Guide The Dive (An Explicit Erotic Romance from Written Passion)

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It speaks to vital aspects of human experience—it can be uplifting or healing or funny or insightful, and many other things. Romance, like any other genre of literature, excavates a corner of human experience, arguably the biggest—our interior life—and how that is challenged and unfolds when we share it with another. Outlander was published in Fast forward exactly twenty years later, and enter Fifty Shades of Grey, then its subsequent books and movies, which put erotic romance on the mainstream map. Plenty of people delight in trashing the book, disparaging its prose, and scoffing at the dynamic between its protagonists, but the trilogy clearly resonated in some fashion with a vast readership.

And like any dynamic in a relationship, you either have an innate understanding with each other about it like who switches the clothes to the dryer, and who folds; who pays the mortgage, and who balances the budget , or you have to learn how to talk about it.

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Back to the books. Fifty Shades: over million copies sold and a trio of movies that everybody loves both to hate and secretly binge-watch. I can theorize and write all day about the specifics—is it the book version of porn, an escape into a false reality? The history of how and who maligned and defamed sex is vast and twisted but it can easily be summed up as a sordid past of androcentrism, sexism, and despicably misinterpreted scripture, all for a patriarchal agenda.

It can also be tons of fun. And passionate. And tender. And rough. And argumentative.

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And healing. And damaging. Just like…you got it, relationships themselves. As I come out to my social world as a writer who writes explicit consensual, always consensual sex in her stories, I realize there will be people who really scratch their heads. And guess what?

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And just exactly what that indicates is unpacked in Part II. Welll, guess what? To address the nuances of arousal and passion and pleasure as we go through the hormonal shifts that accompany midlife, for some pregnancy and nursing, for others laterlife menopause.

To write flawed humans with real challenges and struggles, with particular needs and hangups. Clean covers are a way of bringing a looked down upon genre into the public space without the judgment. So what does this say about us? Which is bullshit. Romance delves into every facet of human life, and like any other genre it has its brilliant prose authors and its more straightforward storytellers. We get to have it all—the smarts and the sex, the feels and the funny. And if I had to define third wave feminism, that would be it, ladies and gents! Romance celebrates and epitomizes our desire to love and connect and have deep experiences, and gives us permission to explore new dynamics and landscapes.

Jade Butterfield and David Elliot take the term high-school sweethearts to the next level with their eroticism and obsession. Jade let out her high keening call and I felt an abrupt rush of my semen, racing through me like twin rivers, turning with an acidic twist but not slowing down. I grabbed hold of her back, instinctually afraid she might leave me, and I arched myself toward her as I came.

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I could sense my pleasure passing through me almost unnoticed and I tried to fix my entire concentration on it. When Jade felt the blurry warmth of my climax, she moved up a little and tightened herself for a slow, deliberate slide down.

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My scrotum, feet, hands went icy cold and my mouth— moments before filled with the slosh of desire— was dry as a wafer. My muscles were collapsing, my lungs shriveled like burst balloons, but I continued to come. Jade looked down at me. Her eyes were glassy, indistinct, like someone who has breathed in smoke.

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A burning room. She lifted herself up with her hands around my neck and kissed me.

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Then she reached down for me and pressed the head of my penis into her. And when I lowered myself upon her and sank as deep as I could go, her voice was replaced by that high keening hum. I watched her face as best I could. Those strange contortions that would be so horrible under any other circumstances.

Her lips parting, stretching, her mouth opening in a silent howl. Eyes closed and then suddenly open, staring up at me with real helplessness, mixed with hunger and surprise. The heel of her hand hit my chest; it seemed for a moment as if she were going to try to push me off of her. But it passed.

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She was rising toward me, levitating, holding on with her hard competent hands. Each time I stopped, the eventual come would be more powerful. Each interlude would send us streaming closer together. But as I slowed my pace she quickened hers and her grip had a sternness in its strength, an undertaste of fury. And so I slipped my hands beneath her rump so no matter what our bodies did they would be touching and I would stay in her as deep as possible. We came, first Jade and then me, moments behind her, holding each other, and our voices joining, forming one wild and unbearably lonely cry.

Do you think anything else under heaven really matters? And how long, at the best, can it last, since you are both men and still have everywhere to go? Only five minutes, I assure you, only five minutes, and most of that, helas! And if you think of them as dirty, then they will be dirty— they will be dirty because you will be giving nothing, you will be despising your flesh and his.

But you can make your time together anything but dirty, you can give each other something which will make both of you better—forever—if you will not be ashamed, if you will only not play it safe. She took the thrust: she convulsed a little; she fluttered all over; her skin fluttered; things twitched in her, in the disorder surrounding the phallic blow in her. Her whole body shook.