I’m delighted to welcome the brilliant Zak Jane Keir to my site today.
Over to you Zak…
Even Sexy Times Have Changed
I thought it would be easy, you see. I rediscovered, one wet Wednesday afternoon, that I still had a whole pile of magazines containing short stories I’d written around the turn of the century. As I also had a couple of unpublished shorts that didn’t have a home, I reckoned I could easily pull together an anthology and pop it out into the world: some of the old stories were probably not all that, but I remembered really enjoying some of them when I wrote them and so all I’d have to do would be to give them a quick tidy-up.
Er, whoops. Not at all. If you want to get a real feel for how fast and how dramatically the world has changed over the past fifteen or even five years, have a flick through any type of contemporary (as opposed to sci-fi/fantasy/cod-historical) fiction and see how many jarring notes you spot. Someone’s already done it for Bridget Jones http://www.buzzfeed.com/sophiegadd/if-bridget-joness-diary-had-been-set-in-2015?bffbuk&utm_term=.mkvgoklRP2#.bbyOwZ62DK for example.
When it comes to erotica, sure, the basic principles of lust, desire, fucking and sucking are still pretty much the same, but unless your stories consist of nothing but fuck/suck/spank/kink there are still going to be aspects that go out of date and can catch you out if you’re refurbishing previous work. I had to ditch two or three stories outright because they simply didn’t have any relevance any more. (Yes, there was one with a plot that pivoted on the idea that sending a text message was something radical, thrilling and brand new.) Reworking others involved a lot of time asking younger friends on Facebook if people still did such things as listen to pirate radio stations/work in music PR and get paid a living wage rather than being on a permanent unpaid internship, as well as having to scrub all references to anyone smoking indoors or watching videos rather than DVDs (or Netflix). Some things, though, seemed to make slightly better sense with a contemporary twist added.
So it took about three times as long as I intended to pull this collection together, but it was fun to do, and I hope it’s fun to read, as well. Of course, some of the best fun bits were reliving certain memories of the things I got up to at the end of the 90s which inspired some of the hottest scenes. The extract featured here is from the story The Tops, the original version of which was sparked off by meeting a man as dominant as I am, at the after-party for one of the many fetish markets that used to take place in those days (and, in fact, often still do.) How much of the story is stuff that really happened? That’s the sort of thing a lady doesn’t share…
Extract: The Tops, from the collection Sticky Fingers and Warm Leatherette, House of Erotica 2015.
Perhaps because neither of them were in their usual sexual roles, the first few moments back at his studio flat were a little disconcerting. Neither had said much on the brief minicab journey, though that was something Lynsey was used to – chattering in front of cabbies about exactly what you are going to be doing with one another in a short space of time had always seemed fairly graceless to her. It was late, a lot later than she’d expected to be out on a Sunday night, and that was disorientating as well.
With a little toss of her head, she began to unbutton her blouse, not too slowly and not too fast. He followed her example, peeling off his t-shirt then crouching to unbuckle his boots as she kicked off her shoes and removed her black leather skirt. A little while later, they were lying naked, side by side beneath the quilt, almost touching but not quite. The silence and the taut feeling of expectation lasted almost too long, and then Karl put his hand, very carefully but quite decisively, on her left breast. She rolled over and put her hand on his arse, and then it was all going to happen. He fingered and pinched her nipples as she nipped at his ear and licked his jawline, clawing her fingernails lightly down his back. A couple of deep, hard, tongue-thrusting kisses and she had hold of his cock, squeezing and caressing the rigid shaft while he reached between her legs and finger-fucked her juicy hole.
“Shall I go on top?” She laughed a little as she said it, and then his hands were gripping her hips and helping her to mount him, and it felt amazingly easy to slide him inside her. She was so very wet, so very ready, and he was pushing in, hard and fast and deep, thrusting up inside her while she ground against him, and there was no stopping, no pause for thought, no worries, just fast hard fucking, like a duel, like a dance. They somehow found each other’s hands rather than clutching at shoulders or arsecheeks, twisted their fingers in between one another’s, held tight and dug in. Orgasm was so close to simultaneous that neither of them felt the need to ask or announce.
They hadn’t said much afterwards, just fallen asleep in a messy, sticky tangle, and woken at some point in the night and done it again, and woken when the sunlight came insistently through the curtains and fucked one more time, face to face but side by side, with fewer kisses than the last couple of times…
Bio: Zak Jane Keir has been writing about sex, kink, sexuality and misbehaviour since the 1990s. She prefers to write fetish, femdom and pansexual erotica, but doesn’t mind dabbling with a little straight heterosex now and again.
Many thanks Zak- phew!!