Welcome to Writing Dirty, a collection of the writings of Jack Stratton.
A warning: the stories within often contain graphic depictions of sex and BDSM.
The easiest way to navigate this site is to take a look at the table of contents. If you are looking for some highlights, some of my most popular stories are Carolyn Blushes, The Wrong Smith Girl, and Ménage à Text.
Some personal favorites are Knowledge Base – a Sherlock Holmes tale, Wake Up – an example of a particular fetish of mine, and the Mister McIntyle’s Secret series – a Mad Men-esque tale of a secretary who will do anything for her handsome boss.
There are over one hundred pieces of writing on this site, fiction and non-fiction. If you would like to compensate me for my work you can purchase one of my books on Amazon, contribute directly via PayPal, or use your imagination.
I’m excited to announce my new novella That Sort of Thing, the story of a woman named Valentine who meets a charming writer of risqué stories. As she is seduced by his words she is also confronted by the guilt of playing his taboo games. Will reality live up to the dirty fantasies?
This novella can be purchased as an ebook or an audiobook (recorded by me!) exclusively at writingdirty.com. It is also available on Amazon, though it would be awesome if you bought it here!
That Sort of Thing eBook ($3)
That Sort of Thing eBook + Audiobook ($5)
The Dirty Boys are having another reading! Jack Stratton, Guy New York, and Gibson Grand will regale their eager audience with more tales of love, lust, misery, joy, drugs, and rock and roll. We will once again be joined by Daisy Danger at The Magician. 7pm Sunday, February 9th, 2014. Be there or be somewhere not even remotely as sexy.
Here is the Facebook invite
If one wished, one could now purchase panties, t-shirts, flasks, and other assorted paraphernalia that proclaims your literary proclivities to the world.
I give you, the Writing Dirty Cafe Press store. Because why not?
I’m selling one giant ebook with pretty much everything in it. Five novellas and 40+ short stories including some stories I haven’t been able to sell before because of copyright, some old old stories that are a little raw but definitely fun reads, a couple of non-erotica stories that I hope you will find charming, and a few surprises. It’s a little under 200,000 words.
I’m asking 10 bucks for this, but I’m also putting up options for $25 and $50 if you’d like to support me a little more, so I can keep writing in comfort.
tl;dr You can get all my stories and a bunch of stuff not on this site for $10 or more if you want to support me extra.
Purchase the omnibus Jack Stratton collection:
I will be reading from my upcoming novella at Between the Covers
Monday, January 13th 2014 – 7-10PM
An Beal Bocht
445 W 238th St (238th and Waldo Avenue)
Riverdale, The Bronx (Not far from the 238th St. 1 train stop)
From the top of the stairs, Tom watched as they were introduced.
He always knew Katherine would meet Diane at some point. Their circles of friends were far too close for them to stay strangers forever. Diane had been in his life for years and had been his lover once. He remembered those days and nights as he watched Diane kiss Katherine’s cheek and laughed at some joke she made. Katherine had that self deprecating charm that he imagined Diane would like.
Tom was in love with Katherine in a way he had never loved anyone. She took care of him. She was his rock as well as his inspiration. She also owned his body in a way no one had before.
Diane was some dark secret he thought of when he was alone. He had told Katherine stories, but then Tom told her all of his secrets. Watching her sip whiskey and stand near Diane, Tom’s heart ached and his cock hardened. He knew both of their bodies. He knew what it was to have Katherine ride him or slap him or fuck him. He knew what it was to push three fingers into Diane and have her beg for more. He knew the taste of them both and there they were, her hand on her arm for a moment as they charmed each other.
Well, Amazon has accepted my re-edited version of the novella that has sold the most for me. It’s about a guy who pays a college girl to fuck him and call him daddy. Apparently I just can’t mention the daddy part, or call a nineteen year old a teenager.
Thus, I give you: Renting a Girl from the Mall.
Mark is a bit obsessed. He keeps running into a cute, if a bit bratty, college girl named Megan in the mall. She certainly wants nothing to do with the thirty-something Mark, but when she gets into some financial trouble she finds herself in his car listening to his very interesting offer.
What is she willing to do for $1000? Can she play her part in his kinky role play scenario? Will she be seduced into being his rent-a-girl?
Part two is going up in a bit. Let us see how long they stay up.
The first page of a story was stapled to the back of a paper on economic reform in post soviet Russia.
Jason wasn’t sure if the story was for him or the professor or simply a mistake. He assumed the students knew that Jason was the one who really marked all the papers. Hell, he gave the lectures for the majority of the semester. Big name professors don’t do very much, teaching assistants do all the real work.
Still, the single page was like nothing Jason had ever seen in the context of Russian history, or more accurately contemporary Russian economic history. This was a snippet of a dirty dream. A little fragment of someone’s fantasy.
Jason carefully opened the staple with his fingernail and pulled the single page from the rest of the paper and then closed the staple back up.
Like most of Sophia’s work, the paper was a solid B. The story on the other hand was far more difficult to quantify.
She missed his wall; his hall. That place he always threw her against when she came into his apartment.
She missed feeling small and afraid. She’d grown up too much, become too jaded, too brave to feel so little.
She missed the anxiety and hunger she felt walking down his block. She missed his pretty cock. She missed the fear that was particular to being in his elevator.
The fear wasn’t about what he’d do to her, she knew he would hurt her and fuck her and use her like a doll. The fear was that she wouldn’t be good enough, tough enough, pretty enough.
All those fears went away when she was against his wall.
She didn’t cover her scars or chubby parts because he would only slap her hands away. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed about her razor burn or that her roots were showing, because she was too busy blushing about the dirty names he called her. She would fall into the whirlpool of humiliation and pleasure and dizzy confusion.
She didn’t have time to apologize because his cock was in her mouth.
She longed for all of it all.
And more than that she knew some other girl was in that hall, against that wall. His thick cock was inside of someone new and his hand was around someone else’s throat.
Perhaps it was strange that the longing could make her come so easily. Remembering that wall in that hall was almost as potent as thinking of another girls face, mascara running down her cheek, pressed against the wall as he fucked her. The humiliation and the jealousy and the heartbreak were poisons and aphrodisiacs.
The sadness kept her wet all day.
He sliced the exotic fruit with a huge knife on the perfect cutting board. Furry greenish gray splitting to show vivid green and neat circles of black seeds.
She sipped her coffee and watched him with annoyance. There was some kind of distracting formality he put into things that should be simple, like cutting up fruit. It was one of the million things that once seemed charming, but now annoyed the shit out of her.
She couldn’t watch any more as he took his oh-so-sharp knife and pealed the fur off of the thing. She went into the bathroom to finish putting on her makeup.
There was something about her silent huffy irritation with everything. She acted like a teenager irked at the fact that her parents existed. That’s what their relationship had become, something akin to parental, maybe sibling, which made the fact that the sex was still so potent something rather awkward to think about.
She came back from the bathroom to find a plate with six neat slices of the fruit fanned out in a half minimalist half elaborate statement on the little white plates they had gotten from her grandmother.
“We need to break up.” she breathed out.
As some of you may be aware, there has been a bit of a brouhaha in the ebook world. Kobo, an ebook distributor, recently pulled all self-published work in hopes of purging works they deem unsavory. Amazon, as well as Barnes & Noble and practically all other ebook distributors, has done the same thing. Another distributor, WHSmith, took their entire site offline.
About five of my books have been taken off the market by Amazon and I’m not sure they will return. They all skirt the edge of what Amazon and the others are trying to remove, edgy erotica with incest/roleplay and age play themes.
A little bit of my thinking on this. People like to read about all sorts of fantastic things, from violence, to the surreal, to the abstract, to explicitly sexual things that tap into strong emotions, including things that are very very wrong. The beauty of storytelling is that what you create isn’t real and often can’t or shouldn’t be real. We write about these dark fantasies to play out normal desires to their abnormal extremes. “Corruption of innocence” becomes younger/older. “Forbidden” becomes inappropriate or even illegal relationships. “Danger” becomes actual violence.
These symbols and metaphors are similar to the way people roleplay things that they wouldn’t/couldn’t/shouldn’t do in reality. Just like we read about criminals, murderers, ghosts, monsters, and aliens to tap into what all those things represent to us.
Here are some resources about what’s going on with self-publish erotica ebooks:
What started this whole debacle: BBC, WH Smith takes website offline after porn e-book scandal
BBC, Amazon removes abuse-themed e-books from store
LA Times, Self-published pornographic e-books cause trouble for Amazon, Kobo
Gawker has the douche-y and biased story title “Mass of Sick Self-Published Porn Pulled From Amazon, WHSmith and Kobo Book Stores” (Fuck you Gawker)
I’ll be heading to Atlanta for EroticonUSA soon! Ruby Kiddell put together a little “Eroticon USA meet and greet round up on her site Erotic Notebook. Here is my entry:
Name: Jack Stratton
Twitter ID: @writingdirty
Where in the world are you?
New York City, New York, USA
What brings you to Eroticon USA?
I’m giving a talk on self publishing, plus I’m excited to be part of an erotica conference!
What are you looking forward to most about Eroticon USA?
I can’t wait to meet other writers, since I’ve really only been exposed to the New York City writing scene. As well, it will be lovely to finally meet Ruby Kiddell and the others I have followed on twitter and on their blogs and to see the charming Harpor Elliot again.
If you had to make up a pen name again what would it be?
I’ve made up a few actually, some are secret. One of my favorite alter-egos is Matilda Small, because it’s fun to be a girl sometimes.
I looked down at my phone for the hundredth time, then up at the train as it chugged back into its underground tunnel. People rushed to leave and in moments I was alone on the platform, turned on and scared.
“Take the L train to Lorimer, get out and walk two blocks west…” the instructions started.
I got out of the subway station, looking around the foreign streets of Williamsburg or Greenpoint, I wasn’t sure which. There seemed to be nothing but bars, pizza places, and trendy little boutiques.
Everyone on the street looked hip and pretty. I looked down at my somewhat fashionable jeans and my high heels and suddenly I felt a little like Sandy at the end of Grease, but I walked on. I took out my phone again, more as something to do than for information.
I knew what the email said, I’d been reading it over and over all day.
“I have this good friend, I want to lend you to him for the evening. Six to midnight, or when ever he’s done with you. You’re not to stay over. He’ll be safe, he’ll stop if you say “red” and he knows the things that you are not to have done to you. I’ve negotiated for you, so all you need to remember is “red” and that I am giving you to him for the evening,” I read and realized I missed my turn because the words made my whole body hot and confused. Continue reading
There was a peace in the courtyard of the hotel that he thought was gone from the world. A good strong pot of coffee wordlessly placed on his table, fresh fruit and fresh croissants, pristine white tablecloths under wide cerulean umbrellas which were in turn under a wide and cloudless azure sky.
He took his breakfast there every morning and between sips of coffee closed his eyes and listened for the not too distant sounds of the river. Waves lapping ancient stone bridges, the lonely cries of sea birds.
Due to a few serendipitous and some sad but inevitable happenings I have been given the opportunity to spend the Summer writing and traveling.
I’ve been working on a number of non-erotic writings and taking part in a 10-week writing workshop at Gotham. I’m also going to spending all of August in Europe!
August 4- 8th – Prague, The Czech Republic
August 8- 10th – Vienna, Austria
August 10- 14th – Budapest, Hungary
August 15- 28th – London, United Kingdom
August 29- September 8th – Various cities in Italy
As well, I’ll be in New Orleans in early October and in Atlanta speaking at Eroticon USA on October 19th.
So let me know if something interesting is going on in any of these places! What are the to do items? I’m especially looking for fun things in London since I will be there for a fortnight by myself.