Eroticon 2017 – I Herd U Lieks It

Quite.
Quite.

Friday, noon

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too. Well, we’re out and about now. Nando’s?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Friday, evening

This is only the third time I’ve ever been to Camden. It’s the prevailing thought in my mind as we swerve through throngs of Friday night revelers. There’s a sweet scent coming from everywhere.

I’m on the look-out for people we know. We get to the hotel, and as I wait for him to get back from the bathroom, someone spots me. A tall, redheaded vision of stunning – it takes me a few seconds to realise that it’s Rose, who I haven’t seen in several years. She bolts towards me, and we hug exactly like that, like old friends meeting again.

The three of us kind of hang on to each other for most of the night. A bit of familiarity. A lot of new faces. But it’s okay, because it’s one hell of a nice venue to get to know new faces in.

I get the chance to properly connect with Marvy Darling. I bond with Sarah Brynn Holliday over our shared and very intense love of bread. I get to squeeze fellow film geek Cheryl again. I find a geek sister in Emmeline Peaches, stare in wonder at Gryph’s magnificent beard and get bought a drink by Mr. Doxy himself. All in a room with a jaw-droppingly stunning view of Camden Lock’s shimmering waters.

By the time we scatter out – some of us off to an after party, some of us (and by that I mean me and ILB) off to Subway because we accidentally forgot food was a thing, I feel kind of lightheaded.

Eroticon. Yeah, baby, yeah!

Saturday

It feels weird to be so aware of a clock ticking by. I know that at some point I need to leave because I have my day job to tend to. So Saturday isn’t a day where I can relax into it. But I learn so much. Oh god, do I ever.

The Sex and the Mainstream Media panel (chaired wonderfully by Girl on the Net) is a great way to kick things off – and I come away from it tickled by the flame of inspiration for the first time in weeks. Sarah Brynn Holliday’s Sex Blogging as Feminism & Social Justice session takes that tickle even further and proper ignites something, as does Malin James’s flash fiction session.

Although that one does start with me running up to Malin to tell her that I need to leave midway through her session and also please don’t think me rude but day job and also lovely to meet you, person whose writing I fucking love and have also been published alongside a few times.

So yeah. I have to leave halfway through – although I leave with Malin’s kind reassurance that she’s putting the presentation up on her blog later – and switch gears to “work mode”. Which, actually, works fine. And so does the switch back to “Eroticon mode” when ILB shows up at the end of my shift to take me to the gorgeous venue for the Saturday night entertainment.

I eat chips with curry sauce and chat to Ros Ballinger, who later brings the house down with her fantastic show Idiot’s Guide to Kink. I catch up with Rubyyy Jones after A FUCKING AGE, finally getting a chance to tell her in person that I’ve been following her work from afar and am so happy to know her. Chris Coltrane MC’s the night and makes me properly snort laugh several times.

I do my best to ignore the scratching in my throat.

not today satan

Sunday

This time, I don’t forget breakfast exists. And I still keep
meeting new people – finding myself at the table with fellow geek Val Prozorova is a delight – while discovering more about the other new people I’ve met. And the sessions… oh, the sessions.

At Dr. Kate Lister’s session, I feel seen somehow. I sit in the front row, feverishly taking notes and pictures. I feel like an academic even though I am most definitely not.

At Jasmine and King’s session, I am shocked time and time again as they lay bare not just the level of racism in porn, but the blasé attitude that many white performers and producers seem to take when confronted about it.

During lunch (thanks, Chaturbate!) I swerve around in the hall and take in chats with the Fuck.com guys, the Hot Octopuss gang (it is here that I get a sneak preview of their upcoming Queen Bee toy – HOLY SHIT the vibrations) and the lovely Victoria Blisse who I haven’t seen in however-long. Afterwards, I sit front row for the pitching session and once again become acutely aware of time ticking by.

The last session I attend (on using your blog to educate) sends me back to work with a full-on fire in the belly – and even though I don’t really get the chance to do the rounds and say goodbye (thankfully, I do get the chance to give himself a quick hug and a “see you at home”) I feel okay. Walking through Camden, the watery and hesitant sunshine casting everything in an awesome glow, I feel okay.

And right then, okay is fine by me because I’ve spent a long time not feeling okay. I’ll take okay as a starter.

The rest will come.

Eroticon. Fuck yeah.

 


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Tension

“Am very tense. Can I cash in that spanking later?”

I sent him the text while on the Tube home from work. It was late. I was, indeed, pretty damn tense. Just as I’d been the night before – I’d walked home from the station with a desperate need for a release only to find him half asleep.

“Aw shit. I was going to ask you if you could spank me.”

“Oh. I could still spank you!”

“No, it’s alright. I’m a bit done with today, anyway.”

Sleep helped that night. But as I shifted in my seat on the Tube, uncomfortably sitting with the stress of the past few hours, I knew it wouldn’t this time.

So I waited until I got signal. And I texted him to say that I was running late and stressed and spank now yes please thank.

His response?

“Yes!”

This time, there was no brain static. No sneaky anything spiral catching me while I was walking down from the station. There was nothing but a desperately nagging need for some sort of sexual release. It was the first time in a while I’d felt my libido focus like this.

It was nice.

It continued to be nice, from the first sting of the crop on my soft bottom. Like a welcome hiss of cleansing pain.

Slap by slap, I felt myself relaxing. Sinking under, deep into my body. Surrendering and letting the tension wash away while my skin and body throbbed contentedly.

I was needy after that spanking. Very, very needy. And for what felt like the first time in ages I managed to communicate what I wanted from him, to him. I wanted him to make me come, plain and simple.

Or, you know, not that simple because I still have no idea how he managed to do it. It involved the faux-leather tongue of the crop, my clit and his fingers doing something that I still get shivers about when I think back.

It was, for want of another word, gorgeous. The kind of orgasm where you forget things like how shirts work and what your name is. The kind that, and I shit you not, actually gave me sex flush.

The kind that made me go “I GET TO WRITE THIS ONE, I GET TO WRITE THIS ONE.” because #sexbloggerlyfe

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Ten Things I Took Home From Eroticon 2017

One of the people I met at Eroticon 2017 (trust me – a proper write-up is coming as soon as I actually remember how to brain) was the lovely Jenny Guérin – who came up with the idea for a listicle meme giving a quick overview of what we’d taken away from the weekend. This could be anything, whether it was an item or an idea or even a mark on the skin in some cases.  

I am nothing if not a sucker for a listicle, so, here goes.

Appreciation for my own multi-tasking skills

Considering the fact that I was juggling this year’s conference with my day job, which was luckily rather close by. I figure, looking back on it, if I can make two rather important parts of my life sing in harmony like I did, I can take on lessons from that and apply them in my writing. I am one tough cookie…

STUFF

Holy shit, goodies for days, my friend, all thanks to the godlike fantastic sponsors who I want to thank from the bottom of my heart for supporting this conference. Seriously, between my Hot Octopuss t-shirt, my Fuck.com shirt/notebook/mug and the gorgeous printed cards from Luke & Jack (plus, a shit tonne of awesome other stuff including BOOKS from Victoria Blisse’s book stall) … I am giddy.

“Cheer for me, motherfuckers!”

It was a fucking joy to reconnect with Rubyyy Jones and watch her work the room at the Saturday night social like a Boss with a capital B. The social also gave me a chance to finally chat with comedian and awesome friend Ros Ballinger, and a chance to marvel at just how much of a filthy beast Chris Coltrane is (clue – very, very much).

Plans and connections

Both in a work sense and in a holistic sense. I met and learned from so many lovely folks this weekend – Sarah Brynn Holliday, Jet Setting Jasmine and King Noire, Emmeline Peaches, Dr. Kate Lister… the list is long and and filled with love.

A call to action

I’m going to echo Girl on the Net’s point here, basically. I attended Jasmine and King’s session and let out several very audible gasps of horror as they eloquently laid out the level of racism in porn and what we as writers could help with doing about it.

My people

God, but I found my people once more. The list is way too long to put here, so I’ll save that for the more general round-up, but GOD YES I LOVE PEOPLE GIMME.

ahem

“No-one does what you do quite like you”

When I see certain quotes, I often say “I want that on a t-shirt”, or “I want that embroidered on my wall”. Thanks to Girl on the Net, I have this heap of truth on a mug.

A renewed confidence

This is a biggun’ right there. One that, much like the first point, is something I can apply in both my work as Jillian Boyd and in my day job.

A shameless love for vintage erotic media

Dr. Kate Lister’s session on the Sunday not only inspired the bejesus out of me, it made me positively giddy.

Lube

Because of course. Of course.

And sooper sekrit number 11 except not really a secret – a whole lot of love for GOTN, Molly and Michael for taking Eroticon on and putting on something really quite special.


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Songs Again

I took a minute till the penny dropped, you know
My tears don’t fall too often
But your knife is cuttin’ me deep

I hear her sing it on the BRIT Awards. It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m off from work, and I’m tentatively playing around with words for a submission.

There’s a sentence in my head that somehow, with a little help from her voice, flows into a paragraph onto the page. Her lyrics and the words in my head don’t match in theme but fuck it, she’s helping and I’m writing and the prose feels sensual and raw and still like me.

Later on I’ll think of what she’s actually singing. And I’ll be reminded of moments I didn’t want to be reminded of. Moments where I’d been made to feel like a dirty little secret. Moments where who I used to be was turned against me and I let it happen because I didn’t know.

And I’ll be glad because she’s fucking done it, hasn’t she? By chance, this random repeat of Emeli Sandé’s performing Hurts at the BRITS a few days ago gives me, better late than never, the right words to express to myself what I felt back then.

Sometimes life happens out of sequence. It’s less than 24 hours earlier that I come to the realization that I am done with letting that kind of pain have such a power over me.

Her voice gives me a wave to write on. Her lyrics give me the right words to express old wounds.

When all that’s left to do is watch it burn
Oh baby, I’m not made of stone, it hurts

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Blithe and becoming and frequently humming

When I started out blogging, it was partly due to a bit of an obsession with Beautiful Agony. You probably know the site. A multimedia experiment, testing a hypothesis that eroticism in human imagery rests not in naked flesh and sexual illustration, but engagement with the face.

It was, and remains (and will probably always be) a spellbinding erotic website. It was one of the pieces in the puzzle of me, the puzzle I laid out when this blog started, six years ago this week.

I wasn’t celebrating that anniversary though. I’m not sure I like doing that anymore. It pokes open old wounds (and reminds me of lingering ones). Besides, I rather like the idea of just carrying on like always. Re-puzzling that puzzle.

My libido’s still low. But I’ve kind of learned to sit with it. Ask myself questions, give myself room to breathe and rest as a lot of this is tiredness and depression. Room to breathe is what I seem to keep forgetting.

And giving myself room to breathe was how I got to watching some videos Dr. Lindsay Doe’s Sexplanations channel on YouTube the other night. Indulging my never-tiring curiosity is one of the ways I’ve been sitting with myself. Learning. I subscribe to Dr. Doe’s channel but haven’t really taken the time to delve into her videos.  So, when one popped up on my “What To Watch Next [hint: maybe lay off binge-watching The Nekci Menij Show for an hour or so, maybe, possibly]” list, I watched.

It was a video of masturbation tips. And up came the subject of Beautiful Agony.

I’d already kind of been futzing around with bits of porn, willing something to materialize that would help take the stress off from the past week. Hoo, fuckety-boy, it has been a stressful week. But the internet was not being a wonderful thing for porn, alas. Which made Lindsay’s mention of Beautiful Agony all the more timely – sat on the bed, wearing his shirt and nothing else, I clicked the thumbnail for one of the free sample videos.

A woman, on the floor of her flat. Lying back on cushions and a throw, lazily surrendering to pleasure. Outside, you can hear the traffic, the general hubbub of the world continuing. And inside her own four walls, she makes the world pause with her fingers and her pleasure.

And I went right there with her. The first orgasm came quicker than I hoped it would – probably a sign that my body needed that, a lot. But it was good. It was good and it was satisfying and the warmth of my netbook was pleasing on my naked thighs as I watched the woman on my screen come.

The way she bathed in her afterglow, silent and still… it was spellbinding. Ecstasy in the agony, as is BA’s remit.

It was a good orgasm, that first one.

The second one, I had to work for. It was a couple of minutes later, and I was back on Twitter but still needing something. Another climax, another release. So, I took what I needed. Worked for it, felt it building and building in intensity until finally, FINALLY, it blew me the fuck away.

It was that kind of orgasm. The kind that leaves you fuzzy and head-spinny and unable to remember things like words and how pants work. My own beautiful agony. I settled into bed feeling like a toasty, comfortable little cinnamon bun, content because once again I had managed to sit with myself and ask myself questions and give myself room to breathe.

 

[ PS – in regards to my six year blogiversary. Although I’m not really celebrating in any way, I do want to thank you for reading. Whether from the early days or more recently, thank you, thank you, thank you. Here’s to whatever comes next. Hope you’re there with me.]

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Eroticon 2017 – O hai thar

 

Yeah, I’m not entirely sure what to say (other than hOLY FUCK EROTicon time ALREADY?). So, in lieu of a proper intro for this meet and greet post, here’s Alaska Thunderfuck.

4d6c2-alaska-gif

NAME (and Twitter if you have one)

Jillian Boyd, or @JillyBoyd on that there website Twitter Dot Com.

What are you hoping to get out of Eroticon 2017?

I’ve been pretty open about the fact that creative (and life) burn out has hit me hard in the past couple of months. So I’m hoping that Eroticon 2017 can help replenish that well a little bit. Plus, it’s always nice to connect with your peoples and meet new faces.

And it’s in London as well, which is nice because it means I don’t have to take a coach and therefore there’s 100 percent less chance of getting stuck in a massive traffic jam. Of course, there’s a 100 percent increased chance of the Tube being a tit, but then again…

 

This years schedule at Eroticon is pretty full on but which 4 sessions do you already have marked down as ones you want to attend?

I’m basically fucked to begin with considering Sarah Brynn Holliday and Meg-John Barker are speaking in the same time slot so… I was kind of hoping to freestyle it a bit and decide on the day, to be honest.

 

Tell us one thing about yourself that not many people know?

I can do a decent Tarot spread. Not fantastically, but I’m alright with it.

If you made the papers, what would the headline be?

“None of this shit makes sense, at all! OH, AT ALL!” – Local woman found medically unable to stop ranting about quality of latest James Bond film. 

If you could have one skill for free (I.e. without practice/time/effort) what would it be?

Would probably be to speak a different language at native speaker level, but right now, I’m kind of thinking I’d like to be able to do pottery? Just because I get real satisfaction from making things by hand and pottery seems like a really cool thing to be able to do.

Full context, I maaaaayyyy be writing this while The Great Pottery Throwdown is on in the background.

Complete the sentence: I love it when…

plan

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The Burnt

I’m burnt out.

Simple as that. There’s no point in me weighing my words or giving this post a funny little introduction. Because there ain’t nothing funny about this. Those three words can’t, to me, be spun into something they’re not.

It’s important for me to write it down as plainly as this. It’s important in times like this, when health both mental and physical are collaborating to create a giant and painful fog around me, that I write it down like this. It’s like sending myself a semaphore message though the fog – a Norman-from-Bake-Off-esque missive in written form, which I can come back to and read so I can remind myself that this is what’s going on.

It helps. Just like I use Spoon Theory to express how this feels to others, this is how I express myself to… well, ehm… myself. I am burnt out. And it’s okay to sit down and re-evaluate for a second. Take breaths. Relax shoulders. Rest and sit with self in some weird form of peace.

I’m writing this down now because in the last few days especially, I have been angry with myself for not “being more productive”. Full on, red-hot, how-dare-you-you-silly-shit rage. Which in itself is completely anti-productive as it sends you into this weird cycle of apologising to yourself for no reason as you go into overdrive trying to keep up with doing everything this anger is telling you you’re “meant” to be doing but aren’t doing. “Meant” to be doing is the key here – because your brain will start making shit up that really isn’t essential or time sensitive or something and then it’ll start shouting at you because this thing that isn’t of the essence/deadline-sensitive is something you should have already done. Twice.

I’m burnt out. Day job, tiring brain, tiring body, Weird Cycle of Shit I’m Supposedly Meant To Be Doing.

So, yeah.

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Release Day – Sacred and Profane: Priest Erotic Romance

Sacred and Profane Cover

Sacred & Profane: Priest Erotic Romance

edited by Torrance Sené

Ten stories of temptation, romance, and blasphemy featuring Sonni de Soto, Piper Denna, Torrance Sené, Charlotte French, Bronwyn Green, Leandra Vane, Mira Stanley, Jordan Monroe, H K Carlton, and Jillian Boyd.

Not even men of the cloth are exempt from God’s greatest gift: Love. In Sacred and Profane: Priest Erotic Romance, you’ll find stories of clergymen stepping outside their vows, pastors weaving divinity into their seductions, nuns and parishioners confessing to their body’s every earthly desire, and more.

Are you aroused by the blasphemous dance of sex and religion? The dangerous edge of eroticism contained within submission to something beyond oneself? The taboo juxtaposition of holy and sensual? Then Sacred and Profane welcomes you.

Purchase: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Smashwords | B&N | Kobo | iBooks

Release Date: 17 January 2017

Length: 60,220 words / 186 pages

Available in Print and Digital

Publisher: Sexy Little Pages

ASIN: B01N7JOUB8

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33539951-sacred-and-profane

***

It’s always exciting to have a new anthology coming out which has one of my stories in it. In the past I’ve been kind of (okay, extremely) shite about alerting you to when that happens, but I’ve made a promise to myself to be better at this sort of lark.

Perfect time to start! Sacred and Profane: Priest Erotic Romance contains my story Down on My Knees… and in all honesty, it was a story I never thought I could write. The call for submissions Torrance had written was mightily tempting, but there was a niggling doubt in my mind – I usually stick into my safe corner of contemporary London-based erotica. Also, I know absolutely bugger all about priesthood apart from what Tiffany Reisz’s Original Sinners series told me. Surely this was one not meant for me to try for?

But then, on the way home from work, an idea sprung in my mind. Just a little one. Along with a large and quite determined “OF COURSE YOU CAN TRY TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR THIS ANTHO, YOU NUGGET.”

And so I did. I’m very proud of this story, and this anthology, which contains stories by AMAZING folks such as Leandra Vane, Bronwyn Green and Sonni de Soto. I can but hope you buy and enjoy. Meanwhile, here’s a little bit more on my story, along with a teasing little excerpt…

***

 

Blurb for Down on My Knees

Opened and awakened to the earthly lust that lie within her, Sister Josephine is unable to move on from her desires and the priest who stirred them in her one night. When they meet again, will either be strong enough to escape their attraction?

***

Excerpt from Down on My Knees

Just under my right knee, visible only when you really looked for it, was the raised remnant of a scar. It didn’t hurt me… physically. But in my mind, every time I took to my knees to pray, regardless of whether I was alone or with the other sisters, its presence always took me back to that night. The night Campbell found himself at the crossroads between the two sides.

The one night we had together.

I was there in my mind now. In flesh, I was kneeling on a hassock for a moment of silence away from the din of the picnic. But in spirit…

My eyes were fixed on the large, ornate cross above the altar, on the stillness of Christ the Lord. But my thoughts drifted back to that one night.

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PS – please consider supporting the Patreon of the wonderful publisher which helped make this book a reality, Sexy Little Pages. Also *SHAMELESS PLUG* please also consider supporting my own.

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On High Heels – for Kink of the Week

“But the truth is, I want to be some woman’s work boots, not her high heels.”
“Work boots?” What was sexy about that? And did women have work boots?
“Yeah. You know, the boots she pulls out when she wants to get down and dirty, hiking or gardening or boating or painting the kitchen. The ones she relies on and trusts and lives her life hard and good and on her terms in. Her favourites.”
― Erin McCarthy, Hard and Fast

I make absolutely no secret about the fact that I am a short-arse. It’s right there, in my Twitter bio along with the fact that I wear glasses as both are two home truths in my life. It can get mightily inconvenient at times, and I often find myself wishing I had Mister Fantastic-like stretching powers just because it would make certain things a little bit less of a kerfuffle.

You’d think then, that I’d be a sucker for a pair of high heels. And I am… kind of. Not in the way you might think, anyway.

For my graduation, I got a pair of high heels from my mother to wear, as a present. I don’t even remember why I was so excited to get them because excitement quickly gave way to terror visions of tripping over a mic extension cord and falling on top of of our head of year. Still, I wore them and graduated without any major trippage occurring. In the years since, I’ve only owned one other pair of high heeled shoes. Both pairs were gorgeous, both pairs in the end only got a few outings.

Aesthetically, I fucking love high heels. Done well, they’re like tiny feats of architecture. I refer you to Rebel’s post on this subject, and the picture of her amazingly detailed and gorgeous Iron Fist shoes – I mean… LOOK AT THEM. Hours of delicate crafting, right there.

But personally, I don’t think I’d ever invest in a pair again. There’s a couple of reasons for this:

  • I have arthritis in my knees and even though I’ve often said on this blog that my body is an entity I am still learning to suss out, I am pretty fucking confident on matter of keeping whatever structure my knees still have in tact for as long as I can;
  • The idea that some people really think you’re less of a woman if you don’t wear high heels pisses me right off, especially (in my situation) for the reason mentioned above;
  • The few times I have worn them, they’ve never felt right to me;

High heels and I, we’re always going to have a complicated relationship. However, boots are a different matter. A pair of sturdy, chunky boots on my feet seems to have the same effect as a pair of high heels can have on others. I walk taller. Stand stronger. Feel like I can navigate my way through life (and London) with some form of confidence.

I trust in my boots like some trust in their high heels. They’re my favourites – the ones I rely on. But that doesn’t mean I won’t ever stop admiring a beautifully crafted pair of heels.

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Erotic Fiction – Frock ‘n Roll

It’ll do. For now.

Not that it doesn’t look good on her – on the contrary. The dress looks like danger itself. Low cut. Dark and shimmering. A hint of the curves of her breasts visible. Just enough to be a tease, what with the tiniest suggestion of lace from her bra peeking.

It’ll do.

But she’d rather skip the part of this night where she stands around with her fingers wrapped around the stem of a full champagne glass, listening, nodding, engaging in idle chatter. If this night came with a fast forward button, she’d x 48 the whole thing until the good bit. The bit where this dress lay discarded in a pool of shimmering fabric on his hotel room floor.

Or maybe not that far ahead. Maybe she’d slow it down the moment they finally found themselves alone after stealing glances and secret smiles all night. When the formality of the party would start to feel like another world altogether, a world outside their little bubble of back against elevator wall, lips crushing to lips and hands roaming around expanse of already aroused flesh.

She grins to herself. Imagines the feeling of his hands slipping up her stocking-clad thighs and under the hem of this dress. Lets herself sink, only briefly, into the heavenly imagination of his body pressed into hers, erection hard and urgent against her lower belly.

Yes. Tonight will be a good one. With a careful sweep of her lipstick, she paints her lips into a seductive crimson slash. The final touch on an evening weeks in the making.

Tonight she’ll ruin him for other women, and he’ll love every second of it. He’ll carry the taste and scent of her with him for weeks, and still he’ll be greedy for more of her.

Good.

She’s as ready for it as he’ll never be.

***

Written for Charlie Powell’s #FreshlyPolished competition. The colour allocated to me was called Frock ‘n Roll, which was described on Essie’s website as follows:

low cut and flirting with danger, this lustrous, shimmering rich espresso is a dress for success.

I liked that description so much, I let it inspire the dress my protagonist is wearing in the piece.

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