Kizz & Tell is a combination of item #17 on my Life List (Develop an erotic fiction web site) and a continuation of the G-spot column I used to write at The Women's Colony. From fantasies to frank discussion I'm just trying to re-create a really great conversation with your friends. I hope you'll join in!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Take A Moment For Yourself

What I really recommend is that you never fall off the wagon. Not any wagon. Not for any reason. It's just too hard to get back on.

So to speak.

It's nearly Thanksgiving, though, and I ought to be just a little more helpful than that, I think.

For many years I've had an occasional feature on my personal blog, the Hot People posts.

Today I felt like doing one and I felt like putting it here.

But what the hell am I recommending by showing you pictures of people who make me want to bite something?

Am I recommending the people themselves? Lust? Photography? Watching more TV?

Well, sure, on some level but is that enough? Probably not.

Better, I think, as we head into the hectic, demanding holiday season, that I recommend we each take a moment for ourselves each and every day to stop, breathe and look at something pretty.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope you're happy, healthy and not hungry.

(From top: Alexander Skarsgard, Mos Def, Tina Fey, Chris Pine, Denzel Washington, Hugh Laurie, Sofia Vergera and Tim Roth.)

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Bloody Delicious Says I!

You know what I think is sexy? Live theatre.

This rec is not a donkey show, it wouldn't even be categorized as erotic necessarily, but it sure made me wiggle in my red velvet seat the other night.

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson is a musical based on the life and presidency of, you may have guessed, Andrew Jackson. Dude was nuts. OK, well, passionate. He was a flip flopper! He was an idealist! He was a brute! He was a romantic! Honestly, I have to do some more research before I can even begin to guess but he certainly led a rich and varied life both in and out of politics.

Alex Timbers and Michael Friedman have styled Jackson as a bit of a rock star. They have translated his charisma and populist approach into a character equal parts John Wayne and John Mayer. Benjamin Walker dons some tight jeans, a pristine Henley and a utility belt/holster that would make Batman proud to breathe smoking hot life into our 7th president. It's heart racing, panty dampening goodness.

If sex is at least 50% in your mind then BBAJ has that all wrapped up with a leather bow as well. Jackson had complicated views on immigration, Native Americans, war, governmental size, congressional power and work-life balance. Responsible for the rehoming and outright killing of nearly the entire Native North American population he cherished a son rescued from the massacres he engineered. While he was a man of bold action he sure wasn't afraid to contradict himself. As we stand in highly charged political times now it's tempting to watch the play with an ear out for which current party is being lambasted by the production and the answer is both. Which is, I suspect, as it should be.

The ensemble for this production is diverse and brutally talented and they are leaving nothing in the tank for later. Each character (many actors play a few in the course of the show) is fully formed and beautifully nuanced. I've had Emily Young's rendition of Ten Little Indians running rampant through my head since I left the theatre on Sunday. Bryce Pinkham's portrayal of both the weasel-wearing, creeptastic Henry Clay (second from left below) and the hypocritically smoldering Black Fox have been fodder for many a naughty day dream for the past few days as well. And if laughter is your trigger you should bring something to bite down on before Jeff Hiller (second from right below) takes the stage. Every moment of broad comedy was so funny I thought Misti was going to need a change of underthings before we headed home.

There were too many empty seats in the house for my liking on Sunday night. People are missing out. So today I recommend that, if you are anywhere near Broadway, you go see this intelligent hootenanny of a musical as soon as humanly possible. If you are not close enough to do that please keep your fingers crossed that it will have a life on the touring circuit. As politically and sexually charged a piece as it is I don't know that a tour is in its stars but if Urinetown! (The Musical) can tour then anything can happen. Keep your eyes peeled for these actors and this show, I truly think you'll love it.

Tight jeans are sexy. Smoky eyes are sexy. Thigh tattoos and cowboy boots are sexy. Mostly, though, talent is sexy and Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson is shot through with that.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Revisiting: Once Bitten, Not Shy

As many of you know, the inspiration for our Monday conversations comes from a column I wrote at The Women's Colony. I plan to reprint all those posts over time. This post seemed better suited for The Resource Room than our conversations. I haven't edited out the bits that are Women's Colony-specific but there's no need to worry about those, I just like having the original pieces preserved completely on the internet. Thanks in advance for your understanding.


Guidepost: Honestly I'm at a loss about how to write this guidepost. The only truthful way to explain what this post is about involves using a word that I'm willing to bet people are going to be angry to see on their front pages before they have a chance to click away from me and my ilk. Let's do it this way, if you're mad (and I think you're gonna be) please leave Mrs. G out of it, she's only one woman, send your angry e-mails to me at isabeau6 at hotmail dot com. Now, today's post is a review of some erotic (there! I said it! open your e-mail programs now!) literature. I refrain from using any objectionable language (except for the word erotica) that I know of. All photos are probably safe except that they also feature the term erotica. The links, as you might imagine, are to erotic literature so...they all depend on your definition of safe. Read on MacDuff!

It's high time I did a book review here. Many moons ago Jules pointed out that my Down the Rabbit Hole post was heavy on image-based sites. I told her then that I was baffled since I'm usually more a fan of words than of pictures where the erotic is concerned. I still am. Some day I'll do another Rabbit Hole Diving (dirty!) post and I'll focus on the words. This week, though, in honor of Jodi's focus on books, I want to talk about a newish anthology from Susie Bright, Bitten.

Full disclosure, I got this book brand spanking (hee hee) new thanks to a discount from Bright herself. That was in response to a call she put out to get positive Amazon reviews soon after the book's release date to help sales. I should publicly apologize here for not getting that done. I purchased the book immediately and even began reading it but set it down for some reason (possibly related to my dog's death but not entirely, I'm afraid) and have only just recently picked it back up and finished it. I promise to write my review now and get it posted to Amazon ASAP.

I also want to assure you that no part of this review is written to assuage any guilt I might have over my tardiness. I have been a fan of Bright and her anthologies for more than a decade and wouldn't be disrespectful enough not to be honest here. The first piece of erotic literature I came across was Anais Nin's Delta of Venus (is this everyone's first?) and quickly on its heels Story of O (I was stage managing a somewhat avant garde version of Beauty & the Beast, the library was topical). They were good, a stark contrast to the furtively perused copies of Penthouse I'd discovered as a teen, but they are both of a certain period. While they are both explicit they still pull some kind of filmy curtain over the whole torrid affair.

Sometime after that I was fortunate enough to discover The Best American Erotica series. Here were stories where the curtain was shredded on the ground being used to mop up after orgies of really juicy words. These short stories left the questionable grammar, foolish bodily proportions and laughable coincidences of a book of Penthouse letters in the dust. I started a collection and, while it isn't quite complete, it is much beloved and as well-used as many of the characters therein. Financial woes, I'm told, brought the publishing of that series to an end. It didn't bring Susie Bright to an end, though. I read her web site and I sampled some of her other work and I like a lot of it but none so much as this new collection.

First off, just from a book lover's perspective this is a piece of art. Technically a paperback the cover has delicious weight and structure. The edges of the pages are black to hold the integrity of the cover art which makes them seem somehow more valuable. I'm petrified of snakes and yet, the slightly raised cover illustration turns my mind more to bite than flight. The publisher, Chronicle Books, clearly cares about the whole experience of bringing this volume into your bed.

Probably, though, you're more interested in the content. I'll tell you I felt a little wrong reading it on the subway. Delightfully wrong. The title isn't vulgar (like so many of mine) and the cover shows nothing remotely suggestive (unless you're a fan of Freud) so there was no reason anyone would know of the lifted skirts and swiftly unbuckled belts within, which was, frankly, a little disappointing. This was, perhaps, the only time I kind of wanted someone to read over my shoulder. The theme Bright worked with was gothic erotica so there are elements of the occult and the fantastic in each story but, to me, they all seemed deeply rooted in ordinary reality. This, I think, made every story all the more thrilling since they could be happening all around me.

There are 15 stories in this little gem. I was ready to write a glowing review before I even finished the first one, The Devil's Invisible Scissors by Sera Gamble. All the action takes place in a bar, any bar, could be the bar my bus was skimming past right then and the sex isn't front loaded. Gamble makes you wait for it. She wants to be sure you really want it before she gives in. I did. I really, really did. I wanted it so much that I'd like to thank her and Bright and all the authors by telling you about each and every tale but we just don't have time for that. I'll hit a couple of highlights and simply urge you at every turn to acquire your own copy at your earliest convenience or perhaps just slightly before that.

I've got tell you that I can't properly recommend my absolute favorite story in the collection, The Legacy by Donna George Storey, here. I simply don't have the words. Storey's heroine becomes intrigued when her boyfriend tells a group of friends about a photo book his uncle bequeathed to him. The book contained many models but all from one quite...narrow view, if you will. Her fascination with this knowledge spurs her to action and that's all I can say about that. If Storey were writing here, if Storey had used that word around which there was all that uproar, there would have been no objections, everyone would simply have begged her for more. More, Ms. Storey, please ma'am, more.

My sharper side has asked to read and re-read Cate Robertson's Half Crown Doxy. Maybe it was because thoughts of crime and punishment were at the forefront of my mind while I read. Maybe it's the appealing heroine. Probably, though, it's the way Robertson made me squirm in my seat and read through squinted eyes but read on nonetheless. She skates along the line where more cruelty would be too much, would dampen the buzz I had going by that point in the book, she threatens at every turn to step over it and yet, at least for my taste, never quite does.

I've read other things by Tsaurah Litzky, also courtesy of Bright and her talent for collecting, and haven't liked them as well as I like The Witch of Jerome Avenue. It's milder than many of the stories here. The setting is quite normal, Litzky has a talent for New York City tales, and the occult bent is very gentle. There's sex, it's entirely satisfying but in a simpler, sweeter way than Half Crown Doxy or Pandora's Other Box. This one made me nostalgic for a kind of adolescence I haven't experienced. It also made me super horny.

On that note, I've only told you about three selections from this group. If the Colony were a physical place we could have a book club meeting (with a clear, definitive warning posted on the closed door to our sound proof meeting room) about it. I'd like nothing more than to go over each story individually with you. It is, for my money, Bright's best collection. If I have any quibble it's that the pieces are laid out in such a way that the ending is ever so slightly disappointing. The Devil's Invisible Scissors is such a strong opener that tapering off with Get Thee Behind Me, Satan, a story that is heavier on harsh emotion than on sex of any kind, was something of a letdown for me. Then again, if I hadn't been just a little bit let down I wouldn't have jumped directly back in to re-read my favorites.

Perhaps you know someone who's wondering what to get you for the holidays. Perhaps that person wants to make you very happy in a variety of ways. Perhaps that person is you. Whoever it is I hope you find a copy of Bitten under the holiday icon of your choice in the coming weeks. I feel certain it will make you very merry indeed.

Monday, November 8, 2010

End Times

I've been so cold outside walking this nutty dog this weekend that I almost wrote you a post asking if you wear (or allow your partner to wear) socks while, well, knocking his or her socks off. I decided there just wasn't enough substance to that, though. Feel free to answer if you like, frankly, I'm torn. Socks aren't sexy but I hate to be cold.

Instead I was thinking about beginnings. I was ready to be all sweet and sappy and talk about first kisses and first feelings and first nights on the bear skin rug by the fire with the champagne and the strawberries and no socks. Then a funny thing happened.

While thinking about beginnings I got sideswiped by my fucking brain with thoughts of a recent ending. There's this guy (every story starts out like that) and we've been off and on and off and on and oooooofff and on for decades. Through an accident all my own we got sort of back on last spring. The first night we were together was...adequate. Where adequate means you really want to get back together with the person to erase that memory because it's totally fucking bumming you out. We met up one more time after that and in the space of less than an hour were somehow crashing and burning so historically that I ordered him out of my house and no one got laid. It was an ending. Admittedly we're people who've seen a lot of fake endings with each other over the years but, I tell you, after that I continue not to be sorry to have seen the last of him.

I will, however, be sorry for those two evenings to have been the last of it. How many movies have we seen where someone gazes off into the middle distance and says, "If only I'd known that was going to be the last time..." In this instance I'm left wondering if I'd known would I have slept with him again at all? I'm a girl who eats the crust of her toast first because the middle of the bread tastes better and I like to finish the meal with the better taste in my mouth. On the other hand a night in the sack is usually far and away better than any day digging ditches so where's the harm?

There's a cost to some old memories for sure. Even if said memories were shot with a vaseline covered filter I'd almost rather have them at the forefront than this, let's call it highly uncomplimentary, one. It makes me sad about the guy, sad about myself, sad about the whole relationship which, while nowhere near perfect, held a lot of great things for me.

I guess the conversation starter is two-pronged this chilly November morning. 1. Regarding my situation, if I'd known, do you think I would or should have gone forward? 2. Do you have any last times that make you look back (for any reason) and say, "If only I'd known..."?

Friday, November 5, 2010




A door opens.




Amber, yes.

Come on in. Do you want something to drink?

Just a glass of water would be great, thanks. 

That door closes.

I got your message. Oral, with the option to upgrade, right?

I’m sorry, I have to just be clear. It makes things safe for both of us. I like to get it out of the way so we can just have fun. And in that spirit, they made the payment structure clear?


If you have any questions I’m more than happy to answer them now or at any time. 

Um. No, not real....well, do we just...start?

I’d like to just make a quick stop in the bathroom, wash my hands, get out of these jeans, freshen up, is that OK?

No, sure, yes that’s OK.

Do you want me to keep the shoes or no?

Could you just lift?


Yeah, keep the shoes. 

Will do.

Time passes. Not much. Water is drunk. Not much. Bourbon is consumed. A little more. Still, not much.

Hi again.

Hi. That...set really shows off...the shoes. 


Thank you. I thought so. Are you comfortable in that chair?


Good. Let me just slide the table out of the way a little. Mmmm, nice belt. I like them when they’re good and worn in like this. 


Lift. Just a little. Perfect.


You’re very warm. Is it too hot?


Lift again. 

Complete silence.


Uuuhhhh, nnnnnn, little. No teeth!

No. Promise. Shhhhh.

Oh. Oh. Yeaaaaa.....

Mmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmm.

Gaaa, ye....please, please please.

Laughter. Chuckling. Muted.


Shhhhh. Just wait a minute. 

Breathing. Heavy. And light.


One more sec.

Now. Please.

Like this?


And this?

Yes. More. Please.



Quiet. Not silence.

Oh, oh, oh yeah, now, now, please now!

Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm!


Rustling. Gentle, calming noises.



Very. Thank you.

You’re very welcome.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010


When people ask for my top five movies they don't, I think, expect me to say, "Secretary." It happens every so often that I read or watch something that just makes perfect sense to me on a nearly physical level. The first time someone asked me what I thought of the film I said, "It's a fairy tale written just for me." Which I suppose could be taken a number of ways. When the credits rolled it seemed that, of all the romances I'd seen on film this one felt the truest.

Quick synopsis: Maggie Gyllenhaal plays Lee Holloway, a young woman recently released from an in-patient mental health program. While trying to reintegrate into her old life and perhaps even improve on it she gets herself a job. That job is with James Spader's character, Mr. Grey, an exacting local lawyer. Over time they discover they have something in common.

OK, from here on out I can't promise there won't be spoilers.

Similar to some of what I said about re-meeting Mollena, the best part of Secretary is how accurately we see the strength and power in submission. That thing the characters have in common is BDSM. When they are true to the parts of themselves that feed off their dominance or submission they are happy, productive, able members of society. When they hide their core needs they are klunky and uncomfortable, they don't fit in the air space allotted them by the world.

Lee isn't a gorgeous woman objectively. She becomes shy and retiring when trying to hide her need to submit. When she's able to let that shine through she can do anything, ask for anything, be anything she wants to be. It's not Mr. Grey who transforms her into someone beautiful and intelligent, it's finally insisting on showing her true self that does. No one else could possibly do that for her. The writers and director never once stray into a construct that suggests women are weak or easily manipulated.

There are a lot of acts Mr. Grey and Lee perform that don't turn me on and yet the depiction of them is thoroughly panty-soaking. There is a sexual tension in Spader's every move that, even when his character feels shamed, doesn't bring the same feeling down on the audience.

Now, I'm no expert on the BDSM scene so I suppose there might be things that are improperly depicted or even offensive to real life practitioners. I sure hope not, though, because this life style is the perfect framework for a story about finding common ground and being brave enough to show one's tender underbelly to the world.

What's your favorite mainstream movie with sexual content?

Monday, November 1, 2010

Revisiting Bring Me A Shrubbery

As many of you know, the inspiration for our Monday conversations comes from a column I wrote at The Women's Colony. I plan to reprint all those posts over time. Due to an exciting but overfull Halloween weekend this seemed like a perfect time for a reprint. 

This whole post is written with apologies to Aunt Snow, our real landscaping expert here at the Colony.

Aaryn did it. It's her fault. Thank heaven above for Aaryn! She wrote about her tolerance levels for northerly manscaping this week and I saw a theme. You know me, when I see theme potential I jump on that like stink on a know, let's explore that issue in another post entirely.

I do not, er, manicure the lawn per se. I mean, I try I do get sick of the whole deal and occasionally trim it down enough that a nice French braid is no longer an option but that's mostly because I use the dressing room before my dance class and I feel peer pressure about my low lying ground cover. I watch porn and still I've not seen such a variety of options for styling the pubic area until I started going to this particular studio. Mostly brazilian waxes with the younger set, some neat and extremely slim landing strips, the occasional subdued Bermuda triangle but no full, natural bush. The joint caters to ballet dancers, there are probably rules for your body hair if you dance ballet seriously.

The only part of me I've ever waxed was my eyebrows. I kind of love having it done but my skin thinks I'm a sadistic bitch. I may be. I was given my first eyebrow wax by a good friend. She got a wax, rubbed a finger over the smooth area, smiled and looked nothing different. I looked like I'd walked full speed into a door for the rest of the day. I'm a tender, blushing flower, what can I say? So the thought of getting my vaginal surroundings waxed makes me shudder. I like the idea of not having to shave or worry about the whole thing. Heck, I even like the idea of not having to decide what it should look like or where it should stop. I do not like the idea of writhing in pain for a day and half every time I get it done. Also? I'm cheap. Isn't it expensive to ask someone else to handle your delicates? Especially around hot liquids.

Ok, and I'll admit this, too, I'm afraid it'll be incredibly awkward and embarrassing. I shave the whole thing down a little occasionally, sort of like weed whacking in spring, but again with the sensitive skin. I get bumps and ingrown hairs and it's not, to my eye, much prettier either way. Will waxing be better than that? I need a play by play of how this is going to go before I'm going to be able to go through with it. Tell me what it's like! Panties off, I assume? Do you pre-trim? Will the lady say mean things about my Sleeping Beauty's forest-level vines and shrubs? Does it hurt to wear jeans after? Do they really make you hold your own cheeks apart like in that one scene from Californication where the porn actress is getting her "back nine" cleaned up?

What about depilatories, does anyone still use Nair? I tried it once, only on my legs, and it was sort of a nightmare. I got nervous that all my skin was going to peel off, too. That was a mental issue, though, I didn't have any physical reaction to the goop. Do they still make the Epilady? That seems like a very bad idea but what do I know I practically bled out shaving my knees last week!

Whenever I think about this subject I think of Carrie Bradshaw. There's an episode of Sex and the City where she gets her first Brazilian and later, by the pool, the ladies are discussing it. She pulls her legs in close, wraps her arms around them and whispers, "I'm cooooold." I find that I don't love the look of a completely bare bajingo (seriously, do I sound 5 when I use all these stupid words, I feel 5, thank goodness "bare bajingo" has a nice ring to it) not because it's infantile or disgusting but because it makes the poor cooch look so vulnerable and, frankly, kind of lonely. I don't mind a landing strip configuration but it's sort of like modern architecture, a glass fronted geometrical building is interesting sometimes but I prefer a stately Victorian with a wrap around porch if I have my 'drothers. I think I'd look best with a permanent isosceles triangle, not too big, not too small and not rising too high off the green, if you'll pardon the expression. How much is that going to cost me?

Do you (and your partner if applicable) landscape? And I'm not asking about your front yard, the one in front of your house. I mean your "stately pleasure dome." If you take my meaning.