This One is Personal: Dancing With Myself, a Self-Love Erotica Anthology

I’ll be honest, dear reader. This one is personal.

My short story “Unconventional Methods” isn’t autobiographical, per se. However, I did delve a great deal into my own experience to write it. I set out to present a relationship between two people, each confronted with their own unique challenges, who have managed to form a deep, tangible connection without the benefits of touch.

Daniel is English, a Dominant, an amputee and a veteran. Sierra is an able-bodied American submissive coping with mental illness. She is a character, a proxy, but her struggle with social anxiety is a reality for many. It has been for me.

In my experience, social anxiety isn’t just a distaste for crowds or feeling awkward at parties. It’s a full-body response, the desperate need to retreat from the moment you step out the door. To quote my protagonist, it’s “Fight-or-flight at the ice cream shop, where the line is long and the pressure is on so you pick the first thing on the menu, though it’s not what you want, and then you hate yourself almost as much as you hate butter-pecan.”

So, why a story about self-loathing in a collection that’s meant to be about self-love?

Because in the face of crippling isolation, our heroine Sierra has found a way to connect. With the aid of a camera, an Internet connection and a little imagination, she and Daniel have fashioned a Dom/sub relationship that works for them. They support each other and accept each other. They love each other, and it is through this mutual acceptance, love, and support that Sierra is able to find the strength to believe in herself.

Self-love. Self-lust. Self-exploration. This anthology is a celebration of the private—and at times, not-so-private—dance we all know the moves to because we’ve been choreographing it since we realized we had bodies and the capacity for pleasure.

It brings me great pleasure to announce that Dancing With Myself, edited by Jillian Boyd for Sexy Little Pages, is now available in print and ebook.

Nine sizzling, sexy stories of self-love and self-discovery, edited by (and with a story from) Jillian Boyd, featuring Dena Hankins, T.C. Mill, Jordan Monroe, Leandra Vane, LN Bey, Jones, Hollis Queens and Rachel Woe.

In this sensually spellbinding collection, nine authors explore just a couple of the ways one can get themselves off – stories that don’t just hone in on the how, but explore the why, and the “oh… oh my.” Dancing with Myself delves into the heads and between the sheets of a long-distance submissive and her dominant, a cam girl reminiscing, an artist entranced with her unusual subjects and many more.

 

Read an excerpt from “Unconventional Methods” below:

His gaze drifts around the screen. “That chemise looks incredible on you, by the way.”

I glance down at the pearlescent silk top and matching shorts. Gone are the tattered tees and flannel pajamas I used to wear to bed. I now have an entire chest of drawers dedicated to undergarments, delicately folded and arranged by color and type. I’ve imagined Daniel running his fingers over the impossibly smooth materials before asking the salespeople to wrap each piece carefully for transport.

My nipples tighten into points, and I know he can see them. The longing in his gaze is unmistakable.

“Stand so I can look at you,” he says. I set the package on the desk and rise, the fabric caressing my skin as I move. “Turn for me.”

I pivot slowly, careful to keep my outfit within the webcam’s view. Every inch of me is an offering, every word from my mouth an homage. By the time I make it back around, he only has one hand on the desk in front of him.

Tension gathers between my thighs. He smooths his closely cropped beard.

“Now,” he says, “let me see those gorgeous nipples.”

My breath catches; my clit throbs. I want to rub myself but he hasn’t ordered me to, and although we’re an ocean apart and my hands are still my own, I will have to wait because that’s what I’ve agreed to do. I slide the chemise’s delicate straps off my shoulders, one by one, then draw the garment away from my breasts.

Daniel holds his tongue between his teeth. “Touch them.”

I lift and knead my breasts. My nipples tingle as I flick them gently with the tips of my forefingers, drawing a line of pleasure from my breasts to my core. I close my eyes and imagine that they’re Daniel’s fingers, Daniel’s palms. A soft moan floats from my mouth.

“Pinch them,” he says. I squeeze my nipples and flinch at the jolt of pain. He leans toward his laptop screen. “Again. Harder.”

I obey, biting my lips together to stop myself from making too much noise.

“God, that makes my cock ache,” he says, eyes half-lidded. I smile. My pain turns him on, and knowing he’s rock-hard and happy turns me on. He sits back in his chair, both hands on the desk in front of him. “You may open your present now.”

Frustration and curiosity vie for space inside me. Curiosity wins.

Hot and bothered? Grab yourself copy of Dancing With Myself today.

 

 

Longtime readers please note: an early version of this story was previously featured in a two-part blog post on this site. It has since been removed and thoroughly revised for publication.

Flash Fiction: Witnesses

A few months ago, one of my gay friends challenged me to write a convincing M/M story. This is my first attempt, albeit brief, at just above 700 words. It’s a somewhat tame, voyeuristic piece, and although it isn’t explicitly stated, both characters are 18.


Each time Liam glanced up from his desk, he saw Avery, eyeballing him with that wiseacre smirk. Liam wrestled the urge to march across the classroom and right hook him in his haughty, self-righteous mug—the face that’s mocked him since they were assigned to the same dorm room that previous fall. Yet, just the thought of his fists making contact with Avery’s square jaw and prominent cheekbones was too much for Liam, since it would mean touching him and learning the true texture of his skin.

“Eyes on your own papers,” Mr. Connelly barked.

Liam’s gaze drifted back to the Spanish Civil War exam lying half-finished beneath his calloused palm. His fingers grasped the pen but were utterly useless without the aid of his brain, which may as well have been thousands of miles away in Spain. Liam closed his eyes and breathed deep, discharging the air via his mouth in a slow stream.

A muffled cough to his immediate right drew his attention. Sarah Gallagher, known on campus as “the silent observer” was watching him, too.

Around 2AM that morning, Liam had locked eyes with Sarah while fleeing his dorm room. Red-faced with a raging hard-on tugging at the front of his pajama pants, his blanket and pillow bunched beneath his elbow, he was certain she’d caught a glimpse of the room’s interior before he could shut the door.

Liam had managed to make it back to the prep school’s dormitories early after his girlfriend’s band concert, slipping into both bed and unconsciousness without distraction. However, he was roused from sleep a few hours later by heavy breathing, and by the time he realized what he was bearing witness to, it was too late.

The room was pitch black, save for the thin strip of light emanating from beneath the door. Laughter and footsteps resounded from the hallway, but there was no mistaking Avery’s soft moans and the sound of skin gliding upon skin. Liam squeezed his eyes shut, wanting desperately to reach into the waistband of his pants and massage his own burgeoning erection.

Avery’s breathing turned to whimpers, his strokes quickening, his sighs evolving into grunts. Liam remained still, gritting his teeth, hyper aware of the tension and warmth pooling in his groin.

Liam was determined ride it out, to refrain from tossing more kindling onto the fire of Avery’s suspicion. He cringed as he evoked Avery’s private nickname for his all-American, jock roommate: “Closet case,” articulated with that signature Southern drawl. His cock jumped at the recollection.

No, Liam thought. If he allowed himself to get off with Avery, to be seen or heard for what he truly was, then Avery would undoubtedly make it his mission to drag him further out of the closet. That’s how Avery operated: unabashedly out and proud at one of the most conservative prep schools in the state, strutting around campus in bright red skinny jeans with an I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude that Liam envied. He could never see himself behaving that courageously, at least not while his parents were still paying for his education. He had too much to lose.

Grunting, panting, wheezing. Liam bit the insides of his cheeks, his cock and balls aching to be touched. Slowly, he inched a hand downward, closing his palm over his erection through the fabric of his pj’s. He squeezed and massaged his bulge, sighing.

Avery inhaled sharply, letting out a long groan that seemed to go on for almost thirty seconds. Liam tried not to imagine what Avery’s face looked like mid-orgasm or the way his semen was likely dripping from his fingers and pooling over his taut stomach, moistening the dark curls of his pubic hair.

Liam’s cock pulsated, his balls tightening. He held his breath.

“Need a hand, there, preppy?” Avery’s voice was hoarse, deeper than usual.

Liam shot out of bed, grabbing his pillow and blanket, and made quick strides towards the door. As he opened it, he glanced back just long enough to see the light from the hallway illuminate Avery’s bed: the covers pushed down over his calves; his legs splayed casually with his dwindling erection slumped to one side; his glistening abdomen and public curls.

Liam turned just in time to lock eyes with Sarah Gallagher before slamming the door.


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