Admittedly, I’m one of many erotica authors who tend to read non-erotica books for relaxation purposes, but, when Alison Tyler‘s Dark Secret Love was released, I more than happily made an exception. I read it as I got back from Belgium and was suffering (as I always do) from a severe case of west-to-east jet lag (the worst). Needless to say, it did not help me sleep, at all. For several nights in a row, I stayed up until four devouring this book. It’s that good. Why? There’s the biographical aspect, of course. (But more on that later from Alison herself.) When the empress of erotic literature writes a book about her sexual journey towards submission, I want to read it. (It’s only human nature.) Then there’s the simple fact that Alison can pack so much emotion in a single sentence, my mind gets blown at least three times per page.
I know most of you stumble onto my blog looking for lesbian erotica, but trust me, you don’t want to miss this one. Dark Secret Love is literary erotica of the absolute highest order that will have you on the edge of your seat and wonder (more than once): did this really happen? Now let’s hear what Alison herself has to say about her love of memoirs and writing ‘truth’.
Like Pouring Cream
By Alison Tyler
I didn’t actually know I was addicted to memoirs until I looked at my bookshelf once and thought, “Oh, my god. I’m addicted to memoirs.” Moab is My Washpot by Stephen Fry. Wrecking Crew by John Albert. Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain. Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichl. The Prizewinner of Defiance Ohio by Terry Ryan. The Time Bandit by Andy and Johnathan Hillstrand. These are battered books I return to repeatedly. They help me. They whole me. I don’t really know how. I don’t really know why.
How much of what you write is true? People ask this all the time. Sommer Marsden recently tackled the question in a post on this topic. The fact is, I do often put truth into my fiction. But in Dark Secret Love, I have to say, I put fiction in my truth.
And you know what? Truth is hard.
On the night of our first date, as we walked through the darkness near my house, he stopped and pressed me up against the side of a parked car. “What’s your secret fantasy?” he murmured, so soft against my skin. “You can tell me, baby. You can tell me anything.”
My goal, my dream, my deepest desires have always rested in taking it. Lowering my head, gritting my teeth, and bearing the pain, the humiliation. But I couldn’t tell him that. I stared at him in the glow of the streetlight, and then looked down. Brock instantly tilted my face to his. “When I ask you a question,” he said, his voice more stern now, “I expect a response.”
A delicious chill ran through me.
I hadn’t needed to say a word.
Brock understood. He was on me in a heartbeat, and he never let up.
There were days I had to wear long-sleeved shirts to cover the evidence that I’d spent part of the weekend cuffed to his bed. There were days that I couldn’t sit right in class, that I stared up at the board, or tried to focus on the discussion, but saw nothing, heard nothing.
He made me talk eventually. I didn’t get away with coy glances, with wishful, wistful expressions. He tied me down and asked his questions, and he forced me to answer every single one.
I was on that date. Oh, seventeen million lifetimes ago. I was that girl with the man who knew. Nostalgia can hit me when I smell smoke because of him. No, I don’t want to go back. I would never go back.
But truth—finding your truth, sharing your truth—is hard.
Yes for this series, I added the fiction, like pouring that stream of pure cream into your coffee. Of course, my readers will know—I take my coffee black.
Alison Tyler has written for publishers including Cleis, Harlequin, Black Lace, Plume, Masquerade, and Go Deeper. Her most recent novel is Dark Secret Love. The second in the series, The Delicious Torment, will be released in January 2014. Visit alisontyler.blogspot.com for 24/7 caffeine and snark.