Naughty, Neve Nightcaps for Halloween


I’ll be reading Naughty Neve Nightcaps this Saturday night, which just so happens to be Halloween. The Literary is simultaneously throwing an Erotic Halloween Party and I’m beginning to hear a trickle here and a whisper there about what some guests are planning to wear that night. It should be very, very interesting *raises eyebrows in typical Groucho Marx style*


It’s been the tradition during these videotaped readings that I celebrate other fine erotic writers by reading their penned craft as well.  It is with great honor and orgasmic pleasure that I’m reading two erotic writers this week. And even though they both share the same zodiac sun sign, these two writers couldn’t be more different in their styles:

Bad Ass Kona: When I think of BAK’s writing, I think of beautiful, raw and unfiltered ingredients found in each of his words. He uses such tender care; such painstaking brush strokes when he creates each masterpiece. His message is so potent; so poignant, yet so simple and gorgeous. There are some writers whose words you meet and you think, damn, these words should be hanging on a wall in a museum for everyone to view. That’s how I feel about BAK.

Scarlett Greyson: Scarlett came onto the erotic scene, much like a voyeur in her weekly voyeur series; peeking into various blogs and leaving these steamy, thoughtful comments that had me begging for more. Scarlett has the capacity to fly high; soaring towards the heavens and then swooping down into the deep, deep depths below with her erotic voice. If this were Hollywood, Scarlett Greyson would be on one of those Hollywood lists; ranked as a rising star. Look out world, here she comes!


See everyone at the Literary on Erotic Halloween
Neve Black

A Quagmire


I have no control over what someone else says or does. I have no control over what someone else says or does. I have no control over what someone else says or does. I only have control over how I react to their words and actions. This is my mantra for today.

Last night I was placed in a precarious and uncomfortable situation. I felt trapped in my own skin. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I just sat there, while my fingers increasingly tightened around my “lady in red” martini. All I could hope for was that Captain Kirk would respond to my request and let me board the Starship Enterprise. I wanted to quickly disappear into thin air; proceeding to warp speed 12 and into another galaxy.  Unfortunately, my signal was not heard, because there I sat, waiting and cringing with each breath.

It was the strangest place to be in. This type of situation rarely happens, but you recognize it when you’re faced with it.  It was a classic quagmire. I couldn’t move in any direction, because quite literally I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t.

Has anyone else ever been stymied by being at the wrong place at the wrong time?

Neve Black

You’re a Beast and Not a Man


At the risk of offending anyone reading today’s post, my blog title is my way of letting you know, I’m heading into the dark side today: the dark and highly forbidden side of bestiality. I’d like to offer an open discussion about the topic, if anyone out there *hello* cares to speak.

I must give our friend Janine Ashbless a proper nod, because I landed onto her blog posting some time ago, which connected me to Billierosie’s blog.  It appears the three of us fancy beasts, and our beasts are not anthropomorphic. Note: I think it’s important to mention that Janine, Billierosie and I, all love and respect animals.  We’re each animal activists in our own way. Suffice to say, this post is certainly not about animal cruelty, which personally makes me want to vomit.

If you’re an erotic writer, you know there are certain subjects you’re not allowed to touch: rape, sex with those under the legal age, and sex with animals, aka, bestiality. Oh sure, you can write about werewolves, vampires and other creatures that possess human characteristics, but no editor or publisher I know will touch your bestiality prose.  And please, I’m in no way placing blame here, especially not with any editor or publisher. I’ve come to respect and admire too many people within the erotic pool.  So, once again, at the risk of offensive behavior, I suppose I must beg the question, why? Why can’t we write about rape, under age sex and sex with animals? And before I go and tell my mind to shut up, because it’s already conjuring up of all the violence associated with these subjects, I have to remind my mind that it spends most of its free time with other artists. So my mind hears, sees, and feels what other artists express: the good, the bad, the hurtful, the violent and the obscure. The difference is I know many artists touch upon these taboo subjects in their work, so why can’t I write about it?

I’ve posted recently about a conversation I had with Billierosie about one of the very first, erotic stories I read, an erotic thriller titled, Topping From Below. This book is loaded with enough sadist masochism that the Marque De Sade had to have been smiling up from his darkened grave.  This book is what I would consider gritty-dark. It’s a thriller that most definitely spoke, hell, it sung about bestiality between its lurid pages. It’s a dark, number that you won’t ever forget.  It’s still one of my all-time favorite erotic thrillers too. I find I’ve referenced passages in this book on more than one occasion when trying to draw upon a dark emotion. And I’ll be honest, the bestiality in the story is not for the thin-skinned either, however, both the writer and the story needed the images of the dog and the pig (sorry, guys) in order to demonstrate the character’s psycho-psychotic mind. The book would not have had the same impact without the bestiality woven into its pages.  And I’m not talking about rubber-necking, sensationalism here either.

The more I write, the stronger my voice gets. I suppose every writer feels that way, which is what we all strive for, I suppose. I’m also becoming less and less fearful about speaking my voice too. Although, I don’t like to offend anyone, so maybe I’m not as strong voiced as I’d like to be. I’m a very positive-minded person, but when it comes to erotic writing, I’ve always preferred the dark side: “Luke, I am your father.” (sorry, couldn’t resist). My favorite color is black, my last name is Black. I love dark meat, dark chocolate, dark men, film noir, and my very, very favorite perfume is Chanel Number 5, with its dark, spicy notes and its sleek, black case whisper and coax me into deep, dark places, or down forbidden paths where beasts seem to live.  And boy, do I love exploring roads less traveled; less blazen, filled with ugly pot holes, rocks and scraggly bushes. Roads that lead to no where, but everywhere. 

When I first picked up my erotic writing pen, I wanted to express what I call the “rub” in each story. I still do too. “What’s the rub?” You ask. The rub for me is that place inside each and every person where the light side meets the dark side, and the dark side starts to look more like gray, than black. I like that dirty, dark place that lies dormant, until I scratch at it and it awakens, with an erection! I could pay an analyst a lot of money to determine why I like the darker side of things, but I’m content to shrug my shoulders and simply write about it instead.

My erotic pen did meet a beast that wasn’t human once, thus far in my erotic writings. That beast taunted my heroine and drove her wild with forbidden lust too. She was scared and brave at the same time, so for me, that was her rub; when the two opposites collided, or kissed for just a moment. In the end my heroine didn’t fully submit to his dark, beastly ways, but who knows, maybe next time she will.

What do you think about erotic taboos? What does your, dark hidden path look like? Does is have a beast? Is he sexy and non-human-like?

Neve dark side, Black


The Eighth Sign


Happy Birthday Scorpio. Yes, today is the first official day of the zodiac’s eighth sign. I felt Libra pass the zodiac baton off to Scorpio at some point last night while attending a soiree’ in honor of our city’s Mayor. The party was supposed to end at 9:00 p.m., but, hmmm… it was well past closing time and, hmmm… I was still there, on a school night no less, talking and catching up with business associates and drinking a wee  bit of vino tinto (red wine).

Damn you Scorpio!

Being born in November, I’ve learned this naughty and sometimes nasty sign is mostly responsible for why I’m constantly turning over rocks and digging into deep, black holes with my bare hands and toes. I suppose I’m digging and searching for hidden truths. Sometimes searching for those hidden truths can lead to trouble though, like dirt under my nails and other troubling affects found when discovering scary truths. And trouble that starts with T, but doesn’t at all rhyme with R, but really should, because that stands for Roxanne.

In my zodiac novel, Sex through the Zodiac, Roxanne just so happens (the power of fiction) to  find another Scorpio playmate. And one would think, two scorpios would have been enough for her, but no, as mentioned, this is fiction, so we invited one of Roxanne’s previous lover’s, Anise for a menage a trois and some delicious soixante nuef in the steam room at her gym:  


“…Anise and I took seats on either side of Terrence. He stretched his legs out in front of him, while placing his elbows on the tile steps directly behind him and leaned back. Both Anise and I followed his exact movements.

     “Ahhh. I turned the steam up a little before coming in here.” Terrence said, letting out a long sigh of relaxation.

I tilted my head back and looked up toward the ceiling. The steam was thicker up here than the few stairs below. It was already very thick and I could barely see below from where the three of us were now sitting. I could hear the thwack, thwack, thwack sound of people’s flip-flops navigating across the wet floor as they entered and left the room. The door opened and for one brief second, I could feel the air get slightly cooler. I tried to grab hold of the cool air, taking it into my lungs for as long as possible, but then the door would slowly close, sealing shut and shutting out the coolness and I felt the heat and steam start to infiltrated my nostrils again.

I was almost ready to be done with this sweat bath misery, when I felt Terrence’s long, strong fingers massaging my right shoulder. “You’re tense, Roxanne. Let me loosen you up.” He barely murmured as his hands moved over my shoulder and then down into the front of my towel. His hands felt strong as they pushed into my muscles.

His dark skin contrasted against the white towel and I wondered if anyone who was still in the room could see us. My towel unfolded and the condoms slipped out and onto the step below.
            “What was that?’ Terrence asked me, even though I knew he already knew.
            “Responsibility.” I returned, before bending forward to pick them up. I could see more clearly and breathe a little better just one step below where we were sitting, and I turned back to look at both Terrence and Anise, before snatching the condom packets. Through the blur of steam, I saw Anise’s naked body; her towel had fallen behind her. Terrence’s hand was moving across her bare breasts. Her head was tilted back and she had spread her legs; her finger tips were massaging her clit. 

I unwrapped myself from the towel and moved toward Terrence; touching the tops of his rock hard thighs with my hands as I straddled him. Both his hands grabbed the cheeks of my ass; pulling me snugly against his groin. His cock was still contained behind his trunks and I felt it harden as my pussy grinded into him….”


Does anyone care to tell any Scorpio-related tales? There will be a prize given for the best story told.

Please be sure and wish the following sexy, Scorpios, dark birthday wishes: Rachel Kramer Bussel, BAK and Scarlett Greyson.


Neve Black

Swedish Day

I remember my very first year living in Cleveland. I was awe-struck and fell head-over-heels in love with all the different cultures here. For me, this equated to an introduction of lots of delicious new foods.  Let’s face it; even if you’ve never visited San Diego, or the white-bread, beach community I grew up in, somehow, you know how culturally different it is from Cleveland, Ohio.  Even the six years I lived in Seattle’s, Pacific N.W., with all its cultural boasting as the gate-way to Asia, pales in comparison to Cleveland’s, multi-cultural Mecca.

So, it was the middle of October, 2000, and I was working at my bank job. I was busy working and only half-listening, but I do remember the buzz going on around me. It seemed as if everyone was hell-bent for election about making plans with their special someone for a holiday that fell on that weekend’s Saturday.  I’d never heard of this holiday before: Swedish Day. I thought, boy, isn’t that something? Cleveland devotes an entire day to celebrate all the Swede’s living here. I sighed with such pride to be living in such a great, cultural place. Everyone was jumping on the Swedish celebration band-wagon too.  I wasn’t dating anyone at that time, so I didn’t have a hot date making Swedish holiday plans for us. I thought, hmmm…I should at the very least buy some Swedish fish candies, or make Swedish meatballs to show my Swedish spirit.



“Neve, it’s not S-W-E-D-I-S-H D-A-Y, IT’S S-W-E-E-T-E-S-T D-A-Y.” One of my work-mates said to me as she stepped inside my cubicle. She was fighting back tears of laughter.

“Huh? It’s what? Sweetest Day? What is that?” I returned. My brow was furrowed and I scratched my head in disbelief.

“Um, well, it’s a made-up American Greetings holiday. And I’m not sure if anyone else celebrates Sweetest Day, except for Ohio.” She explained, but she was still chuckling under her breath.

Long pause.

It felt as if all the air had been let out of my tires. Where was the cultural support for the Swede’s? What is this Sweetest Day and why does everyone get so gaga over a made-up, forced romantic holiday? It seemed like Cleveland was celebrating Valentine’s Day twice: once in October and then again with the rest of the world in February. I really liked my version of Swedish Day a lot better. Maybe that’s because I haven’t always had the best of luck on designated romantic holidays. I got married on Valentine’s Day once; thinking pink hearts and flowers was a date we’d never forget.  I’ll say, divorced three years later…it’s a day I’ll never forget.

“Oh.” I was obviously disappointed.

Forward fast to this year: last Saturday, October 17, and guess what? It was Sweetest Day here in Cleveland.  It was a brisk night on Saturday. The man in my life and I walked the streets in search of a place to grab a quick bite to eat before heading to a party. We walked past a popular restaurant and peered into the large, picture windows, hoping for seat at the bar.  Silly us, we didn’t have reservations and the place was packed; standing room only; filled with Sweetest Day lovers, young and old. I smiled to myself and thought, “Just look at all those people. They’re celebrating Swedish Day.”  

I suppose Sweetest Day will forever be Swedish Day for this girl -
Neve Black


Telephone-Game-Blogging and Friendships

Does anyone remember playing the telephone game?  When one person whispers something into someone’s ear and then that person whispers what they heard into the next person’s ear, and so on, and so on, until by the time it reaches the last person, the original message is often quite different than what the first person said?


Blog land is a lot like the telephone game sometimes. The erotic world is very, very small, even if we’re states and countries apart from one another:

Often when we create a blog post, the post will sometimes reference links to another writer’s post, because that writer has had a similar experience. This linking creates a telephone game response; sending other links and comments from others, until the original message has metamorphosed into something different than its original state: the telephone-game-blogging message has taken on many new perspectives; filled with personal thoughts, experiences, and is often intellectually stimulating. There’s also a little magic that happens during this process too: friendships are born.

This blog land telephone game phenomena happened to me again recently. I met a wonderful writer and new friend that goes by the blog name of Billierosie. I met her through commenting on Janine Ashbless’ blog. Janine had linked to Billierosie’s blog post because the discussion topic that day was about bestiality.

Billierosie and I got to talking about the beastiality topic via her blog post, and I turned her on to one of the first erotic S/M books I ever read: Topping From Below. This book used bestiality to demonstrate the gripping horror of the character’s deep, dark, bad side. Bestiality in this book was a necessary evil and it really help set the tone of this particular character.

Since then, Billierosie ordered and read the book. She wrote to me about her thoughts on the book and she was so generous to write a review, which can be found on her blog, here. We shared stories that we both authored and she was once again, so generous to write a review of a story I wrote called, Skinny Man, which resides at Oysters and Chocolate.

Stay tuned for more about this fantastic lady. It appears she and I have more business to discuss about the topic of bestiality (maybe you do too), and also, please offer her a big congratulations, because one of her stories has been chosen for M. Christian’s, Best S/M Erotica, Volume III.  


Neve Black





In My Dreams

I don’t usually write much poetry. I’m not very good at it. I ramble on too much, thus my reasons for writing epic stories, I suppose.  But these thoughts came to me in my sleep last night. I usually remember dreams about as much as I write poems, and this was aching to written as a poem:

The Small of Her Back
Written by, Neve Black

Strong hand presses tenderly,

I close my eyes to see,

Tickle smile, succulent skin, hard cock,

Warm strength supports me,

Move forward.


What have you been dreaming about?
Neve Black