Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Holiday Thoughts & Wishes from Alyssa Steel

This is a hectic time of  year for many people. There are so many things to be done, and it seems like there's just not enough time in the day to get everything that needs doing done.

My own life is a whirlwind of activity right now. Between homeschooling my son, (actually, don't tell him I said so, but my husband has now taken over homeschooling entirely so I can have more time to write) buying  Christmas gifts, making Christmas gifts, attending holiday parties, making cookies for friends and neighbors, and working on all of my various writing projects, I feel like I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in weeks.

I know I'm not alone out there, feeling the hustle and bustle of the Holiday season, so I just wanted to take a moment to remind you that it's okay not to get it all done. It's okay not to buy a gift for everyone in your office or to attend every blasted party you're invited to. It's okay to curl up on the couch with a good book, a cozy blanket and a steamy cup of  hot cocoa and to just take an hour or two for yourself. Take time to enjoy your family, take time to laugh and sing badly. Take a moment to kiss your partner in the toy aisle at Target. Paint a picture with your child, let your cat cuddle on your lap and scratch your dog's belly. These are the moments that we will carry with us for the rest of our lives, so please don't let the frenetic pace of the season distract you from them.

Slow down and enjoy a cup of cocoa on me.


HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Monday, November 26, 2012

His Heat, My Desire

After her fiancĂ© moved out without a warning, a young woman decides go to a party. She hopes he will be there so he can see that she’s not heartbroken. She decides to take a short cut through an alley and comes face to face with her deepest desires. 

Buy it now for your Kindle, Nook, or on Google Play



A tale of paranormal erotica.

Alyssa Steel's erotica eBookHis Heat, My Desire, is available on Kindle & Smashwords

Happy Holidays from Alyssa Steel ♥

Monday, October 29, 2012

The Seductive Voice of Depression

"Do it." The slippery voice urges me with assurance.

Tears stream down my face and I shake my head. I can't. I won't.

"You know," it says, "there really is no point in playacting at this anymore. Just do it."

 A long buried memory plays out behind my blurry and red eyes.
I'm a skinny little girl with lice infested hair and bruises on my arms and legs. I'm trying to do my math homework but I'm confused and I don't have anyone to ask for help. I hear my mother throwing things and I want to vanish before she makes her way to my room.The pencil is in my right hand and before I know what I'm doing, I start to rub the eraser against my my left arm. I rub harder and the heat of the friction hurts but it's nothing compared to some of the other things I have felt. Her voice gets closer to my room but then it turns in another direction. She yells at someone to shut the fucking dog up. I want to disappear. I want to vanish. I rub the eraser harder, my arm is stinging, and somehow that stinging, burning pain of not being able to erase myself is comforting. I know now that it's because I was in control of it. I could make it stop anytime I wanted. But the little girl just knew that the pain felt safe.
 I know the memory is brought to me as a gift from that damned, slippery voice. He wants me to remember that he was there with me, giving me control of my body even as I was being kicked in the ribs. That voice wants me to remember that he's never left me. Not when I was a little girl trying to literally erase myself. Not when I was a frightened college student trying to make myself vanish into nothingness with anorexia. Not when I gave birth to my son and I feared I'd be unable to break the cycle of violence and abuse, and not now. The voice has always been there, urging me, with words as soft as a favorite blanket, to step off the edge, to drag the blade, to erase myself.

And sometimes that voice makes so goddamn fucking much sense. Sometimes that voice is the only sane thing I can hear and I can see how everything would be better if...

"You're not the mother your son deserves, you know. You're only going to fuck him up if you don't do it now."

"You're not the wife he deserves, you know. You're much too selfish and fat and ugly to deserve him. Let him go. You are keeping him from happiness."

"Of course you realize that you don't matter. Of course you realize that you bring more shit into this world. You do know, don't you, that you have less value and worth than a pair of holey socks? Why do yo do this to yourself and to everyone around you? You could just vanish. If you rub hard enough, you'll get past the burning and stinging and you'll start to disappear. Just do it."

I try to ignore his seductive voice. I look into the eyes of my son. I smell the head of my dog. I contemplate a stiff drink at 11am.

I hide from the voice in the shower, but his words echo off the tile. I try to bury the voice under the simple acts of self care. I brush my teeth. I comb my hair. I try to look and act like I'm worth more than I feel. I try to fake it until I make it.

I stick my fingers in my ears and shout "lalalalalala" at the voice, hoping he'll go away.

I tell the voice he's a stupid piece of shit, that I have value. I have worth. I deserve the love of my family and friends. My mother's hatred of me is not a reflection of my true worth. My actions count. My love counts. I am a force for good, not a shit storm.

But it all feels a lie. I want to vanish. I want to be erased. I want to stop feeling the hurt of self-loathing.

And I'm so fucking scared. I'm afraid that if I listen to the voice, my son will grow up feeling that I didn't love him and then the voice will get him. But if I don't, what chance does he have? Eventually the voice will feed on him, too.

"Yes. If you don't come with me, you bet your sweet bippy I'll feed on your boy. But if you take my hand, I'll leave him alone. Trust me. Trust. Trust. Come."

The soft, soothing, slippery, sleepy voice wants me. He's always wanted me and he'll never leave me alone. Sometimes I feel too tired to keep fighting him.

And because I know that's exactly what he wants, I keep fighting. I keep writing, even when I don't think I can. Writing muffles his voice, writing shuts him up. Writing is his weakness and so it's the most important thing I can do for myself and my family. If I work hard enough, if I write well enough, maybe I'll kill the voice.

Then I'll finally be free.




Friday, October 19, 2012

Balancing Act

Working mothers.

I hate that term. All mothers work extremely hard, whether or not they get paid an actual income to do so. We all work hard to make the most out of current circumstances, we all work hard to ensure that our children have a better life than we had, and we all work hard to be the best damn moms we can possibly be, even when we're fumbling and making crap up as we go.

My kid is in fifth grade and I've homeschooled him his whole childhood. Well up until now. He's still homeschooling, but my dear, sweet, handsome  husband had taken a much more hands-on approach with his education and is now the primary homeschooling parent.  He works from home so he's able to break away and teach our son important things like how to convert a mixed number into a decimal. He's being super supportive of my writing and makes a point to send me to my room...er, office...every morning with the assurance that "I've got this. Really. You just go write."

My son is super duper supportive and he sends me off to the spare room with shouts of "Go write mom! We've got this under control!"

Such amazing, sweet, supportive, awesome dudes. I love them both so much it seems like it ought to make my heart burst.

But as the primary homeschooling parent, the primary stay-at-home parent for nearly eleven years, letting go and following my passions is hard. When I hear commotion or my son's raised voice because he's pissed off and confused, I have to turn up the music and fight the urge to run in and fix things. I have to remember that my husband is smart...he's got this. That doesn't stop the guilt, though. I worry that I'm becoming a distant mother, that I'm making all the wrong decisions, and that every hour I spend writing a sex story is an hour I'm not on the couch reading to my kid.

Truth? I miss it. I miss being the on-point parent.

More truth? Working from home is fucking hard. I do have to tune out the noise of life, but all of the stuff that needs to be done still needs doing. I'm not talking just about the schooling. There are still pets to feed and breakfast to tend to. There is lunch to prepare, dishes to clean, laundry to fold, toilets to scrub, dogs to walk, dinner to cook, more dishes to do, cat puke to scrub out of carpets...dear god, the list of shit that still needs doing looms over me and judges me for ignoring it or putting it all on my honey.

I know I've said that my guy is awesome. But have I said he's amazing? He takes on all this extra stuff without complaining. I still do the majority of cooking and meal preparation, but he does almost all of the cleaning. Oh, trust me, Loves, it is not lost on me that I'm one lucky little bitch to have a hot guy who is not only willing to go buy me porn, but will be the primary homeschooling parent AND the primary house-cleaner. Just so that I can spend my time writing. The man isn't just encouraging me to reach for my dreams, he's freaking letting me stand on his shoulders.

And to assuage the guilt I often feel for neglecting my family for the sake of writing smut, I've decided that I'm going to be an example for my son. I'm writing a novel for him. It's something I'm doing under my real name, it's something I can do with the office door open, it's something I can talk to him about. Writing smut with a pre-teen in the house is pretty tricky, but writing a middle grade novel with a pre-teen in the house is pretty awesome. He can see the big outline on my wall, he can help me come up with names and he gets to be involved in the process, even if it's just to a small degree.

Writing two very different genres is somewhat difficult, but it's also completely fun. And if my family is going to be supportive of my writing career, well, then I owe it to them to explore all of the stories I have inside of me. Now I just have to find a way to spread my time between my pouty-lipped sex goddess persona and my wild haired, whooping, tree-climbing adolescent persona with the mother and wife I am.

Life. It is one helluva balancing act.



Friday, October 12, 2012

The Concert, an Erotica eBook by Alyssa Steel

After two years of a hot and heavy office flirtation, Mike and Lori are finally going out on a date. When Lori runs into a friend during dinner, she gets some advice that is sure to knock Mike off his feet. Although nervous about making herself vulnerable, she follows her friend’s advice and ends up experiencing the most amazing night of her life

Buy it now for your Kindle, Nook, or on Google Play.




Monday, September 17, 2012

The Things We Do for Love

Sometimes, when I'm hanging out with my mom friends, the subject of husbands comes up. Okay, the subject always comes up, just in different ways. Once in a while it's about a fight that just happened or what dairy or gluten does to their bellies. Sometimes it's about their relationships with their kids and sometimes it's about the things they do that show us they love us.

This post is about how my husband loves me.

Oh, sure, he's done the normal "I love my partner" stuff. He's held my hair back as I've vomited, he's rubbed my feet even though he has a distinct aversion to feet, he does 90% of the laundry because he knows that's the one chore I hate above all others.  He's thrown me a surprise birthday party, and has kindly refrained from drinking so he could drive my drunk ass home. You know, all that stuff a good and loving life partner should do.

But when I'm old and bed ridden and reviewing my life there will be one story that I will tell to everyone who will listen.  Okay, maybe not grand-kids, but everyone else:

Once upon a time, I decided that I wanted to write erotica. My reasons were varied. Part of me wanted a chance to explore my sexuality, part of me wanted a chance to be a bad girl and write all the stuff that I'd always imagined, part of me hoped to make enough money to support my coffee and vodka habits (though never coffee and vodka at the same time! That would just be a waste.), and part of me wanted to use it as an opportunity to get back into writing and to prove to myself that I could do it.

When I told my husband of my insane plan to start writing smut, he didn't laugh. He didn't judge. He hugged me and encouraged me. Then he cleaned out the spare bedroom and set it up as an office for me, so I could have a private place to think my depraved and explicit thoughts in private.

One day I mentioned to him that I wanted an anthology style book of erotica. Reading free erotica online is fun and all, but a lot of it was so poorly written. Wading through the mud to get to the gold was exhausting. 

And what did my honey do? He asked me to drop him off at a major bookstore while I took our son on a play date. Cool. I'll drop him off, he can work a bit, he can browse, have a coffee, take a couple of hours to himself.

I dropped him off, but what happened while I was at the play date is the stuff of legend.

He took himself straight to the Romance section and scoured, even down on his hands and knees, the shelves for some sort of erotica anthology. Coming up empty handed, he approached a twenty-something manager, adjusted the zombie messenger bag he was carrying, and asked her if she could help him find erotica anthologies.

Apparently she was a decent manager because she didn't bat an eye at the 6'2", scruffy bearded, army green shirt wearing, zombie bag toting, wedding ring-less, gorgeous man asking for written porn. She led him up the escalator and right to the Sensuality sextion section.They were both scouring the shelves, on hands and knees, looking for a book, just for me! After coming up empty handed again, she led him to the gay and lesbian section. That area came up dry, too, so he thanked her and she left.

Before we dropped him off, we had lunch. Indian. Lots of Indian. And it started to hit him after the manager lady took her leave. The poor guy tried to ignore it, but there it was. He had to use the bathroom. Although nobody likes going poo in a public restroom, he was stuck there until I decided to come and get him. So he headed back down the escalator and was about to turn down the hallway to the bathrooms when he saw the manager lady. She was looking at him and he was just too damned embarrassed to go to the bathroom.

How would it look? What would she think? Oh god! She'd think he was in there jacking off after looking for erotica! Looking for it, asking for it, searching on his hands and knees for it didn't phase him in the least. But the idea that someone would think he was getting off in public was just too much for him.

Fortunately, I showed up just a few minutes later, so he didn't have to hold it long and he didn't have to suck it up and use the public bathroom.

Some men will go and buy tampons for their wife, some men will make sure the car always has gas, but my man will go to great lengths just to buy me Erotica. That is love.

Incidentally, I did finally get an anthology. After dropping our son off with a friend, we spent a whole afternoon going to bookstores and porn shops. We found lots on interesting stuff but not what I was looking for. Until one amazing, women owned, women operated oasis was able to quench my thirst.


Wednesday, September 12, 2012

I Write The Stories That Turn You On. What's Your Superpower?

I think it's pretty clearly established that I write smut for a living. Okay, maybe not for a whole living, maybe just for cheap vodka money, but still. I write the stuff that, if done properly, will make the reader need some alone time to take care of urges. That is what I do and it's a helluva lot of fun.

But it's not entirely who I am. I am a wife, a mother, a homeschooling parent, and a leader in my community. I am a blogger, and a from-scratch cook. I am a friend, I am someone that people call when they are confused or have problems. I am someone that is always available to watch a friend's kids at the last minute.

But that's not it, either. I'm a liberal. I'm staunchly pro gay-rights, I'm an atheist, and I'm feminist. I'm strong, I'm a survivor, and I'm intelligent.

But that's not all there is to me. I was an English major with a focus on creative writing in college. I read to escape and I write to process. My husband knows whether I'm depressed, overwhelmed, or just chilling based on the author I'm reading. I have great conversations about Kafka and Bronte and Hardy with my fellow lit-geek girlfriends.

I have worked hard to develop a network of amazing and beautiful people, and to be brutally honest, I'm afraid of the raised eyebrows if it ever got out that I write erotica. I'm afraid that some of those great mom friends would stop letting their kids come over and play with my kid. I'm afraid that my liberal, feminist friends would be aghast that I write stories (and get turned on by them!) of being fucked by strangers or being tied up and made to submit to a man. I'm afraid that my lit-geek girlfriends will look down their noses at me for starting sentences with the word "But" and for writing things with no higher purpose than to make someone all wet between the legs.

Having a pen name allows me to let go of all those fears and all that pressure. Alyssa Steel is able to write the stuff she wants to write without fear of being ostracized or judged, and that is so god damned freeing! As Alyssa, I can say or do anything in my stories and I don't have to worry what my grandmother will think if she stumbled upon my them. I don't have to worry that my kiddo's friends' moms are disgusted by the bondage in my stories. I don't have to worry that all they're thinking about when they're looking at me is whether or not I really enjoy it up the ass. I'd imagine that kind of worry wouldn't make for a very fun moms night out.

When I go into my office to write, I set aside my real name and my real issues. I put on my headphones, turn on Alyssa Steel's Pandora account, put on my pouty lips, and become whoever the hell I want to be. Without my secret identity, I could never reveal this super awesome part of myself.

I write the stories that turn you on. What's  your superpower?

Monday, September 10, 2012

Taken By Surprise, an Erotica eBook by Alyssa Steel

Buy it now for your Kindle, Nook, or on Google Play.

www.alyssasteel.com
Jennifer often drifts into fantasies, and she and Alec enjoy sharing their secret desires with each other. One day, Jennifer comes home to discover that Alec has gone to great lengths to fulfill some of her darkest fantasies. Fighting her fears, anxieties, and indoctrinated social mores proves to be difficult for her as Alec leads her deeper and deeper into her fantasy world. Can she let go enough to actually live out some of her scandalous dreams?

Taken By Surprise, an Erotica eBook by Alyssa Steel

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Do You Trust Me? Erotica by Alyssa Steel

Buy this erotica tale of marital woe now for your Kindle, Nook, or on Google Play



Shelby and Chris are a not so happily married couple on the brink of divorce. One day, Chris asks her if she trusts him and Shelby has to decide how far she will go to please her husband and save her marriage.


Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Becoming an Erotic Writer Improved My Marriage

Hi, I'm Alyssa and I write erotica.

Actually, I've just started putting my smut out there for the world at large, but I've had an active fantasy life since my teen years. In the early years of my marriage, I would write sexy stories for my husband, mostly because it turned me on to write them. The way hot sex that followed each reading wasn't such a bad thing, either. What I didn't realize at the time, so young and naive was I, that while my husband liked that I was turned on by my stories, he didn't really care that I wrote them. That makes him sound like some sort of selfish bastard, but that wasn't the case. All he really cared about was that I was turned on and feeling good about myself. That was the turn-on for him, not some imaginary characters in some imaginary situation.

The sexy part of our marriage came to a screeching halt pretty much as soon as it started. Days after our wedding, I found out I was pregnant. The hormones sometimes made for some lovely sex, but mostly I just felt too fat, ugly and achy to do much lovin'. For my honey's part, he had those normal new dad worries of hurting the baby or whatever.

After about forty-six years of pregnancy, our son was born and we were thrust into the world of parenting, and the style that most fit us was the Attachment variety. Our son co-slept with us, he nursed on demand for a really long time, and we didn't even leave him with a grandparent until he was a year and a half.  I still hadn't lost my baby weight, which made me sensitive. I used to have an eating disorder, so much of my self esteem was wrapped up in what the numbers on the scale said. The higher the number, the less I was obviously worth. So, even on the times that my honey made sexual overtures to me, I felt too worthless, ugly, fat and exhausted to do much lovin'.

And life, it continued.

Our kid got older, slept in his own room, and we had more time to be alone together. But I could never lose that baby weight. Almost twelve years later, I'm still fifty pounds heavier than I was on my wedding day, which was ten pounds too big for my anorexia-addled mind at the time. In actuality, I could stand to lose twenty pounds now. Those numbers ran in my head and did bad shit to my self-esteem. I felt too much like a beached whale to do much lovin'

And life, it still continued.

Jobs were lost, parents died, money got tight, and my husband was diagnosed with something called Peyronie's Disease. Neither of us had ever heard of this, but it's more common than we thought. The nuts and bolts of this piece of shit of a disease is that it effects the penis shaft, curving it and making erections painful. After running its course naturally, which often takes upwards of two years, the penis is different. It's smaller, less sensitive to stimuli, and can pop or bend in unnatural and painful ways. There are surgeries one can  have, but they don't always fix the issue at hand. There are remedies men can use to help the discomfort and bending, but there's nothing that can be done about the new size short of a penis pump or surgery.

So obviously this did a number on my husband's self esteem. Even though I find sex much more pleasurable now that he's shaped differently, even though I cum much more frequently than I ever did before Peyronie's, he just felt like too little of a man to do much lovin'.

And life, it kept its damn continuing.

Siblings died, moves happened, and I had a round of surgeries myself, which...yep. Made me too achy and doped up on Vicodin to do much lovin'.

It's been a hell of a ride. We're both as recovered as we'll ever be from our various issues, but the sex thing--well, that just never got back to that pre-pregnancy, early-marriage, hotness.

Until Erotica.

I still have that skinny little girl in my head, telling me that I'm ugly and fat, but I'm older than she is now, and I know she was just hurt and damaged when she was younger. My husband has always made it perfectly clear that my body is beautiful to him, but it's been so hard for me to believe and accept that as truth. Just like it's been hard for him to believe that I'm totally satisfied-- more satisfied than ever--by his penis, even though it's different from the one I married.

Over the last few years we've fumbled our way back into intimacy and we've both had plenty of fears and doubts along the way.

One day, not too long ago, I decided that I wanted to get back into writing sexy stories. But this time I wanted to do it for me, not for my husband. I felt embarrassed to tell him that I wanted to write these stories and that *gasp* I wanted to sell them. I kept it to myself for a while and refused to write a single thought down because I was afraid he'd laugh at me, that he'd tell me it was dumb, or that he'd think I was nothing more than a stripper or prostitute. As  it turned out, those thoughts never crossed his mind. He was thrilled when I told him because he'd always told me I was a good writer and I should put myself out there. So, not only was he beautifully supportive, but, he's gone out of his way to give me space to write as much as I want.

And life, it continues.

But this is a new chapter. For the first time in my life, I'm giving myself permission to tap into that sexy young thing inside me without giving her permission to harm my emotions or my body now. In writing my stories, which my husband often doesn't want to read, I'm liberating myself from the bonds I've placed on myself since I was sixteen.

www.alyssasteel.com
And liberation--It is sexy as hell. I feel sexy, I feel confident, I feel powerful. Nothing has changed in my or my husband's bodies, but suddenly I'm not afraid to admit that I'm a very sexual person and that admittance has made me confident, which has made me absolutely irresistible to him. Feeling strong and sexy has put my husband at my mercy. And guess what? That makes me feel stronger and sexier, which gives me more confidence to write which makes me feel stronger and sexier...Oh, this is a delicious, sensual, nipple nibbling, erotic circle that is so much more than just sex.

Even when we're not in bed, we're kinder to one another. We hold hands, we kiss, we hug each other in the middle of Target just because we love each other. And guess what? That extra intimacy during the day is just prolonged foreplay for both of us and we can't wait until we can devour each other again.

Becoming an Erotica Writer has not only saved our sex life, but our marriage too.

And so, when you see that couple hugging and gently smooching each other in the store, smile for them...and then go home and get in touch with your inner sex-pot. You'll wonder what took you so long.