Sex Blogger Spotlight: Urban Gypsy
Posted at 5:15 PM Jul 15, 2008
Career Highlights: I started writing Urban Gypsy nearly three years ago, in August 2005, after a friend showed me his blog. Having written several pieces of erotic fiction with rather taboo themes, I quickly found I had a small but loyal following. Later I began to write more about myself, my life and my marriage in the only way I knew how to; with an openness and a vulnerability that seemed to speak to many people in similar situations. I was surprised, I always wrote to make sense of my own thoughts and feelings and all of a sudden I found that I was writing what a lot of other people, mainly women, were feeling.
My writing alternates between truth and fiction and often the distinction isn't clear. I knew what I was writing powerful fiction when a commenter warned me to get out my relationship because it crossed the line between D/s and abuse. That story, Suffering, part of the Daray Tales, remains one of my favorites works of fiction.
One of the highlights of my blogging career was writing I Want to be Raped for Time Out New York's 2007 Sex Issue. It caused quite the furor more I think because of the incendiary title of the piece than the actual content.
True Lust: What turns me on more than anything else, what makes me lustful and soaks my panties is the mind fuck combined with rough sex. A good example of that is my recent piece, Tears of Many Kinds.
Here is an excerpt from that post:
Out of nowhere his palm flies towards my face, I flinch and part of the blow is deflected to my ear, making it ring. It scares me but I have no time to think before he slaps me again and my face blooms red with heat and anger and fear eddying around a core of intense arousal.“Did he come in your face, slut? Did he, you bitch?”
“Yyyyes,” I mumble, and he hits me again making me obscenely wet. The room closes in around me; nothing exists but our two bodies, eyes boring into each other trying to read the other’s thoughts. His eyes are so cold it makes him seem unflappable, tenacious, immovable in fulfilling his desires of the moment. And what he desires most is my pain.
“Get the rope, Tess,” he says. His eyes darken and glisten as the words leave his lips.
I shake my head. “No,” I say simply. But it’s disingenuous and he knows it.
His voice is soft and liquid, silky, “You haven’t come all this way for me to kiss you. Be a good girl, get the rope.”
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