Why did I choose Evangeline as my name? What does Eve mean to me? I am asked that often.
Evangeline sounds so sweet and pure. Evangeline is also the pen name of one of my favourite smutty authors. Or so I thought.
Some years ago I was holidaying with my then young child but without my partner. I was staying at my parents’ place and felt very sexually frustrated. I had time on my hands and began to discover the treasure trove of pornographic writing available on the Internet. It was possible to download whole libraries of smut. Hundreds of pieces of writing in one single file. Unedited. Uncensored. Un-vetted.
I voraciously devoured these writings which ranged from Mills and Boonish to fan fiction to pornographic writing and erotica, to the debauched, depraved and downright fantastical. In the process my mind was opened to the enjoyment of all kinds of possibilities I had never before considered. Sex with aliens, animals, dragons, groups. Violent plyamorous sex. Vampires. Many, many alpha men. What appealed to me about these writings was that unlike most visual porn, they were written by women for women. And while I have reservations about the portrayal of gender relations and sexual power in many of the stories, it is undeniable that they are designed to tap into women’s psyche to give them pleasure and fulfill their as yet unimagined desires.
One short story in particular caught my imagination. It was about a young woman being trained to be the sexual partner and mate of a mysterious and authoritative man. I can’t remember whether he was a king or something else. The training involved her presenting herself daily to practice receiving ever larger dildos up the arse. The story detailed her fear, her desire to please her master and her arousal at pleasing him despite the pain he demanded from her. In the climax of the story she is once again in the training room viewing the array of dildos lined up on the table in ascending sizes. She knows it is the last day of her training and that her test will be to receive the enormously large dildo at the end of the table. She preps herself and waits for her master in fear. He finally arrives, and as expected selects the huge dildo, described as being as thick as his forearm. She bends over and presents herself and he slowly works the dildo into her. The pain is excruciating and she has tears running down her face as she submits to this ordeal. Finally she manages to take it all. Her master smiles at her lovingly and tells her she has passed the test and that he loves her and that she is irresistible to him. He then holds her in his arms for the first time and kisses her.
I don’t know what it was about this story, but it simultaneously repulsed and aroused me. I was fascinated by the huge dildo and the young woman’s fear of it but longing for it. Maybe it was the idea of someone enjoying pain as a token of their devotion the joining of love, pain and power that drew me to the story.
The author of the story was identified as Evangeline Anderson. It struck me as a delicious irony that such a sweet name should be used by such a smutty author. I loved the name and was fascinated with her writings. They were at the extreme end of BDSM and submission, with the woman always being the submissive, tortured, humiliated and ultimately redeemed by a mysterious, all powerful yet loving master.
There was just one problem. Reading all of this porn made me incredibly horny and I had no way to bring myself to orgasm. Why? When I was a young girl, about 8 or 9 I discovered that when I was hanging from the monkey bars, if I crossed my legs and attempted a pull up, the tension generated in the internal muscles was enough to make myself cum. I did not, of course, at the time know that it was an orgasm, or even what an orgasm was. But I liked the feeling and perfected the technique over time. As a result I never learned to bring myself off using my hands. At my parents’ place I did not have access to suitably private monkey bars. I would try to get myself to cum with my hand and would get close but I just couldn’t figure out how to send myself over the edge.
This went on for 3 weeks while I got increasingly more horny and frustrated. I would think about sex all the time. Fantasising about all manner of things. It was a delicious agony. When I finally, finally worked out how to cum, the orgasm was out of this world. And the lesson about abstinence and tease and denial was instructional.
In retrospect I think that identifying the author of these stories as Evangeline Anderson may be a false memory, as I have never been able to find the stories on my computer (or anywhere else) again using those search terms. As it is, Evangeline Anderson is the author of the infamous Planet X. Either way, the name stuck, and ultimately I became Miss Evangeline.