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While few of her letters survive, those that do have been considered a foundational "monument" of French literature from the late thirteenth century onwards. Her correspondence, more erudite than it is erotic, is the Latin basis for the bildungsroman and a model of the classical epistolary genre, which influenced writers as diverse as Madame de LafayetteLaclosRousseau and Dominique Aury. What is known is that she was the ward of an uncle, a canon in Paris named Fulbert.
It was nice to be back home but after a few days she'd begun to realize why she left in the first place. Her town was relatively small and definitely boring. Its biggest charm happened to be her biggest pet peeve; everyone knows everyone.
Dearest Readers. I'm happy to announce that my erotic thriller novella, "The Prince," will be appearing in an anthology from StarBooks Press named "Pretty Boys and Roughnecks. The anthology comes out in September. Check it out, though it may disturb you!
I like my depression like I like my women: married to the prime minister, delivering passion-fruit cake to a youth mental health service which experts say is inadequatewhen other mental health emergencies are ignored. I like it like Jenny Morrison: not having to take medication or anything like that. Depictions of mentally unwell women are so often pink-washed, dripping in garish sentiment, or stupidly sexy.
Eloise Chagrin is a writer of erotic and explicit fiction. Her first story, "Playing Doctor," first published on ThreePillows. She can only blame herself, scolding that she spends too much of her life fixated on emotional masochism.
If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head.
Just once I want to run naked through a field Let my tatas roam free without a query in my lush head full of Long glorious hair my tits sniffing the butts of other tits And performing other important dog-related tasks Before we go to the farm Are we going to the farm? Everyday as if by magic As if a bell rings at a very specific pitch Or a trumpet blows on the horizon Their pubes prick up. It is unclear whether they do laps first Or if they even swim anymore Or if they ever did Or if they go straight to the shower blocks To get squeaky clean. They follow the fluorescent light like a north star Come all ye faithful rejoice in the gentle of towelling of the bush The joy of fibres on hot wet skin.
Grilling Me Softly is a series of photographic portraits and interviews with emerging artists, musicians and creative people living and working out of Melbourne, Australia. To put it a little less loftily I like to chat to people a bit and find out why they do what they do. I ask subjects to speak about their practices openly and on their own terms, without being pressured to perform, and allow a long-form context for each artist to talk in depth about their craft.
Young jewelry store assistant Gloria "Glory" Braithewaite is in a dead-end relationship with a no-hope, out-of-work, cheating boyfriend. She's bored with him and with her life Eloise is stunningly beautiful, all the things Glory isn't—confidant, dominant, flirtatious—and she appears to be smitten with Glory.