Okay, I’m slightly biased, in as much as the publication of each year’s Best Women’s Erotica is one of those events that I actively look forward to; has been, ever since I stumbled across my first copy back in 2004, picked up all the past volumes on the spot, and then marked on my calendar the arrival of the next. Plus, with my non-pseudonymous alter-ego having had a story of my own published in last year’s edition (Chrissie Bentley, if you care), I now feel kind of proprietary too.

You know the formula, I’m sure. A raft of stories selected by editor Violet Blue from a year’s worth of hopeful submissions, and chosen with an eye for the story, not whatever fame that the author may have. All are written by women, all base their stand around the woman’s point of view, and all of course were written before fifty shades of whatever descended upon the world of literary erotica and rewrote the mainstream rules for the foreseeable future. Which is a scary thought that I’m sure we’ll be addressing at some point in the future.

So, some good old-fashioned rock and raunch, whose own shades are left wide open. I’ll admit that I kind of skimmed Olivia Glass’s “Drought” first time through, preferring action to fantasy when I first open a book. (I went back to it later, and it was okay). But Louise Lush’s “Tweetup” is a glorious romp that kicks off from perhaps the most creative premise you’ve read in a long time, a novice Tweeter whose two main topics of conversation are her pet frogs and porn. Yes, you read that right.

I enjoyed KD Grace’s visit to a diner as well, probably because we’ve all had a fantasy that rattles along like this one, and Elizabeth Coldwell’s “The Nylon Curtain” intrigues because it takes such a revolutionary new glance towards what is, let’s face it, a fairly old-hat fetish.

Rosalia Zizzo’s “A Big Deck” grabbed me from the moment I read the opening innuendos, swiftly followed by a line of prose that opens so much to the imagination... “uncrossing her legs and holding her beer bottle like a cock”... yes, we’ve probably all done that as well, deliberately or otherwise, but I never thought anyone was noticing. In fact, that’s one of the things I love best about erotica (and which this series regularly delivers in abundance), those moments where a line, a word, or even a suggestion reaches in to caress something you’ve always thought of as your own; that sudden flash of utterly unexpected recognition that takes a story out of the realms of fiction, and into the preserve of your own experience.

Like the itchy mole that sends Tsaurah Litzky to visit “The Skin Doctor,” which is absolutely incidental to her hobby of shoplifting panties from posh stores, but she mentions it because panties play a major role in the story that’s about to unfold, and she wants to make sure the doc notices them.

Or the moment where Tiffani Angus is fucking the boyfriend she’s only just finished arguing with, and he’s driving her hard across the room with the force of his cock...”and then he stumbled, his toe caught on the bathroom rug, and he slid out of me like a missile that’s lost its target....”

And best of all, Chaparrita, and the tale of “The Gourmet” who went to Mexico “for rest and relaxation, yet ended up spending most of her time sucking cock.” Which, I’d have thought was all the rest and relaxation she could need, and yay! I’d be right.

Okay, I do detect a little more interest in sexual extremes in this volume than others; a little more fetishism, a little more role play, and a little more good girl/wicked whore posturing, too. Which, contrary to what I said at the start, does suggest that certain currents and fashions are already moving to embrace even the realms of good ol-fashioned filth.

Right now, though, the balance is just about right, and Best Women’s Erotica 2012 will snuggle down on my bookshelf alongside its predecessors, to be read and reread till I know it by heart. And... well, I think you should do the same thing.