Alison. Author. Artist. Amazing. Amazon. Ambiguous. Alphabetical. Anytime, Anywhere, Anyplace. Absolutely Undefinable. Almost Another Year Older.




Cock-Wielding. I simply was male. And I wanted things from my woman that were extreme. Caning. Belting. I wanted to feel the soft leather of her pointed-toe boot between my legs. I was splayed and bound. She was taunting me. I knew if she kept up the punishment I would come. –Blog post

Dervish. See, Zen.

Encouraging. “I have prizes for everyone! Because that’s the type of hostess I am. (You know. One who calls you names like slacker first and then rewards you with goodies after. Sort of like bending you over my knee for a spanking, then wiping away your tears. Okay, it’s nothing like that. I just felt like talking about spankings. For no reason at all.)” –Blog Post

Friend. Shanna’s Note: I made the mistake of searching through my emails looking for that particular quote from AT that would have exemplified the word, ‘friend’ when it comes to her. And I found just far too many things in her words: Laughter, kindness, worry, fear, joy, excitement, exhaustion, care…  So you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Oh, hell, what am I saying? Most of you know exactly what kind of friend she is. The best kind.

Gorgeous. Shanna’s Note, Redux: Okay, I don’t have a link for this particular word. But I’ve met the woman. And let me tell you what… my heart fucking stopped. It did. I managed not to drool on her, but that’s only because she kept feeding me and making me laugh.


Heart-Stopping. “When I pick up a book of erotica,” says Alison Tyler, “I don’t want to read about ‘beautiful’ and ‘loving.’ I want to read about sweaty and heart-stopping.”

Inquisitive. I want to go to bed with you. Wait. No, that’s not right. I want you to want to go to bed with me. Nope. Well, actually… What I really want is for you to send me a picture of your bed. Or your bedding. Your sheets. Or your pillows. You can be in the bed if you are extra talented and know how to set the timer on your digital camera—or if you have a partner who wants to take your (not X-rated) picture. But mostly, I want to see where you sleep. Show me your sheets, will you? — AT, from the Boudoir Blog.


Kinky. I’m all for Pussy Play. I think that’s purrrfect…. –Blog Post


Wetting myself in the heat of the moment?


Wetting myself in the heat of the radiology center—something I sure as hell never want to experience. –Blog Post

Married (Happily). Natch.


Oral. I want to see you flirt. I want to know what you look like when you’re making eyes at another man.” –From “Kiss”

Publisher. Pretty Things Press, baby.


Questing for Perfection. “I know I’ve said before, but Frenzy was a bit of a bear to put together. I read hundreds of stories, and I do this funny shuffling game when I put books in order. I move the stories over and over again, trying to create the perfect layout. I want the anthologies to take readers on a satisfying ride from the moment you buy your ticket until you step off, light headed and giddy.” –Interview with AT

Real. Oh, so Real. I wanted to melt into nothing. Disappear into a silver mist. Over one midnight confession, I’d asked him if he’d spank me…and then, unable to actually voice the request, I had simply put his hand over the front of my panties. “Spank me here…?”

For some inexplicable reason, I was always waiting for the moment when I’d go too far. When he’d give me a disgusted look and push me away. I didn’t realize that Connor’s own fantasies were darker than my own, went farther than I’d dare to dream.

He’d laughed, not mean, not cruel, but he’d laughed at me. As if it went without saying that he’d do what I asked. “Baby,” he said softly, “I have no problem punishing your pussy.”

Ah, fuck me—

–From “The Last Goodbye.”

Smokin’. Alison Tyler has an amazing ability to seek out those stories that not only arouse but also bring a literary excellence to the genre. —Review of “Playing with Fire.”


Trollop. “Why am I giving away trollops? Because they need a good home. And also, I like the thought of people walking around with my mark on their skin. That just seems kinky to me.” —AT


Uncategorizable. That’s how I felt in the dressing room. When I had on a zippered PVC dress in scarlet, I became an evil queen. When in a form fitting navy skirt suit with snaps that ran down the jacket, I was the type of soon-to-be-unrepressed librarian that men dream of. Piles of clothing towered on the black lacquered chair in the corner of the dressing room. And still Jack wanted to see more. –Blog Post

Verse-Maker. My best friend, Antonia, is a wisp of a girl, with pale blonde hair as soft as eiderdown and a translucent complexion reminiscent of a pre-Raphaelite model. Sometimes she wears layered antique slips snagged from second-hand stores on Melrose. Clad in faded rose satin with lace at the collar, she might have just stepped out of a 19th century print, a low flush to her cheeks, a secret half-smile on her lips. Other times, she wears those gauzy, ethereal dresses that are so in right now. Always, she looks like a half-frightened wood nymph, her cherry red hair loose and alluring around her cameo face. –From “Antonia’s Beast.”

Well-Fucked. “I’ll punish you tomorrow,” he says, mouth to my ear. “For making me have to fuck you today.” –-Blog Post

XX&Y. One rainy night, I found myself unexpectedly engaged in a threesome with the sultry music editor from our newspaper and her dark-haired, dark-eyed roommate, an up and coming soap opera star who boasted the mournful look of a young Dean Martin… –Blog Post

Yes-Woman. When he’d told her to prepare herself, she’d licked her bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth, something she did when she was scared. “You’re sure?” he’d asked again, right before sliding the needle through, and she’d simply said, “Yes. Please.” –From “Pierced.”

ZenI’m a dervish. Maybe this is how I get so much done in such a short span of time. I spin. There is not a single Namaste bone in my body. I am the opposite of OM. I move from one project to the next, without taking a breath. By now, I’ve mastered multi-tasking to the level where I really don’t know how to do one thing at a time. –Blog Post


Footnote: Happy birthday, A! You inspire me, guide me, delight me, challenge me and encourage me more than you’ll ever know. And I know for a fact that I’m not alone when I say that. May the coming year bring you health, love, happiness, and writing and orgasms in abundance. Big love, s.


PS: For Other Birthday celebrations around the blog globe, check out these naughty attendees:


Kiss kiss bang bang, s.