Wednesday, February 4, 2015

challenges, stumbling blocks, call them what you will

Oh my god. I am trying to write/edit/finish something off. My husband has chosen today to borrow a petrol hedge strimmer from our neighbour and is right.outside.the.door using it on our monster hedge. It's very loud.

My school refusing daughter is upstairs on her computer, having had a screaming tantrum because I asked her to do some schoolowork. It's 1.04. It's time for her dad to bring her to school to collect more work.

The motor and the screaming tantrum are unsettling. They block the creative flow, readers, the discerning, decision making, critical faculty needed to pull a story together. I need that faculty, and I need five hundred odd more words that fit.


Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Bound for Trouble, bound for you?

A Christmas giveaway! I've got a story in here called Monthly, semi inspired by that cool werewolf film about the sexy woman who locks herself in her basement once a month and turns into a wolf. She might well have been French. Sort of set the bar for me for lycanthropy as a metaphor for female sexuality.

 Anyway, that's an aside (though if you can remember what the film is called, please tell me). This woman isn't a wolf, she just likes being locked in the basement every month or so. This is a story in which she Gets Caught and wrestles with her oh no, is kink wrong!? demon.

 I think about this a lot. I have a friend who considers herself modern and accepting, but she's routinely scathing and scoffing about anything kinky. One of these days I'll ask her what she'd do if she'd never been able to come to anything but the kinks she dismisses so readily. Would she go to therapy? Aversion therapy? Like people who try not to be gay? Or would she find ways to accept herself and her needs. Ponder ponder.
I also wonder about the way we laud athletes and the agony they put themselves through, for the sake of a challenge, of endorphins, of a win. What would you rather do, have a severe spanking, or run a marathon? Which would be more damaging to your body, I wonder. Which would make you cry more. I tell you this, I'd have another unmedicated labour in a flash before I ever attempted to run a marathon. And as for the spanking...

 But back to the comp. Leave a comment, think of something that's not illegal but that's tougher than a spanking, and I will pick a name after Christmas. And if it's only Charlie J Forrest, it's all good! :)

Monday, December 1, 2014


I got a very complimentary comment today on my story in Kristina Wright's Steamlust.

I agonised over that story. Mostly because it needed to be romance, and I was struggling with that a bit. But Nikki Magennis helped me get it right by making excellent suggestions, and I was able to do what was needed. I think a lot of the things that I was complimented on were down to Nikki's salient points.

It's tough, the editing process. I can't recommend getting someone to help you with it enough. Others will see things, ask questions, suggest things and pick at holes - when left to my own devices I tend to just change words to other words and dither over commas. With this one, as with others, I tied myself in knots trying to do what Nikki suggested - at first, my reaction to the notes tends to be, 'What? How?? YOU change it!' I wrestled with this one, and arghed a lot, and nearly didn't do it. I'm glad I did, though, I love the book, and I love the story, and if I'd any gumption I'd have written a prequel novel by now, but ... oh well.

So - I think that editing help allows you to write stories you are really proud of. Nikki helped me, yes, and I'm delighted at her input, but at the end of the day, it's me who decided how to act on those suggestions and adjust the story... I don't feel like it's any less my story. I think it's a skill in itself, being able to rework something, decide what advice is right and what you don't need, take out bits, write endings... it's what we do with edits that makes us writers, as well as what we write in the first place. It may be a painful process... but it's a good one!

I don't want it to be forgotten, so here's a little nostalgic view of Nikki's beautiful trailer for Steamlust. Joy!

Saturday, November 29, 2014

wolves and silicon boyfriends

I love my friend Cassie. Last night we were watching Wolves , a film I had mixed responses to, and afterwards I showed her the male sex dolls that are hitting the market for $7,600 at the moment.

A semi-serious, semi hilarious conversation ensued, including her gems suggesting that if there was a Jason Momoa-shaped one, the credit union would sign off on that loan in a heart beat and also that she would imagine there'd have to be an intervention (Alright, Vida, it's time to get off him now... No! Noooo!).

I suggested my two issues after the cost would be where to keep it and how to hide it from my kids - she gestured darkly towards the large wooden chest in the corner. But I don't want a vampire plastic lover, really I don't.

I love my friend, I really do. We laughed and coughed a lot. And ate Indian dinner, and drank wine.

Wolves had so much potential but the question about why special effects and costumes still default to the 'Mr.Badger' style wolfman/woman endures. Sigh. Also, reports of the porny sex scene where the characters start changing as they get it on were grossly (and disappointingly) exaggerated.  A film I really wish I could steam in and rewrite.

In other news, I told Cassie about CAKESHIFTER and she begged me to write it for her for Christmas. I just might. Might even put it on Amazon, too! 

Monday, November 17, 2014

A long-winded post about fat-shaming and sexuality

A while back a colleague's post from his timeline came up - a share of a picture from a website called 'The LAD Bible'. One of these cheap, aimed-at-young-men sites that shares the best and worst of the web at any given time. They call out some stuff like men's shit texts from dating sites and share videos of cute dogs from around the net - nothing new or remarkable, really.

But in this case, my colleage, whose post came up on my work-facebook timeline, was sharing his disgust at a picture of a young woman from the LAD Bible facebook page. She was in her late teens, most likely, maybe early twenties, and she was plump-ish. I wouldn't go much further than that. She had long, thick, brown hair, a nice face, if wearing a slightly aggressive expression, and she was wearing a Wonder Woman leotard that was a bit too tight for her. She had one foot on a coffee table, and was leaning forward slightly, I think, in a vaguely aggressive pose. The leotard was wedgie-ing her, and one of her ass cheeks was hanging out. It wasn't massively flattering, but then it wasn't the worst thing in the world either.

My colleague was full of disgust for this woman. He and his friends were revolted. Appalled. Angry that this photo was there for them to look at. How dare she. They were full of ire and outrage and revulsion, oh yes. It was great fun for them.

I felt shit. On various levels. Because it was sexist. Because it was mean. Because it was so 'the Internet'. Because it was so body-negative. So unevolved. Such misdirected rage. And because I'm so fat, too. I'd love to look like that girl. Ok, I might not be tempted to put myself about in a too-tight leotard even if I did... but who knows what I might play around with in the privacy of my own home? It made me feel horrible.

The next time I saw said colleague, I brought it up, in the staffroom. At first he thought I was joining in, and warmed to the discussion of how disgusting it was. Said colleague is a shortish, plumpish guy. Young still, kind of cute in a boyish way. Not bursting with self confidence - wears jumpers in all weather, for example.

Then he realised I was saying it was awful how nasty he and his friends had been. He protested that she'd submitted it - forced it on him for his comment, I guess. I thought that was possible but not necessarily true, it being where it was. I wondered when he was going to post his leotard pic. As I popped out of the room to get something next door I said something I shouldn't have - I said 'You're not as nice as I thought you were.' I only meant it a little bit jokily, but the more I think about it, the more I think it's true. When I came back in, he said to me quite defensively that the topic 'wasn't relevant to anything' and I realised I shouldn't have brought it up in the staffroom with others around. I'm a little surprised by that, to be honest, but I get this social stuff wrong so often - so I apologised for that. Later I went to fb and sent him a message apologising again and explaining that his post had made me feel really bad and I was going to unfollow so as to avoid seeing others like it, and also so I wouldn't intrude on it in that way. I also said I'd rather save my disgust for worthier subjects like war, or racism, or sexism, etc.

He's blanked me since, today he was in to cover the class I share and barely talked to me when I said something about it. This guy is training to be a primary school teacher.

Here's the thing. I'm sensitive about this because I spend my life in fear that I'll disgust someone. I listen to my fit, handsome, sweet colleague talking about how fat girls in leggings are disgusting, how they shouldn't wear them. How hard it is to look at women who look like that. And I sit there terrified of the space I'm taking up, whether my ass is adequately camouflaged, mortified that people are looking at my fat fingers as I hand them something. I'm terrified of revolting people. I'm ashamed I haven't fixed myself. At the same time my shame is challenged by the idea of body positivity, and of not being defined by what you look like. The Internet, despite trolling and Photoshop and all, has been helpful. Showing larger, older bodies that are beautiful, because of, not despite. People who love themselves and are loved despite looking 'normal' instead of modelesque. Other people cheering that on. People calling others out, supporting each other. This!

But this normal little Irish guy, who's going to be teaching chubby pre-pubescent girls, maybe, is out there with his attitude. It scares me. It shames him, I think, in my eyes at least, but it still manages to shame me too.

Someone posted a search term to their blog they'd read today about removing socks seductively - a niche fetish, I thought. Socks... just not so sexy. I was going to say something in return about whether the original searcher would find the pressure rings around my ankles sexy. But then I looked at them and was confronted with such an unappealing sight, red grooves cut into my water-retaining legs that look more in need of  support tights than socks at all... and I felt full of shame and revulsion and realised that it wouldn't even be funny, just gross, to make that comment. Fat isn't sexy. Sometimes it really isn't, despite all the body-positivity the Internet has to offer. It's ageing, it's defeminising, oh, how could anyone love a cankle? Not me, in truth.

And seeing yer man and his attitude today makes me feel shit all over again. For his judgement. For my own self-hatred. For all of it. Oh, it's not right yet.

Monday, November 10, 2014

this week's ridiculousness

Last week I came up with the idea of writing a Romance series called CAKESHIFTER about a man who can transform into any sort of cake, and regenerate endlessly, so you can comfort-munch on him while he holds you in his muscular, cakey arms. And his massive Romance-sized cock squirts vanilla creme.

I thought that was hilarious, in my own special way, but nobody really agreed with me. Perhaps you can't throw a pebble on Twitter without hitting someone who writes shifter romance these days, and I offended everyone. Don't get me wrong, I like a good bit of animal magnetism as much as the next girl

oh yes I fucking do

but there's a lot of it about, in varying degrees of brilliance. We all like cock and cake, I thought, so... but nope. Not a giggle. Ah well.

This week's silly innovation came to me courtesy of my Lelo Ina, as was loved hard in my last post.
Masturbation's all well and good while it's happening, but I would like someone around to marvel at my afterglow. I'd also quite like to learn where the stop button is, so said afterglow isn't marred by excessive vibration in newly sensitive places while I writhe around in comedy alarm, pulsing through the different settings as I try to turn it off and down, all of which are unwelcomingly high-volume once you've come. Ooch. Such dignity.

So yeah, here's what I want. I want a human shaped Soraya. Made of that same smooth, warm, velvety silicon, but manshaped, with posable bendy arms and a padded chest. And a posable cock and clit-vibe! And his nipples can be the controls! This is such a good idea! A life sized vibe that cuddles you after! Yeah, I know it's weird, and it would probably cost five squillion euro (maybe I can have a complementary proto-type?) but damn. I'd just have to work out how to hide it from my kids.

Ok, so I suppose this isn't that different from a sex doll. I'm a bit scared to google what they're looking like these days. Sophisticated, no doubt. I still really like my idea, though.

I know we can do better than this!

And now, having sown the seeds of the manvibe, I shall whoosh away, to look at the picture of Jason Momoa some more... 

Sunday, October 12, 2014

For the love of Lelo

I'd lusted after a Lelo Ina for ever so long. Since I saw its smooth flowing design and watched a couple video reviews, I was left feeling avaricious and yearning, a Cinderella figure unable to afford the attentions of Prince Charming.

I've had a couple vibrators, though not a rabbit style one, and I have to confess, the vibrating aspect has never really done that much for my clit. My g-spot's more appreciative of a bit of vigorous vibrating attention, but my clit's always been a bit meh about it. Still, though, I felt like the Ina might be the missionary to change its, er, mind.

I visited a friend recently, and when I spoke of my wishes, fairygodmother-like, she pulled one out of her box of toys. She said it never did it for her, despite Lelo's assertion that it fits the 'curves and contours of all women', the ear bit, or 'external pleasure point' was too stiff, and just hurt her vulva, pressing in too sharply against it and her clit. Me being the unsqueamish girl that I am, was all alacrity to accept the offer of a hand-me-down.

But, when I used it, I was disappointed to find the same thing. The smooth silicon surface is so tempting, the vibrations so powerful and convincing, but when I fully inserted the body (shaft?) of the toy, the clit attachment just hurts. Not in a fun way. The gap between shaft and rabbit ears is too small (you can see in the pic that it'll bend outwards, but it doesn't really do that comfortably when you've got it inside you, it presses back in very firmly) and the pain and  vibration together felt a bit alarming, and I was left saddened. All my years of longing come to nought? The magic slipper fails to fit...

Today, though, I took it out to play with it again.  There has to be a way! I thought. And I found it. So simple - just a slide and a dip of the shaft of the toy over and into my vagina and held at an angle lets the external part push up and down against my clit without the pressure that hurts down the shaft of it when the toy's inserted all the way. And the vibrations carry just fine where they need to go. As someone who's used to needing to work up to things quite a bit, and can find orgasm elusive, I was taken aback by how fast the on, around and up and down clit stimulation zapped a fast and fairly furious orgasm through me, leaving my clitoris literally vibrating with buzzy aftershock and me laughing out loud in disbelief at the shattering of my naivety. My vibrator virginity is dispatched.

I know this doesn't seem like a big deal to you vibe veterans out there but - if I may overshare a second - one, while I can make myself come ok, I tend not to be able to relax enough to let anyone else make it happen. So the feeling of something taking over my clit and popping an orgasm out of it so quickly and easily was quite revelatory. And also two, I've been on a low dose of an SSRI for some time now and while it stops me crying all the time, it also dismisses my libido summarily and makes it really hard to come sometimes. I'm taking a little break from it, thinking maybe I can welcome the tears for an interval and maybe enjoy the release they might bring - and also welcome the feeling of my body working like it's meant to and, god knows enjoying the release of some convincing orgasms at the same time - so I think that helped.**

Many thanks to Lelo, and many thanks to my kind benefactor, to whom I somewhat inappropriately dedicate this morning's orgasm.

**Not only is this not medical advice, or advice at all, I've no aspersions as to the fact that if it were, it would be extremely bad advice. Talk to your doctor before changing your dose or coming off meds, etc. Obviously.