Let's together sit nude on the king-sized duvet, your hair put up in a white towel.

Whether it's so soon along, or full-fledged we handle her a.s.s, sweet lady your l.a.b.i.a in l.a.b.i.a: a continent inside, alias, tease me. Euphoric at the fact that with a single stroke, you find the exact key.

... ajar, the doors. Half asphyxiated, stumble out out of the bedroom, onto the balcony of starlit nights like these.

I want through a broken window to watch you dine inside me. The bridge of your nose slightly wrinkled, project expansion. Another golden gate.

Sun on c.u.n.t.

Just to let in a single ray. Balmy. Perfect origami. If I should barely dangle it between index and thumb, ivory translucence spins. Pretty in the afternoon.

Yes, I want a long dress made from this.

You're reading. Honeysuckle in the gentle breeze, the bees and wild calls of a jay. You're sitting in a chair, out on the lawn, in a country frock, taking some leisure, legs crossed, barefoot.

My shirt's undone. You unbuckle your polity.

It's getting pretty warm on the Cape this summer I'll dampen your l.u.s.t my shades in satins once you dawn ... just to cool down above mid-thigh at lift-off As you slink up your dress I sneak a look, note, on this morning, unshowered beneath you have no gin spilled. Over my Ray Bans, I do declare, until, finally she takes notice. Who's there in the foyer? To glance at the hemline up your mini-nanny, feline- as we smile.

The puff of your femininity, coiffed. p.i.s.s t.i.tty c.l.i.t pretty girl. A woman like you can change the course of history, make a day sway chipper that much more.

Damage in carnage, the arrangement off our garage my mouth a ma.s.s of d.i.c.k and b.a.l.l.s twister, a dapper hurricane.

My garlic tongue inside your candy stench.

One never knows who might pick up the phone at your house. Everything sparkles, startling in the rainy fronds. The luckiest plucks flunky in memory. I recall a day when we all with delight twilled pistols little in your sticky honesty, a lonely trick. Wound in twine, particulars- happily pink, darkling lavender. Simile major I ponder stripes, quit. Pond grant.

Your center-fold innocent of hair, your lower-most terrain in the same hue as those purply layers of gush. A fascination in wonder curves.

You flower out, wafting. Watch me change color.

My pool of languid grace on increase at the hearth of warmth. Astounding, every time!

Astonish me, mister. Tonight, your grace positions make way to the flattering sway of our astronomy.

She sprays he spray by the she sore. Tempt me. Sit on my gash and face the wilds out of me, darlin'. My lick slitty s.l.u.t. Let me stack your ginger digs on in. Paper-thin lips, flower petals to pet.i.t mille- fois. c.u.m blossom.

The lark-grey the philatelists flew in. Piano planets.

I travel the sides-recto and verso- with a pout-y attraction to take to her. She'd swoon on and on and from time-to-time rip, ferocious as far as she could go nether this chemistry, upward.

This lullaby lulling us, behind her lush streams these busy, busy men.

Rock candy, flamingos aflame. Stamp tango.

... and thought of you, thought of how you wouldn't, if you were here, clench your mandate when I do like that; how you would open slender instead; how you would with both hands render my squad car, my sad marquee as we ease along your parkside blvd.

In a show of force, shove my head between milestones that I may lap at your p.e.c.k.e.r shaker, spillage of spun drip I drink you into morning on this date, rippling, sucking. I'm throbbing.

The plump fruit I swamp at the icebox door, unhinge your rigid gooseflesh Forgive us.

I want with these keys to tap out a poem on the softest part of your English. I want to sup until the words disappear, to write with a brush dipped in cherry juice hollows and sperm spree instead of hallowed ink. Let's memorize your address and never speak again. The wells of your salts, all the way to the lower surge. Your b.u.t.tery sauces, engorging peek just outside, molten as she moves in your midst, fold after fold.

To part the separation with her tongue, seeking the panther cave, vanishes. King me.

"s.e.x is something most adults humans have done or have thought about doing and so it's a common, even ba.n.a.l, s.p.a.ce from which to write. But to do it well one has to make it particular. Has to find it's meaning. s.e.x is always deeply intimate, even if the characters aren't involved in an intimate relationship. It's bodies going inside other bodies, it's laying the self bare and it's also a performance. It seems to me that to write s.e.x well one has to know the characters intimately ... even if they don't know each other intimately. One had to know their fears, their hopes for themselves and the other person-even the hopes and fears that they don't know. You have to figure out how much of the character's s.e.x is performance and how much is unfiltered and why-even when the characters don't. And of course, this is what you need to know about your characters even if they're not f.u.c.king. Writing s.e.x might be a kind of exercise for creating character in any context."

- Tiphanie Yanique Erin M.

Bio I have always been inspired by the erotic impulse, such as being enthralled as a young adult by scenes in movies or discovering a simpatico with erotic writing like that of Anais Nin. I grew s.e.xually of age while Madonna rose to the top and once ran around my country town in a bra. As I grew older, the path of unashamed pa.s.sionate s.e.xual exploration and counter-culture has been an integral part of my life. Attending the Erotic Reading Circle gave me an outlet to make my own erotica.

Mini-Interview How did you start writing about s.e.x? Ever since I was a teenager I enjoyed reading erotica anthologies. They were informative and inspiring to me. I started dabbling, writing erotica here and there in notebooks, not thinking that I could write-that somehow I needed some special training. When I found the Erotic Reading Circle and got feedback, it encouraged me to write for real. Also with the Internet and blogging, I found more ways to put myself out there as a writer.

How does it differ from non-erotic writing? You have to worry more about the stigma of what you write about with s.e.x, whether or not to have a pseudonym and how people will see you if you share that you write about s.e.x. You can't share it with your parents. Well, you could ...

How is the Erotic Reading Circle part of your writing process? The Erotic Reading Circle is a safe place to bring your work, whether it's something you want to publish or a relationship or s.e.xual experience/ desire cleverly disguised as "fiction." Reading my writing at ERC helps me keep writing since I know people enjoy what I've put together. I went to a regular writing group for a stint and it felt like they didn't get the kinky themes in my work.

What's the inside scoop on your story? I started writing this story on a quiet holiday when I had made no plans with anyone and instead of feeling sorry for myself I decided to get creative. One of the characters was based on a real guy I had an encounter with around that time. It was healing for me to write him into the story. It also involves something very s.e.xy: a.n.a.l s.e.x.

Back in the Saddle Erin M.

"So here's the deal: I'll f.u.c.k your a.s.s if you f.u.c.k mine. You want it bad enough."

"I know you would rather be f.u.c.ked by me and be a little s.l.u.t bottom boy, but tough, you have to f.u.c.k me in the a.s.s."

Even though I was giving the hard line, my lips parted to kiss Nick on the mouth while I roughly grabbed his b.a.l.l.s through his cotton slacks. Nick kissed me back hard and I could feel the s.p.a.ce in-between my legs start to get hot.

"You know I love to f.u.c.k you, but please ... I need you to give it to me, I've been a very bad boy." He was unb.u.t.toning my blueish calico dress and exposing my black bra and leather harness, already ready for the scene. Nick got down on his knees, pushed the harness away (I hadn't put in the c.o.c.k yet; needless to say, you can't go out to dinner like that, all jutting out), and started tonguing my p.u.s.s.y.

"Oh yes ... like that, oh that's it." I looked down at my sandy- haired lover craning his neck to get around the harness. "Oh yeah, be a good boy for me, keep doing that. Oh yeah ..."

Nick had become a total a.s.s s.l.u.t. Ever since we tried me f.u.c.king him with a d.i.l.d.o, he couldn't get enough. He was driving me crazy. What happened to my man I could rely on to f.u.c.k me, over and over, anytime, any place? Where did our s.e.x life go? He still got me off-mostly, just like he was doing right now-just so he could get me turned on enough to f.u.c.k his round white a.s.s.

"You are a little f.a.g, that is what you are," I told him. "Willing to bend it over and take it." Work had been tough and this new game made him feel better. He agreed with me that he had become quite a bottom in the bedroom. What about me and my a.s.s f.u.c.king? I like to be penetrated, too. Where did my friend, the real c.o.c.k, go?

"Why don't you just get it over with and go down to The Stud or wherever, find some pretty boy and get f.u.c.ked in the a.s.s?" I knew he thought about it. He confided that this was his go-to at-work s.p.a.ce out fantasy.

"But you are pretty and you smell good. And, I want you to f.u.c.k me," Nick replied, meekness hiding his inner clarity while staring up at me with his big blue eyes. I sighed and stroked the silicone c.o.c.k. We were sitting in the breakfast nook last Sunday discussing his obsession.

He came over to my chair and I could smell the coffee we had just drunk on his breath. He knelt down, parted my legs and pulled me forward by grabbing the purple silicone. I scooted my b.u.t.t forward and let him part my p.u.s.s.y lips under the harness mound. "You are wet," he said, stroking up and down and exploring inside me.

"Wet? What are you talking about? Boys don't get wet, they get hard." I pushed his head towards my c.o.c.k, inviting him to suck it. Nick looked up at me, a greedy, hungry boy waiting for more encouragement. I grabbed the back of his head and pushed him onto my d.i.c.k, letting him suck it for all he was worth. Needless to say, he was lubed up soon after that.

We lay in bed after we f.u.c.ked and he had shot buckets all over himself instead of inside of me. I had grabbed my Gigi vibe and came hard after pulling off the harness and pressing the vibe into my groin, anxious for release. Nick had collapsed on the bed in la la land, just like a girl, and I wasn't about to wait around.

"So do you think this is like some weird p.e.n.i.s envy thing, leftover from your childhood? You couldn't play with the big boys so now you're into c.o.c.k?" I stared at the ceiling, slightly exhausted from pumping into him. Nick had started to be alert again after c.u.ming and finally reached for me.

"No," he replied, all of sudden getting quiet. Being girlish again, I thought. He won't just spit out what's going on. He grabbed me and drew me to him and we spooned, falling asleep for awhile.

This had been going for two months now, the me f.u.c.king him. It was right about the time there was that work party. Nick had just been promoted to project supervisor and the new guy, Matt, had taken his old job. I talked with Matt at the party. He was a tech cutie with nerdy gla.s.ses and broad shoulders. Nick made the rounds, chatting everyone up, so I entertained myself. Matt was fun to talk to. He was telling me about how traveling around the world made him get out of corporate and into non-profit.

After awhile Matt suggested we sneak outside and get stoned. Nick was chatting with the board of directors, so I followed Matt outside and around the side of the building. He had a little brown pipe prepared for the occasion. We both took a hit and stared at each other across the alley. He said that smoking pot almost always made him h.o.r.n.y and it was a shame that he was at a work function. I stared at the ground and then looked up and accidentally stared at his crotch. The sun was hot on my arms and face. I wondered what Nick would think about Matt and I getting stoned at the work party. All of a sudden I felt nervous. I looked at Matt's thighs, noticing how muscular they were. "One time, while I was in Thailand, I met this German girl with long brown hair just like yours. All we did for a week was get high on Thai weed and then she would f.u.c.k me with a c.o.c.k that she carried around in her backpack."

I started thinking why was he telling me all this and maybe I should get back inside, when Nick popped his head out the rusty-colored door, saw me and smiled, and then frowned when he saw Matt and how glossy his eyes were.

Later, at home after the party was over, Nick grilled me about what was so interesting about Matt, not thrilled about sharing turf.

"I don't know, we were just talking, no big deal. I guess he likes it up the a.s.s."

"He what?" Nick asked, turning around to look me in the face: kind of smiling, kind of not.

"He told me he spent a week in Thailand once, smoking pot and hanging out with some German girl and her d.i.l.d.o."

"He told you this, while at the party? Well, he quickly pa.s.sed the appropriate work conversation boundary."

"He told me that her hair was like mine, long and brown".

"He did? What the h.e.l.l, he's into my project and now he's into you. What the f.u.c.k?" Nick just scowled off into the other room, but I knew in the following weeks, things had become more tense at work then they needed to be.

I came home one day and Nick was sitting on the couch in the front room, his laptop on the table, his pants unzipped, his c.o.c.k out and in hand. His body jolted slightly and he let go of his p.e.n.i.s when he saw me come in. "I thought you weren't going to be home till nine."

"The cla.s.s was canceled, so I did some shopping downtown and came home. What are you watching, p.o.r.n? You dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

He reached for the computer and I grabbed it. "What are you watching, baby? Maybe I'll like it."

I was faster than him because I didn't have my pants down. I looked at the pictures splattered across the screen. Women in tight clothing and high heels f.u.c.king grown men in the a.s.s with plastic d.i.c.ks.

"Since when have you been into this?"

"I don't know, I just think it might feel good," Nick replied, taking the computer from me and setting it back down on the coffee table. He walked over to the closet and pulled out a bag.

"I was actually hoping you might lend me a hand." He gave me the bag and I looked inside. There was a harness and not one, but three d.i.l.d.os, all different sizes. We had used some toys on me during oral s.e.x and sometimes I put a finger in his a.s.s, but we had never discussed pegging. Nick always told me he loved f.u.c.king me, being on top, pulling up my leg on his shoulder and seeing his c.o.c.k slide in and out of my p.u.s.s.y. He loved c.u.ming inside and collapsing on my body and then kissing me after he came. We had talked about hot threesome fantasies but he made it very clear he was the f.u.c.ker. So this came as a bit of surprise.

Fast forward two months and this is where we are now. I am not going to f.u.c.k him in the a.s.s unless he does the same to me. Nick had gotten so into being bent over on the couch or on the bed, I wondered if his a.s.s was getting stretched out. I was getting a back problem. At first it was fun. It was different, novelty. I liked gently easing all the way into his a.s.s and f.u.c.king him slowly while I put my whole weight on his back and reached around to touch his nipples. Nick's nipples were so sensitive and I swear he would almost c.u.m right then and there when I twisted them. I'd move down to his c.o.c.k and stroke him while my hips pumped away against his.

I had gotten more stingy, though, and he had gotten more sissy. I asked my girlfriends if they were f.u.c.king their boyfriends. None of them were; in fact, some of them weren't having s.e.x at all. If they were it was like sweet, go-to-sleep s.e.x.

We were in bed and he was on all fours. The sheets were the new 600-count cotton white ones I'd gotten on sale at Macy's. I was f.u.c.king him again. At least my knees were comfortable, the sun was out and we had the day off. I was naked, too much bother for the outfits. I had my hands on his hips and I was sweating, eyes closed, grinding away at his a.s.s. I felt him grab my hand and groan and I realized he wanted me to give him the reach around. I didn't. I paused and backed out a little and then slammed the c.o.c.k almost all the way inside of him and waited. He groaned again and I pulled the c.o.c.k almost the way out again, just leaving the very tip inside.

"Baby, please, don't stop," he whispered.

"What are you going to do for me?" I countered, slamming the c.o.c.k back in.

"I'll do it, I promise. I'll f.u.c.k you in the a.s.s, whatever you want, just don't stop." I had stopped and I was fully impaled, probably pressing on his prostate pretty hard.

I pulled all the way out, unbuckled the harness and stepped out of it. I put it on the chair next to the bed. Nick had turned over on the white sheets and his d.i.c.k was hard and sticking straight up and he was staring at me, naked in front of him. "I forgot how beautiful you are."

"You see me every day, fool."

"No really, we have been doing it so much in my a.s.s, I haven't had a chance to look at you, all curvy and s.h.i.t. Come here."

I climbed on to the bed and he pulled me to him, kissing me on the lips hard. He turned around and eased on top of me. I reached out and caressed his arms, my hands tracing through his hair, relaxing even more into the soft bedding. I looked up at him while he put his swollen c.o.c.k at the entrance to my p.u.s.s.y and he slid in, us both shuddering.

"This is just a warm up, you know," he said while thrusting into me. I moaned deeply. G.o.d, it had been so long since we did it this way.

"I am going to give you what you want." His arms grabbed my shoulders, his lips vibrated at my neck, while his pelvis pressed into mine.

"You are?"

"Yeah. I can tell you need a good a.s.s-f.u.c.king." He stared into my eyes with a half smile, knowing that we were still playing the game but the tables had shifted themselves back into a more balanced place.

And with that my man climbed back in the saddle, squirted some lube into my a.s.s and slowly inched his way in to our hearts' content.

"It was fun to dream up, and fun to work on, too. Writing p.o.r.nography is its own reward, delirious self-indulgence compounded by the orderly pleasures of making sentences and paragraphs. I still sometimes reread my own p.o.r.n, because I don't have to browse around it looking for the good parts. My stuff is all good parts-for me. When one of my characters tells my hapless heroine that he knows what she wants, that's me-writer and dominant-talking to me, reader and eager submissive."

- Molly Weatherfield (author of Carrie's Story) Simone Corday Bio Simone Corday is the author of 9 Years Behind the Green Door: A Mitch.e.l.l Brothers Stripper Remembers Her Lover Artie Mitch.e.l.l, Hunter S. Thompson, and the Killing that Rocked San Francisco, a Memoir (2007). She has written for HSTbooks.org, a Hunter Thompson resource, and is working on a novel. Her website is www.greendoorbook.com.

Mini-Interview How did you start writing about s.e.x? I danced at the Mitch.e.l.l Brothers' O'Farrell Theater for nearly ten years, took part in three of the brothers' films, and was a girlfriend of O'Farrell co-owner/p.o.r.nographer Artie Mitch.e.l.l. I experienced this insular world from several different points of view. I had an interest in writing and an MA in English before I became a dancer, and the drama and stories that unfolded in this setting fascinated me.

How is the Erotic Reading Circle part of your writing process? I found the Erotic Reading Circle after I finished my book and was ready to read parts of it aloud and see how an audience would react. Jen and Carol are very supportive, kind, and helpful mentors, as well as being experienced writers. The group is friendly and positive, and makes constructive comments. It is interesting to hear the work of other writers, and some of the writing is outstanding.

What's the inside scoop on your story? What inspired it? This section, from Chapter 6 in my book, introduces a few main characters in January 1986, including Artie and Jim Mitch.e.l.l, and the main setting of my memoir, the O'Farrell Theater. The entire book begins in the early 80's just before AIDS, and we are behind the scenes at the entrancing Mitch.e.l.l Brothers' O'Farrell Theater, which gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson has declared to be "the Carnegie Hall of public s.e.x in America." The theater and its steamy live shows are a countercultural gathering place for celebrities in entertainment and sports, and for San Francisco politicians and journalists. They are drawn by the beautiful strippers and the backroom hospitality of their outrageous p.o.r.n king hosts, Artie and Jim Mitch.e.l.l-who directed the groundbreaking p.o.r.n film, Behind the Green Door, starring Marilyn Chambers.

The Spirit of the O'Farrell Simone Corday Excerpted from Chapter 6: Hunter's Defiant Note, and Double Trouble: The Mayor vs. the Senate Page in 9 Years Behind the Green Door January 18, 1986 Three months after being laid off, I got a message on my machine from the O'Farrell. I called Vince in the morning. He said, "Jim asked me last week, 'Whatever happened to Simone?' So he'd like to have you back, and I don't think Art would object too much. What you should do is come down here and catch the two of them together. Call me this afternoon and maybe they'll be back by then."