Monday, November 17, 2014

A long-winded post about fat-shaming and sexuality

A while back a colleague's post from his timeline came up - a share of a picture from a website called 'The LAD Bible'. One of these cheap, aimed-at-young-men sites that shares the best and worst of the web at any given time. They call out some stuff like men's shit texts from dating sites and share videos of cute dogs from around the net - nothing new or remarkable, really.

But in this case, my colleage, whose post came up on my work-facebook timeline, was sharing his disgust at a picture of a young woman from the LAD Bible facebook page. She was in her late teens, most likely, maybe early twenties, and she was plump-ish. I wouldn't go much further than that. She had long, thick, brown hair, a nice face, if wearing a slightly aggressive expression, and she was wearing a Wonder Woman leotard that was a bit too tight for her. She had one foot on a coffee table, and was leaning forward slightly, I think, in a vaguely aggressive pose. The leotard was wedgie-ing her, and one of her ass cheeks was hanging out. It wasn't massively flattering, but then it wasn't the worst thing in the world either.

My colleague was full of disgust for this woman. He and his friends were revolted. Appalled. Angry that this photo was there for them to look at. How dare she. They were full of ire and outrage and revulsion, oh yes. It was great fun for them.

I felt shit. On various levels. Because it was sexist. Because it was mean. Because it was so 'the Internet'. Because it was so body-negative. So unevolved. Such misdirected rage. And because I'm so fat, too. I'd love to look like that girl. Ok, I might not be tempted to put myself about in a too-tight leotard even if I did... but who knows what I might play around with in the privacy of my own home? It made me feel horrible.

The next time I saw said colleague, I brought it up, in the staffroom. At first he thought I was joining in, and warmed to the discussion of how disgusting it was. Said colleague is a shortish, plumpish guy. Young still, kind of cute in a boyish way. Not bursting with self confidence - wears jumpers in all weather, for example.

Then he realised I was saying it was awful how nasty he and his friends had been. He protested that she'd submitted it - forced it on him for his comment, I guess. I thought that was possible but not necessarily true, it being where it was. I wondered when he was going to post his leotard pic. As I popped out of the room to get something next door I said something I shouldn't have - I said 'You're not as nice as I thought you were.' I only meant it a little bit jokily, but the more I think about it, the more I think it's true. When I came back in, he said to me quite defensively that the topic 'wasn't relevant to anything' and I realised I shouldn't have brought it up in the staffroom with others around. I'm a little surprised by that, to be honest, but I get this social stuff wrong so often - so I apologised for that. Later I went to fb and sent him a message apologising again and explaining that his post had made me feel really bad and I was going to unfollow so as to avoid seeing others like it, and also so I wouldn't intrude on it in that way. I also said I'd rather save my disgust for worthier subjects like war, or racism, or sexism, etc.

He's blanked me since, today he was in to cover the class I share and barely talked to me when I said something about it. This guy is training to be a primary school teacher.

Here's the thing. I'm sensitive about this because I spend my life in fear that I'll disgust someone. I listen to my fit, handsome, sweet colleague talking about how fat girls in leggings are disgusting, how they shouldn't wear them. How hard it is to look at women who look like that. And I sit there terrified of the space I'm taking up, whether my ass is adequately camouflaged, mortified that people are looking at my fat fingers as I hand them something. I'm terrified of revolting people. I'm ashamed I haven't fixed myself. At the same time my shame is challenged by the idea of body positivity, and of not being defined by what you look like. The Internet, despite trolling and Photoshop and all, has been helpful. Showing larger, older bodies that are beautiful, because of, not despite. People who love themselves and are loved despite looking 'normal' instead of modelesque. Other people cheering that on. People calling others out, supporting each other. This!

But this normal little Irish guy, who's going to be teaching chubby pre-pubescent girls, maybe, is out there with his attitude. It scares me. It shames him, I think, in my eyes at least, but it still manages to shame me too.

Someone posted a search term to their blog they'd read today about removing socks seductively - a niche fetish, I thought. Socks... just not so sexy. I was going to say something in return about whether the original searcher would find the pressure rings around my ankles sexy. But then I looked at them and was confronted with such an unappealing sight, red grooves cut into my water-retaining legs that look more in need of  support tights than socks at all... and I felt full of shame and revulsion and realised that it wouldn't even be funny, just gross, to make that comment. Fat isn't sexy. Sometimes it really isn't, despite all the body-positivity the Internet has to offer. It's ageing, it's defeminising, oh, how could anyone love a cankle? Not me, in truth.

And seeing yer man and his attitude today makes me feel shit all over again. For his judgement. For my own self-hatred. For all of it. Oh, it's not right yet.

Monday, November 10, 2014

this week's ridiculousness

Last week I came up with the idea of writing a Romance series called CAKESHIFTER about a man who can transform into any sort of cake, and regenerate endlessly, so you can comfort-munch on him while he holds you in his muscular, cakey arms. And his massive Romance-sized cock squirts vanilla creme.

I thought that was hilarious, in my own special way, but nobody really agreed with me. Perhaps you can't throw a pebble on Twitter without hitting someone who writes shifter romance these days, and I offended everyone. Don't get me wrong, I like a good bit of animal magnetism as much as the next girl

oh yes I fucking do

but there's a lot of it about, in varying degrees of brilliance. We all like cock and cake, I thought, so... but nope. Not a giggle. Ah well.

This week's silly innovation came to me courtesy of my Lelo Ina, as was loved hard in my last post.
Masturbation's all well and good while it's happening, but I would like someone around to marvel at my afterglow. I'd also quite like to learn where the stop button is, so said afterglow isn't marred by excessive vibration in newly sensitive places while I writhe around in comedy alarm, pulsing through the different settings as I try to turn it off and down, all of which are unwelcomingly high-volume once you've come. Ooch. Such dignity.

So yeah, here's what I want. I want a human shaped Soraya. Made of that same smooth, warm, velvety silicon, but manshaped, with posable bendy arms and a padded chest. And a posable cock and clit-vibe! And his nipples can be the controls! This is such a good idea! A life sized vibe that cuddles you after! Yeah, I know it's weird, and it would probably cost five squillion euro (maybe I can have a complementary proto-type?) but damn. I'd just have to work out how to hide it from my kids.

Ok, so I suppose this isn't that different from a sex doll. I'm a bit scared to google what they're looking like these days. Sophisticated, no doubt. I still really like my idea, though.

I know we can do better than this!

And now, having sown the seeds of the manvibe, I shall whoosh away, to look at the picture of Jason Momoa some more... 

Sunday, October 12, 2014

For the love of Lelo

I'd lusted after a Lelo Ina for ever so long. Since I saw its smooth flowing design and watched a couple video reviews, I was left feeling avaricious and yearning, a Cinderella figure unable to afford the attentions of Prince Charming.

I've had a couple vibrators, though not a rabbit style one, and I have to confess, the vibrating aspect has never really done that much for my clit. My g-spot's more appreciative of a bit of vigorous vibrating attention, but my clit's always been a bit meh about it. Still, though, I felt like the Ina might be the missionary to change its, er, mind.

I visited a friend recently, and when I spoke of my wishes, fairygodmother-like, she pulled one out of her box of toys. She said it never did it for her, despite Lelo's assertion that it fits the 'curves and contours of all women', the ear bit, or 'external pleasure point' was too stiff, and just hurt her vulva, pressing in too sharply against it and her clit. Me being the unsqueamish girl that I am, was all alacrity to accept the offer of a hand-me-down.

But, when I used it, I was disappointed to find the same thing. The smooth silicon surface is so tempting, the vibrations so powerful and convincing, but when I fully inserted the body (shaft?) of the toy, the clit attachment just hurts. Not in a fun way. The gap between shaft and rabbit ears is too small (you can see in the pic that it'll bend outwards, but it doesn't really do that comfortably when you've got it inside you, it presses back in very firmly) and the pain and  vibration together felt a bit alarming, and I was left saddened. All my years of longing come to nought? The magic slipper fails to fit...

Today, though, I took it out to play with it again.  There has to be a way! I thought. And I found it. So simple - just a slide and a dip of the shaft of the toy over and into my vagina and held at an angle lets the external part push up and down against my clit without the pressure that hurts down the shaft of it when the toy's inserted all the way. And the vibrations carry just fine where they need to go. As someone who's used to needing to work up to things quite a bit, and can find orgasm elusive, I was taken aback by how fast the on, around and up and down clit stimulation zapped a fast and fairly furious orgasm through me, leaving my clitoris literally vibrating with buzzy aftershock and me laughing out loud in disbelief at the shattering of my naivety. My vibrator virginity is dispatched.

I know this doesn't seem like a big deal to you vibe veterans out there but - if I may overshare a second - one, while I can make myself come ok, I tend not to be able to relax enough to let anyone else make it happen. So the feeling of something taking over my clit and popping an orgasm out of it so quickly and easily was quite revelatory. And also two, I've been on a low dose of an SSRI for some time now and while it stops me crying all the time, it also dismisses my libido summarily and makes it really hard to come sometimes. I'm taking a little break from it, thinking maybe I can welcome the tears for an interval and maybe enjoy the release they might bring - and also welcome the feeling of my body working like it's meant to and, god knows enjoying the release of some convincing orgasms at the same time - so I think that helped.**

Many thanks to Lelo, and many thanks to my kind benefactor, to whom I somewhat inappropriately dedicate this morning's orgasm.

**Not only is this not medical advice, or advice at all, I've no aspersions as to the fact that if it were, it would be extremely bad advice. Talk to your doctor before changing your dose or coming off meds, etc. Obviously.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

smooch monster

Monday, September 29, 2014

sexy ass cookie withholding smooth talking mother fucker

Ok, so, if Tom Hiddleston was my Dom, and I was Cookie Monster, things would go exactly this way. Sex, cookies, it's kind of all the same.


I'm sure none of you wanted to know this, but now you do.

Monday, September 15, 2014

It's Kristina!

Everyone, Kristina is here, hot on the heels of Snoggy Sunday. She's going to tell us about the style of her new release, Undone, which I thought worked perfectly, and allows her to lead us around by the nose as she likes (at least, that was my experience). Don't you love this cover? Unf.

Undone: writing about writing
Undone is told from Lana Greenwood’s perspective in the format of a diary or journal narrative. I tend to write female characters given to introspection and analysis, and this choice of narrative allowed me to foreground that without, I hope, detracting from the hot, sexy action.

Lana starts committing her thoughts to paper after a man is found dead following a threesome with herself and guy she’s recently met, Sol Miller. Eager to protect their privacy, Lana and Sol agree to keep the kinky encounter secret from the police. soon, Lana suspects sol may be implicated in the death but even so, she can’t tear herself away from their developing relationship. Her journal is a bid to retain control as her emotions threaten her stability, and to keep a record of events to help if she’s called in for questioning.
In one sense, Lana’s writings form a diary: entries are dated and the point is to note the day’s events. but they are partly a journal too because the point is not merely to record events but also feelings.

Using this format presented some interesting challenges and opportunities for me as a writer. Relating events via diary entries meant I didn’t need to close off or continue scenes as I might do with a more conventional chapter structure. I could have small sections focusing on Lana’s troubled mind along with diary entries which resembled more typical scenes. Diary entries sometimes stop or start with Lana fretting about the past or the future, or about Sol or her own behavior.  The content of the entries doesn’t always correspond to the date of the entry, as Lana struggles to find time to keep track. At times I remind readers this is a diary they’re reading while at others, I hope the story takes over and its method of presentation recedes into the background.

I used a similar framing device in my third novel, Split, told from the point of view of Kate Carter. The whole novel is effectively Kate explaining to her boyfriend, via a journal, why she’s fled their life in London to take up a job in a remote puppet museum on the Yorkshire moors. For the most part, the story takes precedence and readers soon forget Kate’s initial motivations for relaying her tale. By contrast, in Undone, Idon’t allow my readers to forget for too long that Lana is writing her story. The dated diary entry format helps but also, Lana, particularly in the early part of the novel, is quite conscious of the act of writing and story-telling.
Below is a snip where one entry ends and another begins. The action here starts with Lana, having detailed the intense, troubling sex she had with sol in the woods on the morning the body is discovered, recalls their post-coital tranquility.
“We edged together and he wrapped his arm behind me, pulling me close. I lay sideways, my head on his chest, and draped a leg across his. he twisted a finger in my hair. I listened to his heartbeat pumping in his ribcage. The filtered sunlight was strengthening, dabbing my skin with warmth. Leaves stirred around us while birdsong fluted and fluttered. After a few minutes, sol’s breathing slowed. His legs twitched as he drifted towards sleep. He stopped toying with my hair. We dozed for twenty minutes or so. I slipped in and out of consciousness, tired but too uncomfortable to relax fully.

I’m remembering the scene as I write this, and it’s as if I’m gazing down on a couple of time-travellers who’ve pitched up in another era, naked and lost. The woodland looks so restful, the sleepers so at peace. She’s pale, blonde and slender. He’s dark, broad and powerful, holding her close, even while he sleeps.
The woman lying there seems a different person to the woman writing this journal. It’s late. I need to stop and try to get some sleep. I swam thirty-six lengths today. It doesn’t seem to have tired me as much as I’d hoped.
Friday 4th July
I’ve made some good decisions in recent years. Today, I feel the need to remind myself of these as self-recriminations pile up in the wake of too many bad decisions. I swear I can feel Sol on me after Wednesday, still holding me down. It’s been two days since he visited me. He’s become a constant presence in my psyche. Everything I do, even this now, writing my journal in an empty bar, feels like an act of resistance against him, a fight to be free.

I do not want to be consumed by a man, to be lost in the chaos of lust and love. And yet the pull to abandon myself to such disruption is enormous and terrifying.”
If you’d like to know more, please hop over to my blog for an excerpt from Undone, and check out the other stops on my sexy September blog tour.

Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. her novels are published by black lace and her short stories have appeared in dozens of anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collection, in both the UK and US. she lives in Brighton, England.

About Undone
When Lana Greenwood attends a glamorous house party she finds herself tempted into a ménage à trois. But the morning after brings more than just regrets over fulfilling a fantasy one night stand. One of the men she's spent the night with is discovered dead in the swimming pool. Accident, suicide or murder, no one is sure and Lana doesn't know where to turn. Can she trust Sol, the other man, an ex-New Yorker with a dirty smile and a deep desire to continue their kinky game? 

I'm just going to add one little thing to this, a song that goes awfully, awfully well :) Vida xx

Saturday, September 13, 2014

A Snog For Sommer

Hello, smooch fans. Welcome to Suffused with Heat and thanks for coming. This lovely little fundraiser has made me question whether there is much kissing in my stories, and wonder why the hell not, seeing as I think kissing might just be the best part of all of it. Of it all.

I was out in the most remarkable evening this evening, and a delightful thought for a flash for you came to me. So here it is, just for you, just for Sommer.

He was such a sweetie, Mattie, with his silky black hair and wide, laughing mouth always smiling hello, happy to see me. His owner was pretty cute too, young, bearded, dark blond hair falling onto his shoulders. He was as sweet as his dog, always friendly when our paths crossed, ready for a chat. Mattie's happy bark tended to lift my day when I heard it echo across the grass as he raced to meet my shaggy little mutt Dexter. They would race and roll and yip and tumble and Shane and I would laugh at their antics and look on fondly like proud parents at the playground. 

It took me a while to remember his name - For some reason, I can remember the dogs' names more easily than their humans'. I'm not sure what that says about me. But after a few meetings when our walkies schedules had seemed to have aligned, those chance meetings fast became something I looked forward to. 

Last week I went out on a Saturday evening. Oh, it was beautiful. We walk on a hillside above the sea, along a grassy path. In the Spring the gorse scents the air and the whitethorn bushes are in full flower; now it's Autumn and there are ripening berries all around, little wild, white lilies peeping from thick foliage and evening mist that lies thick in the bowl between the mountains that lead down to the bay. Tonight the mist spread out to sea, blurring the horizon and holding the colours of the sunset above it - the sky was fluffy with purple clouds and streaks of pink over the mountains. Mist lay all around, the air was thick with it, fragrant and completely still. Everything glowed, the moisture in the air caught the light of the sun as it slid behind the mountains. The trees seemed to be giving up their secrets into that still, damp air. 

As I walked in this magic evening I was glad of the solitude, the silence of this evening. It felt altogether fairy tale like, part of a fantasy adventure. There is such pleasure in being out of doors, somewhere beautiful - nowhere does it feel more like being in your own narrative. But when Shane rounded a corner, and Mattie leapt through the long grass towards Dexter with a joyful woof, I felt my heart jump happily too. We approached, and smiled  greetings, and exchanged mutual opinions on the magic of the night that was in it. The sunlight was waning, dusk threatened. And then some spell of the green scented, purple misted evening settled around us, and when Shane leaned in to pull a bug from my hair. His fingers lingered on the strands, I reached up to touch his arm, holding him there. 
  'Oh,' he said, bending his head to me. 'Oh, it would just be perfect if...' 

And I stroked my fingers over his soft lips, drew them over his cheek and the short, rough hair there. He closed the distance between our mouths, brushed my lips with his. I tasted his breath and reached up closer to catch his full lower lip, to tease another beautiful, endless second before turning the moment into a real kiss. A point of no return, where nothing could be claimed as accidental, intentional kiss. His hand rested firm at the base of my back and pulled me closer and his tongue touched mine. As soon as it did, the mist filled my head, that perfect dizziness enveloped me while my blood rushed south to throb in my abdomen and leave me wanting so much more. I swayed and pulled back, to touch my lips to his again, once, twice. To bite at his jaw so gently.
 It was nearly dark, I realised, as I opened my eyes. The dogs were sitting quietly, staring at us in confusion. It was time to go. We walked towards the gate as we had done so often before, but this time Shane reached down without a word, and took my hand. 

If you go to this site, you can see 50 plus other writers' exerpts and donate whatever you like towards helping Sommer worry about one less thing and showing her we care about what she and her family are going through. I'd donate a book, but given that I live in Ireland, I'd rather just send the postage straight to her - but if you leave a comment, I'd be happy to draw a name to send a story to on file. Just comment and leave your address, or send it to me at and I'll send the lucky winner a choice of Torn, my F/m story from Love at First Sting,  Girls' Night Out from Morning Noon and Night or The Sweetshop Owner's Daughter from Sommer's own Dirtyville anthology.