Guy New York is a bestselling erotica author and publisher with more than 25 titles to his name. With two full length novels, numerous short works, and a thousand free stories on his blog Quickies in New York, his books have been widely read and occasionally burned.
Thinking about sex is a balancing act, because there is nothing consensual about our biology or upbringing. Walking down the street I listen to the thoughts that go through my head like an old radio picking up foreign sounds. What a great ass, god I’d love to fuck her against that wall I hear myself mutter, instantly followed by, hey, don’t stare too long, you’re going to freak someone out.
For a long time there was a voice that said, what the hell is wrong with you? Why the fuck would you think that? It’s an insidious voice that comes from a place of detachment and a lack of wholeness. We all like to think we’ve tamed our demons, but it’s just not true. Our demons don’t let themselves become domesticated, so instead they feed on our intentions. Trying to exorcise them is just as useless, so while we think they’re changing, in fact we’re simply hiding them deeper within ourselves.
That voice that tells me to fuck everyone I meet is just as much a part of me as the one that wants to tear down rape culture with a machete. The impulse to stare at her tits, to grab his ass when he walks by, and to fantasize about their little sister, is just as much me as the impulse to create safe spaces and institute enthusiastic consent in my personal relationships. And as much as I’d liked to pick and choose, that’s not an option I get. As much as I’d like to hide those demons or ignore them, they are a part of me.
I like to say that I’m more interested in explanations than excuses, and when it comes to sex it’s the damn truth. As a grown man I can control my actions. I won’t follow her two blocks staring at her ass, and I won’t call out to her on the street. I won’t touch her without asking, and I won’t snap pictures of my dick to send to strangers. I won’t push someone to do something they don’t want to do, and I’ll try my hardest not to do things drunk I wouldn’t do sober. But it will be a struggle, because there are parts of me that want to resist it all. Parts that want to yell and scream and parts that want to touch and slap.
Thinking about sex is a balancing act, because we are not made up of politics. We are not stuffed full or reason and we are not pickled in understanding. We are bags of flesh and muscle with more impulses and instincts than we’d like to admit. And we’ve been conditioned to want everything, and to want it now. We’ve been sold a package of instant gratification that includes bodies and sweat as much as it does iPhones and shoes.
I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and kiss those lips until she’s quivering, but I will not ask her name on the street. I can picture her cunt clenching around my cock as I press her against the wall, fucking her from behind, but I will not call out. I will continue to look and continue to want, my demons now old friends instead of pets or enemies, but I will take a deep breath, turn the corner, and I will walk the other way.
And hardest of all, I will not hate the parts of myself that I resist.
This is an older video (about five years old), but listening to Georgina talk about her life, about making porn, and looking back, is pretty fascinating to say the least. If you haven’t seen this video, take a look.
“I have a bit of a love fetish.”
I took a sip of scotch and slipped my hand into hers between our bar stools. She looked up at me with a smile, and I brushed her hair behind a perfect ear and kissed her on the cheek.
“How does it work?”
“It’s simple really. You convince me you love me and I’ll come like a librarian on Henry Miller. Come home with me, kiss me softly, and tell me you’ll be there forever. “
“That’s it?” I asked.
“It helps if I know I won’t see you again.”
An hour later we were half way through a bottle of Sin Zin, and I had been trying to tell her for at least thirty minutes. She asked me again what I wanted to say and I leaned in closely and finally whispered it in her ear. She was kissing me before I said “you” and I kissed her back without constraint.
I actually carried her to her bedroom and undressed her slowly marveling each time something dropped to the floor. I kissed her neck and told her she was perfect. I circled a nipple gently with my thumb until she moaned into my ear and asked me what I wanted. I responded by pulling her body against mine and pressing myself between her thighs.
“Tell me something,” I whispered as I rubbed myself against her. “Do you love me? Do you really love me, because I can’t imagine being apart from you?”
“I just met you,” she said.
“And I feel like I’ve known you forever. You’re beautiful and brilliant, and you make me feel safer than I have in years.”
She just kissed me and pulled me close to her. She screamed when I entered her and told me to go slowly. I whispered I love you over and over again in her ear as I slowly moved inside of her. I told her ridiculous things as we made love on her bed, and I honestly don’t remember half of them. I would take her away and marry her. We would raise children together in the south of France and nothing would come between us.
As she got close she stopped me and looked up into my eyes. I stayed perfectly still, our bodies still connected, as I looked down into her eyes. Finally she pulled me to her once against and told me she loved me too. As the words came out of her mouth her body began to shake and tremble and she tightened around me over and over again. She kissed me painfully hard and wrapped her arms tightly around me and wouldn’t let me go.
Hours later I asked her if I could see her again.
“Of course not. We’re already in love,” she replied. “What else is left to do?”
With Fleet Week coming up here in NYC, I thought I might share some vintage sailor porn. Erm, I mean, photos. Just photos of sailor. No porn here at all.
The only porn at the top of the mountain is the porn you bring with you. Anyway, enjoy.
“Tell me again why I’m special?”
She was nestled in against my shoulder as I ran fingers through her hair. She smelled of cinnamon and red wine, and she fit perfectly. He soft fingers touched my arm, moving on their own free will. Her voice sounded like water.
“Do you remember the ninth time we had sex?”
“No,” came her soft reply.
I closed my eyes and instantly saw her white summer dress clinging loosely to her skin. Her golden hair covered one eye before falling over her shoulders and down her back, but she made no effort to move it. She lifted her hips and dropped them down again as I tried to breathe slower and last longer. It was only when I closed my eyes that I could hear her quietly singing.
“We were on your couch in the summer. It was so hot out we missed winter. Your dress clung to you in all the right places and…”
“Lots of girls have dresses that cling to them in all the right places.”
“And you moved over me so slowly it felt like a dream caused by fever and drought. You barely touched me as we made love, and just before you came you started to sing.”
“I did not.”
“You did too. Something about summer and wine, and you sang it over and over in a whisper before you let out tiny whimpers and moans.”
She slipped her fingers into mine and nuzzled my shoulder once more. I kissed the top of her head. We both closed our eyes.
“Maybe that means you’re special too,” she said.
“Why aren’t we naked yet?”
We had made our way back to Michelle’s apartment after two hours of tequila, and this was the best idea we had all night. I looked at them, they looked at me, and we giggled as we pulled off our shirts. Steph was naked before I had even started on my pants, and by the time I looked up again they were rolling around on the bed in a tangle of limbs and kisses.
They rolled over towards me as I dropped my briefs to the floor, and I was suddenly aware that my cock was not standing at attention. One of them reached out a hand as the other looked up at my eyes, and I could feel the change come over my body. It ran up my leg, across my thigh, through my gut, and into my chest.
“I love watching men grow hard. It’s like a silent applause.”
They leaned in until I could feel a breath against me, and when I pictured them sucking, I twitched. They giggled and smiled and licked their lips as I twitched again, and all three of us watched in amazement as blood flowed into my cock making it rise to meet their patient mouths. I reached both hands down and ran fingers through their hair as they kissed me, and seconds later I was between them on the bed with legs wrapped around my body.
There was no planning at all as Michelle straddled me, and I didn’t think as I opened my mouth on her smooth cunt. I tried to ignore the lips around my cock and focus on what I was doing, but within seconds I had no attention to give. I was on autopilot as she pushed her hips down around me, and I wanted to drown. Her voice positioned me as much as her thighs, and when she screamed the loudest I kept on going.
“I want to watch you fuck her,” Steph whispered suddenly from the foot of the bed. We all paused in our tracks. Michelle rolled off of me and kissed my mouth as I felt hands and latex on my cock. Two seconds later I was covered and ready, and both of my friends were watching with wide eyes.
“Fuck her for me,” she said as she positioned herself next to us. I climbed between legs and rubbed up against her before looking at the girl next to us. “Do it,” she said again as two fingers slipped into her own cunt.
Michelle opened around me and moaned into my ear as I pushed inside her, but my eyes never left the girl next to us. She was watching and writhing, and despite the fact that I was fucking one beautiful woman, I instantly wanted to be fucking another. I felt nails on my back and I kept on moving as I watched, but my mind was no longer my own. I was picturing Steph’s body beneath me, and her hands on my throat. I imagined her cunt taking me in, and her breasts pressing against my chest.
I started to come the second I heard her and it felt like we never stopped. She clenched her thighs around fingers and screamed out as I shook and trembled. Michelle encouraged us both. She clenched around me as she told us to come, and by the time I collapsed on top of her I was exhausted.
“He was totally eye fucking you,” she whispered to her friend as I kissed her neck and hair.
“And he was totally fucking you,” she said back. “I’ve wanted to see that forever. It’s my favorite thing.”
“Watching her get fucked?” I asked.
“Watching anyone get fucked.” She leaned over and kissed my lips. I sighed into her mouth. “But especially watching people I love.”
A few years ago I thought I might write a book I was jokingly calling War and Penis. I wanted to examine our cultural preference for violence over sex, but within days of beginning my research, it became overwhelming.
My goal was to interview people, from religious leaders to radical feminists around their preferences, what they found acceptable, and how they thought those views for formed. As I started looking at sex scenes in movies it was clear that most often nudity was accompanied by violence, and the same was largely true for literature. Television has gotten sexier, but also more violent, and the disparity, along with the connection, is almost universally consistent.
Initially I assumed it was a largely conservative driven paradigm, but the more I looked the more complicated it became. And with Fifty Shades of Gray, I started to wonder why the same liberals who have for years defended our right to play violent video games were worrying that a book or a movie might drive people to bad sexual behavior.
At the base of it, is what I believe to be a pervasive sense that we have more control over violence than we do sex. Violence can be entertaining, especially for middle class Americans, because it’s something we don’t expect to personally experience very much of. But when it comes to sex we have to be more careful. Most of us have sex of some sort, and if we talk about with any positivity at all, we’ll spin out of control.
In the end, I wasn’t the person to write the book. But each time I look back I wonder if there is a way out. If there’s a way to unlearn our behavior, to shift our perspective, and switch the two around.
But even for me, if there was anywhere close to as much sex in media as there is violence, I suspect it would feel like too much. If I saw as many acts of sex as I did murder, it would be constant. If there were are many scenes of people turning each other on as there are of characters scaring each other, I bet even the most liberal of us might find ourselves blushing.
I don’t know if there is an answer, but I do know that it’s sure as hell worth trying. We could all use a bit more blushing, and a little less hiding.
This weekend was pretty warm and delightful. I spent a whole lot of time writing and managed to get down about 15,000 words in two days, which felt pretty darn good. I’m enjoying the new book I’m working on, and it was fun to get lost in it.
Otherwise the weekend included a reading at the People’s Lounge for Lori Perkins Between The Covers reading series, brunch at Schillers, and cocktails and oysters on the roof of Hotel Chantelle.
Here’s a few photos that sum it up well.
I always look forward to may. First of all, it’s my birthday month, and this year I’m especially excited (it’s a big one). But it’s also warmer out, and is the first month that really starts to feel like spring. Especially this year.
April was good though, and I got a whole lot done. I did a lot of writing, posting, and designing for this site, although not too much for Quickies In New York. Hopefully May will continue being a productive one for me.
Here’s what April looked like on QNY:
I’ll be doing a reading tonight at the People’s Lounge on Allen street in the Lower East Side. It starts at 7pm and it’s a free show.
Many thanks to Lori Perkins over at Riverdale Avenue Books for inviting me to join them. It promises to be a fun night!