26 Jan 2014
Special Guest Star Alison Tyler
Today I’m welcoming a very special visitor to this site: Alison Tyler, the original “Trollop with a Laptop.” She’s not only one of my favorite editors, but one of my favorite writers as well. And she’s here today to talk a little about her new work, The Delicious Torment: A Story of Submission. The follow-up to her well-received Dark Secret Love (the title’s from 18th-century poet William Blake), it’s already received a rave review from RT Book Reviews.
So without further ado, here’s Alison!
I fell in love with Los Angeles many years ago. I grew up in Northern California, and I felt the magnetic pull on my steel core early on. I loved thrift-store shopping on Melrose long before the Avenue was a hipster hangout. I worship L.A. architecture, the palm trees, the grit.
The town where I grew up was a heaven for hippies: health food stores, Birkenstocks, “a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle” bumper stickers.
But L.A. Oh, L.A. All glitter and gloss. I couldn’t move south fast enough. I lived in bungalows and old forties two-story apartments. I made the most of every moment. I’m not kidding. I am not one of those girls who didn’t appreciate what she had while she had it.
The jacaranda trees with the gorgeous, heavy purple blooms that dripped over the sculptures on UCLA’s campus. The Hollywood sign. The tattoo parlor on Sunset. The Roxy. The Rainbow. The Nuart. Kings Road Café. The Ivy. City. The Hollywood Bowl.
And yes, I’m back in the North now (for the most part). But my trips south are always filled with that same full-body excitement. I walk the streets where I worked. I eat at my favorite restaurants. I fall back in time.
I love L.A. I’ve been all over the world. Paris. London. Amsterdam. Frankfurt. But I am more me when I’m there than anywhere else.
In some ways, I believe my new series of novels (Dark Secret Love, The Delicious Torment, Wrapped Around Your Finger) are as much a love letter to Los Angeles as they are to BDSM sex and kink. Here is a snip that’s half and half. Half a postcard to L.A. Half a kinky telegram to Jack.
If you look hard enough, I’ve always felt, you can actually see the noir L.A. under the surface. There are plenty of places that still seem straight out of the 30s. If you squint, you can almost see the characters from Sunset Boulevard, or The Big Sleep. Yes, much of old L.A. has been torn down, but plenty of the old-time era remains.
I’d drive to coffee shops and sit in the windows, people watching. I’d go up to the Observatory and stand at the railing looking out at the city. Then I’d return to my work and write until my fingers ached. My breaks during this book were for food, drink, and Jack.
Not that Jack had to compete with my work. I was always ready to set down my pen when he came home. Ready to pour him a drink, or put on an outfit, or come toward him with a paddle, begging, head down, when he’d gone too long without using it on me. And too long? What is that precisely on an actual clock?
A day?
An hour?
I don’t know. Can’t explain that drive, that need, that overtakes me every so often. The urge that might make me dress up before Jack arrived, sliding into something long and tight and slinky or short and hot and naughty. Waiting, helpless, for Jack to walk through the door. For him to take one look at me and understand.
That doesn’t mean Jack gave me what I wanted right away. It only means that he knew in a heartbeat what I was asking for, what I craved. And knowing always gave him power—even more than he already had. He could stretch out an evening, sure that I would be the most obedient pet ever as long as he held out my fantasy in front of me. Promising me that if I behaved—if I could only behave—he would take me where I needed to go.
Alison Tyler has been called a “prolific legend” by Violet Blue. Her work has appeared in more than 100 anthologies, and she is the editor of 50 titles for Cleis Press. Visit her at alisontyler.blogspot.com or follow her on twitter.com/alisontyler.