Fanny Whitecrow

From my journal, the first 6 volumes of which were published earlier this year as DIARY OF AN ASPIRING EROTICIST:

My Outdoor Studio
July 23, 2021
Paris, France

I started modeling n**e for artists when I was only twelve years old. It is something I really enjoy doing, and it is gratifying to be paid for my time. I like having extra money that I can either donate to a purely humanitarian cause or invest in a start-up business in some economically depressed region. Modeling has always been my primary occupation for generating cash to throw at my pet projects, of which I now have about a dozen.

Since the start of this pandemic, however, I have not felt comfortable being inside a studio for hours on end in close proximity to other human beings. Recently, it occurred to me that my back garden might, with only a few minor changes, be turned into a splendid outdoor studio.

I put the idea to Mme Arsenault and asked her to help me redesign the garden with the aim of making it more open at the front (near the house) in order that a dozen or so artists (or art students) might have work space and be able to see the model, their view unobstructed by plants. Mme Arsenault found my scheme delightful and threw herself into the project.

I hired a local man, Jean-Paul DuPont, to do all the digging and heavy lifting. Mme Arsenault directed him whilst I set about printing notices to post on bulletin boards at art schools and art-supply stores. I sent a similar notice to every Parisian artist of my acquaintance. I even ran some newspaper ads.

Once a week (on Saturday afternoon), I mean to host a four-hour drawing session with myself as model. There will be no instructor, but students should gain valuable practice working from life. The cost to attend and participate is nominal. No camera or cell phone is to be allowed at these group sessions. I’ll happily pose for individual photographers, but I expect to be paid a lot more for that.

On Sundays and weekdays, my outdoor studio will be available to rent by the hour, and Marketa, Ekatrina, and I will all be available to hire as models. Of course, any artist or photographer who books my outdoor studio is more than welcome to bring his/her own model or models instead.

As of last evening, the garden is ready to assume its new rôle as outdoor studio. My first life session will be tomorrow. I am breathless with anticipation. I hope this goes as I expect it to.
**emodel

Diary of an Aspiring Eroticist: Volumes I - VI (2016 - 2-21) When F***y Whitecrow received a blank book as a graduation gift, she began keeping a diary of her quest for s*xual experience upon which to draw someday when she hoped to realize her ambition to become an author of tasteful and literary erotica. This current volume represents the first six years ...

The Chosen Profession of Jade Stonecalf by Trudy Silverheels is described by the publisher as "the adventures of a fille de joie." I loved this book. And I especially enjoyed listening to the audio book version. I'd bet that you will too.
https://www.audible.com/pd/B07LB7S9YD/?source_code=AUDFPWS0223189MWT-BK-ACX0-136228&ref=acx_bty_BK_ACX0_136228_rh_us

Follow the link to listen to a free sample track. And while you are there (at Audible.com), you might just decide to buy the audio book or to subscribe.

The Chosen Profession of Jade Stonecalf Check out this great listen on Audible.com. Native American teenager Jade Stonecalf believes that she has discovered her true calling. She's a pr******te, and she loves her work. She has a business plan to achieve millionaire status by the age of 21. But first there are dangers to be faced and vic.....

I came upon an interesting essay by someone named Emma Austin. I saved the essay to reread later, but I forgot to save the link to it. And now I cannot find it on the internet. But here it is as I saved it to my computer. Ms Austin's attitude is very like my own. I hope you find this essay as appealing as I do.

My father’s the one who brought p**n into our home, though I’m not sure he really intended to. He upgraded us to satellite TV. But he also knew a guy who could rig it so that all the premium channels were unblocked (my dad’s the kind of person who “knows a guy” for everything). And with premium channels came p**n, from the softcore stuff on Pl***oy TV to a 24/7 stream of hardcore movies.

And 12-year-old me couldn’t get enough of it. I didn’t get to watch it often — the conditions had to be right. But whenever my parents were both out of the house, I would draw the living room curtains shut, keep the volume low enough so I could hear the car pull into the driveway, and I would turn to the dirtiest channels I could find.

That was the same year I discovered erotica. That one was my mom’s. It was a well-worn paperback that she hid behind a row of boring, tame books. Not a bad spot, but kids find everything.
I can’t remember the title. I have no idea what the plot was. But I kept that thing hidden in the back of my nightstand drawer. On nights I couldn’t watch p**n in the living room, I’d read s**t in my bedroom.

The reason I don’t remember the plot is because I dog-eared every steamy scene in the book. Once I read it a couple of times, I started skipping right to the good stuff.

P**n introduced me to nudity, to bl****bs and fu***ng, and to the idea that sometimes you might f**k more than one person at a time. The novel introduced me to light bo***ge, kink, and fetishes. It also gave me some insight into the inner thoughts and feelings that come with s*x. Unlike p**n, I knew what these characters were feeling and what they were anticipating. It was a hundred times better than the s*x education I got from my parents and through the school. P**n Empowered Me.

Whenever I write positively about p**n, I usually get a couple of responses from concerned citizens worried about what p**n is teaching us. I’m with them to some extent. It can exacerbate the worst in some people. If they already think of women as human s*x toys, p**n is just going to show them different ways to put their dicks in them. But there are also people who form unrealistic assumptions about dating and relationships because of movies. I don’t let those people spoil my enjoyment of rom-coms, and I don’t let jerks ruin p**n for me, either. I also have a hard time looking down on p**n because it was so empowering for me.

I started hu***ng my stuffed animals when I was about 9 years old. I didn’t know what I was doing, exactly, but I knew that it felt good.
Discovering p**n a few years later put all that pre-adolescent ma********on into context for me. I wasn’t just hu***ng things out of boredom — I was doing something that belonged in the same universe as the s*x I saw on screen. That was the first time I realized that p**n was helping me understand myself.

Other revelations came, even if they were a bit dim at first. Some stuff appealed to me more than others. Bl****bs were fascinating, but they didn’t excite me as much as watching penetrative s*x.
A**l scenes intrigued me, but the p***y rubbing and fi*****ng that preceded it is what got me really flushed. And sometimes I’d catch a scene of women eating each other out — and that was damn fine by me. Figuring out what I liked and getting some visual material for my fantasies helped me develop some s*xual agency.

I know we’re “supposed” to develop that agency by having s*x, but it just didn’t work out that way for me. The first few guys I slept with didn’t really care about my s*xual agency or did anything to make s*x empowering for me. The guy who r***d me, the one who tried to push my head down on his c**k, and the boyfriend who emotionally manipulated me into s*x all actively tried to take my agency away.

The only thing that saved the s*xual side of myself, that kept me from being broken by all that, were all the ways I nurtured my own s*xuality. And p**n played a big role in that — it fed my interest in s*x in a way that was safe and that was mine.

My daughters are only five and seven years old. They haven’t even heard about s*x yet, but it’s coming. And even though we don’t have satellite TV in the home, it will be easier for them to find p**n than it was for me. That doesn’t worry me, though. I know I’m supposed to want them to stay pure and innocent until they move out, but that’s absurd. S*x is a part of life, and it will be a part of theirs. My hope is that they develop a strong sense of their s*xual agency. That they feel empowered, not confused, by the s*xual feelings and desires they experience. I want them to be comfortable enough with the idea of s*x to voice what they want and what they don’t want. I want them to feel empowered to set clear boundaries without feeling guilty about it. I don’t want them to think that s*x is something scary of shameful. I want them to know it can be thrilling, ecstatic, and just plain fun. And if p**n gives them a safe and personal space to explore that side of themselves, then I’m all for it.

Let’s keep in touch! Sign up for my weekly newsletter (I won’t send you anything without your enthusiastic consent!)

https://www.loveemmaaustin.com/all-my-projects

I have mentioned before that I am totally bis*xual. When I'm out with a guy, I present myself as feminine as I possibly can. The girls I am attracted to are almost never the butchy ones but the ultra feminine. To step out with them, I make it my habit to wear a pants suit and tie with a fedora on my head.

The other night, my date showed up dressed very nearly identically to me. We laughed about for she had the exact same attitude that I have. We went then for drinks (non-alcoholic for me) at the cafe at the far end of the block on which I live. The next day, one of the waitresses there (she happens to be my good friend) told me that she had overheard some tourists trying to decide whether my date and I were "two f**s" or "two d***s."

My favorite scent is of gardenias. I find it intoxicating. Nor have I ever known a man who has not found it so. Women, of course, usually prefer a scent that is a bit more subtle. I have lots of scents to choose from, because people gift them to me.

If I have a date with another of my same gender, I make it my policy to abstain from applying a scent. I know that the girl I'm with will be wearing a scent, and I want to be able to enjoy the full benefit. Anyway, why should we be in competition (olfactorily, I mean).

A reader sent me this image as an illustration or possibly as an alternative cover for the eShort S*x and Kendo, which I co-wrote with Siobhan Nguyen. Here is an excerpt from that eShort (Part 3 of 4):

Kendo is my passion, well, one of my passions. I'm pretty passionate about s*x too. Actually, s*x is more like a religious experience for me. Leo Madrigal, in his little book Observations and Contemplations of a Humanist, expressed the following insight, which greatly appeals to me:

"In the celebration of Life, every act of sharing must be counted a sacrament. The highest sacrament, therefore, is surely s*xual communion, for only in the rapture of or****ic intimacy is the harmony of the Universe so perfectly affirmed."

But there I go getting off the subject. I was meant to be telling you about kendo and my fondness for the sport. Kendo, in case you are unfamiliar with the term, is sword-fighting with bamboo practice swords and armor, so no one really gets hurt. I love everything about kendo: the traditional attire, the ritual, the immense vocabulary you have to learn, the extreme discipline required for mastery. If s*x is what gives my life meaning, then kendo is what gives my life order. I practice almost every day entirely on my own. And every Saturday afternoon I submit to formal instruction, which often includes competition with my p*ers and sometimes with my superiors.

https://www.audible.com/pd/B08D9T9CV7/?source_code=AUDFPWS0223189MWT-BK-ACX0-206711&ref=acx_bty_BK_ACX0_206711_rh_us

My Husband's Mistress Check out this great listen on Audible.com. This short story is a work of tasteful and literate erotica; it is not p**nographic.   Miranda and Geoff have an unconventional marriage, open and non-exclusive. They keep no secrets from each other, but share everything. In the past, their ext...

I've just completed the first draft of a short short story tentatively named My Phantom Paramour. Usually, upon completion of my first draft of any literary work, I put the work aside for several weeks, so that, when next I read through it, it will be with fresh eyes. But I'm always glad to get feedback from beta readers. Anyone interested in reading about an incubus? Here is how it starts. If you want to read more, just send me a private message.

Let me begin, Dear Reader, by assuring you that this is not going to be a ghost story. I do not believe in ghosts. I am not even sure that I believe in demons. What has been happening to me recently and what, apparently, has happened to other women who have stayed in the gatehouse over the years could, I suppose, be explained as a common recurring dream or possibly as a shared hallucination.

But perhaps I ought to start over at the beginning, which, to my thinking, was three years ago when I became the sole proprietress of an old inn just outside Inverness. I had never met or even heard of the previous operator, one Stella Munro, who died in her nineties after suffering a fall on the basement stairs. Ms Munro left the property to her only living relative, a nephew, one Alban Chisholm, MD, who, with a demanding practice in an entirely different part of the country, decided quite sensibly to put the inn on the market.

Driving to Inverness to meet with solicitors, Dr Chisholm was involved in an automobile collision and sustained injuries from which he did not recover. His only heir was my father, with whom he had roomed at university and with whom he had later served in the army. The two men were once, I have been told, the very best of friends.

At the time of Dr Chisholm’s passing, my father was himself terminally ill with cancer. When he eventually succumbed and his will was read, I was surprised to learn that I was now the owner of Taigh-òsta Munro on Beauly Firth, which establishment had, by this time, been closed and shuttered for almost two years.

I had no experience whatever in the hospitality industry. Since graduating from university a few years earlier, I had worked only in bookstores and libraries. Books were all I knew. Naturally, my first thought was to sell this newly acquired property, and with the profits, open a bookstore of my own. Wandering through the dusty vacant rooms, however, I absolutely fell in love with the heartbreaking charm of this old inn. I quickly realized that here was where I wanted to spend the rest of my days. And thanks to my father’s estate, I now had the wherewithal to stage a grand reopening.

I decided not to rename the inn, as the previous operator had done upon assuming ownership in 1969. Taigh-òsta Munro it had now been for more than half a century, and Taigh-òsta Munro it would remain.

I ran employment ads and hired a cook, two housemaids, and a gardener, who cheerfully agreed to double as a driver whenever I needed guests collected in town. I even had money to advertise and promote the business, for my father had been imminently successful with his investments. Then I began running weekly ads in several newspapers, some as far away as London.

When you're Roman ready, just be sure that you are Trojan prepared.

I was just now re-reading S*x and Kendo: My Twin Passions, which I co-wrote with Siobhan Nguyen a year or more ago. I was always pretty pleased with it; else it never would have been published. Today, it dawns on me that I absolutely love this story. Of all the erotica I have created (or shared in creating), this is my Number 1 favorite. I'm really proud of it.

Pages from my day book, published recently as Diary of an Aspiring Eroticist: Volumes I - VI (2016 - 2021)

https://www.amazon.com/Diary-Aspiring-Eroticist-Volumes-2016/dp/B09QFDJJFZ/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2X66I3C4XG6LT&keywords=diary+of+an+aspiring+eroticist&qid=1642787569&sprefix=diary+of+an+aspiring+eroticist%2Caps%2C224&sr=8-1

Online she hides her true identity, calling herself Randy Mandy. When she falls for a man online, it never occurs to her to wonder if he might be someone she already knows. Or could he possibly be a blood relative? That's the problem with anonymous s*x chatting. And now they have a date to meet in person and plans to do for real what together they have so far only fantasized about.

Let me recommend a book I know that you will enjoy.

When I graduated from HS six years ago, I began keeping a day book. Three years ago I self-published the first three volumes as a hand-bound booklet and as an eBook for Kindle. That early edition is no longer available to buy, but as of today, all 6 years in 1 volume are out in Kindle eBook format.

The historical fiction I write as M W Ashe gets published by Archer Trent, Publisher, who also publishes some of my erotic fiction (written as F***y Whitecrow). But this day book is self-published with the imprint Paphian Club. Paphian Club consists of five members: my sister Morgan Ashe, our mother Miranda Whitecrow, Mom's neighbor Xiomara Roma, Xiomara's sister Xochitl Roma, and myself. My late Aunt Bootsy (Trudy Silverheels) used to be a member as well.

In any event, the 6 volumes my day book (2016 - 2021) are published in a single volume as Diary of an Aspiring Eroticist. A 422-page paperback is soon to follow.
*x *xualexperience

Today's posting in my day book (soon to be published as Diary of an Aspiring Eroticist):

I recently invited a guy at a sidewalk cafe to go home with me for an afternoon of s*xual pleasure. He asked, "How much?" he thought I was a w***e. Believe it or not, my feelings weren't hurt. In fact, I momentarily considered telling him an exorbitant price just to see if he thought I was worth it. Then it occurred to me to turn the tables on him. Pretending not to understand his intention, I said, "A hundred euros. That's all I've got. If it's not enough, I understand." he hesitated only a moment before accepting my offer.

I don't make a habit of paying for s*x. I've never done so before and probably never shall again. But I quite liked being in the position to demand whatever I wanted and feeling no need whatever to give anything in return (besides the 100 euros, of course). **lo ***e

I took down my personal website for it to be replaced by a new one representing our Paphian Club. This new site is managed by my sister. She hasn't posted much yet, but you can expect it to be similar in nature to the previous site. Probably, you'll even see some of the same posts. https://paphianclub.yolasite.com/

https://www.amazon.com/My-Sister-Bootsy-Portrait-Silverheels/dp/1479250031


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My Sister Bootsy: A Portrait of Trudy Silverheels My Sister Bootsy: A Portrait of Trudy Silverheels

Excerpt from My Sister Bootsy (available as paperback, eBook for Kindle, or audio book) by Miranda Whitecrow:

Three weeks later Napoleon invited Bootsy to meet him in Mérida, where he introduced her to a “consummate professional,” a girl named Karen, who, at age twenty-four, already owned her own casa de citas (house of assignations). As Bootsy looked on, Karen did Napoleon herself.

“I only do this for special customers,” she explained afterward. “I have six other girls, and they do all the walk-ins.”

When Napoleon said goodbye, Bootsy stayed behind to interview her new acquaintance further. Karen was amazingly candid, extremely intelligent, delightfully personable, and ruthlessly ambitious.

“Do you want to take the next customer?”

“I don’t think so. Thanks for offering though.”

“If you really want to know about my profession, you need to practice it. At least once.”

“I was almost persuaded,” Bootsy confided to me later. “But then she showed me the CCTV monitors in her office. She meant to reassure me that I’d be safe, because she’s be watching. But I figured that if there were cameras, there probably was recording equipment as well. I don’t want a video like that ever coming back to haunt me.”

Not long after that, we read that Karen had been arrested in a massive sting operation. She was facing charges not only of prostitution (a misdemeanor), but also of organized criminal activity (a felony). She was in a world of trouble. Of course, she had a battery of high-powered attorneys to defend her. Bootsy, while wishing Karen good luck, felt extremely fortunate not to have been in the house herself when it was raided.

We were having lunch together at a sidewalk café in the Zona Rosa as she was telling me about her adventures in the demimonde.

“Would you really have serviced a client if you hadn’t found out about the cameras?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think so. It was right on the tip of my tongue to say okay.”

“And whatever happened to your determination never to allow pe*******on by anyone unworthy of you?”

Bootsy shrugged. “I still feel that way. If I didn’t, it would have been a much easier decision. But there are other factors to be weighed. First, I now consider the experience of doing s*x for money as vital research. And second, my customer, with any luck, would never know my true identity.”

I laughed. “You’d be like the Catholic girl in the gymnasium shower who covers only her face when strange men wander through.”

“I read that book too,” she told me. “Isn’t it funny how everything you read becomes a part of you?”

Now, as it happened, there were, at another much-larger table in the same outdoor restaurant, a group of six American teenage boys. Giddy with the excitement of being in a foreign land, out from under the thumbs of their too-strict families (probably for the first time ever), and believing that no one within earshot could understand English, they were talking rather too loudly, discussing how best to go about connecting with local pr******tes. What a fortuitous coincidence!

“Silly nerds!” Bootsy whispered.

“They’re the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. If you don’t help ’em out, they’ll never get laid. They're as clueless as Old Jupiter.”

That made her smile. “I’ll do it if you will.”

“It’s a deal,” I said without giving myself any opportunity to weigh the matter properly.

We paid our cheque and lingered over coffee till we saw the young men get up to leave. Then we followed them out, and on the sidewalk we insinuated ourselves into their group.

“I hope you boys have plenty of American dollars,” Bootsy said in English, but with a fake Mexican accent, “because what you’re looking for don’t come cheap.”

We started out by asking three hundred dollars from each of them. That was way more than they had. So we haggled and eventually agreed to do it for “a third of our regular price.”

“But only because you’re such cute boys,” Bootsy added. “We like American boys a lot. I hope you got some whatcha-call-ems: condominiums.”

It was an old joke, but she made it seem like an honest mistake, which they found absolutely delightful. I asked if they were all at least eighteen, and they swore solemnly that they were. Still, I meant to see proof, but with everyone talking at once I never got around to asking for IDs before the party got underway.

It wouldn’t do for us to be seen entering their hotel with them; so we sent them ahead, and five minutes later we entered the lobby and went straight to the elevators. When we knocked on the door to their suite, they let us in and promptly handed over our combined fee, six hundred dollars. I am confident that they would tell you they got good value for their money.

On the ride down in the elevator, Bootsy leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Whore!”

I had to laugh. I wanted terribly to make a clever retort, but all I could think to reply was, “Takes one to know one.”

A few months later Bootsy’s novella, The Chosen Profession of Jade Stonecalf, saw print.

Audio Book links:
US
https://www.audible.com/pd/B07J5W1ZY3/?source_code=AUDFPWS0223189MWT-BK-ACX0-129929&ref=acx_bty_BK_ACX0_129929_rh_us
UK
https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/B07J5PSPDW/?source_code=AUKFrDlWS02231890H6-BK-ACX0-129929&ref=acx_bty_BK_ACX0_129929_rh_uk

My Sister Bootsy Check out this great listen on Audible.com. No one in the world is closer to Native American author, model, artist, world traveler, and warrior girl Trudy Silverheels than her elder sibling, Miranda Whitecrow. And no one could be better suited to write a sequel and companion volume to Trudy’...

https://www.amazon.com/Trudy-Silverheels-Scrapbook-Xiomara-Roma/dp/1365742261


*xypictures

The Trudy Silverheels Scrapbook The Trudy Silverheels Scrapbook

My Aunt Bootsy (Trudy Silverheels) was ever-so-clever at little two- or 4-line poems. This one is titled "Regrets." It goes like this:

I'm starting to show.
I should have said no.

This is a page from Bootsy's scrapbook, edited by Xiomara Roma.

https://www.amazon.com/Trudy-Silverheels-Scrapbook-Xiomara-Roma/dp/1365742261

Morning Coffee
by Trudy Silverheels
(excerpted from DAYBOOK OF A WARRIOR GIRL)

I love coffee. I have always loved coffee. Even as a child I was a coffee drinker; though, of course, I was only ever allowed to drink decaf then. I must have been twelve or thirteen years old when I made the switch to “real” coffee, and I did so without permission. However, neither my mother nor my grandmother challenged me about it. It would have done no good. I was very headstrong at that age.

My day does not begin until I have had my coffee. I usually wake up at about twenty minutes after six in the morning. My internal clock is extremely reliable. I roll out of bed n**e, stumble into the kitchen and start the coffee maker, then go p*e and brush my teeth. By the time I get back to the kitchen, there should be enough hot fresh coffee in the urn for at least half a cup. I pour it up and hurriedly put the urn back under the basket. Still quite naked, I climb up onto a stool at the breakfast bar and inhale the aroma. I think all true coffee lovers must enjoy the aroma of coffee almost as much as its flavor. Taking the first sip, I rejoice to be alive. I have to take my time and sip slowly, lest I scald myself. I always insist that my coffee be steaming hot. Ever so gradually, I return to full consciousness.

I like an afternoon coffee break too, especially if I am out shopping or running errands. How delightful is the serendipity of happening upon some lovely little coffee house, where, in a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere, I can enjoy a cup of my favorite Colombian brew!

After dinner or with dessert is another favorite occasion of mine for coffee. Indeed, I cannot think of a bad time for coffee. Coffee is a magical elixir that has the power to transform my foulest mood to one of absolute serenity. It is great for banishing headaches too. I thank all the gods that be for coffee. What a sad, miserable place the world would be without it!

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/099900297X/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i13

Baring All was the second or third book my Aunt Bootsy (Trudy Silverheels) published. It is a very candid autobiography. It is quite s*xy. I love this book and recommend it highly. https://www.amazon.com/Baring-All-Trudy-Silverheels-ebook/dp/B01EJYSJ28/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=baring+all+trudy+silverheels&qid=1615672163&s=books&sr=1-1

# **emodel # *xy

After my Aunt Bootsy (Trudy Silverheels) died a few years ago, My mother Miranda Whitecrow finished a literary project that Bootsy had been working on. The title is Coming Clean. It is an illustrated collection of short works, many of which have an element of eroticism. Well, anything my Aunt Bootsy wrote has an element of eroticism about it.
https://www.amazon.com/Coming-Clean-Trudy-Silverheels/dp/1502528517


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My journal or daybook (Diary of an Aspiring Eroticist) has now filled 5 volumes. I am currently on a 6th volume. At the end of 2021, I shall probably publish the entire 6-volume collection as a single work. Here follows an entry from about a year ago:

Table-Humping
May 12, 2020
Exeter, Devon, England

Oh, God! I’m in love. This eventuality has taken me totally by surprise. I never imagined it could happen to me this way. After all, I successfully resisted the immense temptation to fall for my own divinely attractive male cousins with whom I am now sharing my lockdown. I mean, any one of the three of them would be an amazing paramour, I have no doubt. But I dared not risk alienating those members of my family that would be absolutely horrified by in**st. Nor am I foolish enough to believe that we could keep such an illicit relationship from them. Secrets have a way of making themselves known. In any event, the possibility of my being seduced by a piece of furniture never even crossed my mind. But the escritoire in my bedroom is so understanding of my needs, so perfectly shaped and proportioned, and just the right height for giving me the satisfaction I have been missing for so very, very long—well—how could I not give myself completely to this lovely little writing table?

********on ***ng
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