Whatever Turns You On

Never a week goes by that I’m not reminded of the challenge of writing fiction with any kind of erotic element. Unfortunately, sex is an arena that is more individually personalized than any other aspect of psychology. What turns one person on can not only do nothing for another, it may actually turn that person off.

We are aroused by different circumstances, different environments. We all have particular “types,” and may or may not share them. Finding common ground can be very difficult, and forget about finding someone exactly like you. Is there anyone other than me out there who is attracted to the same set of men I have blogged about here (say, Admiral Adama, Mr. Tumnus, Survivorman Les Stroud AND Jim Halpert from “The Office”)? Anyone who worships (chastely of course) John Williams while also lusting after an assortment of hockey players? Anyone who loves sex scenes but is no fan of C-words? How about anyone who enjoys the occasional “movie for mommies and daddies who love each other,” but finds the usual erotic book cover—naked torso of ripped guy—completely unappealing?

Anybody out there scoring 100% with me? Didn’t think so!

Okay, here’s a good example of how very particular we can be about our arousal triggers. A number of years ago I read Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty Trilogy, because I was a big fan of her vampire books and also liked reading erotica. For those unfamiliar, these three books are intensely S&M in character. I’m not saying they aren’t well written, and I’m sure hold great appeal for many in the D/s community, but they were not especially erotic to me…more icky, actually.

However, I’ve always been very intrigued by dominance and submission. Taken to a certain degree, it’s one of my biggest turn-ons. I’ve read a couple of the current popular authors in the D/s genre, and while the sex scenes were too extreme to me, I did find the elements at play very interesting. Meanwhile the D/s movie “Secretary,” with James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal, was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. And I had a wonderful time writing my novella “The Scarlet Shackle,” although the content was not acceptable to my publisher at that time (it’s now offered by the Living Beyond Reality Press READ FREE Project, if you are interested). It is very mild D/s, but has appealed to many over the past couple years and even been endorsed by a popular D/s website. See? Some hate it, some love it.

My point is, even on this one issue—dominance and submission—there is a spectrum, and a person falls into a very narrow band upon that spectrum. The D/s fiction I enjoy may be horrifying to you, or far too tame. Ditto every other approach to sex.

It’s for this reason that I’ve hesitated to leave behind the short story/novella fiction length. I’m always hopeful that by including three to twelve tales in a book, so that even if the reader isn’t crazy about one, hopefully they will enjoy another. I know this from experience, from buying erotic anthologies over the years: there’s one or two stories in the book that are really arousing, and the rest will probably just be interesting, with one or two clunkers in there that just do nothing for me at all.

But a person can make herself crazy trying to write original, interesting fiction that includes sex. Is there enough, or too much? Will it be hot enough for people who demand “dirty words,” while not turning off the more sensitive? If I make the hero the computer geek sort of guy I’m attracted to, will I lose 95% of my audience immediately? If he’s nice will the bad boy lovers hate him; if he’s bad will he lose the reader’s sympathy?

And you wouldn’t believe what an issue it becomes even deciding if the label “erotic” is appropriate!

Long story short, fiction is no substitute for individual imagination. When a person invents a sexual fantasy for herself, it is custom-made. But when that person opens a romance book, unless it’s very formulaic and that reader is way into that formula, it becomes a total crap shoot. Naturally I write what arouses me. Whenever I get into an argument with myself about how much a particular passage or story is going to arouse someone else, I’m lost in the quicksand in no time. You just can’t even shoot for that goal.

Although I’m getting the impression if I wrote about some office guy who looked just like Jim Halpert, an awful lot of you would like it!

Poem: I Still Want to Kiss You

Sure I still want to kiss you—some things never change.
(Though I don’t really miss you, and we both feel estranged.)
Sure, I still feel the wanting when I look in your eyes…
like a mystical haunting I can’t exorcize.

Time goes by, time heals all, and I don’t miss the pain;
I don’t miss the pall you could cast on my brain.
But I still want to kiss you, I won’t try to deny,
and I still want to hold you, though I can’t say quite why.

It might be only the particular blue
of your eyes, or merely the certain hue
of your hair, so familiar, of which I’m so fond
that make me consider restoring the bond.

Why don’t these remind me of tears that I shed?
I should be resigned, be determined instead
To remember the hurt and to keep you at bay,
Besides, I’m quite certain that you think that way.

So I’ll hide what I’m feeling, and you’ll do the same,
and we’ll keep right on playing our nice little game;
both relieved that the days of anguish are over,
both set in our ways of ignoring each other.

But I still want to kiss you—some emotions won’t die—
and I just can’t quite see you as any old guy.
So I guess I have got to just leave it at this:
you’re the man I forgot, but I still want to kiss.

Blushing as I Write

Needless to say, writing about sex is something not everyone is comfortable doing. I would venture to say that even those of us who do it professionally are not always comfortable doing it. When I spoke at the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention last year, I was amused to hear my fellow erotica panel members discuss how they constantly find themselves using words they would never be able to say out loud. Every now and then I field a proposal from an audio book company, and I turn them down every time...just not sure this is the kind of material anyone wants playing in their car.

Now, as fans of my writing know, I write the “tamest” and most tasteful erotic romance around. A few people over the years have suggested it isn’t even erotic, in fact. I don’t do any classic “dirty talking.” Nevertheless, I do write plainly about sex, and to do so, you really have to get into the characters heads as well as their beds. It’s a little like method acting, I guess. I literally have to get into character and imagine precisely what it would be like being in this situation, with this particular other person. I have to find what it is about the situation that inspires passion and focus on it. I have to feel what the characters would feel, hear what they would say to each other, and literally share in their arousal. Yes, literally—of course. And then I have to find a way to convey it all in words that will speak to the reader’s imagination graphically enough so he or she feels it all too.

You know what sex is like: you’ve experienced attraction, temptation, arousal, embarrassment, bliss, satisfaction, regret, contentment. Well, all those things also happen to an author when that person writes erotic fiction. Sometimes you find yourself quite averse to the idea of writing a sex scene in three pages, but what unfolds in the story literally seduces you. You go from, say, anxious and preoccupied, to completely focused on physical pleasure.

And sometimes, frankly, it’s embarrassing. No, I’m not talking about writing a passage so hot your husband catches you masturbating at the keyboard. (Now that I mention that...I wonder if it’s ever happened to any of my ebook reading fans. Interesting thought...) What I mean is, loss of self-control tends to be embarrassing, and when you write erotic fiction this frequently happens. You have to make sure it happens, or the scene won’t be authentic. I mean, if this guy you created can’t turn you on, he sure as hell isn’t going to do it for the heroine or the reader.

So imagine yourself the last time you were really, dizzyingly aroused. Now imagine having to write down whatever comes into your head while in that condition. NOW imagine having other people read that stuff—your husband, your best friend, your daughter or your mom. (Yes, in my life they have. Yikes.) See? Embarrassing.

And yet, not shameful. I won’t ever write anything that would make me feel ashamed to have people read who actually know me. I have a conviction that while sex is definitely a private thing (and it’s embarrassing sometimes because to the erotica writer it is no longer private), it is definitely NOT a shameful thing. Ideally, it’s healthy, wonderful, and a lot of what makes life worth living. It’s what makes flowers bloom, painters paint, the sun shine, and singers sing. I’m really quite proud that writing about it is a lot of what I do.

But it can still be embarrassing. I mean, for example, anyone who reads my novella Gift of Flesh—the scene when Naissun climaxes over Miakaela and she thinks, “Welcome death, beautiful, beautiful death”—that that was how I sincerely felt about him when I wrote the scene, all hot and panting as I typed. I put this intense stuff out there for total strangers (and worse still, friends and co-workers) to read.

It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it. :-)

So You Like Him TOO?

Let me explain that subject line. A few days ago I finally got around to putting a tracker on this blog, It’s about time, I’ve been keeping this for over a year and a half! Anyway, I was AMAZED at (1) the number of visitors I get, and (2) the ways they discover the blog. The stuff people are searching for has reassured me about my own sanity!

First of all, wow, there are a lot of people who are fans of John Krasinski, who plays Jim Halpert on NBC’s “The Office.” I discovered some people who have written some very cool fan fiction about him too, and I see that the appeal I find in the character is having a very similar affect on a lot of women out there.

I am also very surprised to see the number of people googling “Sean Maher shirtless.” For those who don’t know, Sean played Simon on the short-lived but awesome show “Firefly.” He did appear shirtless on the show, and I guess I’m not alone in noticing he was not just your run-of-the-mill shirtless guy. It’s staggering to me that a guy in a supporting role on a show that aired I believe only six times, even if he did have a supporting role also in a feature film spinoff of said show (and did appear shirtless in said feature film as well) should have made such an impression on the general populace. Wow.

My tracker also tells me that a lot of people are fixated on the hot males who populate the Discovery Channel. I guess Discovery does have a larger-than-average quotient of attractive men, seeing as it is heavily weighted towards guys who scale mountains, build flying machines, and slop pigs (that latter is a tip of the hat to Dirty Jobber Mike Rowe).

Speaking of the Discovery Channel, I have to say nothing surprised me more than seeing the number of people searching for “Les Stroud naked.” Well, Les has appeared naked on his show “Survivorman,” but his privates have been consistently pixilated. Apparently, however, he has fans determined to turn up the real deal, nudity-wise. Les does not appear naked on my blog, either, and for the record (not that I want to admit how thorough I have been in researching the man) I can assure you there are no naked photos of Les anywhere on the Web, although I guess with this paragraph I have guaranteed attracting more of those who are looking. Also for the record, I have not myself been specifically searching for such photos…Les pixilated is more than enough for me.

Now in the circles I run in, when I say things like “Oh, this necklace I’m wearing? That’s the logo of the show ‘Survivorman’ with Les Stroud,” I invariably get the response “Survivor?” No, NOT “Survivor,” I think that show blows. My point is, in the States you don’t find a lot of people who have heard of Les. It does my heart good therefore to find out I’m not alone in my admiration for Mr. Stroud. Wise women of Canada, hopefully your southern sisters will catch on eventually.

All this has been very reassuring. I have never been one to be drawn to the obvious (Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, etc.), but instead am forever falling for non-glamourboys like Edward James Olmos and John Williams. (Heck, I’d make out with goofball MythBuster Adam Savage.) But I consistently maintain that there’s more to sex than the obvious, and the attractions women can feel for men attests to that. Apparently my taste is not so off the beaten track as I thought. Apparently I’m just a regular, red-blooded American girl.

Hope springs eternal that one day Les Stroud will top People’s Sexiest Men List.

Become a Soulful Sex Partner!

Okay, that's not what you think it is.

"Soulful Sex Partners" is a crazy idea I had New Year's Night, to enlist the help of as many people as I can in helping me write my next book (a spicy romance novella).

I'm currently recruiting as many members as I can to take part in the process. As soon as I have a nice group assembled, I'll start providing opportunities for people to send me their input for the new book. I plan to use polls, chats, and email to get the Partners' ideas on everything from the genre of the book to the name of the heroine's cat, if she should have a cat, perhaps she's allergic.

As far as I know, nothing like this has ever been done before, so I'm pretty much making it up as I go along! Nevertheless, I'm excited that the thing actually might fly. I already have three fantastic websites signed up as Soulful Sex Website Partners (Coffee Time Romance, Novelspot, and The Romance Studio), and eight individuals signed up yesterday as well. This is only the beginning!!! (Yeah, I'm excited.)

So, if you'd like to take part, the first step is to find out all about the plan on my Soulful Sex: Partners blog, where I will be chronicling the saga of the project. The second, even more crucial step, is to sign up as an SS Partner yourself. You can participate as much or as little along the way as you like.

But if you are a Partner, you are guaranteed one thing: your name will be included in the acknowledgements of the book when it is published by Living Beyond Reality Press. Does life get any better than this? LOL On top of that, I'm running a contest in January...anyone becoming an SS Partner in January will be eligible for a drawing to win his/her choice of any item from the Living Beyond Reality Press Bookstore.

I hope you will consider being a part of my little experiment. I think it is really going to be fun, and I can't wait till March when I will officially start on the writing. Go, sign up now, you know you want to!!!

Yay for the Old, Yay for the New

I usually make an effort on this blog--and I hope it pays off--to stick with material that serves the reader at least as much as myself. But for this entry I'm going to be totally selfish and post some personal reflections on my life in 2006 and plans/hopes/dreams for 2007. And who knows, maybe it'll even be vaguely interesting to you too.

Coolest Stuff of 2006

The year started out with me excited about my upcoming book release, Soulful Sex Volume III, a dream that was quickly squashed by the news that my publisher was going out of business. Turned out, however, that it was the best thing that could have happened. Not only did I have a blast having full control of my publications (under my own publishing house, Living Beyond Reality Press, my sales income ended up more in 2006 than the previous two years combined.

I was invited by Romantic Times BOOKclub to speak on the erotica panel at their national convention in Orlando. This came on the heels of my participation in the magazine's big issue on erotic romance. It was quite a thrill to work with the number one publication in the romance fiction business.

Another big dream of mine was realized in May when I released Diana's Deck Romance Fortune Telling Cards, which I designed and illustrated. Obviously I get to work with words all the time, so it was awesome to get to work with pictures. I really love how the set turned out. It was really exciting when Non Sport Update featured the cards in their August/September issue.

2006 was a pretty good year for me too for awards. I was voted Featured Author of the Year 2005 by The Romance Studio Blue. In the 2005 Preditors & Editors poll I received two Top Ten Finishes: 6th place in Non Fiction Article for my essay "Man-Devil-Angel: The Perfect Erotic Partner" and an incredible 5th place (out of 266 entrants) in Best Author! In April I received a big surprise: "Je t'aime, Etienne" from Soulful Sex Volume II was a Finalist in the Best Story from an Anthology category in the 2005 RIO Awards of Excellence, presented by the Reviewers International Organization. Last but not least, my essay "The Successful Author, Revised" won first place in the 2006 Funds for Writers Annual Essay Contest.

One of my biggest thrills of 2006 was the great review I received from the infamous Mrs. Giggles for Soulful Sex Volumes I & II. It's no easy feat pleasing Mrs. G and I was very grateful (and relieved!).

I had planned of course on releasing more anthologies of "erotica with soul" in 2006, but made the last minute decision to write a non-fiction book about my experiences with self-publishing, titled Do-It-YourSelf-Publishing. The book got the attention of a lot of different websites and publications, and was featured by Funds for Writers, Mrs. Giggles, About Freelance Writing, Write and Publish Your Book, BookHitch, and TheNextBigWriter, among others. Best of all, it was endorsed by famed fantasy author and epublishing supporter Piers Anthony.

Meanwhile, the local Milwaukee media gave me some good press this year: An interview with me was the lead story in the entertainment section of OnMilwaukee.com, entitled "Tech-savvy Milwaukee author publishes her own books."

I met an awful lot of great people via the web in 2006 but must give special mention to The Lipstick Mystic, who has promoted my work on her website and newsletters, and featured me in a truly outstanding interview in December. But I can't even begin to list here all the cool new fans--both of my books and this blog--I encountered this year, many of whom I'm happy to consider new friends.

And outside of the romance writing biz, 2006 brought me such great events and discoveries as these:

• My hero Guy Carbonneau becoming head coach of the Montreal Canadiens
• Rereading The Chronicles of Narnia
• Cody Willard
• James McAvoy in "Children of Dune"
• The return of Superman
• "Lady in the Water" (yes, I loved it!) and "The Man Who Heard Voices" by Michael Bamberger
• Les Stroud aka "Survivorman"
• Adam and Jamie aka the MythBusters
• My 50th birthday
• "Tranji" and the "So You Think You Can Dance" gang
• The Chicago Bears
• Hiro and "Heroes"
• "Battlestar Galactica"
• Edward James Olmos (who deserves a separate bullet point of his own)
• "The Office" (it just gets better and better)
• Our new Sony Grand WEGA 50" 1080p Rear-Projection SXRD HDTV (I lurve it!)
• The Pirates! adventure books by Gideon Defoe

Looking Forward to 2007

So...here's my "resolution" for next year, an idea brought up to me by my friend Jennie. It's this: "Keep It Fun."

When you're an ambitious person such as myself, it's easy to get caught up in projects to the point that they stop being fun. It's one thing to have to labor in your job, but in your hobbies and avocations a person needs to be sure not to lose sight of the point: to have fun. I'm 50 and lord willing will live another 50 years, but however long I have left, I want to enjoy it.

So I'm hoping to keep that in mind in 2007, and spend plenty of time with family and friends and doing enjoying the many blessings I am so fortunate to have. I'm sure I'll work hard anyway--I'm weird like that--but I'm hoping to have a little more fun as well.

Would that you all had such nice, happy resolutions for the New Year. Well, while you're working to lose weight, exercise more, or whatever tough and dreary challenges you're taking on in 2007, I hope you too will Keep It Fun. And I hope part of that will be plenty of visits to this blog!

Happy New Year!

Holiday Dreams Diana Style

Why is Christmas time so romantic? Well, that’s a question for another day. But I thought I would indulge myself and envision my own personal perfect romantic fantasy Christmases. Here goes:

Christmas Fantasy #1: A Cozy Scottish Holiday with James McAvoy

James as Mr. Tumnus in “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” is just about the coziest thing in history. He wouldn’t necessarily have to be a faun to be cozy, just wear a wintry scarf and host a tea party in front of a hearth. Our celebration could certainly take place in a cottage in his native Scotland, and he would definitely need to speak in his natural Scottish brogue. Imagine curling up with him with a mug of mint tea with cream, gazing into the fire and listening to him tell of Christmases in Scotland. Ah, I’d be a happy lassie….

Christmas Fantasy #2: A Joint Heroes/Lost Party

Should we hold it on the island or in New York City? It wouldn’t really matter, with John Locke, Charlie, Sawyer, Peter, Hiro, Mohinder and Isaac all in the same place at the same time. Okay, you Jack fans, he wouldn’t be bad either. I think the most fun to have with this crowd would be if we all sat around with some leftover Oceanic Airlines booze and tried to figure out how the plot lines of the two shows might possibly be connected. Maybe the Dharma Corporation is behind the genetic manipulation that created the heroes? Maybe Hiro is distantly related to the guy in the hatch training film? Maybe John Locke is one of the heroes (that miraculous healing of the legs, ya know)? At any rate, we’d all have to drink another toast every 108 minutes. What a blast.

Christmas Fantasy #3: Christmas on the Canadian Shield with Les Stroud

I’m not envisioning spending the holiday with Survivorman in one of his usual inhospitable settings like the jungle or the desert. Nope, I’d rather have him show me the splendor of Canadian winter in his neighborhood in Ontario. Some sledding, some snowshoeing, and all that cold beauty…appreciated as only Les can. And of course, we’d end up in front of a fire warming our toes, with Les singing carols and playing guitar. You know, I have endless admiration for his wife Sue, who bravely supports her husband’s hazardous lifestyle, and I hope she wouldn’t mind my giving Les one Christmas kiss of thanks for all the joy he brought me this year.

Christmas Fantasy #4: An Office Christmas Party with “The Office” Crew

I’m not denying the best thing about hanging out with the Dunder-Mifflin crowd would be catching Jim Halpert under the mistletoe. But I’d love to spend time with the whole gang. I would shamelessly encourage Michael’s ridiculous sense of humor, talk “Battlestar Galactica” with Dwight, and become best pals with Pam. Then we could all head over to Chili’s for drinks and get really crazy. (I’d have my eyes on Jim the whole time in case he made one of his classic faces at the videographer.) And if Toby was all alone for the holiday, I’d be happy to keep him company.

Christmas Fantasy #5: Feliz Navidad with Edward James Olmos

EJO is the first person of Mexican heritage I’ve crushed on, so it’s been interesting for me to find a romantic element in that old Jose Feliciano song this year. It would be lovely to have a tour of Mexico at holiday time with Eddie, and knowing the kind of guy he is, I’m sure the experience would be more about the reality of Mexican culture and history than any margarita-sipping-at-a-Cabo-resort kind of thing. The man has one of the most loving hearts I’ve ever encountered, and he pretty much embodies the spirit of Christmas. I’d love to just sit with him and watch a Mexican sunset, and listen to him talk about the unity of the human race in that magnificently beautiful voice of his.

Christmas Fantasy #6: Home for the Holidays

Yep, I have to admit, my best fantasy of all for Christmas is the one that will really come true: Spending time with my own wonderful family. I must confess we know how to do Christmas up right, and I can’t wait for the annual fun to start. Although I’m sure David and the girls would be quite thrilled if all my fantasy friends were able to join us. (Yes Davie, Evangeline Lilly is invited too.)

Merry Christmas everyone!

Love is Blind

I think everyone has had the experience of “waking up” from an infatuation (or even from long term love) to suddenly realize the object of affection was nothing like you thought s/he was. You know, the “love is blind” phenomenon. It’s truly amazing how the psyche can sometimes so completely revise the person standing before your very eyes.

I have my own (Jungian-based) theories on this. I believe each person’s psyche feels lack, in other words, yearns for certain human qualities in order to achieve completion and wholeness. When you meet someone who has a few of these traits, particularly if that person is your type physically, he qualifies as “romantic material”: a person upon whom you can project the complete package of your ideal traits.

Once you have “fallen in love” with the man, it’s amazing how successfully your unconscious mind is at convincing you he has all these qualities. When he actually manages to exhibit them, you will exaggerate the situation; when he fails to do so, you may interpret it as a small thing or only temporary. Or instead, you may find yourself angry, sad, or deeply disappointed when he fails in this way. You may make determined and desperate attempts to change him.

It is only when you finally see and accept that the person doesn’t actually possess the traits you hoped for that you reach the realistic crossroads. At that point, if there is enough about the individual to make the relationship worthwhile anyway, you will accept his “shortcomings” and love him for who he really is. If there isn’t, if you have been deluding yourself too much about him, you will fall out of love.

That’s the simple version, in a nutshell, but of course it plays out in all kinds of involved, complicated, and unique ways in real life. Just for fun and edification, I’ll share an example from my own life.

I once met a guy I will call Romeo (not too many men named that nowadays, are there?), who was just the sort of independent puer archetype (that’s an “eternal boy”) that always attracts me. We thought enough alike that we could easily relate, and so were able to get into deep and interesting conversation on a regular basis and became quite close.

One thing I have always needed and have difficulty finding in men is strong will. I’m a very capable person but have a yearning for a good old-fashioned authority figure who will, if I may put it this way, push me around a little. I have always been an obliging, good girl type, so by contrast I found Romeo’s stubborn, volatile, uncompromising male nature the irresistible opposite of myself. His behavior was so deeply satisfying to my psyche, and so rare, that my unconscious glommed onto him and was desperately afraid to lose him.

Because my deep-seated psychological needs were met by Romeo, I was willing to pay quite a price for it. I inflated the worth of the other qualities in him that I liked, and deflated the importance of his difficult traits. And while the relationship brought me truly blissful levels of happiness at times, it also brought some of the most acute grief I’ve experienced.

Another interesting phenomenon occurred with Romeo. He wasn’t exactly my favorite type physically, but due to the way he touched my soul, his sexual appeal to me was greatly enhanced. I remember one time having a discussion with some other females about who in the world we would most want to make love to, including celebrities. It took me but a moment to recognize that in my mind, sex with this guy would transcend anything I might experience with someone like Hugh Jackman. Yes, I knew how crazy this was, but it was absolutely true.

Eventually, of course, I woke up from my delusions about Romeo. I did my best to see him for who he was and have a reality-based friendship with him, and eventually succeeded. Meanwhile, he met someone else, and as is the nature of relationships, adapted to being with her. In the process his personality changed to the point that he no longer possesses the very traits that initially drew me to him.

Consequently, I find it hard now to sort out which qualities Romeo actually abandoned in himself, and which he never possessed in the first place and were just figments of my imagination. Naturally, either way I’m confident he has become much less admirable a person, although I’m sure his significant other would beg to differ with me. LOL

And to this day, when I go somewhere that we went together, or hear a certain song, I really miss the guy, whether or not that person ever truly existed. And naturally, I would. Love is blind, and to mix metaphors, like an elephant, love never forgets. And woe to me if I ever meet someone who truly reminds me of the man I thought Romeo was. That will be a scary--but very thrilling--day.

Be Devilish...But Then Stop

In my opinion, the average woman has an interesting way of reacting to male aggression. I’m sure men find it quite confusing. I think it may just be that we females are a bit at cross purposes when it comes to sex.

On the one hand, our primordial brain responds powerfully to male aggression. The macho, forceful, studly guy turns us on in spite of any rational thinking. He can be pushy, demanding, even threatening, and in response we feel the seductive urge to submit.

But on the other hand, women are also rational creatures. As such, we respond to kindness, protectiveness, and sensitivity, very opposite traits to those listed above. Logic tells us a macho guy will probably not prove the best mate in the long run.

But the problem is, you really want to have sex with him in the short run. What’s a girl to do?

Once again, fantasy life comes to the rescue. In our imaginations, we get to have it both ways: We can be assaulted, even violently, by the macho man and enjoy the deep-seated thrill it give our primordial brain. (I know it’s not PC to mention rape fantasies, but honestly, most of us have had them, after a fashion and of course very different from real rape.) But then the fellow can be transformed--by circumstance, revelation, or best of all, our love--into that gentleman a woman could spend her life with.

Have you read a few books like that?

Yes, some of us do want both Rhett Butler and Ashley Wilkes. And only in fantasy are you going to get them both in one man, unless you find a nice one who will play at being nasty for fun. Would that more men had that act mastered. Which brings me to my anecdote.

Yes, naturally I have an anecdote to share that inspired this whole line of thinking. As you know, I’ve been fixated lately on Edward James Olmos, aka Admiral Adama from “Battlestar Galactica.” You don’t have to be a fan of the show to follow this, so stick with me here. In this role he plays a firm and determined but very kind and honorable man. Meanwhile, in real life EJO is a wonderful guy who gives profusely of his time and money in a number of humanitarian causes, particularly related to U.S. Hispanics and their culture. In short: good guy, very kind hearted, gentle, and protective.

Meanwhile however, Mr. Almos has played a number of really rough roles in theater, TV and film. Last night I watched him reprise his role from Broadway in the film version of the musical “Zoot Suit.” As El Pachuco, he is a fantasy figure (an element of the protagonist’s psyche, actually) that utterly embodies macho. He sambas seductively, sings in that velvet voice of his, and oozes sex from every pore. He lurks, he skulks, he advises violence and makes cynical pronouncements about life. He’s hostile, cruel, dangerous, cynical, sinister, fearless.

He’s not my type at all and he absolutely sends me.

This is the kind of character you picture bending you over a table and saying, “I will take you right here, chica, and you will like it,” and you completely agree with him.

If I were really in L.A. in 1940 in a bar with a bunch of Pachucos, I would say in abject terror, “Easy, carnal, I would rather just leave if you promise to leave your switchblade in your pocket.”

But you see, I know the actor, and I know he’s just performing, and that underneath that black zoot suit and intensely red shirt lies a heart of gold. I’ll play the game with this particular fellow, because I know he’ll be devilish and then stop. I’ll let him hike up my silky red skirt and do his worst to me, and it’s fantasy so it will be like a tango.

What in real life would be a nightmare, in dreams is a delight. Isn’t that often the way it is? But often those kind of dreams are the most powerful of all.

Now we just need more men like Edward James Olmos, who can play the devil but live like an angel....

The Perfect Face

Hey, I think I found it: the perfect face.

I spotted this guy on a Calvin Klein TV commercial and decided to test my googling skills and try to find out who he is. I was successful, but while this gave me occasion to gloat about my ability to google, I was a little chagrinned concerning my Celebrity IQ...apparently Gabriel Aubry has been around awhile and is well known for dating Female Perfect Face Halle Berry.

So, for my PC wallpaper I replaced my homemade Commander Adama collage (if having spent time on such a thing isn't a mark of geekdom, I don't know what is) with Gabriel Aubry. It was a bit of an experiment, really. I want to try to discern if a pretty face is enough to serve as, if you will, erotic inspiration, so I'm going to give this guy some "face time" on my computer.

[Let me digress a moment. One thing I've found quite interesting already is the whole concept of a "perfect face." Obviously there isn't one. I found that out last year when I read about scientists trying to create the universally appealing perfect male face, computer generated of course. I couldn't believe how not attractive I found the result. I mean, he was okay...but did nothing for me. Gabriel Aubry, on the other hand, has perfect hair, flawless features--if he showed up on my doorstep claiming to be a god, I'd believe him. Interestingly, however, I queried every other female in the room (my mother-in-law and my two 20-something daughters) and they all said, "he's good looking, but not my type." I personally find this hard to fathom, but it just goes to show you, nothing is so perfect as to transcend taste.]

So, how's the experiment faring? Well, I can't say that looking at Gabriel isn't nice. It's an experience rather like eating chocolate...I can see how apt the expression "eye candy" really is. However, I find it impossible to fantasize about him at all. There's nothing there, know what I mean? He's a male model, so he makes his living looking good, but apart from that I have no material to work with. Consequently, I really can't work up any passion about the guy. He only moves me in a very slight, shallow way.

Whereas you can take any of my celebrity obsessions of the past year and it's completely different. James McAvoy in the role of Mr. Tumnus is sweet, charming, cozy. As Leto Atreides from "Children of Dune" he is powerful, mysterious, and tragic. M. Night Shyamalan (at least in my view) is brilliant and inspiring, a multi-talented artist. Survivorman Les Stroud is funny, courageous, resourceful in the extreme, and beautiful in soul. And Admiral Adama, with his marvelous gravelly voice, is the quintessential leader and father figure, stern but tenderhearted. Each one of these men/characters move me emotionally and spiritually, and consequently any physical appeal they possess is enhanced.

Enhanced to the point where each one has a face that strikes me as perfect.

So, I have a feeling it won't be long before the 60-year-old, worn face of Admiral Adama is back on my wallpaper. Now that's a handsome man....

Hypnosis and Seduction

I’m currently reading a fascinating book about hypnosis, a topic that has interested me since I was a child. I’m finding I had a lot of misconceptions about the subject, rooted in the way hypnosis has been treated in the media over the years.

In the 60s when I was little, movies, TV, and comic books consistently portrayed hypnotists as sinister fellows with somewhat magical powers. They were forever bringing the heroine of a story under their control for nefarious purposes. A good example is one of my favorite films, “The 500 Fingers of Dr. T,” written by Dr. Seuss. In this movie the little boy’s widowed mother is hypnotized into marrying the evil Dr. Terwilliger, until a heroic plumber manages to free her from his spell.

Even as a little girl I found this hypnotist archetype strangely compelling. I liked to make up stories about falling under the control of a hypnotist. There was definitely something sexual about it all, even though I was too young to comprehend that. As I got older, I discovered a similar archetype appealed to me: the vampire. The irresistibly seductive power of the vampire has to me always simply been another example of hypnosis, albeit with a supernatural element. And there’s no denying that vampires are sexy.

I think very early on, my psyche associated hypnotism with the emotional and physical sensations of surrender, submission, relaxation and pleasure, all of which are key elements of sexual experience for women. Hypnotism was, in effect, seduction, and the hypnotist therefore a master of the art of seduction.

So maybe it’s just me, but there’s always been something very alluring about hypnotists and their ilk, from their mystical aspect to their self-assurance to their irresistible power over others. They are great fodder for sexual fantasy, and for erotic writing as well. In my opinion, if you’re going to do a sexy villain, you can enhance the character by giving him hypnotic powers. In my novel Souls’ Embrace the psychically powerful Master Xiturias uses his mind-control abilities to seduce the heroine Mauren, and hopefully win her away from her true love. (Sounds a lot like “The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T,” doesn’t it?) The “hypnosis” scenes in this book are extremely erotic. (And they were very fun to write!)

But now I find myself reading about hypnosis not as a character or plot device, but rather as a therapeutic tool. Nevertheless, it’s hard for me to shake my old impressions. Even if I revise my rational opinion about hypnotists to think of them as medical practitioners, I can’t seem to alter my emotional reaction.

I can imagine a licensed hypnotist practicing his science for the purpose of, for example, helping a person lose weight, but as I picture it, I find it hard to distance such an act from seduction. I certainly can’t think of myself undergoing hypnosis without there being some erotic aspect to the experience. If indeed I ever sought the help of a male hypnotist, it would be very hard to keep the infatuation at bay.

Considering the number of people who turn to this science for health benefits, I must be a little unusual in this respect! These people can’t all be struggling with sexual attraction to their hypnotists.

So, anyone else out there harbor a fascination for this archetype?

I might have to undergo hypnotherapy to get over my “thing” for hypnotists…

Real Men and Imaginary Lovers

I imagine at one time or another you’ve developed a crush on some TV character (as I recently have done for the umpteenth time), one of those intense infatuations that sets you off madly googling the actor who plays this person. You feel like a stalker, in spite of the fact that you’re pretty sure you’re not a psychopath of any kind. The feeling worsens when you see your idol photographed with his wife or girlfriend, most likely someone gorgeous, and you find yourself jealous. You know you will never meet this guy, so what difference does it make that he’s in love with someone other than you? Be that as it may, it still tweaks your heartstrings.

I’ve had a number of women over the years correspond with me over this problem. The first thing I do is tell them they aren’t crazy or sick. The feeling is really quite natural, and it doesn’t really mean you resent the fact that your idol has a life apart from you. The problem is that you feel desire for him of one sort or another, and the reminder of his real life just makes him seem less attainable than ever.

The cure for this problem isn’t always easy to manage. With some infatuations I’ve found it a snap; with others, nearly impossible. However, I’ve found it gets easier with practice.

The whole key is distinguishing between the Real Man and the Imaginary Lover, and believing confidently that each one exists quite apart from the other. I’m venturing into some good old Jungian psychology here, but you don’t need a doctorate to get the gist. I’ll do my best to explain, and use my current situation as an illustration.

In watching “Battlestar Galactica,” I fell for the character of Admiral Adama. This guy doesn’t exist in “reality,” of course. He is a concoction created by the writers of the show and the actor, Edward James Olmos, with help from directors, costume designers, hair and makeup people, and so on. Adama also has origins in some timeless archetypes that have inspired artists and authors for millennia: the soldier, the father, the paternal god.

There’s one more person involved in creating William Adama: me. Because he is “fictional,” he depends upon the imagination of viewers of the show to give him “reality.” Each individual will view this character a little differently, and because of what he or she brings to the situation, will react to him in a unique way. This archetype has always been powerful to me, so my psyche imbues Adama with more importance than the actor or writers could manage on their own.

So, what about the actor himself? Well, I can certainly say this: he looks exactly like the guy I’m in love with. And intellectually I recognize the part he plays in bringing this character to my senses. So it’s hard not to give him credit, as well as to sort of confuse him with my Adama.

I admit I have googled Edward James Olmos. Why? Because, well, it’s exciting to do. He reminds me of the Admiral, what can I say? In his particular case, matters are somewhat complicated by the fact that the Real Man is quite remarkable. Not only is he a brilliant actor, director and filmmaker, but a tremendous humanitarian. I watched a video of him doing some motivational speaking about the unity of the human race and it brought me to tears, without seeming much at all like it was Commander Adama saying the words.

You may have had a similar experience reading about the actor who portrays your idol. If the Real Man also inspires you in some way, the entire affair may become even more confusing to you.

Occasionally too, we become attached to celebrities who “play themselves.” My recent affection for Survivorman Les Stroud, and my longtime admiration of NHL player (now coach) Guy Carbonneau are good examples.

Still, I recognize that even for these guys, I create my own concept of their personalities and characters, distinct from the reality. I don’t know either of them personally, nor will I ever. If I did, I’m sure their human flaws or individual characteristics would rob them of the magic imparted by my imagination.

So, there are a number of things to keep in mind to help separate the Real Man from the Imaginary Lover, and I’ll set down a few here:

1. Don’t feel that the Imaginary Lover is “just pretend,” “not real,” or “a figure of your imagination,” and therefore doesn’t exist in a valid way. It would take a lot of words to cover this topic, but suffice it to say, the Lover is an independent extension of your psyche, uniquely yours and very real. Most importantly, although “imaginary,” he can fulfill your psychological needs better than you think.

2. Don’t suppose that the Real Man is who you really need or want. He may share some traits in common with the Imaginary Lover (most especially, physical appearance), but he is probably very different in many key ways, or at least not so perfect.

3. If the Real Man has many qualities you genuinely admire, to the point that you covet him in a painful way, work on separating him from the Imaginary Lover. It truly is possible to admire and like the Real Man while recognizing that it is the Imaginary Lover that truly inspires and excites you.

4. Focus on the fact that the Imaginary Lover is truly, completely, and uniquely your own, utterly devoted and faithful to you. You will never compete for him with another woman, or his work, or any other distractions. Whoever it is who is with the Real Man will not be quite so lucky with him, since he isn’t perfect!

5. When the day comes that you find the shine of the Imaginary Lover tarnishing, don’t feel sadness or regret. The nice thing about him is that he will seek out a new form to touch and inspire you, one that addresses another facet of you, or a newly developed need.

I wish I could impart to you everything I’ve read and experienced on this subject—this is a ridiculously brief treatment of the matter. If you want further explanation, I recommend my book Living Beyond Reality. I say this not to turn this column into an infomercial, but honestly in the interest of sharing with you what the good doctor Carl Jung had to say that applies so aptly to the subject of celebrity crushes.

I owe a debt of gratitude to the man. Thanks to him, when I spend three hours googling some actor, I am able to feel perfectly sane. Even when I see the photos of him kissing some other woman.

(He kisses much better when he’s with me, if you catch my meaning.)

One Little Fantasy Scene: Galactica

Sometimes a person’s imagination fixates on one simple, powerful fantasy. You know what I mean, a little scene that you replay over and over in your head, which for whatever reason evokes powerful emotions in you that you savor again and again. It’s like a sexual fetish in a way: this fantasy mini-drama grips you, almost takes you over, for awhile.

I’ve had this experience from time to time, and my most recent one draws upon the superb sci-fi show “Battlestar Galactica.” I’ve been watching the previous two seasons on DVD with my husband, in a mad rush to catch up to the current episodes. We’re really quite addicted to it. And we’re both great admirers of Commander William Adama, senior officer of the Galactica, portrayed masterfully by Edward James Olmos. Adama is a fascinating character, a mature hero with a bit of a fatherly quality, who is complexly human. Interestingly, I had no sexual feelings for the character until the scene that follows suddenly invaded my mind.

How strange is the imagination. Was I subconsciously attracted to Commander Adama before I envisioned this, or did it inspire me to fall for him? Your guess is as good as mine.

At any rate, I set down this tiny piece of classic fan fiction. The narrator is the invented character Lieutenant Sara Linderman, an officer on Galactica, in a scene with the Commander. The archetypes are so timeless, you hardly need to have ever seen the show to appreciate what is going on. Or so I suppose, anyway...read on.
_________________________

“Come in, Lieutenant,” said Commander Adama, looking up at the doorway from his desk.

The room was dimly lit by his desk lamp, and the book-lined walls bathed in amber light gave a cozy feel. I took a couple of steps, then said, “May I close the door?”

“Of course,” he said, removing his glasses and setting them on the desk. “From the look of you, this seems like a serious matter. Please, have a seat.”

He indicated a chair at his side worktable. As I sat down, he slid his own chair out from behind the desk. When he had seated himself in it, I found his knee was nearly touching mine. Adama was a personable man who often parted with protocol to be affectionate, and we had worked together so long I had become used to his physical closeness. However, in this situation I was especially aware of it; I could practically feel the warmth of that knee. His eyes looked into mine, brows raised slightly with obvious curiosity.

I took a deep breath and released it. “Sir, rest assured I will file a formal request in this regard, but I wanted to discuss it with you personally first.”

The curiosity became concern. “A formal request? What request?”

I sat up very straight and looked him in the eye. “Commander, I request a transfer to Battlestar Pegasus.”

He visibly started. Then, after a pause, he said, “The Pegasus is not under my command.”

“That’s the point, sir,” I interjected at once.

Was that a look of hurt I saw? If so, it was fleeting. He resumed, in a professional tone, “And what might be the reason for this request?”

“With all due respect, Commander, I would prefer not to give a reason.”

His face went stern. “Your preference is not relevant, Lieutenant. I’m not about to transfer one of my best officers to the Admiral’s command without a reason. A very good one. So answer me.”

I looked away from him. I had never once defied him in all my years of service, and I knew I couldn’t do it now, either. What he asked, I answered, what he ordered, I did. But I knew once I spoke, there would be no turning back, ever. Regulations and common sense dictated only one course of action.

I felt a warm hand cover mine. I turned to find Adama looking at me with kindness in his eyes, stark contrast to his harsh tone of the moment before. “Sara, after all we’ve been through, how can there be anything you can’t tell me?”

For all our professionalism—and we were both very professional soldiers—there had been many times we’d been as close as two humans could be. I’d saved his life and he’d saved mine. We’d shared terror and triumph, grief and joy. It was not the first time he had touched my hand in kindness, and indeed, I had not so long ago lain in his arms wondering if I would die from my wounds. That, in fact, was the moment I had finally faced the truth.

“Sir, I request the transfer because…because I’m in love with you,” I said.

My entire fate hinged on how he would respond to this. I watched his face intently, looking for a reaction. For a moment his eyes went wide, and then he seemed to struggle to collect himself. His hand remained on mine, completely still. Finally, he blinked, and sat back a little, forcing a smile. “Lieutenant Linderman, believe me, you’re not the first soldier to develop an infatuation for a superior officer. That sort of thing has been going on since war was invented. I don’t mean to belittle your feelings, but it would be a very bad decision to make too much of them.”

He drew away his hand, but on impulse I snatched it back. I looked hard into his eyes. “Commander, you know I’m not making too much of them. You know.”

I clung tight to his fingers. His eyes searched my face. How I loved those eyes! I loved when they were angry and stern, I loved when they were gentle and compassionate. I couldn’t imagine my world without them…but that was what I was asking for.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His free hand came up. I expected him to stroke my cheek; it was a fatherly gesture I’d seen him use several times in crisis to calm a female soldier, myself included. But his hand stopped to take hold of my chin. His grip was firm.

I opened my mouth to speak, although I hardly knew what to say. But the look in Adama’s eyes silenced me. He lowered his chin and leaned to me, cocking his head a little. Oh gods, did he mean to…?

In an instant I got my answer. He closed his eyes and I closed mine, and I felt his mouth upon my lips. I kissed him back, fervently. He took hold of my shoulders in his two strong hands and gripped them tight, and kissed me. I put my arms up his back. His hands slipped behind me, his arms pulled me in till I was pressed into his firm chest, enfolded in his warmth. His kisses were so kind, so gentle, so full of love and tenderness that I wanted to cry.

At last we drew apart. His hands took both of mine and held them very tightly. He closed his eyes, sighed, opened them again. A resolute look came over his face. “Your request is granted, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’ll send paperwork to the Admiral in the morning.”

My throat tightened. “Thank you, sir,” I told him, my voice nearly breaking and my eyes welling with tears.

“The reasons will remain confidential,” he added.

Reasons, plural. I managed a little smile. “Thank you, Commander. Thank you.”

Sex and the Creative Juices

After a bit of a hiatus, a friend of mine recently developed a new celebrity crush. She is a writer too, and we have a lot in common psyche-wise. In the wake of her new fascination, my friend found herself suddenly coming up with new ideas for stories, a phenomenon I have experienced over and over again. It’s amazing how this process works: the connection between sexual attraction and creativity.

As you’d expect of me (LOL), I have some theories as to why this happens. Infatuations, whether they be for characters, celebrities, or real life individuals, are a sign that the object of affection possesses some particular, powerful appeal to your psyche. He is compelling to you in some unique way. The fact that you have encountered someone who strikes a chord with you naturally sparks your imagination. You fantasize about him, in specific situations that evoke strong emotions from you. These situations are exciting, and his character is thought-provoking and forceful.

If you have any creative propensities, it is only natural that the imaginative activity inspired by this crush spurs you to some kind of action. Obviously if you are a writer, you will feel a strong desire either to write non-fiction about a subject related to your idol, or fiction about a similar personality. If you are a musician, you will want to compose or perform pieces somehow connected to him. A graphic artist will draw, paint or sculpt with a related theme; even a craft person will find a connection by making a quilt, scrapbook, costume, etc. that connects her to the character.

Can you be creative without this sort of sexual/romantic inspiration? Of course you can, it’s just more effort. I’ll illustrate: Over the past couple of months I’ve been working on my next anthology, Soulful Sex: The Science Fiction Collection. The first story I composed was initiated during a period when I was particularly fascinated by director M. Night Shyamalan. I created the general storyline and the hero’s character at this time, developing a fellow of Indian descent who was a videographer of almost preternatural talent. Things got off to a good start, but then, as fate would have it, I got distracted by a new celebrity crush.

This, of course, was my attraction to Survivorman Les Stroud. The problem was, the archetype represented by Les suggested some very powerful drama and heroism, perfect material for fiction. And this was also one of those rare infatuations that is more than a fleeting fancy, but actually hits you on a number of significant levels.

So, I found myself really struggling to finish the first story about the videographer. I’ll admit there were some plot points that would have been tricky to handle under any circumstance--for example, could I really make it believable that in the near future society had managed to replace human sex with machines? But the matter was complicated by the fact that my imagination was preoccupied with survivalist themes.

Well, I’ve been writing for 40 years, so I know how to use discipline to complete a story, and I did. It was finally time to take on the next tale, and once I moved on from the sex machine story, I found nearly the whole plot of my next one lying piecemeal in my imagination. It was, naturally, about an interplanetary survivalist. The hero was as vivid to me as any I had ever created, being my own personal version of Les Stroud in space (I don’t know the real man personally so there’s no telling how much he is like my character Joel Fennimore). The heroine’s feelings for him were intense and clear and passionate, as you might expect. Putting the thing on paper was as effortless as creative writing gets. What a relief after the struggle of the prior story!

Which brings us to where I’m at with the third and final novella for this science fiction book. I’m in the interesting position of having processed my obsession with survivalists and no longer having that as such a powerful distraction, but meanwhile not having replaced it with a new fascination. So my imagination is on its own this time. My hero is not based on anyone in particular, and the plot is simply a concoction put together from random ideas in my head. I’m finding it easier to write than the sex machine story, but certainly not as effortless as the survivalist one.

So, all this discussion begs the question, is the creative process more fruitful when a powerful attraction drives it? At this point in the romance genre I have written 32 stories, novellas and novels. Of the 32, I would classify 15 of them as having been inspired in the manner outlined above. Is there any significant way in which those differ from the rest? Well, all of my longer works utilized an infatuation for inspiration, so I suppose it might be hard to sustain a sequence of creativity without that factor. My three most popular stories also are in that group, but my personal favorites fall both within and without the category.

Most significant is that all of them were easy to write. I guess that suggests that while imaginative effort and discipline can indeed substitute for pure “inspiration,” they are definitely more work! I would state unequivocally that, given my druthers, I’d certainly prefer writing under the thrilling influence of an infatuation every time.

Too bad I have to write a new story every couple months, and am not quite that fickle!

My works to date (“inspired” ones in italics):

Pints
Between Earth and Sky
Abigail’s Archer
Office Mating
Real Magic
The Dark Prince

Souls’ Embrace

The Trio
The Infatuation
One Hundred Women
Je t’aime, Etienne
As Commonplace as Rain
Fantastic Toys

Hunter
The Queen’s Lady and Her King
The Guy from Beadsville
The Frontier
The Seduction of Squire Meg
Masquerade
The Verity of the Vampire

Harmless Pleasure
Dead Man’s Chest
Conjugals

Alloy Love
Spacewrecked with Joel Fennimore
Claude’s Laboratory

Gift of Flesh
The Golden Padawan
The Scarlet Shackle
Playacting
Tartan
Secret Santas

Halloween Costume Hotness

I love costumes and if I had my way, we’d get to wear them more often than just at Halloween.

First of all, I get a ridiculous thrill out of wearing certain kinds of costumes. Now, obviously it doesn’t work the reverse way for men, but if you’re a woman it’s very cool to dress up as a female version of your favorite heroes. In the past I’ve done this many times: I was a hockey goaltender back in 1998 (specifically Ed Belfour of the Chicago Blackhawks), a Jedi knight in 2002, and a pirate a la Jack Sparrow in 2003. I have to admit, every time I’ve walked into the office Halloween party in one of these personal hero type costumes, I had the shivers.

Costume parties also offer a great opportunity to see guys dressed up in extremely cool outfits that totally outshine the sexiness of normal fashion. I’ll never forget the year one of my co-workers came dressed up as Braveheart’s William Wallace, complete with kilt and blue face paint. This year he wore the most fabulous Batman costume, while another associate was dressed as Clark Kent (with Superman costume underneath). As silly as it sounds, this pair of pretend superguys really tripped my trigger. Gives you a taste of what it would be like in the actual presence of a real superheroes, huh? Yeah, yeah, I know--there’s no such thing, right, right. Meanwhile, for those of you who recall my recent obsession with fauns, another co-worker of mine who is also quite handsome chose to come as Saturday Night Live’s Goatboy, but looked a lot like Mr. Tumnus from Narnia to some of us. Sigh....

So am I the only one geeky enough to experience this stuff at Halloween? I have a feeling not.

Let’s digress to other situations when costumes are the order of the day. Going to Renaissance Faires is fun for the shopping, the ale and the horses, but let’s not kid ourselves. The best reason to attend is seeing the guys in tights and jerkins and doublets and armor. It’s funny how you can stand next to a man in an outfit like that and your blood just heats up. Jeans and a tee shirt rarely do that, you have to admit.

Or, try a Holiday Folk Fair. We have one in Milwaukee that incorporates dancing teams from every possible ethnic persuasion. That means more tights, more kilts, more men making you wish you could get in the Wayback Machine and enjoy this eye candy every day.

I realize science fiction conventions simply make a lot of people laugh, but there are reasons why they’re hugely popular with a large portion of the population, and one of them is the costumes. Klingons are kinda geeky, but they do sport very awesome uniforms. And no matter what you think about George Lucas’s talent at filmmaking, there’s no denying the Jedi uniform is damn sexy. Gotta love the long black coats made popular in the Matrix movies too.

I suppose there’s just something basically sexy about the exotic element in costumes...the fact that they are out of the ordinary. Think about how superheroes always sport costumes, and even the basic cape-and-tights outfit Superman wears has appeal on a guy with a Kryptonian physique. It’s interesting therefore to consider the NBC show “Heroes,” in which ordinary folks discover they have individual superpowers. None have costumes (except the cheerleader, of course), and without them they are special, they are heroes, but they simply cannot be superheroes. The Japanese character Hiro drove this point home recently. So far he’s been like everyone else, dressed in everyday clothes. But in one scene he appears out of the future, and is changed into a sort of samurai look for reasons we can only guess and can’t wait to learn from future episodes. In that guise, ordinary, goofy Hiro is suddenly quite awe-inspiring...and even sexy.

Funny how that works.

I think costumes are a sort of physical manifestation of the imagination, and the imagination of course is where all the truly potent erotic stuff goes on. Imagine if you could (like the holodeck from Star Trek, okay have I proved I’m a geek yet?) experience a truly physical version of your sexual fantasies. Wow. Well, wearing costumes, and being around others in costumes, can be a little taste of that, and it can be exhilarating. From Harley fans wearing lots of leather and studs, to Goths with black eye makeup, to punk rockers dying their hair green, we express our sexual needs and interests through costumes. And that’s why they sell a lot of that sort of stuff at your local Naughty But Nice store.

There are people who disapprove of Halloween because of some perceived connection to Satanism or Paganism in the holiday. I think it’s a necessary and healthy occasion to express the imagination in ways we rarely permit ourselves.

So let me know your favorite costume worn by yourself or a friend! C’mon, you know there was that one that really turned you on...

And meanwhile, now that the annual office costume party is over, I find myself as usual already planning for the next one.

Is the Sex TOO Perfect?

The other night my husband and I had a date night, and over cocktails and appetizers at Harry’s in Shorewood, we discussed my erotic romance works. David was overwhelmingly positive in his commentary--I really never realized he liked my stories that much--but he did have one really interesting criticism.

He felt the sex was too perfect.

First of all, David said my heroes are all virtually perfect (except the scoundrels among them, who manage to be perfect scoundrels). The heroines he found pretty much likewise. That was acceptable, really; he didn’t mind my creating characters that are somewhat larger than life. However, reading the love scenes put David in mind of the same confusion and intimidation he felt in his younger years, comparing the sex in novels to his own romantic experiences. How could a guy hope to live up to that in the real-life bedroom? Couldn’t I cut him some slack and have something go wrong in these torrid passages once in awhile?

To reassure the man, I had to explain something about the female brain.

I shared with him a magazine column I’d read earlier in the week. A woman wrote in for advice concerning her relationship with her husband, who liked to look at pictures of hot, naked women. The wife was completely freaked out over this, feeling she had no chance to compete with these perfect young girls. The columnist explained to her that men’s brains are very compartmentalized when it comes to these things; no doubt the husband never compared his wife to these women at all. She was in one compartment: his unique sweetheart. The magazines dolls were in another compartment, one that had nothing to do with real life. He knew as well as anyone that they weren’t really real.

In the same vein, I explained to David, very few women confuse the way sex is in fiction and fantasy with how it is in real life. I write these mind-blowing love scenes, with their cataclysmic pleasure, preternatural intimacy, and spiritual ecstasy, never thinking for a second that such stuff happens in reality.

I wouldn’t necessarily write about sex this way if I had a different style and wrote in a different genre. For example, if I wrote literary mainstream fiction, like my idols John Irving, William Goldman, and John Updike, I would write about sex the way it really happens between normal people.

But my stories are almost mythological. The characters are very archetypal, and represent concepts and characteristics that are powerful to the psyche. The union of my various mating pairs is always at least a little cosmic, intended to speak to the soul of the reader more than the logical mind, to the subconscious rather than the ego, if you will.

Even when I’m writing a contemporary story about two office workers making love on a desk after hours (“Office Mating” from Soulful Sex Volume I), the lovers are acting out that classic fantasy on behalf of all the readers who are too wise and practical to ever act upon their office crushes. It’s clandestine love, it’s breaking the rules, but what if it was so “meant-to-be” that it actually worked? For the sake of the archetypes and the mythological theme, these two office workers are going to have fabulous sex on that desk...no one is going to tip over onto a stapler at a key moment.

But that said, I know full well if David and I had tried it in the office where we originally met, the results would have been comical at best. That’s real life, and it doesn’t need to be like my stories to be wonderful and meaningful and fun. Which is basically what I told him over drinks at Harry’s, and I think he believed me.

For all his worry, he doesn’t seem too intimidated by the competition in the pages of my books.

How to Spend an Idol Night

If you have a personal hero, animus-bearer, celebrity idol, or however you wish to term it, I highly recommend you have yourself an “Idol Night” sometime. It’s not only fun, it’s good for the psyche.

My first experience throwing an Idol Night was about 15 years ago, when I was in my Sting phase. I had three girlfriends at the office who indulged my obsession (they actually dubbed me Queenie Bee) and so one night we all got together at my house for Sting Fest. Much music by Sting and The Police was played, I shared my favorite videos, and a great time was had by all.

But for my example of how to conduct an Idol Night, I will use a more recent experience, from this past weekend. My daughters Katie and Amanda and I got together for an overnight celebration of my current personal hero, Les Stroud (aka Survivorman). Interestingly, it was my Katie who came up with the idea after Les was kind enough to send me his gifts (see "Those Little Addictions"), and Manzi was all about doing it too. So we planned what we decided to call “Lestivities Night.”

Now, for a proper Idol Night you will want to of course incorporate your subject’s various talents into the entertainment for the evening. You also want to focus on whatever it is about the person that inspires you the most, the aspects that move you the most deeply. It’s also fun to explore different facets of the individual’s personality, to get a “whole picture.”

If at all possible, you should work in some opportunities for “audience participation.” That is, make the experience active as well as passive. That can mean anything from just talking about the subject matter, to playing games, to doing a project. The point is to explore the part of yourself that relates to the Idol, and learn something about yourself as well as him. If there’s any common ground between you and the object of your affection--in my case with Sting, it was our mutual appreciation of Carl Jung and his analysis of the human psyche--be sure to work that in.

[If you’re wondering how my girlfriends and I brought Jungian psychology into our Sting Fest, well...we watched Sting’s film “Brimstone and Treacle” and talked about the sex appeal of the dark side of the psyche. Educational and fun.]

So, let me elaborate on Lestivities. It began with a beautiful fall afternoon in Greenfield, Wisconsin, very well suited for an occasion that would focus largely on Les Stroud’s appreciation for the natural world. We started by making some jewelry out of rocks that I had polished myself, using the rock tumbler Katie’s boyfriend gave me for my birthday. To me this was a really relevant activity, seeing as Les is always reminding me that the stuff nature creates can be even more beautiful than what man creates. I’ve certainly always felt that way about rocks.

I finished my jewelry first, which gave me a chance to pull out my new Native American flute for a brief demonstration. I just recently decided to take up the instrument quite on a whim; I’m not even sure how it came to me, it might have even been in a dream. At any rate, I’m usually a very logical person, and to do something based on a feeling was quite a departure for me. I’m sure Les’s influence had a bit to do with it, as he frequently points out the importance of following your heart.

We adjourned to the upstairs VCR to watch “Snowshoes and Solitude,” the documentary Les made in 1999 with his wife Sue about their year-long honeymoon in the Canadian bush. The two lived as natives did 500 years ago, in an utterly deserted wilderness. It’s an inspiring adventure that provoked no little discussion afterwards. We were quite in awe.

I’ll tell you right now, the girls and I are hardly survivalists. But we do really adore our annual camping trip to Point Beach State Forest on Lake Michigan. That’s our personal “touchstone” for living in nature, so we made ourselves a supper of hot dogs in biscuits and salad out of a bag, the sort of stuff we consider camp food. (Our plan to bake the “wiener wagons” on sticks over the grill was abandoned for the oven in about two minutes; yeah, we’re real survivalists all right.) Later we also broke out the pie irons to make pudgie pies for dessert. Native North American life of yore was never like this; I’m sure they had no Octoberfest beer like we did, either.

Now it was time to really get the fun underway, in the living room where we have our big screen HDTV and kickass sound system. We alternated three thrilling episodes of “Survivorman” with listening to excerpts from Les’s music CD. This is what’s called immersing yourself in the Idol. The room was illuminted by my wood-scented candle, I had the fountain running for splashing-ambiance, and it was the next best thing to having our hero in the room.

We squealed in horror as Les dealt with giant tarantulas in the Costa Rican jungle. We laughed as he sang the fun Irish-jig-style song “The Cockroach.” We thanked our lucky stars for our safe, dry sofa as Les got caught in a horrible nighttime storm on a life raft. We recovered from our sympathetic-seasickness thanks to his most blatantly sexy recording, “I Got My Mojo Workin’.” (What would Les think to see two generations of women swooning over this song?) We despaired with him as he made the tough descent into a Utah canyon in desperate need of water, only to find a dry riverbed.

By 10:45 we were exhausted from sympathizing with our daring, determined hero as he endured heat, cold, hunger, thirst, loneliness, and all those godawful jungle bugs. We went happily to bed and were more grateful than ever to be in warm, dry, comfy sleeping quarters.

The next morning we reconvened for a breakfast of bacon and eggs (standard camp fare) and scrumptious homemade granola, the one food we had all weekend that Les might actually have eaten himself! We listened to the whole CD and talked about all manner of things.

Everyone took away from the experience a little piece of what I think Les Stroud tries to impart with his music and filmmaking. And that’s what Idol Nights are supposed to accomplish. If you are mightily attracted to and/or appreciative of someone, it’s because there’s something about that person that speaks to the needs of your soul. Katie, Manzi and I all are the sort of women who look for heroes among the genuinely goodhearted, talented but humble, spiritual sorts of guys like Les. It does all our hearts good to find that men like him truly do exist.

This blog is called Erotica with Soul, and of course there is always an erotic element to the powerful attractions we have for heroes and celebrities. But as you see, it’s that wholesome, invigorating kind of erotic element, one that a mom can share with her daughters. Our Idol Night resulted in all kinds of good aftereffects: the appreciation both for nature and for the comforts of urban life; a desire to be more spiritual and more in touch with our life goals and dreams; and the inspiration that comes from discovering a true hero, an ordinary man who can do extraordinary things out of love and spirituality.

It was a night none of us will ever forget. Try your own Idol Night sometime soon--you may have a similarly powerful experience.

Simple Erotic Pleasures

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Sometimes in dreams you zero in very intensely on some small aspect of life to which you might not give a lot of thought in your waking hours. I had that experience yesterday morning when I dreamed about hugging this guy.

What I recall about this dream hug is that it was a lovely example of that experience almost all women have had at once time or another: embracing a guy in a linen shirt. You know, a regular cotton/polyester blend type dress shirt. There is really nothing to compare with that feeling of a man’s body underneath that sort of fabric. Hugging a guy in a tee shirt is completely different, as is hugging through a flannel shirt or a sweatshirt or nothing at all.

Maybe it’s because the fabric is fairly thin, and loose enough to move, but a dress shirt seems to transfer a man’s body heat and firmness in a completely unique way. The feeling is so comforting and so exciting at the same time. And you get the sense that you are experiencing the guy’s body as intimately as you could without him being naked.

Funny how when I saw this guy again, he looked especially handsome to me, just giving me a good morning smile. Maybe there’s a bonding process that goes on when you embrace a man in a dress shirt.

Now in my dream, the shirt was white. Not sure why. But I asked myself the question, what would be my personal ideal color for the linen shirt hug? What would yours be? Shirt colors can be significant you know. I would propose these possibilities:

• If you like a white shirt: you are thrilled by the power/intelligence of a professional man
• If you like a light blue shirt: you like a more casual man
• If you like a tan or khaki shirt: you go for a resourceful, military, or outsdoorsy, “manly” man
• If you like a cobalt blue or red shirt: you like a man who is intense and confident
• If you like a brown or gray or muted green shirt: you like a man who is shy
• If you like a pinstriped shirt: you like a man with elegance and sophistication
• If you like a wild print shirt: you like a man who’s eccentric

I find it a simple erotic pleasure just to contemplate hugging various types of men in these various types of shirts. LOL

And meanwhile, I also gave a little thought to what ingredients I would include in a potpourri of simple erotic pleasures. Here’s what I came up with on this particular day:

• A hug in a linen shirt
• A guy doing a really good impression of one of your favorite celebrity voices
• A gesture for you to “come here” (that’s a killer)
• A guy waiting on you who isn’t actually a waiter
• Getting within 12 inches of a good-looking guy’s hands
• Talking with a guy about a subject you both feel passionate about

Any day you can obtain even one of those is a good day. I haven’t managed any of them yet today, but I’ll do my best to fit in at least one before bedtime. Hope you do too!

Erotic Fun for All Ages

Talk about a weird title. Well, bear with me here, I have a point to make.

Saturday night I was privileged to be among the 123,000 people who will be seeing the “So You Think You Can Dance” Tour across the U.S. What an incredible experience it was, too. The top ten finalists from the Fox hit show performed for about two hours, including the various video retrospectives that gave them time for costume changes and breath-catching.

The audience was enthusiastic, to put it mildly. Deafening applause, screams, and standing ovations (I’ll bet we gave them 15 at least) were the order of the night. It was the kind of show that brought that out in a person. The neat thing about this audience was that it included all ages, from senior citizens down to lots of little kids. From the preponderance of 8 to 12 year old girls, I suspect there were a lot of dance students present.

So it was definitely a family crowd, and obviously a family-style program. Nevertheless, the show had a powerful erotic element, at least according to my definition. Regular readers of this blog know that in my view, the erotic does not necessarily include graphic sex; sometimes it’s more about the creative life force--that stuff that makes the world go round, if you will. To me, the erotic doesn’t always arouse sexually; sometimes it makes you feel romantic, joyful, creative, or energized. And while there was absolutely nothing in the show not suitable for the kids in the room, nevertheless in a totally wholesome kind of way it was erotic.

I’ll give you three examples, drawn from what seemed to be the audience’s favorite numbers, all three being reprisals of routines done during the TV series.

The renowned “bench” routine (to “Calling You” by Celine Dion):

This dance was so popular on the TV show that when the lights came up on our stage to reveal the presence of a bench, we got to our feet before the dance even started! In this contemporary routine, Travis and Heidi act out a classic mating sequence, with the twist that the female is the one trying to woo the male. The guy is just on the edge of giving in, and sometimes you think he will, but in the end he sadly walks off the stage.

This dance depicted the wooing process not as a seduction, but as taming, an attempt to convince the loved one that it is safe to submit to intimacy. The tension humans feel between their longing for intimacy and their fear of it is universal, and is a key element of erotica. While we may or may not be yearning for literal intercourse, humans of all ages seek closeness with each other, and when we manage to achieve it, the result can be wonderful. The fact that Heidi and Travis could not come together at the end of their dance was painfully poignant.

The “runway” routine (to Justin Timberlake’s “Sexy Back”):

This is definitely the most overly sexual of my examples. In this dance, which features the entire ensemble, the dancers portray models on a runway. A lot of pouting, vogueing, and strutting takes place, “Zoolander” style. It gives the dancers a chance to focus unabashedly on looking sexy.

It’s really impossible to take runway models completely seriously, so this routine was definitely tongue-in-cheek. Nevertheless, the poise, grace, and self-confidence of the dancers functioned to make them all come across as damn hot. This is a lesson I don’t mind having the kids in the audience learn: It’s not how good-looking you are, or how you dress, but whether you believe in yourself that determines how attractive you are to others. The ultimate love charm is attitude.

The “geek” dance, aka the Tranji dance (to “Gyrate” by Da Muzicianz):

In this number, top two finalists Benji and Travis come on stage dressed as nerds, but the irresistible rhythm of the hip-hop song transforms them to cool guys with street cred. When the beat sets their pelvises thrusting (and this in turn sets the audience screaming), they do a quick half-striptease, losing their backpacks and glasses and flipping their caps around.

First of all, Benji and Travis are just as endearing as dorks as they are as their hip-hop alter egos. It’s a ton of fun for the chicks in the audience to enjoy them in both modes in the same dance. But the message here is that music and dance bring you to life. You lose your introverted geeky meekness and get aggressive, wild, and ready for fun. That’s a kind of arousal, and while only a certain part of it is sexual, it works just as well with pre-pubescent kids who don’t understand sex yet but sure do appreciate fun.

There were all kinds of other erotic moments I could relate from the show (from the romance of the Viennese waltz, to the sexy drama of the tango, to Ryan using Heidi’s trim butt cheeks as bongo drums), but you get the idea. This show vividly made the point that erotic and wholesome are not opposite ends of the spectrum. Wholesome erotic elements can energize and inspire people of all ages--in fact, that’s part of their true nature.

I’d be interested to know what impact being at the show had on our audience. I have a feeling just about everyone had a little more upbeat and productive Sunday than usual. I know I’m going to be running on that energy for quite a long time….

No Hips and Other Delights

I realize men are attracted to women because we have some things they don’t. Specifically, breasts. Sometimes I sit back in amusement that men are so fascinated by body parts simply because they don’t have them. I think most men don’t even have particular standards as far as breasts--they like them all, which is good seeing as my own are not really boast-worthy.

This fixation seems very silly to me until I consider my attitudes about the male body. I mean, how amusing is it to be entranced by the lack of something? I speak here of hips. Yesterday I came upon a couple photos of one of my celebrity-obsession-guys wearing jeans and a tank top. These were very well fitting jeans. This guy is one of those nice, lean types, and from waist to thigh there is not the slightest bulge on him front or sides, and not much in back either.

It’s embarrassing (and yet I’m telling you) how long I can stare at these pictures without tiring of them. They are the equivalent of a nice shot of Jack Daniels, and the buzz is completely natural.

I know how men check out women’s breasts and it gives them itchy palms. Well, that’s how I feel about no hips. I would just love to take hold of the hip bones on this guy and feel their narrowness and that incredible lack of fat. Seriously, hip bones! I amaze myself really, but there it is.

Now I can understand the female fascination with washboard abs, great pecs, rippling biceps/triceps, runners’ legs, and wide shoulders. I understand what these things represent to the female psyche: physical power, virility and all that. But what about the lack of things...hiplessness and my other personal fascination, the small posterior? There’s little explanation for the appeal of those except I don’t have them. Lacking the Y chromosome, I can’t lose my hips, not that I really want to. So I guess the narrow-hipped, small-assed male attracts me simply because he’s different from me.

I suppose if I stretch my imagination, I also appreciate that lack of hips suggests mobility, motion, even a sort of aggression. While women seem more domestic, fertile, nurturant in shape, men such as my lean friend are the opposite. Think of the classic Elvis archetype, whose narrow-hipped pelvic thrusts drove several generations of women to swoon. Perhaps that leanness also hints at efficiency: as in, “I’ve got nothing superfluous here, nothing to distract you from the penis...and after all, what else matters?”

Just as women don’t get the big appeal of breasts, I’m sure men utterly take for granted their lack of hips. I suppose they can see why their muscles and shoulders could impress, but it must evade them why a woman should be driven to a frenzy by that 1-to-1 waist/hip ratio. I wish I could better explain, gentlemen, but trust me: when you wear those well-fitting jeans the virility just pours off you in waves.

The no hips/small posterior phenomenon is a factor in a lot of classic female fantasies, including:

• Guys playing guitar in leather pants
• Slow dancing with hip pressure (my hands will drift down, sorry)
• Guys leaning against a bar, a juke box, a car, or anything else that results in the pelvis thrusting forward (are you brandishing that weapon at me?)
• Shirtless attire (you thought we just wanted to see your torso; actually, it’s just nice not having any shirttails hanging down over your pelvic bones)

I’d happily picture my fellow in any of those scenarios--okay, I already have while composing this. And goodness, this hip thing is really addictive. It occurs to me what would be really embarrassing: You know those tests they can do on people to see where their eyes travel to on a page? I can just imagine the incriminating results they’d get analyzing my eyes and these photos.

I’m sure my little brain will move on to a new obsession soon enough. But it has been fun the last 24 hours being in my small hip rut. Not to worry, it hasn’t done anything to reduce this romance author’s productivity...much the opposite, happily. The last dozen pages I’ve written aren’t bad at all. Do I mention hips? Well, okay, yeah…once or twice.