Free erotic fiction

 by Ashley Lister

 Our theme this week is reasons why we’re proud. Thursday night exemplified many of the reasons why I believe I’m entitled to feel proud. Thursday night was the night of the erotic fiction reading at the No. 5 Café.

Two dear friends, both highly respected colleagues, visited Blackpool for Thursday evening. These were the writers D L King and Remittance Girl. They read some of their work.

They were superb.

Award winning poet, performance artist, author, workshop facilitator and blogger, Vicky Ellis, had kindly agreed to read some of my work because I was committed to a conflicting engagement for the first part of the evening.

Vicky did an awesome job.

There were a host of authors on the open mic, reading their work and sharing their intimate writings. The parts I caught were stunning. Blackpool really does have a hell of a lot of talent that is consistently overlooked.

My son, Ash JR, kindly compered the evening. His professionalism made me blush.

Below are links to the performances of some of the stories that were read. Please keep in mind that most of these links are probably NSFW (Not Safe for Work). These stories are on an adult theme and contain descriptions of sexual acts. If you're likely to be offended by any of these stories then please don't follow the links. And, to reiterate my original point: the fact that I’m lucky enough to work with such capable professionals who can produce and perform material of this calibre is one of the reasons why I’m deservedly proud.

NB - These are just three clips from the evening. I'm working on getting the others uploaded as soon as I'm able. It was a grand night and public opinion is insisting that we have to do something like this again in the near future.

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Proud

 by Cerridwen Lee

 What am I proud of? Well, I suppose over my few but tempestuous 18 years it would be a matter of what I’m grateful for and have become proud of. The small things I guess. I’m grateful for the small cluster of woodland five minutes from my door where I can sit in peace by the little fairy pool I’m fond of, or kick the crap out of the fallen heap of leaves on the ground in sudden regression to my much younger years. I’m grateful for the scattering of vibrant twinkling stars above my head in an inky sky on a crystal clear winter’s night and for my obscure mind that creates the weird imaginings of what happens up there making me forget momentarily that I can’t remember what it feels like to have a nose.

I’m grateful for my strange family, and the sacred tradition that if we have pancakes they MUST NOT be made in regular pancake batter colour, and either are eaten in the vibrant colours of snot green, powder blue, hot pink or lemon yellow. I’m grateful for the fat ginger kittens that waddle around my small bungalow home, occasionally darting up the heavy rust orange curtains and dangle precariously at the top. I’m grateful for all the wonderful and sometimes bloody mind-boggling words in the English language that help me to weave my poetry that makes me feel better about the few arses that I unfortunately encounter on a day-to-day basis.

I suppose the list could go on forever and the more I give you of it the more bored you readers may become and even worse, the more insight you may get into my somewhat unusual life. But I am proud of all those little things. They make life worth living.

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