Erotica series—which I'm editing as hard as I can right now. I joked with Sommer that "M" was for Masterpieces—based on the sheer number of exotic sexy stories that fell into my in box. But M is for Mood, today, because every so often I honestly have a difficult time separating myself from my work. Pulling back. Being the clear-headed editrix who moves a comma, caps a word, cuts a bit of redundancy.

Instead, I wind up staring at the screen, as bound in place as the lovers in the story, held tight with steel or leather, with cuffs or silk ties. I read the whole story without realizing the piece has gone past. I sit as frozen as if I've been put there by a Master of my own, as if I've been given the instructions to sit. To stay. To wait.

Even my breathing slows.

And then, when I'm done—all right, you know me. I'm never really done—but when night falls and I break away, close the file, shut the PowerBook, I am dizzy with want. Hungry beyond measure. Trapped in that jittery, fuck me, take me place that only a good, strong hand on my wrist can calm. Only a low, dangerous throb of a command can still.

Talk about bringing your work home with you.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Is it just me, or does this ETSY write-up turn you on, as well: "Secure the cuff by wrapping it firmly around your wrist with the long leather thong, then tuck the antique skeleton key into the strapping."

P.P.S. I'd still happily post your collections, if you want to send a pic to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com.

Skulls and Stickers and Sarcophagi, Oh My!

You knew I’d do it again, didn’t you? I found my new subject. Not that I have forgotten my lust for panties. But I am now so enamored of your willingness to expose yourself—I mean, expose your collections—I’m having a difficult time staying off of ETSY. Just look at the cool skull I found for KM.

I’m out most of today. Meeting with our printer about a brand-new, ultra cool project I am trying to do with the artist behind Naked Chicks on Post-It Notes. Wish me luck. I’ve never done a four-color book before, and I’m super excited.

But you will make my day if you send me more collection pictures (send attachments to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com). Or simply post descriptions if you don’t want to take a pic. Who knows. I might send you an addition to your collection! See what I found for Heidi?


XXX,
Alison

Stick it to me, baby

I couldn't resist. Because Heidi Champa collects the coolest, most fabulous stickers ever. (I think Kiki is going to have a heart attack.) Heidi says: I collect stickers. Any kind I can find, but mostly stuff I love and then cover my CD holder with them. It all started in college when I worked at the radio station and covered a closet door with all the free stickers we would get. I hear that it took them two days to scrape all the stickers off that door after the radio station moved.


I'm in love. I could gaze at these for hours. And, of course, now I'm feeling the need to send Heidi some stickers, KM some skulls, and Dakota a bit of Egyptian art. Remember, if you want to see your own collection posted, email me a pic at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. (Sometimes I forget to say that!)

XXX,
Alison

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

I asked. I received. But then I went out of the house for about 8 hours, so these are late going up.

KM says: Hi Alison,

I collect little rocks and stones, paper & stationary and skull & crossbones jewelry. My favorite skull & crossbone piece is permanent though -- it's tatted on my back :) I don't know what it is with stones -- I'm just really attracted to them. They are all over the house. Once I went to a Georgia O'Keefe exhibit in Washington DC. Some of the desert rocks she'd collected and arranged were there and I felt an immediate kinship with her. The stationary -- because I love to write notes to people on fun and pretty paper. And the skulls -- started with sailing and maybe it's also a little public nod to the wild side, but that's just a guess!

Thanks -- it's fun to share.

--KM

And thanks to you, KM. It's equally fun to stare.

XXX,
Alison

Expose Yourself, Egyptian Style

So today I asked people to send me pictures (or descriptions) of their collections. And here is the first, from Dakota Rebel, who says: I collect Egyptian replica statuary. I have been fascinated by ancient Egypt for as long as I can remember. When I was younger I wanted to be an Egyptologist, but that fell away with the discovery of writing.



My fantastic third-grade teacher was also fascinated by Egypt. All year long, every lesson we had, touched on Egyptology. We learned to write our names in hieroglyphics. We gave oral reports on Egyptian subjects (mine was on the Nile), and we capped off the year by going to a museum to see a sarcaphogus. I find the subject intriguing, as well.

Thank you for playing, DR!
XXX,
Alison

Expose Me

You don't have to expose me. I have exposed myself already! But if you want to win a copy of my collection of 30 short stories, then expose yourself. Have you all figured out how much of a voyeur I am? My snooping tendencies are at least equal to (if not greater than) my exhibitionist side. So... I'm going to ask for something else today. I've seen your panty drawers. Send me a picture of a collection—your shoes, your lipstick, your rings, your bangles, your knick-knacks, your records, your dirigibles, your dragons.

Or tell me, if you don't want to show me.

I've been fascinated by collections since college. One of my few A's was on a paper for my folklore class. I wrote about collecting shaky things (those bubbles of plastic filled with fake snow), and lingerie, and songs. I'm a bit of a tweaker. When I find out what someone collects, I am almost obsessed with helping to further the collection. I collected nail polish in junior high (I had over 100 bottles), and super heros in college (I had a six-foot tall inflatable Superman in my bedroom). Now? I suppose my main addiction is my rings and my hideous floral shirts. (Oooh, I got a nice note about my shirts on this blog: "The fantastic Trollop with a Laptop posted this little thing about loud shirts and that seriously made me love her a little. I too love some loud tacky shit. Okay add another name to the ever growing girlcrush list." Gotta love that.)

I've talked about my rings before. I feel naked (in a bad way) if I don't have a ring on the middle finger of my right hand. I can't even type as well. I feel unbalanced.



So now it's your turn.
Tell me, true. What do you collect, and why?

XXX,
Alison

Margaritas, Mayhem, and Me

Had margaritas with friends the other night, and I have been licking my lips for a sequel ever since. Which is strange because I am much more of a straight-up type of girl. But there is something about that salted rim that's calling me. And I know Tessa, for one, has been craving a drunken post for awhile now. We'll have to wait and see.

Until then, remember to post me a Red Hot Fantasy if you've got one. I might throw in a box of Hot Tamales to sweeten the deal.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Isn't this Margarita Flask too perfect?

Red Hot Erotica

Apparently, not only am I good at shocking my friends, I am also adept at shocking photobucket. Because this is yet another cover that photobucket does not like. Why? I don't know. I think it's the nipple. You want to comment today for a chance to win, because this book is not currently available. And I think the collection is damn good, with stories from stellar authors like Saskia Walker and Bill Noble.

I've already asked you for heat.
So what do I want today?

Why is always about what I want? Tell me what you want. If you rolled over in the morning and discovered the perfect scenario set out for you by your lover (real or fantasy) what would it be? Would there be toys and tools? Or would you find yourself in a far off, exotic location? Where do your X-rated daydreams take you?

XXX,
Alison

Call Me Anytime

Remember these? Well, as promised, Coco at LovingAnvil has sent me her pick-up pack. And they are so cool. The statements read: Call Me Anytime, U R Cute, Truth or Dare, What's Your Sign, and Hi Hot Stuff.

The winner of these coins (and the adorable pink purse they come in) is Dréa, who suggested Truth or Dare.

Drop me a note at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com with your mailing address, and I'll send them right out. The ROGUE ring also arrived, so I'll be mailing that out tomorrow, too.

XXX,
Alison

Strap-On Sex

Violet Blue is a gifted guide writer. She can take difficult or complicated topics and explain the themes with ease. There is no judgement in the way she tackles even the most unusual fetishes. (And there is no "e" in "judgment" if you are using British English. But there is one in American English. I checked.) After having completed my first (very non-traditional) sex guide, I am even more blown away by her outrageous abilities than ever.

Today, I'm giving away a copy of The Adventurous Couple's Guide to Strap-On Sex. Here is the write-up:

A witty and well-informed guide to strap-on play — with fun, practical ideas couples can start using tonight!

Feeling adventurous? Sex educator and best-selling writer Violet Blue guides readers through the pleasure playground of strap-on sex for heterosexual couples. The wild success of The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women and The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Men makes it clear that anal sex is hitting the mainstream. Lots of hot women want to strap it on, and their male partners are often happy to oblige. With style and wit, Violet Blue explains pleasure anatomy in men, with ample attention to the prostate gland — the epicenter to male orgasm that’s been called “the male G-spot.” Full of crafty ideas on positions, toys, harnesses, role-play scenarios, and reading your partner like a dirty book, The Adventurous Couple's Guide to Strap-On Sex Sex offers a step-by-step guide to making sparks fly. And look, ma! No hands.

There are also a few mini-stories by me!

What do you have to do to win? This is where I go blank for a moment and stare out the window trying to come up with something suitable, yet doable. All right... Let's play a game of truth or dare. Have you been on either end of a strap-on? Was it all you hoped or dreamed? Or is this something that's found a way into your fantasies? (Shoot. I think those are all truths.) So let's play truth or truth. Want to? Have you? Would you? Did you? Or are you waiting to see if you'll win the book...

XXX,
Alison

Tilting at Porn Mills

Yes, I'm slow. I am still in the process of organizing my shelves. Why? Um, I don't know. Seemed like a good idea when I started. I have quite a few goodies to give away, and I'm trying to choose books that match my mood each day. So clearly, I was feeling like some oral sex yesterday, a bit of bondage on Monday, voyeurism last week... The sky's not limit. But the ceiling of my porn closet is.

So what am I offering today?

Oh, you know me. I want a bite sized bit of something succulent. A little bit of naughty to go with my coffee. Am I being too vague? No, I'm acting the way I do when I edit an anthology. Which is to just offer the tiniest push towards my theme, without giving a hell of a lot of details. This is because I don't want to end up with 20 of the same stories.

What will you win?

I'm going with a naughty trilogy today. Three books for the price of one sexy confession. What do you think?


Should I start? Well, when I think naughty, I think pretty instantly of my favorite black-and-scarlet plaid school girl skirt. It's at least a decade old, was from one of the more kinky Ann Taylor collections (god, I wish I'd bought the cobalt-and-emerald one, too), and is the shortest skirt I wear in public. (Tessa and I sometimes share what we're wearing, so I'm guessing she'll get a kick out of this.) I match the skirt with a black t-shirt, opaque black hose, shoes like these, and a cardigan sweater. For me, this outfit is instant foreplay. Well, not just for me, I should say. Wearing this skirt is the equivalent of me putting a sandwich board on that says: SPANK ME. Couldn't get any more clear than that. But the thrill to me is wearing what is almost a conservative look out in public, while knowing the whole time what extreme activities the evening will bring.

Okay. Now, you.

XXX,
Alison

What do you give a girl like Kristina?

I'm not sure if you all heard, but thanks to that dusky beauty otherwise known as Kristina Lloyd, I now have a Wikipedia page! I wanted to do something extra special back for her, so I bought her a cow. I mean, I bought her some moo cards. (I bought me some, too, but mine have not yet arrived. Damn!) I was trying to take a pic to show her, but the flash kept wiping out the text. So I got all fancy with the special features—or rather, I stuck my finger over the flash, hence the red light.



Honestly, I'm a little bit in love with these. But I will go ahead and send them to Kristina anyway. And maybe if you're really nice—I mean, pay her a lot of money—she'd send you out a couple.

XXX,
Alison

We take sucky-fucky breaks

This is from Neve Black's comment yesterday: sequestered in my house with a lusty, and much younger, hot man with a cock and tongue that's aimed to please. We take sucky-fucky breaks only for things like, food, water and batteries.

And for some reason, the cadence of that line stuck with me all afternoon, like a little song lyric playing endlessly in my head. Reminded me of one of my favorite stories in Naughty or Nice, which is bizarre, because there is nothing in the story that is like this sentence. The story is Dominic Santi's Mulled Wine—all right, so there is sucky-fucky in this story, and there is a hot man with a cock and tongue... but the big difference is that there are two hot men, and peppermint sticks, and mulled wine, and the piece is just so incredibly dirty that I am fanning myself right now simply on recall.

I'm almost out of time to give away a copy of Naughty or Nice as a little Christmas in July present, but there are a few more days left. (Until what? We celebrate Easter in August?) What do you have to do to win? Well, because I have sucky-fucky on the brain, tell me a memorable oral story. (And yeah, as always, I don't care if you give me the honest truth or your favorite fantasy.)

I'll start.

I learned to go down on my boyfriend during a dinner party at my house. (We were not at the party. We were in the room adjoining.) I could hear the sounds of laughter and drinking in the next room, while my beau grabbed the back of my head and brought me in close. For some reason, the two parts of the action became intwined for me. There have been many times since then that I've found myself in a similar on-my-knees position at parties. In the bathroom. In a guest room. In a closet. Behind a door. In the empty kitchen. I like the danger of potentially being caught. But I also crave the party noise like a bass line in the background.

Now you.

XXX,
Alison

Shocking!

When I meet someone new, I tend to proceed slowly in revealing my work. You know, I don't just whip out the pornographer business cards right away. See, I'm in publishing—my backlist of non-porn books is more extensive than my smut—so I can hide behind my day job when I want to.

But last week, I tried to take a friendship to the next level. This woman knows I'm a writer, but she's never expressed much interest in what I write. After debating a bit, I told her that I recently landed a book deal with Harlequin. No response. Zero. Zip. Then today she called me up to say, "I'm not surprised that you're going to be published, but I am shocked at what you're writing."

And I thought to myself as I mentally crossed her off my list of potential closer friends, "That shocked you? Hell, I could give you a fucking heart attack."

I don't have anything else to say. I just wanted to put it out there.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. More guilty pleasures? I've indulged in several of mine today: I ordered six pairs of fishnets, bought red licorice ropes, and painted my nails cobalt while watching one of my favorite movies.

Dark, Dirty, and Dangerous

All right, so yesterday I said I was happy, healthy, and horny. And today I'm saying I'm dark, dirty, and dangerous. What the fuck? Can I really play on both sides of the street? Well, yes, I can. How? Because I'm twisted. I confuse people all the time by saying I don't like dark, and then writing a novel like Dark Room, which is (yes, wait for it) dark. Is this not just a wee bit hypocritical?

Well, first off, I wrote that book a million years ago. And second, what I mean is that usually my stories don't deal with issues like death, disease, or distress. I feel that there's enough of that in real life. But that doesn't mean I don't like kink. It means that while my characters might have horrible, degrading things happen to them with whips and belts and paddles and floggers and crops and quirts and, um, what was I saying? Oh, yes, they might be punished this way and that, but they won't be punished for wanting to be punished.

That's what I mean.

They won't die because they wanted a spanking.

And yet, I do like the dark plum bruised sensation of playing with raw emotions. I like jealousy and guilt and longing. I like stories with an edge. So really, I do think you can have it both ways.

Today I am giving away a copy of M. Christian's Guilty Pleasures. Not only am I giving away a copy, M.C. has graciously agreed to sign it for the winner. What do you have to do? Confess. Tell me yours. Your guiltiest pleasure. Ever. Is it a food? Is it a fetish? Feel free to share. We're all friends here.

XXX,
Alison

Breathe in Deep

Before I move onto the next contest, I have to stop and smell the reviews. Open for Business just got a lovely one from Gwen Masters at Clean Sheets. Here's a cutting:

There are powerhouses of erotic writing featured here. Maxim Jakubowski delivers a sexy tale with a twist, Rachel Kramer Bussel makes me long for a secretary of my own, and Donna George Storey turns a benign library into a place for sexual dares. Kristina Wright shows the "Perks of the Office" in a flurry of hard belt spanks. Marilyn Jaye Lewis offers a wild submissive ride in "After Hours." Even Editor Alison Tyler gets into the act with "Page Ten of the Employee Handbook," another of her always-guaranteed-to-please stories that makes me long for my own handbook full of rules to trounce.

What a sweet way to start the day.

XXX,
Alison

Happy, Healthy, and Horny

The fabulous (and insanely prolific) literary streetwalker M. Christian recently posted his 10 commandments of Smut. (Thanks to Violet for the link!) Lists of Ten are extremely entertaining to write. But I have to say that one of the best aspects of erotica is how different the editors (or should I say "we editors") are. (Thank god, or we'd all be putting out the same book over and over.)

I've said this before, but I think it's important enough to say again: What floats one person's boat will sink another's. Why am I stuck on repeat? Because one of M.C.'s commandments pretty perfectly describes my style of writing: A story that’s just about the sex, where everyone is happy, healthy, and horny is dull...

I know he wasn't talking to me, personally. But I have to raise my hand in the air and say, "Yep. I'm the happy, healthy, horny editor." Sure, I like to write about kink. But I tend to steer away from the dark end of the street. I know my strengths. And I know what readers expect from me. I've made my bed of sumptuous wine-colored velvet—and I am more than happy to lie on it. Or lay on it. Hmmm. I'm more than happy to sprawl on it. Which leaves the venue wide open for other writers who can delve into the deep much better than I.

From the shallow end of the pool,
Alison

P.S. Keep on sharing your best bondage stories here, if you please.

I love the smell of bondage in the morning

Really, there's no reason for me to be jittery. I finished Never. I finished Frenzy. I should be able to sit out in the hammock for a bit and relax. But I'm not really a hammock type of person. And yesterday was silvery gray all day long. So that I could wear dark jeans, scarlet patent leather clogs, and a black tuxedo shirt, and feel as if I were in some overcast foreign city in the autumn rather than summertime in California.

But why am I spinning? No fucking clue.

Which is why I'm daydreaming about handcuffs. And collars. And leather bindings. Leashes and hardware and rope. Because being bound doesn't only keep my body in place. Bondage slows my spiraling thoughts. No, I don't ever stop. But I do slow.

Today, I'm giving away my best-selling bondage book: Best Bondage Erotica. (I learned recently that more than 20,000 copies of this title are in print!) So how do you win? I'm not asking what bondage can do for you, I'm asking what bondage can do for your... No, wait. I am asking what bondage does for you. What it means to you. Where you go when you're bound, or when you're doing the binding. Is the threat enough, or do you need the steel cuffs?

Tell me. I'm waiting.

XXX,
Alison

Luscious Review of Lipstick

Slip on over to Sugarbutch Chronicles to read the latest review of Lipstick on Her Collar. Here's a snippet:

It seems Alison Tyler is doing some great books with Pretty Things Press, and I’m glad to see a lesbian anthology with more gender included in their catalog.

Then don't forget to come back and post me a kinky little comment!

XXX,
Alison

Keep It Kinky

You might not believe me, but I was actually worried. I didn’t know if anyone could come up with anything indecent. But you all showed me! I’m still breathing a little hard over Sophia’s story.

So let’s take things over a notch or two, alphabetically speaking, to kinky. I know the joke: Erotic is using a belt. Kinky is using the whole cow. But what does kinky mean to you? Something to the right of regular? Take me on a kinky ride, and I’ll give away a copy of K Is for Kinky.

Could be something you’ve done, something you’d like to do, or something that simply lives and breathes in your fantasies. I’m easy. Just remember: Keep to the rules, please—over 18, no stories about families that are a little too close, and no animals (not even a cow).

XXX,
Alison

Shirts off My Back, the Sequel

I posted a pic before, but here are some of my new ones. I am obsessed. Give me your ugly, your gaudy, your brightly colored floral, your tacky, your vivid, your thriftstore best. I wear them open over a t-shirt and jeans. And I will swerve my car to the side of the road when I spot one I need. (That's what happened with the blue silk one above. $5 at a consignment store, hanging from a rod outside.)

Now you know what I want for Christmas.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. More indecent stories, please, if you've got them.

Spell Me Something Dirty

Rearranging gummi letters into X-rated words gives a whole new meaning to playing with your food. Doesn't it? This snap was from Lady Raven, who has an even better word up on her blog.

I say fuck way too much, I think. There's just something so fucking satisfying about the word. I even like the way it looks when you spell it: F-U-C-K. (Is this why I like French Connection F-C-U-K perfume so much?) And speaking of spelling, I'm going to give away a vowel today—I Is for Indecent. So if you have some of the other books, you'll be able to extend the dirty words you can spell with the spines. Got Bondage and Games? Now, you can spell BIG. Got Leather and Exotic? Now you can spell LIE.

What do you have to do to win?
I want... I want... What do I want?

I want you to share an indecent little secret. Make it hot. Make it short. Make it like the time I gave my boyfriend's roommate a blow job. (In my defense, my bf wasn't my bf at the time. But once he was, that secret between me and his roommate felt as indecent as anything I can think of.) Just be sure not to cross the lines from indecent to taboo (no underage, activity with farm animals, or cross-family relations). That was, of course, the difficult part of edting I Is for Indecent. I wanted to push boundaries without slipping into vulgarity, without making my publishers say their safeword. I think the writers in the anthology excelled. Or maybe they X-celled.

XXX,
Alison

Fucking in Spain

I know I posted about foreign translations before, but I'm so excited, I have to share again. This is the Spanish version of my first Virgin novel, Learning to Love It. The cover is just gorgeous, isn't it?

I can't give any away, as I just have the one. But I wanted to show off the pretty, pretty cover. Oooh, and I have to give a nod to a blog I just found called Lust in Translation. (Is that not the cutest title?)

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Keep giving me rockstar truths and fantasies, if you will.

So I'm fucking this rock star...

... all right, I'm not. I never did. Not a rock star. I dated a horn player, yes. I kissed a few bass players over the years. And I've done my share of photographers, actors, and out-of-work bartenders. There was this one time at the Viper room, when my best friend and I were dancing together—body to body, her white-blonde hair mingling with my pitch black mane. (Freudian slip? I just wrote "bitch black.") I locked eyes with a well-known musician, who nodded appreciatively from his booth, and if my best friend had not been on the verge of becoming a Born-Again virgin, something might have happened.

But for all of my endless chatter about Love at First Sting this and Hurts So Good that, I have not fucked a rock 'n roll god. That's where you come in. Have you made love to a musician? Have you been a groupie, or a girl (or guy—I am an equal opportunity voyeur) who was "with the band"?

Tell me.

If you haven't, don't worry. You can share a fantasy. Lie to me. Or just play make-believe.

Today, I'm giving away a copy of J is for Jealousy, which features an excellent rock 'n roll romance by Gwen Masters called "The Craziest Thing."

XXX,
Alison

pretty things

KM dropped me a note that said: "Pretty things jumped into an envelope and are headed your way."

Well, they arrived. You can see the heart-shaped necklace on my wall already. What a lovely glass gem! Ta very much. You didn't have to do that. But, of course, am glad you did!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Any more voyeurs out there?

V is for Voyeur

Leave it to the divine Trixie Delicious to create the perfect plate for any post. Because today I'm giving away copies of Hide & Seek, the deliriously sexy collection Rachel Kramer Bussel and I edited together. (Check out RKB's post on editing anthos, btw. I thought she summed up the job neatly.)

What do you have to do to win? Let me watch you take a shower. No. Come on. That's what Kristina Lloyd would say. What do I want? Just tell me. What was the sexiest thing you ever saw (something that you weren't necessarily supposed to see). Or, flip the coin. What did you let someone else see...?

Should I start? I have too many. But this morning, I'm thinking of the time my college roommate Lisa had sex with her boyfriend in the twin bed next to mine. He was in town from Manhattan, arrived in the middle of the night, and I woke up to them going at it. I stayed so still, so quiet, while I listened. For the rest of his visit, I moved in with my friend Jon. But right then, there was nothing appropriate for me to do except fake sleep. If I got up and left, they'd know I was awake. I just stayed, quiet, hearing her sighs, hearing him moan, trying not to sigh or moan myself. Trying to remember not to hold my breath, but to breathe slow and steady, as if lost in dreams. Which, in a way, I guess I was.

Now you...

XXX,
Alison

Help Wanted: Many Positions Available!

Ooooh, I have to lift this comment from Emerald, who said:
I’m loving Open for Business, by the way. I took it with me last week as I accompanied my partner on a business trip (ha). At one point his boss had to come up to his room to get something (I wasn’t in the room at the time). I can’t remember what, but I had left something indiscreet sitting around, and I apologized to him later. With a wry look he picked up Open for Business, which we had both forgotten was sitting brazenly on the foot of the bed, and said, “That’s okay; I was a little more concerned about what she would think of my 'tales of office sex' choice of reading material!”

I keep meaning to say that OFB snagged a great review here! My favorite lines from the review: "Never did I imagine that a book could be just as hot and steamy as a full-blown porno. In fact, there are some stories that I could see adapted into a full hardcore scene!"

Now back to the Sweet Thing contest, already in progress...

XXX,
Alison

P.S. I'm so loopy. I meant to say this before! Am printing up Open for Business postcards. Please emailing msalisontyler at yahoo dot com with your snail mail address if you'd like to get one sealed with a kiss from me. (And if you'd like several to pass out to your friends, just let me know!)

Sweet Thing

Sweet Thing is (ever so loosely) based on my years working on a weekly alternative paper in Los Angeles. That experience replaced my high school misery as the time when I really grew up. I was the youngest on staff, often the only girl in the room, and ultimately I was appreciated and respected not only for my speed as a typist, but for my skills as a writer.

Yeah, I’ve said this before—but you know, this sort of thing lingers: even as I was being ridiculed in class at University and told by an English T.A. not to consider writing as a profession, I was simultaneously being published at the paper. While my compositions were read aloud as how not to get an A, I was being hired to do freelance work for books and magazines, ghost writing before I even knew what that term meant.

I was moldable. Malleable. A bendy-straw, sucking up every bit of knowledge I could. (I'd say a vacuum, but I just learned recently that there is no "cum" in "vacuum.") My editor was my mentor. Fellow writers were my peers. And were they ever cool. From dyed hair, wear all-leather, pierced, hardcore music fiends to three-piece suit, slick as a serpent ad men. They taught me just about everything I know about writing, love, sex, and life. (At least, what I hadn’t already gleaned from the chicklets at the beauty supply store.)

Sweet Thing is a novel that absolutely hits or misses with people. I don’t think I received a single lukewarm review, from “Tyler delivers a very sexy L.A. story” to “Who knew erotica could put you to sleep?”

You get to decide. How do you win a copy? (And, just so you know, this is for the racy Black Lace edition, not the watered down—I mean, edited down—Cheek version.)

Let's see... The title Sweet Thing is from my all-time favorite Van Morrison song. But there are many songs with sweet in the lyrics. (I put most of them in the book, I think.) From Stevie Ray Vaughn's “sweet little thing” to Tom Waits’ “Sweet Little Bullet from a Pretty Blue Gun,” to Rolling Stones’ "Sweethearts Together," to Sade’s "Sweetest Gift" to Guns n’ Roses "Sweet Child of Mine"… I could go on.

What do I want from you?

Give me a song. A song that could be on your soundtrack. A song that played during a particularly lusty moment—and if you are feeling particularly lusty, describe the moment as well as the music.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Winners, be sure to drop me a note with mailing address. Send to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. I haven’t heard yet from the four people who won Sticky Fingers: KM, Tessa, Angell, and Suzanne.

Juicy Erotica

These photos fell into my inbox just in time for my post about Juicy Erotica! I'm going to let the photographer decide whether or not to out herself. But this is a portion of her note: The gummi letters were so very well timed today. The letters lent themselves to all sorts of possibilities! I spent a good portion of the day riven for various reasons, and while I was spelling my contest entry word of "juicy," the word "cunt" just somehow became obvious among the remaining letters. It happens, you know. Of course juicy cunt naturally led to "licked." That happens too, you know.


Juicy leads to lots of things. The Pretty Things Press version of Juicy just led to the Xcite version of Juicy! This is our third book with Xcite, and I'm very, um, Xcited!

Today, I'll give away two copies—one of each version:



What do you have to do to win? Tell me, truly, have you ever played with your food? You know, like Macy's Gray's Sex-o-Matic: "When we seek and hide, When my hands are tied, 69 positions and whip cream all over my skin..."
Or...?

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Your stealing stories stole my heart. I am going to sneak up to the porn closet to see just how many copies of Sticky Fingers I have to give away before I announce the winner(s).

Kama Sutra: I Wrote the Book

No, really, I did. Well, not the entire book. Not the whole 36 chapters, or anything. But I was recently hired to write a portion of the book. To demonstrate how methods of the Kama Sutra could still be sexy and viable in modern society.

This was one of my best jobs. Ever. The offer came in on a Wednesday and the work was due on Monday. My number one skill, I like to say, is that I'm quick. (All right, so there are authors out there who have waited years for me to respond to a story—but that's only when deadlines get shifted around. I mean, I'm a fast writer. And that's what this job required.)

My editor and I got on right away. She gave me jumping off points, and I wrote the 18 different 300-word articles based on her suggestions. Honestly, I know that I live in a strange world, where someone I have never met in person will send me an email like:

“On the Auparishtaka, or Mouth Congress”—a section on oral pleasure should be straightforward enough here. We don’t have to really get into the eunuch stuff. The description of a eunuch giving a blow job *is* kind of nice however: “when, in the same way, he puts the half of it into his mouth, and forcibly kisses and sucks it, this is called ‘sucking the mango fruit.’”

Or:

“Having dressed the daughters of their nurses, or their female friends, or their female attendants, like men, they accomplish their object by means of bulbs, roots, and fruits having the form of the lingam, or they lie down upon the statue of a male figure, in which the lingam is visible and erect.”

And the note from my editor as the jumping off point: Dildos anyone?

We had a stellar rapport from the start. When she asked me to do a slight revise on one of my more X-rated riffs (I started the book off with the word 'fuck' in the opening sentence), she added: "it's amazing your emails make it through - I don't know how that is possible!!! Hilarious."

I love that.

But the best part? Turns out that my editor wrote a book about cocktails. I own two books on cocktails. One was by her. Isn't that too effing cool?

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Do not forget to tell me about the time you stole the Kama Sutra—or anything else—here.