eBook Details

The Lust Chronicles Anthology

By: Rachel Kramer Bussel | Other books by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Published By: Ravenous Romance
Published: Jan 14, 2009
ISBN # 9781607770657
Word Count: 50,000
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Available in: Epub, Adobe Acrobat, Mobipocket (.prc)

Categories: Romance>Non-fiction Romance>Erotic Romance

Description
“Rachel Kramer Bussel has created her own type of erotica. An earthy, true-to-life style that draws her readers in and keeps then focused until the very last word”—Alison Tyler

The Lust Chronicles takes readers inside the minds of men and women who know how to get their kink on. Fantasies are fulfilled as they go to orgies, join the Mile High Club, seduce sexy strangers and do all the naughty things they’ve always wanted to try. In “Luke Lushious,” Lolita Wolf attends a summer sex camp and finds the man of her dirtiest dreams, while Alex M. Quinlan learns “The Consequences of Complaint.”

Here you’ll find an ode to older women, lust for a girl in a fedora, one woman’s love affair with public sex, and several passionate paeans to the lovers you just can’t forget. Readers will identify with their cravings for over-the-top sex, and get off along with the narrators as they recount every last intimate detail. Proving that truth is far hotter than fiction, the Lust Chronicles authors bare all, letting you live vicariously through their steamy, 100% true stories.
 
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Excerpt:
I love masturbation. I love that I can do it anywhere, all by myself. I love how it makes my body feel. I love how being open and honest and sometimes quite blunt about it in public gives me an edge over people who stutter, blush, and have to change the topic. I would love to get up to give a speech in front of a huge group of people, broadcast live on national television, about what gets me off.

I didn’t always have such a positive relationship with solo sex. Back in high school, I thought a person masturbated if he or she couldn’t get any. People who masturbated seemed lonely and desperate. This made for some silly business on my part. I held off on masturbation for as long as possible, until something riled up my teenage hormones to the point of me fleeing, forced by an unnamable urge, to my bedroom. I used whatever came to hand (pens, pencils, markersI’ve joked that I turned myself into a human pencil holdermake-up brushes, even the non-business end of an electric shaver!) in a last-minute rush to orgasm. This being high school, my bad timing was often rewarded by my mom calling me to set the table or some other chore, always right before orgasm.

Once I started, I would masturbate like mad for a week straight. Then I would swear off masturbation, which usually lasted about a month. I didn’t make vows of self-chastity because I thought masturbation was dirty, but because I should be off getting laid, not at home being pathetic. This mindset nearly got me pregnant several times, and I am sure got me far closer to catching a venereal disease than I want to know about (this, being high school, meant my safe-sex habits were at times distressingly shoddy, if not nonexistent). It also meant I now have a whole bunch of skanky-boy memories to shudder over.

Jilling off grew on me when I discovered my bisexuality. I had a crush on my friend, but she was playing that coy game of always keeping my hopes up without ever actually doing anything. Masturbation was the only way I was going to get any female action at that point in time. I would lie in bed and think about having this wild summer adventure at Provincetown (the East Coast’s gay Mecca) with a woman sporting long or short black hair, deep chocolate or gray eyes, a long, lanky androgynous body, and a tongue that knew all the places to lick.

In the summer before college, I swore off boyfriends. I decided to sleep exclusively with women, at least until I had caught up number-wise to my experience with men. I went to the wrong school for that. My college was a tiny, 500-student New England affair, with a paltry gay-lesbian-bisexual-transgender group lacking a single woman who interested me. So I looked outside the gay community, and I found Belle.

Belle was curvy, and soft as a peach. I masturbated again and again while thinking of her. Meanwhile, I got into a relationship with Kristos (a boyoops!), which was just as well because Belle was barely bi-curious. For the duration of my relationship with Kristos (who was really a good guy, and put up with more of my shit than he should have), I thought entirely about women: dream women living in Boston or P-town, who would roll about in the sand or bed with me in dreamy Anaïs Nin-like, touchy-feely fantasy sex. It wasn’t much, but it kept me going.

The Lust Chronicles Anthology

By: Rachel Kramer Bussel
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