Jolie Du Pre, the lovely and talented erotica author/editor, teamed up with Logical-Lust to birth the Google News worthy, groundbreaking e-anthology, SWING! With a keen eye for good erotica, Jolie gathered an unforgettable marquee of writers to whet the lusty appetites of readers bold enough to take the plunge.
So come in. Sit down. And permit my interview and our discussion to serve you, until you’re sated enough to cast your inhibitions aside and loose yourself under the riveting covers of SWING! Adventures in Swinging By Today’s Top Erotica Writers.
1. Why do you write erotica and what do you love best about it?
Erotica is sensual, alive, vibrant with love, attraction, possibility, intoxication and raw emotion. I write it because it allows me to slip into the softness, the electricity, the hard parts of the exchange between two lovers and feel the magnitude of sexual chemistry in a plethora of different ways, in as many ways as there are lovers.
I feel powerful and creative and beautiful when I write, and even more when I write erotica. By writing erotica, I breathe life into the reality that women can do and be anything that we desire, including writers who create sassy, spicy, intelligent, mesmerizing characters, who claim their own sexuality.
2. Tell us about your story in Swing! Adventures in Swinging by Today’s Top Erotica Writers and please feel free to give us an excerpt.
My story centers on a Swing party leaving D.C., heading to Toronto for a sexy weekend of intrigue and heated play. The charming couples are professionals, who adore one another and a constant string of good-time forays out of the country.
On this adventure, my protagonist, Dr. Neco Young and her scrumptious wife, Layla, are in for a surprise at the French Connection, one of Toronto’s elegant bed and breakfast establishments.
In this story, I incorporate my passion for performing burlesque and life’s joy of the “Turnaround,” when we find, after the smoke clears, that we are not as closed to a person or concept as we’d originally thought.
My Excerpt is entitled “One Weekend in Toronto.”
Although Washington Dulles International Airport is hectic, our flight isn’t. We touch down in Toronto, Canada, and the city feels like an old friend.
K.C. calls to say Howard loves the French Connection, and Mimi and Kennedy, who flew in earlier, were madly in love with the rooms. Perfect. Layla adores pretty rooms, too, as she and Fee and Mimi are good for giving the guys and me the slip, on most trips, so they can play in their rooms or bathrooms in girl bliss.
If we aren’t golfing, the boys and I beg for front-row seats.
Once everyone is accounted for, we dine at a French restaurant, before boarding a one-hour, night cruise that showcases the city’s breathtaking views from Lake Ontario. There is the gorgeous harbour front, the CNN Tower, Niagara Falls and the unforgettable Toronto skyline. Hands down, K.C. is the shit, and Howard better recognize.
At evening’s end, we all crash back at The French Connection, reflecting on the blessings of our safe arrivals and the shimmering beauty of Canadian nights.
Then Fiona gets beyond herself, a woman who stands by her word, a woman after my own heart, and saunters over to K.C.
“Sweetheart, you’re awesome, but sometimes I wanna beat your ass.”
She starts batting those long lashes like she does when she’s hot and bothered. Starts sweeping that back-grazing hair, Asian straight and onyx black, and points a French-manicured forefinger inches from K.C.’s nose.
“If I’m that awesome, why you wanna do that—jealousy?” K.C. banters in her characteristic sassiness, batting her lashes, too, and giving Fee challenging face, as the gay boys say.
“You’re too good, that’s why.”
“Everything. Reason enough for your ass whipping?” Fee pivots and singles out Mimi and Layla accusatorily. “They’d love to do the same, except they’re too ladylike to voice it.”
“Uh huh.” K.C.’s gaze sweeps the women, and a funky smile brightens her classic-pretty face.
“Let’s save time here, Mama, and ask me, because you’ll have more to envy when I tell you,” K.C. pauses and puts her little cappuccino hands on those warrior hips, showing off her Ashanti thighs and legs in a sexy, short-ass skirt, “the ladies are cooking brunch in the morning in stilettos and ribbons. So ladies, be creative. That’s why I wanted everybody to bring certain things.”
“Darling, that should be fun, but K.C., may I whip your ass tonight?”
“A one-time deal, Miss Fee. Where do you want me?”
Determined, Fiona digs a flat head hairbrush from her handbag. And a fuchsia butt plug. Dainty purple paddle and coils of colorful yarn. Laying her toys on the sofa, she makes herself comfortable and motions for Howard, Mimi, and Rusty to find other seats and, face visibly softening, stares at K.C. and pats her lap.
“Strip,” she orders. “Then ass up.”
“My pleasure.” K.C. obliges, and she and Fiona lock eyes as she strips.
Watching, I’m warming fast, a heatstroke flushing me, the room becoming unbearably hot. I look at Layla. She’s glued to the scene before us, like everyone else, one hand in the waistband of her Capri pants, fingering her kitty.
The sheer sight of K.C.’s ass makes me shudder, just the way it’s shaped, all fleshy yet sculpted and toned, just cocoa pounds of pure female delight. I always want to ride it and spank it and lick it and kiss it! The way her back flows into the tributary of her butt ought to be captured on screen, in photos, in print, on something! Goodness, I love women.
She does what Fiona asks, booty perfectly centered in the lighter woman’s lap.
As Fiona strokes K.C.’s back, her face is an indication of how luxuriant the woman is. Then she strokes that ass, popping the cheeks, rapturously admiring the way the muscle jumps, and shakes. Childlike, she’s oblivious to us now, the pleasure too enthralling.
One finger takes a leisurely stroll up and down the back of the toned thighs and suddenly darts to the crevice between her cheeks. My eyes follow. K.C. moans. Howard is chicken-choking himself with long, absorbing strokes.
“Spread them. Now,” Fiona demands, voice dripping with desire and control.
Instantly, K.C. obeys, grabbing a handful of plump ass cheeks and gingerly pulling them apart. I nearly topple off my chair, looking, desiring.
Fiona brings the brush down hard on K.C.’s right cheek. It wiggles, K.C. releases a surprised whimper, and my breath catches in my throat. Oh, yes! The sound is intoxicating, the picture mind-blowing, the sound pussy-clenching.
Both cheeks jiggle now. Fiona gives it to her again. And again. We all lean forward, observing the slow purplish-red burn under K.C.’s hot cocoa skin.
“Aaaw! Damn, Fee. God forbid I really piss you off!”
Pop! Pop! Smack!
“It’s Miss Fiona to you, love.” Then she reaches for the yarn and nods to Mimi to assist her. “Tie this mouthy wench’s wrists to her ankles and leave a space in the middle so I can get back to the task at hand, please, darling.”
“Howard, don’t you agree this angel’s a mess? Am I wrong?”
Howard bobs his head, bottom lip tremulous, dick bulging purple.
“Thank you.” Fiona caresses K.C.’s succulent globes and whines, “See, baby, even your hubby thinks you deserve breakfast in bed tomorrow, on that breakfast tray, with flowers.”
“Yes, Miss Fiona,” K.C. moans, wrists softly bound with colorful yarn. “Whatever you say. Brunch in bed sounds delicious.”
“Perfect. Now, be quiet and moan prettily.”
Fiona can’t seem to get enough of caressing K.C.’s tender plumpness, so she taps that ass now, lightly, before coming down with the flat end of the brush in a shower of stinging blows. K.C.’s sighs, moans, and pleas saturate the softly muted living room air.
“Come here, Neco,” Fiona coos at me in a seductive whisper. She sucks the fuchsia butt plug into her bow-cup mouth, pushes it in and out slowly, until it’s silky wet.
“Here, put this in place, and make sure it doesn’t shoot out, okay?”
A wicked smile on my lips, I say Ok. Just inhaling the salacious play between two polar opposite women, gorgeous in every way, turns me on.
3. Name some other books where we can find your work.
My work can be found in the following publications:
DOLLY: A Novel by Claudia Sarden (Holloway House)
PURPLE PANTIES (A Zane Anthology) My story is entitled “The Purple Panty Revue.”
LONGING, LUST, AND LOVE (An Anthology) My story is entitled “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”
THE HOOT & HOLLER OF THE OWLS (An Anthology of writing by Hurston/Wright Writers’ Week Participants) My selections debut my character Wanda B. Wonders, who is a tribute to Langston Hughes’ character, Jess B. Simple.
VENUS MAGAZINE ( My 2 poems, “I Come Out” and “The Promise” appear in vol 11, no. 4 of the magazine.)
GIETIC: Erotic Poems/Kinky Short Stories (An Collection of poems and stories by Gia Bella and The Siren) I am writing as “TheSiren.”
THE LUST CHRONICLES (A Logical-Lust Anthology edited by Rachel Bussel)
4. What are you working on now?
At present, I am accepting opportunities the Universe sends for me to perform burlesque. Thus, I have stepped away from the writing to fully immerse myself in this experience.
When I return to my writing, I will embrace the completion of a 3-book collection of Wanda B. Wonders short stories. I will revise, polish and market my second, novel manuscript, an erotic/romance delicacy, tentatively entitled “If You Love Me, Come.”
Then I will refocus on a play, a collection of stories, a spokenword CD, a young-adult novel and a blog radio show.
5. If you could offer one piece of advice to a new author, what would it be?
A new author might be happier writing from the wellspring of passion that bubbles up from the desire to tell a good story. Otherwise, if she writes solely to make money, she chances walking an inevitable path toward the destination called Depression.
When the winds of rejection arrive, she may find herself discouraged, judging herself, thinking she shouldn’t be where she is.
Not only that, a new author who writes with another author’s style in her head rarely greets the chance to discover her own voice and style. Comparing yourself to others, you prepare your ankles for fractures waiting to happen. You are you. Discover who that writer is, while yet exploring, admiring and learning from others. Excavate your voice, your style, your signature from the gifts that you are. To crib August Wilson, one of my favorite writers, “Make a mark in the unmarked place.”
And listen to Walter Mosley and other writers on writing, if you so desire. I relished Walter Mosley’s “This Year You Write Your Novel” last year. I loved it! However, I discovered I held my own opinion about his major point. It remains in my locs, echoing softly: “If you do not write EVERY day, it won’t be the end of the world.” What is meant for you will forever be yours. Believe. Make it your intention to write daily, but most importantly, enjoy your life…and whatever the day brings. You will do what you came to do, eventually.
Peace, love and beautiful butterfly blessings,
The Golden Goddess