Category Archives: Blog
Last night at TES some interesting ideas were brought up. Laine‘s talk was really about Service Archetypes in a very structures MS type relationship. That’s not the kind of dynamic I’m into, but one of the archetypes she spoke about was the “steward” or “majordomo” i.e. A servant who rules over the other servants when the master commands and perhaps when the master isn’t there.
This struck a chord with me because although I can’t really see myself in a service role, I often think the ideal for me (at least in a scene with group larger than three) would be sort of an assistant or second in command to a more experienced top.
Also the line between co-topping and actually bottoming to the lead top turns me on for some reason.
I can imagine being the lab assistant to a mad scientist. A person doing unspeakable things and I am unflappably watching and handing them implements (while impeccably dressed.)
Perhaps the snappily dressed valet to devilish rogue. Like Azolan, Valmont’s manservant in Les Liaisons Dangereuses.
Maybe I will even talk to some people I know about playing this out. We will see.
Hi, I’m Jack and I’m a well dressed butch.
Hi, I’m Jack and lately I have become significantly more fabulous.
Hi, I’m Jack and I am an aspiring dandy, but I’m still all man.
Hi, I’m Jack and just because I’m relatively straight and cismale doesn’t mean I’m not queer.
Hi, I’m Jack and I have a lot of heroes. Some of my heroes are new people in my life, like Sinclair and Sara Eileen and Lolita Wolf and Viviane and Maymay. Others have always been around, like Anaïs Nin and Oscar Wilde and Henry Miller and AS Byatt and William Gibson and Cory Doctorow and David Foster Wallace and Don DeLillo and Mary Gaitskill and AM Homes.
Hi, I’m Jack and I don’t like one thing best. I have lots of fetishes and lots of kinks and I like girls a whole lot and I love that they come in all kinds of shapes and sizes.
Hi, I’m Jack and I do bottom, but only on very specific ways.
Hi, I’m Jack and I have mastered the French mother sauces and making girls squirt.
Hi, I’m Jack and pretty boys are intriguing and so are butch girls.
Hi, I’m Jack and I know more about slash than you or your girlfriend. I’ve read more erotica than most people have read non-erotica.
Hi, I’m Jack and I am finding my way and I like where I am going and I am meeting people who are awesome and who make me more awesome for knowing them.
Hi, I’m Jack and I know this is getting old.
Hi, I’m Jack and I see all these scales and spectrums of gender and power and sexuality and I see so many people I love living on all parts of these scales and I am enjoying finding interesting spots on the rainbow.
Hi, I’m Jack and just because I’m a boy and a top doesn’t mean I’m not complex. I contain just as many multitudes as you. Probably more because I’m big boned.
Hi, I’m Jack and I am in love and on an adventure. She’s in love and she’s on an adventure, too. It is fun and it is scary and it is easy to get hurt, but we are trying and we are talking and we are having fun.
Hi, I’m Jack and I write dirty.
Well, it’s been a busy couple of months. Work has been crazy. I moved from the Upper Upper East Side to the Upper Upper Upper West Side, which is frankly fodder for a million posts. The cultural differences between the east and west side of Manhattan are staggering. I got sick, like hospital sick, which is a rarity for me since I don’t get sick. I had a couple of life changing things happen. So on and so forth.
So I sit at the computer again, all my lofty goals training off as I realize I don’t have the time of emotional energy to give writing my all right now. I have a job that takes up a lot of time and a lot of creative juices. I have a wonderful sweet girlfriend. I have lots of people I want to hang out with and have amazing conversations with until four in the morning. I have things I want to learn and things I want to teach.
Also I need to become a better writer. I need to be able to accept criticism and editing. I may have to go back to school. I’m not sure.
So these stories collect in my computer. They are separated into the fun stories I enjoy writing about sexy things and dirty things and then there are the stories that are serious and writing them is a chore and it stirs up all kinds of emotions and leaves me drained. So I think I will post some of the fun ones and keep working on the other ones. I’m starting to see the schedule of all this silliness. I’m seeing what I would like to accomplish and what I know I need to work on.
That being said, I like blogging. I should do more of it.
But don’t you hate the “I’m sorry I don’t update this thing!” blog post?
I have a real post in the works. Stay tuned, kids.
Also you will notice that I moved all my blog type posts to this sub domain and I have only fiction on the main page. I am still redesigning and fiddling with things, but the rss feed will contain both writing and blogging.
This is a write up of my first presentation at KinkForAllNYC2 as well as a lot of peripheral information from my talk at Sex 2.0 DC.
See the KinkForAllNYC2 Schedule Grid for write-ups, video and pictures of other presentations.
Anonymity’s Effect on Online Sex Writing
I’ve been reading online erotica since there has been erotica online. Starting with BBS (Bulletin Board Systems), using a 2400 baud modem to dial up and log into places like Technet and The Unforgiven Board to scour the forums for hand transcribed copies of badly written stroke stories from magazines and pulp novels.
A while back I wrote about the first KinkForAll and how much I enjoyed it. I ask anyone who is anywhere near NYC to attend the second KinkForAll on August 8th. Trust me, it isn’t threatening, it isn’t boring and it isn’t like any conference you’ve ever been to. You will learn new things, you will meet new people, you will be exposed to new ideas. It’s free, in all senses and it is there for you to jump right in and help as much or as little as you want. One way to help is to donate.
KinkForAll is an ad-hoc informational unconference on sexuality for anyone and everyone. KinkForAll draws participants from an astounding range of sexuality-related communities. Anyone with the desire to learn or with something to contribute is welcome and invited to participate.
What: The second no-limits sex-positive gender and sexuality unconference of New York City.
Why: To inspire a creative, interactive and open environment where everyone feels comfortable talking, learning, and being inspired by all kinds of sexuality.
When: August 8th, 2009
Who: Everyone How much: Free (as in beer as well as freedom)
KinkForAll is an ad-hoc gathering born from the desire for people of the kink, queer, sex-positive and related communities to share and learn in an open environment. It is an intense event with discussions, presentations, and interaction from all participants. (It is inspired by the BarCamp community.)
ANYONE WITH SOMETHING TO CONTRIBUTE OR WITH THE DESIRE TO LEARN IS WELCOME AND INVITED TO JOIN. When you attend, be prepared to share with others. When you leave, be prepared to share it with the world.
A KinkForAll is a special kind of gathering because there are no spectators, only participants. Attendees must give a talk or a presentation, help with one, or otherwise volunteer/contribute in some way to support the event. This is called sharing and we like it. All presentations are scheduled the day they happen—there are no pre-scheduled presentations or keynote addresses. The people present at the event will select the presentations they want to see.
Anyone can present, on any topic related to sexuality. You do not necessarily have to teach a new skill or idea. You might share an experience, review a product, or read a poem. The goal is to start a discussion, make connections, and exchange knowledge. Presentations promoting specific commercial products or companies are discouraged.
Learn more about what to expect at: http://kinkforall.pbwiki.com/WhatToExpect
Learn more about the event guidelines at: http://kinkforall.pbwiki.com/TheRulesOfKinkForAll
In this new life, I have slipped into a variety of completely new relationships. I’ve always been the kind of person who has a small circle of very close friends and I tended to shy away from the masses of acquaintances people seem to collect in this city. Now I seem to be joining ever-growing groups of interesting and open-minded people. This has led to months of fun, flirty and often fierce conversation. In some ways these connections are almost better than all the sex and exploration. (Almost, but not quite.)
I hadn’t considered my sadistic side very much until about a year ago. If anything, I had often thought that I was squeamish about really hurting someone and that might be a real hindrance to being a dom. After a few enthusiastic scenes and I found that the little seed of a sadist in me was starting to bloom. The key, I realized, was playing with masochists.
It’s funny how your personality changes in certain situations. I’ve noticed all these parts of myself that come out when I am doing certain things. The seducer, looking at sex as a challenge and an artform. The toppy boyfriend, with his sarcasm and teasing. The daddy, who is overprotective while being dirty. The aspiring rigger, with his knitted brow and stern focus. The sadist, who is almost constantly wearing an evil grin and always thinking of the next form of torture.
So as I was saying, besides the cadre of smart and sexy friends with whom I converse, there are a few smart and sexy girls that I beat up on a somewhat regular basis. It’s interesting, because in general these are not exactly sexual relationships, though certainly they all have sexual elements. Mostly, though, they are about administering pain.
For example, here is a tale of a girl – well not really one girl but sort of an amalgam of a few people I know. There are too many scenes in my head and writing about the important parts of each would take too long. But basically, this is what I’m talking about…
We had been on a few dates, after work drinks, talking and flirting and exchanging the social currency of anecdote and background.
In this time we used the complex mating language of eyes and subtext to explain our emotional availability. We danced around our proclivities. We ferreted out kinks and occasionally just came out and owned our desires.
Negotiation came later. By then we had reached that plateau of reasonable trust and adequate acquaintance. The fourth date would be at my apartment.
She was on her mid twenties, bright, educated, good job, interesting life. The city seems to either breed the complicated or pull them magnet like from all points of the compass.
Dark hair with severe bangs and thick glasses. She had a wealth of interests which showed her curiosity, which to me is the most important virtue. She was cute if not pretty but her style brought her look up. She knew how to wear clothes. She was an artist through and through, but more than that she was an artist who could make a living which was certainly a precious thing in this city.
“I’m a masochist,” she said rather plainly. “I had a boyfriend who I finally convinced to spank me, but he never hit hard enough and it always just left me unsatisfied.”
“‘I don’t want to hurt you, baby, I love you,’ is what he’d say.” she quoted in mocking a luggish tone.
I understood very well. The spanking was the gateway from vanilla to kink in many ways. It was still socially acceptable, if a bit risky by Cosmo standards. Still for many it was a glimpse of that new world we wanted to explore a lot more thoroughly.
Back at my apartment we had giddy grins and drinks. A conversation on the couch about work and the world, while both of us shifted closer and thought about how to start things.
“So, you liked that last story I wrote, hm?” It’s a way to gain a little control and bend the conversation towards where we both want to take it.
“Yeah, you could say that. I think I came six times. I soaked my sheets.”
I watched her eyes, there was some instinctual shame, but she actively fought it. She wanted to be bold, she wanted to own it.
“Well, I guess you owe me.” I said, reaching over and caressing her breasts, finding the nipple, pinching it roughly as I watch her reaction.
It was silly, really, but nothing is better than a little ego-stroking to build one’s confidence. I moved in and kissed her, then my hand moved up to her hair and pulled her head back so I could drag my teeth across her naked neck.
I’ll skip the rest of the beginning. I’ve certainly told the tale of a girl being bent over the arm of my couch and spanked far too many times. I will say this: While spanking her and getting her warmed up I did what I always do to partners in this situation. I progress quickly at first to find that line, how much they can take. There is always that level when they start squirming away from the blows. Some of them say “ouch” or the ones who are more experienced in more formal scenes even say “yellow”.
I kept hitting her and measuring and there was no yellow point. Harder and harder I spanked, but she gritted her teeth and took it. The few times I leaned over her body and whispered my little check-up questions into her ear, she just nodded. She was fine, I should keep going, harder.
That’s when I knew I was going to get to cane someone for real.
I only have one cane, though I am looking to remedy this. It is long and black and thin, sting-y and direct.
It’s sad, but I have to chide myself and force myself to start slow. I knew she had to be warmed up. I knew I had to be patient and calculating.
She is obedient and follows my every direction perfectly. Frankly it was all really more sensation play than dominance. A beating, not a punishment. I don’t want her to call me “sir,” I just want her to do what I say and take every stinging lash.
When I start, it is just a little bounce of the cane on her naked ass. Her skin is red from the spanking and flogging, with a circle of light purple where I had hit her the hardest, but the cane makes fresh and crisper red marks. Lines form, even from this light bouncing.
That first real hit, that first time the cane cuts through the air, is perfect. When the first blow lands her back arches. She takes it, but it is a lot even for her. She has only ever really had hands spanking her. I hit her three more times, once on each cheek and then once across both. Her hands don’t come up to protect her tender flesh the way other girls’ have, but she is suddenly still. I let the pain reverberate. I let her feel it and process it. I put my hand on her back and steady her, let her know I understand that it hurts and I am letting her deal with it.
Each time leaves three lines, red, then white, then red again. As I bounce the cane on her skin again I see that the four hard hits have started to bruise already. It makes me hard. It makes me giddy. I want to ruin her. I want to mark her. I want her to feel these marks all week and get wet every time she sits down and winces.
I go to work on her, bouncing the cane harder, making little syncopated rhythms that I remember my drummer friend taught me. I wait until the skin is red and hungry and then I hit her hard a few times, relishing each. I hit her harder, pulling my hand back farther and taking full swings that turn purple immediately.
She finally breaks a little and lets out an “ouch.” She doesn’t block me, though, she just slumps forward a little. I soothe her, I continue the bouncing as I pull her back into place. I place medium hits on spots that aren’t bruised. There is some minute change in her reaction and I take it as a sign we should move on for a bit.
When I pulled her up, her legs don’t respond properly and I am holding her. I laugh and push her against the wall. She gasps and smiles. I know the white wall is hard and cold.
My hand moved down her body and slips between her thighs. She is so wet her thighs are slick. She buries her head in my shoulder as the pleasure overtakes her for a moment. I push her away. It’s not cuddling time. It’s not pleasure time. Those will come.
I slapped her breast hard. Her eyes flash open. I cup each one and slap it down. She looks unsure how to take this. She is squirming.
“Do you like that?”
She nodded quickly, eagerly.
“Has anyone done this before?”
She shook her head. It’s hard for her to talk when she gets in this space. Important to note and damn adorable. I slap her harder, focusing on her nipples. Slap, slap, waiting for her wince, measuring out the limits of this new activity.
“Why do you like it?”
“It hurts.” She has that sort of look in her eyes that tell me that this was once something she was ashamed of, but now she was proud, or at least comfortable. Her tongue is thick in her mouth and it is hard for her to create sentences now, but she tried to continue.
“I also like it because I can see it. Usually it’s my ass and I can’t see it happen.”
I devour the flush in her face when she says this. This is useful information. Information means I can hurt her in more complicated ways.
I hit her breasts a few more times and relished her winces. She is so tough when I am spanking her, but her breasts are a lot more tender and she isn’t used to the sensations.
I was thinking of how else I could hurt her while she watched it happen. I like the idea of that. I remembered back at a sex conference when I watched a guy give a caning demo. It was really the first time I had ever seen someone get caned and the first time it really clicked that hitting someone and making marks on them was something I needed to do.
The top had his demo bottom sit on a table and he caned her lap. Talking to all of us as his rattan cane bounced up and down on her thighs. Progressing from tapping to hitting as she squirmed and moaned. That seemed perfect now. I got a towel and put it down on the cushion and then had her sit on said towel.
Probably my most powerful urge, one that’s been around a lot longer than sadistic desires, it to make a woman have an orgasm. Not help, not assist, but make. To force her to come. To have control over her body and her pleasure and to use a significant and powerful human reaction as nothing more than a tool for my amusement.
This whole time I was fully dressed. That was part of the scene, though I didn’t realize that for a while. She was a plaything, being stripped and used and played with. I was playing and amused by her arousal and entertained by her pain. She was naked because she is a slut and I am dressed because I am above the base needs she is tormented by, or so the game goes.
I got out some toys, fresh from ziplock bags, sterile and ready.
Some girls go into a dreamy place when they are being beaten. Some get feisty and fight back, kicking and cursing. This girl smiled, eyes just out of focus, and she giggled as she was hurt.
I plugged into the wall my favorite vibrating implement and shoved it between her half closed legs. I pushed her back a bit, manhandling her, and got the head of the condom covered toy against her clit. I closed her legs against it, letting the towel and her thighs hold it in position. As I turned it on I struck the tops of her thighs again with my cane.
She bit her lip, she ground against the vibrator and then winced as the cane left thin marks on her legs.
I switched to the riding crop, taking it to her breasts, the only place so far I was able to get a real reaction. I hit the tender bottoms of each breast, then the sides, the quick snaps on the nipples that made her cry out.
When I flipped her around, her knees on my couch and her arms and head hanging over the arm she was starting to get disoriented. I liked it when the pain and pleasure made them stupid. It is the point when you can really start to have fun.
I let loose with the cane a few times, the marks I had left before now a sharp violet. I crossed those line with fresh red and that made her jump. She wasn’t so tough anymore and when she pulled away from the cane I went to work on her with the vibrator.
This cycle started, cries and yelps followed by moans and whimpers. The cane and then the vibrator until she whined every time I pulled the vibrator away. I hit her a few more times and then held her down and pressed the vibrator on high against her sopping sex.
She mewed and tensed and came hard against me, pulling at my arm. When she was done pulled the vibrator away and just as she sighed in relief I pushed it back against her now over sensitive clit.
She fought against the overstimulation, but I held it to her, I let her ride it out until her hips were bucking again and she came even harder.
When she came down this time, I sank into the couch next to her and held her as she gasped for air and shivered. I petted her hair and smiled at her and soothed her, careful not to touch her still hot and stinging ass.
When we finally got up I saw something spectacular. It was my first real masterpiece. Her ass was almost uniformly purple with lines of wine red and angry pink and speckles of her pale skin showing through. I spun her around and marveled at it. Her thighs had a few scattered lines but nothing like her ass.
It was perfect. She kept touching the raised marks and smiling at her little prize. She was just as happy as I was, because this was the first time she’d gone this far and gotten when she’d been fantasizing about.
Through that next week I emailed her, checking in on the progress. The bruises lasted weeks. Those first few days she could hardly sit and she had to go to the bathroom of her office and finger herself because the pain was so intense and the memories so inescapable.
The last time I talked about a kink conference was the first KinkForAll back in March. I wrote then how I hadn’t been to many events of this nature. Well, having one kinky unconference under my belt I headed out to our nation’s capital to see what Sex 2.0 was all about.
I have a lot of thoughts floating around in my head. I went to the Kink for All NYC (KFANYC) today and although I was unable to present due to a rather serious family crisis I did catch the last few hours of the “unconference” and I enjoyed it a lot. Then again I was probably part of the minority who had never been to a “proper” sex conference so I don’t have much to compare it to, but I liked what I saw and heard.
I have been to a mix variety of kink related outings. Pleasure Salon and the such. Some more private little meet ups as well, but this was probably the biggest kink event I have been to. Surprisingly I felt very comfortable. In fact I would say I felt very much at home and very confident. I listened to intelligent people speak intelligently about gender, identity, sexuality, kink, BDSM, media and everything in-between. I saw a caning demo which was far more intriguing then I expected it to be. I was in general very enthralled with everything and everyone. It was exciting.
It left me with a lot of questions though. As much as I felt like I belonged there seemed to be a part of me that felt like an outsider. Almost everyone there was in some way queer and although I don’t know if I am exactly “straight” in every sense I don’t know if I am far enough from binary male/masculine to consider myself queer. There seems to be a large gap in the talks about the place of straight men in kink society other than johns, pornography consumers or roadblocks. I’m sure I am generalizing a lot, but that’s mostly how it felt.
I grew up in a feminist household with various types of queer folk around me, but I’m heterosexual or at least heteroflexible. At the same time I’ve read and researched a lot of gender theory and queer theory, so at times I find myself examining my masculinity in ways that butches might, but often other straight men don’t. At least not any I know, that is. I would go as far as to say that I have fetishized my straightness. Does that make sense?
Anyhow, just some thought that were floating around. Also thanks to any and all who read this blog and I apologize for it going unattended for a while. I have a lot of very hot stories on the burner, but life has been getting in the way. The economy and various unforeseen crises tend to suck out the drive to create. Of course let me repost an old message so as to remind my dear readers of how they can help inspire:
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, in that case aren’t a thousand words worth a picture? If you like my stories, anecdotes, reviews and fiction then get out a camera and take a dirty picture for me. You can be as anonymous as you like, I don’t mind, I just ask that the picture be graphic. I need fuel for dirty stories, you know. Don’t worry, I’ll never show anyone. After all, I’m greedy and they are my payment for all these dirty words. Email them or comment with a link.
Part of being a decadent hedonist with no spiritual beliefs or moral compass is that I feel no compunction about self promotion. This is, after all, my blog.
My first piece of commercially published erotica is now available in ebook format!
BUT THAT’S NOT ALL! Oh wait. Yes it is.
Our favorite music inspires us to move, dance and, yes, get busy in more intimate ways. Love Notes celebrates dancing queens, rock stars, groupies, anthems and more as the characters stroke each other to the sounds that make them soar. One woman masturbates to her favorite song while a stripper slinks her way into a man’s life. From Madonna to Shania Twain to Led Zeppelin and beyond, they channel their favorite music to make love to.
Love Notes celebrates the erotic power of music to move us, whether it’s listening to a lover rock out, fantasizing about your rock star crush, or making the sweetest and sexiest of music together. Singers, sirens and dancing queens get busy to a sex soundtrack ranging from heavy metal to classical and beyond. Get ready to get serenaded, seduced, and smitten with Love Notes.
- Jocelyn Bringas
- Eve Carpenter
- Heidi Champa
- Jeremy Edwards
- Mark Farley
- Delilah T. Jones
- Shanna Katz
- Janne Lewis
- Zach Lindley
- Jincey Lumpkin, Esg.
- Madlyn March
- J. M. Snyder
- Craig Sorensen
- Jack Stratton
- Elizabeth St John
- Mariana Tolentino
- Brandi Woodlawn
- Rachel Kramer Bussel
I’ve been tweeting up a storm about a new project I am diving into. I love erotica, writing it and reading it. I also love audiobooks and podcasts. I thought I would combine those and make an erotica podcast/audio magazine.
I’m calling it readingdirty.com.
I just posted a test post. I just want to see if this is all working. This is a full story, though. Let Go, which I just posted here a few days ago. It is read by me.
I’m going to be published in an upcoming anthology called “Love Notes” which is about sex and music for Ravenous Romance. My story is a previously unpublished kind of angsty story about a band.
More details as I get them!
What to do while you wait for Santa? Practice your rope skills!
A half naked Christmas present from someone who is putting off taking the long train ride out to his family.
It’s a pretty decent double column!
A lovely weekend of spice cookies with snowflakes and kissing and shopping and walking around in the cold.
And look what I found under my tree!
Mariella makes the perfect stocking stuffer.
Confession time. I have a fetish. I’m actually excited about this because I have sort of felt bad about the fact that most of my kinks seem to be mental, emotional or, I say, intellectual. This is something material. Something physical. Something that is just hot. There is a simplicity in that which I find refreshing.
I am talking, of course, about thigh high socks. “Over the Knee” socks, if you will.
I’ve mentioned them before, I’m sure. I was introduced to the American Apparel Thigh High Socks a while back and ever since I have been sort of obsessed with them. Specifically the white ones with the three stripes. There is something innocent about them, so playful, so sexy. There is also something about the legs being so cover that it makes the thighs look so much more naked.
I really can’t put the attraction into words because it goes beyond just what I’ve written. When a girl is wearing thigh high socks and nothing else a little switch goes off in my head. My cock is harder. I want to really ravage her in a very aggressive way.
Partners note the difference right away. These socks make me instantly frisky. My hands roam between any legs encased in them instinctual.
Recently I was talking to someone about pubic hair and my (along with a lot of other people’s) love of its absence. I’ve sort of gone back on that one lately. I think I like a little hair, it is amusing. The wonderful thing is when there is hair for a while and then it gets shaved (or even better waxed) off. It is the juxtaposition of tactile sensations. It’s the same thing with the socks.
When those socks come off they leave little marks that make me bite my lip. The feel of those little impressions, tracing them with my fingers or my tongue. Once covered legs suddenly naked. Perfect.
All images were released under Creative Commons licenses. Click on the images to see the owner’s flickr.