Purple Panties and Clean Sheets

It has been a long time since one of my short stories appeared on Clean Sheets, but I am happy to say this week breaks the streak!

"Purple Panties" is the story of a couple who have a very special pair of panties...and what happens when they lose them. I won't say more...you have to go read the story to find out the rest. It's free to read right here on Clean Sheets.

Enjoy!

Are Your Sheets Clean?

Over at Clean Sheets, there is definitely something naughty going down...

Indiana Jones, with Camera

Of all the stories I have ever written (and that's a lot of stories!), this one is my favorite. I hope you enjoy it.

What Have I Been Doing?

I've been rather quiet these last few weeks. There are several reasons for that, but the most interesting one has to do with a great big package I received in the mail. You can blame my absence on the generosity of Babeland!

Babeland is celebrating 15 years in the business of pleasure. My very first vibrator was a sexy little purple thing from Babeland. I wore it out within a year, but I loved it so much I had to buy another. Then another. Then something else.

Then I got my lover into the game, and from that point on, it was sex toy heaven.

I love Babeland toys for soooo many reasons. They are always reliable -- I haven't had a single one of them break down, and trust me, I've tried my best to wear them out! They offer some of the coolest and most unique toys. Most of all, the variety means I always have something new to look forward to -- whether it's the tried-and-true Rabbit, the Cadillac of Vibrators, or the cuteness of a Rubber Duckie. (Yes, a Duckie, I kid you not!)

I've done quite a few Babeland reviews for Clean Sheets in the past few years. You can find those here:

Getting Off Quick with Babeland

Getting Wet and Wicked with Babeland

Becoming an Expert with Babeland

Look, Honey -- No Hands! A Review of the We Vibrator

And you can bet I'm going to be doing more.

Happy Anniversary, Babeland! Here's to another fifteen years of orgasmic joy.

I'm Back!

I've been out of commission for a while, but I'm back...and with lots of new news to share!

My latest review at Clean Sheets is now live. I enjoyed Hard Hats, a collection of lots of sexy men getting hot and sweaty on construction sites...and I wrote all about it. Check out the review here.

My latest story is up on The Erotic Woman. "Better Than Brazil" is the tale of two people who grow closer and closer...and then they meet. Check it out by clicking here.

My latest column is up at For the Girls. This time I talk about dealing with that delicate balance of old friends and a new relationship:

I had ignored the sly digs she made when she thought I wasn’t listening. I had taken the high road and let slide the snide little comments she sometimes made about Mr. Right’s “ball and chain.” I had even defended her once or twice, when it seemed she was too catty for her own good, and chalked it up to the changes that happen when relationships grow.

But when she assumed how I felt, and immediately blamed me without a second thought, I had had enough.

When the claws come out, honey, I’m one little pussy who hisses right back.

Meow! Click here to visit For the Girls and read about the drama!

More coming soon...

Clean Sheets Reviews "One Breath at a Time"

Gary Meyer of Clean Sheets has just reviewed my latest novel, One Breath at a Time, which he calls "wall-to-wall, explosive, virtuoso sex."

Here's a bit more:

Kelley and Tom's redemptive sex is much rougher than a mere bodice-ripping or two. Here Masters makes a major educational contribution by illustrating that rough sex doesn't have to mean crude or careless sex: forceful doesn't have to be brutal. She observes that negotiation isn't a onetime surrender, but an ongoing process. These lessons, as well as the concept of a safeword, are seamlessly integrated into the action. Tom checks in often to ascertain how Kelley's doing. In addition to a safeword, Kelley and Tom have a goword: "Please."

Go here to read the full review!

Worth Reading: "Sin in the Second City"

I'm a huge history buff -- I spent four years in college studying little else! -- and I love my mother's native Chicago, so it was a real treat to read Sin in the Second City by Karen Abbott. It's the tale of a time in Chicago history that is often lost in the footnotes, but one that is vitally important: The moral battle between the brothel keepers of the Levee District and the Progressive Era Reformers, who did their best to stamp out not only the "sporting trade," but sexual freedom itself.

It's a book worth reading, and one that has earned permanent space on my shelf. Click here to visit Clean Sheets and read my review of this richly-detailed, gorgeous book.

Favorite Things of 2007

Over at Clean Sheets, we're welcoming the New Year by talking about our favorite things of 2007! There's pole dancing and must-see movies, good music and fantastic places, and even a crystal bondage sash.

Visit Clean Sheets to read the favorite things from our favorite contributors and editors, including yours truly! Then, go to the comments and tell us what lit your fire in 2007.

Walking on the Wild Side...

I recently had the pleasure of reviewing Animal Attraction, the new anthology from Torquere Press, edited by Vincent Diamond. I was impressed:

Anthologies focused closely on one particular subject always run the danger of becoming too much about the theme, and not enough about the stories. Sometimes an anthology of this sort can put me to sleep, which is why I was so pleasantly surprised to read the latest from Torquere Press.

Visit Clean Sheets to read my full review of the collection.

In the Rain

In the Rain
by Gwen Masters

“You’re the color of the sky
Reflected in each storefront window pane,
You’re the whispering and the sighing
Of my tires in the rain...”

-Jackson Browne, “Sky Blue and Black”

Larry’s radio murmured as he turned into the parking lot of that hotel, the one with the broken mirror in Room 108, the one with the non-smoking rooms that smelled like smoke and the king-size beds that were too big for two people in love. The windshield wipers made their comforting thump-whack and his watch kept up the steady ticks and the rain poured down, coloring everything a darker shade as he thought of Katherine.

She would be cooking dinner about now, standing in the kitchen with her blonde curls tied up in a bun, or maybe under a bandana, one of those cheap ones from the discount store. She would be doing half a dozen things at once, manning the brigade of pots and pans as she sidestepped around a two-year-old and hollered to the six-year-old that his room had better be clean before he came to dinner or there would be serious trouble. After stirring a pot and hearing the grandfather clock chime she would holler again, her voice carrying down the hallway and to the bedroom where a man would be taking off his shoes after a long day of work, smelling the good smells and feeling his stomach rumble.

Larry remembered what that was like.

The old Ford truck was one they had made love in when they were courting, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, before children and mortgages and things that went wrong. One night while they were lying down on that bench seat Katherine had gotten her long blonde hair caught in the door handle and she couldn’t move and somehow that excited them both, excited them so much that Larry went at her hard enough to rock the truck on its wide wheels, hard enough to fog the windows. The whole time the radio was playing one song after another, songs that meant something, songs that fifteen years later were like that truck: they don’t make ‘em like that anymore.

When it was over Larry had untangled her hair and she had cried because his hands were so tender and so careful, and because she loved him so much.

Lightning struck something nearby. The sound was loud enough to make Larry jump, close enough to turn the radio to static. Thunder roared. Larry watched the little blue car come through the curtain of mist. Behind the wheel was a pretty brunette, a bit on the heavy side with deep blue eyes and a radiant smile. She looked frightened as she drove under the light of the neon sign, and Larry guessed she was afraid of storms. He was learning more about her every time they met.

She ran to the shelter of the hotel room. Larry watched her as she opened the door to Room 108. He caught a glimpse of the broken mirror and thought about how Erin kept getting the same room as though they were testing their luck, as if the clerk at the front desk didn’t notice that they only stayed for a little while. Did she want to get caught?

Larry wondered if Katherine had wanted to get caught and if that is why she had left her own hotel key in the console of the car. He wondered if she had left it there deliberately and if she had ever thought about the way he would react, the suspicion and then the anger and then the shock of finding out that he was right after all.

She had been in Room 214. At least that time, she had been. Larry wondered if she had ever watched the new man in the mirror as he fucked her, perhaps in Room 108.

Another clap of thunder, and this time Erin looked out the window. She hadn’t seen his truck yet, parked way over there on the other side of the lot, but he climbed out anyway. He had forgotten his umbrella. By the time he dashed through the rain and the door closed behind him, he was soaked. Erin remedied that by removing his clothes.

She was wearing something silky. Her skin was scented with the fragrance that was uniquely her, the one that was seductive. She also wore a wide gold wedding band. Larry needed to make love to a married woman, to take what was taken from him, and Erin seemed to understand, seemed to revel in it sometimes by asking him if he thought Katherine had ever fucked her new man like this, or like that, or like this.

Larry came harder than ever when Erin did that, because it was like permission to go where his mind was going anyway, it was like having both of them in bed with him, it was living out the questions in his head, and it disgusted him yet made him want more at the same time.

He didn’t want to think about it.

Larry kissed Erin and lowered her to the bed and removed her clothes a little bit at a time, until he was between her widespread legs and she was playing with her nipples. He looked up and watched the harsh light from the bedside lamp as it glinted from her gold band.

He played his tongue over her lips, nice and slow, teasing each one. He delved into her, his tongue at first, then his fingers. By the time he touched her clit she was writhing under him and he knew how to do it, knew what would set her off, knew how to make it last. She told him over and over that he was better than her husband was and he clung to that like a drowning man clings to driftwood he happens to find in the ocean.

The new man would be sitting down in Larry’s chair now, looking at the food on the table and perhaps looking at the woman who served it. What was she wearing? Something that the new man would take off later in the bedroom that now belonged to them but used to belong to Katherine and Larry?

Larry bit gently on Erin’s clit. She wiggled in that certain way. Larry slid two fingers into her and then three and then four. Larry knew she would be sore and he was glad for that. He wanted her to be sore from him when she fucked her husband. That was important.

“Baby, I love you,” Erin gasped, but Larry didn’t hear her.

His mind was in a house across town, sitting down to dinner of mashed potatoes and peas and beef brisket with that good gravy only Katherine could make, and Larry felt a hunger inside, something deeper than anything food could fix.

Then Erin arched up into him and she cried out, a long wail that told him he had done what he was supposed to do. It was his turn now, because that was how things worked, wasn’t it? He did his duty and then she did hers or they did it together and that was supposed to be the correct way. It was all supposed to feel right.

Larry slid into Erin and she moaned, that deep down way that she always did, not like the gentle whimpers that came from Katherine. He moved deep into her and held her hair in his fists, the way she always liked it. He said all those things he had never said to Katherine, things like slut and whore and bitch and Erin broke out into goosebumps and moans with every new word. They turned together, her on top and him on bottom, and she rode him hard while she played with nipples on breasts that were bigger than Katherine’s, much bigger. Her body was rounded and soft and it was a turn-on of immense proportions (at least that’s what his dick said and by God, dicks don’t lie). It wasn’t more or less than the body Katherine had. It was just different.

When Erin leaned forward and rode him in that perfect way that drove his cock against the back wall of her cunt, the way that put pressure on his pelvis and his belly and everywhere else, Larry wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face to her throat. He came hard, deep inside her, where her husband might find it if he chose this night to fuck his wife.

When it was over, Larry said all the right things and did all the right things, but Erin knew he was far away. He could tell it by the look in her eyes when she saw the look in his.

“I said something wrong, didn’t I?” she asked, and Larry didn’t know what she meant, but he held her and kissed her and told her no, she hadn’t said anything wrong. She had said everything right.

She smiled and was content, and that was good. Content was good.

Two hours and then they were gone from the hotel room, the door closed and nothing amiss, the broken mirror in darkness, her little blue car disappearing in a haze of rain and fog. Larry drove slowly out of the parking lot and turned up the radio, which was no longer static but crystal clear, songs from years ago that still meant something. He turned toward the apartment across town, the one with the mismatched furniture and the empty fridge.

The rain poured down harder, hard enough that he had to squint to see through the windshield. Finally Larry had to pull over, had to sit there while every song on the radio told another tale from the story of his life and the rain pounded the hood of the old Ford. Unable to be here, he closed his eyes and he was there, sitting down to a dinner of beef brisket and mashed potatoes and peas, Katherine was smiling at him, and all was right with the world.

Originally published on Clean Sheets, copyright 2007.

Tuning the Engine

Nothing strange ever happens in the little Appalachian town Ronnie calls home. Every day is like the next, blending into one another, in the place where everyone has known everyone else all their lives. Then Sissy roars in with her little Porsche, and Ronnie's world goes from ordinary to extraordinary in less time than it takes a turbo engine to soar over the speed limit.

Read "Tuning the Engine" on Clean Sheets!

Sex & Spirituality Contest!

At Clean Sheets, great stories abound. So do great contests!

Clean Sheets is now hosting the Sex & Spirituality Contest, and one of the judges is yours truly. The deadline is April, so warm up those keyboards!

Get the submission guidelines here.

It's been a while...

It has definitely been a while since I posted to this blog. But I have an excuse: A new book!

I've been writing hot and heavy these last several weeks. As any writer will tell you, sometimes the stories take months to come into their own, and sometimes they just slip into this world like a baby taking its first breath and it is full-steam-ahead from there.

This one is a runaway train. It started with a bang, picked up some momentum, hit a bump or two, then smoothed out down a long, sloping hill. It's still gathering speed. I'm sure I will have time to sleep when it is done, but right now I'm just along for the ride!

I did take a day off from writing last week and spent all of it on the back of a four-wheeler, wandering through the woods, getting sunburned and loving every minute of it. That has become my favorite way to unwind, and I hope to do it a lot more often this summer.

The tornadoes that ripped through Tennessee managed to miss my house, but there are more coming tonight, so we get another spin in Mother Nature's Roulette. I love everything about storms -- the electricity in the air, the thrill of the wind picking up, the distant lightning coming closer and closer, the thunder that rattles the windows. Then comes the rain. There are few things more decadent than walking outside into my backyard in the middle of the night and greeting the deluge. I love the feeling of wet grass between my toes and water falling from every corner of the heavens to drench me from head to toe. It's sensual as hell and makes me feel like a part of nature itself.

It's funny that we've had so much rain here in Tennessee this week, and this is also the same week my new story is up on Clean Sheets. "In the Rain" is the title -- how appropriate! I hope you enjoy it. Click here to read it.

The story was inspired by Jackson Browne's "Sky Blue and Black". I love that song because the imagery is so sharp. I can taste the shore, hear the tires in the rain, feel the uncertainty and the longing. I prefer songs that really mean something, songs that make me think. When I was in high school and college, I listened to Don McLean's "The Day the Music Died" until I knew every last nuance. I loved it because it was a mystery that had something to say. Those are the best of the best songs, I think.

In addition to listening to music all the time, I'm reading quite a bit lately. I've picked up Three the Hard Way, edited by Susie Bright. William Harrison has a story in this volume. His words always draw me in. I'm also reading Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era, Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon, and various newsletters and trade magazines that have been piling up in that basket underneath the endtable.

Thunder is rumbling again, so I think I will curl up with one of those books on the front porch and watch the storms roll in.

Best American Erotica 2006

Here it is: The Best American Erotica 2006.

I received my copy a few days ago, and skipped with happiness all the way back from the mailbox. I was pleasantly surprised to recognize the first story, "Coyote Woman Discovers Email" by Gaea Yurdon, as one originally published on Clean Sheets. So was "Granny Pearls" by Salome Wilde. That one has been on my favorites list since the day I first read it--and I now have a new, strangely erotic respect for everyday inanimate objects.

I'm taking my time and giving each of these stories the attention they deserve. I laughed out loud at "Full House" by David Sedaris. John Updike is always a delight. Steve Almond's "The Nasty Kind Always Are" shook me up, and "Beatings R Me" by Mr. Sleep gave me more to think about than I really wanted.

Isn't that what good erotica is all about? Shaking us up, cutting close to the bone, making us find a bit more of ourselves? Nothing gets to the core of us faster than by taking a ride via the libido rollercoaster. Every story in this collection leaves an aftertaste. Some are bitter and some are sweet, but the point is: The story lingers. That's what matters.

What delights! Read it as soon as you can get your hands on it, and then come back here to tell me which story delighted you the most.

Clean Sheets Favorites!

Have you ever ventured through Clean Sheets to find stories that you read over and over? Have you ever read a story there that touched you so deeply you couldn't forget it?

Now you can tell us about it.

The Clean Sheets Favorites List is full of what our readers, editors, and writers consider the best of the best. Would you like to add your favorites to the list?

Click here for more: Clean Sheets Favorites

Shattering Myths of the Female Orgasm

Ann Regentin, one of my favorite authors, has written a gorgeous piece on truth of the female orgasm versus the myths fed to us by a male-dominated society.

A must-read: Sex, Fucking and the Female Orgasm

Jumping on the Bandwagon!

That's right...the Blogging Bandwagon has just come my way, and I've hopped on for the ride. Though I have kept a personal journal since I was a child barely old enough to spell, I have yet to begin a professional journal...until now.

A bit about me and my career: I've been working this writing gig for the last twelve years, and as long as I have something to say, I'll keep doing it. Over the last few years I have become a regular contributor to Ruthie's Club, a monthly staple at Voracitybeat, and a member of the staff of a great place called Clean Sheets. This spring my business partner and I launched Masters Publishing...the jury is still out on the success of that particular venture.

I'm starting this blog in response to the release of Best American Erotica 2006. Several months ago I got the note from the extraordinary Susie Bright: "Fifteen Minutes", my story of that Unholy Trinity of sex, drugs and rock&roll, was being published in BAE '06. What a thrill that was! I have every BAE collection, from 1993 on up. It's going to be a great feeling to put the '06 volume in my bookcase, knowing I'm a part of the series I have enjoyed so much over the years.

Originally published on Ruthie's Club, "Fifteen Minutes" is the story of what really happens with those groupies who disappear into the limousines and onto the buses at the end of the show.

Here's a bit of a preview:

She was in her early twenties, John guessed. Her body looked young, but the hard living made her face look ten years older. He watched her from the sidelines, took note of her bleached blond hair, her long painted nails, her tank top that was just a little too tight and a little too short. Her jeans were cut off just below the hip. When she turned just the right way, she flashed anybody who cared to look. She wasn’t wearing any panties.

Girls like that were a dime a dozen. They were a joke in the music world, referred to as ‘gherms’, because that is what they were. They would follow the band around like a sickness that sticks to the skin. They were good for the occasional nightly release, the blowjob that left a bad taste in both their mouths. When they spread their legs it was with a practiced desperation. Anybody who fucked a groupie knew they were fucking somebody who had been indiscriminate with hundreds of guys before them. It had nothing to do with the man behind the microphone or the keyboard player’s talent or even the bus driver’s gift of getting everybody there safely. It had to do with comparisons between friends and one-upmanship.

“Is he a good lay?” one would ask.

“He is after his own pleasure,” another would snarl, as if they really cared.

Tom had asked for a blond this time. It was rare that the frontman wanted a woman after the show. He was more careful than most, usually refusing to feed the game that was played out on tour buses and backstage stairs and the occasional pricey hotel room. “A little something for me and then for the boys,” he said this time before he climbed onstage with guitar in hand.

The blond would do. Her legs were long and lean. Her tits were bouncy under the tank top, her nipples hard as rocks while she watched the band do their thing. She wasn’t jumping up and down or cheering them on. She was bopping lightly along with the music and studying the players as if they were her favorite kind of treat. She had been down the groupie road before. She would do.

Want to read the rest? Buy the book! (Is that a shameless plug or what?)

Speaking of books, my latest was released a few months ago. Sex & Guitars, set against the backdrop of Nashville's Music Row, is the story of a woman in love with a married man. Coffee Time Romance just gave Sex & Guitars a five-cup review; they called the novel "a stunning portrait of codependency and addiction....the sexual encounters were brutal and yet tender, endearing and frightenining, all of them necessary."

Venture to my website to get the latest updates on short stories, interviews, where to purchase and read my work, and all those wonderful things! Here's the link: Gwen Masters Website.

Until next time...