The Erotic Literary Salon/Adult Sex-Ed Salon this Tuesday, doors open 6:30.
Book Release Party – Poet, storyteller, and Erotic Literary Salon Habitué Jon Drucker will read from his new collection, Fierce Liquid: Poems and Lies. Jon is the author of oneironaught: collected/selected/rejected poems, and is the founder and publisher of West Philly Press. http://westphillypress.com/
We shall celebrate the life of the first reader at the Salon, my chosen mom Frances Seidman, who wrote erotica for the first time when she was 91. Her wishes were to celebrate her passing; chosen children and a relative surrounded her bed at home with love, joy, and many stories (some rather bawdy) – she loved them. She died in her sleep Saturday, October 7. She died the way she lived – with much gusto and a smile.
Photo taken less than two weeks before she became my guardian angel. She is on fb if you wish to read more.
Backstory: When I heard that Susana had started an erotic literary salon and needed original writing, I thought, “I can do that,” and I offered to write a story.
I searched my mind and came up with a recent picture of myself and my almost new boyfriend. So, I wrote my first story, and offered to write only one. However, its presentation at the Salon was a success. (I think the idea of sex when someone is 90 was something new to the group, and their enthusiasm asked for more.)
So here it goes—I can write erotica. When I was a sophomore in high school, I won a ten-dollar prize for the art of writing composition. So now in my nineties I’ve had enough experiences to draw from.
Editor’s Note: When Frances, the Salon’s nonagenarian in residence, first came to read at the Salon, she used the pseudonym Lily. She was fearful of losing her volunteer position: working with young school children in Florida. A year later she threw caution to the wind, and now she is Frances to all who attend the Salon.
The piece below was her first attempt at writing erotica.
I am Lily‚ there he was, the man, standing by the pool of our senior community. My eyes stood still and my breath slowed down. I hadn’t seen a white haired man who could touch my heart for almost a lifetime. We reached for each other and agreed to meet the next week.
Without shame, I lay naked on the bed, eagerly separating my legs as the man knelt before me. My body warmed in a new way. Ripples of movement ran through me‚ and music by Vivaldi.
My skin smoothed out and was flooded with rosy coloring. I was a painting by Rubens and the man said I was beautiful.
* * *
Editor’s Note: At the very first Salon people were not expected to offer backstories. However, it soon became evident that the audience demanded to know more about the origins of the works presented.
This piece referenced in the Dedication was read by Frances at the first Salon. She had forgotten to mention the title, but after being cued, blurted out “First Date.” Upon hearing the audience gasp she said, “We’re old, we don’t have that much time.”