Love Stack Giveaway!!

We are feelin’ the need to spread an Erotica kind of love!

Rose Caraway is hosting a huge print book & audiobook giveaway just for Erotica Lovers!
There will only be FIVE winners in this LOVE STACK drawing.

On Valentine’s Day, this February 14th, at 5 pm (PST) FIVE entrants will win!!

How to enter the Love Stack giveaway:

Email Rose Caraway: thekissmequicks (at) gmail (dot) com
Tell her to enter your name into the drawing.
Don’t forget to include your *US mailing address!
Indicate which 2 (of the 4) available audiobooks (see list below) you’d like a chance to win!
*This giveaway is for continental US residents only.

The Love Stack

4 lucky winners will receive a Love Stack:

1 print copy of Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Vol.2,
edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

1 print copy of Dirty Dates: Erotic Fantasies for Couples,
edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

1 print copy of Baby Got Back: Anal Erotica,
edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

1 print copy of Begging For It: Erotic Fantasies for Women,
edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

1 print copy of For The Men And The Women Who Love Them,
edited by Rose Caraway

INCLUDING…your choice of 2 (of the following 4) AUDIOBOOKS,
narrated by Rose Caraway!!

1 Audible Gift of Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Vol. 2, Audiobook

1 Audible Gift of For The Men And The Women Who Love Them, Audiobook

1 Audible Gift of Dirty Dates: Erotic Fantasies for Couples, Audiobook

1 Audible Gift of Begging For It: Erotic Fantasies for Women, Audiobook


1 very lucky winner will receive the GIANT Love Stack:

1 print copy of The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica, edited by Rose Caraway

1 print copy of The Ultimate Guide To Sexual Fantasy, by Violet Blue

1 print copy of For The Men And The Women Who Love Them, edited by Rose Caraway

1 print copy of The Moon-Haunted Heart (50 Short Stories), by Terrance Aldon Shaw

1 print copy of Baby Got Back: Anal Erotica, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

1 print copy of Begging For It: Erotica Fantasies for Women, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

1 print copy of Best Women’s Erotica of the Year Vol.2, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

1 print copy of Carrie’s Story: An Erotic S/M Novel, by Molly Weatherfield

1 print copy of Safe Word: An Erotic S/M Novel, by Molly Weatherfield

1 print copy of The Wilde Passions of Dorian Gray, by Mitzi Szereto

1 print copy of Pride & Prejudice: Hidden Lusts, by Mitzi Szereto

1 print copy of The Delicious Torment: A Story of Submission, by Alison Tyler

INCLUDING…1 LELO TOR2 Pleasure Object

AND ALSO…your choice of 2 (of the following 4) AUDIOBOOKS,
narrated by Rose Caraway!!

1 Audible Gift of Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Vol. 2, Audiobook

1 Audible Gift of For The Men And The Women Who Love Them, Audiobook

1 Audible Gift of Dirty Dates: Erotic Fantasies for Couples, Audiobook

1 Audible Gift of Begging For It: Erotic Fantasies for Women, Audiobook


*This Love Stack giveaway is open to continental US residents only.

Malin James on Mining Yourself

You’ll know it when you feel it. Especially on your face. Good people make you want to smile. Grin, until you split your face wide open and there’s nothing left but teeth. Fellow believers in personal exploration inspire me, and you better believe that Malin James is one of those people. It’s my belief that when we don’t pretend, when we genuinely look into ourselves and reflect and listen and write–when we make an effort to mine ourselves…we can find a semblance of what wholeness feels like. Or, at least we can begin to. And a beginning is something. We really are more than words because sometimes the words aren’t enough. We need stories to ‘get’ us. There’s no doubt that self-examination can be a little spooky, and so we need the communion of others in order to make those special brave dives, sort of tandem-style. A writer’s job is to strap on the goggles, bite onto the mouthpiece of their respirators, grab a handy torch and dive deep. With pen and paper ready. Exploring their own thoughts, dreams, and experiences is not only paramount to consciously existing, it opens up an ability to write more thoughtfully, and thus be more entertaining and relative. And so when you find a writer who speaks honestly, openly, trustingly…listen. Be receptive. And then you too can look in.

My special thanks go to Malin James. Thank you.

Malin James is an essayist, blogger, and short story writer. Her work has appeared in Electric Literature, Bust Magazine, MUTHA, Queen Mob’s Tea House and Medium, as well as anthologies for Cleis, Sweetmeats Press and Stupid Fish Productions. She is currently at work on Roadhouse Blues, a collection for Go Deeper Press. She will be speaking at Eroticon London 2017.

Here are a couple of Malin James’ stories featured on The Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast. When you are done listening to her interview, scroll down and settle in for some truly erotic storytelling.

Have you written an erotic story?

Does your story fit this call?

Deadline is February 28th!!

Click the link below for submission guidelines.

Check out our latest audiobooks!


Begging For It Erotic Fantasies for Women
Edited by: Rachel Kramer Bussel
Narrated by: Rose Caraway
Published by: Cleis Press

What would you give – or give up – to fulfill your most cherished sex fantasy? In this Cleis Press collection, erotica editor Rachel Kramer Bussel brings us femme fatales and shy women, women on a mission and women opening up to new worlds of discovery: women who know what they want and are not afraid to beg for it! Let yourself go with these 20 tantalizing tales of tortuous longing and release.


For The Men and The Women Who Love Them
Edited and Narrated by: Rose Caraway
Published by: Stupid Fish Productions

An anthology intended for the fellas AND the women who have an appetite for bold, adventurous erotic storytelling. Escape into the fantastic, the outlandish, and the literary.
Now in Paperback!

For ALL Rose Caraway Audiobooks
Go to:


Drop a message!
Phone: (202) 810-5477

Twitter- @RoseCaraway

Special Thanks to Mike Anderson for the “Sexy Librarian” song
See the video


It is with great pride that we announce:

Stupid Fish Productions is in PRINT.

We’ve never been able to say that sentence before. Not until today. Today, it’s possible to touch, smell, and even hold a Stupid Fish Production’s anthology in our actual hands. We’ve been getting a lot of skin-to-book contact over here, and…it feels pretty sexy.
To make an announcement like this is, well, we are giddy. And we really couldn’t be happier having our newly published, FOR THE MEN AND THE WOMEN WHO LOVE THEM anthology making it’s print debut. FOR THE MEN is our celebratory torchlight at the end of this 2016. For us, it feels really good to have reached another goal.

Without spending too much time being braggadocious, Dayv and I just wanted to very quickly say…

‘Thank You’ to every Lurid Listener of;
The Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast
The Sexy Librarian’s Blog-cast.

‘Thank You’ to all the Writers whose sexy stories
have ever passed over my lips and into a Lurid Listener’s ear.

We do have PRINT/review copies available to give away on a first-come, first-served basis.

There is a limited supply.

Email me [contactstupidfish(at) gmail (dot) com] with your mailing address.

All we ask for in return is your review. Whether you love it, hate it, or simply just can’t wait to get your hands on the next volume, please post a review in Amazon/Goodreads.

Thanks again,

Rose Caraway

25 Bold Sex Stories

The Sexy Librarian, Rose Caraway presents an anthology intended for the fellas and the women who have an appetite for bold, adventurous erotic storytelling. Escape into the fantastic, the outlandish, and the literary. Get ready for; a space pirate, a cowgirl, an anxious odd man out, an undercover agent, lonely ghosts, a taxi driver with an unexpected topsy-turvy fare, a burly biker who just wants to be cuddled, a bride-to-be with one last oat to sow, The Devil offering a golden deal, a mysterious hitchhiker, strangers and a spontaneous three-way, and a reluctant hitman. You will find these and many more audacious characters playing out intense encounters.

Featured stories by: Allen Dusk, Jade A. Waters, Terrance Aldon Shaw, Tamsin Flowers, Landon Dixon, Sonnie de Soto, Adrea Kore, D. Lovejoy, Erin Pim, J.T. Seate, Spencer Dryden, Winter Blair, Simon Drax, Lynn Lake, Chase Morgan, Charlie Powell, Josie Jordan, Daily Hollow, Marc Angel, Rachel de Vine, D.L. King, Dorothy Freed, Rachel Kramer Bussel, T.J. Christian, and Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Audiobook  *  eBook  *  Print

Jade A. Waters, ‘The Assignment’ blog tour kicks off!

the-assignmentAuthor Jade A. Waters is no stranger to Stupid Fish Productions. She’s one of The Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast’s favorite authors, with a few of her sexy short stories being featured on the show, and she’s also been a welcomed guest over on The Sexy Librarian’s Blogcast to discuss previous short story publications in anthologies edited and curated by Rose Caraway. And so it is with tremendous pleasure that we have the amazing Jade A. Waters back in the studio for a celebratory interview regarding the release of her debut novel, The Assignment, published by Carina Press!

The official release date for The Assignment is December 12th, but the ebook is available right now for preorders in Amazon!

jade-in-studioIn this in-studio interview, Jade discusses the creative and professional process of writing her new novel (and the rest of the 3 book series, Lessons In Control). She also generously answers questions regarding what it’s like working with an agent while shopping her novel (series) around. Then, for the piece de resistance…the lovely Jade A. Waters lets her multi-talented-self really shine, when she steps behind Rose’s narrator mic to record her very own, super-sexy excerpt taken directly from The Assignment. We hope you enjoy the interview as much as we did!


Don’t forget to head over to to get the dates and stops for The Assignment blog tour. There’s giveaways and more!


The Atrocity Exhibition with Remittance Girl


Remittance Girl is a graduate student. An ‘Erotic Fictician and Academic who is polymorphously perverse’. But do you know why we enjoy Remittance Girl? It’s because she understands that we need to examine and explore our own selves in order for our characters to be believable, relatable, and worth writing about. It was a joy and honor to have her return to The Sexy Librarian’s Blogcast to discuss author, JG Ballard and his experimental collection of linked stories or “condensed novels titled, “The Atrocity Exhibition“. Enjoy.

RemittanceGirl.orgAcademic Page

RemittanceGirl.comFiction Page


“MILF And Cookies” by Spencer Dryden

Erotic Romance has predominately been written and read by women, but today men want to read it, write it, and experience the benefits of erotica too. For The Men And The Women Who Love Them is an anthology that both acknowledges and embraces male and female authors. It’s a collection that highlights unique desires and points of view. We want men included in this creative, erotic space because they’ve been too long told that they shouldn’t. We want/need men writing and reading, thinking about and expressing their erotic selves. It’s how we, as couples and individuals can better understand and support one another. Erotica, and certainly Erotic Romance is for men and women both. In this week’s #WriterlyWisdom, here is For The Men’s contributing author, Spencer Dryden to offer a few words on his writing Erotic Romance from the male point of view.

The Importance of Being Earnest


Why the Male POV is Relevant in Erotic Romance

spencer-drydenHello. I’m Spencer Dryden one of the authors featured in the anthology, For the Men, edited by Rose Caraway. My story, MILF and Cookies, is a holiday M/F vanilla romance story suitable for the Hallmark Channel; if Hallmark did erotic romance. (Wouldn’t that be cool?)

My story, however, is a little different from the standard romance trope. Sure the protagonists eventually connect, but my story is completely from the point of view of the male character. The reader only learns about the woman though her dialogue and action. That’s how life is for us, guys. We aren’t party to the inner dialogue of the female character. As a result, we often miss or misinterpret their desires and intentions. Perhaps even more unconventional, my main character isn’t an alpha male, billionaire bad boy or self-destructive egomaniac. He’s just an ordinary guy, a handyman who is a little clueless about the romantic notions of his client—a woman he has strong feelings for, but thinks her beyond his reach. (In the Hallmark trope, it’s usually reversed.) It’s light hearted fun.

Beyond entertainment, which is all my story is intended to be, a male point of view offers the reader an opportunity to experience romance from a different perspective. The statistics tell us that women are the predominant consumers of romance, so understandably the vast majority of it is about female fantasies and desires. I wouldn’t want to imply that women can’t write from a male point of view, what I’d like to suggest is that a man’s experience of romance or a romantic encounter, told through authentic characters, is deserving of better labeling than “stroke.” We think differently, process differently, especially sexual triggers. An earnest portrayal of a straight man seen through a male lens might just open some doors of understanding, in the same way that M/M, F/F, BDSM—the whole alphabet soup of sub-genres—opens our understanding of others.

I hope the For the Men anthology will open the door to half of the adult population. As best I can tell, the most successful sub-genre of erotica is M/M. Much of it is written by women, but it is read by men and women, most likely because the male readers can identify with the characters and the stories. By and large, men don’t read M/F erotic romance. Maybe if they identified more with the characters and the story we’d all get a few more sales.

“MILF And Cookies”
by Spencer Dryden

milf-and-cookies-by-spencer-dryden-squareFrom my dungeon beneath the kitchen sink, I could hear the water cascading down the pipes from the master bath above. The thought of the warm, gentle stream caressing Judy’s firm breasts and trickling between her thighs sent so much blood gushing to my cock; I thought I might get stuck under the cabinet. Thankfully, the work distracted me from my fantasies of barging into the shower, hoisting her onto my cock, pinning her against the wall and banging her hard.

I had just finished when she breezed into the kitchen, scrubbing her hair dry with a towel. Still in the loose fitting bathrobe, raising her arms for the task all but exposed her breasts. She caught me looking and gave me a knowing grin as I turned away, red-faced again, to flip the switch to the disposal and use the sprayer to demonstrate the repairs.

“Nice,” she said after the noise of the test run had faded. “Do the curtain rods next. I’m tired of living in a fish bowl.”

She walked over toward the large window on the west wall of the living room and sat at the edge of the couch. To hide my erection, I pulled my shirt tails over my belt. At the window, I scaled my three step, utility ladder. Once again, work cooled the savage lust. I turned toward her. I swear she was staring at my ass. “Hand me that little black box thing there, would you?” I pointed to the crowded tool box near her feet.

“This?” she asked, clutching the top of her robe as she bent to pick up the small device.


“What is it?”

“It’s a stud finder.”

“Really?” she asked in a teasing voice. “How does it work?” She started to hand the tool to me then pulled it back when she squeezed the sides, causing the indicator lights to fire. She held it to my leg and moved it around. “I think it’s working.”

She seemed delighted to see me blush. I shook my head as she handed the tool to me. I found the stud and had the curtain rod anchors solidly in place in a matter of minutes. I admit I was more than a little unnerved by her attentive gaze. I kept telling myself she was just curious about the work. The curtains in place, I stepped down from the ladder and directed her to the pull chord.

“Some privacy at last,” she said, smiling as the curtains closed out the afternoon sun. “Now, I want to loop some garland over the curtain rod.”

She scurried across the room and returned with a coil of neatly wound garland. She fed it to me while I weaved it along. As I stepped down to admire my work, she shook her head.

“I want more loop,” she said.

I gave her a puzzled look.

“I’ll do it,” she said turning the ladder sideways to the window.

She ascended the ladder, its broad bottom steps provided stability, but it was not tall enough for her to reach the top of the curtain rod. She stepped up onto the narrow top step. The ladder wobbled in protest.

“Hold on to me, okay?” She looked nervous, but determined, as she stood to her full height, still, just barely able to reach the top of the rod.

I think I moaned when I took hold of her, my hands on her firm middle, my nose almost against the knot of her red robe. My memory is a little fuzzy as something like a Christmas miracle happened. She adjusted the first of the loops then turned more toward me, while taking more of the garland, her hand brushed against the knot on the robe’s belt. The knot slipped, and the soft fabric opened like curtains to the Promised Land. There I was, my nose right in front of the most beautifully trimmed pussy I had seen in a long time. Her scent robbed me of any words, quickly boring its way into an ancient part of my sex-starved brain where there are no words, only savage urges.

I could feel her breath quicken as she gently stroked my hair. A tiny droplet of her nectar trickled down the inside of her thigh. There was an awkward silence. I don’t know which of us was trembling more as I ran my nose along the taut skin of her lower tummy and on through to the soft landing patch of reddish blonde hair.

That’s when I lost it. I lapped the succulent drop like a man dying of thirst. Instead of a slap or a scream, Judy moaned in delight.

“Oh yes,” she whispered as she pulled me closer.

ftm-title-on-whiteI licked along the length of her shimmering pussy with a broad swipe of my tongue as if licking frosting from a spatula. She gasped. Her knees buckled, and I immediately clutched her butt and hips—she was as light as a feather and I guided her down to the floor with ease. She slipped from the robe and spread her legs wide, then tilted her hips to greet my craven tongue. Her milky smooth inner labia offered the sweetness of her juices, its aroma overtaking the fresh pine scent from the tree. Beneath the twinkling lights, her growing song of ecstasy was the sweetest Christmas music my ears had ever heard. Her groans were deep, and her breathing ragged as I pushed my tongue into her opening, lapping as a beggar at a trough of rare wine. Her scent enveloped me in a cloud of mental fog, my thoughts replaced by urges of thrusting and ramming.

It had been so long since I’d eaten pussy I’d all but forgotten the intoxicating power of it as I probed with my tongue, deeper between her smooth folds. I’d never seen an angel come before until I surrounded her swollen clit with my mouth. Her purrs grew louder, hard gasps flew from her circled lips. Her undulating hips stilled as her body tensed in an orgasm. Her soulful moan, like nothing I’d ever heard before, triggered a surge of pride in my mind while making my groin ache with lust.

She guided me up to her face with a gentle tug on my hair and said, “I want you inside of me.”for-the-men_cover_final

#ICYMI: Last week’s #SexySnippet was of Terrance Aldon Shaw’s, Making Hay and his #WriterlyWisdom – On Dialogue.





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#ComingSoon to #Audible!

On Dialogue with Terrance Aldon Shaw



It’s something that’s particularly important to me as a writer, reader, editor, and narrator. When I received Terrance Aldon Shaw‘s submission, Making Hay, I was quickly enthralled by his seemingly effortless use of dialogue and wanted his story to be a part of the, For The Men And The Women Who Love Them project. In addition to his rich scenery, and of course, Making Hay’s splendid plot, Terrance’s characters felt…real. They stood before me as living beings because they conversed. The natural, realistic aspect of dialogue is what makes, Making Hay feel truly genuine to me. There is no clunkiness, nothing is muddy, there aren’t any unnecessary utterances of breath, anywhere. I can’t tell you how exhilarating it is to witness dialogue that enriches a story. I believe that Terrance’s advice; LISTEN, really ought to be listened to. Dialogue isn’t easy, I know. But, we can all get better at writing it. If we spent a little less time worrying about silly periphery things, and instead, considered what our characters wanted/needed to say, our dialogue skills would automatically become better. Lately, I’ve noticed that too much dialogue is sadly being forced. It comes off as nonsensical, juvenile (yikes!), even uncharacteristic of the character. To be honest, shit shouldn’t be what’s coming out of our character’s mouths. If we honestly want to tell a good story–if we genuinely want our story to impact readers, we’ve got to be mindful of our characters and let them speak, thoughtfully. I commend Author Terrance Aldon Shaw for his lovely, heedful writing hand.

“On Dialogue”
by Terrance Aldon Shaw

I love writing dialogue; it’s my favorite part of storytelling. Because I hear dialogue in my head the way composers hear music in their imaginations, conversation has always been one of the easiest paths into the world of story for me. But that doesn’t mean dialogue is always the easiest thing to write: often, the most natural-sounding dialogue is the end-product of a long, intense process of revising, editing, polishing, refining, and, most of all, listening.

If I were to offer a set of guidelines for writing good dialogue, the first four would be: (1) Listen. (2) Listen. (3) Listen. (4) Listen.

First: Listen for, and learn to appreciate the music of speech, its melodies and its rhythms, those tiny, almost imperceptible variations of inflection, pitch, tempo. You can always tell when somebody has a tin ear for dialogue; it falls flat, stilted, lifeless, artificial, like a robot singing a single note perpetually off-key. Good, pitch-perfect dialogue has a vibrancy about it—a sense of style, euphony, and flow.

Second: Listen not only to what’s being said, but, more importantly, to how it’s being said. It’s no longer fashionable simply to tack an adverb onto a dialogue attribution “he said sarcastically”; a writer needs to convey mood and emotion in the dialogue itself: “Oh really?” he said, “I never would’ve guessed.” (I’m not against the occasional adverb if context calls for it.) In the end, dialogue isn’t about dumping freight-loads of plot information in the reader’s lap; it’s about gradually, subtly revealing unique individual characters.

Third: Listen for things that are out of the ordinary, the idiosyncrasies and quirks of conversation: the way people sometimes talk past each other, the way they interrupt or overrun each other’s words. The way they’re not always talking about the same things at the same time. The way they never tell you everything all at once—the way they often never speak in complete sentences. Listen, especially, to the significant silences between words—the pauses: it’s this space between the characters’ words where deeper meanings often emerge.

“Making Hay”
by Terrance Aldon Shaw

making-hay-by-terrance-aldon-shaw-warm-filterHer brothers called me Blindy because of the patch over where my left eye used to be. Little berserkers were always pestering me, following me around the farm like month-old puppies chasing their own tails, watching without lending a hand, leaning on the fence-rail as I cleaned out the hog pens or tinkered with one piece of machinery or another.

Blindy’s sweet on Gunni!” The oldest made kissing noises, and the other two joined in on the chorus, trying to get a rise out of me.

“Your sister’s one mighty fine filly,” I allowed. “Don’t know how she ended up being related to you homely little mouth-breathers.”

“Told ya he was sweet on ‘er!”

“Yeah! When’s the weddin’ gonna be, Blindy?”

“Who needs a wedding?” I pitched a shovelful of muck in their direction just to keep them on their toes. “Besides, a good little worker like Gunni could do herself a lot better’n some old one-eyed rambler.”

“So how’d you lose that eye anyway?” the youngest brother piped up.

“What else?” I said. “Got into a fight over a woman.”

Bull! That’s not what you told us last time!”

“Oh? And what did I tell you?”

“Said a crow come and ate it right out o’ your head—”

“‘Nother time you told us you lost it in a dice game—”

“Other fellow cheated,” I said, half under my breath.

“—time ‘fore that you said it got shot out in the war—”

“Naw! I swear fellas, this time, I’m tellin’ ya true. It was in a knock-down drag-out over the finest pair o’ jugs anybody ever saw.” Except maybe for your sister’s, I thought.

“Oh boy! For real, Blindy?”

“Would I go pullin’ your legs now, fellas?”

“Were they nice big ‘uns?”

“Sure were! Like this—” I moved my hands apart to show them. “Good two or three mouthfuls apiece, all sweet and firm like juicy apples in the fall.”

“Ho boy!” They imagined it the way young whelps always will. I was doing some imagining of my own.

“So, d’you win the fight, Blindy?” the middle one wanted to know. “D’you get the girl?”

“Yeah,” the eldest wondered, “you get to suck on them tits?”

“What do you think?” I laughed at their foolishness as I turned back to my work.

“Was it worth it?” the youngest one asked.

“Oh ja.” I was serious for a moment. “One good eye’s a small price to pay for knowin’ better. Talkin’ ‘bout that, ain’t you monkeys got chores to finish?”

* * *

ftm-title-on-whiteGunni’s pa had a still hidden in the middle of the ash grove out back behind the house. “Sure would like me a taste,” I’d tease her when we were working together, detasseling corn, milking the cows, or putting up bales in the haymow.

“I ain’t supposed to talk about that.” Gunni’d blush, and I’d give her a wink with my one good eye—like maybe I wasn’t just talking about the moonshine. It got to be a friendly sort of joke between the two of us—our own little secret on top of the one she was keeping for the old man.

Every day about noon, Gunni would walk down the lane past my shack to the mailbox beside the road. She’d bring me my mail on her way back to the house. A few auction fliers, a parts catalog or two, some magazines in plain brown wrappers—I could tell she was curious about those.

“F. Jon Geldnir—that your name?” she’d asked me that first time.

“People in these parts can’t say my real name right,” I told her. “Fjölnir’s a tad much to get the tongue around. Just thought I’d make it easy on folks.”

“Where you from—I mean, originally—Jon?”

“Long ways away from here, honey, that’s for sure.”

“Where? Like Chicago? Where the music comes from at night?”

“Ever been there?”

“Oh, gods, no!” Gunni got a faraway look in her lovely blue eyes—dreamy and sad all at the same time. “Hardly ever been off the farm. Even then, never much further than the county seat.”

“You ought to venture out and see the world,” I told her. “The world would surely appreciate the sight of your pretty little seat.”

“Now you’re bein’ silly, F. Jon Geldnir.” She pretended to be outraged as if I’d sullied her virtue or called the family honor into question. But that day and from then on, Gunni always gave me a nod and a sly hint of a smile from over her shoulder as she started back up the lane.

I never got tired of watching her walk away. I may only have one good eye, but I know what I like. And Gunni had it all, like a beautiful Viking princess in one of the old stories. She was well-formed, tall and graceful, not fat by any stretch of the imagination, nor what most would consider lean or skinny, but just enough of something in-between to make the mouth water. From the fetchingly decisive set of her jaw to those strong, gorgeously arcing shoulders and everything below, all the way to the prettiest, most pertly-girlish pair of feet I’d ever laid that one good eye upon.

I’d admired her strength right from the beginning, her subtly muscled limbs grown taut and capable from years of good hard work. She could’ve arm wrestled any city boy twice her size and taken him—easy. But I liked her soft, girly side, too, the way she always went bare-legged on the hottest days, her fine long gams, tanned every inch of the way before disappearing into a pair of short cut-off jeans, shamelessly revealing the shape of that roundly scrumptious rump.

And her hair! Such a sight to behold, falling down her back in a long braid like a golden windrow. At night I’d dream of how it would look if she ever let it loose, spreading out all fine and free. Oh! The visions I had of plunging my cock into that sweet maelstrom, wrapping those soft strands around my girth like dripping honey on a stick.

for-the-men_cover_finalI’d wanted the farmer’s daughter from the moment I saw her, furtively taking her in from head to toe as I nodded in greeting. Since then, the thought of her had kept me awake on many a night. The vision of her naked body all spread out beneath me, jiggling, bouncing, and squirming in time to my amorous tune. Her coos and sighs and whimpers, and all the other sounds of rising delight before the full-throated howls and hollers of release. I like a mortal woman who’s not afraid to make some noise—if only to praise my name ever so often. Even a god needs a bit of encouragement from time to time.

#ICYMI: Last week’s #SexySnippet was of Tamsin Flowers’, Rope Burn and her #WriterlyWisdom – Get A Lay Of The Land.





Barnes & Noble

#ComingSoon to #Audible!

Rope Burn by Tamsin Flowers

tamsin-flowersFor The Men And The Women Who Love Them.

Today, the one and only, Tamsin Flowers visits to share a little Writerly Wisdom for those who want to know, and of course we’ve got a very Sexy Snippet too!

Tamsin Flowers is what you would call a proficient writer. She’s able to put her characters into seemingly any environment. Tamsin has contributed to many of our anthologies, including these titles; The Sexy Librarian’s Dirty 30 Vol.1, Libidinous Zombie, Tonight She’s Yours, and most recently, For The Men.

She’s also written a dreamy, erotic Cephalopod tale just for Lurid Listeners of The Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast, she’s even shared her thrilling, Red Hot Zombie Cock on the show as well. Rose Caraway interviewed the lovely Tamsin, over at The Sexy Librarian’s Blog-cast. It is with great pride that we present yet another finely written, erotic tale by Tamsin Flowers. But, first, here is a bit of Writerly Wisdom…

“Get A Lay Of The Land”
by Tamsin Flowers

I think the reason why I write about so many different places and environments comes down to one of the reasons why I write at all – to entertain myself. Writing gives me the chance to explore different worlds and to try out different things that I’d never get to do in real life. So when I start a short story set in a time or place or milieu that’s not my own, the first thing I need to do is research. I’ll read around the topic for a while to get some knowledge of how things work and the terminology/language that’s used by the people involved. Then I immerse myself into my character’s situation and start to think along the lines of what I would do and how I’d react if I was that person, doing whatever it is they’re doing. For example, in my story “Rope Burn” (featured in For the Men), because Cally travels the rodeo circuit through the year, she’s wary of getting involved with any of the other rodeo riders – she knows they’re more likely to be interested in just a short-term fling, so she needs to guard her heart accordingly. I didn’t need to actually experience riding in a rodeo to work that out – it was just a matter of thinking what it would be like travelling that circuit, and what sorts of things might happen between the men and women who compete. Taking another example, in my story “Windfall” (featured in Tonight She’s Yours), I tried to imagine what it would be like to travel through Europe in the aftermath of the Second World War. My characters are weary and beaten down by years of deprivation when a chance encounter with a young American GI becomes a means to secure some sustenance. It’s an interesting period of European history, but for a short story, there isn’t time to enlarge on the politics of the situation – this is much more about a shared human experience which could have happened in a number of different settings, though the particular situation gave it, I think, an added poignance. So, basically, my advice to writers is to do your research so that you get the factual details right and then make your characters as human as you possibly can as you put them into a specific situation.
Rope Burn
by Tamsin Flowers

“Cally Carson, you really don’t know, do you?” he said, as he finally got me naked.

“What?” I whimpered, hardly coherent.

“What you do to men, Cally. What you do to me.”

“Untie me, Ray.”

Ray pulled me up into a sitting position and did as I asked. It was my turn to rip open the press studs on his shirt. He shrugged it off and between us we got rid of his boots and pants. I laughed—even his shorts were black. But my laughter died in my throat as my hands reached out to touch his chest. His skin was warm and tanned, and amid the sprinkling of black, there were one or two gray hairs. Ray Jackson was a man with experience. However, his muscles were as hard and lean as those of a younger man. On one side of his rib cage, I traced a faded white scar with my finger.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A present from the first calf I roped,” he said. “But no other calf since ever managed to get a hoof on me. I learned a lot from that critter.”

His weight drove me back against the straw, and his mouth ground down on mine. Fireworks went off deep inside, and a charge buzzed between my legs. I groaned as his fingers pinched and twisted my nipples. His cock rest against my thigh and I reached down and took hold of it. It bucked in my hand, and I tightened my grasp on it. It was hot and hard, and I needed to get it inside me.

“You got a jacket for this thing?” I whispered in his ear.

“Sure,” he said.

He leaned away from me and reached for his jeans, pulling a small rectangular package from one of the pockets. He ripped it open, and I raised my head to get a better view. Yes, of course, it had to be—the condom he rolled down his beautiful cock was black. I reached out and finished the job for him and a second later I pulled him down onto me and guided him inside.

“Oh, Cally,” he sighed with the first thrust.

I echoed him with a short, sharp gasp and hitched my legs up around his waist. He was big, and as he pushed down into me, I could feel myself stretching to accommodate him. It was a pain that hurt so good. My hips pushed up against his. I wanted him to go further, deeper inside me than any man had been before. I let myself open up for him and, with my arms and my legs, I clung to him as he drove me hard against the straw-covered floor.

It was fast and rough with Ray Jackson. The way I liked it. He took his pleasure and came with a loud yell but, as he did, he thrust a hand down between us and worked my clit until he carried me over the brink as well. He pushed in hard as he climaxed and my muscles clenched around him. My orgasm came in like a wildfire, wave after wave of heat flashing through me.

We were sweaty and the straw stuck to us, and when he pulled off the condom, it stuck even more. I had scratches on my back, and Ray’s knees were grazed, but he kissed me again and plunged me straight back into the zone. My breath grew short, so he sat back against the wooden wall of the stable and swung me across his lap. He used one arm to hold me against his chest and with his other hand, pushed my legs apart.

“Look at you, beautiful,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes, and he laughed. Gently, and slowly at first, he stroked my inner thighs and the rise of flesh below my belly. His fingers traced a path down one side of my labia and up the other; he teased me until I was panting for him. My hips pushed down against his naked lap and I nuzzled at his neck with my mouth. And as he explored me with eager fingers, I was rewarded with the feel of his cock getting hard again underneath me.

“Will you let me take you out riding and make love to you in the forest?”


“Will you let me eat your pussy in the back of my truck?”


“Will you let me tie you up again, Cally?”


“Will you let me tame you, wildcat?”

“No. Never that, Ray.”

He laughed again.

Nothing feels so good as the first push of a cock forging into you. I arched back against him, and he dropped his head down to suck one of my breasts into his mouth. He bit me hard, and it made me come, and this time it lasted longer. The spasm of my muscles around him returned the favor and his hips bucked beneath me as he climaxed, withdrawing at the last moment because this time, he didn’t have a condom on.

for-the-men_cover_finalWe were both spent. We sat together in the warm, dark stable for I don’t know how long, listening to the horses fidget as they flicked their tails at imaginary flies and blew raspberries at one another. And after a time, Ray helped me get dressed and took me back to my motel. Up in my room, he drew me a bath and washed away the straw and the muck from the stable, and the sweat from a hard day’s riding and a hard night’s fucking. He kissed me and tucked me into my bed and then vanished into the darkness. The next afternoon, I went to the arena and watched him being crowned champion calf roper for another year.

So, sure, I picked up a bad case of rope burn at Fort Madison last September. But I know someone who got it just as bad as me. And his name is Ray Jackson.

Rose Caraway interviews, Dr. David Ley, PHD

headshotIt is SO great to be back!! It has been a while, but, The Sexy Librarian Blog-cast returns with Rose Caraway interviewing author, Dr. David Ley. They discuss, cuckolding, sex today, the power of fantasy & communication.

Dr. David Ley is a clinical psychologist. He’s earned his Bachelor’s degree in Philosophy, and his Master’s and Doctoral degrees in clinical psychology from the University of New Mexico. He is the Executive Director of New Mexico Solutions–an outpatient mental health and substance abuse program in Albuquerque, NM.

Dr. David Ley also writes for Psychology Today. You can follow Ley on Twitter: @DrDavidLey and you can find him on FacebookEnjoy!!


Books by Dr. David Ley:
Insatiable Wives
The Myth of Sex Addiction
Ethical Porn For Dicks: A Man’s Guide to Responsible Viewing Pleasure



#WriterlyWisdom with Sonni de Soto

As the For The Men Antho blog tour continues, author Sonni de Soto joins us today to discuss the writing of her contributing story, ODD MAN. This story is unlike any other erotica story you’ve read. Sometimes, we read erotica to escape for a little while, to enter into new worlds or scenes where we know that we’ll be ‘comfortably-kept’ because we aren’t required to do much more than read. But, this is not the case with Sonni de Soto’s story. de Soto wanted to challenge her readers, and we adore her for her crafty use of 2nd person POV. In ODD MAN, de Soto forces readers to intimately consider, react…feel everything that her main character feels. And she doesn’t hold any punches as she places us directly inside the mind of her main character. His anguish & triumph become our own. Here are Sonni de Soto’s thoughts behind the writing of her incredibly moving story, ODD MAN. You can read the #SexySnippet of ODD MAN, over at lovely Janine Ashbless‘ place:
“Deep Point Of View”
by Sonni de Soto
I’m a huge believer in writing things that scare you. In trying and inhabiting voices that aren’t your own. And, honestly, I’d never written a second-person story before this one and I just wanted to know if I could. But I didn’t want to just write in that POV to write in it; it needed to serve the story.The thing that intrigues me—and irritates me—most about second-person narratives is the uncomfortable space it forces the reader into. One of the ways it does this is by placing this interesting sense of distance for the character from their own story. For my protagonist, Rob, he is telling his story as if it’s not happening to him. Or, at times, as if he could advise himself, could—almost like a video or roleplay game—go back and have a do-over. It plays on the very human nature to know exactly what you ought to do while knowing, undoubtedly, you will to do the exact opposite.

That distance within second-person narratives allows the story to shift responsibility. When Rob tells his story this way, he isn’t doing these things; you are. Not just you specifically as the reader, but also in English’s funny way of creating a general, almost universal you. The tale then hovers in this odd, discomforting space where this deeply personal story becomes all of ours. A strange collective experience of this one man’s moment in time.

odd-manEven more than first-person, this 2nd person POV thrusts you, as the reader, into that character’s experiences by changing the game from the normal declarative, this-happens-then-this-happens-then-this-happens nature of narrative to something more imperative. You, dear reader, are going on this journey with me, whether you want to or not. And I think it invites us—as both the reader and the writer—to confront things about human nature, like jealousy and inadequacy and those times when we flat-out hate the ones we love most, that the character doesn’t want to and that we, as his collective stand-in, would under any other circumstance avoid.

Which, I think—I hope—makes the story’s resolution that much more rewarding because you—we—will have gone through something that, if not scares–challenges us.

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