@michbekErotica

You’ve spent the day everywhere else, roaming the room, conversing with others. More than once, your gaze drifted to mine.

Now you’re a foot away, standing behind me, so close I can almost feel you. You need only reach out.

But you don’t. Won’t. Can’t.

Because this isn’t the time, isn’t the place, in this room full of people we both know, all of them waiting to hear what you’ll say next. They’re asking questions and you’re answering, but I only hear the timbre of your voice, imagine the curve of your lips, the way your breath would feel against my skin, the way my name sounds when its torn from your throat.

My mind has drifted to a different place, to an empty room with white walls, each one desperate to have our bodies pinned against them.

This place has no warmth save that which comes from heated skin and panting breaths, from need, greed and aching flesh.

Its overwhelming silence begs for pleasured moans and dirty promises, for cries of fuck and harder and ohmyfuckinggod yes.

The room wants for color; your grey shirt, my black bra, the red streaks my nails leave as they make their way across your back, the pink outline of your fingers on my hips, the bluish-purple of bruises we’ll look at longingly days after it’s all said and done.

It is here I lose myself, here where I taste you, touch you, my mouth wrapping around your cock, my hand cupping your balls. Here where I suck you to the brink of ecstasy before drawing back to look at you, your lips pressed together, your eyes glazed. Here where I slide on top of you, teasing you with my breasts, my fingers, my cunt.

I won’t wait for you to beg. The torment has cost me, too, and my body is paying the price. I’m wet, throbbing, screaming inside, as desperate as the room itself to feel you moving inside me. I slip down until I have engulfed you completely, then move, first slowly, then faster, harder as your control unravels.

It is in this moment that the room takes its first breath of life. Filled with heat and the smell of sweat and sex, colored by clothing and abused skin, shattered by words with no meaning beyond the moment and the unmistakable sound of fucking. And in that moment, I am lost. In you, in this place, in what it means and what it doesn’t.

And in what happens when we have drifted.

Back in the room full of people we know, you ask a question.

For me, there is only one answer. Yes.

If I’ve learned anything this past week regarding the Paypal terms of service debacle, it’s this: If you believe in a cause, then it’s worth the fight.

It seems logical, doesn’t it? And yet there have been many times when I’ve thought, “I can’t scream loud enough to get the attention of a company that large.” I’m just one voice.

But you’re never just one voice. The world is too big. One Who may not be loud enough for the Grinch to take notice, but get them all together holding hands singing “fah who for-aze” and lo and behold, CHRISTMAS IS BACK!

Today, Paypal issued an update (or at least an intent to update) their Acceptable Use Policy. You can read the full blog post here. The short short version is that they’ve clarified that they will ”focus this policy only on e-books that contain potentially illegal images, not e-books that are limited to just text. The policy will prohibit use of PayPal for the sale of e-books that contain child pornography, or e-books with text and obscene images of rape, bestiality or incest (as defined by the U.S. legal standard for obscenity: material that appeals to the prurient interest, depicts sexual conduct in a patently offensive way, and lacks serious literary, artistic, political or scientific value).”

Is it a victory? Yes, and no. Erotica in text form is safe (for now), but as Grim points out, there is definite potential for censorship of art, comic and games. Worse, Paypal has offered no assurances that this visual content will be judged by the standard (the courts and the Miller Test), but rather by Paypal themselves.

One step forward, two steps back? That might be an overstatement, but the bottom line is that we’ve won the battle, but not the war. In the upcoming months, lending our voices will be as important as it was this past week. Censorship, as a concept, isn’t genre (or media) specific.

Don’t get me wrong…I’m not about to put away my bottle of Riesling just because we only took a few steps on the moon. Getting there was the victory.

I, for one, could not be more thrilled to have been a part of the mission.  That being said, I want to thank everyone who lent a voice, especially the lovely Remittance Girl, who organized a fantastic group of folks at Banned Writers (of which I am proud to be a part); Eden Connor, whose awesome interviews provided personal insight from erotic writers; Mark Coker over at Smashwords, whose articulate (and professional) correspondence proved invaluable; and to the long list of co-signatories who fought the good fight by our side.

Thank you!!!

~Mich

This morning, I was stumbling about in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee maker to drip out a pot of liquid tranquility.

A quick check of my e-mails proved the whole PayPal issue wasn’t just some annoying dream. Twitter proved pretty much the same, except with a slight difference: not a single mention of what I consider to be an attack on our rights. No bother, I think as the smell of coffee fills the air. I send out a tweet, get a snarky response and move on.

“What’s wrong?” my thirteen year old (who we lovingly call Vampira) asks.

“Oh, it’s just this thing PayPal is doing.”

Instead of responding with her usual “okay” and a discussion about something going on in her life, she gives me one of those prompting looks.

I was raised in a home where very few subjects were taboo, and have done my best to do the same with my own kids.

With an impressive lack of Godzilla-like roaring and stomping, I explain the issue to her. She listens attentively (though, admittedly, with wrinkled nose) as I list the content PayPal has chosen to ban. Her disgust at these topics is evident; she is, after all, thirteen. Still, I can practically see her mind churning as she asks questions and listens to my answers. I’ll go as far as to explain how I feel and why, but I’m not going to push my opinions down her throat. If she says she agrees with PayPal, we’ll just agree to disagree (kind of like we did when she insisted that George Bush was going to be the best president ever and anyone who voted against him was the devil).

Then she hits me with this:

Her: “So, wait. You said no selling anything that has…sex with animals.” (Cringe)

Me: “Right.”

Her: “Do they mean animal animals or anything that’s not human?”

Me: “They don’t specifically define animals.”

Her: “So, they could be talking about werewolves, or vampires?”

Me: “I guess, technically, yes. Why not?”

Her: “Twilight kind of has that. I mean, it’s not exactly the same, but…Edward is a vampire and Jacob is a werewolf. Werewolves are animals.”

Me: “True, and if they wanted, they could make that an issue, but the bigger problem is that PayPal isn’t even the one selling the books. Their job is to take my money and give it to someone else. If you had a company and you decided you didn’t want to sell content like that, I wouldn’t have a problem. That’s your right as a business, just as it is my right as a reader not to buy it. But the company who’s basic function is to take my money and hand it to someone else has no business regulating my purchases (or what you want to sell).”

She understands, but has a zillion questions.

This launches us into a discussion on Romeo & Juliet, Hamlet and movies like “Last House on the Left.” She brings up the fact that the rape scene in that movie is pretty intense. I counter by saying that because it’s not meant to be erotic, it’s different. Her nose does that crinkly thing again, and this time she says, “so it’s okay to use rape as a tool to get people emotionally involved, but only if the woman doesn’t enjoy it and only if the guy dies in the end?”

A definite over-simplification, but she’s thinking.

From this point on, our discussion is one of those winding, country roads that feels like it will never end, but by the time we arrive at our destination, we’re happy to have taken the long, scenic route (lined with question-trees and rolling-valley-implications).

It isn’t the first time we’ve talked about free speech, or free commerce, or any of those “political” subjects we hope our children will take an interest in. It is, however, the first time I’ve walked away with the feeling that she truly grasped the heart of the issue. That, in her own roundabout way, she is invested in the cause.

In the midst of the battle, it is a momentous step.  I am proud of her, not only for realizing what’s at stake, but for not letting the grossness (her word, not mine) of the topic stop her from delving in and wading through.

It’s more than I can say for some of the adults I know, who haven’t gotten involved because, in their creative minds, it isn’t an issue which affects them.

Today, even as my fellow writer flag disappoints, my proud mommy flag flies high.

~mich

Imagine walking into the grocery store to buy your favorite fruit and being told at checkout that you aren’t allowed to buy it. It’s not good for you, that fruit. It might make you want to do something crazy, like mix it with other fruits or, heaven forbid, something savory. You will be forever tainted and morally compromised. Your children will bear the mark of your fruity ways and so on and so forth.

I’m oversimplifying, to be sure, but this whole PayPal censorship debacle is as irritating to me as a flea bite. Or a pimple on my butt.

There are a ton of well-articulated posts from educated writers, bloggers and the like on why what PayPal is doing is wrong. I’ve linked to some of them at the bottom of this post. I encourage you to read them and get involved.

The bottom line is, PayPal has no right to decide what is morally proper for consumption, no right to tell me, an educated adult, what I can and cannot buy. By tossing down the Terms of Service card and forcing companies like Smashwords, AllRomanceEbooks and others to pull titles that offend PayPal’s tender sensibilities, they are violating one of my fundamental rights – the right to make my own decisions.

Erotic writers, even those who venture into “darker” territories like non-consensual sex, incest and bestiality, have a legal right to sell their stories. I’m not the first person to say it, but it bears repeating: there is no law against that type of content. Whether you find it distasteful or not, they have as much right to publish it as the reader has to buy it. I’m not referring to a company’s right to determine what they do or do not sell. I’m referring to one company dictating to another what they can and cannot sell and in doing so, dictating what I can and cannot buy.

Since when did PayPal decide they needed to regulate my purchases? And if they think those topics are too much for me to handle, who’s to say they won’t decide that anything other than missionary sex is too much? How far will I allow them to go in deciding what content is available?

This, more than anything, is the issue for me.

PayPal’s slogan is “The fastest way to send money,” not “The fastest way to send money for things we deem morally proper.” If I want to read about some guy making it with a horse (I don’t, but that’s beside the point), that’s my business. I wouldn’t let my bank decline a payment because they take issue with what I’m purchasing. I’d be at my local branch raising all kinds of Godzilla-type ruckus.

And that’s what needs to be done in this scenario. Don’t think about it in terms of “who cares if that offensive stuff disappears,” think of it in terms of “what happens when they find my stuff offensive?” Because that’s what it boils down to. When you allow a company to draw a line like that, you’re one step away from relinquishing your freedom.

Freedom to write, freedom to read, freedom to choose.

Think about it. Join the cause. Check out Banned Writers and make your voice heard.

~Mich

http://edenconnorwrites.blogspot.com/?zx=85ea63195a81fe89 – A superb interview with Remittance Girl by Eden Connor.

http://remittancegirl.com/ – Remittance Girl’s main page, where you can find a ton of fantastic posts and comments that get to the core of the matter

http://www.bannedwriters.com/ – An excellent source of information from writers, readers and others affected by PayPal’s decision.

http://eroticwriter.wordpress.com/ – Raz’s site, which has information scattered throughout, totally worth getting his take.

Slippery Slope Part 2: Why Frogs Boil

http://theselfpublishingrevolution.blogspot.com/2012/02/slippery-slope-part-2-why-frogs-boil.html

Thoughts of the (non)Evils of Erotica by Esmeralda Greene
http://www.esmeraldagreene.com/EsmeraldaGreene/Blog/Entries/2010/12/17_Thoughts_on_the_%28non%29_evils_of_erotica.html

In Defense of Sex by Lucy Morgan
http://www.lucyvmorgan.com/2011/03/in-defense-of-sex.html

Erotica Vs Porn – What is the Difference by Hazel Mills
http://edc1creations.wordpress.com/2008/11/03/erotica-vs-porn-what-is-the-difference-passionscape-by-hazel-mills/

Erotica – A Medium for Writers by Mary Chi
http://www.marychi.com/blog/erotica-a-medium-for-writers

Banning Book and Blocking Authors by Michelle McCleod
http://michellemccleod.blogspot.com/2012/02/banning-books-and-blocking-authors.html

How I Became a Dirty Writer and Why by Sommer Marsden
http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com/2012/02/how-i-becane-dirty-writer-and-why-i.html

Paypal, Bookstrand and Censorship by Marlene Sexton
http://marlenesexton.blogspot.com/2012/02/paypal-bookstrand-and-censorship.html

Paypal, Bookstrand and Censorship Part 2 by Marlene Sexton
http://marlenesexton.blogspot.com/2012/02/paypal-bookstrand-and-censorship-part-2.html

Paypal is at it Again by Marlene Sexton
http://marlenesexton.blogspot.com/2012/02/paypal-is-at-it-again.html

Why Erotica is a Wonderful Thing by Evelyn Rae
http://evelynraeerotica.blogspot.com/2012/02/why-erotica-is-wonderful-thing.html

Erotica is Not Bad by Raven York
http://www.rayvenyork.com/2012/02/erotica-is-not-bad.html

Don’t Judge Me by Kiki Howell
http://authorsbyauthors.blogspot.com/2012/02/dont-judge-me.html

The Importance of Being Erotic by Giselle Renarde
http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com/2011/02/importance-of-being-erotic.html

Writing Made Me a Better Person by Giselle Renarde
http://glbtromance.blogspot.com/2012/02/writing-made-me-better-person.htmlb

S-E-X by Alessia Brio
http://alessiabrio.blogspot.com/2012/02/s-e-x.html?zx=2a0ef4b12757764e

Censorship in the Land of the Free by Molly Wens
http://mollywens.blogspot.com/2012/02/censorship-in-land-of-free.html

Big Erotica Freeze is Coming by ME Hydra
http://manyeyedhydra.blogspot.com/2012/02/big-erotica-freeze-is-coming.html

PayPal, eBay, Visa, and MasterCard Equate All Kinky Erotica with Pr0n by SV Rowle
http://www.svrowle.com/2012/02/paypal-ebay-visa-and-mastercard-equate-all-kinky-erotica-with-pr0n/

In Defense of Erotica by Leighann Phoenix
http://www.myspace.com/leighannphoenix/blog/545350174

But Paypal I Thought We Were Friends by Sable Jordan
http://sablejordan.blogspot.com/2012/02/but-paypal-i-thought-we-were-friends.html?zx=d3b39e976111a3d6

Marketplace Censors by Candace Blevins
http://www.kinkyeverafter.com/2012/02/marketplace-censors.html

On the Front Lines of Erotica by Jennifer Campbell
http://jennifercampbell.webs.com/blogpost22412.htm

I’m Not 18 Anymore by Giselle Renarde
http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com/2012/02/im-not-18-anymore.html

theselfpublishingrevolution.blogspot.com

Between heated words and undying affection lies the line between black and white. Thick and gray, it pulls, pushes, tugs and shoves. Heavier than a smile and lighter than a frown, it is a burden all its own. It’s the line that separates distance from closeness.

It’s the place where we won’t be together, can’t be apart, don’t understand and haven’t a fucking clue what to say. Or do. It’s a land where pride wars with resolution, where “you” and “me” battles “us.” Chaos and order exist in equal measure. The ground is ice, the sky is fire and we must either go up in flames or freeze to death. There are few moments in which to decide.

I’ve stood on its fringe; watched the wariness in your eyes begin the slow flicker to trust. I’ve felt your body sway against its pull. I’ve caught the exact moment when you entered the gray; when, despite your pride’s intentions, you’ve tumbled in. I can only follow.

It is silent there, but only for a moment before the foundation starts to thaw. The first crack in the ice is half-scoff, half-chuckle. The sound is not enough to clear the coldness that lingers, but it’s warm enough to ward off the chill that surrounds us. A small smile, a tiny retraction, what’s between us now is a give and take that morphs from argument to banter.

Then you touch me.

I won’t lie. It only takes a single brush of your fingertips and victory is yours. Every ounce of fight becomes a turncoat. Surrender slides up my spine, over the curve of my neck, out of my lips. I need to feel you, taste you, smell you. I’m on my back in a heartbeat, your face filling my vision as your cock fills my cunt.

You aren’t gentle. I don’t want you to be.

It’s the only way to escape the gray. Every hard thrust, every harsh whisper, every mark we leave behind, they’re all necessary. They bind us, through sweat and tears, pain and pleasure, together. Nothing between us is ever simple. Complexity is what greases the wheels, keeps us moving smoothly through the days.

My hands brace the headboard, grasping for leverage against the force of your reconciliation. You demand, insist, won’t rest until I’ve given over completely. My spine arches, inviting you to take more, give more, fill me deeper, faster, harder. My growls aren’t a warning, but an offering.

I want everything you have to give. Incendiary kisses, desperate breaths, soulful moans; I take them all with greedy abandon. They are my reward, my prize for following you to this moment. Tomorrow we’ll start over. Exhaustion will overtake us and sleep will return “you” and “me” back to “us.”

For now, we’re both panting, desperate, reaching for release together. There won’t be any apologies. They aren’t needed. I feel it in the way you moan my name when you come, the sensation of you surging deep, spilling your seed, your soul inside. You feel it in every press of my body against yours, the “fuck, yes” issued from my mouth, the shuddering climax that follows.

Tomorrow we won’t remember that the gray exists. We won’t have any recollection of our falling out or our tumble in. We’ll only remember moving from shout to whisper, steady to shuddering, dark to light. In and out of the gray.

~fin

Fingers clutching the headboard, wrists bound, head down, you barely catch the needy “please” that escapes from my lips. Diaphanous material hugs the curve of my hips, outlines the shape of my ass, pulls across my stomach, my breasts, abrading nipples that strain against the fabric. All are parts of me I know you intend on exploring, but I am impatient.

Lust, desire, want, need; all tear through me at a dizzying pace.

My thighs, spread wide, offer lips that beg to be kissed. Your breath against my skin thrills me. A slow swipe of your tongue brings a broken inhale, the bowing of my spine, a shudder. Silent invitation.

I am speechless, aching, desperate to be filled.

“Don’t move,” you murmur against swollen flesh. I can feel the smile tugging your lips as you reach around to cup your palm over my clit, long fingers drifting down to explore.

My stomach muscles tighten against your arm; your low murmur of approval is the only sound that penetrates the quiet room. This time my “please” is louder, torn from a mouth ravenous for a taste of you. Your teeth sink into my skin and my unwitting flinch brings a deep chuckle. It echoes through me, insistent, riling the blood that pounds through my veins.

Your breath caresses everywhere, moving from spot to spot with seemingly unnatural rapidity. I know it’s just my world slowing on its axis.

I press my lips together, every muscle in my body taut, every nerve skittish. You’ve demanded quiescence; I intend to comply. Two fingers, then a third moving in rhythm with your tongue, and my plan fails. The need to move against you is unbearable; the shiver that races through me unstoppable and I shift to satisfy the urge.

Again your deep voice cuts through the room, this time absent its usual playfulness. “Don’t. Move.” The words are bit out, the command plain, the sharp slap that accompanies them a warning.

I force my body to still, lock my control into place, both of which provide a moment’s distraction from your movements. The timing couldn’t be less perfect. The diversion leaves me unprepared for the moment your cock presses into me.

A sharp gasp, the painful feel of my teeth against my bottom lip, none of these are enough to stop my spine from arching, my body from shifting into you. Silent defiance.

Your fingers tunnel into my hair, pulling hard, tugging me back into your thrusts. Relentless, your cock invades my cunt with a roughness that feels as much punishment as reward. I want more.

More of your hips against my ass, your hands holding me still; more of the uncontrolled sounds issuing from your throat. Deep, guttural, they spark through me, igniting the fire that rages inside. I am sweaty, shaky, breathless by the time I come.

I see nothing, hear nothing, feel only your need for dominance, my need for submission. I’m beyond caring about your motivation; I only want you to fuck me. Correction:  I only want you. Every frenzied breath, every tortured moan is proof of your possession.

Yours to taste, to touch, to feel; my world at a slant. ~fin

Part I:

Nearly empty train, barreling down tracks, driving heartbeats. You, situated directly across, aiming for aloof but failing miserably.

Three passengers remain, one lost in a book, one half asleep. The last stares out a window, pretending not to feel the tension in the air.

Delicate hands brush away a lock of hair, bringing an expected reaction. The man shifts in his seat, tries to ignore the unspoken play.

Your long fingers, perfectly manicured, remain at rest. Outwardly cool, you give nothing away.

My tongue darts out, wets my lips before teeth sink into the bottom one. Your composure falters, betrayed by a hungry look.

I know what you’re imagining, the thoughts running through your mind.

My moist lips, wrapped around the head of your cock, warm tongue flicking out before taking you into my mouth.

You straighten, a physical manifestation of the adrenalin shooting through you. It binds me, builds inside me, pushing me onward.

As my legs uncross, yours pull tighter together, grasping for a way to hide your response. Time to test your mettle.

My hand slides over my knee, index finger toying with the edge of my skirt; tugging, taunting as my gaze remains firmly fixed on yours.

The last man shifts once again, his stare focused on the reflection in the window, watching the interaction through heavy lids.

I straighten, stretching my back, my nipples erect, abraded by even the soft material of my silk shirt. Your nails dig into your palms, the way they would dig into my hips when you fucked me, pulling me to you as you thrust hard and deep, desperation setting the pace.

You wring your hands the way you would wrap them in my hair, tugging my head until my back arched, kicking my knees apart, spreading my lips and opening my cunt to take you to the hilt.

You suck in a breath; harsh, ragged, the way you do when you climax, when your hunger is satisfied and you can’t offer another thrust.

The train reaches the station and the passengers disembark, the last man with visible hesitation. He’s wondering what he’ll miss once he steps through the sliding doors. A slow grin creeps across my face, a promise to make a reality anything and everything he could imagine. With a sigh, he leaves and my eyes slide your way again.

Only you and I remain. Another leg of the journey complete, notch of anticipation achieved. Just one more reminder of how I own you.

Part II:

Barely through the door, my hands braced against the frame, nails punishing the wood as my body awaits the same.

Skirt tugged roughly up, baring me to your touch, cool air drifting over flesh heated and slick with want.

Your hand, sharp and stinging as it connects with my ass. My flinch is your reward; my pain your pleasure. And mine.

Long fingers slide down, winding around curves, searching for the perfect fit. Hips bear the brunt of their frustration, but tilt forward invitingly, hungry for more.

Your leg between my thighs, knee riding against my clit, my body answering not to thought, but craving, to the satisfaction that lay in the sinew that is you.

Sharp breaths, first stolen by kisses, then your hand as it covers my mouth, fingers dipping in, tasting of you, leaving me wanting more.

Then you’re gone, out of my line of sight, a split second’s panic soon replaced by another sharp slap. No time for pain, your tongue instantly soothes, feigning concern before your teeth sink in.

Desperation tears through me, its voice nothing more than breathless little gasps echoing my heartbeat as I struggle to remain standing. To remain sane.

I glance down, watch the top of your head as it dips forward, a firm swipe of your tongue that opens me. Then fingers spreading flesh, parting lips for a delectable kiss.

Delicious tongue flicks over my wet cunt, slowed movements that drag forth a weeping sob. Stilled by anticipation, every muscle locked, senses focused on the sounds of your fingers as they thrust, the smell of sex in the air. I breathe deeply, working to delay the pleasure coiling inside me. Fighting against the moment I know will follow.

You continue mercilessly; lips, palms, fingers, nails, teeth testing my limits, waiting for me to break.

Three little words, spoken softly, yet laden with command, bring forth a storm of sensations, incapacitating in their intensity. “Come for me.”

Shuddering, flesh tingling, every nerve in my body alive, hands grasping for purchase. I am yours, my senses flooded, mind wholly focused on this moment, where I exist no more. Where master becomes mastered.