Feature Interview: BDSM Writers Con Founder Doctor Charley Ferrer

I’m so very honored to have as my guest today, Doctor Charley Ferrer, author of the books BDSM The Naked Truth and 13 others, and the director of BDSM Writers Con, which will be happening August 20-23 in New York City. BDSM Writers Con will be the premiere place to connect with the BDSM writing scene. Encompassing a book fair, writers conference, BDSM lifestyle education seminars, publishing seminars, autograph sessions, and the Golden Flogger Awards, BDSM Writers Con sounds like it will be quite the extravaganza. I can’t wait to attend and meet Doctor Charley personally. Until then, we’ll just have to meet virtually, like this:

Cecilia Tan: When did you first realize BDSM was a part of your sexuality?

Doctor Charley Ferrer: It’s hard to answer that question in chronological years. I was kinky before kink was a word and definitely before it was popular. I loved to wrestle with boys as a pre-teen and “pin” them keeping them helpless. At sixteen, I was drawing live size murals on my wall depicting whipping scenes. I didn’t realize what the drawings were nor why I was so drawn to them. Sadly, they were reasons for my family to label me “the problem child.” When I became sexual, I enjoyed making a lover beg for my attentions and getting passionately rough during sex was great. It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I actually found the BDSM community and felt I truly belonged. Gosh that was almost 20 years ago.

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Mirrored from blog.ceciliatan.com.

How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

(If you haven’t had a chance to go upvote DGC vol 4, now being serialized on Wattpad, go on over there and click that star icon, please? -ctan)
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Nomad moved to a bigger rehearsal space the week before hitting the road. The new place was a former airplane hangar/movie soundstage on the edge of Van Nuys and the first person I saw when we walked up was Louis. He was sitting on an overturned milk crate outside the door, wearing opaque black sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. His overgrown hair was grayer than I remembered.

He flicked the cigarette onto the blacktop the second he saw me and stood up to give me a back-poundy manhug. “Shit. You’ve grown.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Shit,” he said again, shaking his head. “How you been?”

“Good,” I said automatically. It’s not like I was going to bring him up to speed on the past two years in two minutes.

“Good,” he said back. “Welcome to my office.”

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