Memory Lane

Just a word to say my website addresses have had to change again due to technical errors (thanks Yola, you b'stards) I'd be grateful if anyone could pass them on to anyone interested in my style of fic.

You can find Fabian Black Fiction at: https://fabianblackromance.yolasite.com/
I've posted another chapter of Hope House The Long Weekend and also a Tarn and Twinks extract.

For those who remember where I started, writing as Cat, I've also changed Cat's MM Discipline Fiction website address. You can find it at:https://catsmmfiction.yolasite.com/
I've added the HH chpaters there and will also post a new short discipline ficlet in due course. There are various bits and pieces on the Cat site that aren't on the Fabian Black site, some of them are a bit rough around the edges, but still hopefully enjoyable for those who enjoy traditional Top/brat style stories.

A bit of chatter. I don't write as frequently as I used to or would like to, that pesky thing called life has been kind of overwhelming at times over the past few years. I'll keep plugging away for a bit longer yet before chucking in the towel altogether. Things have changed so much since I first started writing in this crazy genre. It all started when I discovered Jimka's M/M spanking site. Anyone remember that? Some of the stories were dubious regarding character ages, and not to my taste, but there were some gems among the dross. Then there was the much loved and still missed Porch. I still recall some of the wonderful discipline writers who had fiction up on The Porch. Bosephus and Frostspinner are still among my favourites. It was the proudest day when I was granted my own little portion of the porch to showcase my fiction. The porch is gone now, along with other fun sites, most went down when Geocities pulled the plug.  Then there were Yahoo groups specialising in spanking stories, sites like Paddywhacks and Rod and Slipper along with others. They tended to falter when people who should have known better started turning on each other. Why do some people want to savage others and bring them down? I don't get that. People stopped posting for fear of saying the wrong thing and having some bugger shoot them down in flames. There were always a few who thought only their way was the right way. These self appointed group police sucked the fun out of everything. Sigh! Life does have its ups and downs, no doubt about it. It must be an age thing, but I sometimes find myself missing those heady early days when folk with the kink gene were discovering others with the same gene thanks to the power of the WWW. I still think fondly of some of the readers and writers I met along the way, especially on the defunct Paddywhacks group, and often wonder where they are now. Times change and we move on. I guess it’s the nature of things.

Bye Bye Fabian Black Romance.com

In case anyone remotely gives a damn, my website : fabianblackromance.com is set to, or already has gone offline.

I was relying on royalties from Q4 of my All Romance Ebooks sales to pay my site fees and domain fees for another year. However, Lori James, the CEO of ARe decided she deserved my money more than I did when she did a runner with everyone’s royalty payments in order to (allegedly) fund her luxury homes and rich lifestyle. One can only hope the despicable, thieving cow develops dry rot and woodworm, and in her houses too. So, to continue, in these hard times I had to make a choice as to whether I could afford to keep paying site and domain fees. I can't at this moment in time, it's an unacceptable luxury, so its bye-bye fabianblackromance.com

I'm not sure how it fully works when you stop paying, but you might be able to still access my site at a sub domain: http://fabianblackromance.synthasite.com/

I'm not sure how much of it Yola will delete. The info they gave was unclear. Time will tell.

It's been fun, and hopefully I'll still write and publish stuff at retail hosting venues such as Amazon and Smashwords (fingers crossed they don't double cross their author partners like dear old Lori and so many others have.) I’ll update with any relevant news here on blogger as and when. 


UPDATE 05/05/17

My website can be accessed at subdomain: https://fabianblackromance.yolasite.com/

It seems it remains much the same for readers at this moment in time, but means I have a limited amount of file space to use in comparison to before and of course I've lost the 'prestige' of having my own domain. Also if any problems arise then I can basically fuck off as Yola won't help now I'm not paying them. Oh well. Never mind. On another subject, I am still in processs of writing Hope House as a complete entity rather than a serial, for reasons I stated in another post.

All About Me and My Fiction

I'm a writer and fan of gay fiction. Like so many other writers of M/M fiction, I'm female. It's a fact, a large proportion of M/M or 'slash' writers are women. Arguments and theories abound as to why, but none of them matter. Some women love reading and writing gay themed romance, it's no big deal.

I’m a staunch supporter of GLBTQ Rights and Marriage Equality.

Love is an important aspect of the human experience and its free expression should not be denied to anyone. No one should be made to feel ashamed or tormented simply for being in love or for being who they were born to be.

Please note I'm a British writer and therefore write my stories using U.K. English and grammar, not U.S. so please check the default settings on your chosen reading device. :)

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If you're looking for a complex thriller, hardcore, heavily sexualised erotica, gritty gay realism, typical BDSM leather scenarios, a horror trip or a gory murder mystery then you've come to the wrong place.

So, what the heck DO I write?

I write rather nice gay themed stories, often, but not always, seasoned with a twist of D/s spice, a dash of good humour and a sprinkling of emotion. I suppose I write comedy drama with gay characters.

 My stories fall under the BDSM umbrella, but only insofar as consensual power exchange is involved and discipline is given and taken. Essentially they belong to a sub group of romance/power exchange fiction often referred to as discipline romance fiction or discipline partnership fiction.

 

Not everyone understands or 'gets' domestic discipline fiction and that's fine. I don't 'get' prawn cocktail flavour crisps, but I uphold the right of people to eat them should their taste buds be wired that way.

  

While sex is an aspect of my fiction it isn't the main focal point, so if you think of and enjoy M/M stories only in terms of heat level and detailed sex scenes then my fiction probably won't be to your taste. I get pretty fed up of being told my stories don't have enough sex in them. I don't believe gay genre fiction HAS to be masturbation material. I tend to focus more on the emotional side of things and of course the discipline aspect. Discipline or the potential for discipline provides the erotic undercurrent to many of my stories.

 
You might like to read an interview I did with BDSM romance writer J.A.Rock discussing aspects of my fiction
Submissive Sharks and Sexy Peaches

As well as being the vehicle by which I express my interest in consensual discipline practices,  my stories are about everyday relationships, situations, affection and love. They're quirky, warm hearted and have a liberal sprinkling of offbeat and very English humour. They're entertaining, sometimes thought provoking and always observant of the human condition. Most of all they're fun and written with entertainment in mind. Let's face it, fetish is a funny old thing and you have to have a sense of huimour about it.



I’ve been 'hobby' writing in this genre for some years and have built up a small, but loyal following of fans who totally 'get' my stuff. Some have become friends. I'm grateful for their support, it's kept me writing when I might otherwise have given up. I don't make a living from writing, far from it. Selling my stories helps to pay for cover designs, editing and ebook conversion services and also website fees, so at least my hobby doesn't leave me out of pocket.

I have many theories as to why I’m drawn so strongly to this type of fiction. Perhaps it allows me to express aspects of my personality that would otherwise remain repressed. None of it really matters, I write what I like to write and that's it. :) If you enjoy my stories then I'm pleased.

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Many real life couples, straight, gay and lesbian choose to incorporate elements of discipline into their relationship. It's an aspect of intimacy, which enhances and strengthens the relationship. It serves emotional and psychological needs as well as physical. In other words, the craving for discipline is multi layered and is much more than just a prelude to sexual activity. Consensual DD relationships share some similarities with bdsm practices, such as aspects of control, discipline, domination and submission, but in general tend to be rooted in a different dynamic.  

The focal point of D/s romance is discipline and how and why it comes about...the act of discipline and its description is the erotic and sensual core of the stories. I do strive to give my readers something more than a set of scenes. I like to tell a story with intelligence and I like to engage the emotions.

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Some other ramblings and observations

My fiction might also be seen as an updated and pro-gay adjunct to the kind of  romance novels that were popular in the pre-feminist era...tales of submissive ladies and alpha males, only the submissive lady has been supplanted by a submissive laddy. ;-)

The point missed by the feminists who damned such works at that time and had them culled from library shelves was that a lot of women, and indeed a lot of  gay men,  enjoy fantasising about being swept off their feet and over the knee of an alpha male who naturally had a heart of gold beneath his masculine and stern exterior. It was all rather sweet and innocent erotica at a time when sensuality and sexuality were not as overtly expressed as they are now. Far from liberating women, feminism, in that particular context, further suppressed female sexuality by making women with a submissive aspect and submissive desires feel guilty about it (men with a submissive aspect already felt guilty because submissivness was considered to be a 'weak' female trait)

Having an interest in spanking and discipline is not perverse, it isn’t wrong. It's an integral and highly potent aspect of many people’s physical and emotional identity. They can no more help it than having say blue or brown eyes, it's part of their natural genetic coding. 

The reasons why people are fascinated by power exchange relationships and the degree to which they choose to practice them are as diverse as the individual’s concerned.  Being a consensual submissive, male or female, is not the same as being a victim, far from it. Submissives tend to be strong and very attuned to their emotional requirements and very sure about how they want them to be met.  

Almost all human interactions have some Alpha/beta elements to them, some people just need to explore and express that element in more depth.

  

The End  

 

 




 

 

Short Story: The Making Of An Atheist

The making of an atheist…


The man I loved died. His name was Alec and he passed out of all being on an afternoon in late winter. It was snowing and he asked me to take him to the window. So, wrapping him in a blanket I carried him to his favourite chair by the French windows. We sat together, watching snow collect on the bare bones of jasmine and honeysuckle. In the chill garden, snowdrops fulfilled their name and the trees stretched long limbs studded with foetal buds against a pale sky. He would never see them open. He died peacefully in my arms, as the last day of February crept towards a March that for him never came. His ashes were scattered and borne away on the wings of a winter breeze.

‘Alec is dead’ became a constant litany that my mind chanted as I wandered through the following days and weeks. It was as if I had to keep repeating it in order to convince myself of the terrible truth. Through it all I drank coffee and went about the daily business, firmly believing that God was giving me the strength to keep going. I was that rare thing you see, a man of faith.

Winter was hesitant in departing that year, trailing an icy cloak into spring’s allotted space on the calendar. I moved dreamlike through March, April and all the months that followed in strict succession, on into autumn, and then winter again.

Standing by the window clasping a mug of hot, sweet coffee between my hands, I watched snow shroud the skeletal branches of the Christmas tree I’d put up in Alec’s memory, ‘can’t have Christmas without a real fir tree, never mind that the needles drop, you old misery, and don’t give me that pagan stuff either, you love it just as much as I do, Isaac. You just won’t admit it.’ His voice still resonated in my mind, forever a part of me. So I bought and dressed a fir tree, as if he was still there, still with me, but it served only to emphasise my loss. It was with relief that Twelfth Night came and I could remove the tree from the house without feeling I was letting him down. It still lay in the garden, a forlorn remnant of Christmas past, reminding me more starkly than ever, especially that day, a late February day, that a whole year had passed since last I’d held him in my arms. For me the seasons halted at that point. A promise of spring that came to nothing, dwindling in an expired breath, leaving a permanent seam of winter in my heart. Hardening my senses to the sight of slender, silvery green shoots poking through a thin covering of snow I moved away from the window.

Easter came early; chocolate eggs coexisting with cut price Christmas merchandise on supermarket shelves…the babe of Bethlehem grown to adulthood in the space of several moons. On Easter Sunday, as I stood at the lectern in front of a small gathering, I suffered yet another bereavement. Something died within me, expiring along with my voice as I struggled to complete the reading. Resurrection, rebirth, the words were but empty promises, warped mythology. They fell from my lips, brittle shards of ice that melted and drained away. I paused in my address, the truth impaling me before witnesses. There was no resurrection, no rebirth. The only truth, the only certainty offered by The Crucifixion was the certainty of cruel death and permanent departure. My heart was already dust, microscopic particles that I’d cast on the wind along with the ashes of a man who’d been dead for a year, the man I loved. Binding my faith in grave clothes I consigned it to the dark cave alongside a God made suddenly mortal, a man called Jesus who had been dead for two thousand years, a man whose teachings had been corrupted and used to condemn the love I had shared with Alec. All my prayers had been a waste of time, nothing but desperate superstitious appeals to a man long dead, and one who had failed me while I yet believed in his divinity and kind mercy. Alec was dead. I would never hold him in my arms again, never taste his lips, never hear his voice or look into his eyes and see his love for me, a love that they said was sinful.

Closing the bible I stepped down from the lectern and walked away, no longer a man of faith.


Selling the home I’d shared with Alec, I resigned my teaching post and moved away.



Copyright Fabian Black 2009