I don’t quite identify as poly, but I’m not in the closet about being non-monogamous; nor am I in the closet about being kinky; then again, the fact that I like to be tied up and beaten doesn’t tend to come up very often in polite conversation and these aren’t details about myself that I’m likely to offer up unprompted. In fact, I rarely offer up any information unprompted; it usually just seems unnecessary. Having said that, I am listed on Facebook as being “in an Open Relationship” and if something I believe in needs me to fight for it, I will.

The closet I am more concerned with at the moment is the ‘sex writer closet’. I have recently been given a new job. It doesn’t start until September, but it’s with a company I have previously worked for, and so when it comes to social networking I am still connected with some of my past and future colleagues. Although I came out in December, and made this blog accessible to anyone who cared to look, I don’t think a great many people have done much research or clicked many links, and in the seven months that ‘Harper Eliot’ was in brackets beside my (slightly doctored, for playful reasons) Facebook name, only one loving, fun and liberal cousin seems to have noticed that I lead something of a double life. However, despite the incredibly underwhelming response to my step out of the closet before Christmas, I still feel a little irritated at having to step back into it. Because really, coming out wasn’t for anyone else, it was for me.

I came out for several reasons, the main ones being, 1) I don’t like segregating my life, and 2) I truly believe that the more people there are in the closet, the harder it is to come out. With this second one in mind, I couldn’t help but feel guilty as I deleted ‘Harper Eliot’ from my Facebook profile and scrolled back to make sure there were no stray ‘(It Girl. Rag Doll)’ posts on my page. With any other company, this might not have been necessary, and I did dream of having a job where I could be out and it wouldn’t be a problem. But for this job I have to be in the closet. If not for my sake, then for the sake of my colleagues and even my family. The backlash could be too harmful for me to put anyone at risk.

But here’s where I’m lucky: as a sex writer, being in the closet is unlikely to be destructive to anyone else. Neither my friendships nor my relationships are going to suffer because I won’t tell the woman at the next desk that I write about sex. I have never, and doubt that I will ever, introduce my friends to my colleagues; I have just never been the kind of person who mixed the two. Not because I am keeping them apart in order to maintain secrets, but simply because London is a big city and I’m unlikely to run into a colleague in the middle of Soho at 11pm on a Saturday night. And even if I did, I think that person would probably be all right with my writing. If it even came up!

As for the non-monogamous and kinky closets? Well, even if I was the most straight-cut, monogamous person on earth, clients of the company have no business knowing about my sex life or my relationships. As for colleagues? I doubt the details of my kinks are ever going to come up. They just aren’t those kinds of people. And when it comes to non-monogamy, I am more than happy to be out. I am not going to be fired for having multiple partners, and I consider being out as non-monogamous something of a political statement. Monogamy is a status quo I am happy and proud to challenge, and I already have one slip up I would like to rectify in this area.

In March I was doing some cover work, and found myself in the kitchen with one of my colleagues. I was in a bad mood, and she happens to be a colleague I have, once or twice, had tea with after work, so I shared the reason for my bad mood: my period was late. She raised an eyebrow and asked me if it was possible that I could be pregnant. I shook my head no, and explained that the only person I’d had sex with recently had had a vasectomy, and that I’m very careful anyway. I’m not sure quite how I put it, but it came out as quite cold and clinical, as though this person was a near-stranger and she looked a little uncomfortable, so I explained, “He’s really lovely”, and then, in my tired, pissed off mood, added “So is his wife.” As her eyebrows scraped the ceiling and she escaped with her cup of tea, I realised that what she had probably heard was “I am helping this man cheat on his ‘lovely’ wife”. I kicked myself for this moment of terrible communication, but when I saw her later it seemed an inappropriate subject to raise again.

There is a high chance that, like me, she remembers this somewhat awkward and rather questionable conversation, and if that is the case, I hope I get the chance to properly come out to her once we are working together next year. Then she will hopefully realise that this lovely man’s lovely wife is perfectly aware of the situation, and I am far from being a homewrecker. And if I ever get the chance to introduce her to said couple, I will do it with pride and a glint in my eye.

As for sex writing? That will have to remain my secret for now. But I think I can make my peace with that: we all have to pick our battles.

The post Being in the Closet(s) appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

Stole in at starlight,
Unravelled sinew from sheet.
He stared at slightness.

Assuming I was safe
- told true darkness is gritty -
Thought you forgot but

she twisted her wrist,
Displaying point of contact
and stole my orgasm.

The post Lies in Amateur Porn appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

I started dating older men shortly after I had my first sexual experiences – with boys my own age – which I found to be intriguing, but largely unfulfilling. I already knew I was attracted to men much older than me, but it took a little while for me to find my footing, and in retrospect I am quite glad I lost my virginity to a friend my own age, as it meant figuring things out together; there was a sense of comradeship in our explorations. But of course, as is the case with so many of my dating choices, it was my budding inner kinkster that demanded I admit my liking for older men, and eventually I realised that one way or another, benefits and pitfalls all, this was going to be something I’d have to deal with quite a lot.

Since that realisation I have been involved with around ten older men, the age differences ranging from fifteen years to around thirty five, and whilst many of those relationships may not have lasted long, the ones that ended, ended amicably. Not only does this give me a nice platform from which to look back, but it leads me to my first point:

Provided I don’t cause it, my relationships with older men have been wonderfully drama-free. For me, that alone is enough to recommend these connections. That I am still good friends with at least five of them, and in touch with a further three, seems testament to how sensible and reasonable older men are. I know it seems obvious and perhaps overly simplistic, but I don’t think we really appreciate just how wonderful it is to be with someone who doesn’t sweat the small stuff, and won’t run a mile when you need to bring up emotional subjects. Of course, this isn’t the case with all older men, – likewise, not all younger men run when the going gets tough – and I have had a couple of experiences with older men who were just naturally nervous or fickle, but generally speaking, men in their late thirties and over have a better handle on what’s important, and are more likely to show respect. As an example, in the past year I have parted ways with two men in their forties/fifties and two men in their twenties/thirties. The older men kindly, clearly, and respectfully spoke to me about it; the two younger men simply stopped calling, leaving me in the dark for a week or so to figure it out for myself.

However, on the other side of this, being with an older man means I have to take on a little more responsibility. Whilst age doesn’t seem to lessen sympathy, there is only so much bullshit an older man is likely to put up with. It seems to really be true that the older you get, the more precious time becomes. Of course, I feel that people should always strive to be reasonable and sensible with their partners and not waste time, but being with someone older does make me more aware of what is important and what I’m just making a fuss about.

So far this has all been detail; aspects of the same kinds of issues that would arise no matter how old my partners are. This is just variation on humanity, really. So let me press a little deeper.

Something that has come up a couple of times, and always carries a lot of weight, is the fact that older men have had more time to accumulate ties. Whether it be children, or work, or friends, the older the man, the more likely he is to have something he is responsible for. In many ways, I’ve found this to be really wonderful. It adds to what I’ve said above about older men being sensible and responsible, but it also adds a sense of care and affection – and added care can be a very lovely thing. However, I’ll be honest: these kinds of responsibilities will always limit the amount of time I get to spend with my lovers. To a certain extent, this is a price I am more than willing to pay; but I won’t deny that it has led to the end of several otherwise wonderful connections. If you don’t have time for each other, you just don’t have time. Although I think there is also an argument to be made that in this fast paced world, we simply have to make time for the things we want, it’s not an argument I’ll make here, and ultimately, as with almost everything, I assess on a case by case basis. But in the end, my point still stands: as people get older, time gets more precious, and whilst I may still be a priority, I’m likely to be one of several. So I have come to terms with the fact that having a full time, together-more-often-than-not relationship with a much older man is less likely to happen than with someone closer to my own age.

But none of this is what really breaks my heart.

Here’s the thing: having decided to date older men, I began to come across married men, and I apologise if this sounds crass, but for the purposes of this argument, married men – and I mean men in monogamous commitments – fall into two camps: happy and unhappy. It really is that simple at times. Dating older men, I don’t come across a great deal of happily married men. But I do meet a lot of unhappily married men. In fact, the first older man I ever dated seriously wasn’t married, but he was in a committed relationship, living with a woman, and he left her; not for me, but I was something of a catalyst when it came to that decision. In this case, unable to break those final ties, he retreated, and six months later they were back together, and I was receiving a much too long email explanation I really didn’t want. I’m not saying this kind of situation never works, but that experience taught me to be wary, and I’ve heard more sad stories than happy ones when it comes to this kind of thing. I think situations in which a person leaves his or her long term partner for someone else are actually quite rare. Despite the number of divorces, my observation has been that people seem to leave because they need to leave, not because they have met someone new. And I always work from the assumption that a man is not going to leave his partner for me, because those situations can become very difficult, and I don’t particularly want to tear apart a relationship that might, for all intents and purposes, actually be quite good on the inside.

And yet… there is something utterly heartbreaking about falling for unhappily married men. Because I don’t think I would ever ask a man to leave his wife for me, no matter how great our own connection. I might suggest – and have – that a man open up his relationship with his wife, to allow him the freedom for both, but the truth is that we still live in a very mono-normative society, and that suggestion has yet to be taken with anything other than suspicion and uncertainty, which I understand: it is quite a high bar to clear if you’re in a long-term, monogamous relationship. So this leaves me in an awkward situation. The truth is that a lot of those men – twenty or thirty years older than me – have settled down. They are married, or have been; they often have children, and there may be something noble in staying in those relationships, but from where I stand, it can also be quite tragic.

Let me digress for a moment: there is, of course, another option. In many cases, I don’t necessarily have to choose and I don’t have ask men to leave their wives. In many cases, I could just consent to affairs. The truth of the matter is that many men are willing to cheat on their partners. They have justified that to themselves, and, after all, you only live once, and life is short, and really, we can only do the best we can whilst we’re here. However, I, personally, won’t help men cheat.

A year ago I went on two dates, with two different men. Both were married, both going behind their wives’ backs in order to meet me. I fucked one of them, and when it came to the other one… I couldn’t. We scheduled a second date, but I cancelled beforehand. And for a while I wrestled with my conscience. Because a part of me really does believe that life is too short to deny yourself happiness. But another part of me can’t help siding with their wives. Women whose lives are equally short, and who, if they knew, might very well feel that they are wasting their time. It is true, that with the two men I met last year, both had a sense of purpose about the way they pursued me. They weren’t simply open to connections with other women if and when they happened, they were purposefully seeking people to sleep with. Once again, I think this can be justified by the fact that life is short, and I can’t bring myself to really pass judgement on those who do cheat, but for myself, I can’t justify being a part of that deception either. It just doesn’t sit right with me, nor the way my affection manifests. And so I decided not to get involved with men in monogamous, committed relationships. Although, even that is proving to have some grey area!

But, back to my point. Knowing that most men are not going to leave their partners for me, it can be incredibly heartbreaking and frustrating, watching them go through the motions of an unhappy marriage, when I feel sure that if they left, if they started again with me, they would be happier. I know there is a part of this that is slightly ridiculous: how do I know that I could really make anyone happy? But still – it’s hard.

And to some extent, this is yet another symptom of our youth-loving, aesthetic obsessed society; and that makes me truly upset. I’m trying hard not to generalise, and there are always exceptions, but I do happen to know a handful of men who simply feel they couldn’t find anything better than what they have; men who really feel that most women don’t find them attractive any more. And who’s to say, if these idealisations didn’t beat us all down, that these men would be any more likely to leave unhappy marriages, anyway. But it feels like such a ridiculous detail to have standing between me and men I truly, utterly, adore. And what’s worse, in a society that seems to live so much online, flirting and compliments fall from people’s fingertips all-too-easily, and therefore are just as easily dismissed as playful and insincere. So when I say I find someone attractive, when I tell a man I want him, how is he supposed to tell the difference between my honest words, and the screaming of thousands of people vying for attention?

Time, commitments, priorities; I can make my peace with these kinds of obstacles. But when I say “I want you,” and it’s brushed off as idle, online banter? That tests my patience and breaks my heart. Because it is such a fucking stupid reason to reject happiness.

The post From May to December: Reflections on Dating Older Men appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

As many of you may know, I am trying to raise money in order to get myself across the pond to Atlanta for Eroticon USA in October. I have already received some amazing donations from readers and friends, for which I am incredibly grateful! Thank you!

I am doing my best to save money myself, but between studying and part-time work, it simply won’t be possible for me to raise the full amount without a little help. In Atlanta I will be able to support my good friend Ruby as she takes her amazing conference to America, as well as meet – for the first time! – some writers I have been talking to for years. In addition to this, I have never been to the US, and feel that Eroticon is the best excuse I could possibly have for my first trip there!

I feel incredibly touched by the donations I have already received, and in light of my gratitude, I would like to offer a little something to anyone who is able to offer me financial support. Whether your donation is large or small, I would like to say thank you, and am offering short pieces of personalised erotica as a token of my gratitude.

I’ve noticed that most people prefer to donate anonymously, so that names don’t appear on my GoFundMe page, so, here’s how it will work: if you are able to donate and would like to support my trip, please do so; and if you have already, it’s not too late to take me up on this offer! Once your donation has gone through (which should be immediate), email me on harper (at) itgirlragdoll dot com, with a little proposal of what you would like in terms of erotica. You can be as specific or as general as you like; if you’re a long time reader and would like a copy of a story that was formerly published on my site, that may be possible; or I may be able to send you a paperback copy of Strummed; or if you would just like something new, but don’t have any specifications about it, I can create something for you; or if you have a very good idea of what you would like me to write, I can do that too!

As I’ve said above, the idea of this is simply for me to show my gratitude towards anyone who donates, therefore I won’t be counting words per penny, or anything like that. However, if you do make a large donation (£50 or upwards), I would be more than happy to offer you something longer and/or more detailed. I am also more than happy to cater to unusual or interesting kinks or fetishes.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I will mention that I am currently in the midst of a heavy load of coursework and exam revision, therefore, until the end of May, any pieces requested may take me a little time. However, once we hit June, I should be able to offer a pretty hasty service, and anything I have not managed to do by then, will be my top priority.

It really would mean the world to me if I was able to make it to Atlanta in October, so if you can, please do donate. And I promise to bring back as much Eroticon USA information, experiences, soundbites and reflections as I can possibly manage!

Much love and thank you all,
Harper xx

The post A Token of Gratitude: Send Me to Eroticon USA! appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

“[We're] not sure if Erotica is the right genre. Erotica, from our point of view, is to titillate so we are uncomfortable with publishing this particular piece in that category. Would you be happy for me to change the genre to Contemporary rather than Erotica […]? Contemporary is for modern-day, generally realistic life stories, which can venture into bleak territory and confront controversial issues.”

This message could be taken in a variety of different ways, some of which I have since pondered. On the one hand, it seems to suggest that ‘controversial issues’ don’t belong in Erotica; that Erotica is closer to Romance in that it should deal with largely happy situations and sensual sexuality, and therefore my story of prostitution and rape does not conform to that framework. This view could be based upon the idea that people read Erotica in order to be aroused, and that ‘controversial issues’ are not generally considered to be arousing. This, then, makes assumptions about what people find arousing, and for me that poses two problems. First of all, it is difficult because everyone has different arousal triggers. For some that socially acceptable sensuality may genuinely be the gateway to their sexuality; but for others – myself included – the transgression and difficulty of those ‘controversial issues’ may be far more intriguing. Secondly, if Erotica is there to cause arousal and has no place confronting its readers with conflict, then I would argue that the term ‘Erotica’ has become almost synonymous with ‘pornography’.

But I want to step back from Ether Books, because I believe this question is much larger than one company making a decision about genre, and, in fact, it may be that they consider stories on a piece-by-piece basis, and that ‘For a Few Dollars More’, which is a particularly gritty story, is simply a step too transgressive for their idea of Erotica – which may still contain some conflict and/or difficulty. To know where they really stand on that issue I – or you – would have to read a lot of what they publish as Erotica.

I also want to point out (once again) that I do not believe that literary, or contemporary, or conflict-ridden (whatever term you wish to use) Erotica is any better or worse than pornography. Pornography is a damn fine tradition, and takes very particular skills to create. This is not a matter of quality, but a matter of definition.

When I replied to Helen I wrote:

“That’s absolutely fine. I actually agree – as the genre stands, very little of my work fits under ‘Erotica’. […] I would be delighted to be placed elsewhere as, I agree, my writing doesn’t really belong there.”

And I stand by that. I think, in this case, Helen is completely right. And the problems with the Erotica genre are not about any one publisher or writer, they are deeply ingrained in the genre, and as it stands, Erotica unequivocally misrepresents my writing – and the writing of many brilliant authors.

With Erotica now very much in the public eye – spearheaded by that trilogy we will not name – it has also become synonymous with terms such as “Mummy Porn”, seeming to highlight the kind of literature published by Mills & Boon, and other similar companies. Generally speaking, these publishers are not dealing with conflict; drama and obstacles, yes, but not conflict. And my writing sure as hell does not fit in with this kind of literature. In fact, I would argue that, in terms of content – I am not making qualitative comparisons – ‘For a Few Dollars More’ is much closer to Vladimir Nabokov and Angela Carter than it is to Maya Banks and Michelle Reid.

There was a discussion on twitter a couple of weeks ago about creating a new genre, but this is so rife with problems, and just seems to open yet another erotic genre to exploitation. So, for myself, I am more than happy to be put into a genre titled Contemporary, because it does not set up as many assumptions about content, or emotional or sexual response. It simply puts my work in with other pieces that are difficult to define. And that suits me down to the ground, because as it stands, I don’t think Erotica has space for conflict, and I have no interest in writing without that kind of difficulty.

Genres may just be another form of labels, but they certainly bear thinking about, particularly when eroticism and (perhaps) arousal – two very intangible subjects – are involved. Because we cannot know what our readers consider erotic, but it is the job of publishers to label your work; after all, that’s how you sell it.

• • • • •

Despite the initial uncertainty about Ether Books displayed in this piece I actually recommend them quite highly. They are friendly, professional, and (most importantly, to me) unlikely to censor you for dealing with difficult subjects. That alone is pretty rare, and therefore precious, in the publishing world.

In order to purchase ‘For a Few Dollars More’, download the Ether Books app, and find Harper Eliot under Authors.

The post Why What I Write is Not Erotica appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

My curiosity piqued, I followed my friends through the double doors and even smirked a little as two beautiful young things greeted us. Too slight to be security, the entirety of their job was, apparently, to welcome the thousands of consumers who made it through those doors each day. I lowered my eyes, uncomfortable with the smiles they shone at us. Directly ahead was that ever famous torso, twenty feet high, evidently all the store needed in the way of logos. I even laughed as I noticed, standing before this giant image, a young man – perhaps my own age – the front of his grey hoody and red checkered shirt open to display his own ripped chest and stomach. At his side, safe in the casually slung crescent of his arm, was a plain looking girl, grinning at the camera whilst he smoldered above her.

Whether it was at this moment itself, or upon recollecting it as I was sucked into the heaving innards of the shop, I’m not sure: but when I reflect upon the experience, I see him, and my stomach turns.

It is one thing to stand before a camera in a white studio, or even to stride along the catwalk, visible but removed from the crowds; it is quite another to make yourself a mannequin for the titillation of tourists and consumers; to be touched like plastic, and photographed in no more than two dimensions. Looking at him, twenty minutes later, as I ducked out of the shop, desperate for the cold light of day and deeply inhaled nicotine, I wondered what that kind of objectification does to a person.

Of course, I have no doubt this role was one he had consented to. I don’t think it takes a great deal of persuading in order to get a model to pick up that kind of exposure. And perhaps it is incomparable, but thinking back I couldn’t help but contrast his situation with that of submissives who crave degradation and objectification. Yet, perhaps it is a poignant remark: our society is happy to let this man stand in the doorway, an object for the aesthetic pleasure of shoppers. How much thought do you think he put into this decision? As he stood there in the foyer, did he feel his smile become less sincere? Did his cheeks hurt? Did even one of the women or men who clamoured to be at his side wonder what his name was? Meanwhile, forced into the cupboard under the stairs, bound and gagged, any intelligent submissive has thought of this moment for a long time. He or she has pondered the implications, negotiated with a partner, measured to fit him or herself into that space. And, of course, there is the want. However, this latter image is one far beyond the comprehension, or the desire for comprehension, of most people.

But this is not an essay about BDSM. Even if this previous comparison does not stand up; even if the model in the foyer had dreamed of this moment, longed for it, begged for it, his customers didn’t know that. Far more important is the matter of us; of the consumers.

As I plunged into the low-lit, club-like atmosphere of the store, my ears filled with pounding bass, I observed the customers moving with almost desperate need. No one waited patiently; nor did they smile contentment. I saw only searching eyes, ravaging the shelves and the human mannequins: all carbon copies with only minutely differing palettes adorning the establishment. I saw kinder eyes in the face of my abuser. Some were placed strategically to look like assistants; others hovered at the top of the stairs, in doorways and alcoves, just to smile and ensure that you, the customer, were never left in any doubt of their aesthetic happiness. This disturbed me, firstly, knowing that never in a million years could I stand in this place and be considered perfect enough to represent it; not that I would ever want to, but that kind of discrimination fills me with fear for every girl or boy who feels their own inconsequence in the world. In the second instance I was struck by how revolting it is to use human beings as advertising. I wondered how these jobs were publicised, how the men and women were picked. What has happened to us that our friends and family and lovers may aspire to this kind of servitude?

I was wrong, at 14, when the highlight of channel 4’s Sunday morning line-up was The OC, a show about rich teenagers, troubled over society events and drug dealers. I naïvely believed that people watched it for the ridiculous, unintended humour of the action. Perhaps I wanted to believe that people were smart enough to remove themselves from that fantasy. But I was wrong. The vision sparked a hunger; a need for this shiny, unrealistic lifestyle. And now, here, in the middle of a city that has my heart, this disgusting desperation has been commodified. Now, for £50 you can buy a cardigan that will make you feel, in any situation, that you come from this place. That you are a part of it. But I have no doubt it will also leave you with a sense of inadequacy. Which is, of course, the saddest part of all: I don’t want to believe that my fellow man is sitting with a sense of futility all because he can’t be a handpicked, dehumanised mannequin. I so deeply want to believe in more than this; to look around and see faces satisfied through hard work and genuine emotion.

I would rather see a woman weeping over the death of her husband than witness the dissatisfaction of girl who’s shorts don’t quite conjure the universe she briefly inhabited as she handed over her hard earned cash. This place made me crave pain; not in the desirous way of a masochist, but as a girl, desperate to experience something real and present. I wanted to watch bruises bloom around my eye because someone had felt enough to do that to me.

Perhaps this seems dramatic; one company is representing a fantasy people will pay for; so what? But I am not so concerned with the existence of this particular place as I am with the demand for it. What does it say about who we are? We come from a species that has been to the moon. We have fought great and terrible wars over religion and truth; however horrific warfare may be, someone felt passionately enough to stake his life on his beliefs. We have pondered the creations of great men, and wept over the decisions of maniacs. And now, in a century where common people hold more technology and power in the palms of their hands than was present on that first space shuttle, we are pushing each other out of the way in the hope of acquiring nothing more than a word, sewn by slave fingers onto bright coloured acrylic.

Maybe I am being dramatic, but when I gasped free, stepping out onto the grey pavement, I was stuck by only one thought: this is the place love and morality come to die.

And it is not a place that should exist on earth.

The post Abercrombie & Fitch, Burlington Gardens, Saturday 30th March 2013, 2.00pm appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

Please send audio files and written reviews to harper (at) itgirlragdoll dot com. Thank you!

Posts about and reviews of Eroticon 2013 are already springing up everywhere and I think it’s safe to say that even if it wasn’t all your cup of tea, everyone had a spectacularly inspiring and thought-provoking weekend. With a year’s build-up, this second round at Eroticon had a lot to live up to, and I’m happy to say it surpassed 2012 in almost every way.

Before I go on to my comments about the sessions I attended, I will say that it was a weekend that showed how much truth there is in that old saying: ‘Nothing worth having comes easy’. Despite how wonderfully inspiring it was, and how overwhelmingly happy I felt throughout the vast majority of the weekend, it was by no means easy. Running on adrenaline for 48 hours plus, I began to feel my armour slipping, and by Sunday night my emotions and my nerves were raw – as if the skin had been peeled from my body and the slightest touch of my red exterior would send me screaming. But the reason I ended up feeling this raw is just too wonderful to ignore and I would – will! – do it again and again, year after year, because I think it is that important: at Eroticon, I found comradeship, new friends, old friends; I realised just how much some people mean to me, and I felt truly accepted. I didn’t need the armour, because no one was there to attack. Everyone was there to learn and share. In essence, I simply opened myself up to something incredible; and the side effects of that, the intense vulnerability as I made my way home, were not easy, in the slightest. But, as I say, I would do it again in a heartbeat, because these experiences are so vital and ultimately nourishing to every part of my life.

Last year, at Eroticon 2012, I don’t think I realised just how much of a novice I was. I felt confident and present, and I wasn’t frightened by the prospect of being there, but I was wide-eyed and innocent; eager to learn and find my way into the larger community. In the year since that shining day in March 2012, my relationships with the people I met, or got to know better, there have flourished and I am no longer trying to find my way in: I am there. That’s not to say that the community is at all exclusive; it’s simply a matter of finding your place. Four people really stand out, as having welcomed me and become the backbone of my place at Eroticon: Molly, Michael, Remittance Girl, and Ruby. My friendships with the first three are extremely close, and in some ways deeply personal, but I will say something about Ruby.

Despite being a volunteer (who got off incredibly lightly!) at Eroticon 2012 and therefore having been in contact with Ru over email for much of 2011, the event itself was, in fact, the first time I met her, and I didn’t spend a great deal of time with her on the day. She struck me as someone to admire, simply by way of the incredible work she had done to pull the event together; she came across as extremely professional and exceptionally experienced. Having, as I’ve said, not spent much time with her on the day, I didn’t feel I knew her all that well, so it was a heartwarming surprise when she invited me to stay with her during the Summer. Over the course of two days, we walked around her hometown, played in her daughter’s ‘ship’, talked about mutual friends, and shared our thoughts on Eroticon (amongst many other things!), and by the time I was getting on the train, I was full of ideas and inspiration, feeling incredibly blessed that I had been allowed a glimpse into her life. And here’s the thing: she is professional, and I think the way she presented herself at Eroticon 2012 gave the impression that this all comes naturally to her; that she is a businesswoman who wears suits every day, and has hoards of people working for her. But she’s not. She is a businesswoman, and she is professional, but she doesn’t have a team at her beck and call. She created Eroticon from nothing! So when, during the run up to the 2013 conference, I saw people complaining about the price of the tickets, I wondered if maybe they had this extraordinarily professional image of Ru in their heads, and assumed that for her, getting sponsors and funding for the event was small fry; easy. Although I think most people know – if they think about it – that this isn’t true for anyone, there is something to be said about those subconscious ideas we get about people; those first, visual impressions can be very striking. But the truth is that it is by no means easy for her. She runs Eroticon out of passion and love and dedication, because she knows that it’s important; because there are those of us who need it. And I don’t think anyone there this weekend can be in any doubt of how their ticket money was spent: it was spent creating a phenomenal two day conference which afforded us all the kind of inspiration and friendships you cannot put a price on.

But onto the weekend itself.

As anyone who listened to IGRD 01: Get me to Coin Street will know, I had my entire weekend pretty much planned out before I got there, and I only made a handful of amendments on the day.

Day 1: Opening plenary: Brook: XES: We can’t go backwards (Brook)
The conference was opened with a talk on sexual health and sex education from a representative of the XES: We can’t go backwards campaign. The talk was interesting and informative, but I was left wondering if a talk about policies and sexual health was really the right way to start a conference for writers.

Myth busting: the submissive woman (Molly Moore)
This was the first of a few sessions which I attended for love of the person leading it. I was there to support my good friend and podcast co-host, but also because I knew a lot of the people attending it would be submissive women, and I very much wanted to be in a room with all of these inspiring people, some of whose exploits I get the benefit of reading about on their blogs. The session was brilliant, and Molly truly covered a lot in her 45 minutes! and very clearly and coherently. A great way to break the ice and get into the full swing of Eroticon.

Editing (Cressida Downing)
Being a firm believer in the editing process – and having read enough badly edited literature to know how often this essential process is done badly, or not at all! – this session was a must for me. Despite being mindful of my own editing, there is always something new to learn. Cressida Downing knows her business, and was an incredibly engaging and funny speaker. A joy and a lesson in one.

Creative Writing: Eroticism and Romanticism (Remittance Girl)
Standing outside the door before this session with Molly, RG looked at us both and asked us what we were doing there, saying we already knew everything she was going to say. And whilst I had already talked to her about a lot of the content of her talk, it was still fascinating; besides which, when we’re having tea in her living room, I don’t get to take notes! Her brilliant session covered the fine distinction between eroticism and romanticism and discussed the importance of transgression in fiction, which anyone who has read my work will know is one of my primary concerns when I write. Oh, and she also claimed that “the Pope is not huggy!”

Writing for the Adult Industry (Ruby Goodnight)
Ruby Goodnight was another person with whom I spent a lot of time during the weekend, and I was thrilled to have the chance to get to know her better, and to attend her brilliant session. Ruby talked openly and frankly about how to get into writing for the Adult Industry, the pitfalls and how to find success. She is a very good presenter, and I sincerely hope she will run another similar seminar, where writers can get an even deeper insight into this world and how we might break into it.

Self-Publishing: Getting started when you go it alone (MK Elliott)
Unfortunately a lot of this session was used up trying to get Guy New York up and running via Google Hangouts and Skype (as he was supposed to co-present). However, once MK started (handling the sudden change to presenting solo with professional grace), it was a very comprehensive look at the difficulties and benefits of self-publishing. I will definitely be contacting her in the future, as and when I make my way into this world.

Day 1: Closing plenary (Ruby Kiddell)
I have heard from several people that they felt this talk was a little too negative and therefore not the best way to close day one, and I do understand where they are coming from in this respect. Perhaps it was badly placed in the schedule; however! what Ruby talked about – that sex blogging does not take itself nearly seriously enough, and is not up to date with policies and copyright and the laws of what it’s doing, and is therefore less able to effect change through the work it produces, – is really important, and I sincerely hope that the audience took what she was saying on board.

Day 2: Opening plenary (Ruby Kiddell)
I have to confess that when it comes to recalling the content of this talk, I am drawing a blank. It was a long weekend! I suppose something was bound to slip. But I do remember it being very interesting, and largely positive. My notes read: ‘About unbelievable things becoming believable by way of very real and natural characters. In favour of indie presses for ‘different’ voices.’

Polyamory 101 (Lori Smith & Amanda Jones)
In my Eroticon 2013 Meet’n’Greet I put this down as my Must Attend session. Having recently begun identifying as non-monogamous, I have done a lot of research on the subject and so I did know a lot of the content of this session. But I have found that all my doubts and fears and worries are very well addressed by being in the company of and listening to the wise words of other non-monogamous people, so being in this room was essential for me. Lori and Amanda presented an exceptionally well timed session with humour and fun, dispelling some hard learned myths about human sexuality, and ending with a quick-fire, timed, Buzzcocks-style question and answer section that had us delegates laughing and rapt. (This session is also available as audio.)

Porn Challenge (Justin Hancock)
This was another session I had been looking forward to very much. I’ve been reading Justin’s work for a few months now, and was thrilled to get the opportunity to attend his session. We were all taken back to school days, split into groups and asked to address the problems in porn today. With big pieces of paper and felt-tip pens we began solving issues such as race, disability, and identity. It was refreshing to be in a session that was a little bit more interactive and great fun to work with the other delegates.

Storytelling and Sex (Alison Robert, Justin Hancock & Emily Dubberley)
Unfortunately this was the one session of the weekend with which I did not get on. The session covered the idea of writing safer sex practices into erotic fiction. Whilst it is an admirable idea, and it has (apparently) been shown to increase the use of protection amongst young people, it bore no relevance to my writing, as what I write is transgressive. Safe sex would not only undermine the story but be completely superfluous. When you write about rape and beastiality, condoms are not the problem. So, I will confess, I left this session early and skipped upstairs to…

SEO Love (Michael Knight)
Although I have pretty much had this session one-to-one with Michael – as have many other lucky people! – it was a joy to watch him gleeful with nerdy joy as he took the delegates through the minutiae of self-hosting, running, and promoting websites. This man knows what he’s talking about!

BDSM Tools of the Trade (Molly Moore & Michael Knight)
By this point in the weekend I was feeling understandably overwhelmed and so, although I had not planned to attend this session, I decided I wanted to spend some time with people I love, and listen to them talking about all the delicious things I crave. It was exceptionally well presented, informative, and fun – I walked out with a lovely red misery stick mark burning on my forearm; aren’t I lucky? If you want to see what it was all about, I made a good effort to live-tweet the session under #ToolsBDSMTrade.

Sex and the Media (Zoe Margolis & Nichi Hodgson)
Last year, the Sex and the Media session was pretty much the highlight of my weekend. I learned an extraordinary amount about what it really means to be a sex writer, and upped my anonymity ten-fold whilst I decided whether or not to come out. Unfortunately, this year, the session was repetitive and very negative. Whilst I understand that sex is not well represented in the mainstream media, Zoe and Nichi offered very few ways to get round the problems and fix it, which I found disappointing. There were, however, some good comments and questions from the other delegates.

Day 2: Closing plenary (Cindy Gallop)

Having become aware of Cindy Gallop relatively recently, I have been watching her work carefully. I’ve heard a lot of her talk before on the Savage Lovecast and Sex Out Loud, but it was a joy to have her address us directly, and to get to listen to her once again. She is a very money-motivated person, which I think some people find troublesome, but I actually really admire her ethos and I think her ideas are exceptionally well presented. She left the conference on a positive, but important note. In addition, due to the fact that she couldn’t attend the conference itself, she was streamed in on the big screen, but apologised for her absence, saying she would never usually give the closing plenary to a conference she had not attended and I greatly appreciated that she addressed this. It seemed to show a great deal of awareness and understanding. (This talk is available to watch online.)

And there you have it. Overall a wonderful weekend! My deepest love, appreciation and respect to Ruby Kiddell for creating this spectacular conference. TWICE.

If you’ve written about Eroticon 2013, don’t forget to link up on the Write Sex Right site. Also, I will write about Saturday night’s reading event, Aural Sex, in the next few days, so watch for that post. AND… don’t forget to send us your soundbites and mini-reviews for the podcast!

Edit: I’ve noticed, on twitter and Facebook, that a lot of people are experiencing what I identify as ‘drop’ in the wake of Eroticon. So just in case it’s helpful to anyone, I’m adding a link to my article on how to survive drop alone. ‘Drop’ is a BDSM term, but I do also address other forms of drop as well.

The post Eroticon 2013, in review appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

I remember being very small when my Mother told me to use a flannel with soap for my body, but always just water for my “front bottom”. At some point in my teen years I heard tell of a sanitary towel that made you bleed slower and for longer – so that you would have to buy more. (I’ve never seen any concrete evidence for this, and I’m not sure which brand it supposedly was, but it certainly seems feasible in a world where everything is geared towards making money.) A few years after that I was standing in the staff lounge at my first full-time job, discussing with my female colleagues how you are supposed to wipe your vagina front to back, rather than (what seemed to me to be) the more natural option of back to front. Last year I was listening to a podcast and I heard the vagina described as “the perfect ecosystem”. And finally over Thanksgiving dinner this year, I was informed that women ought to bathe fairly regularly (rather than always showering) in order that the water might cleanse whatever it could reach.

Whilst my Mother’s first piece of advice has served me very well, it seems wrong that I should have had to wait two decades to get just five pieces of information about my own body. Furthermore, for several years during my childhood I had cystitis and due to the lack of information about vaginal health, I still don’t know why. But suffice to say the experience was traumatic and left me with a lot of fear for a long time.

It would seem that people still need to be told; it would seem that even women older than me are unaware of just how simultaneously delicate and yet robust the vagina is.

The truth is that it IS robust! Extremely. It has to be: it’s designed to push babies into the world! And it is also “the perfect ecosystem”. But it is not an ecosystem you want to unbalance. The vagina is self-cleaning. White or clear discharge is completely normal and healthy. It is your vagina’s way of cleaning itself. The amount and consistency of this discharge will usually vary during your cycle, but basically, if your knickers are a little – or even a lot! – damp, it is a good thing. However, in order to maintain this cleanliness the vagina contains a lot of (good!) bacteria, and the PH balance is not something you want to mess with. All wet wipes and similar products contain chemicals that your vagina does not need or want. Upsetting the balance of the lovely ecosystem between your thighs is not a good idea. In fact I believe there is a brand of sanitary towels who provide little wipes with each pad: I haven’t looked into this in any depth, but I would suggest you do if you ever consider using them. Similarly with vaginal douches: even if you fill the douche with clear water only, it’s still not ideal. Some natural inflow is fine – you certainly don’t have to worry about keeping it out! – but your cunt does not need to be cleaned intensively by you: it’s doing it just fine by itself.

As the title suggests, the Pussy Pride Project is about finding love for and confidence in your vagina, and in a society that is hell bent on promoting only the most narrow-minded, perfectly tucked, tight and – of course – waxed cunts, it can be extremely difficult to love what may be the different picture between your legs. The Pussy Pride Project was started in response to the rise in labiaplasty, and I believe the main imperfections women see in their own anatomy are to do with how the vagina looks. Things like the Pussy Pride Project and The Great Wall of Vagina do wonderful work helping to dispel the myth of the ‘perfect vagina’ when it comes to aesthetics. But actually, when I was a teenager I used to read what I now think of as teen-tabloids – they contain the same kind of trivial yet dramatised pieces – and I remember reading many letters from teenage girls who were concerned about the smell and the discharge from their vaginas, not the way they looked. Given how prevalent an issue this was for younger women, it seems likely that it is also a concern for us as we get older; and if we can only talk about cunts aesthetically because porn has forced us to look at ourselves, I should imagine we are still fairly uncomfortable discussing smell and discharge. Not least because this mixes the ideas of sexuality with medical matters and seems to infer STIs. In fact, I’m willing to bet that for women who feel they smell different, this may be a greater concern than the aesthetics, but one we are far less likely to talk about.

The truth of the matter is, cunts come in all shapes and sizes with varying amounts of discharge. The vast majority are completely healthy and normal; and when there are problems they are usually very simple and easily treatable. If you think there is something not quite right, go and see your doctor. Infections are relatively common and – as I say – usually very easily treated.

If you go to the doctor and discover there is nothing wrong, but what’s going on in your knickers is still knocking your confidence, there are things you can do, and in fact they are pretty much the same things that are suggested for all health issues: eat well, exercise, and get some air. Exercise tones your pelvic floor muscles, making your already robust vagina even stronger. And, of course, eating well affects all the chemicals in your body, and may have a positive effect on the smell of your cunt. But the chances are, your cunt is as healthy and smells as natural as it should. Remember: if it was supposed to smell of perfume, it already would. As for the air, your cunt should not be in your knickers at all times. It needs some air and there is no reason to sleep with your cunt clothed. In fact, it also hadn’t occurred to me until very recently that the notion of wearing knickers all day every day is completely socialised and often unnecessary. There is no real reason that you need to have knickers on under your leggings or jeans, or whatever else you choose to wear. (However I do understand that some of us – myself often included – need the security of this.)

To sum up, when it comes to the health of your vagina, here is what I would like to pass on, from my twenty-three years on this planet, various conversations, and a little research:

• Your vagina is a well-balanced ecosystem, equipped to look after itself, as long as you don’t disrupt it!
• Be careful when buying sanitary towels and tampons: you should know what’s in the things you press against/insert into your cunt.
• Same goes for condoms and diaphragms, lubricants and spermicides. BUT – don’t take this as a reason not to use protection: just do your research.
• Even water can wash away the bacteria in your cunt: vaginal douches are unnecessary, and potentially damaging.
• If you really think there is a problem with your vagina, go and see your doctor: infections are common and usually highly treatable.
• If you’re still dissatisfied with how everything is working, take a look at your diet and exercise.
• And let your cunt get some air as often as possible.

I really would like to see these issues raised more often, because I have a sneaking suspicion this is the part of vaginal health we are least willing to discuss. But the chances are that 1) you are perfectly healthy and 2) if you happen not to be, it is still no big deal.

Be sensible, do your research, and let your cunt take care of itself.

The post The Perfect Ecosystem: a Pussy Pride Piece appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

But perhaps that’s too big a challenge anyway. I would bend to kiss the feet of the person who can give three, four, five hours of discussion to each individual they meet who has misunderstood or misinterpreted what it means to be dominant, or submissive, or sadistic, or masochistic, or any variation and combination of the above; but I am not this person. Don’t get me wrong: when it comes to the people I love, my friends and, well, perhaps my family from the right angle, I will give it the time it takes to help them understand me and my life. But with near-strangers, I would prefer to order another G&T and discuss Tuesday’s episode of The New Normal.

Which brings me to two points: one, it is a gift beyond anything I have known to meet people who just understand. The conversation begins and it hits that moment, and there is no snag, no pause, just understanding. Of course, you will never completely agree with anyone, but there is a place of harmony where you don’t have to explain where you’re sitting, you can simply discuss what you see – because this other person sees it too. Maybe they don’t completely agree with your analysis, but they see it. Secondly, whilst the individual, micro-explaining that I described above may not be my chosen course of action, I still believe that a broader, more open discussion can bring people round to, not the same point of view as you, but a similar one, and certainly a lot more acceptance.

Which is why I am so thrilled that my dear friend Molly – who, incidentally, is one of those people with whom I just understand, without explanation – is running a session at Eroticon titled Myth Busting: the submissive woman. As part of her preparation for this session, she has asked her readers to answer a few questions about the imbalance between how submission manifests and how that is represented or misrepresented in the world.

And so Molly asks…

What are the top 5 myths/beliefs you would like to dispel about submissive women?
(I only have four, but they are closely interwoven.)

The main thing I would like to dispel is the myth that because I am a fiercely independent, strong-headed, ambitious, and – yes – dominant woman when it comes to my work, I am not really submissive. Anyone who has actually seen me submit will know that I truly am, at my core, submissive.

This first myth goes hand-in-hand with my second point: that a real submissive should be submissive to everyone. In reality – and this is true for 99% of the submissives I have met – the list of people I will submit to is a drop in the ocean of people I will not submit to.

The third belief I would like to dispel is actually more prevalent within the community than out of it: this is the infuriating belief that a true submissive will never say no to his/her dominant. That in order to really be submissive you have to agree to let down all your boundaries and agree to everything and anything you are told to do.

This also mixes with the fourth belief I would like to address: that safewords are unnecessary. People are allowed to play in whatever way they wish, but I am a strong believer in safewords and I am no less submissive for having one.

As a submissive woman, use up to 5 words to describe you or your submission.
The complete corruption of innocence.

In erotic fiction what are the most common ‘wrongs’ you come across that don’t work for you as a submissive woman?
My pet hate with all fiction is characters – but particularly female characters – who are so full of self-doubt and neuroses that it overwhelms all sense of agency. Whilst it could be argued that the reason this trope is used so often is that it is only a slightly exaggerated reflection of the truth for many people, it does not apply to everyone. Furthermore, it is a character flaw attributed all too often to submissive, female characters. Given our socialised understanding of a submissive woman as someone who requires a leader (and in some ways that can be true) it’s easy to understand why the submissive woman might be read as a character who cannot lead herself. The problem with this, for me, is that most of the submissive women I know actually have a very strong sense of self, often because they have had to look very deeply at themselves in terms of their submission.

If you could ask a submissive woman any question, what would it be?
This question is tricky for me because I know a lot of submissive women and have asked them many questions. But the main thing I always want to know is how her submission manifests for her. How it feels to be submissive, and what physical form it takes in terms of the actions and sexuality she lives. Because I know that it does not mean over-the-knee spanking for everyone, and even when it does, that still may not be at its core.

If you could as ME (Molly) any question, what would it be?
This question is even trickier because I am fortunate enough to be very close to Molly and I have asked her numerous burning questions this week alone. However, I do have a question I would like to ask publicly: what, from your point of view, is the best thing we – submissive women and the men and women we love – can do to help society better understand what it means to be submissive?

• • • • •

If you haven’t got your ticket for Eroticon 2013, it is not too late! Simply visit the site here and register for your weekend ticket.

And if you are coming to Eroticon on March 2nd-3rd, be sure to come and support Molly and the other delegates who are offering a free evening of erotic readings and cabaret. More information here.

The post Answer Time: the curious state of submission appeared first on (It Girl. Rag Doll).

Yesterday she posted a piece on her blog titled How To Get Robbed In The City Of Chicago, which reminded me that 1) I was mugged about a month ago, and 2) I had forgotten to write about it. So I thought, rather than trying to find my own way to explain this episode of my life in my own way – which I already failed to do once – I would write after the style of Alle, in a sort of call and response storytelling tradition of times gone by.

And it is with all this in mind that I offer you my response: How To Get Robbed In The Borough Of Croydon.

• Despite being accepted onto a handful of respected full-time bachelor of arts degree courses, pick the one that only runs classes at night so you will never be home before 9pm, and possibly not before 10.30pm (because the people there offered you a place within three hours of interviewing you).*
• In your second year, choose an elective class that runs from 7.30pm to 9pm on Wednesdays in central London when none of your usual classmates are there.**
• On your way home always opt to get off the train one stop early and catch the bus so as to avoid walking past the creepy park in your own neighbourhood.
• Also always opt to wait for the bus that stops right outside your house rather than getting on the earlier one that stops three minutes from your house, in order to avoid walking past the creepy shops in your own neighbourhood.
• Realise that by the time you actually get home everyone will be asleep and so you won’t be able to play Words With Friends.
• Get your phone out at the bus stop, as there are a couple of respectable-looking people standing not too far away.
• Begin to formulate a brilliant word in order to gain many points and catch up with your Mum on Words With Friends.
• Gasp as your phone is snatched straight out of your tired, cold hands.
• Swivel on the spot, squint (because you haven’t got your glasses on) at the hazy figure who just stole your phone.
• Yell “Are you fucking kidding me?” several times as he runs off, pursued by his somewhat (or ‘faking it’) confused friends.
• Pursue them yourself, shouting “You fucking cunt! You fucking asshole – are you fucking kidding me?” knowing you will never catch up with your Doc Martens on your tired and unfit feet.
• Start a fast-paced, out-loud dialogue with yourself as you round a corner and see no trace of the thief or his friends.
• Realise your phone is jam-packed with smut, and walk swiftly to the next bus stop where, in the distance, you see your bus pulling up. Begin to run for it.
• Avoid punching two teenage boys outside a pub who laugh at “the fat girl running”.
• Get on the bus, sit down, reach into your pocket for your phone, and freak out again because it’s not there. (Repeat this several times.)
• Reach your house, open the front door dramatically, drop all your stuff, and run upstairs, briefly yelling to your Mum that your phone was stolen out of your hand.
• Contact O2 and get them to cancel and block your phone before making a list of all 21 of the logged in email and social networking accounts active on your phone, and start changing all your passwords – just to be on the safe side – whilst ranting and crying about your stolen phone on twitter.
• Report your stolen phone to the police.
• Look up three hours later, when all your accounts are finally changed and checked and double-checked.
• Get a call from the police and arrange for them to come and visit you at home the next day.
• Realise you haven’t eaten dinner and are in no mood to cook, but then find some bacon and decide that maybe you could stretch to a little frying while your tea brews.
• Notice that three friends are offering you phones via twitter and feel your heart brim with love and appreciation. Take one up on his offer.
• Smile about the fact that you have a phone to go and collect from said friend in the morning and then frown as you realise you’d better clear the house up a bit before the police come by.
• Laugh at yourself, and drift off uneasily.

• Try not to giggle the next day when the policeman describes what happened to you as “snatch-theft”.
• Over the next few weeks begin to slowly persuade your Mum that she should really buy the iPhone 5 she wants (so you can adopt her six-month-old iPhone 4S).***

All in all, it may be “up and coming” but at 10.30pm, Croydon is still the shithole it always was. Which is why, when I go out and alcohol is involved I save money for a taxi home from the station. And why I will never have my phone in my hand outside East Croydon station ever again. Because the world is full of cunts who – guess what! – aren’t “fucking kidding me”.

*No, I don’t regret this decision.
**Or this one.
***It’s only a matter of time.

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