Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 27
March 26, 2014
Day 26 brings Abi Aiken, a RomCom box set givaway and a huge bubble of smutty awesomeness
Abi Aiken is brand spanking new to me. Ahem...you know what I mean. What I have seen is someone who's super new and has risen through the ranks to USA Today Bestseller status. So you know what that means...she doesn't just work hard, she works smart. Which is awesome.
I have Abi here today and she's giving away the very box set I'm talking about. And I also have...a winner! Trix is my winner! Trix, S.A. Meade will be in contact soon. Enjoy that tasty m/m book of yours. And of course everyone has been entered in the grand prize draw. Which is the day after tomorrow.
I'll give you a little heads up too. The day the party ends, it really doesn't end. I have a special guest the day AFTER the grand prize draw who is celebrating a recent release and she is giving away quite a nice prize. If you don't win the 28th, don't despair, you have another chance at another great prize the 29th. But that's all I'm telling you for now ;) A little anticipation is good for the soul.
*Don't forget to leave your email address in your comment for the box set. If I can't contact you, you can't win.
Now, away we go with Abi...
XOXOSommer
* * * * *
Oh, my. I love a good birthday! A birthmonth is even better!
When I heard that Sommer was celebrating 9 years of smuttery I was so keen to get involved that I think I might have become a little bit annoying! Please, pick me, pick me!
I’m really only a super-newbie myself. It’s not even a year since my first book was published. I can’t begin to picture how it will feel if I last three years in this business, let alone NINE! It’s all I want to do but of course it depends on me having success. And getting more books out there.
That’s one of the things about Sommer that inspires me so much. I’ve been reading her work for a few years and honestly, she’s one of the reasons I tried my hand at writing erotic romance. She makes every story so readable. Even her long stories feel short because of how naturally they flow.
So congratulations, Sommer! I bow to your huge bubble of smutty awesomeness, which sounded much nicer in my head than it did when I wrote it down. Lol!
* * * * *
Where there is love, there is laughter...
USA Today Bestseller!!! Amazon Top 50!#1 Bestseller in Romantic Comedy!Top 10 New Adult!
Don't miss out on this steamy collection of ten romantic comedies by some of today's most popular New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors!
Let yourself be carried away by ten dreamy men--including a sexy bounty hunter, a hot undercover agent, a yummy caterer, a dashing Frenchman, and even a handsome fairy tale prince. Their stories of love and passion will tickle your funny bone and melt your heart.
This exclusive 10-book set includes two full-length novels and eight novellas. If you need a break from dark, damaged heroes and the women who love them, this collection is for you!
March 25, 2014
Day 25 brings SA Meade, a winner and a bear...(sort of)
Tuesday...raise your hand if you, like me, wish it was Friday. That's a lot of hands ;) Oh well, we're still in the very beginning of our week so I guess we need to move forward with the festivities and have some fun. That means announcing a winner:
The winner of Lily Harlem's trio of books is...Mary Jo! Yay, Mary Jo. Lily will be in touch shortly. Congrats. All the rest of you were entered into the grand prize draw. Boy is that thing getting full!
We're down to the last few days of guests and then the big reveal day where I draw a winner. Today's guest is SA Meade, another new author to me. She's very kind with a wicked sense of humor and oh, she just happens to write hot m/m fiction. What's not to like? Nothing!
SA's giving away a copy of Tournament of Shadows. *Please remember to leave your email address with your comment so if your name is drawn you can win. If we can't contact you, you can't win. Which is...*sniffle*...sad. So leave that addy!
XOXO
Sommer
Nine Years in Publishing and still hard at it.
I don’t know how Sommer does it. Well, yes I do. She gets her head down and gets on with pouring words onto the screen at a rate that I am openly envious of. Plus, what she writes is fabulous. I feel very honoured to be a small part of this mega birthday bash.
My contribution is just an extract from my latest release, an historical m/m called ‘Tournament of Shadows’, which is set in 19th century Central Asia and Russia. It was great fun to write and a bear to research.
In this scene, Gabriel meets Valentin for the first time.
I hurried back to my cot, while my pursuer spoke to the innkeeper about food and haggling over a price for his stay. I noted, with a smile, that I had received a better tariff. Back at my cot, I retrieved my battered copy of the Koran from my pack, opened it at a random page and pretended to read, my finger trailing along the ornate script. The bed beside mine creaked, feet shuffled in the dirt. A tired sigh heralded the arrival of the other, my pursuer. I lost myself in the masquerade and murmured the words beneath my moving finger.“‘Our Lord is Allah,’ and then they stand firm, on them the angels will descend saying, ‘Fear not, nor grieve! But receive the glad tidings of Paradise which you have been promised ‘We have been your friends in the life of this world and are so in the Hereafter. Therein you shall have all that your soul’s desire, and therein you shall have all for which you ask. An entertainment from the Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.’” I turned to the next page and lowered my head, moving my lips, whispering the words. “Hayirli kech” His Uzbek was nearly perfect. “Hayirli kech.” I glanced up at the new arrival, keen to see what he looked like, this shadow of mine. It was almost impossible to ignore the sudden quickening of my pulse, the moisture that cooled my palms and stilled my fingers from their wandering across the page. He was tall, as tall as I was. He travelled under no pretence, dressed in a foreigner’s clothes, dusty and worn. There was no possible way he could pass for a local in any event, with auburn hair that caught snatches of fire in the flickering lamplight. He regarded me with stormy grey eyes. A smile of some sort tugged at one corner of his mouth. I returned the smile, hoping it was the naïve smile of a simple scholar, one who was absorbed by his study of his Koran. He nodded, then spoke once more. “Sizning ismingiz nima? Mening ismim Valentin Yakolev.”“Mening ismim Rashid.” He held out his hand in greeting. I reached across and accepted it, resigned to the loss of what little privacy I had. He wrapped his hand around mine, squeezing, proclaiming some kind of dominance. I tried to ignore the sudden blind flutter of my stomach, the kind one experiences when they see someone long absent from their life, that spark of recognition. I squeezed back and took a stealthy, deep breath, trying to recover from that strange shock. His hand fell away, fingers trailing across my damp palm. Another quirk of the lips. He murmured something I didn’t quite catch and sank onto his cot. I took the gesture as one of dismissal and returned to my feigned perusal of the Koran. All the while, everything in me raced and churned and rolled. After a while, his breaths lengthened and slowed. I stole a glance and found him sleeping, hands resting on his stomach, long pale fingers linked together like a simple puzzle. They did not look like the hands of a killer. I hoped that he wasn’t.
If you like what you’ve just read, you can buy it
The winner of Lily Harlem's trio of books is...Mary Jo! Yay, Mary Jo. Lily will be in touch shortly. Congrats. All the rest of you were entered into the grand prize draw. Boy is that thing getting full!
We're down to the last few days of guests and then the big reveal day where I draw a winner. Today's guest is SA Meade, another new author to me. She's very kind with a wicked sense of humor and oh, she just happens to write hot m/m fiction. What's not to like? Nothing!
SA's giving away a copy of Tournament of Shadows. *Please remember to leave your email address with your comment so if your name is drawn you can win. If we can't contact you, you can't win. Which is...*sniffle*...sad. So leave that addy!
XOXO
Sommer
Nine Years in Publishing and still hard at it.
I don’t know how Sommer does it. Well, yes I do. She gets her head down and gets on with pouring words onto the screen at a rate that I am openly envious of. Plus, what she writes is fabulous. I feel very honoured to be a small part of this mega birthday bash.
My contribution is just an extract from my latest release, an historical m/m called ‘Tournament of Shadows’, which is set in 19th century Central Asia and Russia. It was great fun to write and a bear to research.
In this scene, Gabriel meets Valentin for the first time.
I hurried back to my cot, while my pursuer spoke to the innkeeper about food and haggling over a price for his stay. I noted, with a smile, that I had received a better tariff. Back at my cot, I retrieved my battered copy of the Koran from my pack, opened it at a random page and pretended to read, my finger trailing along the ornate script. The bed beside mine creaked, feet shuffled in the dirt. A tired sigh heralded the arrival of the other, my pursuer. I lost myself in the masquerade and murmured the words beneath my moving finger.“‘Our Lord is Allah,’ and then they stand firm, on them the angels will descend saying, ‘Fear not, nor grieve! But receive the glad tidings of Paradise which you have been promised ‘We have been your friends in the life of this world and are so in the Hereafter. Therein you shall have all that your soul’s desire, and therein you shall have all for which you ask. An entertainment from the Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.’” I turned to the next page and lowered my head, moving my lips, whispering the words. “Hayirli kech” His Uzbek was nearly perfect. “Hayirli kech.” I glanced up at the new arrival, keen to see what he looked like, this shadow of mine. It was almost impossible to ignore the sudden quickening of my pulse, the moisture that cooled my palms and stilled my fingers from their wandering across the page. He was tall, as tall as I was. He travelled under no pretence, dressed in a foreigner’s clothes, dusty and worn. There was no possible way he could pass for a local in any event, with auburn hair that caught snatches of fire in the flickering lamplight. He regarded me with stormy grey eyes. A smile of some sort tugged at one corner of his mouth. I returned the smile, hoping it was the naïve smile of a simple scholar, one who was absorbed by his study of his Koran. He nodded, then spoke once more. “Sizning ismingiz nima? Mening ismim Valentin Yakolev.”“Mening ismim Rashid.” He held out his hand in greeting. I reached across and accepted it, resigned to the loss of what little privacy I had. He wrapped his hand around mine, squeezing, proclaiming some kind of dominance. I tried to ignore the sudden blind flutter of my stomach, the kind one experiences when they see someone long absent from their life, that spark of recognition. I squeezed back and took a stealthy, deep breath, trying to recover from that strange shock. His hand fell away, fingers trailing across my damp palm. Another quirk of the lips. He murmured something I didn’t quite catch and sank onto his cot. I took the gesture as one of dismissal and returned to my feigned perusal of the Koran. All the while, everything in me raced and churned and rolled. After a while, his breaths lengthened and slowed. I stole a glance and found him sleeping, hands resting on his stomach, long pale fingers linked together like a simple puzzle. They did not look like the hands of a killer. I hoped that he wasn’t.
If you like what you’ve just read, you can buy it
March 24, 2014
Day 24 brings Lily Harlem, a scientific experiment and wine!
Wow...Monday again. Zzz...am I right? 6:30 comes early. She's bitch, too. But here I sit with coffee trying to wake up. The only thing that could make the rise-and-attempt-to-shine pleasant is announcing a winner from yesterday. Random.org chose...Evelyn! I'll be contacting you, Evelyn. Hope you put your thinking cap on :)
Today's guest is the lovely, talented and icy Lily Harlem. Icy, you ask? Well, she writes a lot of hockey. And it's hard to make ice hot, it's a whole worlds-collide kind of thing, but damn if she doesn't make it work. Lily is another relatively new writer to me. I've just come in contact with her in recent years, but man is she super nice and wonderful to work with.
Lily's offering an ice prize bundle which includes
Hired
,
Cross-Checked
and
Slap Shot
. *Please be sure to leave your email address in your comment. And if you didn't win yesterday, don't despair. You were entered in the $50 Amazon grand prize draw!
XOXO
Sommer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sexy Reads
Hello and welcome, I’m thrilled to be partying with my pal Sommer and happy, happy 9thbirthday to her! She’s been writing fabulous erotic fiction for 9 years, and I know I for one have lost myself in her imagination — Boys Next Doorbeing my most recent read of Sommer’s and if you haven’t indulged I highly recommend it.
I read as much as I write, and I tend to stay within my genre of erotic romance, it’s what I enjoy. I've pondered on the external benefits of reading steamy books —in other words not just the pleasure of immersing oneself in fantasy with raring-to-go hunks, but whether or not it actually improves individual's sex lives and spices up bedroom time.
Certainly I believe introducing eroticism into the bedroom in the form of literature can only be
beneficial, it gets you in the mood, gives you ideas and heightens the awareness of all things sexy including your partner who, let’s face it, can occasionally be neglected.
I say this because I did a secret bit of research recently on a friend who was an unwitting guinea pig — she still is. She loves her man very much, they have been together for years, but she was finding that when it came to getting down and dirty it just wasn't happening for her, she wasn't up for it, the desire just not there - luckily she likes to talk, a lot, especially after a glass of wine which, by the way, is how I know all of this.
In a totally separate conversation we went on to chat about what books we were reading. At this point I confessed that I'd just re-read The Story of O and a saucy number from Kay Jaybee, Not Her Type . She however told me she was reading some awful zombie story. It was all horror, gore and suspense. I say awful because to me that sort of story is awful and certainly not my choice of bedtime reading. No, I like to snuggle down with heart-stoppingly gorgeous men and wonderfully romantic and sexy tales spinning around my head, not blood and guts spilling out all over the place that leave me wondering what every bump and bang in the house is at night. But that's just me.
Anyway, being a bit bossy, which I'm afraid I am, I told her that her reading material may well be the root of her libido problem. At which point she topped up our wine and said, "Go on." I pointed out that it was logical, if you're stressed as you go to sleep, wondering if that zombie is going to come and get you (doesn't help that she lives in a creepy old farmhouse that dates back two hundred years) then how are you going to feel in the mood for a bit of fun? For her this was like a revelation, for me it was common sense (told you I'm bossy!).
I set her a challenge to just read books I recommended for the next month to see if she would feel able to make the switch from fleecy pajamas to satin nightie.
All the time I was being very scientific — well, no, not really but there you go — and I started off with gentle romances with a bit of action and when she said how much she enjoyed them I upped the heat level. Giving her stories with much more graphic sex scenes and a sprinkle of kink. Before long she was texting me to say how much she was enjoying the books. In fact she was neglecting her daytime chores to read and getting through my paperback collection at a rate of knots.
Time to ply her with wine again...
Sure enough, she was soon telling me about the naughtiness her and hubby had been up to the night before, not loads of details but enough to make her blush and for me to know that my experiment had been a success. "I'm going to have to get a Kindle," she said. "So people can't see the covers of what I'm reading!"
So in conclusion I would say that yes, reading erotic novels of any heat level can increase your sex-drive. And one of the most poignant things my friend said was that as she was reading all of these books, thinking about the dashing heroes and the sex and emotions, was that actually, she had a hero of her own, lying right next to her, she just had to grab what was hers and make herself the star of her own erotic story.
Lily x
PS – If the recent Winter Olympics in Sochi have you all a flutter and dreaming about sexy hockey players, then check out my Hot Ice series about those bad boys of the ice. There are six books to choose from and I’m going to be giving away the first three right here! Hired, Cross-Checked and Slap Shot.
Hard-core hockey heroes play to win whether they’re forcing opponents into submission or chasing down the women they want in their lives and their beds. Losing is not an option, failure not accepted. It’s just as well the ladies can handle the heat, because with that much testosterone around things always get deliciously dirty and sparks fly. But what red-blooded female could resist a badass athlete when steel-hard loyalty, a sprinkle of kink and a whole lot of satisfaction come guaranteed in each seriously sexy, honed-to-perfection package?
Lily Links
Website http://www.lilyharlem.com/ Blog http://www.lilyharlem.blogspot.com/ Twitter https://twitter.com/lily_harlem Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lily.harlem
Today's guest is the lovely, talented and icy Lily Harlem. Icy, you ask? Well, she writes a lot of hockey. And it's hard to make ice hot, it's a whole worlds-collide kind of thing, but damn if she doesn't make it work. Lily is another relatively new writer to me. I've just come in contact with her in recent years, but man is she super nice and wonderful to work with.
Lily's offering an ice prize bundle which includes
Hired
,
Cross-Checked
and
Slap Shot
. *Please be sure to leave your email address in your comment. And if you didn't win yesterday, don't despair. You were entered in the $50 Amazon grand prize draw!XOXO
Sommer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sexy Reads
Hello and welcome, I’m thrilled to be partying with my pal Sommer and happy, happy 9thbirthday to her! She’s been writing fabulous erotic fiction for 9 years, and I know I for one have lost myself in her imagination — Boys Next Doorbeing my most recent read of Sommer’s and if you haven’t indulged I highly recommend it.
I read as much as I write, and I tend to stay within my genre of erotic romance, it’s what I enjoy. I've pondered on the external benefits of reading steamy books —in other words not just the pleasure of immersing oneself in fantasy with raring-to-go hunks, but whether or not it actually improves individual's sex lives and spices up bedroom time.
Certainly I believe introducing eroticism into the bedroom in the form of literature can only be
beneficial, it gets you in the mood, gives you ideas and heightens the awareness of all things sexy including your partner who, let’s face it, can occasionally be neglected.I say this because I did a secret bit of research recently on a friend who was an unwitting guinea pig — she still is. She loves her man very much, they have been together for years, but she was finding that when it came to getting down and dirty it just wasn't happening for her, she wasn't up for it, the desire just not there - luckily she likes to talk, a lot, especially after a glass of wine which, by the way, is how I know all of this.
In a totally separate conversation we went on to chat about what books we were reading. At this point I confessed that I'd just re-read The Story of O and a saucy number from Kay Jaybee, Not Her Type . She however told me she was reading some awful zombie story. It was all horror, gore and suspense. I say awful because to me that sort of story is awful and certainly not my choice of bedtime reading. No, I like to snuggle down with heart-stoppingly gorgeous men and wonderfully romantic and sexy tales spinning around my head, not blood and guts spilling out all over the place that leave me wondering what every bump and bang in the house is at night. But that's just me.
Anyway, being a bit bossy, which I'm afraid I am, I told her that her reading material may well be the root of her libido problem. At which point she topped up our wine and said, "Go on." I pointed out that it was logical, if you're stressed as you go to sleep, wondering if that zombie is going to come and get you (doesn't help that she lives in a creepy old farmhouse that dates back two hundred years) then how are you going to feel in the mood for a bit of fun? For her this was like a revelation, for me it was common sense (told you I'm bossy!).
I set her a challenge to just read books I recommended for the next month to see if she would feel able to make the switch from fleecy pajamas to satin nightie.
All the time I was being very scientific — well, no, not really but there you go — and I started off with gentle romances with a bit of action and when she said how much she enjoyed them I upped the heat level. Giving her stories with much more graphic sex scenes and a sprinkle of kink. Before long she was texting me to say how much she was enjoying the books. In fact she was neglecting her daytime chores to read and getting through my paperback collection at a rate of knots.
Time to ply her with wine again...
Sure enough, she was soon telling me about the naughtiness her and hubby had been up to the night before, not loads of details but enough to make her blush and for me to know that my experiment had been a success. "I'm going to have to get a Kindle," she said. "So people can't see the covers of what I'm reading!"
So in conclusion I would say that yes, reading erotic novels of any heat level can increase your sex-drive. And one of the most poignant things my friend said was that as she was reading all of these books, thinking about the dashing heroes and the sex and emotions, was that actually, she had a hero of her own, lying right next to her, she just had to grab what was hers and make herself the star of her own erotic story.Lily x
PS – If the recent Winter Olympics in Sochi have you all a flutter and dreaming about sexy hockey players, then check out my Hot Ice series about those bad boys of the ice. There are six books to choose from and I’m going to be giving away the first three right here! Hired, Cross-Checked and Slap Shot.
Hard-core hockey heroes play to win whether they’re forcing opponents into submission or chasing down the women they want in their lives and their beds. Losing is not an option, failure not accepted. It’s just as well the ladies can handle the heat, because with that much testosterone around things always get deliciously dirty and sparks fly. But what red-blooded female could resist a badass athlete when steel-hard loyalty, a sprinkle of kink and a whole lot of satisfaction come guaranteed in each seriously sexy, honed-to-perfection package?
Lily Links
Website http://www.lilyharlem.com/ Blog http://www.lilyharlem.blogspot.com/ Twitter https://twitter.com/lily_harlem Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lily.harlem
March 23, 2014
Day 23 brings a winner, a pick-and-choose and just a few more days to go!
Day 23 is here and my winner for Sacchi Green's prize is...drum roll please...CJ Lemire! Which makes me super happy because CJ has been a mad Retweeter on Twitter of all things #9YearsofSommer. He deserves a prize!
Today is a blip day so I'm the one offering the prize. I was thinking that I'd go along the lines of my sister from another Mister Alison Tyler and do 9 books. Winner can choose 9 books from my backlist. If it's available to me (in ebook format), it's available to you. All you have to do is send me your list when all is said and done.
Tada! You can peruse all your choices by going to the top of this page and clicking the page marked Sommer's Amazon Store. Think about it, you could get all my dystopian books (all three zombie exterminator books and Hollow Men) and still have five books to choose!
Easy Sunday morning. Easy giveaway. No muss, no fuss. I slept in and am only 1/2 way through my first cup of coffee, can you tell? Don't answer that. Just pretend I'm on the ball. It's the way we do around here. ;)
*Please remember to leave your email address in your comment so you can win.
XOXO
Sommer
Today is a blip day so I'm the one offering the prize. I was thinking that I'd go along the lines of my sister from another Mister Alison Tyler and do 9 books. Winner can choose 9 books from my backlist. If it's available to me (in ebook format), it's available to you. All you have to do is send me your list when all is said and done.
Tada! You can peruse all your choices by going to the top of this page and clicking the page marked Sommer's Amazon Store. Think about it, you could get all my dystopian books (all three zombie exterminator books and Hollow Men) and still have five books to choose!
Easy Sunday morning. Easy giveaway. No muss, no fuss. I slept in and am only 1/2 way through my first cup of coffee, can you tell? Don't answer that. Just pretend I'm on the ball. It's the way we do around here. ;)
*Please remember to leave your email address in your comment so you can win.
XOXO
Sommer
March 22, 2014
Day 22 brings Sacchi Green, Girl Fever among others and a mean editor moment ;)
There's something magical about Sacchi Green and it's not just her writing. Something about her calls, I mean. I often read them and think, oh...I have nothing. But inevitably a small idea will come knocking not long after I see her call. Then I have nothing turns into I may have something. And then oddly enough I usually start writing and I may have something turns into By George! I have something...
That happened recently with a book that's not out yet. And I'll be cruel and not tell you what book it is because she's not talking about it yet. But even if the story doesn't make the final cut, it's one of my favorite things I wrote last year. And that's saying something :)
Yesterday's winner is..drumroll...Teresa Noelle Roberts! She is the winner of Tamsin's five book haul. Everyone was entered in the grand prize draw for the $50 Amazon gift card. We're heading toward the end. Only 6 days left before I draw a winner :) Thanks for playing! *Don't forget to leave your email address in your comment to win.
XOXOSommer
~~~~~~ The only sight that lights me up more than Sommer Marsden’s name in a book is her name on an
e-mail submission for one of my own anthologies. She’s probably the most prolific writer I know, with the most consistently terrific work. I’ve been lucky enough to have stories from her in three of the books I’ve edited for Cleis Press: “Spitting Seeds” (watermelon seeds, that is) in Girl Crazy; “The Girl with the Betty Page Bangs” in Lesbian Lust; and both “An Hour” and “Heat Lightning” in Girl Fever. Yes, those are all lesbian-themed anthologies. Sommer can write any flavor of erotic pairings and make you love them, and her stories (and novels) are never repetitious. Quality, diversity, variety; a reader’s (and editor’s) dream.
I’m in awe of how much she’s accomplished in just nine years. We’re all lucky to have so much more to look forward to.
I’m offering two of those books,
Girl Crazy
and
Girl Fever
, for this drawing. But just to uphold the mean reputation of editors, and to tantalize you, the excerpt I’m sharing here is from the third book,
Lesbian Lust
.The Girl With The Bettie Page Bangs
Sommer MarsdenI'm not really a dirty old broad. Truly. If it hadn't been for my brand spanking new, thousand dollar rock, I never would have met Callie. Ever. But I had bought a very expensive new computer that kept fucking everything up. And by everything, I mean everything. PDF's, spreadsheets, hell, even the internet. And every time it did so, I had to grab my flash drive and run to the library. When you work for yourself you have to make do.So, here I am, sweating my ass off in my car because the air is broken. I pull up to the library (I had been there the day before) and there she sits. Outside on her break, smoking a cigarette and picking lazily at a string on her skinny black jeans.I am not a dirty old broad. I swear.But damn. Long and lean, hair as dark as a crow's wings. Painted doll face and red, red lips. A small black cardigan and what got me--the Bettie Page bangs. I avert my eyes and grab my bag and go right by her. She’s maybe nineteen, twenty to my thirty-seven. No way, Jose. It’s a momentary flash of attraction and extreme insanity. It will pass. But I can’t keep my eyes from darting for a fast peripheral check. Small, teacup sized breasts, tiny waist, long coltish legs, big blue eyes and lashes that make me want to beg or swear, maybe both. "Hiya," she says and smiles. I fear my knees may buckle.I nod. "Nice day." I push my feet forward toward the side entrance and then she stuns me."You're back."Fuck."Yes. Yes, I am. I bought a very expensive paperweight it seems." My face colors and my hand touches the door handle. But I don’t want to go in. The girl with the Bettie Page bangs is talking to me. Me!"I'm sorry. The regulars usually have a reason. Research paper, book, mental disability so they come to watch Superman videos over and over and over again. ‘Cause you know he's going to save the world, Supe is." She winks when she says it but there is no cruelty in her voice. Only good humor and a touch of sadness. Oddly, enough, I know exactly what person she is referring to when she says that. "Mine is I work from home and I bought a brand new computer that won't let me do certain things."Somehow, the girl with Bettie Page bangs and I are now climbing the stairs to the computer center together. How did that happen? I usually do not go gaga and soft headed over women, no matter how pretty. "Like what?" She twirls a poker-straight length of hair around her finger and pops her gum, something that would be a major offense coming from anyone else in the world. Somehow when she does it, it's sexy."Cut and paste." She blinks at me, shocked. "No shit?" Her eyes dart around. She's at work, probably the wrong word choice. But I laugh out loud and nod."No shit.""I'll put you on number thirteen," she says and smiles. "I'm Callie, btw.""BTW?""By the way."I feel the blush rise. "Right. Sorry. I'm Janie. DAB.""DAB?""Dumb ass blonde."Her smile is wider than ever and perfect. "Thirteen for you, DAB.""Oh, great. More bad luck," I tease."Actually, thirteen is my lucky number.""Because that's how old you are?" I laugh and so does she. I'm fishing and we both know it. "Actually, I'm twenty-two, thank you very much." She bats those long black lashes at me and my insides turn hot and liquid. I want her. Bad."I just meant--""Oh, don't worry. I know I look young. I figure it to be a perk. When I'm fifty, I'll look like a smoking forty year old cougar, yeah?" She touches my hand when she says that and my pussy responds as if she's licked me. I'm in deep, deep shit, my friend.
Sacchi Green is an award-winning writer and editor of erotica and other stimulating genres. Her stories have appeared in scores of publications, including seven volumes of Best Lesbian Erotica, four of Best Women’s Erotica, four of Best Lesbian Romance, Best Transgender Erotica, Best Fantasy Erotica, and Penthouse. In recent years she’s taken to wielding the editorial whip, editing seven lesbian erotica anthologies: Rode Hard, Put Away Wet (Suspect Thoughts Press); Hard Road, Easy Riding(Lethe Press); Lipstick on Her Collar(Pretty Things Press); and Lesbian Cowboys, Girl Crazy, Lesbian Lust, Lesbian Cops, Girl Fever, and Wild Girls, Wild Nights, all from Cleis Press. Four of them have been Lambda Literary Award Finalists, and Lesbian Cowboys, co-edited with Rakelle Valencia, won the Lambda Literary Award for lesbian erotica in 2010. A collection of her own work, A Ride to Remember from Lethe Press, was also a Lambda Finalist.
She can be found online at sacchi-green.blogspot.com and Facebook. In her more corporeal form she resides in western Massachusetts, with frequent getaways to a cabin in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.
March 21, 2014
Day 21 brings Tamsin Flowers, a book bundle and a conga line!
Good morning. It's day 21! (tag line will say 20 because...I can't count!) Whew. Can you believe it? Only about a week left before we announce a grand prize winner. But I'm sure having fun watching you all win prizes every day along the way :)Today I have Tamsin Flowers, a relatively new writer to me, but oh so nice. And helpful. And talented. And did I mention nice? I've just had the pleasure this year or so having her in my 'sphere' and she's always a pleasure to work with. She has a big treat today. A big one! (heh) Tamsin's giving away a book bundle that includes:
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Her Boss and His Client
Doing It for the Coach
The Christmas Tattoo The Crimson Bond
Zombie Erotoclypse
Oh my gosh! Your reading device is going to be stuffed to the gills. Just in time for some weekend reading. Score! Now away we go, right after I say yay, t'Sade! You are the winner of KW's XOXO antho and yay, Soledad! You are the winner of KW's Best Erotic Romance. Kristina will be in touch.
Now, away we go...
Hooray! At last it's my turn to arrive at Sommer's party and - wow! - what a swell party it is! It's certainly the longest running party I've ever experienced but I feel like now we're getting towards the tail end, the best bit - you know the time at parties, when everybody's had maybe one too many drinks and the're cutting loose on the dance floor, moving and grooving like nobody's watching them… (Oh, look over there - it's Alison Tyler, Rose Caraway, Sommer, Giselle Renarde, Lucy Felthouse, Victoria Blisse and Justine Elyot doing a conga!) Seems like I have some catching up to do. But we haven't reached the stage of the party yet when the really bad behavior kicks in - that's coming next week and those folks really know how to rock! (No one's been sick yet, have they? What did I miss?)
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So, happy birthday, Sommer. Nine years in the business - it's amazing. I've managed about two so far…and I have no idea if I'll make it to nine. I hope so. When I started out, submitting just a few short stories at first, I took a look round on Amazon and at various publishers' websites to check out the competition. Because back then, that's what I thought other writers would be - competition! (And perhaps, strictly speaking, they are - but they're much more than that - a large group of colleagues and friends who form one of the most welcoming and supportive communities I've ever had the privilege to consider myself a member of.) And when I was looking around in those early days, there was one writer I kept coming across. She had books everywhere, the books were fab, she had a great blog and she seemed like so much fun to hang out with on FaceBook and Twitter. That was Sommer. And I decided I wanted to be a writer like that - basically, I wanted to be her. Two years on, I'm obviously not her - no-one possibly could be, and as I've got to know Sommer a little, I realize even more what a daunting challenge I set myself back then - Sommer really is amazing! So congratulations, Sommer - you're unique!And thanks for the party.
TamsinXxx
And as consolation for those of you who haven't won a prize yet - here's a small excerpt from my new Xcite release, Her Boss and His Client.
Blurb:
When Dana Lewis starts her new job at a prestigious London advertising agency, she vows to herself that she won’t sleep with her new boss - a mistake that got her fired from her last job. But that was before she was allocated to work on Jack Brent’s team, writing copy for the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever met. And when he starts playing footsie with her under the table at lunch on her first day, she knows it’s only a matter of time...
Nathan Drake is a travel tycoon and he expects the very best from the agency he employs to create his advertising campaigns. Jack puts Dana on the job and Nathan makes it clear he likes what he sees, whisking her away to his country retreat.
Before she knows it, Dana is burning the candle at both ends - and her new lovers are complete opposites in the bedroom. Nathan is as calm and controlling as Jack is fiery and tempestuous... However, she doesn't want to risk being caught as a two-timer, so she knows she needs to make a decision. But which man should she choose?
Excerpt:
Jack seemed to sense my concerns and he got up from his chair and came across to where I was sitting. He stood in front of me, looking down with a serious expression on his face. Then he bent a little to take the wineglass from my hand and put it down on his desk. ‘Dana,’ he said, so quietly I almost had to strain to hear him. ‘You’re going to be fine here.’ He dropped to his knees. Before I realised what was happening, he’d cupped my face in his hands. ‘You’re going to be brilliant.’
He stared at me intensely again; those gold-flecked eyes only inches from my own. ‘We’re going to be brilliant together.’ I wasn’t quite sure what he meant but, even though I didn’t mean to, I moved my face forward a fraction of an inch. He did the same. I could feel his warm, wine-scented breath on my cheeks. ‘Oh Dana,’ he whispered, shaking his head. If I read his expression right, he was conflicted over what to do next. He still held my face in his hands, still held my eyes with his, and I watched as his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. My core muscles tightened with desire as a small sigh escaped my lips. ‘Jack …’ He put a finger on my lips and shook his head. His look said all that needed to be said, and when he took the finger away, he immediately replaced it with his lips, softly brushing my own. That first kiss, always a heart-stopping moment, seared itself like a brand on my conscious and sub-conscious mind. His lips were soft but he plundered my mouth as if it were treasure for the taking. They moulded themselves to mine and then I felt the tip of his tongue slowly running along first my upper lip then the lower. At the corner of my cupid’s bow, it breached the gap and, as my mouth opened willingly to give him access, I heard a low groan emitting from deep within his throat. Then his tongue touched mine, and greedily explored the cavern of my mouth. He tasted of wine and he smelt of figs and sandalwood and myrrh. I pushed back with my tongue to gain entrance to his mouth, barely able to sit still in the chair as my body struggled to get closer to his. His stubble ground against my chin and cheeks, adding to the sensation in direct contrast to the softness of his tongue and the hard, smooth surfaces of his teeth. I wanted to kiss him for ever; to never come up for air. I took a handful of chestnut hair at the back of his head to hold him steady as my mouth quite literally devoured him. ‘Dana …’ He pulled back from me. ‘We shouldn’t. We can’t be doing this. I barely know you.’ ‘But you know you want me.’ My voice sounded different in my ears, thickened with desire, my breath coming in short gasps. ‘But we have to work together.’ He was right. I took a deep breath and looked into his liquid caramel eyes. ‘I’d better go,’ I managed to blurt out. Jack stood up and moved back to be out of my way. I got up and straightened my skirt. I was so wet; I’d been so ready for what had been about to happen. Having to stop felt like a kick in the guts. My legs turned to jelly and I had to steady myself by gripping the arm of the chair. ‘Are you all right, Dana?’ I wasn’t drunk, so I don’t know if that makes what happened next better or worse. ‘Jack, you started something. Now I need you to goddamn finish it.’ I could hardly believe the words that were coming out of my mouth and, by the look on his face, I don’t think Jack could either. I took a step towards him and reached out with my hand. The bulge in his jeans was clear to see, and when I touched it, I felt his cock twitch in response through the denim. When our lips met again, the kiss was anything but gentle. Jack’s tongue pushed its way as far into my mouth as he could get it, and it twisted with mine as our teeth clashed. At the same time, his hands were pulling at the front of my blouse, ripping it open and wrenching it out from the top of my skirt. As he pushed up my bra to release my breasts, I stepped back so I could lean against his desk for support. His mouth pulled away from mine and trailed kisses down my throat as his hands kneaded my chest. I gasped. I was so turned on and I needed to get him inside me fast. My hands were on his belt buckle but he pulled away. ‘Lie back,’ he commanded, sweeping papers, files, and stationery off his desk and onto the floor. I lay back on the cold, hard surface and felt Jack pushing up my skirt. ‘Stockings, Dana! You have no idea what they do to me.’ I could feel his warm breath on my belly as he said this and then, as he yanked off my panties, lower down. ‘Spread ’em,’ he ordered, and I opened my legs as wide as I could, letting them hang over the edge of the desk. So Jack Brent liked to be in charge, in control.
March 20, 2014
Day 20 brings Kristina Wright, some Xs and Os and a lost memory...
What's funny is I always try to do an intro to my guest. And today I had the story of how I 'met' Kristina Wright. Or to me: KW. I tend to abbreviate things. So when I am referring to her (sometimes even verbally) I say KW.
I just read her blog and was amused that she can't recall when we met and feels as if she's always known me. Which is so nice. Because when I 'met' her, I'd been bumping around as a newbie and had come across her on Myspace (oh, my god yes, Myspace) I believe. I'd also seen her the other places we writers tend to hang out and get to know one another. My first real contact with her was shyly asking her where in the world she got the calls for Alison Tyler's anthos. So...she told me! She gave me the contact info.
So, I'll clarify. She was established, having shorts in quite a few anthologies and even a book and I was brand spanking new. And she was so nice to me. So, there's my story :)
Tada! Yesterday's winner is....Donna! Donna, I have sent you and email to get your particulars. Congrats, and thanks for playing. Everyone else, don't despair, your name went in the big grand prize draw.
I'd like to point out that today we'll have TWO winners. So...woohoo! And without further ado: here's KW! Don't forget to leave your email addy in your comment in case you win! Good luck :)
XOXO
Sommer
Sommer in Spring
It’s fitting that my day to celebrate Sommer’s writing career is also the first day of spring. I adore spring—it’s a time of rebirth, new growth, flowers, sunshine, and, oh yeah, my husband’s birthday is in April and my birthday is in May, so spring is one big party around our house. As the mother of two little boys who don’t quite understand calendars and how time passes, we tend to wring every ounce of celebration from a holiday until the next one comes along. So this month of Sommer feels just about right to me.
I was wracking my brain trying to remember when (and how) I first “met” Sommer. I’ve lost some chunks of my memory over the past few years (see the two little boys above for the reason why) and interconnectedness of everyone on the internet makes it difficult to recall that first meeting, but I feel as if I’ve known her for her entire writing career. I do know I’ve liked her since I met her. Her writing is brilliant and heart wrenching and sexy and all kinds of honest that few writers can do. Of course, all that talent is because of her own personality—straightforward, kind, generous and so, so funny. I can’t count the number of mornings I’ve opened up my Facebook feed and read something snort-out-loud amusing from her.
Sommer inspires me. As a writer, she’s part Energizer Bunny (she just keeps going) and part Timex watch (takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’). On days when I’m feeling overwhelmed, lazy or just plain tired, I am motivated by writers who have real, complicated, busy lives and still manage to make the words happen. I need that kick in the pants sometimes—not as competition, but simply as inspiration. And I’ve learned one thing over the years: if it can be done, Sommer is doing it. She tells me it’s “smoke and mirrors. And wine.” but I know it’s so much more. It’s her stubborn determination, strong will and big heart.
I was going to talk about my books here, pitch them as I’m supposed to do as a writer. After all these years I still don’t have the hang of that, but really, this is, and should be, all about Sommer, so let me just say this: I’m honored to know her and call her a friend, even if it’s only in the digital world of Facebook and email. I’m also thrilled that after years of enjoying her work she’s written a few stories for my books. “Take it Off” is the first story in Bedded Bliss: A Couple’s Guide to Lust Ever After and I think it sets the tone beautifully for the whole book. “Soldier Boy” in XOXO: Sweet and Sexy Romance is sexy and intense in that undeniably Sommeresque way. And I have one more story of hers to be included in a forthcoming anthology that hasn’t been officially announced yet, but when I came up short on submissions that worked with the theme, Sommer delivered the most beautiful, intense, dirty story I could’ve imagined. She’s an editor’s dream and a writer’s motivation, but if you want to know the honest truth, here it is-- I look forward to reading Sommer’s work not with the eye of an editor or writer, but as a reader who knows I’m in for a special treat. Because she is that good.
And now I suppose I should offer up some treats myself. I have a copy of XOXO: Sweet and SexyRomance and
BestErotic Romance 2014
up for grabs to TWO lucky commenters. Warning: don’t be a doofus like me and forget to include your email address when you comment!
I love spring and contemplating all that I want to accomplish, from the household cleaning/decluttering (ugh!) to vegetable gardening (at least until it gets too hot to even think about going outside) to new writing projects (I have a novel due…). But as my most favorite of seasons begins, it is lovely to be celebrating Sommer in Spring. Happy 9thto Sommer and Happy Spring to you all.
****
Kristina Wright (kristinawright.com) is an anthologist for Cleis Press, a writer of essays, short stories and novels, wife to a sexy naval officer, mother to two rambunctious boys and an enthusiastic drinker of coffee.
I just read her blog and was amused that she can't recall when we met and feels as if she's always known me. Which is so nice. Because when I 'met' her, I'd been bumping around as a newbie and had come across her on Myspace (oh, my god yes, Myspace) I believe. I'd also seen her the other places we writers tend to hang out and get to know one another. My first real contact with her was shyly asking her where in the world she got the calls for Alison Tyler's anthos. So...she told me! She gave me the contact info.
So, I'll clarify. She was established, having shorts in quite a few anthologies and even a book and I was brand spanking new. And she was so nice to me. So, there's my story :)
Tada! Yesterday's winner is....Donna! Donna, I have sent you and email to get your particulars. Congrats, and thanks for playing. Everyone else, don't despair, your name went in the big grand prize draw.
I'd like to point out that today we'll have TWO winners. So...woohoo! And without further ado: here's KW! Don't forget to leave your email addy in your comment in case you win! Good luck :)
XOXO
Sommer
Sommer in Spring
It’s fitting that my day to celebrate Sommer’s writing career is also the first day of spring. I adore spring—it’s a time of rebirth, new growth, flowers, sunshine, and, oh yeah, my husband’s birthday is in April and my birthday is in May, so spring is one big party around our house. As the mother of two little boys who don’t quite understand calendars and how time passes, we tend to wring every ounce of celebration from a holiday until the next one comes along. So this month of Sommer feels just about right to me.
I was wracking my brain trying to remember when (and how) I first “met” Sommer. I’ve lost some chunks of my memory over the past few years (see the two little boys above for the reason why) and interconnectedness of everyone on the internet makes it difficult to recall that first meeting, but I feel as if I’ve known her for her entire writing career. I do know I’ve liked her since I met her. Her writing is brilliant and heart wrenching and sexy and all kinds of honest that few writers can do. Of course, all that talent is because of her own personality—straightforward, kind, generous and so, so funny. I can’t count the number of mornings I’ve opened up my Facebook feed and read something snort-out-loud amusing from her.
Sommer inspires me. As a writer, she’s part Energizer Bunny (she just keeps going) and part Timex watch (takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’). On days when I’m feeling overwhelmed, lazy or just plain tired, I am motivated by writers who have real, complicated, busy lives and still manage to make the words happen. I need that kick in the pants sometimes—not as competition, but simply as inspiration. And I’ve learned one thing over the years: if it can be done, Sommer is doing it. She tells me it’s “smoke and mirrors. And wine.” but I know it’s so much more. It’s her stubborn determination, strong will and big heart.
I was going to talk about my books here, pitch them as I’m supposed to do as a writer. After all these years I still don’t have the hang of that, but really, this is, and should be, all about Sommer, so let me just say this: I’m honored to know her and call her a friend, even if it’s only in the digital world of Facebook and email. I’m also thrilled that after years of enjoying her work she’s written a few stories for my books. “Take it Off” is the first story in Bedded Bliss: A Couple’s Guide to Lust Ever After and I think it sets the tone beautifully for the whole book. “Soldier Boy” in XOXO: Sweet and Sexy Romance is sexy and intense in that undeniably Sommeresque way. And I have one more story of hers to be included in a forthcoming anthology that hasn’t been officially announced yet, but when I came up short on submissions that worked with the theme, Sommer delivered the most beautiful, intense, dirty story I could’ve imagined. She’s an editor’s dream and a writer’s motivation, but if you want to know the honest truth, here it is-- I look forward to reading Sommer’s work not with the eye of an editor or writer, but as a reader who knows I’m in for a special treat. Because she is that good.
And now I suppose I should offer up some treats myself. I have a copy of XOXO: Sweet and SexyRomance and
BestErotic Romance 2014
up for grabs to TWO lucky commenters. Warning: don’t be a doofus like me and forget to include your email address when you comment! I love spring and contemplating all that I want to accomplish, from the household cleaning/decluttering (ugh!) to vegetable gardening (at least until it gets too hot to even think about going outside) to new writing projects (I have a novel due…). But as my most favorite of seasons begins, it is lovely to be celebrating Sommer in Spring. Happy 9thto Sommer and Happy Spring to you all.
****
Kristina Wright (kristinawright.com) is an anthologist for Cleis Press, a writer of essays, short stories and novels, wife to a sexy naval officer, mother to two rambunctious boys and an enthusiastic drinker of coffee.
March 19, 2014
Day 19 brings INTERMISSION (gasp!), some fun updates and yes!--a prize pack!
You've made it to intermission! What's that mean? Nothing, really. I had a gap in the schedule. So I'm going to fill you in on three things (fast things) and then show you the prize packet I've put together for today. Rules are the same. Just comment for a chance to win and be sure to include your email address so we can contact you if you win.
Before I move on, Yay Shannon! Shannon is Cora's winner from yesterday. Cora will be in touch soon, Shannon. And as for the rest, you were tossed in the big giant goblet that is currently beginning to run out of room. I might have to have two jars of slips. Or a gigantor bowl of some kind.
On to the things:
Thing one: You can win a different prize from me today by visiting the TRR's third anniversary party. Just go here and check out the festivities: http://www.theromancereviews.com/even... I'm question #5 and you could win a copy of Restricted Release .
Thing two: I've started a
VIP group
. What does that mean for you? Extra goodies, ARCs (that translates to free and/or advanced reads), swag, gifties etc. If you think you'd be interested in being a VIP and spreading the word about new releases and my writing (which many of you already do just because you're awesome) please read
THIS
and then contact me. ❤️
Thing three: READERS NEEDED! I have a few ARCs of Lost in You . My about-to-be-released erotic romance novel out March 27th from HarperCollins. If you're interested in a complimentary electronic copy in exchange for an honest review please contact me at sommermarsden[at]gmail[.]com.
Now on to today's prize! I have put together a Spring Has Sprung prize packet (okay, so I'm a day early). It includes a copy of Twisted, Alison Tyler's brand new Bondage anthology. My story A Keeper is tucked inside along with some amazing stories. You'll also get a nice Spring-ish pad, a pocket organizer thingamajig (yes, that's the technical name), the first of my new bookmarks to be mailed out and a pack of festive little floating bee candle thingies. Tada!
All you have to do is comment and tell me What part of spring are you looking forward to the most? Me, not having to stress over snow every chemo day. I have to say, I love snow, but it managed to show up on Tuesdays almost always. So I am looking forward to clear roads and no white-knuckle driving :)
Now you. Good luck!
XOXO
Sommer
Before I move on, Yay Shannon! Shannon is Cora's winner from yesterday. Cora will be in touch soon, Shannon. And as for the rest, you were tossed in the big giant goblet that is currently beginning to run out of room. I might have to have two jars of slips. Or a gigantor bowl of some kind.On to the things:
Thing one: You can win a different prize from me today by visiting the TRR's third anniversary party. Just go here and check out the festivities: http://www.theromancereviews.com/even... I'm question #5 and you could win a copy of Restricted Release .
Thing two: I've started a
VIP group
. What does that mean for you? Extra goodies, ARCs (that translates to free and/or advanced reads), swag, gifties etc. If you think you'd be interested in being a VIP and spreading the word about new releases and my writing (which many of you already do just because you're awesome) please read
THIS
and then contact me. ❤️Thing three: READERS NEEDED! I have a few ARCs of Lost in You . My about-to-be-released erotic romance novel out March 27th from HarperCollins. If you're interested in a complimentary electronic copy in exchange for an honest review please contact me at sommermarsden[at]gmail[.]com.
Now on to today's prize! I have put together a Spring Has Sprung prize packet (okay, so I'm a day early). It includes a copy of Twisted, Alison Tyler's brand new Bondage anthology. My story A Keeper is tucked inside along with some amazing stories. You'll also get a nice Spring-ish pad, a pocket organizer thingamajig (yes, that's the technical name), the first of my new bookmarks to be mailed out and a pack of festive little floating bee candle thingies. Tada!
.JPG)
All you have to do is comment and tell me What part of spring are you looking forward to the most? Me, not having to stress over snow every chemo day. I have to say, I love snow, but it managed to show up on Tuesdays almost always. So I am looking forward to clear roads and no white-knuckle driving :)
Now you. Good luck!
XOXO
Sommer
March 18, 2014
Day 18 brings us Cora Zane, an android and a lipstick prize bag...tada!
Morning, morning. Today school is two hours late so I got a little extra sleep and yet...want moooooore (<~~~~~said in best zombie groan). Oh well! Not gonna happen so I guess I'll just announce that t'Sade was yesterday's winner. Huzzah! t'Sade, Lynn will be in contact re: your prize.
Today I have one of my favorite online people. She always brings a smile to my face and wrote one of my favorite short-shorts in my (now defunct) anthology Dirtyville. Cora Zane ! Yaaaay *Kermit flail* Cora!
Cora's here promoing her
How to Date an Android
. She has a lipstick pack containing Rimmel Kate lipstick in 111 Kiss of Life, and Sinful Colors nail polish in 1326 Get It On.
*Please remember to leave your email address with your comment so you can win. As always, all comments are entered into the draw for the grand prize. And let me tell you, 18 days in, some of you have lots of entries in there. Some busy bees have been commenting and tweeting and sharing on FB and wow! You are racking up the slips in the draw. WTG :)
XOXO
Sommer
~~~~~~~
How to Date an Android :
In a world run by androids, Caitlyn Quincy is one of a few humans still living in the city. Most days she stays to herself, processing invoices in a small shop selling relics from the past.
Milo Swain spots Caitlyn, and it's sparks at first sight. He's never experienced such a strong physical reaction to anyone. He'd love to get to know her, but Caitlyn has no idea how to date an android.
The excerpt: (Complete chapter 1)
New Georgetown, Carolina Islands
2205
It’s Friday, the second week of November, and Caitlyn Quincy braves the biting cold to eat a sandwich by the fountain in Market Square. All around her, the shopping district bustles with midday foot traffic, while the New Georgetown clock tower overlooking it all ticks off the remaining minutes of her lunch hour in distant silence. She sits where she always does, facing the park, which is nothing more than a grassy slope that stretches between the cobbled quad and the narrow jogging track along the murky, Iron River.
Icy wind whips up off the choppy waters of the canal, stirring Caitlyn’s long ginger hair and tangling it across her face. She shakes her head to free herself, a gesture that sends the birds hanging around the enormous central fountain into a frenzied flutter of anticipation.
The birds frighten her if they get too close. She’s wary of those noisy wings and shell-like beaks. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches them hopping along the ground. They’re completely fearless when it comes to people and she admires them for that, but only in the skeptical way an amateur artist might care to admire a rival’s painting—best carried out from afar.
With a gloved hand, she brushes away the stray strands of flyaway hair clinging at the side of her mouth before she takes another bite of sandwich. There isn’t much in this section of the city to lend convenience to human living anymore, but the hum of persistent traffic and the view of the river are familiarities she isn’t yet willing to give up. That much she’s inherited from her late father. That, his little shop, and his stubborn unwillingness to follow his neighbors, who all gradually moved away to the human run communities strewn throughout the Mainland and along the Southern Farming Belt.
Her father is gone now, dead for some five years. Nothing holds her here anymore. She could leave the city if she wanted to. One of those secluded, farming communes would surely take her in, but she was born on this island. The Market District has been her neighborhood since she was a little girl. She belongs here just as much as the androids that have turned the area into a chic borough for artificial living.
Caitlyn takes another bite of tomato sandwich and watches the pigeons shuffle closer. They are shameless, the birds. Practiced beggars. She shoos the closest ones away with her boot. They would land on her and eat her lunch if she’d let them.
It isn't easy to do with her gloved fingers, but she pinches off a chunk of bread crust left over from her sandwich and tosses it down, watching the closest birds hop toward it, wings fluttering.
She dreads going back to the shop, but the moon-faced tower clock reads twelve-fifty-two. Already she’s lingered too long, and there is still walking to do.
Crumpling the cloth wrapper in her hand, she licks her lips then brushes the crumbs from the front of her red pea coat, which she wears knotted at the waist with a matching belt. She wishes now she’d brought something to drink, a juice or seltzer water, but a quick glance around for a vending machine to buy something proves fruitless. She’s not surprised. Those older style vending machines have been vanishing for some time, like so many other relics from the not so distant past.
Where the old vending machines used to stand, there are now pushcart vendors, recharger spas, and chic cafes. Iron tables sport colorful umbrellas, which hang over red bistro chairs where no one sits. Instead, elegant people wearing the latest in high fashion walk along the promenade, a tree-lined walkway that stretches along the northernmost plaza of businesses. It makes up the greater part of the square, and it’s not uncommon to see copycat faces in varying colorations pass by again and again.
There are goddess-like women with abundant marigold curls and radiant, licorice complexions. Ice queens with sultry blue eyes, flawless bone structure, and hair the color of beach sand. Androids covet conformity in all its constructed deviations. Dressed in the height of fashion, they are a rainbow of strutting birds, their slender figures exaggerated by their bold clothes and stylish halo hats. She notices the same asymmetrical wool dress on at least five different women, each garment a varying pop of color—black, red, yellow, teal, then blue.
The men are similarly astounding—statuesque and built. Many have bronze hair today, she notices. It must be a new fad. Various shades of brown have been made in the attempt to copy the trend: chestnut and sienna, all the way to brownish copper.
Everyone is tall, graceful, and perfectly formed, and Caitlyn knows every person she sees belongs to a subset matrix that has been manufactured in limited production runs. She’s read articles on how different bio-development companies use aesthetic specialists to choose each model type for production. Their decision is always based on the current interpretation of humankind’s ideal appearance, whatever that happens to be.
Caitlyn has a suspicion her lack of physical refinement is yet another reason she draws so many lingering glances. Ripe with all her natural, human imperfections, she’s sure the androids must find her greatly flawed.
For the most part, she’s used to being stared at and considers it a normal response well within the androids’ parameters. Slight framed and short, she is ethnic Irish and unmistakably human. Her heart shaped face isn’t the same mask of perfection as the synthetics. Her moss green eyes are too small, and her upper lip is slightly fuller than her lower lip. Although her nose is slender and well formed, it’s freckled and unsophisticated in its shape. Someone might consider her cute or interesting looking, but she can’t imagine anyone ever describing her as ideal or goddess-like.
A lone human in a city of synthetics, that small truth doesn’t bother her as much as it had in the past. Back then, she’d been self-conscious and in her teens, and oh, how she’d wished it possible to emulate the kind of manufactured beauty the androids all share. Only with age has she come to appreciate her uniqueness. In no one else could she hope to find her mother’s eyes or her father’s dimples.
Let them stare. She’s twenty-seven now and in good health. No matter how well she takes care of herself, she won’t look like this forever. Besides, she has no reason to be ashamed.
A loud bark makes her jump, and she immediately turns her attention across the quad. The on the grassy slope, a man plays with a beautiful golden retriever. That’s a high priced toy—the dog. But what truly stands out is the man himself, his uniqueness. So much so Caitlyn’s heart skips a beat. He looks human. His face isn't like any of the others she's seen before—therefore he must be human, right?
She wants to believe, but his features are a little too perfect, rugged in the way of a catalog Adonis with his straight nose and wide kissable mouth. Black hair is her favorite, and his is shiny and short. She can't see the color of his eyes, usually a telltale giveaway, but they crinkle at the corners in a striking way when he smiles, which is what he's doing now—smiling at the dog.
Who wouldn’t notice him? Lean and well built, he’s at least six feet in height—tall, but not toweringly so. He’s dressed for a day in the park. Caitlyn eyes his jeans and the hooded, navy sweatshirt from the university. Does that mean he’s educated, not simply programmed? The thought makes her breath catch. After all, he’s her ideal image of masculine male beauty.
The dog drops a tennis ball at the man's feet. He snaps it up and tosses it across the grassy median. The dog races off to fetch it, and the man cheers, “Thatta boy! Go get it!”
Caitlyn admires the angle of the stranger’s square jaw. She imagines the prickly texture of his five o’clock shadow and her fingertips tingle restlessly. It’s rude to stare at real people, if that’s what he is, but she can’t seem to help herself.
The dog returns, ball in mouth, and the man goes down on one knee in the grass. He’s full of praise for his large, wiggling pet. There is no mistaking his affection for the animal. He gives its golden coat a brisk rub and a hearty pat to its flanks, and a small smile quirks her lips. They are quite a pair.
As if he somehow senses her watching him, he lifts his head and looks right at her. A jolt of awareness rattles her, and she can’t ignore the fluttery feeling that blossoms inside her. Caught in the act, her smile fades. He’s not a human after all. Even at a distance, she can see his eyes are resolution blue.
Knowing now what he is, maintaining eye contact is too uncomfortable. It’s too intimate and makes her feel on display. With a hollow heart, she averts her eyes and makes an obvious gesture of tucking the sandwich wrapper into her bag. Then she dusts off her gloves. It’s a gray day, but she’ll miss it once she’s back working inside.
She pulls the straps of her tote bag over her shoulder, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees that the handsome android has stopped playing with his dog. He’s utterly focused on her. She sighs to herself. Way to go. By now, he must surely realize she’s human.
In the distance, the tower clock chimes the hour. Face flushed, Caitlyn turns away and walks toward High Street in the direction of her shop, her heart racing against her ribs. Although she knows he’s not like her in the human sense, she has to force herself not to glance back to see if he’s still watching her.Buy Link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/357055
Today I have one of my favorite online people. She always brings a smile to my face and wrote one of my favorite short-shorts in my (now defunct) anthology Dirtyville. Cora Zane ! Yaaaay *Kermit flail* Cora!
.JPG)
Cora's here promoing her
How to Date an Android
. She has a lipstick pack containing Rimmel Kate lipstick in 111 Kiss of Life, and Sinful Colors nail polish in 1326 Get It On.*Please remember to leave your email address with your comment so you can win. As always, all comments are entered into the draw for the grand prize. And let me tell you, 18 days in, some of you have lots of entries in there. Some busy bees have been commenting and tweeting and sharing on FB and wow! You are racking up the slips in the draw. WTG :)
XOXO
Sommer
~~~~~~~
How to Date an Android :
In a world run by androids, Caitlyn Quincy is one of a few humans still living in the city. Most days she stays to herself, processing invoices in a small shop selling relics from the past.
Milo Swain spots Caitlyn, and it's sparks at first sight. He's never experienced such a strong physical reaction to anyone. He'd love to get to know her, but Caitlyn has no idea how to date an android.
The excerpt: (Complete chapter 1)
New Georgetown, Carolina Islands
2205
It’s Friday, the second week of November, and Caitlyn Quincy braves the biting cold to eat a sandwich by the fountain in Market Square. All around her, the shopping district bustles with midday foot traffic, while the New Georgetown clock tower overlooking it all ticks off the remaining minutes of her lunch hour in distant silence. She sits where she always does, facing the park, which is nothing more than a grassy slope that stretches between the cobbled quad and the narrow jogging track along the murky, Iron River.
Icy wind whips up off the choppy waters of the canal, stirring Caitlyn’s long ginger hair and tangling it across her face. She shakes her head to free herself, a gesture that sends the birds hanging around the enormous central fountain into a frenzied flutter of anticipation.
The birds frighten her if they get too close. She’s wary of those noisy wings and shell-like beaks. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches them hopping along the ground. They’re completely fearless when it comes to people and she admires them for that, but only in the skeptical way an amateur artist might care to admire a rival’s painting—best carried out from afar.
With a gloved hand, she brushes away the stray strands of flyaway hair clinging at the side of her mouth before she takes another bite of sandwich. There isn’t much in this section of the city to lend convenience to human living anymore, but the hum of persistent traffic and the view of the river are familiarities she isn’t yet willing to give up. That much she’s inherited from her late father. That, his little shop, and his stubborn unwillingness to follow his neighbors, who all gradually moved away to the human run communities strewn throughout the Mainland and along the Southern Farming Belt.
Her father is gone now, dead for some five years. Nothing holds her here anymore. She could leave the city if she wanted to. One of those secluded, farming communes would surely take her in, but she was born on this island. The Market District has been her neighborhood since she was a little girl. She belongs here just as much as the androids that have turned the area into a chic borough for artificial living.
Caitlyn takes another bite of tomato sandwich and watches the pigeons shuffle closer. They are shameless, the birds. Practiced beggars. She shoos the closest ones away with her boot. They would land on her and eat her lunch if she’d let them.
It isn't easy to do with her gloved fingers, but she pinches off a chunk of bread crust left over from her sandwich and tosses it down, watching the closest birds hop toward it, wings fluttering.
She dreads going back to the shop, but the moon-faced tower clock reads twelve-fifty-two. Already she’s lingered too long, and there is still walking to do.
Crumpling the cloth wrapper in her hand, she licks her lips then brushes the crumbs from the front of her red pea coat, which she wears knotted at the waist with a matching belt. She wishes now she’d brought something to drink, a juice or seltzer water, but a quick glance around for a vending machine to buy something proves fruitless. She’s not surprised. Those older style vending machines have been vanishing for some time, like so many other relics from the not so distant past.
Where the old vending machines used to stand, there are now pushcart vendors, recharger spas, and chic cafes. Iron tables sport colorful umbrellas, which hang over red bistro chairs where no one sits. Instead, elegant people wearing the latest in high fashion walk along the promenade, a tree-lined walkway that stretches along the northernmost plaza of businesses. It makes up the greater part of the square, and it’s not uncommon to see copycat faces in varying colorations pass by again and again.
There are goddess-like women with abundant marigold curls and radiant, licorice complexions. Ice queens with sultry blue eyes, flawless bone structure, and hair the color of beach sand. Androids covet conformity in all its constructed deviations. Dressed in the height of fashion, they are a rainbow of strutting birds, their slender figures exaggerated by their bold clothes and stylish halo hats. She notices the same asymmetrical wool dress on at least five different women, each garment a varying pop of color—black, red, yellow, teal, then blue.
The men are similarly astounding—statuesque and built. Many have bronze hair today, she notices. It must be a new fad. Various shades of brown have been made in the attempt to copy the trend: chestnut and sienna, all the way to brownish copper.
Everyone is tall, graceful, and perfectly formed, and Caitlyn knows every person she sees belongs to a subset matrix that has been manufactured in limited production runs. She’s read articles on how different bio-development companies use aesthetic specialists to choose each model type for production. Their decision is always based on the current interpretation of humankind’s ideal appearance, whatever that happens to be.
Caitlyn has a suspicion her lack of physical refinement is yet another reason she draws so many lingering glances. Ripe with all her natural, human imperfections, she’s sure the androids must find her greatly flawed.
For the most part, she’s used to being stared at and considers it a normal response well within the androids’ parameters. Slight framed and short, she is ethnic Irish and unmistakably human. Her heart shaped face isn’t the same mask of perfection as the synthetics. Her moss green eyes are too small, and her upper lip is slightly fuller than her lower lip. Although her nose is slender and well formed, it’s freckled and unsophisticated in its shape. Someone might consider her cute or interesting looking, but she can’t imagine anyone ever describing her as ideal or goddess-like.
A lone human in a city of synthetics, that small truth doesn’t bother her as much as it had in the past. Back then, she’d been self-conscious and in her teens, and oh, how she’d wished it possible to emulate the kind of manufactured beauty the androids all share. Only with age has she come to appreciate her uniqueness. In no one else could she hope to find her mother’s eyes or her father’s dimples.
Let them stare. She’s twenty-seven now and in good health. No matter how well she takes care of herself, she won’t look like this forever. Besides, she has no reason to be ashamed.
A loud bark makes her jump, and she immediately turns her attention across the quad. The on the grassy slope, a man plays with a beautiful golden retriever. That’s a high priced toy—the dog. But what truly stands out is the man himself, his uniqueness. So much so Caitlyn’s heart skips a beat. He looks human. His face isn't like any of the others she's seen before—therefore he must be human, right?
She wants to believe, but his features are a little too perfect, rugged in the way of a catalog Adonis with his straight nose and wide kissable mouth. Black hair is her favorite, and his is shiny and short. She can't see the color of his eyes, usually a telltale giveaway, but they crinkle at the corners in a striking way when he smiles, which is what he's doing now—smiling at the dog.
Who wouldn’t notice him? Lean and well built, he’s at least six feet in height—tall, but not toweringly so. He’s dressed for a day in the park. Caitlyn eyes his jeans and the hooded, navy sweatshirt from the university. Does that mean he’s educated, not simply programmed? The thought makes her breath catch. After all, he’s her ideal image of masculine male beauty.
The dog drops a tennis ball at the man's feet. He snaps it up and tosses it across the grassy median. The dog races off to fetch it, and the man cheers, “Thatta boy! Go get it!”
Caitlyn admires the angle of the stranger’s square jaw. She imagines the prickly texture of his five o’clock shadow and her fingertips tingle restlessly. It’s rude to stare at real people, if that’s what he is, but she can’t seem to help herself.
The dog returns, ball in mouth, and the man goes down on one knee in the grass. He’s full of praise for his large, wiggling pet. There is no mistaking his affection for the animal. He gives its golden coat a brisk rub and a hearty pat to its flanks, and a small smile quirks her lips. They are quite a pair.
As if he somehow senses her watching him, he lifts his head and looks right at her. A jolt of awareness rattles her, and she can’t ignore the fluttery feeling that blossoms inside her. Caught in the act, her smile fades. He’s not a human after all. Even at a distance, she can see his eyes are resolution blue.
Knowing now what he is, maintaining eye contact is too uncomfortable. It’s too intimate and makes her feel on display. With a hollow heart, she averts her eyes and makes an obvious gesture of tucking the sandwich wrapper into her bag. Then she dusts off her gloves. It’s a gray day, but she’ll miss it once she’s back working inside.
She pulls the straps of her tote bag over her shoulder, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees that the handsome android has stopped playing with his dog. He’s utterly focused on her. She sighs to herself. Way to go. By now, he must surely realize she’s human.
In the distance, the tower clock chimes the hour. Face flushed, Caitlyn turns away and walks toward High Street in the direction of her shop, her heart racing against her ribs. Although she knows he’s not like her in the human sense, she has to force herself not to glance back to see if he’s still watching her.Buy Link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/357055
March 17, 2014
Day 17 brings Lynn Townsend, a tiny T-Rex and some buttsecks...(you heard me)
Happy St. Paddy's Day! If your like me you will be celebrating with red wine (later) on a snow day (all day). We have a good six inches out there (heh) so I'm glad all my St. Paddy's celebrating family got their party on over the weekend. Me, I gave up St. Patrick's Day the year we went downtown, I got drunk on green beer, ate too much green popcorn and my boyfriend's best friend hit on my mom...well, it's a long story. On with today!
Congrats to Jade! You are our winner from yesterday and Justine Elyot will be in touch for you to make that impossible choice :) As always, all other comments were tossed in the draw for grand prize which is getting HUGE might I say. Some of you have stopped in every day so you have 16 entries in there. Way to go!
Today I have Lynn Townsend. She's a fairly new writer (if you compare her to an old dog like me) but she's making up for lost time. Books and shorts and projects, oh my. Exciting stuff! She wrote one of my absolute favorite stories, Dead in the Water, in my Coming Together: Hungry for Love zombie anthology that benefits the American Diabetes Association. I remember reading it and having all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. When I finished I took a big fat sharpie and wrote on the cover page. Yes! Yes!
Good stuff!
*Be sure to leave your email address with your comment. Lynn's doing a reader's choice of Roll or Blood Sight. Ah! Another impossible choice, dear reader. But look at it this way, you have choices, which is always good.
And away we go with Lynn...
* * * * *
Changing Definitions
Happy birthday, Sommer!
In my other life, I have a dinosaur web-comic https://www.facebook.com/tinytrexbigworld
Sommer made a big impact on my life when I was first getting started as an erotica writer. Has it really only been three years? I made a complete flub-up in submitting a story to her and she was wonderful and gracious. She was particularly unfazed in a time where I really needed someone to not be horrible editor-on-a-high-horse. (Do those actually exist? I haven't personally found any awful editors, but I kept hearing that they existed and if I made one error, put something in the wrong font, or otherwise did something both dippy and typical of me, that my career would be over... I've never dealt with one, but at the time, I lived in fear of someone landing on me, feet first, in cleats.)
If you're interested, the whole story is here [link http://paidbytheweird.blogspot.com/2013/01/guest-post-sommer-marsden.html]
Since then, I've published two novels and 20+ short stories... I'll be honest with you, Sommer has been one of the biggest influences on my career, both in her earthy personality and in her wonderful, kick-you-in-the-teeth awesome novels. So I'm pleased as punch to be here, and to offer an e-copy of either my m/m New Adult novel, Roll or an e-copy of my urban supernatural vampire romance novel, Blood Sight. (Blood Sight will be released in two weeks, so if you select that one, you'll have to wait!) to celebrate Sommer's birthday! Woo woo! ::throws confetti:: Oh. Um. Someone else can clean that up.
In the last couple years, I've had some pretty interesting conversations about sex; there's nothing quite like being an openly blatant erotica writer. People will tell you the craziest things! Since I'm personally of the opinion that we should all be talking about sex, honestly and openly, a little more often, I'm delighted by these conversations. Although sometimes they take me a bit by surprise.
I have a good friend who is my “go-to gay”. (He just recently got married to the sweetest dude ever, and I'm so happy for them I could squee!) Whenever I have questions about – well, honestly anything from coming out, to dealing with homophobia, to the details and mechanics of gay sex, to screenshots of his Grindr feed – I go to him. He also does beta reading and editing for me...
One day, we're sitting on my sofa and talking about my latest short story.
“I really appreciate,” he says to me, “that you don't go straight for the buttsecks in your stories.” He really does say it that way, I can visualize it spelled out over his head in a little thought bubble.
“Oh?” At the time, I hadn't actually written any anal-play stories.
“Yeah. It seems sometimes that a lot of the writers just jump straight into it. It's not like that, in reality. Most gays don't rush like that. Penetrative sex is one of those things that takes a lot of trust in your partner, in yourself. It makes you incredibly vulnerable.”
The look I gave him – as a bisexual female writer who has had rather a lot of penetrative sex – should have been worthy of its own frame job.
We ended up having a good laugh and moved along.
But in the meanwhile, the thought's stuck with me; traditional sex, traditional definitions. In the feminist circles where you can often find me, we call it PiV (Penis in Vagina). But it's completely not necessary for a satisfying sex scene. There are a lot more varieties to be had! And when you start talking about gay sex and gold star gays (“gold star” means never had sex with an opposite gender partner) a lot of “traditional definitions” go right out the window.
Especially when you consider the somewhat out-dated notion of virginity. I'm with Inara (from Firefly... if you haven't seen it, stop reading this blog entry and go hit up Netflicks, seriously!) on this issue; virginity is simply a state of being. Not having it doesn't make you a man. Losing it doesn't make you a slut. Personally, I “lost” my virginity to a particularly difficult trail jump and I came down badly on the pommel of my saddle. People who claim oral or mutual masturbating “doesn't count” are arguing technicalities the way my ten-year-old will say “But I wasn't runningin the house, I was skipping!”
I was arguing with another friend recently about the whole thing; he was commenting on some woman putting her virginity up for auction as a way to get through college. If that's what she wants to do, more power to her! (Honestly, I'd like to know how it goes; my official “first time” was kinda icky and unimpressive and I didn't really care for the whole deal.) But what I don't understand is why men will pay for this. I'm all “I don't get it....” and my friend is just staring at me like I'm stupid.
I got “dinged” recently by a reader, who was angry that I didn't “show” a character losing his virginity. Especially since the character made a big deal out of being a virgin. I was puzzled. Of course I did! That thing, where the one guy... and then they...
“But it wasn't buttsecks.” (to be fair, the reader didn't say that so bluntly, but that's what I heard...)
So... does that mean you have to be penetrated – preferably by a penis? – to lose your virginity? What about straight guys? Or gays who only top? Or lesbians?
Your definition of sex and virginity need some work. It doesn't apply.
Hi, I'm here to change definitions!
Lynn Townsend is a geek, a dreamer and an inveterate punster. When not reading, writing, or editing, she can usually be found drinking coffee or killing video game villains. Lynn's interests include filk music, octopuses, and movies with more FX than plot. She has one husband, one child, one murder-death-cat, a turtle, and two chinchillas. Keep up with her on Facebook [ https://www.facebook.com/LynnTownsendwriter] or her blog Paid by the Weird [ http://paidbytheweird.blogspot.com/]
Congrats to Jade! You are our winner from yesterday and Justine Elyot will be in touch for you to make that impossible choice :) As always, all other comments were tossed in the draw for grand prize which is getting HUGE might I say. Some of you have stopped in every day so you have 16 entries in there. Way to go!
Today I have Lynn Townsend. She's a fairly new writer (if you compare her to an old dog like me) but she's making up for lost time. Books and shorts and projects, oh my. Exciting stuff! She wrote one of my absolute favorite stories, Dead in the Water, in my Coming Together: Hungry for Love zombie anthology that benefits the American Diabetes Association. I remember reading it and having all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. When I finished I took a big fat sharpie and wrote on the cover page. Yes! Yes!
Good stuff!
*Be sure to leave your email address with your comment. Lynn's doing a reader's choice of Roll or Blood Sight. Ah! Another impossible choice, dear reader. But look at it this way, you have choices, which is always good.
And away we go with Lynn...
* * * * *
Changing Definitions
Happy birthday, Sommer!
In my other life, I have a dinosaur web-comic https://www.facebook.com/tinytrexbigworld Sommer made a big impact on my life when I was first getting started as an erotica writer. Has it really only been three years? I made a complete flub-up in submitting a story to her and she was wonderful and gracious. She was particularly unfazed in a time where I really needed someone to not be horrible editor-on-a-high-horse. (Do those actually exist? I haven't personally found any awful editors, but I kept hearing that they existed and if I made one error, put something in the wrong font, or otherwise did something both dippy and typical of me, that my career would be over... I've never dealt with one, but at the time, I lived in fear of someone landing on me, feet first, in cleats.)
If you're interested, the whole story is here [link http://paidbytheweird.blogspot.com/2013/01/guest-post-sommer-marsden.html]
Since then, I've published two novels and 20+ short stories... I'll be honest with you, Sommer has been one of the biggest influences on my career, both in her earthy personality and in her wonderful, kick-you-in-the-teeth awesome novels. So I'm pleased as punch to be here, and to offer an e-copy of either my m/m New Adult novel, Roll or an e-copy of my urban supernatural vampire romance novel, Blood Sight. (Blood Sight will be released in two weeks, so if you select that one, you'll have to wait!) to celebrate Sommer's birthday! Woo woo! ::throws confetti:: Oh. Um. Someone else can clean that up.
In the last couple years, I've had some pretty interesting conversations about sex; there's nothing quite like being an openly blatant erotica writer. People will tell you the craziest things! Since I'm personally of the opinion that we should all be talking about sex, honestly and openly, a little more often, I'm delighted by these conversations. Although sometimes they take me a bit by surprise.
I have a good friend who is my “go-to gay”. (He just recently got married to the sweetest dude ever, and I'm so happy for them I could squee!) Whenever I have questions about – well, honestly anything from coming out, to dealing with homophobia, to the details and mechanics of gay sex, to screenshots of his Grindr feed – I go to him. He also does beta reading and editing for me...
.jpg)
One day, we're sitting on my sofa and talking about my latest short story.“I really appreciate,” he says to me, “that you don't go straight for the buttsecks in your stories.” He really does say it that way, I can visualize it spelled out over his head in a little thought bubble.
“Oh?” At the time, I hadn't actually written any anal-play stories.
“Yeah. It seems sometimes that a lot of the writers just jump straight into it. It's not like that, in reality. Most gays don't rush like that. Penetrative sex is one of those things that takes a lot of trust in your partner, in yourself. It makes you incredibly vulnerable.”
The look I gave him – as a bisexual female writer who has had rather a lot of penetrative sex – should have been worthy of its own frame job.
We ended up having a good laugh and moved along.
But in the meanwhile, the thought's stuck with me; traditional sex, traditional definitions. In the feminist circles where you can often find me, we call it PiV (Penis in Vagina). But it's completely not necessary for a satisfying sex scene. There are a lot more varieties to be had! And when you start talking about gay sex and gold star gays (“gold star” means never had sex with an opposite gender partner) a lot of “traditional definitions” go right out the window.
Especially when you consider the somewhat out-dated notion of virginity. I'm with Inara (from Firefly... if you haven't seen it, stop reading this blog entry and go hit up Netflicks, seriously!) on this issue; virginity is simply a state of being. Not having it doesn't make you a man. Losing it doesn't make you a slut. Personally, I “lost” my virginity to a particularly difficult trail jump and I came down badly on the pommel of my saddle. People who claim oral or mutual masturbating “doesn't count” are arguing technicalities the way my ten-year-old will say “But I wasn't runningin the house, I was skipping!”
I was arguing with another friend recently about the whole thing; he was commenting on some woman putting her virginity up for auction as a way to get through college. If that's what she wants to do, more power to her! (Honestly, I'd like to know how it goes; my official “first time” was kinda icky and unimpressive and I didn't really care for the whole deal.) But what I don't understand is why men will pay for this. I'm all “I don't get it....” and my friend is just staring at me like I'm stupid.
I got “dinged” recently by a reader, who was angry that I didn't “show” a character losing his virginity. Especially since the character made a big deal out of being a virgin. I was puzzled. Of course I did! That thing, where the one guy... and then they...
“But it wasn't buttsecks.” (to be fair, the reader didn't say that so bluntly, but that's what I heard...)
So... does that mean you have to be penetrated – preferably by a penis? – to lose your virginity? What about straight guys? Or gays who only top? Or lesbians?
Your definition of sex and virginity need some work. It doesn't apply.
Hi, I'm here to change definitions!
Lynn Townsend is a geek, a dreamer and an inveterate punster. When not reading, writing, or editing, she can usually be found drinking coffee or killing video game villains. Lynn's interests include filk music, octopuses, and movies with more FX than plot. She has one husband, one child, one murder-death-cat, a turtle, and two chinchillas. Keep up with her on Facebook [ https://www.facebook.com/LynnTownsendwriter] or her blog Paid by the Weird [ http://paidbytheweird.blogspot.com/]
