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Interview with Safe Word author: Molly Weatherfield, a.k.a. Pam Rosenthal

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If you missed Part I of our two-part interview with Pam Rosenthal, whose erotica pen name is Molly Weatherfield, then you will want to check out THIS POST.

Her award-winning first book, Carrie’s Story, was followed by an even more wild adventure – both in terms of plot, sex, and narrative style – Safe Word.

Here is Lola’s interview with Molly and also an amazing illustration done by our dear friend in Ukraine, Sergii.  The illustration shows Lola, lying down on the floor, reading Carrie’s Story, as Pam Rosenthal (top left) looks on at her fictional author, Molly Weatherfield (top right) and Molly’s fictional character, Carrie looks to her creator with admiration.

Pam, Molly, Carrie, Lola

Questions for Pam Rosenthal, a.k.a. Molly Weatherfield – PART TWO – Safe Word

Lola – I’m so glad you enjoyed the first interview and have agreed to a second for the sequel book, Safe Word! As I said at the end of our last interview, I totally needed a sequel because I didn’t want Carrie’s Story to end – especially not where it did end. But, I have to say, Safe Word did not follow any of the possible narrative sexcapades that I had imagined at the end of Carrie’s Story – and I imagined a lot!

This will be a tricky interview because I don’t want to give away too much of the book for anyone who hasn’t read it yet, but – OMG! – you really took off for the sequel! As in, Safe Word was off to the races!

Compared to Carrie’s Story, this book has a lot of steamy man-on-man sex and BDSM. Where did that come from and, again, were you worried about pushing boundaries or even warping genres?

Safe Word by Molly Weatherfield

Molly – Actually, I was so surprised to be writing it at all, that I never thought about whether I was taking things too far. I mean, I had told everybody that Carrie’s Story was a one-off, and that I was done. And then I found out that I wasn’t, which was such a gift, and so unexpected, that I just ran with it.

As for the man-on-man sex, I don’t remember it as being a conceptual departure from the first book. It’s just that in Safe Word there are more opportunities for variation. Carrie has moved on to a bigger world, with more possibilities, while Jonathan is kind of rediscovering that world. What wasn’t entirely explicit in Carrie’s Story (though Kate is kind of grumpy about it) is that for the year or two when he’s most involved with Carrie, Jonathan has stopped being active in the association and its doings. But with Carrie gone, his old life comes rushing in on him again. What I was going for was a sense that the magnitude and the variety of this hidden world of sexual exchange and domination should be always revealing more of itself to the reader, through Carrie’s and Jonathan’s narratives of the year they’ve spent apart. I used to call this the “Snoopy’s doghouse” approach, but clearly, it was a way to conceptualize my own fantasy life as I explored it. 

Lola – There were a couple of points in the novel where I laughed out loud because the plot went in such an unexpected direction. For instance, the rivalry between Carrie and Stephanie really reminded me of some of the YA books I had read. And then, while in the stable, Carrie befriends her neighbor by clandestinely using a piece of rubber tube to communicate between stalls. That reminded me of a scene from V for Vendetta, which came out much later than your book. And you mentioned to me before the interview that the first scene of the book is right from Little Women. Two more disparate books, I think, could not be found. Was this sort of juxtaposition of texts part of your plan or did it just come out that way and you realized it after?

Molly – I don’t know anything about V for Vendetta. But the Carrie and Stephanie rivalry is very YA, you’re right. And it was inspired by something that happened years ago among a bunch of adults, including me, who were traveling and working together. And because of the pressures of the situation, we found ourselves sometimes acting like bratty teenagers, even to the midnight giggling and whispering. Not proud of it, but there you are.

As for Little Women, thankfully it was only after I’d finished writing the first scene of Safe Word that I realized that I’d copped it from the scene in Little Women when Laurie first catches up with Amy in Europe. In the Greta Gerwig movie the scene is shown from the p.o.v. of Amy in the carriage with Aunt March. But in the novel, it’s very similar to the scene in Safe Word: first a kind of birds-eye view of the setting in the south of France, then focusing in on a very handsome American man who’s being rather ogled by passers-by while he waits for a particular young woman.

Here are some snippets of the passage from Little Women:

At three o’clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nice may be seen on the Promenade des Anglais, a charming place… Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man walked slowly, with his hands behind him, and a somewhat absent expression of countenance… which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approvingly after him… There were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but the young man took little notice of them, except to glance, now and then, at some blonde girl, or lady in blue.

And here are some parallel bits from Safe Word:

The city itself [Avignon] is heavily touristed… On this particular day… however, it was sunny and lively… An American man was sitting at one of the cafes… and he’d been glancing up eagerly whenever a slender young woman, especially one with close-cropped hair, came from that direction… Lots of attractive people were strolling… lots of women he liked looking at… and since he was extraordinarily good-looking… none of this was going unnoticed.

What was so remarkable to me when I finally realized what I’d done, was remembering how much I’d loved the scene in Little Women when I read it as a breathless 9-year-old, just knocked out by what I took to be its elegance and sophistication. The point of view and the rhythm of the phrasing had clearly imprinted itself onto me and yet my conscious mind didn’t remember it at all; when I was writing that part of Safe Word I was focused on the Avignon history (which are themselves copped from Francine du Plessis Gray’s At Home with the Marquis de Sade, the book I’d reviewed for Salon.com). 

But then, in both Carrie books — and really in everything I’ve ever written — I used so much of what I’d read and experienced, even when it might not appear directly apposite to the subject at hand, which I think is awesome evidence of the heavy lifting the mind and memory are capable of during the creative process. Once, at a reading, I was introduced by the author and anthologist Violet Blue, who said to me, jokingly, “I feel that I know you.” To which I replied, about 90% seriously, “You do.”

Lola – Whereas Carrie’s Story was, like many erotica books, a romance novel with kinks and explicit scenes, Safe Word is a much more complex work. I really appreciated the multilayer narrative. On one level you have Carrie, who is in love with life in general and is open-minded and willing to experience all of it. (I love that about her!) But there is always the lingering question in the background of the book (carried over from the first novel) of whether she will get together with her most obvious love interest, Jonathan. But Jonathan is engaged in his own love affair with Kate. And then, because none of these characters are simple, one dimensional, or merely functional for the plot, there is always the possibility that Kate and Carrie will fall in love. I had no idea how it would end, even right up to the last pages! How did this complex plot develop?

Molly – For maybe three quarters of the process, I didn’t know how it would end either. And I guess that I only found my ending when I’d realized that I’d come to the outer limit of my erotic imagination; the feeling that I couldn’t make things any heavier, deeper, or more hardcore and still continue having fun in fantasyland.

Kate’s my favorite character in some ways. I have no idea where I got the idea for her, but I’m always wanting to know (i.e. imagine, i.e. write) more parts of her backstory, to account for her toughness and honesty. I was also kind of obsessed with how Jonathan’s such a pampered little prince: I enjoyed imagining him, but I found myself resenting how much he gets away with; I remember explaining to author and sexual activist Carol Queen that I thought of him like my cat — so beautiful that somehow he existed to be spoiled and indulged. I found their story provocative, sexy, and a bit troubling — as Carrie does, even if she begins to wonder whether it’s her story any longer. 

Lola – And, while we’re on the topic of narrative complexity, the trading of stories between Carrie and Jonathan as they seduce each other and then seduce each other again was brilliant! Of course they would seduce each other with words. I can appreciate breaking with conventional narrative form. This book is so inventive, not just for erotica, but as a novel. Did you feel as if you were breaking new ground that way?

Molly – I’m not really satisfied with how it flows between Carrie’s narrative, Jonathan’s narrative, and the overriding omniscient storytelling, but it was the best I could do with what technical chops I had. So I guess the best answer is that I was breaking new ground for me, and maybe for a certain kind of erotica, but that I was and am haunted by knowing that there are narrative techniques that I didn’t (and don’t) know how to employ. Yhat isn’t at all to say that I’m sorry I wrote it. I did the best I could with what I wanted to say, and in many ways it’s my favorite of my books.

Lola – One aspect of the book I really enjoyed was that the “masters” or “owners” were not only rich men. And the “slaves” or “subs” weren’t just women. (Other than Carrie, we don’t really know their socio-economic status in the civilian world.) There is a certain sexual equality in the book, if not economic equality. I also took particular delight in Jonathan’s punishment for breaking the rules. That really put a dent in the sense that these rich folk were beyond being flogged themselves. And, it’s clear throughout that Kate is the dom to just about all the other characters. Did it just flow that way as you were writing it, or did you have a political statement in mind?

Molly – Again, the sexual equality was what I’d learned from Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty books. I didn’t have a political statement in mind, although I suppose these days you could look at it that way. At the time, though, I was just glad to be exploring the world I was imagining, and grateful to those who’d given me a world of increased possibility. 

Lola – “Feminism” means something different to just about each person who uses the word. I could picture some self-proclaimed feminists (especially Second Wave Feminists) getting their panties in a bunch about your erotica. But one aspect of Third Wave Feminism that I really embrace is the sex positivity – the notion that we all have our little kinks and there’s nothing wrong with living them out loud. So much sexual repression is a function of patriarchy and a healthy sexuality can look and feel all different ways for different people, including Male Dom/Female Sub relationships. Such relationships are not necessarily symptoms or results of patriarchy, or not simply so, at least. Did you receive a lot of criticism from other women/feminists for your writing?

Molly – No criticism at all from women or feminists. I know, it’s weird, right? But true nonetheless.

Lola – I’m sorry for my ignorance, but I wasn’t even born when this book was published. So, can you indulge me a little? The pony play. Where did that come from? If I do a Google search now for “bdsm pony girl race” I will get hundreds of images of women in various states of dress (leather, buckles, naked but for the harness, etc.) with bits in their mouths pulling little rickshaws with doms ready to whip them. I lack the historical knowledge to know if all this porn was inspired by your book (was it the first of this sort?), or if there was already a sub-culture of cosplay or other BDSM play that inspired you.

Molly – Pony play was around before I wrote Carrie’s Story, but I didn’t know about it. I only found out about it after I’d finished a short first draft and was looking for ways to extend it to novel length. Visiting a San Francisco leather/fetish store for inspiration, I found a glossy magazine containing an extensive photo shoot of some real-girls’ pony farm somewhere — or maybe it was all staged, I don’t know. Anyway, I leafed through it in kind of a fearful fever dream, jammed the magazine back onto the rack, stumbled out of the store, and drove home. Only to turn around, get back in the car, drive back, buy the magazine, read it over a few times, and write the Sir Harold chapter in a crazy burst of words that I’ve never been able to equal. It wasn’t writing, exactly: it was copying, as fast as my fingers would go, what my frenzied imagination was dreaming up as fast as it could. And then I retrofitted the earlier chapters around it.

Lola – Since our last interview, you mentioned that you wanted to post a link to the interview on your Facebook page, but were concerned that the censors might punish you for it. Along the lines of historical reference, can you talk about what sorts of shifts you’ve seen politically and artistically in tolerance and censorship with regard to erotica? There seems to be a growing movement in England and America to reduce access to certain material. I know we, with our blog, have been constantly challenged by censorship. I get my social media zapped on the regular and certain companies that transfer money refuse to send us funds because the money is made through sexually explicit material. What have you seen over the years?

Stroll?

Molly – First about censorship: Honestly, it’s been such a long time since I’ve written or actively promoted myself that I don’t have any specifics, but friends who are still writing are always dealing with it, and though I know stuff is always being challenged on Amazon, I’m sorry that I really don’t have any insights to share. I posted the link on my Molly Weatherfield page, which Facebook said it was going to take down. But they haven’t yet, so I’m totally confused. But I didn’t paste a link from my Pam Rosenthal page because I use it to connect to old friends and extended family, and I don’t want them to shut that down, so I’m more circumspect about erotic posts there.

As for shifts in standards, a few wildly unrelated points: 

  • I’m guessing that these days there’s a lot of really intense stuff out there, of a sensibility to appeal to readers of a different generation than mine. I’m told that my teenage granddaughters read stuff that’s crazy explicit (not my stuff, but who could blame them?). But I’m shy to pry too deeply, so I don’t know much. 
  • I’ve always objected to any pornography that tries to locate kinky sensibility in childhood trauma; it seems to me that when you do that you delegitimize freedom of choice and imagination by pretending to be on the side of the “victims” while at the same time scapegoating some nasty “victimizers” by blaming them for your own fantasy life. To the extent that Fifty Shades was coherent, it seems to me that it played that nasty trauma card while going all swoony over private jets and diamond bracelets — but since I found the book a dreary, disorganized read and wound up skipping long passages, who knows what she was getting at? 
  • What most troubles me right now is a kind of eroticizing of totally illegitimate power, as described in this powerful, smart, and scary essay: https://slowcivilwar.substack.com/p/thats-bait. If there’s anything I’ve tried to be clear and consistent about in these interviews it’s that I always situate my fantasies within a framework of total consensuality and freedom to say no. I really hate erotic fantasy that’s in any way based on coercion, and my imagination tends to shrivel up in horror when I don’t feel safe; which I don’t, these days — less as an erotic writer than as an ordinary American who cherishes democracy and the rule of law.

Lola – Lightning round of questions: Favorite erotica author? Favorite book (of any genre)? Favorite poet? Favorite movie? Favorite porn star? Favorite play of Shakespeare’s? Favorite sex toy? Favorite age (meaning, did you love your 20’s, 30’s, 80’s the most) and why?

Molly – Pauline Réage, who wrote Story of O, has got to be at the top of the list. Erotic authors I’ve admired over the years are Michelle Tea, Aaron Travis, Thomas Roche. I’ve mentioned Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty books, but I need to add that the direct inspiration for the association comes from the opening chapter of Rice’s book Exit to Eden. Actually, I’ve been reading more erotic poetry than fiction lately. Natalie Diaz’s book, Postcolonial Love Poem, has some really hot writing in it and won the 2021 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry; and you should run-not-walk to buy The Poetry of Sex, edited by Sophie Hannah.

I don’t have a favorite porn film, but the most smoking hot movie I’ve ever seen is Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution, starring the sexiest film actor I’ve ever seen, Tony Leung. 

All-time favorite pieces of writing: Grace Paley’s short story, “Friends”; The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (imo the great American novel); and Proust’s epic In Search of Lost Time, which is kind of my basic spiritual discipline.

Favorite play of Shakespeare? When I was young it was Much Ado About Nothing, clearly the first romcom. Now it’s absolutely King Lear, particularly in this version: https://www.ntathome.com/king-lear/videos/king-lear-trailer

No favorite sex toy, just some simple basics.  

As for sexual decades: it was pretty great when I was writing Carrie in my 40s, but as we approach 80, there’s a new kind of beauty to it, for which we are profoundly grateful.         

Lola – I don’t know if you have kids or grandkids, but, if you do, do you have any regrets about writing erotica since they will probably eventually be reading your work? Do you ever look back and think, “That was fun to write, but, OMG! I should have never published that!”?

Molly – Our very smart son, a literature professor, has managed to be entirely circumspect about my erotica for the last 30 or so years. I have no idea whether he’s read them or not, which is just fine by me. And I’m guessing that his two astonishingly literate daughters will be pretty much the same.

Still, I do sometimes have second thoughts about my books — again, because they’re still out there, in a world where cruelty has been instrumentalized and eroticized. So sometimes I have to pick up one or the other of them and reassure myself that that’s not what I was doing — far from.

Lola – Last question. Not sure if you have had a chance to read or listen to any of HH’s writings about me/us, but if you have, any thoughts?

Molly – Only a few sentences, so I can’t comment. But I love the idea of you guys sharing an erotic and a creative life as a single enterprise. Way to go and wishing you all the best.

Lola – Thank you so much! This has been a rare treat!!!

Molly – Thanks to you as well. I’ve been kind of grieving the fact that I’m not writing any more. But your smart, engaging questions have helped me sum things up and to own the astonishing experience of writing these books.

Molly Weatherfield, author of Carrie’s Story and Safe Word, a.k.a. Pam Rosenthal Interview

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Dear fans of erotica and romance, today we have a very special interview for you:

Pam Rosenthal, a.k.a. Molly Weatherfield – PART ONE – Carrie’s Story

 Pam/Molly is an award winning author in both the genres of romance and erotica! That  doesn’t happen to just anybody! I had just finished reading her first published erotica novel, Carrie’s Story, and I felt such a kinship with both the titular character and the author. I looked her up, reached out, and – to my great luck – she was willing to chat! Then she was willing to do an interview. Now, if you haven’t heard of her (and, I admit, I had only heard of her in passing about a year ago), you totally should have! Why? Because her writing – style, plot, characters, and basic command of the English language – put that other ho-hum popularizer of erotica/BDSM fiction to shame! That’s right, 50 Shades should have been called “50 Degrees Not-As-Good-As Molly Weatherfield!” Or maybe, “16 Years Late!” No, really! Anything that pale best seller had to offer was there in Carrie’s Story, and more – whoa so much more! Don’t take my word for it. Read both for yourselves and get back to me.

Luckily, some have seen the quality in Molly/Pam. In October of 2006, Playboy called Carrie’s Story one of the top 25 sexiest novels ever written! Number 12, in fact – just after Lolita (which, in HH’s humble opinion is the best erotica ever written) and just before Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying. Not too shabby!

Playboy’s 25 Sexiest Novels Ever Written

Number 12 – Top 50 Percentile

That’s not the only list she’s made. There’s also “33 of the Best Erotic Novels of All Time.” Now, if you read that list, you’ll see that it is hardly “of all time.” I mean, there’s nothing prior to Lady Chatterley’s Lover from 1929 on the list. But hey, “33 of the Best Relatively Recent Erotic Novels” just doesn’t have the same pizazz.

Speaking of lists, one particular author I know (in a Biblical way) made the list of ranker.com‘s “Best Sensual Fiction Writers” (even though HH isn’t writing “fiction”). We’d both appreciate it if you’d take a moment to vote us up on the list. Thanks!

Classic and Updated

Now, let’s get to the interview!

Carrie’s Story (updated cover)

Lola – OMG! It is such an honor to interview you! However, I have to be honest, so far I have only read your BDSM erotic novel, Carrie’s Story.  That’s why this interview is PART ONE.  I look forward to reading Safe Word and then having a second interview. And, maybe, when I can, reading some of your Romance work, like A House East of Regent Street, which you published under your own name, Pam Rosenthal. But tell me, what’s your background?  How did you get into writing?

Molly – I’ve always thought of myself as a lifelong English major, in love with reading and writing, and a little shaky in terms of earnings potential. For most of my life I managed to pay the bills as a computer programmer, which was hard, though also stimulating, pretending to have technical chops. Before Carrie, I never considered writing fiction; what writing I did was lit-crit or wonky nonfiction stuff, often about computers and science fiction, published in obscure leftwing venues, but pretty exciting to me intellectually and even artistically (I got the name Molly, for example, from the mirror-shades girl in the classic cyberpunk novel Neuromancer).

I’ve also been a feminist since I came to adulthood in the late 60s (I’m pretty old, as anybody who did the math can figure out). And I also had a secret passion for SM erotica, at least since high school when I somehow glommed onto the Marquis de Sade. Which two parts of my belief system weren’t easy to reconcile, especially since 60s-70s second-wave feminism was particularly disapproving of anything smacking of sexual “objectification.” 

But it was my great good fortune to be in the right place at the right time to begin to resolve my dilemmas. I don’t know if your readers will know this history, but in the early 1980s there was a big split among feminists called “the sex wars,” where some devastatingly brilliant women began to challenge feminist orthodoxy, and to insist that their erotic and affective lives, their role-playing, style of dress, (even their lipstick) didn’t invalidate their personal power. This might sound quaint to you, but for me it was huge when feminists started theorizing about sexuality, writing erotica, plumbing the boundaries of autonomy and desire. There was a lot of backlash; a friend, the late Amber Hollibaugh, was thrown off a panel at Barnard College for talking about butch/femme lesbian roles. But I was inspired, and had the good luck to meet legends like Susie Bright and many others, and to read great, smart erotic stuff — fiction and non-fiction both, which probably got my writing instincts going, though I didn’t know it yet.  

Lola – Carrie’s Story is. . . how should I say?  It pushes so many limits.  How did you hit on this story?  Did the character of Carrie come to you first or did the deep, dark adventures just unfold as you went along?  What was the creative process?

Molly – I remember the first time I tried to write an SM story. It was a lazy, sunny Sunday after sex, and I was feeling really good and loosey-goosey, which I guess freed up my thoughts in some way. So, when my mind drifted to SM fantasies — and then to the fears of fascism that sometimes also flowed in along with the sexual stuff — I felt a little braver than usual, a little less guilty and a little more adventurous. Maybe sex-positive feminist thinking had actually started to penetrate; in any case, I began to wonder whether I was really the sicko I feared I was. What would happen, I wondered, if I actually let the fantasies rip? What would they look like if I wrote them down (what a concept)? So I sat down to find out.

For hours. There I sat in my ratty pink terrycloth bathrobe, scribbling and smiling and just… happy. I totally didn’t know what I was doing — I even had to run to the bookshelf to see how to punctuate dialogue. And when I wrote COMMA CLOSE QUOTE HE SAID PERIOD, I felt like God.

The story stank, though it did have a character sort of like Jonathan and a few characters who found their way into Safe Word. But it was such fun, and I felt so much myself, that I was determined to keep writing, and maybe even trust my own moral sense. Because I found that in my fantasies, I was totally turned on — obsessed really — by the idea of mutual consent, and the subtle, interesting places that can take the imagination and the relationship. I’m interested in people playing power games, exploring strange places, but from a position of mutual agreement as to the boundaries of the fantasy space. I am absolutely not interested in sex where deep down (in like reality, like in government or the economy, or like on Jeffrey Epstein’s private island) the power is unequal. 

What was missing, of course, was Carrie. The smart-girl voice who’d been in my head since Jo March, and in western fiction since Elizabeth Bennet and Jane Eyre. The brave girl who fights the power with words and wit, and who can own the experience through her smarts. I realized I needed her to tell the story I was evidently dreaming up when I “heard” that voice in a fantasy novel called Beauty, by Sheri S. Tepper.

Anyhow, once I realized that Carrie would be telling the story, and that it was a story — that is, that she feels a need to tell us how she got to where she is when she’s telling it (which we don’t know yet, except for the auction, but which suggests a lot of SM tropes), I felt like I was cleared to go. That compulsion to tell how you got where you are is a powerful narrative engine, and I began to see how you could apply this to BDSM, with its tropes of training and discipline. Even if I didn’t know the ending, I felt that it would emerge in the telling. And oddly, the first publisher, Masquerade Books, caught the mood perfectly with the cover of the first edition: something about those wide light eyes, those parted lips (other Masquerade editions went way downhill from there).

Carrie’s Story – Original Masquerade Publishing Cover

Carrie’s Story, Most Recent (and Tame) Cover

Lola – You published this in ʼ94, so you must have been writing it earlier than that. Just to be clear – that was well before 50 Shades of Grey and its imitators took BDSM into the mainstream. Were you scared by what you had written? Did you think you’d ever find a publisher for it, or an audience? What was it like to be writing this stuff at that time?

Molly – I probably started writing it in ʼ91 or so. I was in no hurry, because it felt like its own reward to be exploring my fantasy life, opening up my imagination and sharing it with my husband, who began to share his as well. I don’t usually think of myself as brave, but I did while I was writing, and that felt amazing. And yeah, sure I was scared. “Always scared,” as Carrie says at some point. Because isn’t that what bravery is, to be willing to go where it’s scary? Isn’t that how we always get where we’re going, to find our limits as we go?

Still, I wasn’t writing in a vacuum. I was breathing the air of the San Francisco sex-positive feminist community, standing on the shoulders of giants, if you will. I was playing catch-up, reading lots of erotic fiction and theory, and adding a lot of stuff from my own reading over the years. And of course, since Carrie’s a brilliant, prodigy student intellectual, it all kind of fit together for me. 

As to whether I’d find a publisher: at first I really had no idea whether the thing was publishable. I thought the writing was good; I have a fair amount of confidence in my voice. But I didn’t know if my particular take on how body and mind work together would resonate with anybody else — and of course there’s always the fear of revealing oneself and grossing people out. “It’s a pure act,” I kept telling myself. “It’s its own reward.” And — certainly compared to Fifty Shades of Grey — the Carrie books are clearly a niche taste. But as the years go by, and as still, after 30 years, every so often I open my email to read some absolutely amazing, deeply thought communication from one or another reader, the thrill of making connection never gets old.

Carrie’s Story as I imagine it

Lola – The book, and its smart, sensual, and masochistic titular main character make frequent reference to erotica classics, most notably, Story of O by Pauline Réage.  What were the books that influenced you the most in writing this one and why?

Adaptation of Story of O

Molly – I’ve already mentioned the Marquis de Sade, who was in many ways a dreadful person, but I read bits and pieces when I was a teenager, and it stayed with me. A couple of years after that I read Susan Sontag’s essay, “The Pornographic Imagination,” and she talked about how porn is often funny, which gave me permission, years later, to make Carrie funny. Anyway, Sade is funny, in a weird, cold, whacked-out way (for more on this, for anybody who’s curious, you can read the piece I wrote for Salon.com, which is still kicking around the internet at https://www.salon.com/1998/11/19/feature_459/).

Histoire d Lo

Then, of course, Story of O, which came out in English in 1966, the same summer as Bob Dylan’s record Blonde on Blonde, which was the summer I connected with the guy I’ve been married to for more than 50 years now. We passed his copy of Story of O back and forth in bed. (And many years later I wrote about it, also for Salon, https://www.salon.com/1998/08/06/feature_12/)

Blonde on Blonde?

The next, important books came years later: Gayle Rubin, the brilliant queer theorist and cultural anthropologist, recommended Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty books, and I ran-not-walked to get hold of them. I think I’d find them unreadable now (all that spanking!), but at the time, I just gobbled them up, because I loved the equal-opportunity sexuality (women as tops and bottoms; gay and straight combinations cheerfully intermingling). And I loved the Disneyland fairy-tale setting. It was so light-hearted, so technicolor: I was totally energized by the idea of this sexual magic kingdom. 

Sleeping Beauty

There were also small-press books written by local (often queer) authors, that were super hot. Pat (now Patrick) Califia, Aaron Travis, Carol Queen, Thomas Roche, and Simon Sheppard are names that spring to mind, but there were lots more: San Francisco in the 80s and 90s was bursting with creative erotic imagination; I met Tristan Taormino at an open mic, for example. And this week I went to a Zoom memorial for the recently-deceased Dorothy Freed, a stalwart at erotic writers groups, whose memoir of her longtime, loving marriage to her BDSM partner, Life After Promiscuity, I totally recommend (I copy-edited it).

Perfect Strangers by Dorothy Freed

Lola – Though the story-line is fanciful, many of the scenes are ones that could have a basis in reality.  Were any of the sexy scenarios drawn from your real-life experience?

Molly – No. Sorry. My real-life experience is much more about subtle signals and shared imaginings. A funny thing, though, is that some people I used to work with as a programmer are sure they know who I took as my model for Carrie — and they won’t tell me who!

Porn inspired by Carrie’s Story

Lola – Did you dare show the novel to any of your friends, lovers, or family when it was still in manuscript form?  If so, how did they react?  And how did they react when it got published?

Molly – I’ve always been ridiculously, naively open about this stuff. There were some people who totally didn’t get it, but in general I received remarkably little pushback, and incredible help from friends who agreed to be beta readers, including the guy who corrected a quote from the Latin somewhere. My husband, in particular, is a tough, brilliant editor who pulls no punches and always helps me improve whatever I write. I even came out to my mother about it (a long story how that happened), though I strenuously warned her not to read the stuff. But when a piece of Safe Word got into some iteration of Best American Erotica, of course she read it anyway – the word “best” just being too much for her. “What did you think?” I asked her somewhat grimly. “It was Very. Well. Written,” she replied, through a jaw that might have been wired shut. And that was that.

Lola in her collar

Lola – Before this interview, you told me that the story never got optioned by any film companies.  It’s so cinematographic.  I could totally picture everything in my mind.  I am surprised no one offered that to you, especially after the box-office killing that the ho-hum 50 Shades pulled in. Any ideas why not?

Carrie’s Story definitely inspired many movies

Molly – I’m so flattered you think that, and I do think that one of the things I do well is move characters through imagined space. But as for actually making a movie out of it… maybe it’s better that nobody has. Carrie goes through a lot of stuff that would be far less engaging if you had to look at it rather than imagine it as told through her smart-ass commentary. Or as a leatherman friend once said to me, “Pam, pain hurts!”

Pain Hurts, but degradation?

Lola –  I’m sorry for the comparison and any spoilers, but, it seems to me the whole boring premise of 50 Shades is “Will she or won’t she?” sign the contract, that is. In Carrie’s Story, there is a contract, but the joke is that it’s all just cosplay, though the pain, degradation, abasement, and humiliation are real. However, Carrie can say no at any time. As I read it, I found it interesting to wonder, “How far will she go?” And it seemed to me like this was Carrie’s question too: “How far will I go?” And she goes pretty damn far! How did the plot drive the novel for you?

Molly – I think you’ve intuited what I’m going to answer. That the energy that makes the plot go was my energy, my curiosity about how far my fantasy life would go. You can’t fake that energy — or at least I can’t.

Lola – I was so glad to learn that there was a sequel because, if I have any criticism of the book, it’s that it ended prematurely.  I wanted it to go on – so badly!  Just like I want this interview to go on.  I guess I have to get reading.  But, quick question, the audio book, narrated by Shana Savage, is just fantastic! Were you involved in choosing her for that format?

The only way to fly is listening to erotica

Molly – I was involved, and it is fantastic. Susie Bright, who produced the audio, let me choose between 3 finalists, and I chose Shana. And I’m so proud that in 2014 the audio book won an Audie award for best erotica — first time they gave an award for erotica.

Eargasms

Lola – Thanks again! We will continue this soon, I hope!!!!

Molly – Thank you, and hope to speak again.

Pam Rosenthal/Molly Weatherfield

 

 

Lola Puts the “Fun” in Fundamental Fantasy

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Lola Dreams of Gang Bangs

 

“Lola, by any chance did you watch Lily Phillip’s fucking a hundred cocks?” I asked over breakfast.

“Who do what?” she replied.

“Don’t be coy.”

We were sitting on the roof deck of a fancy five-star hotel in South Beach.  To my right was the famous Ocean Blvd. and then the Atlantic.  To my left was the roof deck pool, cabanas lining the side of it, and a bar at the far end.  In the pool and lying out in the early sun were topless women and their husbands sunning themselves and drinking cocktails.  It was only ten in the morning, and at that hour a Bloody Mary is basically breakfast.  Or, at least it is when you’re on vacation.

“Of course I watched it,” she finally blurted out.  “Why?”

“I was reading an article this morning that was quite enlightening about it.”

“I bet you were,” she said with jealous derision in her tone.

“Do you care to read it?”

“What’s it called and what do you find so fascinating about it?”

“It’s called ‘Lily Phillips: One Woman’s Dream of Don Juan’ or something like that. In a nutshell, it says that there is an archetypal sexual fantasy for men and another for women.”

“I’m curious.  What would those be?”

“For men, it’s the – well, it’s a little difficult to explain,” I stumbled over my words.  “But basically, every man fantasizes about being an Alpha Male on steroids.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just imagine Rocky, The Terminator, John McClane from Die Hard, all rolled into one.”

“I get it, like Tyler Durden is to what’s his name in Fight Club.”

“Exactly.  And, he doesn’t have a name.”

“The fantasy figure?”

“No, the narrator for Fight Club, played by Edward Norton.  He’s so castrated that he doesn’t even get a name.”

“Castrated?”

“Never mind.”

“And what is a woman’s fantasy?  Please, do tell,” she said sarcastically, underscoring that it is not a man’s place to tell a woman her fantasy.

“According to this article, Don Juan.”

“Don Juan?” she repeated, stunned.  “He’s a male fantasy, if anything.  I mean, he is the prototype for those movies you just mentioned.”

“That’s what’s interesting about this essay,” I said.  “It’s a little too convoluted for me to explain.  Why don’t you read it yourself.”

I texted it to her.  She finished her breakfast, stood up, removed her bikini top, and sat in one of the lounge chairs facing the pool, phone in hand, reading the article.

I ordered a mimosa and sat across the pool from her.  I watched her from behind my dark sunglasses as her left hand held the phone in its palm and her right hand moved lower and lower down her abdomen, to her bikini bottom, and then between her legs, where she pulled the thong to the side and revealed her long, meaty labia.  She slowly stroked them in full view of all to see – especially me.

The boys get a real thrill when Lo’s around

When she was done with the article, she looked up from her phone.  There, in the pool, were at least two men and a few boys who had been spying on her just as I had been.  Let me be clear, everything she did was unconscious.  When she’s engrossed in something – a movie, a book, an article – she is oblivious to the onanistic meanderings of her free hand.  But her audience was engrossed in her.  Each of them – including me – tried to pass it off as if they hadn’t noticed a thing, but it was abundantly evident – to me and everyone else, especially the wives and moms around the pool – what captivated their attention.

She glanced over the brim of her large and dark sunglasses, smiled, fixed her bikini bottom, and walked to the bar where she sat on one of the stools.  It was a small, tiki-style bar, only big enough for four patrons at a time.  She waited for the bartender who, at that moment, was delivering a tray of drinks to various patrons around the pool.

I met her over at the bar and said, “Well?  What did you think?”

“I like that the author doesn’t deny Lily Phillips her right to claim her own pleasure, her own fantasy.  I like that he doesn’t say, “She says this, but she must be wrong.”

“And?” I was expecting a critique.

“I also agree with the observation that no man, no matter how virile, can ever get it up enough.”

“I thought you’d like that.  I mean, that was the theme of our second book, More!, after all.”

“But,” she began.

“Ah-ha!  I knew there was a but.”

The bartender returned to his post and asked Lo what she’d like.  Lo got excited.  She stood up from the stool and was now bending over, leaning on the bar, showing her thong-clad butt off to her loyal fans in the pool.

A.I. of Lola by the pool

“Hmmm,” she said, licking her lips, “you have all these specialty cocktails.  I love their whimsical names!”

“I think she’ll need a minute,” I said to the bartender, with a wink.

She was wiggling her butt in anticipation of the fun drinks, like a puppy excited to play.

“So,” I said, bringing her back to the conversation.  “What is the but?”

“Well, I think there are a lot of fantasies – not just two.”

“Fair, but I think he’s talking about a fundamental fantasy.”

“You know,” she said, looking at me now, “even Don Juan wasn’t so simple as people make him out to be.”

“Your point?”

“Well, when he was a young man – I mean, really just a boy – he was sold into slavery and then, when spied by the sex-starved sultana, Gulbeyaz, she had her eunuch buy him for her, dress him up as a harem girl, and sneak him into the sultan’s seraglio for him to please her on the sly.”

“You mean, in Byron’s telling of the tale,” I said.

“Of course Byron!” she responded.

“And your point?” I asked again.

She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at her admirers in the pool.

“Well, maybe Don Juan is a woman’s fantasy, just not the Don Juan who beds all the women.  Maybe the Don Juan who. . .”

“Lo, I think I know where you’re going with this.  You weren’t dreaming of Lily Phillips while reading that article over there,” I nodded to where she had been lying down.  “You were dreaming of MILF Meri’s son.”

“Por qué no los dos?”

“Madam?” asked the bartender.

“I’ll have the Red Headed Slut shot,” said Lo, licking her lips.

“Very good.  And you sir?”

“The Blue Balls shot.”

Meri and son with a bull

Rank Erotica

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mysexlifewithlola
and
Match, Cinder & Spark made the top 50 of erotic reading

What a lovely Valentine’s Day gift!

We found out yesterday that this blog is ranked 46 on the Ranker website for best erotica.

Thank you to all those who voted for us and please, visit the site to find more erotic authors and also, if you don’t mind, voting us up the list.

xoxoxoxo,

Lola & HH

The author and his muse

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy!”

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Lola Wishes to be Worshiped (art by Pulp Brother)

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy!” Lo said, as she handed me a cute little card.  She was wearing her silky, shiny black dress, black heels, and nothing else.  She then sat on the chair, lifted up her legs high in the air, spread them, and said, “Do you want a little appetizer before dinner?”

I took in the sight and said, “Come to think of it, I could use a little snack.”

I got on my knees before her like a supplicant before his god, opened my mouth and put my tongue to her smooth, newly shaved, glistening pussy lips.  I heard her moan on contact.  I then dove in with an enthusiastic and concerted cunnilingal revery.  I could feel her body convulsing and her lower lips salivating.  At one point, I looked up from my coveted corner at the apex of her love and saw that she had pulled out her phone and was looking at something on it as I worshipped her womanhood.  What could it be, I thought.

I continued a little while longer lashing her labia with my tongue before I could stand it no more.  I backed off and stood up.

“Lola,” I said sternly, “what are you so preoccupied with?”

“Don’t stop, Daddio,” she said.  “I’m just reading the Valentine’s cards I got from my fans.”

“Let me see,” I demanded.

She turned her phone around and scrolled through page after page of cumtributes from various men and women.

Tribute by Martin

From Martin with Love

Martin completes the task

A female fan gets off to Lo

I wiped my mouth of her juices and said, “I think it’s time we get going.  Our dinner reservations are for eight.”

She pulled down her black dress and stood up.  I could see on the inside of her knees a few streams flowing down her inner thighs.

She grabbed a hand-towel from the kitchen and wiped up her legs from her calf to her crotch.  “I don’t want to make puddles in my shoes,” she said as she performed the slightly indecorous task.

“No, we can’t have that,” I said.

At the restaurant, we sat at a candlelit table for two with a romantic candle lit, illuminating our faces in the dim light of the room.

I passed Lo my Valentine’s Day card.  I had made it myself.  Instead of “Happy Valentine’s Day,” it read, “Felix Lupercalia!”

“What is this?” she asked.

“Latin.”

“OK.  Why?”

“The origins of Valentine’s Day go back to Roman times.  It was a holiday, much like a Bacchanalia, called Lupercalia.  The priests of the festival would fun through the city naked, carrying small whips known as februa, from which the month gets its name, and they would whip the young women who came out into the streets for exactly that purpose.”

“Why did they do that?”

“It was supposedly part of a fertility ritual.  The women thought that if they were whipped, the purification ritual would increase their chances of getting pregnant.”

“I imagine that if a lot of young women flooded the streets of Rome, bared their asses to have them whipped, that by the end of the day a lot of them would get pregnant, but not because of the whip.”

“You’re probably right,” I said.

“Will you ‘purify’ me when we get home?” she asked.

“Have you been corrupted?”

“So much,” she said, stars in her eyes.

“Then I’ll have to purify you with quite a bit.”

She bit her lower lip.  “I’m having impure thoughts right now.”

Fertility Rites of Rome (art by Lesbian Silk)

Masturbatorium Museums

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I mention this little interlude about the Cum Cube because, though it was ultimately only marginally successful in its original purpose and plan, it became inspirational for Lola with the new sex scheme she was concocting with Uncle Collin and his nephew David.  You see, she recalled the Cum Cube, or masturbation station, and thought that it was a sort of proto-masturbatorium like that along the lines of which Collin was describing.  Or, at least in Lo’s twisted mind it was.  She thought back on the experience fondly.

Lactation Station Magazine

By the way, after the local news reports covered Lo’s Cum Cube and that inspired the morality police to put pressure on the politicians to have the actual police shut it down, it didn’t go to waste.  The city actually repurposed the Cum Cube as a lactation station, but, in reality, it was used as a masturbation station.  Whenever you see a public lactation station nowadays, you never know – there could be men or women inside there, jacking and fapping to magazines, books, posters, of Lo.  Hell, they could be reading this very blog and getting off to it.  But I digress.

Masturbation Station Magazine

Lola described her experience with the Cum Cube to Collin and he was very intrigued, but he pointed out the obvious differences between Lo’s lark and his grand scheme for industrial scale sperm collection sites across the country.

“We have to make the new collection centers warm, inviting, and most of all, we have to offer the men something they cannot simply get at home,” he said.

“Yes,” agreed Lola.  “It cannot have anything of the seedy atmosphere of a peep show, a porn store, or. . .”

“Upscale,” interrupted Collin.  “It has to be respectable.  We cannot place them in the parts of town known for sex.”

“Maybe in five-star hotels?”

“That’s an idea.”

“We should model them on Good Vibrations.”
“Good Vibration?” asked Collin.

“Yes.  You don’t know the store?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“That’s surprising.”

“How so?”

“Because it has to do with sex and I thought you were the world’s resident living expert on the subject.”

“You flatter me.”

“Good Vibrations is a sex-toy store.  It’s first and flagship store was in San Fransisco.  What makes it unique is that it markets itself mainly to women and in order to do that they had to make it bright, welcoming, in busy, safe neighborhoods.  Not like most sex shops, in the worst parts of town where only men would dare venture.”

Lactation Station Magazine

“I see.  I’ll have to research this more,” he said, taking a note on his desk.

“Yes, it has to be seamlessly integrated with the mainstream culture and commerce.”

“Even better, it has to be on the level of an art gallery!”

“Yes, that would be perfect.  An art gallery – the biggest in the neighborhood – that has private viewing rooms with docents that double as cum coaxers.”

“I think we’re onto something,” said Collin with a broad smile.

He stood up and touched the bookshelf behind his desk in such a way that it rotated 180 degrees, hiding the books and revealing a fully stocked bar.  “Shall we drink to this joint venture of ours?” he asked, pulling out a bottle of bubbly from a mini cooler.

“It seems a bit premature, don’t you think?”

“How so?”

“We haven’t gotten down to business with the hard choices of the décor.”

“Come here, my dear,” he said, popping the cork on the bottle and taking out two glasses.

Lo walked around the desk and sat on Collin’s lap as he poured the Champagne.

“Let us drink to hard business and premature celebrations while we peruse the paintings and photos that shall adorn our masturbatorium museums.”

Magazines for Breastfeeding Moms

 

Marsupial Position

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After the first Cum Cube companion had left, Lola heard the special knock at the door.  It was still ten minutes before her next appointment.  Lo opened the door cautiously.  It was Meri.

MILF Meri desperate at the bar for some real cock

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” Meri replied, “I couldn’t stay away.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” replied Meri, dismissive of Lo’s insults.

“HH calls me that all the time.  I take it as a compliment.  Like, ‘You’re incredible!  You’re amazing!  You have the sexual powers of a goddess.’  You know?”

“Oh, so you think you’re paying me a compliment?”

“It all depends on how you take it.”

“How did you take it?”

“Take what”

“That guy’s cock.  That’s what.”

“Fast and deep, front and back.”

“I figured.  I could hear you cumming from across the street.”

“You could?”

“Of course!”

“And now you want some?”

“Are you going to deny me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  Actually, after her first session, which was so much more than she could have imagined, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle any more and was glad for the reinforcements.

“When’s your next appointment?”

Lo looked at her watch.  “He should be here any minute now.”

“I gotta get out of these clothes then.”

“Yes, hurry,” said Lo, helping Meri out of her winter attire.

Soon Meri was in nothing but a white bra, her white nylons, and her red pumps.

“There’s one rule you have to keep.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to remain bent over, facing this wall.  The idea is that there is a certain level of anonymity.  They can’t see you and you can’t see them.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“But I though you vetted them on-line?”

“We were still anonymous there.  They are afraid that if I know who they are, I could blackmail them.”

“Blackmail?”

“Yeah, because of their wives and families and such.”

“Oh, right.”

“And I, well, you know, I just like anonymous fucks anyhow.”

“Oh, I know!”

There was a knock at the door using the secret code.

Lo released the latch and the next patron of the arts entered the sacred space.  He was confronted with not one round, beautiful rump ready to be mounted, but two.  One naked, used, and welcoming, and one, larger than the first, squeezed into the tight-fitting nylons.

Mr. Next Up came in and didn’t say anything.  He just ran his hand over both rears that were confronting him.  He gave Lo’s a little smack and then pulled Meri’s tights down around her knees.  He began fondling both of them – Lo with his right hand and Meri with his left.  He then got on his knees behind Lo and began licking her ass, perineum, and pussy as he continued to fondle Meri, inserting a finger into her pussy and then his thumb into her ass.

Both Lo and Meri were now grinding on him – Lo on his tongue and Meri and his digits.

“Fuck me,” said Lo.

“Fuck me!” insisted Meri.

The girls could hear him unbuckle his pants and then heard him let his pants drop to the floor.  He fumbled with a condom and then he was up against Lo’s rear with his hips.  Lo felt his huge heft – not of his cock, but of his stomach – flop down on her lower back.  He was slapping up against her with his hips.

“Hey, slow down,” said Lo.  “Are you even in?” she asked, moving her right hand behind her, under his giant beer belly, to grab his pecker and point it in the right direction.

When she finally got ahold of it, she was like, “Wait, is this it?”

“I, I, I’m having trouble with the condom,” a deep voice replied.

“Fine, forget the condom,” said Lo.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Lo saw a tiny piece of rubber land on the floor by her feet.  It reminded her of a finger cot she once used in a science class.

She reached behind her again and felt a tiny, protruding, almost pimple-like bump.

“Is this you?” she asked.

“Yes,” came the shameful response.

“Try again,” said Lo, pulling the nub toward her.

His hips again slapped up against Lo’s ass.  Lo shrugged her shoulders.  She couldn’t feel anything.  Especially not after her first romp.  But she wasn’t going to let on.  She moaned and groaned, oohed and aaahed like she was being fucked by King Dong.  Lo’s cum-cooing turned on Meri and Meri moved her right hand under Lo to feel the tips of Lo’s tits as they lilted forward and back, swaying heavily under her as Lo was bent at a right angle, perpendicular to the wall that supported her.

“My turn,” insisted Meri.

They guy pulled “out” of Lo, even though Lo didn’t think he had even penetrated her, and followed suit with Meri.  Meri looked at Lo and Lo made a hand gesture with her thumb and index finger indicating that this guy was no more than an inch at most!

Beer Belly and Meri

Meri’s eyes rolled and then she put on the act.  “Oh yeah.  That’s it.  Fuck me!  Fuck me like the whore I am,” and so on.  She was nearly laughing and getting Lo to giggle as she hammed it up.

“Are you a bad girl?” asked the panting voice from behind her.

“Yes, so bad.”

“How bad are you?”

“I’m a dirty slut.”

“Do you have kids?” he asked.

“Yes, three sons,” she said.

“I can tell.  Your pussy is much looser than Lo’s.”

“Oh, but you fill it up so good,” she said – insulted by his comment, but still feeling superior since she knew that even if she was tight as a virgin, he still wouldn’t feel her due to his microscopic appendage, nor would she feel him.

“I bet you say that to your sons,” he said.

“Sometimes,” replied Meri, playing along, but also, truthfully with regard to her youngest.

“Yeah?  Are you a dirty whore at home?”

“I’m a dirty whore everywhere I go.”

“Tell me about it,” he said.

Lo, at this point, was growing tired with being mere window dressing, or window undressing, however the case may be, even though there were no windows and Lo was already undressed.

She rolled onto her back and then slid underneath Meri’s drooping and swaying tits until Lo was straddled by Meri’s knees.  Mr. Small was smacking away at Meri’s backside without penetrating or pleasuring any part of her pubic area.  Now Lo’s little flower spread just below Meri’s larger petals, allowing for the choice of four portals to pleasure instead of just two, but none of which were within reach of the man’s petite probe.

Meri’s nipples fell to Lo’s open mouth and Lo licked, sucked, and bit gently on them.  Meri flaunted her large, full breasts before Lo’s face, taunting her with her much larger and fuller tits, though, unlike Lo’s perky breasts, Meri’s drooped and sagged.  Lo enjoyed Meri’s matronly mammary offering, but then slid up further in order to kiss Meri’s open mouth as Lo wrapped her legs around Meri’s hips and her arms over her shoulders and held on like a marsupial.

Meri looked down at Lo’s face and laughed.

“I can’t feel him,” she whispered and Lo laughed too.

“Oooh, yeah,” said Lo, mockingly.

“Ahh, fuck me,” said Meri in the same jocular tone.

The two of them giggled as the man furiously flapped his hips forward and back like a large walrus trying to slide headlong on the sand.

“Oh, you’re so much better and bigger than my husband,” said Meri over her shoulder.

“Yeah?” asked the guy.  “Tell me about him.”

“He’s so small, I never feel him.  I haven’t had an orgasm with him in ages!  That’s why I whore around town like this,” she said, giggling in Lo’s ear.

Lo lapped it up and held onto her older, sexy, voluptuous MILF mentor with joy and delight, squirting and dribbling over her lower lips.

“Never brought you to an orgasm?”

“I didn’t say never,” Meri replied to his question.  “But so long ago that I can’t remember it.”

“That’s horrible,” he said, “why not?”

“He’s an enormous man with a small cock and as a result of all his bodily girth and lack of girth where it really matters, he can’t even get close enough to me to enter my pussy.  Every time we have sex, I end up jerking him off with just my index finger and thumb.”

Suddenly, the slapping of fat on ass stopped.  Before either Lo or Meri knew what was happening, the man had pulled up his pants and left the Cum Cube.

Lo looked at Meri, puzzled.

“Why’d he go?” she asked.

“That was Scott,” cackled Meri, squealing with delight, “my husband!”

“Nooooooooooooo!” replied Lo, shocked.

“Yes!”

“How do you know?”

“I know how my husband fucks.  I know the wheezing sound he makes when he’s overexerted himself.  I know the feeling of that tub of lard that flops over his beltline and lands on my lower back before he makes his pathetic attempt to fuck my pussy.  I know how small his dick is – it’s unusually small and almost uniquely so – and how he cannot, no matter how he tries, get it in the hole.  He’s like a horny Chihuahua trying to mount a Great Dane!  And I definitely know that brand of condoms – ‘My Size’ – that he has to import from England.”  She pointed at the condom on the floor and laughed at its pathetic diameter.

“How do you think he. . . I mean, how did he?  I was so careful about who I. . .”  Lo didn’t have the words, she was so shocked.

Meri shrugged her shoulders and said, “He has probably been tracking my internet usage.”

“No!”

“Yeah,” she assured, “he’s been suspicious of my every move ever since our failed attempt to throw him off my scent.  Your little seduction of my husband (and my three sons) seems to have backfired.  I figured he was up to something.  But now I know for sure.  He must have gotten some spyware and downloaded it onto my computer and phone.  He probably knows every pornographic website I click on, my every email and chat message, my every phone call.”

Lo looked dismayed.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“What is there to do?” replied Meri, shrugging her shoulders.  “Go home and face the consequences.”

Just then, there was a loud knock at the door of the Cum Cube.  It was not the secret code knock.  Just an insistent three bangs on the door.  Lo and Meri were startled.

“Just a minute!” Lo chimed, trying to find something to put on.

Lo was wearing just her coat.  Meri, too, put hers on as Lo opened the door.  It was the police.

“What’s going on?” asked Lo, surprised.

“Shut down.”

“What?!”

“You have to shut it down.”

“I have permission from the mayor.”

“This is on orders of the mayor.”

“I don’t understand.”
“Apparently, the press got word of this do-gooder operation of yours and a lot of people are upset about it.”

“Upset?”

“Protesting City Hall.”

“But why?”

The officer shrugged his shoulders and said, “All I know is I got to shut this operation down.”

Lola and Meri were escorted out of the Cum Cube by the men in blue, leaving behind all the paraphernalia that Lo had so meticulously arranged inside her little sex oasis: the Match, Cinder & Spark books, the magazines, the posters.

After the shutdown, the cube didn’t just go away, it was repurposed as a municipal “lactation station,” but in reality, people used it as a masturbation station.  In fact, one handsome crew of six guys sent Lo one of her favorite tribute shots – all six gay or bi men in a circle jerk over her glossy image on the cover of a magazine!

Cum Cube cumtribute pic

Queen of the Primal Horde

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The first customer?  Or is it patron?  Client?  First cummer.  That’s it.  Anyhow, the first guy on Lo’s Naughty List showed up and gave the special secret knock at the door of the Cum Cube.  Lo let him in.  The door swung open and Lo was bent over in her diaphanous panties when he entered.

“Fuck me,” was all Lo said.  She didn’t want small-talk.  She didn’t want to get to know him.  Something about anonymous cock was really turning her on that morning.  Actually, the idea of anonymous cock had been revving her engines all week in anticipation of this.  She loves, loves, loves watching ‘The Milking Table’ vids to get off, as you probably already know.  The milking table, glory hole, dogging at night – the one thing they all have in common is anonymous cock.

The Milking Table Porn

Her eagerness for a fast, furious, filthy fuck was shared by the now naked man standing behind her bent over body.  He wasted no time and actually ripped off the panties.  They presented little resistance since they were mere gossamer-thin lace.  Lo was taken aback by the violent opening gambit.  She mourned the loss of her panties, but only for a split second.  In a split second more, her legs were split as her paramour entered her without hesitation and, on the first thrust, filled her to the hilt!  She braced herself by putting her arms straight out in front of her up against the wall and met his forward motion with an equal and opposite backward motion.  His firm front slapped up against her round rear and she called out with joy and squealed with delight as he rapidly, repeatedly, and roughly rammed his way to her record-setting climax.  She came, gushing all over his rigid rod.  But, it was only the first of many for her.

Lola in her see through black panties

Within a few moments, as he continued to be a battering ram barraging her bum with rhythmic, repetitive, roiling thrusts, she went into a dissociative fugue state.  This is unlike Lo, since she lives to fuck and fucks to live, she usually is very much in the present moment when penetrated by a long, thick prick.  But in this instance, as she braced herself against the steel wall of the Cum Cube and her lock-in lover ravished her, she free associated the cube with a conjugal cell of a prison.  She had never actually seen or been in one, but after her excursion to the prison to run an errand for me which turned into a peep-show for my incarcerated client, she had been dreaming of being the go-to girl for the boys (and girls) behind bars.

In her fugue state she was transported to a conjugal room on prison grounds.  The man behind her was the biggest, baddest, meanest, inmate of the entire state penitentiary system.  He was covered in tattoos on his bulging muscles.  He worked out every day to the extreme due to sexual frustration and a surplus of testosterone.  In her mind’s fantasy, if he behaved as the wardens wished, he was allowed one conjugal visit a month as a carrot, a bribe if you will, so he wouldn’t beat up or kill other inmates.  They allowed him to have one of Lola’s calendars on the wall with a different photo of her for each month.  This gave him the inspiration to change his behavior and moderate his extreme temper.

Whoah!  Lola felt her actual conjugal guest go right in her rear without so much as giving a warning!  After the initial shock, which sent her head spinning, she eased into it and began to enjoy the anal annihilation.

“Will it Hurt?”

Lo returned to her fantasy of the felon.  In her imaginings, he had a back-story.  He was an extreme survivalist who had lived in the woods.  He had an underground lair and whenever he came across hikers or campers, he abducted the females.  He kept them in his cave like a harem.  He had a large wolf-dog that he let mount the women as they wished.  This went on for years until the FBI finally caught up with him and arrested him.  They put him on trial but none of the women would testify against him.  He was like a cult leader to them.  They adored him and voluntarily lived under his protection – some as young as ten or eleven.  He was to them something between Charles Manson and Tarzan.

Captivating

In her wild imaginings, Lola was one of the abductees, but she rapidly climbed up the ranks to become his favorite concubine, Queen of the Primal Horde.  After he was convicted and sent to prison, he railed against his confinement and pined for Lola.  The guards quickly learned that the promise of her pussy was the only thing that would curb his violence.

All the other inmates were forced by the guards to assemble in the small outdoor cages, topped with razor wire, while Lo was escorted past them in her black leather heels, her nylons, her red pencil skirt, her white, cut-off sweater showing a lot of cleavage, and her large, dark sunglasses.  She also wore an extremely large, floppy sunhat that drooped over her face to give an added sense of mystery about her for the inmates.  They all knew what she was there for and they all lined up to see her when she was done too.  They watched as her now ripped nylons dripped with gobs of warm cum and her hair, which had been beautifully and perfectly quaffed, was now messed as if pulled from behind.  Rather than walking with a stride and sashay, as she had when she arrived, she now walked gingerly, as if she still felt the pain of that enormous cock up her ass.

Lola in her big red floppy hat. Art by Starlight Cassette

Speaking of which, now her real-life rear rammer was alternating between Lo’s primary and secondary pleasure promenades.  (I’ll leave it to you, dear reader, to decide for yourself which is which.)  Lola was squirting every time he came out of her V and went to her A.  By now there was a large puddle in which she stood, her feet spread wide and partially submerged.

In Lo’s vivid visualization, the prison guards hatched a plan to provide them a fun distraction from the monotony.  Seeing how all the inmates cat-called Lo, pressing themselves up against the chain link fence as she passed them by, they arranged to have a boxing match between Lo’s lover and any challenger who thought he could go the distance in the ring with him – no gloves, no protective gear, no rules.  The prize – an hour in the conjugal cage with Lola.

The next month and each month afterwards, instead of just rewarding Lo’s beau with the privilege of Lo’s pussy, they made him defend his title and his conjugal prerogative.  Thus, he would meet Lo in the fornication station black-and-blue, bloodied, sweat pouring down his face, chest, arm pits, as he burned with fever in his triumphant entrance.

This elaborate transposition of Lo’s current circumstances brought Lo to many more orgasms – so many that she felt she couldn’t stand it.  She literally couldn’t stand anymore.  And, pent-up with so many months of loneliness, her anonymous associate came too, engorging the condom he wore for their mutual protection.  Oh, how Lo dearly wished he could have cum inside her – front or back – and made her a Christmas cream-pie.  But on orders of the mayor and Board of Health, that was not to be.

The Cum Cube

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Some women happy to show Lola off.

It was late in the pandemic and people were beginning to go stir-crazy.  The government had shut down and locked down just about everything except “essential businesses.”  They kept the liquor stores open because they were considered “essential,” but gradually the government began to realize that sex is essential too.  Some countries in Europe had already had sex drive-thrus for a long time.  The idea of a sex drive-in, or “sex box,” was started in the Netherlands with their popular afwerkplek.  Or maybe it had its roots in the British TV show, “Sex Box,” where couples have sex in a box and then talk about it with the hosts.  Whatever the origins, during the pandemic the idea caught on, especially because it could be practiced relatively safely.

bikini barista

British TV show ‘Sex Box’

Lola, who had been cooped up under extremely challenging conditions (meaning, she couldn’t engage in her regular hotwife activities) read about the sex-work reforms that they were instituting in Europe.  She had already heard about American strip clubs taking the dance stage outside as well as coffee shops that featured so-called “bikini baristas.”  And she had already engaged in some outdoor dogging activities with a few select couples.  But, when she read about the sex-stalls, she got very excited.  She looked into it and collaborated with private finance and public officials and managed to get the city’s first and only experimental “conjugal cube” built and placed downtown in what otherwise would be the heart of the financial district.  However, due to the pandemic, the streets were mostly vacant but for some vagrants and other random characters.

After a couple of weeks of preparation, the cube was ready.  It wasn’t anything special to see on the outside – just an industrial style metal box with a door and ventilation.  But inside was a comfy and cozy little love pad where Lo could engage in relieving all the pent-up pressure to put out that she had while simultaneously providing an outlet for others with similarly pent-up passions to penetrate, pulsate, and please themselves and Lola out in public.

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“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked Lo as she was busy diddling herself to dreamland.

“So sure.”

“You’ll fuck any Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes to your cube?”

“Well, hopefully it won’t be too many hairy dicks, but I want them all to cum in my cube to me.  Yes, I think that’s the perfect name for it too! – the Cum Cube.”

“Is that what you’re thinking about right now?”

I saw that she was looking at some cumtributes she recently received on her phone, which she held before her eyes with her left hand while her right hand was otherwise engaged in the self-pleasuring between her legs.

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure you won’t get arrested for this?”

“I have the assurance of the mayor!”

“Wow.  The pandemic has really turned our world topsy-turvy.”

She was no longer listening to me because the full fury of her self-inflicted orgasm had overtaken her cognitive and physical functioning.

Lola’s Cum Cube

Fountain of Youth

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Lola had planned on one more meeting with Terence at the sperm bank, but the clinic had a strict rule about donors not being able to sign up for a wank more than once a fortnight.  In the intervening time, Lo’s little meeting with the director required that she attend to some other business.  You see, the director of the clinic – the owner actually – was none other than Lili’s Uncle Collin.  That’s right!  The same Uncle Collin who had hosted us at the fateful Mount Bliss.

“Hello Lola,” he said, looking up from the wooden desk behind which he sat.

“Collin?!”

“Who else?”

Lola could only look dumbfounded.  He was the last person she had expected to find at this suburban office park and running a nondescript sperm collection clinic.  What the hell was he doing here?  But then, when she thought about the décor of the place – the David Hamilton prints, the Roy Stuart posters, the Sabrina Dacos book – well, then it all began to make a bit more sense.

Lola asked all the questions that had swarmed in her mind.  What are you doing here?  How did you know it was me?  Isn’t this place supposed to be anonymous?  I never even signed in!

Suffice it to say, Collin has his ways.  A man with the unlimited means at his disposal that he has can find out a lot of things that the rest of us mere monetary mortals would find impossible.  It so turned out that his latest scheme, with his nephew David, is to develop and sell feminine moisturizing and beauty products made from the sperm of voluntary cumtributors.

“You see,” he said, “after I saw Fight Club, I thought to myself, ‘That’s ingenious!  Making soap from the fat siphoned off through liposuction.  I gave it some further consideration and struck on this even more ingenious idea.”  Collin is rarely modest.  “Collect the semen of millions of men and manufacture it, bottle it, and market it as conditioner, moisturizer, and other skin-care products for women.  Turns out – and I only learned this from the boy wonder, David – that semen contains a powerful antioxidant called spermine.  Spermine is the central component of seminal fluid and gives it its unique aroma.  It also has many health benefits that are only beginning to be discovered.”

“So, this place is just a front?” asked Lo.

“Oh no,” said Collin, “this is an actual sperm bank for the usual purposes – licensed, regulated, on the up-and-up, legit.”

“Then, what are you doing here?”

“I had to start somewhere.”

“I suppose so.”

“You’re looking good.”

“Oh, shucks,” said Lo, “I always look good after I jerk a man off.”

“I bet you do.”

“I don’t suppose this place will produce enough sperm for your worldwide distribution of beauty products.”

“Oh, no.  Not at all.  This is just a trial run.  What I’m thinking about doing is on a grand scale.  That’s why I’ve asked you into my office.”

“How so?”

“You see, I want to build a state-of-the-art facility that is a cross between museum and a maisons de tolerance.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lo, “but you lost me with that last one.  My French is a bit rusty.”

“A maisons closes,” said Collin unhelpfully.  Lola looked perplexed.  “Fancy French brothels like Aux Belles Poules or Le Chabanais.”

“So there would be prostitutes there?”

“No, no.  Not at all.  That would be. . . illegal.  We can’t have that,” said Collin with a smile.  “But there would be the option of the donors hiring a nurse or clinical assistant.”

“You mean. . .”

“Someone like you to give the boys a hand.”

“I see.  Is that why you summoned me here?”

“I would like your assistance in the planning.  I need some help choosing, well, that is – mostly the interior decorating.”

“Oh,” said Lo, a little surprised.

“I liked your choice of posters for room number three,” he said.

“So did I,” replied Lo.

“However, for my new facility, I’d like you to help with the overall design.  You have a certain skill at making men feel. . .”

“Generous?” inserted Lo.

“Inspired.”

“Well, I certainly like the direction you’re going.”

Collin wasn’t sure how to take that.  “The David Hamilton?”

“And Roy Stuart, Sabrina Dacos, and, who knows, maybe all the staff, like Ellie and Courtney, could provide boudoir photos as well to give the place a more personal touch.”

“I love the way you think, Ms. Down.”

“Tell me more about this scheme of yours.”

Collin went on to tell Lo that, unlike an actual sperm bank, a collection center such as he envisioned wouldn’t be under any oversight by regulators since the collections were not to be used to make babies.  And the product he hoped to produce wouldn’t be under the auspices of the F.D.A. either because it would be a cosmetic product, not a drug.  Best of all, cosmetics in the U.S. have almost no oversight – not like in Europe.  Lo inquired about the logistics of it.  Collin said that the men would be paid better than the going rate at the fertility clinics and, “they’ll be glad to hear this, they can come as often as they wish since the centrifugal process – or however David plans on deriving the essence of men’s essence – doesn’t need the same sort of sperm count that a fertility clinic does!”

“That’s it!” said Lo, excited.

“What’s it?”

“Your catch phrase – Cum as often as you want!”

“That’s good.  That’s very good,” said Collin, stroking his bearded chin.  “Yes,” he continued, “men can cum twice, even three times a day if they’re up for it.”

“And I’ll see to it that they are up for it!” said Lo.

Sabrina Dacos

Sabrina Dacos

Sabrina Dacos

Roy Stuart

David Hamilton