Seduction Of The Senses - Sight

For those of you who missed my first in the Seduction Of The Senses series - The Sense Of Touch posted last month, I’m going to go ahead and repost the introduction. Those of you who have already read it can move ahead to this month’s installment, the sense of sight.

What draws you into a book and makes you feel you are right there with the characters? Or better yet, into the head of the hero or heroine, sharing their experiences?

First and foremost, it’s well developed characters who evoke emotion from the reader whether it is a character you love or relate to and want them to find happiness, or even possibly someone you hate and want to see justice served in the end.

But there is so much more that goes into drawing you into a book than just telling a good story and developing great characters. Description brings a book to life. Description allows you see what the characters see, hear what they hear, feel what they feel, taste what they taste and yes, even smell what they smell. After I’ve completed the first draft of a book, one entire revision is done to add description, finding places where I can apply the uses of the senses to add depth to a scene.

It’s amazing what you can come up with when you are racking your brain for a topic for a monthly blog post and just happen to pick up a dusty old book from your resource stack.

Anyone ever hear of the old book THE SENSUOUS WOMAN by “J” written way back in the 60’s? A paragraph from the back cover blurb reads: Now “J” reveals her secret, step-by-step program that allows every woman to free her body, train her senses and realize her tremendous feminine capacity for giving and receiving pleasure. For those of you who haven’t heard of it, the book was written as an instruction manual of sorts, designed to bring out the sensual woman in you. The book included many exercises the readers can do to develop and heighten their senses and bring them in to play in lovemaking.

Doing a bit of research on the five senses, the information I came up with was interesting as well as extensive. Far too much information to work into a single blog post. So, I’ve decided to do something a bit different and break it up into five different posts, focusing on one of the five senses each month as used to enhance the written word as well as enhancing you lovemaking.

So called experts say that as a society we’ve become desensitized, our senses dulled. Lets see what we can do to sharpen things up a bit. Just for fun, I’ll give you a few exercises to try out each month, exercises designed to heighten each of the five senses.

While this is written primarily with women in mind, you men out there might learn a thing or two about pleasing your woman. It’s never too late to go back to the basics and rekindle the passion in any relationship.

For those of you who want to go back and pick up the first in the series – The Sense Of Touch: http://totalebound.blogspot.com/2008_03_01_archive.html

The Sense Of Sight:

She appeared to wilt before his eyes. Expecting her to buckle beneath the weight of her backpack at any moment, he instinctively reached out to offer support. But before he could make contact, she stiffened and literally jerked herself backward, out of his reach. In the process, J.T. caught a brief glimpse of discoloration high on one cheek bone which had been concealed by the wide lenses of her dark glasses.

He clenched his jaw and choked back the words to keep from asking a perfect stranger the question uppermost in his mind . . . and none of his business.

“Can you suggest any place in the area where I might find lodging for a couple of days? It doesn’t have to be on the lake.”

“Sorry,” he answered reluctantly, truly meaning it. It didn’t take a brilliant mind to put two and two together. With his FBI background, he’d picked up on the clues quicker than most: a lone woman hitchhiking; one clearly old enough and intelligent enough to know the risks; the way she constantly glanced over her shoulder; and her skittish, ready-to-bolt demeanor. The most conclusive evidence of all were the dark glasses to conceal bruising, and the long sleeved turtle-necked shirt, on a blistering hot July afternoon. She was mostly like a woman on the run, someone in need of a safe place to hole up for a while.

This one is fairly easy. As a writer you paint a picture of what you see only using words instead of paint. Yet two artists painting the same scene will end up with totally different paintings. One artist picks up all the various shades of color, shadows, highlights, and textures, giving his painting a three dimensional, lifelike effect. While the other artist’s painting is flat. One dimensional. It’s all a matter of perspective and interpretation. The question is, what do we really see? One person might see a tree, while another sees all the various color shades, shadows and textures, the individual leaves, maybe even insects crawling on the bark. It’s the detail that brings depth and dimension to a story, bringing it to life.

Exercise 1: From where you are at this moment, look around the room. What do you see? I see that I really need to get off this computer and do some cleaning. There is a cobweb in the corner, but if I was writing a paranormal it would only add ambiance. There is a bit of a shadow on the ceiling above the TV where I always have a candle burning, most likely created by the smoke from the flame. Look for the shadows and detail.

Grab a pen and paper. Write a description of a room in your house without going into that room first. Don’t cheat. Describe that room as if you were describing it to a reader. Now go into the room you described. Carefully analyze what you are seeing and compare it to your written description. Are there details you missed? Simple things like a pair of earrings on a bedside table, items on the top of a dresser, a curling iron laying on a vanity that was still plugged in, tooth paste spatters on a mirror, unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, or expired items in a refrigerator. It’s the small, often missed details that add realism.

Exercise 2: Go outside and take a walk or a drive into the country. Make a conscious effort to look for details, colors, the shadows and textures. Pay attention to the individual branches on a tree, the individual leaves with their intricate pattern of veins. Check out houses, especially the old ones. Are they well cared for or neglected with faded, pealing paint, broken windows, sagging, age worn steps? What kind of story does the house tell?

Exercise 3: One of my favorite pastimes – People watching. Go to the mall, the park, or go to someplace like Starbucks. Sit and watch the people. One invaluable writing resource book that I constantly use is an old book on body language. How a person walks, how they carry themselves, their posture, whether or not they make direct eye contact. Are their arms crossed, loose at their sides? Body language will often tell you a lot about a person. Sometimes, actions do speak louder than words.

The sense of sight and sex: It’s common knowledge that sexually, men are more visual, while women tend to be more mental. Nevertheless, there are few women who don’t enjoy looking at a sexy man, clothed or nude. The sense of sight is truly one of our strongest sexual senses.

While some women find sexually explicit photos offensive, there is no denying that they have a physical effect on the body, as do erotic movies, and the written word. Sexually visual images triggers sexual impulses in our brain and our body responds accordingly.

Exercise 4: We all know that sexually explicit photos are easily accessible on the internet. Do a bit of site surfing. Pay close attention to how your body responds to specific photos. Do some images turn you on more than others? Do some turn you off?

Exercise 5: Need an outlet for exercise four. How long has it been since you really looked at your partner’s nude body in a sensual way, made mental note of how various parts react when you caress or kiss? Not only are you aroused by the sight of a nude body but your partner appreciates being appreciated and will respond in kind. Enjoy!

Working to develop your 5 senses and focusing on them while making love will not only enhance your own pleasure, but in the pleasure you give you lover as well.

If you try any of the Seduction Of The Senses exercises and are surprised by the results, please feel free to post a comment.

Until next time, when we explore The Sense Of Taste.

Kay
http://www.kaywilde.com/

Gettin' Busy with Dakota Rebel

Yeah, not as fun as it sounds. I am the stressful kind of busy lately. The kind that starts out with teeth gnashing and hair pulling but (usually) ends with me doing my best work ever.

If you follow my personal blog you are aware that I have not been writing. Not at all. For months. Then last week something clicked, it was a small click, but it was enough to get me to sit down and painfully pull a few pages from the tangled mess of my brain. It hasn't been much, and it hurts a little every time I touch the work, but at least it is finally something.

And I have the young man above to thank for getting anything done. That is Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance. I went to the concert for my birthday last week. And it was really good. And he is really cute. I have also been listening to the band nonstop since. The ideas are flowing freely through my head, though getting them to the computer screen is not as easy as it has been in the past. But at least it is something. (That has become my current mantra, can you tell?)

Amid the slow writing, I have also been really busy at the day job. Which sounds good, but unfortunately I am not busy with anything that brings in money. We are closely tied to the failing automotive market and every new glitch in their system leads to layoffs in our building. All of our employees live in fear that we will show up any day now and find notes on our desks to clear out and go home because we have to shut down. It is very scary times. And yet, I am running my ass off with stupid projects that may or may not matter a month from now.

I also took on a side project, a tedious piece work job. Mindless and obnoxious for very little money in comparison to the size of the job. But I need the money so I agreed. I worked on that all weekend and did not accomplish as much as I would have liked to.

Then on Saturday I received my edits back for The Wager, my story in the upcoming Brit Party anthology. At first glance they look pretty extensive. *Sigh. I suppose they always do, I am hoping that when I sit down and actually start them they will be things I had thought of anyway and I can fix it and get it done... And I REALLY hope I get them done on time. That is my biggest fear at this point.

And of course since I am very busy and quite stressed my nine year old daughter has decided she must be an absolute monster every chance she gets. Kids...gotta love 'em.

So at this point all I can do is thank the Way boys (Gerard and his brother Mikey) for making poppy, addictive music that makes me want to write about cute gay boys.


Did you catch that? Dakota is trying her hand at M/M. Yay...in a very scary way. So not only am I really busy, but I am even trying a new genre. *Sigh. Bt at least it's something.3

So keep your fingers crossed for me...if you can still type with crossed fingers anyway.

XoXoXo
Dakota Rebel

So You Wanna Be a Millionaire?

Who wouldn't want to be a millionaire? Look at all the possibilities having that kind of money (BIG!) opens up. I could buy a brand new house with two stories. I could have a manicure every week at an expensive salon. Luxury chocolates (there's only six pieces in box) could be sent to my home every day. Have I made a dent in that million yet?

After the house, manicure (have you seen my damaged fingernails after all that baking and clean up I did last summer trying to teach myself how to make pizza, sourdough bread and other goodies?) and the box of chocolates? Who can live without chocolate?

Haven't made much of dent. Okay, I'll go out and buy more yarn for crocheting for my favorite charity. Not much more of a dent in that million dollars. Oh yeah. I'd love for my friend's book THE LOST WIZARD to be made into an animated movie - so I'll fund that. The world should have a blast with a crazy wizard, his even crazier cohorts, and two teenagers desperately trying to get him back to his own planet, Great! That expense made more of a dent but it sure made my friend deliriously happy!

I'd start a program for deserving families who can't currently afford one, to have their own home. I've always wanted to do something like that. What have I left out?

I'd love to travel with Bill Gates to the moon. Uh? You said that cost twenty million dollars? And I do want to buy that yacht I've been dreaming of. You say thirty-four million dollars? Or how about that time-share condo in Miami at seventy-five million dollars - you know the one with the pool that lights up at night in different colors? Seems to me like something's missing here.

What did I learn from spending my million dollars? For one, I had a good time. Second, I made others happy. Third, I found I liked being just me. I mean I loved the diamond earrings and the bling as big as a boulder but it just wasn't me. Because I realized that happiness doesn't coming from owning things - it comes from the inside.

Come visit me at Romance Is Only A Fantasy Away

Ahhhhh....

Soooo...

If you traveled to Romantic Times and are back, are you taking time to relax and unwind?

And if, like me, you simply stayed home and worked (sigh), what are you doing for yourself? What things are you doing to restore a sense of calm and peace in your life?

Last night :::gasp::: I blew off a date.

I stayed home to take care of a "it was a long-week headache." I soaked in a hot bath and read a hot book! I had something delicious to eat, something fabulous to drink and I thought of all the things I am happy about. (My recent release from TEB, Signed, Sealed and Delivered, topped the list.)

I've realized that by listening to our bodies, we can also restore our minds and emotions. When I'm exhausted, I am cranky. When I don't move my body, I feel sluggish and I'm not as sharp mentally. When I have a headache, it's a sign that I've not been taking proper care of myself.

So, after reading, relaxing, getting a good night’s sleep, I feel more like “me.” I have energy today, enthusiasm, and there’s not a black cloud hanging over my head. (I am sooooooo pretending there’s no snow out there.)

I can think again. My headache is gone. Those nasty sore muscles are gone.

All because I listened to my body, took some downtime and restored. A nice walk would put me totally to rights (I did mention that I’m pretending there’s no wind and snow, right?).

So, I’m curious. What is your body telling you?

If you did one thing strictly FOR YOU today, what would it be? (A movie, a book, a walk, shopping, a bath, a massage, a manicure/pedi…?) How would you feel if you actually carved out the time?

And more importantly, are you actually going to do it? Well, are you??
Here’s to you…here’s to you feeling refreshed and restored.

The End of a Group Masterwork

I love strict category romance lines. There's something comforting and even refreshing about a book you know will fulfill a specific task spelled out right there--as in right there on the front cover. No need to even flip the book over to read the back.


That's why I jumped up and down at the chance to write me some good spoofage. I appreciate mockery, especially when it's aimed at a genre I love. Hey, if you don't read the genre, how will you know which bits are most hiliarious?

Alas, All About Romance doesn't do its purple prose contest any more. But there are some great bits in the past. If you wanna waste some time and have fun, check them out. I wrote an erotic snippet the last year the contest ran.

But hey, wait a sec! Before you go over there, read the complete, the one, the only TUTGBBMCSMB, The Unfeasibly Tall Greek Billionaire's Blackmailed Martyr-Complex Secretary Mistress Bride. It's finished--a true homage (kinda) to a genre I hope never dies.
Chapter one is at Tumperkin’s. That's where the rules and regulations are spelled out.
Chapter two is at Carolyn Jean’s.
Chapter three is at my Place (I got the sex chapter. Yay me!)
Chapter four is at Carrie Lofty’s.
Chapter five is at Ann Aguirre's
Chapter six (and the finale!) is finally up at Lisabea’s.

Is Great Sex a Condiment or the Main Course?

I've been reading a lot of erotic romance novels in the past few weeks. I like to call it "research" ;) But I have stumbled upon a couple of books that left me a bit disappointed at the end. Oh, the beginning was captivating and the sex was hot, hot, hot. And the ending was written as a happily ever after. But was it?

The hero and heroine had great sex, but somewhere during the book, I missed where they fell in love. It was clearly labeled as erotic romance, not erotica. And the epilogue featured a baby -- so I can see the author demonstrated that the relationship lasted beyond the final chapter. So, I went back and reread it. Hmm. The hero and heroine said the prerequisite "I love you's" there and there, but did they show it?

As an erotic romance author, I think showing (not telling) the characters falling in love is my job. Oh, yeah, the plotting and the writing is all part of it, but I could be plotting and writing horror. It's that elusive tug at the heart strings, the "I can't live without him/her" feeling that I'm looking searching for. For me, that's the main course, the meat and potatoes, the stuffing in the burrito.

Great sex is just a condiment...that cherry on the top of an ice cream sundae or the really spectacular pico de gallo on the burrito.

So, what are you looking for when you read erotic romance?

Speaking of condiments...here's my recipe for the month -- a really easy pico de gallo recipe you can make in minutes.

Pete's Pico de Gallo

1 pint grape tomatoes
1/4 large sweet Mayan onion
1 jalapeno pepper (seeded) -- for medium heat, throw in two or three if you like your salsa hot
Cilantro to taste

Finely chop all the ingredients and mix. I use a mini chopper (but you could also use a food processor).

Enjoy! Ericka

A kiss is still a kiss... part two

Last week I wrote about my latest m/m release, Second Time Around. I even gave a steamy excerpt, which surprised a few people, I think, judging from comments I heard. LOL! I did warn there was explicit m/m content, and this is an adult blog. I'm still chuckling over that.

Some people can be very prim and proper on the outside (read: homophobic!) but I have to wonder who's buying all this erotic romance. M/M is one of the hottest genres around right now, and my sales and reviews in that genre have been just great. A reviewer recently said:

“The closeness was agonizing.” In this one simple, elegant sentence, Hill sums up the whole of the story. The sex goes deep and so does the uncertainty. In Hill's world, the erotic is heightened not only by love's purity, but by vulnerability. In the end, Hill doesn't disappoint.

Now I'm tiptoeing into the world of f/f erotic romance. I'm told it isn't as popular, but I'm not sure why. I like it! Perhaps we just need more quality selections out there, to bring people around. If anyone can do that, TEB can! My first f/f story comes out in May, and has already received a Recommended Read (though the review isn't live yet, so I can't brag or post too much!)

Carnal Collision

Jada Green is shocked when a vehicle appears from out of nowhere, smashing in the side of her new compact car. She's even more surprised to find the driver is a cute, enticing blond woman. Thrown together for one night, Jada resists the idea of casual sex until a hot dream has her changing her mind and opening her legs.

Wendi Smith has neither insurance, nor the money to pay for the damage she caused. She's prepared to walk away and let Jada deal with everything, until her heart gets the best of her. When there's a carnal collision, can love triumph over money?

An excerpt:

Walking back into the living room, she saw Wendi examining the pictures on her mantle.

“These are nice. Your family?”

“Yes. Those are my parents. They live in Chicago.” Jada glanced at the photo of the three of them, arms around each other, on her high school graduation day. She was an only child, and they’d always been close.

Wendi looked at her questioningly. “Chicago? How’d you end up in Kansas City?”

Smiling, Jada pointed to the next photo, of her and her first true love, Denise. They were on the beach in Cancun. It would always be one of her favourite shots, no matter how the relationship had ended. “I followed her here. Denise was from Missouri, we met at a debate tournament one year and kept in touch. After school we moved in together. I went to Beauty College, and she became a travel agent.”

“I thought she might be your sister.” Wendi studied the photo closer. “She’s pretty.”

“Nope, no siblings for me. She was my first girlfriend.”

“Really? Isn’t that interesting?” Wendi’s finger traced the silver frame. “I didn’t realise you were gay.”

Jada chuckled. “You didn’t see me checking out that doctor? She was hot.”

“No doubt about that. Her lab coat barely closed over those tits.”

“You noticed? I was trying not to drool.”

“They were drool-worthy. Personally, I prefer smaller jugs. A handful is just enough for me.”

Jada saw the woman’s eyes look over her thirty-two B chest. She gazed at her in wonder. “You mean you—?”

“Yup.” Wendi smiled. “Queer as a three dollar bill. Isn’t that just the funniest coincidence?”

Copyright (C) 2008 Jamie Hill

Some thoughts from an RT conference virgin

Romantic Times Conference 2008, some thoughts from an RT conference virgin

by Emma Wildes

I have to admit I didn’t know what to expect. Twelve hundred attendees, a city I’d only driven by in the past, and a huge array of activities. I am sure there were a wide variety of experiences because I do know some people were disappointed in the hotel (under serious renovation during our stay) but I must say I had a lovely time.

Why? Well, the reason is simple. I was allowed the opportunity to talk about writing for five days! Now, don’t get me wrong, my family is supportive and all, but…let’s face it, their eyes start to glaze over after just a few minutes. They really can’t relate. It’s fine, but not fun. My daughter is in medical school. I don’t find the subject of soft tissue amputation interesting either (shudder).

This was fun. Lunch with publishers, dinner out with other authors, writing in my room in the wee hours…

Finally a venue about what interests me. I met fans, I met some terrific authors I’ve been reading for years, and I learned new things about the craft simply by chatting with others who have the same issues, needs, and problems.

I’ve always had mixed feelings about the value of conferences but I think the camaraderie alone is worth the expense and effort. I came away smiling.

And those wonderful fans. Do they understand how they light up our world with their enthusiasm?

Emma

www.emmawildes.com

Mirror, Mirror.

We’re all very complex individuals, all different yet all incredibly similar.
I have found out just how similar we can be over the last few days.

As many of us do, I frequent an Internet forum and have made many a good friend there. The other day a thread was created about curves, a space specifically for curvy ladies to congregate in fact and I was right there. I’m curvy, abundantly so. Some of my curves I love and adore and others I’m less enamoured with. I am cuddly, rubenesque, plush, voluptuous and on my less confident days I’m just plain fat.

I try to be positive about everything, I’m your typical optimist. I write erotic romances that revolve around hot, curvy women and I am very pro-curves. I am also an exhibitionist so showing off my curves was not a problem. I shared some photos, got some compliments and I gave just as many out. It’s a nice place, full of supportive people giving a great big “hurrah” for curves. It was freeing to post there, to not have a single negative comment thrown about and so I posted a photo I was less than confident about.

Now, I’m not proud of what came next, but I have learnt a lot from it. I posted at a time of day when not many people were about and I waited and waited and waited for a positive comment and it didn’t come. So I removed my photo and sulked. Someone had seen it though, and asked why I’d removed it. I felt thoroughly miserable and explained about the hang-ups I have and how the silence had felt oppressive. I had to remove that photo again, I began to think it really was as ugly as I first suspected.

And do you know what? Even though I felt I was being petty and spoiling such a supportive place, I wasn’t. People understood, really understood. Women I think of as gorgeous admitted to having the same hang ups about themselves.

It was eye opening, it really was. I found so much support there, where I worried that people would think of me as vain and impatient they all just recognised my weakness as something they suffered form themselves.

So although it was horrid at the time, heartbreaking almost, in the long run it has been a wonderfully positive experience.

And so, knowing I needed to fill in a gap in the blog today, I decided to write this on self image, wanting to share with you all the vulnerability and insecurities of a curvy woman.

I want people to know that when they look in the mirror and all they see is imperfection or they look at photos and can only find fault, they are not the only ones that do it, we all do to some extent or another. However, just because you see something as an imperfection it does not mean that everyone else does.

Those freckles you hate are the envy of someone, that red, curly hair you’re cursed with is longed for by someone else and the rounded stomach and curvy thighs you despair of are desperately wanted by another. And not only that, but they are unhappy with things in their bodies that you think are beautiful.

So, the next time you’re putting yourself down, stop and remember this blog. You are beautiful just the way you are.
Mirror, Mirror.


We’re all very complex individuals, all different yet all incredibly similar.
I have found out just how similar we can be over the last few days.

As many of us do, I frequent an Internet forum and have made many a good friend there. The other day a thread was created about curves, a space specifically for curvy ladies to congregate in fact and I was right there. I’m curvy, abundantly so. Some of my curves I love and adore and others I’m less enamoured with. I am cuddly, rubenesque, plush, voluptuous and on my less confident days I’m just plain fat.

Now, I try to be positive about everything, I’m your typical optimist. I am also an exhibitionist so showing off my curves was not a problem. I shared some photos, got some compliments and I gave just as many out. It’s a nice place, full of supportive people giving a great big “hurrah” for curves. It was freeing to post there, to not have a single negative comment thrown about and so I posted a photo I was less than confident about.

Now, I’m not proud of what came next, but I have learnt a lot from it. I posted at a time of day when not many people were about and I waited and waited and waited for a positive comment and it didn’t come. So I removed my photo and sulked. Someone had seen it though, and asked why I’d removed it. I felt thoroughly miserable and explained about the hang-ups I have and how the silence had felt oppressive. I had to remove that photo again, I began to think it really was as ugly as I first suspected.

And do you know what? Even though I felt I was being petty and spoiling such a supportive place, I wasn’t. People understood, really understood. Women I think of as gorgeous admitted to having the same hang ups about themselves.

It was eye opening, it really was. I found so much support there, where I worried that people would think of me as vain and impatient they all just recognised my weakness as something they suffered form themselves.

So although it was horrid at the time, heartbreaking almost, in the long run it has been a wonderfully positive experience.

And so, knowing I needed to fill in a gap in the blog today, I decided to write this on self image, wanting to share with you all the vulnerability and insecurities of a curvy woman.

I want people to know that when they look in the mirror and all they see is imperfection or they look at photos and can only find fault, they are not the only ones that do it, we all do to some extent or another. However, just because you see something as an imperfection it does not mean that everyone else does.

Those freckles you hate are the envy of someone, that red, curly hair you’re cursed with is longed for by someone else and the rounded stomach and curvy thighs you despair of are desperately wanted by another. And not only that, but they are unhappy with things in their bodies that you think are beautiful.

So, the next time you’re putting yourself down, stop and remember this blog. You are beautiful just the way you are.

Can we say blonde?

Can we say BLONDE???

I thought my substitute blog day was tomorrow, MONDAY April 21st, not today, SUNDAY April 20th. I'm so so so so sorry.

Right or wrong, we tease my youngest daughter about being "blonde" even though she has a head full of the most beautiful dark brown hair. Today, I'm the ditz.

In fact, I was just thinking about posting my Monday post early as I have to be at my day job early and the boom's been lowered on our internet usage and I'm like Garfield the Cat - NOT an early riser. I don't do mornings.




That said, I apologize to blondes, including my sons Luke and Steve. Especially to Luke who was so kind as to give and install a new computer to me today. FREE! He's a sweetie. Obviously, he has a lot on the ball.

All this said, I try not to create characters in my stories that are stereotypical. I like to play against type. Nothing is more deadly than a boring, ditzy character (even if the author is honestly ditzy from time to time).

One of my favorite characters of all times is Indiana Jones. I just love how he turns from mild mannered professor into a kick-ass world adventurer who pits his wits against evil world powers - and wins. Until Indy, I never imagined a professor would save the world. Little did I know.


I know it's very possible that tomorrow's blogger will post right after me knocking my post out of sight either because she (or he) has a day job tomorrow like me, or because she's in a different part of the world where it's already tomorrow by my standards.

My heroine in my most recent release with TEB is a star ship lieutenant who isn't into stereotypical anything, either. Here's an excerpt.

Excerpt from: Wild Fantasies

“It’s criminal to hide those supple nipples. I can’t believe I never noticed how sexy you are.” Captain Adam Carrington drugged Lieutenant Jala Janguada with erotic kisses, unzipped his pants, then fit her atop him without breaking the kiss. Strong, calloused hands helped her slide down his swollen, pulsing cock.

Unable to wait a second longer to mould her body to his, to be united body and soul, to rub her nipples over his, she tore off his shirt, delighting when the buttons shot across the room.

His incredible muscles rippled beneath her hungry hands. She massaged, teased, and titillated him until he pumped her as feverishly as she yearned to ride.

He quivered beneath her touch and she knew he was all hers. How heady the power! How earth-shattering the passage!

What a dream come true. Literally. And yet, still merely a dream. A holograph.

If only it were the real man making love to her, moaning in her ears, suckling her breasts, pulsing inside her. Not that she could imagine anything more erotic than how the holographic Adam made her feel, but she longed for the real Adam to love her with all his heart in return.

Of course, no real man would put up with her working as a topless waitress in an intergalactic bar, or let her parade around wearing an ultra-mini skirt without a pair of panties underneath, just begging to be fucked and fucked hard—in front of a room full of zringtwats and treaks—as she did on the holodec.

Nor would he whip out his cock and fuck her unconscious in front of them. The real Adam would be possessive and demand her all to himself.

In the privacy of the holodec, however, she could do anything at all, and no one would ever know. Holographic images didn’t tattle. They didn’t judge. They existed to fulfill her every whim and did they ever.

So she indulged in her hedonistic desires as often as she could schedule the deck. She could make wild love to the man—or even men—of her dreams anywhere, to her heart’s desire.

This particular program brought her the greatest pleasure—parading topless, practically naked in front of the most dangerous, sexiest men in the galaxy in only her scrap of a skirt and teetering high heels. She could even have two or three men at a time if she so wanted and she had played out that intriguing fantasy more than once.

She loved how their gazes devoured her naked breasts, how their cocks swelled so huge in their pants their jeans almost ripped apart, and how their hands crept under her wisp of a skirt to fondle her clit, to slide their finger inside her and make her come. There wasn’t a better fantasy job in the entire universe.

What she loved most, however, was how holographic Adam filled her with his hot cock, how he thrust in and out of her pussy as he was doing now, and how he intoxicated her with his all-consuming kisses. He drank of her as if he was dying of thirst.

She rubbed her burning nipples against his furry chest, wondering what it would be like to make crazy love to a howling werewolf under a full moon. Next fantasy, she promised herself she would program Adam to be a werewolf, even more of an animal than he was now.

On the brink of complete ecstasy, she raked her long nails down his back as she impaled herself on his sex. Her juices sheathed his cock so slickly she was able to slide to the tip of his shaft, then ram down hard on him and tighten her vaginal walls around his dick.

For a hologram, he was very sensual and very in tune to her primal needs. Much more so than the other holograms she’d screwed before getting the courage to program her own Adam.

Even when she’d taken two lovers at a time, one inside her pussy and one inside her mouth, they hadn’t come close to satisfying her the way Adam did—and they had been pretty awesome.

“I never dreamed you were such a vixen,” he murmured around a mouthful of her breast. “Every treak in the joint would pay monsonas to be me right now. They’re lining up to be next.”

The lava boiling inside her was about to erupt. She licked his ear as he so loved, and massaged his tight buttocks.

A wild man now, he growled and thrust impossibly deep just as she burst forth in climax, screaming. Good thing the holodec was soundproof and her programs were scrambled so that no one else could decode them.

When she caught her breath, she murmured against his ear, “I can’t wait ‘til next week to make love to you again.”

His chiseled lips quirked into the most deliciously evil grin she’d ever gazed upon, and it made her stomach flip-flop. “You don’t have to wait another moment.”

He lifted her off his still pulsing cock turned her over and to her surprise, bent her over the table.

She squirmed against the tip of his velvety cock dripping with pre-cum.

“You’re so tight and wet, babe, just perfect to slide in and out. How bad do you want it? Bad enough to beg?” So he wanted her to beg? He wanted to hear how hot she was for him? Was he doing this to fulfill her fantasies, or had the hologram evolved sufficiently to have his own? Either way, she was thrilled.

****

I hope tomorrow is a better day, that I don't get so mixed up.

PUCKER UP...

I really don’t know why this topic popped into my head, except to say that I was reminiscing with my daughter and it bought back a painful and embarrassing moment from years ago.


I’m about to share something that I haven’t shared with a lot of people. I’m a survivor. I know this because I was able to overcome the trauma of a multiple group rape that happened when I was fifteen years old. It’s not something I even think about now, except when this memory came up. Because of what had happened, I never dated until I was 19.


His name was Trevor, that first date, and baby, we’re talking hot. At the end of the night, he took me home and in the time-honoured tradition, kissed me good night. The kiss was hot. He was hot. But I freaked, because the poor man was excited and I could feel his erection brushing against me. Like a frightened virgin, I pushed him away and ran inside, never going out with him again because I was too embarrassed. Not my finest moment, but the memory of it got me thinking about kissing in all its forms.


We all kiss our children, our parents. We salute our friends with the kiss on the cheek. But what about the romantic kiss? That first brush of lips that has your heart galloping and your pulse pounding?


You’ve met this fantastic guy/girl who pushed every one of your buttons. He asks you out, takes you to dinner and then sees you home. Is that first kiss going to turn you off? Is it going to make you gag, or make you weak at the knees? Many a relationship has floundered at this point. We’ve all swapped spit with the bad kisser: the lizard or snake kisser who keeps flicking and hissing, the cannibal who wants to eat you alive, the washing machine with his round and round whiz of your mouth, the spelunker who wants to delve deep without considering whether you’re suffocating or not, and so many more.


How about Mr. Wet Vac Hoover?


This is like sucking frogs out of a drainpipe. He want to suck your tongue right out of your mouth and has no intention of letting you have it back. By the time he’s finished and you’ve got your tongue back, you’ve got slobber all over your mouth. And just how many of your fillings did he suck loose?


The Vampire or Woody Woodchuck Kisser.


Hey, a little nibble on the lower lip is fine, if fact it can be a hell of a turn on, but give it a break. It’s not some gourmet delicacy for you to suck and chew on. No way do I want to explain the next day why my lower lip is sporting a purple bruise.


The Speed Demon


His idea of a kiss is a prelude to getting to the main event. Overwhelm you with his kisses fast enough and he can get you into bed. Hard. Fast. No finesse at all. Yeah, guess who’s saying no to the next date offer?


The Tonsil Tickler


He’s going for gold. Tongue straight in, takes over your mouth, until you wonder what he’s done with your tongue. Hell, there isn’t room in your mouth for your tongue. He’s taken up residence. And the only thing this type of kiss induces is the gag reflex.



Unfortunately, not all kisses are equal. A good kiss starts slow, changes, is ever mobile. It makes you smile. It makes your hormones go on the rampage. And it’s something you remember long after the event.


So what was your first kiss and how did it make you feel?

A kiss is still a kiss...

When I first began writing, sweet romance was my thing. The couple kissed, and that bedroom door would slam shut. I was fine with that. (That's how Danielle Steel wrote, after all!) I started reading Nora Roberts. People have strong opinions on Nora, and I'm not here to get into that. I just want to comment that she was the first author I read who allowed me into the bedroom with her characters. It wasn't graphic, but it was nice.

Once I discovered the world of e-publishing and saw what was out there, I was amazed! As I wrote, I pushed my personal boundaries farther, and found out it was fun! I've written over twenty male/female novellas and short stories, and love every one of them.

All of a sudden, I realized there was another genre out there, GLBT. I tinkered first with a married couple adding another man to their bedroom fun. I finally got brave enough to write strictly male/male fiction (yes, I said fiction because I've never partaken of this type of fun, I'm a chick.) I loved it! The sales on my m/m stuff have been my best yet.

I've recently written a couple lesbian pieces, one novella and one short story. Both were fun, and I was thrilled when they were accepted by TEB. The first comes out next month, and has already received a Recommended Read Review. More about that next week.

Today I'd like to give you an excerpt from my recently released, m/m contemporary novella, Second Time Around. In it's first week, it hit # 3 on the TEB bestseller list!


Mike Sparks arrives home early from a business trip to find his wife in bed with another woman. He's shocked and surprised, but not really upset. Understanding her needs have changed, he agrees to an amicable divorce.

When he's finally ready to re-enter the dating scene, he realizes his own needs have also changed. Instead of blond hair and a big bust, the image turning him on these days is dark haired, and masculine.

His first attempt at a same-sex date ends up a fumbling, sticky, back-seat mess. But when he meets handsome Niko Bulajic, he realises he might just have found what he's looking for, the second time around.

Excerpt: (This is from Mike's first date with another man. Explicit m/m content.)

He’d never experienced sex in such a blatant manner. Even early in his relationship with Cindy, there was a tenderness and softness to their lovemaking. This was definitely not making love. It was hot, sweaty sex in the backseat of a car. He shouldn’t be there. He should be ashamed. His mind told him he should be a lot of things he wasn’t at the moment. Right then, he just wanted more.

“I’ve got to fuck this sweet ass.” Tyler ran his hands over Mike’s ass cheeks.

“I don’t know.” Mike breathed heavily, the idea causing his leaking, flaccid cock to stir. “I’ve never—”

“Good.” Tyler smiled. “I’ll be your first.”

He glanced around again. “Here? Really?”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry, I’m prepared.” He opened the console between the two front seats, removing a condom and some lubricant. “Roll over on all fours. I’m going to fuck you like no one’s ever been fucked before.”

“But—” Mike protested weakly. His spirit was willing, flesh not so sure. The setting was cramped. He thought a bedroom might be the more appropriate place for his first time.

“No buts.” Tyler leaned back, forcing him onto his knees. “Except this one. Oh, God, what a tight ass! I might come just looking at it.” He leaned down, burying his face in Mike’s crack, nuzzling.

“Jesus.” Mike burrowed into the car seat. He was in virgin territory, so to speak, and his nerves suddenly flared. “Take it easy on me, okay?”

“You don’t want it easy. You want it hard, sweet cheeks. Hard and deep.” He pried Mike’s ass apart and nudged his tongue against the opening there.

Mike inhaled as the tongue laved him. He’d been correct about his desire to be touched there. It felt wonderful as the other man probed him intimately. The tongue pushed deeper, and he gasped.

In deeper yet, then backed out. “So tight.”

Mike heard the lube opening. A slick digit rimmed his anus. He held his breath again as the finger invaded his body. It was uncomfortable at first, then the pressure eased and it felt strangely good. His cock agreed. It had firmed up again, tingling with renewed desire.

“Okay now, you just relax.” Tyler dragged his finger out. “I think you’re ready for me.” He cupped Mike’s cock and balls, squeezing. “God, you’re already hard again! We’re going to have some great times.”

Mike heard the ripping of a foil packet, heard the man sheathing himself. He was glad he didn’t have to ask about protection. It’d been so long since he’d used anything, he’d almost forgotten. Suddenly, his anus burned as something big nudged its opening. He jerked forward. “I don’t think so!”

“Hold still,” Tyler snapped. He grasped Mike’s hips firmly, pressing his cock against the rosebud.

“You’re too big. I’ve never had anything inside me.”

“The body is adaptable. Once I get past the outer ring, I’ll slide right in. I used plenty of lube.” He pressed forward.

“Oh God, it hurts!” Mike hated the whiny sound of his voice, but his ass stung like fire. “Stop!”

“Not…going…to…stop…” Tyler’s staccato voice murmured with his thrusts. “You’ll get used to it. Oh yeah, feel that? You’re opening up for me. I’ll slide right in.”

“No—” Mike groaned, angry that the man hadn’t listened to him. His ass was on fire, and this idiot was grinding himself deeper and deeper. He felt the man’s balls slap against his own, and then a flicker of desire ignited.

Copyright (C) 2008 Jamie Hill

Letting Go

Seven years ago, I made a huge life change. My husband and I decided
to sell our house in the U.S.and go live in Southeast Asia. We spent
the next twelve months sorting through the accumulated possessions
of more than twenty years, deciding what to sell, what to discard,
what little we should take with us. The process was exhausting and
somewhat painful, but in the end, we managed to relieve ourselves
of about 80% of what we had owned. Even then, we shipped half a
container's worth of stuff to our new home - too much, we now
believe.

I learned a lot from that experience about letting go. I came to
realize what a burden it was having so many _things_, and how freeing
it was to release them. The process changed me. I am far less
concerned, now, about things. I think twice before I buy something that
will just add clutter to my apartment. When a favorite item of
clothing disintegrates or one of my dozens of pairs of earrings
goes missing, I shrug my shoulders. They're only things. I can let go
of them.

The Buddha taught that attachment is the source of suffering.
The older I get, the more true this seems. The secret to peace and
joy seems to be letting go. Letting go of guilt. Letting go of worry.
Letting go of the hurts of the past, and the lost loves as well.
Letting go of the need to have the approval of others. Letting go of
the desire to control or to change them.

As I hone my craft as a writer, I'm starting to realize that letting
go is essential in this arena as well. You can't coerce creativity.
You can't consciously summon inspiration. All you can do is relax and
open yourself, letting go of the white-knuckled determination to write
and hoping that inspiration will find you. I have some stories that
flowed from me unbidden, out of my heart and onto the page. I have
others where I sweated over every word, gritting my teeth, determined
to produce with or without the help of my muse. Reading these stories
later, you'd find it easy to tell the difference.

Recently I was corresponding with Carol Lynne, another TEB author,
about the Round Robin we've been featuring in the TEB newsletter. I
wrote the first installment. She wrote the second. I liked what she
did with my beginning, but there was this nagging concern that she was
turning the story in directions that I had not envisioned. Then I
realized - after writing the part one of "Not Quite Dead", I had to let
it go, release it to the next contributor. Carol agreed. She had a
whole story plotted out in her head, she said, but then she realized:
it wasn't her story any more.

Last, but hardly least, I think that letting go is the key to fabulous
sex. Each of us may have different burdens to release. For some, it's
embarrassment. Perhaps we are plumper than we think is
attractive. Maybe we sag or have wrinkles or aren't flexible enough to
pull off some of the positions in the Kama Sutra. For others, it might
be fear or shame, because we've been taught that sex is dirty or
sinful - fear of our own capacity for passion. Whatever barriers stand
between us and fulfillment, we need to let them go. It can be scary,
releasing conscious control, trusting your instincts and those of your
partner, allowing desire to sweep you away. From my experience,
though, this is the key to ecstasy. Let go and let love take you
over. You'll never be the same.

Romantic Times.

Now, if like me, you’re sat at home miles away from Pittsburgh you may just be getting a tad weary of Romantic Times, or RT for short, whilst I wish every lucky author, publisher and reader there a great time I can’t help but feel a little left out of all that convention fun.

Well, never fear, Victoria Blisse is here and anyone who knows me knows that I’m good at cheering folk up.

So, I was trying to work out what to blog on today and I was reading through my yahoo group email and RT was being mentioned all over the place, and the name just got stuck in my head.

Romantic Times. Romantic Times. Romantic Times.

And then, as these bolts of inspiration often do, it hit me. I will write a blog about romantic times, no, not the convention but actual times that are romantic.

Romance is a wonderful thing and we all need a little bit of it in our lives, why else do you think I write erotic romance, eh? It’s hard to define a romantic moment because they can vary so much depending on the time it’s happening and the person it’s happening to but I think the definition is in the feeling you are left with after that moment. You feel loved.

Yes, a meal at a posh restaurant out of the blue is romantic but so is a picnic made for two or your last Rolo (I’m showing my age with that comment) or a stolen kiss. Romance does not have to be expensive and showy, it doesn’t have to be public and loud, it can be free and hidden, private and whispered gently into a loved one’s ear.

I am lucky. I’ve had many romantic times in my life. I have a wonderfully romantic husband. He is the kind of man who buys me a card just because, who hugs me impulsively and pinches my bottom whilst we’re in the queue at the supermarket. He is not afraid to be romantic and I love that.

Romance is not a one-way street, though, it has to be returned and at Christmas I spent hours stitching a hideous Christmas jumper for my husband because he decided he wanted one, to be traditional. Once I travelled to the next county over (2 hours by bus) just to get an Everton player’s autograph for him and I’m a Manchester United fan.

You see, romance is all about caring for someone else more than yourself and showing them that. It is about making someone else feel special, letting them know how much you love and cherish them and when you do that you create memories that last a lifetime.

Now tell me about your romantic times. Tell me how you were romanced or how you did the romancing. Make me “oooh” and “aaah” with affection at your fondest, loving memories. Yeah, I may be an exhibitionist but I do have the occasional voyeuristic moment, too.

Be Kind To YOU!

As writers, we’re told to write what we know. So, for this blog, I will. I’ve learned, the not-so-easy way how important it is to take care of myself.

As a coach, writer, parent, manager, always looking out for others, you’d think I’d look out for myself, too, right? Er, not so much.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve done what might be termed a “crash and burn.” And it’s not pretty. I caught a nasty virus, had my energy level drop to nearly nothing and haven’t had a lot of interest in things that generally energize me.

So, darn it, I’m going to have to practice what I preach and write what I know.

When I coach my clients to take a sheet of paper and divide it into seven sections (one for each day of the week), and write out their ideal schedule, that means I need to do the same.

When I instruct an employee who has been working too many hours that they need to take a refresh and rejuvenate day, I need to recognize my own limits and take some time to rest and rejuvenate, too.

When I tell my daughter (who’s certainly old enough to know better!) that sleep is the mighty healer and that things will look better in the morning, I should tuck my tired self into bed and remember that things will look better in the morning. After all, I’m definitely old enough to know better!

When I coach clients to list the things that jazz them and to write a top 100 list of things to see, to do, to have, I need to do the same thing.

Getting a regular massage isn’t just for those around me. Eating nutritious foods that aren’t loaded with sugar are for me, too, not just others. Moving my body so that I look and feel better and have more energy to make it through the day (to say nothing of releasing endorphins and regulating serotonin levels) is something I should do every day. After all, I do know about the Law of Inertia. (An object in motion stays in motion, right?)

So, here I am, making a public commitment to taking better care of myself. Starting with a bubble bath, a good night’s sleep, and packing my gym bag for tomorrow’s work out.

What advice do you give others that you should take yourself?

See you again on the 20th…when I have some progress to report!

Please, feel free to let me know what you’re doing to take care of you…sierracartwright@hotmail.com

A Sensual State of Mind

A Sensual State of Mind...

In DIARY OF A MAD ESCORT, Grace Barry, a.k.a, Ginger Berry, is a paid escort skilled in the art of pleasuring men.

But not herself.

Until Alex Winters comes along.

Through the power of aphrodisiacs, and the power of the human mind, Alex ignites a sensual flame in Grace that only his skilled hands can douse.

We’ve heard it time and again, that good sex starts in your mind, not in your genitals. But that’s easier said than done. The daily grind of our lives gets in the way. Our jobs, kids, other family members and responsibilities leave us precious little time for a bout of good love-making. So many times we just not in that ‘zone.’ We kiss our significant other good night (many times, it’s just a peck on the cheek), and trot off to bed, where sleep is our #1 priority. Without rest, we can’t face another day laden with stress…

But we can’t afford to let our sex lives go down the tubes, either, for that’s one of the greatest stress relievers I can think of. So you ask: How do I get back into that sensual zone? How can we ignite that sensual flame in ourselves? It’s there, it’s just turned on low – like the pilot light of a gas flame on a stove, we’ve turned it down…down…

Down.

So let’s rev it up, and take a few tips from Alex Winters, a man who’s skilled in the art of making love, not sex for sex’s sake, but true erotic pleasures. He’s taught Grace a few things, now let’s see what he can teach us:

- Good love-making is all in your mind. If you allow other thoughts to creep in, the act of making love won’t satisfy. Turn off the crazy jumble of thoughts in your head by imagining a switch on the wall. If you flip the switch up, your mind is on. Flip it down - your brain is off. See yourself walking over to that wall, placing your fingers on that switch. Turn it down, to the ‘off’ position. Shut your eyes and breath deep and think of only one thing: sensual pleasure.

- The ancients believed in the power of aphrodisiacs. While some people believe there is absolutely no truth that eating oysters or smelling certain scents can rev up your hormones, the idea of enjoying food and certain smells has merit. Check out http://chefedsaphrodisiacs.blogspot.com/ and read about the history and use of aphrodisiacs.

- We rush through our meals – grabbing lunch at our desks, wolfing down dinner… slow down. Enjoy one meal each day. Savor your food – enjoy a unique scent – whether it’s Tahitian vanilla or some other delightful aroma. If you’re sensitive to smells or have food allergies, then savor what you can – a meal shared with your favorite honey, eating foods that you can enjoy. Don’t rush through it. Pretend it’s your first date – get to know each other again.

- Massage. It’s great – works out all the kinks and it’s a sensual segway to some fantastic love-making. It’s gentle physical stimulation without being invasive. The power of touch can melt away lots of stress. Use a massage oil or lotion for the ultimate, sensual effect.
Use all five senses when you make love – touching, hearing, tasting, smelling, seeing. Don’t favor one over another. Pleasure comes when all five senses are satisfied.

- Try something new. We may have to be ‘in charge’ in our daily lives, but not in the bedroom. While your partner should respect your wishes and desires in the bedroom, don’t dictate every move. Open yourself up to fresh, new, erotic ideas. Look, don’t touch is a good one. Preen for your partner. Parade nude before him/her. But they can’t touch you – for thirty minutes. You do the touching – on yourself. This will show your partner what you like – open them up to something new, too. By the time 30 minutes is up, your honey will be so hot and bothered for you that love-making will take on a whole new dimension.

- Live your fantasy. Surrender to an idea. The idea of surrendering can relieve all kinds of stress in your life. Give in to a secret desire. Does the idea of being spanked by your partner send you to the brink of passion’s wide abyss? Maybe it’s the idea of becoming someone else – dressing up for your partner. It’s called playing a role and sometimes, we don’t play enough. So go ahead, become someone else for a little while. Get lost in the fantasy.

Now, get lost in this flight of the imagination - see what Grace plans for Alex in DIARY OF A MAD ESCORT…

Grace tipped the slats of the bedroom window’s blinds and watched as a black sedan pulled into the driveway that night. She smiled as Alex’s tall, golden form exited the car, his sprint quick and light as he strode up the small walkway. She let go of the blinds, heard him come through the front door, murmuring something to Moira and Sam. Then she saw them both leave.
And heard Alex’s footfalls as he strode down the hallway towards her room.
She straightened her blouse and adjusted the band that held her ponytail in place. Running a hand over her skirt, she stood in the centre of the room and waited for him to enter, her heart pounding in her chest.
Grace had dressed like this hundreds of times, for lots of men, but never for one she cared for like Alex.
He strode in, shutting the door behind him. Then his eyes settled on Grace. For just a second, he wore a puzzled frown, then he smiled, one corner of his mouth kicking up. “Well, well, what do we have here?”
“Hello, Professor.” She made her voice sound innocent, yet…seductive.
He raised a brow. “Professor, eh? And just what am I teaching?”
“You never finished that class on…aphrodisiacs.”
He laughed. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, I get it.” He strode further into the room, her Norse god, her Iceman. “You’re looking for extra credit.”
She nodded, but her head shook just a little. In fact, her body trembled too, as he approached. Grace thought she’d turn him on, instead she’d lit a sensual fire in her belly and groin that threatened to burn her alive.
Alex loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. She watched, fascinated, as he rolled his shirtsleeves up his arms, the white face of his gold and silver watch gleaming against his bronzed skin. He took a seat on the bed, and crooked his index finger in her direction. “Come here.”
She took a tentative step forward, her black, patent leather Mary Janes squeaking as she moved. Cool air blew up the short, plaid skirt she wore. Her knee-high socks had tight elastic bands at the top—thank God, she thought wryly, it would ruin the whole damned effect if they slipped. She fingered the collar of her white blouse and licked her lips.
“Don’t lick you lips at me, young lady.”
His stern, mocking voice held just a note of wickedness.
Grace revelled in it.
She toyed with the master, the wizard of erotic love-play, and now she had the chance to turn him on, to be the aggressor.
He patted the bed. “Lift your skirt and come here.”
She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“It seems to me,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “That you didn’t complete your last two homework assignments.”
She grinned. She couldn’t help it. “I, uh, was busy, Professor. And a little sad.”
“Oh?” He raised one white-blonde brow. “Why was my best student so sad?”
She shrugged, looking down as she toyed with the ends of her blouse in her hands. “My professor didn’t come to see me.”
“For that,” his voice became deep. “I’m truly sorry
“Are you?” she murmured, looking up at him.
“Very sorry. And your professor wants you to know you’re on his mind every waking minute of every day. You’re never far from his thoughts…or his heart.”
His heart? Had she been hearing things?
He angled his head. “We still have to discuss this bad habit you have of skipping homework assignments.” Patting the bed again, he repeated. “Now, raise your skirt. And come sit next to me.”
She did as he bade, walking slowly towards the bed. Stopping in front of him, she lifted her skirt, revealing a pair of simple white cotton panties.
Fire leaped into Alex’s eyes. He gave her a cheeky grin. “Well, I see you’re wearing underwear today, Miss Barry.” Alex reached out to run a hand across her mons. “But they have to come off.”
Her panties became wet when he told her that. Grace’s knees turned to jelly. She had bared her body to other men, but removing the pair of simple, cotton underwear in front of Alex’s cool, silver gaze made her body vibrate.
Alex reached out and slid the panties down her hips and belly, tugging them past her smooth-shaven labia. He rose from the bed and bent his tall frame, tugging them down her legs until the lay wrapped around her ankles.
That’s where he left them. Rising to his feet slowly, he placed kisses on her shins, on her knees, her thighs and the twin folds of skin covering her nubbin. Grace shuddered pleasurably at the feel of his tongue as it flicked over skin.
Alex resumed his seat on the bed. She stood there, still as a board, her skirt raised, the panties draped around her ankles.
He gave her a cool, level look. “What do you think happens to students who don’t do their homework, Miss Barry?”
Grace let go of the breath she’d been holding. She shrugged. “I’m not sure, Professor.” Her pulse quickened.
He grasped her around the waist with both hands. “Step out of the panties.”
She let go of her skirt and did as he instructed, kicking them aside.
Alex reached around and tucked the hem of her skirt into the waistband in back. Cool air swirled around Grace’s bottom but her body temperature rose at least ten degrees.
He leaned back and patted the bed. “Come sit.”
She saw his cock swell, the outline of his stiff member pushing against his trousers.
Grace lifted her leg and placed one knee on the bed, Alex’s silver gaze focused on her mound. She climbed up and settled next to him, dangling her feet over the side.
He smiled, a wicked, rogue’s grin. Again, he patted his thighs. “Lay across my lap, face down.”
Grace’s eyes grew wide, her look all innocence. “Why? What are you going to do, professor?”
“You’re the only student who doesn’t do her homework, Miss Barry.” His breathing became short, shallow and ragged. “And you’re the only student who’s ever turned me on like this.”
She leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. “How about that? Am I the only student who does that?”
He grasped her around the waist again, tugging her forward until she lay across his lap. Grace turned her head, trying to get a glimpse of his face as he ran a hand across her bottom.
“And you’re the only one of my students with a bottom like this.”
Smack!
Grace caught her breath as his hand connected with her backside.
Smack!
She gripped the bed covers, feeling the sting of his palm and the delicious throbbing ache from deep within her pleasure zone.
Smack!
Heat spread across her bottom. It flowed between her legs, settling in the juncture between her thighs.
Smack!
That last smack sent her over the edge of that great wide sensual abyss, the one that only Alex could bring her to. She dangled on its edge, not wanting to fall yet, not wanting to slip down. Grace wanted to savour this time with Alex.
Smack!
His hand collided with her bottom again. She held her breath, waiting for the next one to come. Grace felt giddy, knowing that her essence, her moisture, must be all over Alex’s trousers by now. Each time his hand came down on her bottom, she felt moisture seep from between her legs.
Smack!
She gripped the bed covers again, the delicious heat and sting of his palm acting as the headiest aphrodisiac.
Alex eased her off his lap, pulling her tight against his chest, kissing the top of her head. He ran his hand over her bottom, cupping it gently and crooning in her ear.
“Now, Miss Barry, I’m going to give you what you really deserve.”
***
copyright 2008 by Catherine Chernow
www.CatherineChernow.com
DIARY OF A MAD ESCORT
By Catherine Chernow
Available for sale from Total-e-Bound.

Scattered Thoughts

Blogs. You know I don’t blog very often. Actually this is only the second one I’ve ever attempted. Why? Well, because in my opinion you have two types of blogs. Those that authors write to promote their books or those that are witty, sexy or ranty. Exposing myself to cyberspace is not my idea of a good time. I never know if someone is going to take offense to something I write. To open yourself in a blog, is to open yourself to criticism. It’s the main reason I tend to keep to myself. I became a writer because I love it. The gay erotic romance genre is new to a lot of readers. Some enjoy it, while others would rather stick a fork in their eye than to read it. That’s fine by me. Oh, um, the reading gay romance thing, not the whole fork in the eye thing, because that’s just gross.

Sitting here, in my home, I’m removed from the rest of the world in a way that makes me feel safe. Of course as soon as I write something and it’s out there, it’s no longer in my control. People can misconstrue it, make fun of it, copy it, or love it. I never know.

Being me comes with its own pile of problems. I’m leaving for the big Romantic Times convention on Tuesday, and I’m scared to death. I know I’ll have fun with my friends, but what about everyone else I meet? I think most women worry about the wrong first impression. I have this insane fear of walking away from what I consider a nice conversation and having the other person roll their eyes and think something like. “Jeez, what’s she thinking with that hair?” or “Man, she really needs to get out of Kansas more often,” or my worst fear, “Say it with me, GIRDLE. Look into one.” See? Crazy. I’m batshit crazy when it comes to stuff like that. At the end of the day I just have to remind myself that I’ll probably never be popular, witty or thin. I’m just Carol, take me or leave me.

I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but I’m also really worried about leaving my children. Oh, I know they’ll be safe and loved while I’m gone, but it won’t be me giving the goodnight kisses. My children are the most important people in my life. Friday, I had the day from hell. I won’t go into details other than to say divorce lawyers suck donkey balls. Anyway, Friday was really bad. It was 7:30 in the evening and all I wanted to do was go to bed and hide from life. My babies came into the living room, where I was surrounded by stacks and stacks of personal documents and asked me for a hug. A hug. They knew I was stressed, sad and busy. I’m still not sure if they needed the hug or if they knew mommy needed it.

I looked at them, looked down at the pile of papers still waiting to be organized and walked away from the mess. The kids and I all ended up on my bed watching HGTV and having tickle fights. It was the best evening I’ve spent in a very long time.

When it was time for them to go to bed, I thanked them. My oldest looked at me like she didn’t understand. I told them that sometimes life takes over and mommy needs to be reminded what is important. They are important. I thanked them again for loving me and helping me to remember that.

As you can probably tell by now, I’m not an expert blogger. My mind is usually traveling in at least three directions at the same time. I flip from one idea to the other. It’s like that with my writing as well. While I’m writing one book, my mind is usually plotting out the next, not content to think of only one thing at a time.

My grammar sucks, my spelling really, really sucks, and I’ll probably have to have my best friend Brynn Paulin edit this. Yep, it’s sad. I know most bloggers can write these things daily and it looks like they’ve worked on it for days or weeks. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them.

Opening myself to cyberspace is almost as scary as the thought of drinking too much at RT. My lips tend to get a little loose when I indulge. That’s exactly the reason I’m sticking to Dr. Pepper while at the convention.

On to the next topic. See? I told you, my mind can’t stay on one topic for long. I’m currently reading a book, Falling by Cameron Dane. If you’re not one to shy away from M/M books, read it. I’m amazed at this author’s writing style. I just read a jerk off scene that had me holding my breath. If I had a penis, I would use it as a how-to manual. Fantastic! All I can say is Cameron Dane definitely has a new fan. I’ve already purchased ReneCade.

Hmmm… Trying to sum up this blog of random, screwy thoughts, I’ll have to say one more thing: Answer your emails. A huge, huge pet peeve of mine is when someone doesn’t answer reader mail. I’ve always made it a practice to let authors know when I enjoy a particular story. I did it before I became a writer, and I still do it. It amazes me the number of authors who don’t bother to return an email. First of all, they are missing out on the most rewarding marketing tool available. To strike up conversations with people who enjoy your books should never be looked at as a waste of time. Quite often those readers will open up and tell you what they like or don’t like about your books. Engaging in a few emails helps you become a better writer. Use it. After several shared emails, the reader will remember your name, not just the one book they enjoyed. The huge bonus of this, of course, is that you get to cyber-meet a lot of wonderful people. Generally, when I write an author and don’t get a reply, I feel cheated. It’s generally enough to give me second thoughts about purchasing another of their books. It may not be fair but it’s true.


So, have you had enough of Carol’s mad ramblings to last you a year? Hope so, because I have a feeling it might be that long before you hear from me again. At least on a blog…

Am I made to hear people talking in my head? No I’m just an author.

I, like many other authors, belong to a number of chat loops and on one of the loops this week there has been a lively debate around the question:

Can you tell if you have talent?

It made me think. I think what the questioner was actual asking was, is there a test assessment that a person can take that will tell them on maybe a percentage scale if they are going to get published. I'm afraid there isn't.

I don't think writing talent can be identified like eye-hand coordination or a musical ear but I do think that although writers vary hugely in background, education and life experience, I think there must be an inborn ability at play somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind. I think to understand if you are a writer, it would be better to ask yourself:

Can you give up writing?

And I think to succeed in a terribly crowded business through to publication you need to have shouted a resounding ‘NO’ at this blog by now.

Of course that doesn’t mean if you’re sitting alone on you computer tapping stories out you’ll get a publishable novel. If it were that easy everyone would succeed.

I do lots of talks to readers groups and the like and the one question people always ask me is how I can make up such vivid and interesting stories. I always counter by asking, ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

My head is constantly full of stories and characters playing out their stories. I actually see the scenes as I write them. Of course I can make me see mad, hence the title of his Blog because I constantly put the kettle in the refrigerator and load the washing machine and not turn it on because my minds been stolen away by a new twist to a story.

• In my humble opinion there are a couple of other traits that are definitely required.

• A burning, almost obsessive, desire to tell people the stories that are dancing about inside your head.

• A dogged determination to persevere no matter what and for however long.

• You MUST have the ability to take rejection and maintain your belief in yourself and that's not easy when you have a file full of photocopied rejections letter starting 'dear author'.

• It helps to develop a thick but receptive skin. You must listen reflectively to criticism

• Add to that again in IMHO you MUST continue perfect your craft. I don't think I'll ever be able to just think 'Oh well, I'll just dash off another one, ' I'm sure that on my 50th novel- if I live that long-I will still lay awake worrying if the dialogue is right, have I got the motivation for the H&H believable, is this and that plot devise plausible and have I got the heroine in a crinoline in 1855 when they weren’t introduced until 1856.

• You MUST be able to taken critical reviews of your work, because every author has their work sent back from an editor with comments and suggested changes, so get used to it and learn from it. I love my editor Janice, she is the best, but I do have just that moment of heart sinking when her email arrives in my box with an attachment.

Also, just to warn you, it’s not a laugh a minute. It’s hard. I agonize over almost every word I write. I am an inveterate editor and will fiddle with things forever.

Sometimes it goes so smoothly that I’m laughing at my own lines and other times each word has to be dragged out.

Also I always lose my place in the story. Now that might sound funny as I’m actually making it up, but consider it. So take my new book Hunting Diablo as an example.

You, dear reader, start chapter one where Phoebe and Nathan meet on the day Hunting Diablo is published next month, because it’s such a fantastic story you ring in sick to work and read through to Chapter four. Phoebe is now having very unmaidenly thoughts about Nathan and has found out very unsavoury things about her missing fiancé.

That might take you three hours to read but it’s taken me four weeks to write. So you can appreciate by the time I get to the middle of the book—because of all the things whizzing around in my head—I can forget what they said at the beginning of the book.

So don’t be fooled into thinking that some people can just do it without effort because they can’t. I love starting a story but 100,000 words is a long journey when you’ve only go the first 1000 down.

You might have inborn talent but it won't carry you through because, as the well know historical author Elizabeth Chadwick quite rightly said,

"Basically talent has to be honed. You have to develop inbuilt critical faculties that apply to your own work i.e. you have to learn to know when to see wood amongst trees."

Here endeth today’s lesson.

Love Ellie

Ten Essentials on my desk or the muse is not amused

Ten Essentials on my desk or the muse is not amused

1. My cute jar with colored paperclips – an absolute must. I am always printing things out whether it’s affirmations, guidelines, goals, whatnot – and not just any paperclip will do.

2. A favorite pen – which depends a lot on my mood that day. Sometimes I choose the big fat pen with the ultra cool clicky clicky sound, or sometimes it’s the sleek silver one that has its own felt holder, and once in awhile it’s the fuzzy one that brings out my inner child.



3. Day planner – and I’d be lost without it. While I’d much prefer a hunky male assistant to – err – well nevermind, I’ll save the rest of that thought for when I’m working on my WIP.

4. Box of tissue – especially now that spring is here because I’m allergic to everything.

5. Daily journal – which I write in every morning to get those pesky jumbled thoughts out of my head. This time around it’s blue and fuzzy. I also use it when I’m feeling overwhelmed or down on myself.

6. A small cardholder with a few of my business cards in it. I suppose I have it to remind myself of that wild and crazy persona I slip into. She can be such a diva.

7. Sticky notes – which like the day planner I’d be lost without. Titles and ideas are subject to bust out with no warning, along with reminders and other little bits of information of importance. I like an assortment of colors though I prefer blue and purple.



8. A drink coaster as I’m likely to have either chai tea or cocoa in the morning, pop or water in the afternoon, and wine in the evening. It’s a pretty ceramic one my hubby gave me a few years ago with maple leaves on it.

9. My Peace Lily – which I just love to pieces, heh heh – get it, okay bad morning humor, apologies. Seriously though, I have several plants in my office because I love to be surrounded by nature, but my Peace Lily gets front and center. Not only does it have lush green leaves but it’s a natural air purifier too. Look at the things you can learn from a blog!



10. And finally – a suede mousepad for my mouse. Oh my gosh the thing is so soft. It’s like my comfort food. It’s like the alternative to rubbing Buddha’s belly. It’s an essential.


And there you have it. Other than my monitor – I need the ten items above to have a successful and productive working day. Clutter truly does clutter my mind, so everything else – stray papers and such have to go in the drawer and out of sight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to turn my thoughts back to that hunky male assistant and the things I’d ask him to do.

~Ann Cory

Emotion

Brynn is crazy busy preparing for RT and working hard as Brynn does. So I agreed to fill in for her today.

So, do you think that writers feel emotion harder than others? Sometimes I wonder. I think that because we have so much in our minds, so many peoples lives in our hands, that things can get confusing for us.

It takes a strong person to be a writer. We all know that. You have to be able to deal with rejections, with criticism, and sometimes worst of all with success. And among all of this, you have to write. You have to create people, put them in situations where they are constantly on the verge of failing, losing something, and sometimes dying. And as a romance writer you have to make them fall in love through all of this pain and uncertainty. You have to get them from "Hi I am Kate," to "Life is so hard I don't know if I can save the world, deal with my parent's untimely death, pick the kids up from soccer practice and let a man see me naked...in the DAYTIME" then to "Happily Ever After."

Whew. Really? Who else has all of this stress on them at all times? Who else hears voices all day long, but instead of getting to relax in a nice padded room with them, we have to listen to them and turn them into words on pages. Not just words on pages, but coherent, entertaining words on pages. And we love it.

But because it all has to be believable, we tend to feel our characters pain. We celebrate their joys, mourn their loses, and cheer their happy ending. We have to understand emotion. I don't know about you all, but sometimes it hits me pretty hard.


For instance, the other night Mr. Rebel and I were talking. He made some joke about a brown corduroy suit that he owns. For some reason this struck me as hilarious. I was laughing so hard my back hurt and tears were streaming down my face. And then suddenly, they weren't tears of laughter, they were just tears. I was overcome with body racking sobs. I cried for ten minutes. There was no reason for it, probably just my body releasing stress. But there it was. And of course it was in front of a boy, who doesn't write, so he had no idea what was going on.

So is this just me? Am I the only one that cries when a character dies, that laughs out loud at my heroine's antics, that mourns the end of a relationship that leads to cheering the beginning of a new one? Does anyone else carry this over-emotional tendency to everyday life?

Brynn, are you sorry now that you let me fill in today? :)


XoXoXo
Dakota Rebel

I Write 'Smut' and 'Bodice Rippers' and Don't Care!!!

Stirring the cauldron…again……




Hi all,

I’ve been reading posts from many online loops and in some major writing organization magazines. Seems there’re some authors out there who strongly object to the use of the term ‘smut’ when referring to their erotica writing. Even more authors object to being laughed at because they write romance novels.

I have to ask…What’s wrong with me?

I can’t seem to summon angst over the subject. It seems to me that if a person is uncomfortable with what they’re writing, then maybe that’s an internal reason for going nuclear when someone puts it down. But it also seems to me that this is a problem originating from the source and some authors need to deal with how seriously they’re taking themselves.

Just take your money to the bank every month or every quarter (depending upon the publisher) and laugh all the way. I truly don’t lose sleep over anyone calling my stuff smut or trash or even laughing at the fact that I write romance novels……I care more about cleaning my cat’s litter box than this subject!



But it is tedious to see this silly topic come up over and over when authors should be worrying over something that really affects their lives adversely! I mean, if you’re an author and you want to worry over professional issues, why not get worked up over the damned inequitable distribution of books into major chain stores and why virtually only one distributor can stock in those venues without any competition? Why not get angry that shelf space is sold; so competition is eliminated? If half as much energy went into distribution issues, maybe we’d all see more of our titles on shelves…..but, I digress…

I see what I write as entertainment. That’s all. It isn’t supposed to alter the known universe, rearrange the celestial spheres or win any prize with the word Nobel attached to it. All I want is for folks to try my writing; if they like it and are amused for whatever reason, maybe they’ll come back for a few more titles. These stories are meant to take you away from your problems for a little while; that’s it…period! Please don’t ask me to be literary…..I’m not Eddie Allen Poe (Yea! My main man, Eddie Allen!) or Jane Austen…I’m just Candace Sams from Nowhere, Alabama.

Perhaps my lack of concern over calling erotica ‘smut’ or having my other work (paranormal romances) laughed at is because there are just so many darn things that are more serious.

I once had a man put a gun in my face. That, to me, was quite grave! I’ve evacuated for several major hurricanes more times than I can count and have put three roofs back on my house because of storm damage. I’ve lost friends, family and a few beloved pets, all of whom were much more worthy of tears than whether somebody called my erotica ‘smut’ or my paranormal romances ‘bodice rippers’. I can’t even seem to worry about whether I’m ‘respected in the industry’ as so many high-fallutin’, better paid and famous authors stipulate. I figure, you get respect by earning it. Screaming one’s head off over this subject isn’t going to garner esteem. And while I’ve read romances from the age of twelve, there were a lot of folks that I deemed more worthy of admiration than authors who right this stuff. Teachers, parents, fire fighters, police officers, paramedics, and just about anyone in the military is far more deserving of respect than romance/erotica authors (ducking from the flying cyber-vegetables at this point). Yeah, that means me, too. I’m amazed that there are people out there getting six figure (or more) advances for their romance novels when teachers can’t afford to pay their rent and fire fighters make about twenty thousand US dollars a year to start – to run into burning buildings and save lives!! And before you say, “Yeah, but nobody makes them do it!” remember that if they weren’t there – these men and women who are necessary to civilization – society would probably collapse. And they work for far less than they should be paid and always have!!!!

I’d far rather have been respected for the time I spent as a cop. When employed in that occupation, I was spit on and called names in languages I can’t begin to spell, but I didn’t lose my temper even then. It was the uniform being challenged, not me personally. I was once even chewed out in Samoan…..how many of you can say that? But I mention all this only to put the subject into perspective. There are just more serious things that can happen to a person than your work being referred to as ‘smut’ or ‘bodice rippers’! And most of you know this.

Now, I don’t mean to be dismissive of how others feel. Heck, I love writing, too, and I want people to like my work. But I’m not gonna lose years off my life worrying over whether somebody calls my genre names. In fact, anyone who’d take the time to denigrate someone else’s profession is probably at a loss for more productive pursuits. And the folks who make the money (I mean the big bucks) in this business don’t seem to care what their writing is called, either. They, too, laugh all the way to the bank!

I don’t know why people like ‘smut’ or ‘bodice rippers’, but they seem to serve some necessary distraction or they wouldn’t sell the way they do. We don’t need them, but readers flock to buy them. It’s just like we don’t need to go watch the next action/adventure flick, but people will. We don’t need to spend money on video games, but folks certainly do. We don’t need television, but everyone has one; probably two or more. And it seems that the more fantastical/special-effects oriented some flick is at the box office, the more money it rakes in! We don’t need to go to those expensive theatres, but we do. And I’ll bet those crazy-wealthy Hollywood moguls worry themselves stupid over philosophers labeling their work as shallow, undignified or worthless to the cause of the human condition. I’ll bet they cry themselves to sleep at night. Ya think?

Well, hell…if it brings in millions upon millions of dollars every year as statistics seem to indicate, call erotica or romance whatever you want to! I write smut and bodice rippers so there!!! And the lines of concern are etching themselves into my face….

I guess what I’m trying to say is, eroticas and romances serve some purpose or lots of folks wouldn’t be spending their hard earned cash on the stuff. But are they necessary to life as we know it? No. Can readers drop us like hot potatoes anytime they want to, in lieu of other entertainment? Yes. You see, they may want to read it, but they don’t need to. Civilization got along well without us all for a very long time. In light of this reality; I just can’t get worked up over the names some give to erotica and romance genres as a whole. I simply can’t.

In terms of authors’ need to feel martyred over the terms ‘smut’ or ‘bodice ripper’ …..please, get a grip…..we folks who write this stuff aren’t nearly as important as we’d like to think. We get paid (some of us darn well) to write something that isn’t really necessary to humanity…ain’t that enough? Just think of that fireman, that cop, that teacher or that paramedic who all bring home a little above minimum wage. What would life be like without them? Could you sleep at night without their presence? Could you sleep at night if eroticas or romances weren’t for sale?

Frickin’ take the money and run….

‘Nuff broom flyin’…

P.S. Because we’re talking about necessities vs. desires, here’s a list of things I want but don’t need:

Chocolate
Matthew MacFadyen
Gerard Butler
Pizza
Ten years off my face (and ass)
A ten room mansion, complete with swimming pool, stables and garden
Chocolate
For vampires to ‘really’ exist
Rocky Road ice cream
A masseuse to come to my house, every day (make him Thor-like; big, blonde and beefy)
To have my own gardener so I don’t have to actually clean that damned, stinking ditch one more frickin’ time!!!
Ice cold root beer
Pink, alcoholic fizzy drinks served to me on the deck of a troop ship (by sailors who’ve been without female companionship for a year)
Chocolate
For life on other planets to really exist
A lifetime gift certificate for liposuction
Chocolate


Here’s a list of what I really need:

Health
Love
Pets
Freedom


Till next rant!!!

Candace Sams (aka C.S. Chatterly)

www.candacesams.com
www.cschatterly.com

Poetry Corner

It's been a tough month. All kinds of very un-romantic, un-pleasant, un-imaginative stuff has happened. I think it’s affect my creativity. For example, all of these sentences are passive – yuck! So, rather than stress myself out – yet again, I figured I’d share a bit of poetry. Some of the poems are older, some newer. Some reflect my personal life and feelings, so reflects that of other real or fictional characters. So, here you go – a few poems by Marie Haynes. This first one, “A Woman’s Ways” I wrote after listening to my husband and some of his buddies discuss how unfathomable women were.

A Woman's Ways

A woman's mind sparkles with multi-faceted visions.
She makes love while composing grocery lists,
Has one conversation but remembers another,
Checks homework while organizing a calendar.

A woman's hands multi-task.
She can hold a baby while flipping pancakes,
Fold laundry while answering the phone,
Polish furniture while hugging a child.

A woman's heart unfathomably resilient.
She gives it away to one man early in life,
only to grow older and share it with others
but never loses the commitment to the First.

A woman's needs grow in complexity.
She craves care and attention when her strength fails
Touching, caressing when hot tears flow,
Forgiveness when confusion clouds emotion.

“After the Children” and “A Husband’s Response” reflect not only some of my own demons, but the fears of many women. Perhaps we should remember our accomplishments instead of dwelling on unreachable goals.

After the Children

I close my eyes and remember - a 22-inch waist, firm, high breasts easily filling a C-cup, long, slender legs filtering into rounded hips and a smooth, taunt behind. I remember and think that it still should be. Now, I stand naked before the mirror. Seeing the monstrosity I have become. that once tiny waist, thickened by childbirth, pudging over protruding hips. The breasts, once so high and firm, sink downward, stretched by gallons of milk. The legs, still long, but pock marked with tiny balls of fat. I shake my head and pull on the pink, fuzzy robe to hide my middle aged shame.


A husband's response I look at her eyes and wonder at her shame, Doesn’t she realize her beauty? I remember her 18 year old body - young and firm yet awkward within itself. I remember her boyish hips, her virgin breasts. I see her now, clutching that damned pink robe. God I hate that robe! I know what jewels lie beneath the fuzz. A waist beautifully rounded, a tribute to the sons she bore. Breasts full of maturity and softness, once a source of nourishment and strength. Long, full legs which carried her down the aisle, to me carried her through poverty and sickness loss and betrayal. Those legs stood beside me, supported me, wrapped around my waist In joy, fulfilment and glory. Her beauty of spirit and body Humble me.

In my other life, I’m an educator. Five years ago, we started school on August 14 and then experienced one of the hottest August and Septembers on record. I actually ended up in an emergency room one night due to heat exhaustion and dehydration. Let’s all start a national campaigned for air condition in all schools!

August Dream

Sweat drips from my nose and Paints matching crescents beneath my pits,

Flattens my once stylish “-do.”

Time blends to dull the edges of past and future And all that lives between.

But I am a professional.

I persevere.

Students depend on me.

Keep cool Don’t loose your head Don’t say anything stupid Which might damage their psyche. S

till, all I want, all I desire, all that lives in my mind Doesn’t live or think.

Nor does it ask questions I just answered 5 minutes ago.

No, all I want is nothing short of a miracle.

All I want now, at the height of the computer age The technology age The gizmo and gadget age

Is simple

AN AIR CONDITIONED SCHOOL

Hope you’ve all enjoyed the poetry, and next month, I promise, I’ll write something original and thought provoking. In the meantime, I’m just going to cuddle up with my little doggy, a glass of wine and a good book!

Marie Haynes

Co-Authoring A Book

If you’re a TEB author or reader, you probably know by now that Alexis Fleming and I are friends and that we’ve coauthored a book or two…or three or four. I’ve lost count. We’ve been asked several times “HOW do you DO that?” – and here’s my take on it.

For me, it was a simple progression from doing an anthology with a friend to writing with one, as a dual yet single unit. Summer Devon and I had already done an anthology together prior to the development of “Who’s Your Daddy”, and I’d had such an enjoyable experience working with her that it was only natural to include Lex next time, because we’d been best buds for years. Therefore, when my mother came up with the idea of a sperm donor story, I asked Summer and Lex to help write the anthology.

Then came the idea of coauthoring a book, and this time it was Lex’s scheme.

Her daughter Kelly is an author and had some interesting ideas for a fantasy series that she herself didn’t have time to do—at least, I think that was the impetus for our writing the Sexy Mythconception series for TEB. I’ve slept since then.

How we handled the process was pretty simple. For years, probably decades, I’d always been the go-to girl, the one who had ideas and started projects for others to latch onto. Lex, on the other hand, was used to cleaning up other people’s messes. That’s just the way things worked in our private worlds. I came to writing not as a writer but as the one who scheduled programs, planned conferences, set up book signings for other authors. Lex had zillions of ideas but never enough time to implement all that she wanted to do. So when we started writing together, it was a shock to my system to find that Lex wanted to start the books and have me jump in once she’d developed the characters and settings. To my amazement, I actually liked this process – lol.

Our arrangement was put to the test was back in February, though. We’d been working on a contest entry for a publisher, and the deadline was end of the month. My brother, my only sibling, died on Valentine’s Day. (more on it in my Feb blog archives if you’re interested)

* * *
He had two funerals, one in the state where he lived, another in the state where he was buried, and he and I had been very close. By the time I got home a week or so later, I was physically and emotionally drained, and Lex and I had less than a week (February was a short month, remember) to complete the damned book. Lex nudged me gently, reminding me that it was the busy season for her and her husband, who own a motel in New South Wales, and that our intrepid heroine hadn’t been laid yet.

* * *

Me: Say what? Sure she has. I distinctly remember giving that heifer an orgasm before I left.

* * *

Lex: No. She never actually had sex.

* * *

Me: So a climax doesn’t count? I re-read what we’d written and started swearing. (I’m the potty mouth of the two of us.) Well, fucking hell. So she hasn’t.

* * *

But I didn’t want to write a sex scene. I didn’t want to write at all.

* * *

I also knew that I’d drop the ball if I didn’t, and I couldn’t do that to Lex. Like a maniac, I wrote in a frenzy, got the heroine laid, played with, screwed, rued, and all but tattooed within a couple of days and fired it back to Lex. Somewhere during that time, I found my muse again, kicked her in her arse, and got my bearings. I doubt I’d have been so quick to get back in the game if I hadn’t had deadlines and a critique partner who knew me well enough to force my hand. She didn’t hand me a guilt trip – she even went so far as to say “Oh, well, we’ll do something else with it if we don’t finish on time.” But we did, largely thanks to Lex.

March wasn't much better for me emotionally. I actually walked out in a snit after a family altercation, wearing my thin cotton pajamas and a coat, sat on a park bench fuming and smoking and flipping off strangers until I cooled down. This was close to midnight, and, of course, Lex and I had deadlines THEN as well.

* * *

If you're sadistically inclined and just want to laugh at my dumb ass, you can find that post in my March archives for the 16th of the month.

* * *

For those interested in writing a book with someone else, I have two simple suggestions.

* * *

#1, the focus needs to be on the book with absolutely no egos involved.

* * *

#2, TRUST is implicit and unwavering. Lex and I have been through the wars together, and she already knew what I was thinking from halfway around the globe. I’d trust her with my life, my son, my money, my personal peccadilloes, and my secrets, so why not with my writing?

* * *

In fact, when I moved across state lines a couple of years ago, I told one of my publishers (who Lex didn’t even write for) that if I had edits that HAD to be done before I was settled and had a phone, they were to let her handle them.

* * *

If I had a 3rd suggestion, it would be to have an editor who knows both of you well enough to tackle the job. Michele is fabulous anyway, and I haven’t polled her to ask if she could tell which of us wrote what parts (I’m sure if anyone could, it’d be her). I doubt either of us writers would be happy if our only writing outlet was coauthoring, but for me this form of publication is inspiring – it’s an adventure that gives me pleasure and the initiative that I need to write every day.

* * *

That plus eating and paying bills and going to conferences, and…that sort of thing.

Being able to jump into someone else’s dream and help it become a reality is a challenge, but doing so for and with a friend gives me a real sense of accomplishment. Lex’s daughter and one of her beta readers can’t tell which of us writes what, which makes my day. To me, that shows that we’ve done our job.

* * *

Anyway, some of you had asked, so there’s my take on how to work it if you wish to brainstorm an idea then see it through with a friend you trust.

**by the way** When you click on my photo for today's post, (photo doesn't exist for some reason today), it'll take you to Augustin's TEB page - LOL - so by all means click away. I'm sure she's better looking, and it won't hurt you to check her out. :)

ANOTHER item...read the posts for today. You'll see that Jude & Jamie are ALSO a writing duo. So be looking for THEIR joint effort sometime in the near future.

Happy Writing, Everyone!

Look for Book #1 in the Sexy Mythconception Series...







Hit And Miss
By Alexis Fleming & Lyn Cash
Publisher: Total-e-bound
Genre : Contemporary/Light Bondage/BDSM
ISBN : 978-1-906590-03-1

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Book #2, "Pandemonium" will debut in June!

To Blog or Not to Blog...

When I was a kid, I always had a journal tucked away somewhere. A 'Dear Diary', where I wrote about the things that happened around me. It was a way of looking at the world and trying to make sense of it.

When the internet happened and blogs appeared, it seemed a natural extension of my 'Dear Diary'. Here was a place to write little things, unimportant things, thoughts and opinons. It was handy, didn't gather dust of get lost behind the couch, and as a plus, was readable by family and friends. I could keep touch with those in different countries at a time when phones were too expensive to use more than a couple times a year.

And so I started blogging. My first blog (back in Feb. 2005,) was about books. I had two books coming out at the same time with different publishers, and I wasn't sure how to promote them. So my first, very first post was more of an announcement.

My second post was about my village, and the ice on the hill.
I just alternated between book news and village news. Living in the countryside is boring (well, not really, but there's nothing to blog about...), but every once in a while the cows get out (or something else exciting happens) and you DO have something to blog about.

Writing is also boring, in the way that nothing happens quickly, and writing is a quiet, time-consuming job. But every once in a while something exciting does happen (or you find a tip you want to pass on) and Voila! A blog post about writing.

What have I learned in the three years I've been blogging?
That you keep your blogging friends.
That you meet lots of interesting people.
That you can voyage from one side of the world to the next.
That bloggers are incredibly generous, witty, and kind.
That it's hard to think of a new blog each day, but sometimes the words just flow.
That it's fun to look over your own archives to see where you were on a certain day.
That I hope I'll be blogging in years to come.
:-)

Samantha Winston
www.samanthawinston.com

What fantasy would you live out if you had your own holodec?

I want to wish my best friend, Joellen, a very happy birthday. I think it's neat (and a lifesaver) that although I forgot to send a snail mail card, I can send an e-card and still be in time. I actually met Joellen in person at work. I say this because nowadays so many of my friends I meet through the Internet. Some I've since met in person and some I've yet to meet in person even though I talk to them almost daily and know them better than people I see daily at the day job.

Isn't technology amazing? I have friends all over the world. I have a library at my finger tips to research, I can buy a book at any time of day or night, I can play a variety of games without leaving my house, I can pay bills. I can do soooo many things, I feel as if the George Jetson world has arrived. Of course, I've always been a techie as is my family. My dad designed one of the first computers. My oldest son's been building computers since he was 13 (and taking them apart since he was 4 or 5). I watch Star Trek so much I used to think Spock and Kirk were my best friends.

One thing I don't have yet, that I'd dearly love to have is a holodec, like on Star Trek. (And a transporter). Wouldn't it be amazing if we could program our fantasies and live them out? That we could take a vacation to a different world, a different time, in the space of an evening? How cool would that be?

Although you and I can't do it (yet), my heroine, Lt. Jala Janguardo in WILD FANTASIES due to release this Monday (April 7th) with TEB, can. A star ship officer, she has a holodec at her disposal and she makes good use of it to live out her erotic fantasies and spice up her love life. She can live out any fantasy from meeting werewolves in old London to being in a sheik's harem, even if the holodec throws in a few surprises from time to time. (Boy, I'm jealous!)

To her delight and sometimes surprise, she gets taken for a wild ride, both on and off the holodec.



Blurb:
In her futuristic holodec sessions, one magnificent hero fulfils Jala's many wild fantasies, but can he be her hero in real life?

Lieutenant Jala Janguardo can't have her Captain Adam Carrington in real life so he becomes her werewolf in London, her Arabian sheik, and her intergalactic bar patron in her holodec fantasies. In real life, she might as well be part of the equipment for all he notices her. Or does he?

Excerpt from: Wild Fantasies

“It’s criminal to hide those supple nipples. I can’t believe I never noticed how sexy you are.” Captain Adam Carrington drugged Lieutenant Jala Janguada with erotic kisses, unzipped his pants, then fit her atop him without breaking the kiss. Strong, calloused hands helped her slide down his swollen, pulsing cock.

Unable to wait a second longer to mould her body to his, to be united body and soul, to rub her nipples over his, she tore off his shirt, delighting when the buttons shot across the room.

His incredible muscles rippled beneath her hungry hands. She massaged, teased, and titillated him until he pumped her as feverishly as she yearned to ride.

He quivered beneath her touch and she knew he was all hers. How heady the power! How earth-shattering the passage!

What a dream come true. Literally. And yet, still merely a dream. A holograph.

If only it were the real man making love to her, moaning in her ears, suckling her breasts, pulsing inside her. Not that she could imagine anything more erotic than how the holographic Adam made her feel, but she longed for the real Adam to love her with all his heart in return.

Of course, no real man would put up with her working as a topless waitress in an intergalactic bar, or let her parade around wearing an ultra-mini skirt without a pair of panties underneath, just begging to be fucked and fucked hard—in front of a room full of zringtwats and treaks—as she did on the holodec.

Nor would he whip out his cock and fuck her unconscious in front of them. The real Adam would be possessive and demand her all to himself.

In the privacy of the holodec, however, she could do anything at all, and no one would ever know. Holographic images didn’t tattle. They didn’t judge. They existed to fulfil her every whim and did they ever.

So she indulged in her hedonistic desires as often as she could schedule the deck. She could make wild love to the man—or even men—of her dreams anywhere, to her heart’s desire.

This particular program brought her the greatest pleasure—parading topless, practically naked in front of the most dangerous, sexiest men in the galaxy in only her scrap of a skirt and teetering high heels. She could even have two or three men at a time if she so wanted and she had played out that intriguing fantasy more than once.

She loved how their gazes devoured her naked breasts, how their cocks swelled so huge in their pants their jeans almost ripped apart, and how their hands crept under her wisp of a skirt to fondle her clit, to slide their finger inside her and make her come. There wasn’t a better fantasy job in the entire universe.

What she loved most, however, was how holographic Adam filled her with his hot cock, how he thrust in and out of her pussy as he was doing now, and how he intoxicated her with his all-consuming kisses. He drank of her as if he was dying of thirst.

She rubbed her burning nipples against his furry chest, wondering what it would be like to make crazy love to a howling werewolf under a full moon. Next fantasy, she promised herself she would program Adam to be a werewolf, even more of an animal than he was now.

On the brink of complete ecstasy, she raked her long nails down his back as she impaled herself on his sex. Her juices sheathed his cock so slickly she was able to slide to the tip of his shaft, then ram down hard on him and tighten her vaginal walls around his dick.

For a hologram, he was very sensual and very in tune to her primal needs. Much more so than the other holograms she’d screwed before getting the courage to program her own Adam.

Even when she’d taken two lovers at a time, one inside her pussy and one inside her mouth, they hadn’t come close to satisfying her the way Adam did—and they had been pretty awesome.

“I never dreamed you were such a vixen,” he murmured around a mouthful of her breast. “Every treak in the joint would pay monsonas to be me right now. They’re lining up to be next.”

The lava boiling inside her was about to erupt. She licked his ear as he so loved, and massaged his tight buttocks.

A wild man now, he growled and thrust impossibly deep just as she burst forth in climax, screaming. Good thing the holodec was soundproof and her programs were scrambled so that no one else could decode them.

When she caught her breath, she murmured against his ear, “I can’t wait till next week to make love to you again.”

His chiseled lips quirked into the most deliciously evil grin she’d ever gazed upon, and it made her stomach flip-flop. “You don’t have to wait another moment.”

He lifted her off his still pulsing cock turned her over and to her surprise, bent her over the table.

She squirmed against the tip of his velvety cock dripping with pre-cum.

“You’re so tight and wet, babe, just perfect to slide in and out. How bad do you want it? Bad enough to beg?” So he wanted her to beg? He wanted to hear how hot she was for him? Was he doing this to fulfill her fantasies, or had the hologram evolved sufficiently to have his own? Either way, she was thrilled.

SOOOOO once again, happy birthday, Jo! May it be your best year yet.


And the rest of you in reader land, let me know what fantasy you'd like to live out if you had your own holodec? Would it be to make love with a werewolf? A vampire? Or something completely different? Mine are listed quite vividly in WILD FANTASIES. :)

Please pop over to my website. Whoever has the most fun or erotic fantasy will win a $20.00 gift certificate from Amazon.com. I'll post your fantasies in a poll for the month of April for my readers to vote on. Whoever gets the most votes, will win. I'll announce the winner at the beginning of May. Email it to me at: chinara@aol.com or leave it on my blog at: http://www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com/

Also, don't miss my regular monthly contest at my blog. To win a free download book, leave me at least one comment during the month on my blog at http://www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com/. It's that simple.

Also please visit me at: www.ashleyladd.com

CRUDE OIL-it stimulates the senses

Monday is the day my first TEB release by my alter ego, Desiree Holt, hits the Internet, a hot, spicy story called CRUDE OIL.
Dana Devlin was still recovering from a messy divorce following an even messier marriage. When her sister Jodi sent her to Enchantor Key for a weekend of relaxing and unwinding, the last thing she expected was a Meet Your Mate event. And the last person she expected to see what sexy hunk Max Hollister, the divorce attorney about whom she secretly fantasized. Just his touch was enough to turn her on, but when he brought out his special oil, she was lost to an erotic adventure.
***
“Are you sure we have to go to this dinner?” Dana asked while she pulled her blow-dried hair into a loose arrangement on her head and fastened it with a butterfly clip. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, nude, her plump lower lip caught between her even white teeth.
Max came up behind her, his already rejuvenated cock pressing against her ass. His hands moved around to cup her breasts and his fingers tugged at her nipples.
“At least the cocktail party, okay?” In the mirror she saw his eyes darken. “I have too many things planned for the evening to spend it at a mass feeding, anyway.”
“Oh?” Her lips quirked up in a smile. “Like what?”
He slapped her lightly on the ass. “Like maybe a few more of those. And a lot more for you to find out. Come into the bedroom. I’ve taken some things out of one of the drawers for you to wear under your dress.”
Dana’s eyebrows raised. “But I have lingerie with me.”
“Not like this.” He grinned, taking her hand and leading her into the other room. “Lie down on the bed. I have something that will really make you feel good.”
“Max, if I felt any better, it would be a crime.” But she lay down on her stomach as he directed.
In a moment, she felt oil drizzling onto her skin and Max’s warm hands massaging it into her.
“Don’t you think this stuff will get all over my clothes?” she asked.
“No. Your skin will soak it up. Feel anything yet?”
“Oh. Oh, yes. My God.” She felt as if a thousand tiny fingers were reaching through her skin to her vagina and teasing at it. “Holy shit, Max. What is this stuff?”
He chuckled. “Max’s magic oil. Okay, pull yourself up on your hands and knees, Princess.”
Don’t worry. If I’m going to fuck that luscious ass tonight, I need to open you up a little. Come on, now.” He slapped one cheek of her buttocks again and urged her into position.
In a moment, Dana felt something thin entering her rectum and warm oil streamed into her. Max slid one finger in, then a second one, massaging the oil into her tissues. She was surprised at two thing—first, how easily she had taken his fingers, although he inserted them very slowly, taking care not to hurt her. The second was the heat that streaked through her again, only this time, it was stimulating every tissue in her rectum. She nearly begged Max to fuck her in the ass then and there.
“This stuff has a little something extra in it,” he told her. “It really slicks those tissues so your passage is well lubricated. Plus it has an ingredient that works internally as an aphrodisiac. Feel it? Are you getting aroused, Princess?”
Breathless, she nodded her head.
***
Come meet Dana and Max on Monday and see what erotic effects this CRUDE OIL has on them.

Alexis is next victim, er, guest

What can you say about Alexis Fleming? She writes across genres, she co-authors books with the wonderful Lyn Cash, Scarlet magazine readers are about to be introduced to her talent, her ebook cover was voted the best ... and that was just in the preceding week! LOL

Alexis has agreed to be my guest for the next edition of Radio Free Bliss. So, if you'd like to put a voice to the name, be sure to tune in next week and have a listen.

Say, if you'd like me to put forward any questions of yours to Alexis, why not post a comment, and I'll see what I can do! I'm doing the actual interview tomorrow, so you have to be quick!

Le Petit Mort


“I want to put my mouth on you.”

Odd, how they’d known each other for, what seemed, mere minutes. We’re virtually strangers. No, we’re not. No, they weren’t.

The conversation of the eyes had drowned out voices. Small talk. Insinuation. The eyes spoke of a chemical reaction. Need. Newness. But the lips pursed to words. “I want to taste you,” she sighed. Hours were not theirs to waste.

Both hearts tightened and expanded as she lightly touched his swollen groin. “Please,” she whispered, carefully tugging the zipper.

He watched, slightly nervous. A vein beneath the right eye twitched, the eye brightened, following the slow motion of her hand. “Are you wearing them?” I like white stockings. He had thrown the comment into conversation casually, early on.

She crossed her legs, sitting against him lazily, shoulder under his arm. “Yes. I would do anything to please you.” Time was of importance.

Where he looked was beyond her now. Within the turmoil of her passion she forgot what she wore, except that it added to his fantasy, and this, her newest intimacy, rehearsed inside the imagination, was now existent. Smokey sensuality, she had thought, and now that her mouth was filled with him, her senses declared that her imagination was, although vivid, not nearly as pleasant as the realness of it all.

And when he broke inside her mouth he clutched the laced edge of the stocking. Deep melancholy took his breath, twisting it into verbalized ecstasy. Or pain. Or both.

Intense sadness gripped him; le petit mort; extreme desire impassioned her; she swallowed. His tears were wistful; hers were of intolerable yearning.

“Will you want to see me again? Will you want more?”

“Yes.”

Ah, if white was so pure in simplicity, then what of the black?

~Dedicated to a long lost love~

Ellen Ashe

When Research...(or reading) Meets Life

Okay, I tried to think of something April Fool’s related, but no such luck. I’m not that much of a trickster. I can't even think of something fun to do to my husband...related to tricking, that is. Where were your thoughts headed? What I did think of is related to a trip I took just recently and a work in progress I’ve been writing since before Christmas.

This manuscript takes place in the pristine village of Stresa on the shores of Lago Maggiore in northern Italy. I wanted an exotic location. Italy is somewhere I’ve always wanted to go so I basically closed my eyes and let my finger drop to a location on the map in my atlas. (By the way, an atlas is also a wonderful writer’s tool.)

As all this was happening, I had a ski vacation with my husband booked for Switzerland. Near the end of the trip, I was missing the kids and needed something to keep my mind on other things. Looking through the train schedules, I discovered it was only a two-hour ride to Stresa! The perfect opportunity to really research the village I’d been writing about. The Internet is an amazing tool, however, nothing beats the real thing. I couldn’t have described the deserted train station and graffiti covered washroom from the Internet. I could never have described the way Italian males look you up, down and back up again in a way that makes you feel incredibly sexy.

Isola Bella

The Borromean islands off the shores of Stresa are another matter entirely. Something just has to happen on these historic, picturesque islands in my book. Visiting Stresa is going to make this book so much more vivid for the reader.

So, tell me something about how your research turns to reality, or... here’s a spicy thought…as a reader, how does what you read relate to your reality. I have some stories to tell, as I’m in a fairly open marriage, but I want to hear about you. Have you ever tried something you’ve read about in an erotic romance or tried something and then written about it? Let’s hear your stories.