A Prude, a Daddy, and a Monster walk into a bar, and the bartender says…
“I think you want the bookshop next door.”
Prude Mag; Daddy! the healing power of big/little play; Monsterf#ck
Okay, it’s a rubbish joke.
But I tell you what’s not rubbish: these three amazing new publications that I’m privileged to have a story in.
They might seem like unusual bedfellows, but isn’t that the nature of our intimate selves? We can be more than one thing, and different occasions may call for different parts of our erotic personalities to come out to play.
In the last 12 months (or so), the period when I was writing and submitting my stories to these publications, I have embraced being a prude, explored the healing potential of age play, and released my raw and animalistic nature. And more. But let’s focus on these three for now…
Prude Mag
Prude Mag is a Canadian zine with the slogan “FREE BY OUR YES. FREE BY OUR NO.”
The zine reclaims the term “prude” as “a refusal of sex necessarism. We promote ‘prude pride’ as a celebration of our autonomy and boundary setting, a resistance to our sex-necessary culture, and a liberatory lens in which ‘no’ is sacred.”
Now, you might be thinking, but Anna, you write erotica, how can you be a prude?
The quick answer to that is, I can be both. As Prude Mag states, “We believe strongly in prude-slut solidarity and prude-slut simultaneity.”
The longer answer is that, alongside writing erotica, I’ve had times in my life when sex has been a place I just don’t want to go to. Illness, bereavement, menopause, and hysterectomy have all created times when this part of me is no longer pleasurable or accessible.
When I’m feeling that way, I could beat myself up about ‘failing’ at this part of life. (Because that’s a great thing to add to already challenging times like when I’m grieving!) Or I can say, “You know what? I’m only failing if I believe sex is necessary, and if I believe that my worth is intrinsically linked to whether or not I’m putting out.”
I wrote a piece for Prude Mag Issue #3 about “Becoming Crone”. Here’s an excerpt:
Becoming Crone requires a slowing down. Sex, intimacy, and pleasure were once short-lived fireflies illuminating the space around me, landing occasionally, but never for too long. Now they are ancient dragons residing in caves far underground. Their roaring wants may take longer to come to the surface, but when they do, I feel the resonance deep in my core.
…becoming Crone means letting go of the sexual fantasies of my younger self, and surrendering to the liminal space of not knowing what comes next. It means expanding my definition of the erotic and embracing the fantastic realities of imperfect intimacy.
Now, when I give my attention to the smouldering eddies of my “no”, I can also recognise the hot dragon’s purr of my “yes”.
Daddy!
Sex has nearly always been a healing space for me. Okay, there have been times when it was “just sex”, but mostly my intimate encounters have been a place for pleasure, for play, and for remembering my power and potency.
Daddy! the healing power of big/little play (edited by Bear Phillips and Ellie Rose) is a collection of work that encompasses a very specific healing dynamic. This dynamic may or may not be sexual for those who explore it, but it can offer the “transformative potential of inner-child work, role play and conscious kink.”
(In case you’re not familiar, big/little and Daddy/boy/girl/they relationships involve consenting adults.)
I have an erotic short story in this collection called “The Golden Hour”.
Her fingers pick up speed, and I squeal loudly as my body is pushed and pulled on the sofa. It hurts. But it’s a good hurt. It makes me cry out: a long, juddering “ahhhh” in time with the thrusts.
“Good girl,” Daddy reassures me, “you’re such a good girl.”
I want her to go back to the place that feels nice on the outside, but she’s curled her fingers inside me like she’s playing the ‘hook a duck’ game at the funfair and doesn’t want to let me drop. “Please, Daddy,” I beg.
My story sits amongst mainly personal essays from other authors who write vulnerably and beautifully about the role of big/little relationships in their lives.
As I wrote in my more-than-a-memoir, Desire Lines:
“I’m looking for a Daddy. I want to sit on his lap and be made to feel special. I want to feel protected and loved. And I want to please him as both the consenting adult and grown-up-little-big-girl I am.
…I will call him ‘Daddy’ because I want to subvert gender, identity, cultural norms, and my own personal history. We will be complicit in our language: he will be Daddy with a capital ‘D’; I will be his little girl. No matter that we are matched in age, strength, height, or any other objective measure. No matter the gender we each inhabit day to day. The important part will be our willingness to explore and play with this dynamic, despite our distaste for the patriarchy and revulsion at the abuse that goes on daily because of it.”
Life and fiction have blurred beautifully for me, as they sometimes do. If you are at all interested in being or finding a Daddy (or Mommy), the Daddy! book is an excellent companion.
Monsterf#ck
Now, how about those monsters?
When my favourite publisher, Incision Press, shared a themed callout for their next anthology, Monsterf#ck, I immediately knew the story I had to write. Not only that, but I felt like I had permission to write the story – no holds barred.
Here’s a teaser from my story, The Switch:
Her clawed hands reached out at lightning speed and grabbed the Daemon-woman’s shoulders, pulling the soft body to her and piercing the fragile skin in one swift move. “Yes!” the Daemon shouted in Lilith’s voice.
Her claws dug deeper, and the tang of hot iron filled her nostrils. The need to taste it overwhelmed her. Keeping the Daemon firmly held with one hand, she brought a claw to her tongue and licked the blood from it. She wanted more.
Lilith’s nostrils sniffed out another scent: the sweet musk of the Daemon’s cunt. As she inhaled the flavour, she felt her cock grow stiffer. The turgid baton ached with a ferocity that Lilith had never experienced before. The tip bulged and dripped. The need for release was urgent.
Lilith growled, then swallowed and summoned her unfamiliar tongue and lips to form words. “I want…” she said, her voice deep and foreign in her ears. “I want to fuck you.”
(Yes, I did write “turgid baton”. And no, I will not apologise for that!)
Monsterf#ck is an anthology of queer and dark desires. As the back cover blurb promises, this anthology will “bring out the salacious monster lurking inside… Bring your lube and remember, it’s only weird the first time you try it!”
A confession…
It’s tempting to leave this post here, and if you have already gone and are currently clicking “add to cart” on any of the above publications, thank you!
But if you’re still here (and have maybe bookmarked the pages so you can buy the books later), I have a confession to share…
I don’t know that I’ll ever master the vulnerability that follows sharing my stories with you.
Maybe if I wrote sci-fi or whodunnits I’d feel differently.
But sharing anything erotic or intimate feels like a leap of trust.
It’s said that intimacy can be translated as “into me you see”. When you combine that with societal taboos about sex, pleasure, and claiming these parts of life on our terms, it’s perhaps not surprising that sharing erotic works feels vulnerable.
I accept this even if I haven’t mastered it.
When it comes to the Prude, the Daddy, and the Monster, I’d love to sit at a table with them in that bar (before we all head to the bookshop next door) and shine a light on the shame that can accompany each of those identities.
I’d love to buy them each a drink and celebrate their unique contribution to my erotic life:
The confidence to state my no as well as my yes.
The willingness to let go of my hyper-independence and allow myself to be held and cared for.
And trusting that my wild passion is not ‘too much’.
And if you’ve made it right to the end of this post, thank you for sticking with me.
Here’s a link to my Daddy/Mommy, three-part story, Sweet Before Spicy (read it here) as a thank you.
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