It started with a wild, impossible thought. I remember staring at my notes for what was supposed to be just one novella and realizing it wasn’t enough. There were too many women, too many stories, too many nights under the strobe lights of The Glass Heel waiting to be told. Forty-eight. That was the number that came to me—one novella for every weekend in a year. I laughed when I said it out loud. Am I really doing this? Forty-eight? But even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. I had to.

The Glass Heel isn’t just a nightclub—it’s a mirror, a shimmering, dangerous reflection of how we love, how we ache, and how we surrender. The glass heel itself is a symbol: desire balanced on a razor’s edge. It’s beauty and danger, empowerment and submission, fantasy and truth. Each story reveals a different facet of intimacy—sometimes gentle, sometimes raw—but always honest. Forty-eight novellas felt necessary because sexuality isn’t one story. It’s a kaleidoscope of moments, bodies, and emotions. Each weekend at The Glass Heel brings something new: a woman stepping into her power, a connection that changes everything, or a fleeting encounter that burns bright and vanishes by morning.

When I first shared this idea with other writers, they told me, “You’ll never get that past a publisher.” They were right. Mainstream publishing still flinches at stories that are explicitly erotic, unapologetically queer, and unashamedly literary. They’ll flirt with taboo, but they won’t commit to it. So I built my own house. Velvet Orchid Press was born because The Glass Heel demanded it—a space for erotic fiction that’s intelligent, trans-inclusive, kink-aware, and deeply human. Stories where sex isn’t something to hide behind metaphor, but a language of identity, power, and connection.

Each novella in She Came to the Glass Heel stands alone, but together they form a living mosaic. One weekend might follow a trans woman rediscovering her body after years of shame. Another might center on a couple renegotiating their marriage through domination and surrender. Another might explore queer joy, exhibitionism, or the sacred act of being seen. The series lets me explore sexuality as motion, not label—a shifting relationship between self and desire. It’s an architecture of longing, each story another room in the same glittering tower.

These stories are for readers who rarely see themselves in erotic fiction—for those who crave representation that isn’t sanitized or tokenized. They’re for queer women, trans girls, polyamorous dreamers, and kinky romantics who understand that sexuality is as much about power and tenderness as it is about pleasure. Erotica can be art. It can heal. It can liberate.

Right now, the journey is well underway. First Step, Room 312, and Neon Diner are all published and available on Amazon. novella four is in the works, unfolding in sweat, neon, and starlight. There are forty-four more to go, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This project isn’t about perfection—it’s about persistence. About showing up, weekend after weekend, to write truth in its sexiest, messiest, most human form.

If you want to walk this road with me—if you believe that desire deserves a universe—follow along. Grab a copy of one of the novellas. Join my Patreon when it launches. Step inside The Glass Heel. There’s a place for you on the dance floor.