You all know I write in different styles including horror but mine are not quite as hard core as my fabulous guest. Christian and I have become fast friends and I love and respect his dark work tremendously. I am proud to present the man and his work…
The wolf released the big man’s throat and lowered his head, emitting a threatening growl as he began to approach the other man.
“You fucking crazy bastard.” The biker reached behind him and produced a large semi-automatic handgun which he quickly aimed at the wolf. “You stupid fucking mutt.”
The wolf launched himself into the air just as the man fired. The bullet punched through the fur and muscle of the wolfs back leg, but it still managed to push the biker to the floor. He bit the hand holding the gun, teeth sinking through flesh and crushing bone. The coppery tang of blood filled the animal’s mouth, tinged with the taste of alcohol. The man screamed over the crunch of bones, blood pouring down his arm and splashing against his face. Despite the stench of fear that permeated the room, there was also the fetid stink of hatred. This man wouldn’t die so easily.
Hello all, my name is Christian Jensen, and I write erotica. I also write horror, and when able I blend the two in a beautiful dance filled with sensuality and blood. Honestly, I consider myself a horror/erotica writer, someone with one leg placed firmly in bounds of both genres. I don’t want to typecast as an author of either, but rather one who molds both, blending them seamlessly into something dangerously sexy and fun.
When I started out writing I was little more than a kid who loved Stephen King and wanted to emulate the things he wrote. I found a dozen other authors I liked, each of them horror authors. I devoured their books and hunted for as many as I could find, spending countless hours in the library sitting cross-legged amongst the dusty stacks scanning the pages. I loved the frightening aspects of their stories, and found relief from a less than ideal childhood in the words. I was able to put aside some very real fears and replace them with those of vampires and werewolves and killer clowns. I replaced the hurt of real life with a much darker reality in the fiction I read, and quickly found my own voice on the pages that sprung out of my IBM typewriter.
If you don’t know what a typewriter is, check Wikepedia. And then go fuck yourself, you god-damned whipper-snapper.
So anyway, I started writing when I about six or seven, creating one dimensional characters that I would slaughter at the hands of some terrifying monster I had created. Over the next dozen years or so I worked at improving my monsters and adding life experiences and lessons learned about adding depth and shading to my writing. I began to improve the dialog and pulse of my tales, growing as a writer with every passing day.
Then I found girls, and became enamored with the haunting things they did to me. I began to write poetry and my stories changed from the light hearted horror tales as imagined by a boy, into something darker and more sensual. My fantasies changed from things lurking in the woods towards something much softer and better smelling. I lost interest in the scary, and began to find a calling towards sex.
Over the next twenty years I moved through a hundred different progressions in my work, but it wasn’t until I accidentally I wrote a sex scene that I realized how much sex and horror had in common. I could create similar emotions and reactions by writing about sex as I could writing about slaughtering the innocent.
Writing is about emotion. A good author can scare you, make you laugh, or turn you on by blending words and altering his tone and pace. Nothing ever seemed more natural to me than adding sex to my violence, and I thrived at the challenge of including new dimensions to what I wrote. Life has sharp edges, and often times they hurt. Why shouldn’t my writing? I can still have sharp teeth and blood, but now I include the harrowing experience of sex and all the emotions that conjures. I have literally have my cake and eat it to.
Blending horror and erotica is easier for me than putting any other two genres together. It’s like the old commercial: You got your horror in my erotica. You got your erotica in my horror. Hhhmmmm…Once I tasted the two contrasting flavors I knew I had hit upon something that was right, and I ran with it.
The French call an orgasm “the little death”, so why not make death an orgasm? Why not revel in what my characters are feeling, be it pain or pleasure, especially since in the best love making you experience both. When the whip snaps and leaves you bloody, don’t you feel the electric hum of pleasure slipping hot and sultry across your spine? Isn’t it the absolute anguish of anticipation that adds so much to sex? The adrenaline dump of fear when your lover clicks those hand cuffs into place, the uncertainty of knowing exactly what they are about to do?
Revel in the fear, because it feels so damn good. Savor the pain and the coppery tang of blood on your lips as you press them to your lover. Listen to the sound of your beating heart as it pounds, the tingle in your fingers as their sweaty flesh touches yours. Understand that fear and pain are the spices that make sex alive. Even if it’s something you’re not into, think it through. Live your life vicariously from the safety that comes outside of the book as the characters do all the things you wouldn’t. Take a deep draw from the well of uncertainty and relax, because things are about to get dangerous.
He could smell her. It was maddening, the sexual need that was pouring out of her skin. He wanted to push her down and lick her everywhere, and he thought he just might do that. Her scent was a mixture of come, sweat, and lust. It permeated the air and filled his nose. Chris took a deep breath of it in and held it.
“Now.” His dick went into the incredible heat of her mouth.
Amy couldn’t help but smile as she placed it on her tongue like communion. She let it sit there; here eyes locked on his as the withered flesh slowly grew. The feeling of it expand in her mouth, growing and filling her like this was maddening. She wanted to suck it and work her hand over it. She wanted to run her tongue over the slippery head and tickle his balls and suck them into her mouth. She wanted to do so much, but she couldn’t. Not yet.
Chris stroked her hair and looked into the twin pools of blue, Spanish sky blue, and struggled to control himself. He didn’t want to get too hard too quick. His intention was to drive Amy crazy, but in truth he was suffering just as much as she was.
I would like to thank Cassandre Dayne for giving me the chance to sully her blog with the dirty musing from inside my head.
If you want to read more, you can find me at these awesome locations:
Barnes and Noble:
You can find me on facebook and twitter (@hororwritindad)
I adore his work and so glad to present it to you – hope you enjoyed