Nine column inches of hot throbbing opinions
Hey homies! What up, yo? Sorry, it’s been ages – years, eons – since I last updated the blog. I’ve been preoccupied. I recently got a book deal! That’s right, I’ll be legitimately published. (I’m still doing my self-published erotica.) More details as they become available. Minor spoilers, it’s still in the finishing stages. If you like meaty muscular dudes swinging around their two-handed swords – and using their weapons – you’ll totally dig this new novella.
That’s not available right now. What is available is my short story, The Housewife and the Heat Wave. [Click on the link to purchase.] Perfect for Mother’s Day. Short, sweet, and hot. It tells the story of a college sophomore named Kevin. During a summer heat wave, he is mowing lawns in the neighborhood for some extra college money. He becomes friendly with Lana, a sex-starved housewife and mother of two. One thing leads to another and … well … I’ll post an explicit excerpt so you get the idea.
Moms hold a very special place in erotica. Fecund goddesses who nurture and comfort even the most brutally rugged of men, they fuel our transgressive thoughts. MILFs, stepmoms, we love them all. Our dark desires made manifest in crude fantasies and delicious combinations. But make no mistake, this isn’t about objectification – although physicality does play into it – because what makes erotica wonderful is harnessing these selfsame bawdy fantasies to bittersweet emotions. Erotic desire links to tragic emotional desperation. Sometimes the MILF cheating on her husband has to do with sadness or revenge or frivolity. The adultery in Unfaithful unfolded by an almost random spontaneity. The consequences became sad and horrendous because there was no inherent malice or animus in Diane Lane’s character’s behavior. (Great movie, by the way.)
I’m hoping to post more often. It’s been too long without some sort of update. Things have been crazy for a while. On top of maintaining my crumbling family estate in [location redacted], there’s this global pandemic going, economic uncertainty, and other issues. Shutdown has been a challenge. My other two housemates – Dick Midnight and Lady Priapus – have been at each other’s throats. The Feldspar Family Estate is large, but it ain’t no Versailles, yo.
We’re all purveyors of erotic narrative here. I have my stories of MILFs and cheating boyfriends. Dick Midnight specializes in gay erotica. His latest project – among his many unfinished works – is something he describes as “Starship Troopers meets the first reel of Brideshead Revisited meets Tom of Finland.” Meanwhile Lady Priapus is working on a piece she calls “Wraeththu meets Warhammer 40K meets Guardians of the Galaxy.”
Unfortunately, like myself, Lady Priapus and Dick Midnight write at a glacial pace and are stingy perfectionists. Since we’re not in it for the money – side note, buy my stories – we can focus on things like quality control and expert cover design. I would like to write trashy paperback novels in spirit, but I also don’t want to slap my name on the side of something that reads like I was paid by the word. Plus, I value you – yes, you, dear reader – and I don’t believe in giving you substandard product. Just because erotica isn’t as legitimate as other genres, doesn’t mean we have to lower our standards. In my mind, my ideal story would be as well-crafted as anything by John Updike, John Updike, or Louis Auchincloss, but it would have more money shots and muscular young studs sleeping with suburban moms.
I hope I haven’t sounded too long-winded and/or pretentious. Tell me what you think in the comments below. Like, comment, and subscribe. Ya know, the usual social media bullshit.
the lloyd feldspar experience 