Cuckold Erotica: The Places They Come


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This was a fun book to write. I had no idea where it was going to go, and what type of conclusion it would come to when I started it, but I got carried away all the same. While I tried to stay somewhat true to the trope, I also wanted to be sure to give it my own GNY treatment, which I think comes through.

It’s dirty, emotional, and some might say a bit on the twisted side of the spectrum, but I suppose that’s what I like about it. If you like cheating wives, big cocks, emotional manipulations, some humiliation, and some personal revelations, then hopefully you’ll enjoy it.

It’s not short, more of a novella than anything else. You can find it on Amazon right here.


50 Shades, Consent, and the BDSM Community

If Fifty Shades knew what it was about, it would be a different story.

We are all happy to watch movies and read books that include abusive relationships, disturbing power dynamics, and characters who fall on the psychotic end of the spectrum. But we appreciate a nod if not a wink as well. While we don’t need to be hit in the face with a sunday afternoon special morality tale, we like to know that the author intended to write something problematic.

But what I find interesting is that this lack of context and awareness is fairly common in the BDSM community in general as well. Which is one of the reasons it irks us to see it on the big screen. Almost by definition BDSM likes to fuck with consent. Whether it’s restraint, punishment, or any other form of control, the fantasy is often about letting go. Giving up our ability to make choices. But the context is always key. The reality that any given scene is being played by consenting adults who each take responsibility for their shared power is easy to hide, but always important to remember.

But when we begin to share the games we play with the public, whether it’s a book, a Twitter feed, or even a Tumblr, it’s easy to get caught up in the personal and forget the context altogether. The reblog of a naked girl in a collar with text that simply reads “this little slut needs to get fucked” is as irritating to me as three hundred pages of abuse from an author who wants us to believe it’s all just so romantic. While the poster may have perfectly wonderful communication around consent in their life, the lack of any context at all feels problematic. Does she want to get fucked? Does she want to get fucked by you? What did she agree to when she took that photo?

And if I have to read more post about how “real submissives” do x, y, or z, I’m going to burst a few blood vessels. Or break something. If I can’t get a sense that you understand you’re playing consensually with an actual person, then I’m going to assume you’re just an abusive asshole. If the only context you offer is that you’re “a real Dom who knows how to take control” without any hint of agency on the part of your partners, chances are you’re not and you don’t.

Transferring our private lives and fantasies into a public forum is a challenge, but it’s not anywhere close to impossible. It’s easy on Tumblr or Twitter to argue that “everyone knows it’s just a game”. It’s the internet afterall. Who can take it all that seriously? But the same can be said about a work of fiction. Of course it’s a fantasy. Of course we’re not supposed to imitate the relationships in 50 Shades. But our lack of context, and our lack of self-awareness, have real meaning, because the only thing distinguishing consensual BDSM and kink from abuse is context. The only thing that makes it okay is that it’s something two (or more) people want. And if we don’t know that to be true, if the author doesn’t let us in on the secret, we can only assume the worst.

So, while we can bitch and moan (rightfully so) that Fifty Shades may be giving BDSM a bad name, we shouldn’t let ourselves off the hook either. Because we do the same damn thing all the time. And I suspect we do it for the same reason: because it excites us. Because fantasies of submissions, fantasies of control, and fantasies of getting lost in another person are so damn powerful, it’s easy to separate them from reality. It’s easy to ignore the context. It’s easy to forget that all of us are teaching something by what we share, how we write, and even the way that we play.

We don’t need to sterilize, and we don’t need to tame anything at all. But if we refuse to let everyone in on the context (ie consent has been given) then how can we expect anyone else to? If within our own communities we decide that the fantasy is better without an explanation, then how can we expect mainstream culture to follow? After all, they can simply turn to us with a smile.

I learned it from watching you.


Excerpt from Part One of Pill X


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“Are we going to have class?” I asked, sitting down on his desk.

“Oh, hey Jessica. I thought you’d be off…” and then he turned bright red as he realized he was about to say “fucking.”

“Just because everyone took the pill doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have class,” I whispered.

“Sadly, I don’t think anyone else would agree with you.”

“Did you take one this morning?” I asked. He looked up at me, and it was like he saw me for the first time. I knew instantly that he knew why I was asking, and it turned me on to watch him think about it. I stood up and walked closer to his chair before sitting down on his lap. He made a half-hearted effort to push me away, but it was useless.

“I took one when I got up. My mom left them on the kitchen table and I just swallowed one. Can I tell you something?” I leaned in closer.

“No. I mean, yes, but I’m sure I don’t want to hear it. Jess, this is a bad idea.”

“I’ve never fucked without a condom before. I’ve only had sex with two guys, and both of them only lasted a few minutes. I even made them pull out before coming just in case it broke.”

I could feel him getting hard as I talked, and I was on fire. I needed this more than anything else, and I was finally going to get it.

“And now that we all have the pill you think you don’t need one anymore, is that it?” he asked, standing up and pulling me with him. “You think that with the pill you can just do whatever you want with no consequences?”

“I don’t care Mr. White. All I know is that for the last two years I’ve wanted your come inside me, and if I have to wait any longer I’m going to go crazy.”

He put his hands on my hips as he looked down at me, and his eyes moved from my tank top down to my skirt. Normally he stares and then looks away when I catch him, but this morning he stared at me without anything close to embarrassment.

“You want me to fuck you?”

I nodded.

“Right now?” he asked, lifting me up and sitting me on his desk. I nodded again as he reached his hands up under my skirt. Just when I thought he was going to chicken out he slid his hands up and pulled my panties all the way down.

“And you want me to do it without a condom?” His voice was a deep growl. Just saying it was making him harder, and there was no way he could back out now.

“Yes, Sir” I replied, my body shaking as I felt his hands on my bare skin. WIthout another word he pulled my tank top off and threw it onto the floor. My tits were bare and he stared at them with hunger in his eyes.

“And you want me to come inside you?” Now he was whispering. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. There was nothing else I could do. His mouth was warm and soft, and his face was scratchy. I pulled him to me, wanting to kiss him harder, and he wrapped his arms around me too, crushing me into his body.

“More than anything,” I said when we finally stopped…


Full ebook is here.

Must Love Nina Simone

There’s a crack in her wall that let’s in nothing but Nina Simone. The music comes through so quietly you can barely hear it, but it’s always the same. There’s no light, there’s no air, and there’s never any other sound. Nina sings nothing from any of the records I have and it’s never the same song.

The first time she had me over we lay on the floor next to the wall and drank three bottles of wine without ever getting up. The songs just kept coming and so we kept on drinking. We fell asleep as we listened and when we finally woke up the next day she was still singing.

The first time we made love was on a blanket in the corner. The music was so faint that we had to keep completely quiet in order to hear it. I was so sure that she would leave if I ruined the songs that I didn’t make a sound. Our bodies didn’t slap and we didn’t call out each other’s names. We didn’t sigh, moan, or scream and we moved so slowly our bodies were as silent as our voices.

I don’t think either of us really paid attention to the other. It wasn’t out of disregard or even worry of ruining the moment. It was just that it seemed unnecessary. We closed our eyes, entangled our bodies, and let the music guide us in our slow and quiet game until we both forgot where we were.

I can’t tell you if she came, or even if I did. I can’t tell you how it started or ended, but for three weeks we made love in that corner without making a sound. We made love for hours at a time, and while I thought I was falling in love I think I may simply have been in the way. She grew quieter day by day and even at dinner she was silent as if she was hoping to hear a sound. When she kissed me it was so slowly that it almost didn’t feel like a kiss at all.

I didn’t know she left until I saw the craigslist ad. I was looking at apartments when it jumped out at me.

“One bedroom apartment in the East Village. Warm, quiet, and well kept. Must love Nina Simone.”

Amazon Author Pages

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Guy New York’s Amazon Author Page

Amazon updated their author pages last year, and I really like the way they look now. I’ve used Author Central for a long time to keep track of my books, but until recently the display page on Amazon wasn’t much to write home about it. It offers a great view of covers (and an opportunity to see weak spots in your designs) as well as a full list of your latest tweets.

It’s a great way to see your favorite author’s complete list of works, and if you have your own books up, it’s good to check out and see how to improve it.

On a side note, I’ve found it’s much much quicker to update book descriptions (also easier) through Author Central than it is through KDP. So, if you need to update content, reviews, etc, do it that way. Updates often happen in minutes rather than hours or days.

Connected and Disconnected


Sunset on Star Island

When was the last time you turned your phone off completely? A few airplane trips and a night time snooze don’t count.

When I wake up in the morning I check the time on my phone, turn off my alarm (also on my phone) and then often pull up Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, and Instagram, not necessarily in that order. I might check my email, or my Amazon orders all before getting out of bed, and sometimes before kissing my girlfriend on the forehead. It’s a dizzying schedule, to be so connected without having to move, and each blast of information pushes me in a different direction. Between news (both personal and impersonal), images, work, and cats, I’m flooded with more emotion, more information, and more outright input than I was on any given day fifteen years ago. Even a trip downstairs to pick up a newspaper from the front step would be an improvement, and once upon a time we thought that was too much.

I spend a week every summer on Star Island off the coast of Maine and New Hampshire. It’s a Unitarian Retreat Center, and for a long time it was a conscious break from technology. As a teenager there was a single phone on the island that visitors could use, and I spent each week completely and utterly cut off from the world. I was gloriously oblivious, and it was a joy that I mostly took for granted.

In the last few years they’ve improved cell service, brought in a wi-fi connection, and allowed people to sit on the porch working on their laptops, even if it’s occasionally frowned upon. This past year I made an effort to leave my phone in my room, and even then to only check it once a day. In fact, I congratulated myself on just how disconnected I was, and it felt like an achievement. It was an achievement, and I cherished it.

And yet, that’s one week out of the year, and I mostly succeeded. How long did I spent trying to connect to everyone? How many years did I spend feeling lonely, longing for those who weren’t there, and hoping to find simple human contact? And now, I push myself hard to get away, disconnect, and shut down so I might once again engage with those around me.

Connect. Disconnect. Talk. Discuss. Silence.

It’s a mass of struggle that I play out, wondering at each decision as if I wasn’t simply a creature of habit. As if I decide each morning that Facebook is what will bring about my happiness at that very moment, and that checking my email is just the thing to make me smile. So I push, and feel guilt and shame as I struggle to connect and disconnect at the same time, hoping that one direction or the other will have the answer. Maybe a handwritten letter will bridge the gap, and maybe a flip phone will change my behavior.

But even a week without it all simply serves to remind me of how alienated I am when I choose not to engage in the spaces we all now live.

Writing Erotic Short Stories


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(An excerpt from Write TIll You’re Hard)

If you’re writing about sex in the short form, it’s good to remember the basics. It’s easy for all of us to get distracted by the squishy naughty bits: the moaning and screaming and the tearing of clothes. After all, that’s why people are reading us right? They just want to get off. That may all be true, but I would insist that your story needs to be interesting even without the sex. How many times can you read about a penis entering a vagina? Sure there may be a few thousand positions, but at the end of the day we’re talking about friction. And this goes for mouths, hands, feet, eggplants, toys, and sheep. If you want to write for a science magazine then the mechanics may be all you need, but if you’re writing a story, there has to be something else.

So let’s try it. Think about a sex story you read recently and take out the mechanics of sex. Think about the last story you wrote and go from there. Do you care about the people involved? Is there a reason you want to know about their sex life? Did they experience personal growth? Did they attain complete and perfect enlightenment? Okay, that may be going too far, but you get the point. If the whole story vanishes once you take out the “insert object a into tab b” then go back and think about it some more.

The “non sex stuff” doesn’t have to be big. It doesn’t have to take up a lot of space on the page, and it doesn’t even have to be very important. Even the most casual observations can add tremendous depth to an otherwise simple story. If your characters are getting drunk on wine before they fuck, what kind of wine is it? If they’re staring up at the ceiling what are they looking at? If one of them is moaning, what is he moaning? Does her body feel good, or is it the way her head fits perfectly into the crook of his neck? The details add flavour, but more importantly they tell us something about your characters, and if we aren’t interested in your characters we probably aren’t interested in the sex they’re having either.

In a short story (we’ll talk about novels later) you don’t have a lot of time for character development. There are no chapter-long backstories, no childhood memories that return at each major plot point, and it’s hard to keep track of more than two or three people at once. Which means your characters need small, but strong clues as to their personalities. Sometimes all it takes are a few simple words, a couple lines of dialog to make us feel like we’re reading about a real person.

“I want to fuck you,” tells us almost nothing about the person speaking.

“I want to fuck you until your husband comes home,” gives us a bit more.

“I want to fuck you until I’ve worked through all my childhood issues of abandonment and rejection,” probably tells us too much…

Dirty Boys Reading and Podcast

TDG_6556The next Dirty Boys Reading is coming up on March 22nd and promises to be a good time. As always we’ll be reading at the Parkside Lounge on Houston and Attorney St. The show starts at 7, costs $10, and this month we’ll have a new reader who I think you’ll love.

If you missed the last one, we have a Podcast up on iTunes will all the past episodes. There’s a little music by Pirate Tom, some witty banter, and of course some horribly filthy stories, including mine about eating Ortolan.

You can find it right here on iTunes.

Disgusting, Beautiful, Immoral


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“I have to start by saying this is a really dirty book. But I mean that in all the best ways. It’s visceral, smart, sexy, and strangely honest.” – J.S.

“I’ve read plenty of smut and lived just as much, if not more but none compares to this book.” – Deacon

“Christ on a cupcake. I’ve read six chapters online and I’m enthralled. Will probably review again after purchasing a hard copy. I want to loan it to my girlfriend and my boyfriend and like 60% of the people I know. It’s so well-written and easy to read that it’s almost TOO easy. I’m sliding through the story without noticing the words” – L.L.

(quotes from 5 star Amazon reviews)

Book Description:

The way she begged me to tell her stories the first night we met might have been a hint. The fact that she didn’t get angry when she walked in on me with another woman was probably a good indicator, too. But with Kelly, knowing what to expect was a dangerous pastime.

We fell in love far too quickly for our own good, and we pushed through every horrible thing we could think to do to one another without looking back. Kelly and I fucked, laughed, and drank our way through the end of the millennium, and we pulled our friends along with us, breaking every rule we could find.

It was the spring of 1999, and New York was still getting over her gritty phase as I got over my college phase. Prince was on the radio every five minutes, and the bars still had ashtrays on the tables. The girls danced on the bar at Doc Holidays, and we smoked joints in Tompkins Square Park.

But in the end, we needed saving. In the end, all of us needed saving.


Read for Free:

I’ve also set up a blog where I’m going to post one chapter a week until the whole book is free online. There’s a screenshot below, but you can find it at

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Authors Note (before completion):

Back in January I spent a coffee fueled two weeks writing a novel set in New York City in 1999. It was the type of writing that got into my head and wouldn’t leave until I put it down on the page, and so for fourteen days I pretty much wrote non stop. I wrote at home, at work, and on the train. I wrote when I should have been doing most everything else.

Well, a book that takes two weeks to write takes a whole lot more time to edit. I re-wrote it three or four times on my own, sent it out to a few beta-readers, and then found a great editor to help me iron out more wrinkles.

And guess what? It’s almost ready for the world. It’s a long book (250 pages or so) and it’s a strange combination of being deeply personal and completely made up. Or more specifically I could say many of the details are true, but the story itself isn’t. In general it follows some version of myself back at 23 as I was struggling to figure out myself, my relationships, and my kink. It’s incredibly dirty, with more sex than I’ve ever written before, but there’s a whole mess of other things mixed in. And of course, there’s a New York that wasn’t all that long ago, but still feels like a different world.

Hopefully it will be available soon, and I’ll get to see what the rest of the world thinks of it. Until then, I’ll keep writing, keep editing, and see what comes next!