Rachel Kramer Bussel

3 days to be 33

The days before a birthday always feel so fraught. I have 3 more days to be 33 and I sometimes don’t even remember that I am 33. Or in my thirties. It sounds awkward and when someone asks my age I have trouble coughing that up. In large part because I am nowhere near close to all the things I thought I’d be at this age. I still make the same mistakes I’ve made for…ever, really. I have done a lot to work on myself this year but I have much more to go. I am excited for next week, happy to have new people in my life who get me, who have the perfect suggestions and don’t mind all my contradictions. I’m nervous because I have a big interview coming up and feel the pressure of asking the perfect questions, but I’m excited too, like this opportunity, and a few others, are little gifts from the editing powers that be or something.

But yeah, these 3 days feel like I have to try to somehow become more mature and I don’t even know what that means. Well, I do and I think part of me doesn’t want to face it. What’s coming up is damn fucking scary - 2 weeks of strangers in my home, thousands of dollars, and, well, losing the comfort of my mess in favor of something totally new. I can’t even go there yet because I first have to figure out my virginal protaogonist and make her more vivid, make her a real virgin rather than this random hodgepodge of a character I thought up years ago. So yeah, 3 days feels like this crazy amount of pressure to Change Myself. And figure out how to catch up on the last 2 momentous episodes of Mad Men.

To rope bondage or not to rope bondage?

Last night at the sex blogger calendar party, which I was unfortunately late to because of my reading but hopefully made up for that in mingling, I was impressed that rope master Monk knew who I was. And now I am debating going to the rope bondage class after my workout even though I should be writing because I’m sure my back pain, stress, everything will be eased not so much by the Adderall I’m coveting but by finishing my damn book and everything else hanging over my head. So we’ll see…if I get into a writing zone (highly unlikely) I will do that until it’s time to go see my favorite band that’s still around.

But I was thinking about it and realized I’ve never been tied up by rope, not like that. There was this one play party where I got tied up with p., but I remember that somehow my feet were getting tickled and I had specifically said I didn’t want my feet touched, I hate that, and it was not so fun. This could be fun and I’m sure would inspire some writing.

Oh, and the calendar? Stunning. Gorgeous. I am so honored to be in there with such gorgeous, glamorous, beautiful women. I was talking to Lisa Vandever from CineKink last night and that’s when it hit me that I’ve been part of that world for the bulk of my time in New York. Before I was an “erotica writer,” before I’d ever done anything kinky, when I was this nerdy law student trying to figure a lot of things out about herself. It was wonderful to walk around and see so many familiar (and unfamiliar) people and see burlesque and just enjoy the glamour. Photos soon.

Via Sex Blogger Calendar:

When we do things, we do them BIG.

And so, after meeting Monk at the Hartford GRUE and twisting his arm encouraging him to come to the Calendar Party, Diva and I thought it would be amazing if he could do a rope class on Saturday. And he thought so too. So without further ado, Diva and I welcome Twisted Monk back to NYC, to the calendar party and to teach 20 of you lucky kinksters some of his bad ass rope skills. He’ll even be bringing some special rope kits you can purchase for the occasion.

The class will cost $35 (plus an additional $60 if you’d like to purchase the special rope kit, complete with DVD and exotic rope – regular price is $80 – that he’ll be selling) and will be held November 7th at Fontana’s at 3PM to 4:30PM with an hour social and Q&A session upstairs at the bar after the class. Please help us support Fontana’s, which once again is allowing us to use their space for this event, by ordering yourselves a drink or two or three. It’s doubtful you’d be turned down if you offered to buy your hostesses drinks. You do know Diva’s superhero name is Diva DrinksAlot. Just in case, you all know my penchant for Patron Anejo and when was the last time Diva went anywhere and didn’t freaking twitpic a French Martini? There’s a rumor flying around that Monk enjoys a nice whiskey every so often.

Here’s the class description. Remember it’s limited to 20 on a first to reserve basis.

“Sensual Rope Bondage for the Not So Vanilla”

Rope, everybody is doing it.

So what is up with all this rope bondage stuff anyways? Seems like everywhere you look online these days folks are tying each other up and having sex. Maybe you have tried in the past, ya know silk ties to the bed posts perhaps, and now you want to know more?

Monk, founder of Twistedmonk.com the oldest and most trusted name in bondage rope, is hosting a once in a lifetime class on erotic rope bondage. More than your run of the mill “rope 101” class with a bunch of frustrating knots you will never remember, this class is all about providing you with the building blocks as well as how to “think” in rope to expand your play options and confidently bring rope bondage into your bedroom.

Topics Include:

Why Rope? Or “So, do you get a lot of chicks with this rope bondage thing?”

Resources

Rope Safety

Single and double column ties and variations

Chest Harnesses with variations

Boy and girl ‘bits” bondage

Incorporating Rope into your play

If you are just starting to explore bondage or perhaps just very curious, this small hands on class is for you.

Class size is limited to only 20. In addition to the class, Monk has a special rope kit for sale. Please go to http://www.twistedmonk.com/rsvp.htm to pre-register and reserve your kit. Supplies are limited.

(cross-posted from Urban Gypsy)

War Paint

Let me preface this by saying that I have so much admiration for the personal bloggers and memoirists that I read, the bloggers, like Stephanie Klein or Heather Corinna, in particular, because they are not looking at events from some happy distance (or unhappy distance). They are in the middle of it, processing it live, in real time. I aspire to that. I wish I could do that. I have obviously learned that I can’t. I’m not only not good at it, I don’t really know how and it seems so precarious, so easy to hurt people without meaning to. I obviously don’t have the guts they have because I hide here where I don’t think many people are reading, where I don’t think my family is reading, though of course they could be. I’m not proud of that, but I do what I can and I don’t necessarily have the need to be posting all the time, but sometimes, I do, and the fearless personal bloggers give me inspiration.

So I meant to write about this when I got up Wednesday, but that is like everything with me lately. I meant to, and didn’t. Of course I don’t really remember everything I wanted to say and it’s faded into mostly insignificance but I will try to capture it, because as I walked to the train I just kept thinking about how I was so nervous and everything went fine.

I have been wearing new makeup and am so used to rushing off that I forgot it would take a few minutes to actually apply it. I’d told my friend J. I’d meet her at this party and felt badly about being late, but also like I needed the makeup. “War paint” I wrote on the train in my journal. I just wanted to make sure I looked good because that at least would be one thing I could hold onto if I started to lose it.

The first thing someone said to me when I walked in (well, aside from, “You can’t leave your bags here, but you can check them”) was, “Do you need a drink?” And to be honest, I did. If at any time I needed a drink, it was then, but I declined. I didn’t realize how nervous I would be, but I was.

And then later, I was still nervous, but I was okay. Not just okay – I had a really good time. I almost forgot that I was “supposed” to be nervous and realized that maybe I’m not. Maybe that’s a cliché and some silly sitcom idea of what I’m supposed to feel. Granted, there were moments I felt like I was in a sitcom, and I realized on my way home, browsing glamorous photo magazines with my friend who I hadn’t seen in a long time, that my choices don’t just affect me, and aren’t all about two, or three, or four people, but a lot of other people. Not as profoundly, of course, but as we walked I almost felt this need to unburden myself and then stopped short and realized how unfair that would be and what I would be asking of her. And that tripped me up a little, but not too much.

I was impressed with myself that I was able, for a little while at least, to let that night’s massive fears go and actually learn something. I was able to be quiet and close my eyes, which is how I listen best, but not always suited for public venues because you look like you’re sleeping. And I totally wanted a drink. I thought about it a few times but instead stuffed my face with hummus and goat cheese (though I ate it pretty daintily with a fork).

I really felt when I was slathering on this new Urban Decay primer and then eye shadow and then glitter eyeliner and mascara and foundation (which I rarely wear but my face was bright red) that I needed some kind of mask, I needed something to make myself feel beautiful. That sounds so shallow and petty, and perhaps it is, but it worked. I went to two events and I felt like I sparkled. I felt at peace and somewhere along the way I realized that I wasn’t dressing up for anyone else, or at least, not primarily. That it was for me and that I was entitled to that. I’m wearing the same outfit, with different tights, tonight to the calendar party, and just hope I can be sparkly and happy and bubbly again. So I have no idea what point I wanted to make on Wednesday, or today, but I just know that as I walked to the train and ogled SoHo windows and collapsed into bed, I felt like I had done something I was a little afraid of. It wasn’t something I’d be dying to do again and I stepped back from it when it would have been too much for me but it was not what I had thought it would be and I was glad I found that out, because I almost didn’t bother.

Naked "Touch"

So often I forget about stories I’ve written, perhaps deliberately, to make room for new ones and, well, some of those true ones are a little too close or painful or nostalgic to want to recall. But since I’m editing my own anthology Naked (title may change) for Cleis Press and just saw this post about an Amazon review praising my story “Touch,” I thought I’d share a snippet of this ooooold story.

J. Kelley from Macon, Georgia wrote on Amazon:

I read Rachel Kramer Bussel’s piece ‘Touch’ first. It’s the story of two female lovers and the appreciation for the heat between them. Only way I can describe it: the honesty of every sentence just stunned me. I recommend the book just because this story is sultry, thought-provoking, wise and romantic. And because I can’t adequately describe how good this story is - you just have to read it.

And yes, I am channeling Tristan Taormino’s “Caution: Sharp Object” here - “The boys on tv” are from a segment I’ve taped and long since forgotten the details of and because I’m Miss Disorganized am not even sure I have a clip of, but whatever. Part of why I don’t have files and clippings and scrapbooks like a good media whore is that I’m so much more focused on the future than the past. Anyway, part of “Touch” from Alison Tyler’s anthology Naked Erotica. I’m trying to get many of my older stories posted in the writing samples section of my site - that’s a goal over the next few months. I didn’t really think anyone was reading them so didn’t update for years and now there are enough stories that I think are decent that I feel okay about adding some. Once upon a time I bought a voice recorder and thought I’d do podcasts; I’d still theoretically love to do that or vlogging, but who knows? When I have all that mythical free time, perhaps.

The boys on tv ask me how they should touch a woman, seeking some magic formula that will make them the perfect lovers, bring their girlfriends to surefire orgasms, but the truth is I have no idea. When I’m with her I’m no longer any kind of expert, I barely even know my name except when she says it, all deep and throaty and needy. Most of the time I don’t know what I’m doing, don’t know where I’m touching her, don’t have a technical name for it or a recalled memory of reading or writing about this. I couldn’t, because I’ve never felt or done anything like this before. With her, I’m not a sexpert but a sorcerer, a magician feeling my way along, teasing, testing, probing, hoping.

Every time I touch her, I do so by instinct, and if I were to stop and think about it I’d be wracked by insecurity, yet with her it all makes perfect sense. She used to say to me, in that breathy, high-on-sex kind of way, “you know exactly how to touch me,” and I thought it wasn’t true, or an exaggeration. I didn’t feel like I knew; it was maybe a happy accident, but maybe my body knew before I did, instinctively. At first I wasn’t sure what to do with her, what to do with this sensual, beautiful woman with the body of a girl, all slim and thin and seemingly fragile. I didn’t know that I could put as many fingers as I want inside of her, and she’d eagerly claim them, didn’t know that instead of being fragile she is infinitely strong; in fact, it’s a challenge to break her, to make her shake and shiver and moan, to give up some of that strength to me. I didn’t know that sliding my fingers inside of her, something as seemingly simple as that, could bring tears to my eyes, could make me want to stay there forever. I didn’t know that being the one doing the fucking could bring me to the same heights as being the one getting fucked, could make me feel so free and high and happy.

A snapshot: She is lying across the queen size bed, her head hanging off the side of it, spread out before me like the most delicious buffet. I have been away for a weekend that feels like much longer, and I look at her and it’s almost like I’ve never seen her before. I am nervous and ravenous at the same time, and watching my fingers move over and around her hot pink lips, I shiver, unsure whether to try to control myself or to let myself go. As I slide my fingers into her, first one and then two, and then more, until I have most of one hand pressed deeply inside of her, I marvel at the way she feels. I am touching skin and heat and pressing up against bones and flesh and she asks me what I’m doing to her, and I kiss her instead because I don’t have an answer for her. She is more mysterious than any boy will ever be, holding so many more secrets inside of her, ones I live to unearth.

Free 24-karat gold vibrator November 19th at In The Flesh Reading Series

Yes, it’s true, in addition to tons of other prizes and 10 fabulous readers, we are giving away a $325-value 24-karat gold Little Gold vibrator at the 4-year anniversary party/reading at In The Flesh Reading Series on November 19th courtesy of JimmyJane! One lucky winner will get to take this valuable sex toy home. Here’s the stats on it:



LITTLE GOLD
Waterproof, Silent, Everlasting Vibrator

Sleek, silent and waterproof, this 24k gold vibrator is decadence distilled. Take it in the pool, chill it in the fridge - or ride your bike in the rain with one in the basket.

Details

* The vibrator’s frequency is tuned to provide a deep, resonant sensation.
* Our vibrators all feature our exclusive, patented replaceable motor system.
* Our vibrators are 5.25” long, and 0.67” in diameter.
* All materials are medical quality, body safe and dishwasher safe.
* Three Year Limited Warranty.



It’s also a great chance to get a 2010 NYC Sex Blogger Calendar and get it signed by Rachel, Tess Danesi, Desiree, Abiola Abrams and possibly other lurking models.



And don’t forget the 300 FREE cupcakes from Baked by Melissa!



IN THE FLESH EROTIC READING SERIES
4-YEAR ANNIVERSARY, SPANKING STORIES, SEX BLOGGER CALENDAR & MORE!
November 19th at 7:30 PM (doors at 7; note early start time)
AT HAPPY ENDING LOUNGE, 302 BROOME STREET, NYC
(B/D to Grand, J/M/Z to Bowery, F to Delancey or F/V to 2nd Avenue, http://www.happyendinglounge.com)
Between Forsyth & Eldridge. Look for the hot pink awning that says “XIE HE Health Club.”
Admission: Free
Happy Ending Lounge: 212-334-9676
http://www.inthefleshreadingseries.com

We’re celebrating 4 years of sexy smut with a party and reading galore! Bringing back memoirists Lily Burana (I Love a Man in Uniform, Strip City) and Isobella Jade (Model Life, Almost 5’4”), Erica Kennedy (Feminista, Bling), Abiola Abrams (BET, author of Dare), Jennifer Peters (Penthouse Forum), Desiree (contributor, The Mile High Club) along with Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories contributors Tess Danesi and Rosalind Christine Lloyd. You will also hear from the organizers of the 2010 NYC Sex Blogger Calendar, which Tess and host Rachel Kramer Bussel (Peep Show, Spanked, Bottoms Up) posed for! Copies of authors’ books and the calendar will be for sale. 300 free cupcakes from Baked by Melissa will be served. Prize giveaways include: 24-karat gold vibrator Little Gold ($325 value) from JimmyJane, paddle and slapper from Extreme Restraints, $100 Babeland gift card from Beyond the Birds and the Bees, 2 copies of the 2010 Sex Blogger Calendar (featuring Tess, Rachel, Abiola and others), Abiola Abrams’ novel Dare, XXX porn film Afrodite Superstar and hot word game SexySlang.