The Smut Authors Among Us

When I first started writing and came up with a pen name, it felt weird to live part of my life in secret. I was always worried I would slip up, that people would judge me, that my friends wouldn't understand.

I just passed my third author-versary as Casey Mckay and it's a weird thing. On the one hand I am like, "Wow, it's been three years already?" and on the other I feel like, "No way, it's been forever, not just three years."

It's kind of the way I feel about being married. I can't remember what life was like before, but it's been so good that it feels like it all started yesterday. And I think I've come to a place where my author life and my real life have merged and I am more comfortable in my skin than ever. Not that I am "open" about my Casey McKay persona, but I've stopped hiding parts of myself from my close friends. I'm pretty sure they are all now aware that I am a kinky person and I don't mind talking about it.

Which brings me to a recent conversation I had with a friend and coworker. I was in the break room at my day job (the one that pays the bills) reading on my kindle and my friend came in and asked if I was reading "a dirty sex book". My answer? Duh, yeah. (I happened to be reading the first book in Lexi Blake's Masters and Mercenaries series and I was having a seriously hard time putting it down.)

My friend slips into the chair across from me and leans in conspiratorially. "You know what I wonder about these authors?"

Her using the term "these authors" had my face heating up. I could never be an undercover agent. I flipped my kindle closed and gave her my full attention.

"I mean, they write about all of this... stuff," she stopped and glanced around the very empty break room.

"Yeah?" I answered, urging her to finish her thought. 

"Do you think they do any of that in real life?"

Visions of my own sex life flash before my eyes. Things I have coerced my husband into doing in the name of "research" (not that he isn't a willing participant).

I shrugged my shoulders in a non-committal answer, trying to make it seem like I'd never given it much thought. "I don't know. Some of them probably have, I guess."

Her eyes go wide. "Have you ever read those menage books?"

Now I try really hard not to smile. I wonder if I could recommend Mastered by Casey McKay with a straight face? But then I try to search my brain if there is something hidden in the book that would give me away to a close friend. My inner debate lasts all of three seconds and I say, "Yeah, a few."

"I mean, where do you even find two men that would agree to get naked together?"

Before I can answer, she sits straight up in her chair and spreads her hands on the table. I'm completely focused on her reaction.

"And they're not just having sex with the chick in the book. They're like—worshipping her." Her face gets a faraway look on it. "And the way the authors describe how it feels. Being so full. Like, I don't even know how that works, but it sounds good, right?"

I realize at that moment why menage books are so popular, because who wouldn't want more than one man worshipping her and trying to satisfy her every sexual need?

"You know, you don't need two men for double penetration," I supply helpfully. (Of course, I whisper the word "penetration" and we both glance around like someone's listening.)

"What do you mean?" She eyes me warily.

"Dildo? Butt plug? There are other ways." I lean in closer. "Some of the best orgasms I've ever had."

Her cheeks tinge pink and she shakes her head. "What is your life?"

She's right. What is my life? I think that all the time.

It's times like these that make you wonder how well you know people. It also makes me wonder if people I know have ever read one of my books. 

From the way my stomach just somersaulted, I think some things are better left unknown.