S.L. Armstrong's Blog, page 18

Recipe Monday: Dr. Pepper Ham

I have a yummy ham recipe for you today. My brother made the ham itself for Thanksgiving and Christmas last year, and I loved the ham like whoa. However, the glaze my family uses isn’t 100% to my liking. It’s very thick, very acidic, and just not really my thing. It was when I was a kid, but the older I get, the less I care for it. So, I set out to create the glaze of my dreams. I succeeded. We eat this maybe once a month. The ham isn’t cheap, and so it’s a splurge for us.

We buy a Smithfield Spiral Cut ham. I love this ham. It’s slightly salty, easily portioned out, and tastes like ham, not ham-and-water. It’s a more expensive ham overall, but well worth the money, and for us, it makes three to four meals.

Ingredients

Smithfield Spiral Cut Ham (I get an 8lb ham)

24oz Dr. Pepper (full sugar, & I prefer using the Throwback line)

1/2C brown sugar

1/2C honey

1/2C pineapple juice

1/4C maraschino cherry juice

Directions

Preheat your oven to 350F. Put your ham with the cut-side down in the pan. Cover it with aluminum foil and pop it into the oven for 60 minutes.

While the ham is cooking, in a sauce pot add the Dr. Pepper, pineapple juice, maraschino cherry juice, brown sugar, and honey. On medium heat, cook and reduce the liquid into a thick syrup. It will take most of the cook time that the ham is in the oven to do this. Watch it. With that much sugar in the pot, it can scorch or boil over easily.

After 60 minutes, pull the ham out. Uncover, coat with a third of the glaze. Pop it back into the oven for 15 minutes. Pull it out again, coat with another third of the glaze. Cook an addition 15 minutes. Pull the ham out and let cool for 10 minutes. Carve and serve with the leftover glaze. So good!

Another “52 Weeks” Teaser

Here I come bearing a new teaser for the psychological BDSM novel about gender fluidity and self-realization, 52 Weeks. I’m loving Aspen and Rhys, and the story is unfolding slowly for K. and I. We’re very focused on Mae, but we’re juggling the two as best we can. I can’t wait to be finished with this one!

—

Aspen swallowed thickly, fighting not to shiver at the timbre of Rhys’ voice, that seductively authoritative tone of his doing nothing but coaxing him into a raging hard-on. “Yes, sir,” he said with a small smirk, quickly finishing with the buttons of Rhys’ dress shirt. It was only when he pulled Rhys’ undershirt up over Rhys’ head that he was reminded of his own nudity and arousal. Seeing Rhys’ bare skin made him blush, and the hotter his skin got, the colder it felt in the office.

He stared down the line of Rhys’ body, fighting to regain that distance he’d felt just a few moments ago. When he reached for Rhys’ belt, his hands were promptly tapped away. He raised an eyebrow at Rhys.

“Kneel and lace your fingers behind your back. Undress the rest of me with your lips and teeth.”

The order was like a splash of cold water, and he felt indignation burn in his throat. “With my mouth? Seriously?” Rhys didn’t look like he was about to repeat himself, though, and something told Aspen that if Rhys had to order him again, he’d experience those consequences whether he liked it or not. He glared at Rhys as he knelt. Just looking up at Rhys from that angle made him feel small and powerless. He didn’t much like that feeling, no matter how much his cock begged to differ.

He let out a slow breath to steady himself before reaching back. Lacing his fingers was easy enough, but it made his chest stick out and displayed his erection like he was some sort of plaything. Humiliation swept through him before he could even lean forward to begin. He tried for the belt first, the smooth leather tang of it strangely erotic against his lips and teeth as he attempted to work the tail of the belt backwards through the loops. The damn thing was nearly impossible to move. The moment he managed a fair grip with his teeth, he would get to a belt loop and lose it.

He could feel the press of Rhys’ erection against his throat from time to time, and it just made his embarrassment complete as he struggled to get Rhys’ belt off. He growled his frustration when he had to pull back to keep from drooling down the front of Rhys’ pants. He wanted to curse, wanted to unlace his fingers and tug the damn thing free the easy way. So, why didn’t he just do that?

Pictures = Porno, Words = Erotica

A few weeks back, I saw the most disturbing assumption blathered out in a discussion. The person said that, if the book had pictures (in reference to manga) and was erotic, then it was porn. If the book had no pictures, then it was erotic romance or erotica. Pictures, to this poster and those who agreed with him, meant the work was instantaneously pornography.

People are free to think whatever they like, but this simple minded definition was ridiculous. Because erotic manga exist, it was porn and deserved Amazon’s ill treatment. I highly disagree. I’ve been reading manga since I was fifteen. Erotic manga came on my radar when I was nineteen. I never thought of it as porn. Porn, to me, was pictures or words or video specifically designed for me to watch while I had sex or masturbated. Just like my romance novels, manga didn’t serve that purpose to me, and to see someone reduce it to that just… rubbed at me.

And not in the good way.

Art doesn’t exist in such black and white terms. Pictures do not equal pornography. Of course, in my mind, pornography is in the eye of the beholder. I also don’t know why people are so quick to distance themselves from pornography. There’s nothing shameful about. Sex is not shameful. Arousal is not shameful. What is shameful are those would foist their own issues onto the rest of the world. I watch porn. I like it for getting off quickly and easily. It’s my own personal time. Me and the gay boys on the screen. There’s nothing wrong about that.

I have no illusions that 99% of the world masturbates. I don’t pretend that everyone just closes their eyes and thinks of their ideal partner when they do it, either. If there’s one thing my mother gave me, it’s a lack of shame in sexuality and arousal. From a very early age, sex and sensuality were openly discussed and never made secret or shameful. For half my life, I did believe that pictures equaled porn, but as an adult who has been exposed to so much, that definition changed.

So, the bulk of this post is simply this: nothing is simple. Nothing is black and white. Your issues aren’t my issues. Your hang ups aren’t my hang ups. Your kink isn’t necessarily my kink. And I refuse to be ashamed of the things I enjoy in my intimate life, and I highly encourage the rest of you to think similarly. Embrace who you are, what gets you off, and don’t apologize for it.

Recipe Monday: Mayonnaise

Today’s recipe is a simple one. It’s mayonnaise.

I’m a huge fan of mayo. Love it. Usually, I keep a jar of Kraft mayo in my fridge. It’s my go-to, long-lasting mayonnaise. I use it on sandwiches, in hamburger meat, for my deviled eggs, in my salad dressings. I’ve even made a chocolate cake using mayo. It was awesome. Shelf stable mayo is a great condiment that I love having in my fridge, but sometimes? Homemade mayonnaise is what you really want.

Ultimately, I don’t use this for much. Usually, it’s as a dip or mixed into something. I have an awesome lobster salad that I make using homemade mayonnaise. My favorite way of using it, though, is for a dip with asparagus, artichokes, or potatoes. You need a little muscle, about 10 minutes, and then you’ll have one of the best condiments for just about anything.

Ingredients

1/2C neutral oil (I use canola, but grapeseed would also be good)

1 egg yolk

1TBSP white wine vinegar (though you could use almost ANY flavored white vinegar; I like tarragon)

1TBSP lemon juice

salt

pepper

Directions

This is simple. In a mixing bowl, add your egg yolk (yes, a raw egg yolk), vinegar, salt, pepper. Start whisking. I usually make K. or R. help at this point. As I whisk, one of them slowly—and I mean SLOWLY—drizzles in the oil. You have to take your time with this or the emulsification will never happen. When the oil is half incorporated, you can pour a little faster, but don’t get overzealous.

When all the oil has been incorporated, you’ll have mayonnaise. Add in the lemon juice. Taste it. Does it need more salt? More lemon? I tend to wind up adding a little more salt at this stage.

Now, you have mayonnaise! Woot!

You can do so many things with it. For boiled potatoes, I like mixing in a clove or two of grated garlic, chives, and parsley. For artichokes, I like adding a head of roasted garlic and a good squeeze more of lemon juice. For asparagus, I like just lemoning it up really well. For chicken or fish, I like adding a shallot and some tarragon. It’s awesome and versatile. Your imagination is the limit.

Another “Pawns Book I: Stalemate” Teaser

So, here I come to offer up another sneak at Pawns Book I: Stalemate. You get a bit of a glimpse into Frost’s mind in this one!

—

The problem Frost had with Ash’s estate was the fact that it possessed hundreds of rooms. Hundreds. It was unseemly to have so many rooms! It meant dozens upon dozens of hallways, courtyard, and dead ends for him to navigate. When one entered Ash’s realm, Frost mused, one should be given a detailed map of where all landmarks and important rooms were to be found. He was lucky many rooms had large windows, or he might lose all sense of time.

He growled as he ran into another dead end, and he turned around, his frustration mounting. A bad night’s sleep was his reward for not punching Ash in the face after that kiss. If he hadn’t been so stunned…

You liked it.

No. No, he hadn’t. It had been a violation of his personal space, and whether Ash possessed passion or not, whether he was wondrously skilled in the art of kissing or not, it had been a violation. Frost clung to that simple truth as he stalked the hallways. Elder gods’ be damned, he needed a map or a guide! This was positively ridiculous. He spun back from yet another dead end and headed back through the main hallway—at least, he assumed it was the main hallway—and lucky him, another faerie came into sight.

It was Crabapple, the annoying little twit that Slate said had been trying desperately to speak with him for the last week. Well, he had words of his own for Ash’s little errand boy, and he allowed his rage to absolutely fill his face.

“Master Frost!” Crabapple panted, stopping a respectable distance from him. “I have a message from Lord Ash…” he trailed off as he stared up at Frost with wide eyes.

The anger, hot and consuming, rose in Frost as replayed the previous night’s encounter in his room, the constant nagging from Ash, the way Dewdrop continued to insert himself in Ember’s sparring. It was all too much, and Frost snapped. “I have heard quite enough from Lord Ash. In fact, I have a message for you to deliver to him.”

Crabapple opened his mouth, most likely to spew whatever poorly worded missive of pleasure Ash had crammed into the poor faerie’s head. “No. Take this message back to Lord Ash, and do not pester me again. The message is: it is out of respect for my lord and lady that I have shown deference and aplomb,” Frost snarled. “But, should I find him in my guest suite again uninvited, I am like to forget he is lord of this estate and believe him to be nothing more than a petty thief and shall act accordingly.” Without waiting for a reply, Frost shoved past Crabapple, his mood as dark as the clouds gathering above the estate. It was going to be a rough Solstice from beginning to end.

The ‘B’ In BDSM Does Not Stand For ‘Brutality’

Okay, so over on Dear Author there was a discussion going on about 50 Shades of Grey. For the record, I don’t like that series or what that author did. I just don’t like it, I think the writing is incredibly juvenile, and I cannot believe people are gobbling it up. But, there was one comment there that just offended me beyond belief. Rather than engage with that crackhead over there, I thought I would do a small post over here about the gist of her comment.

Actually, Christian doesn’t give up BDSM as a whole, although the more sadistic elements, like caning he does, because while she will play, caning is a hard limit.

and

He actually loses interest in that brutality (caning), once he realizes he doesn’t need it.

Both comments are by a person going by the name Cavalier Queen. I’ve learned in my long years on the internet that engaging such people isn’t worth my time or effort, but I did want to discuss somewhere why those comments really ruffled my feathers.

The equating of caning with being more sadistic and brutal than anything else within the majority of the BDSM spectrum really ticked me off. In fact, referring to consensual BDSM as ‘brutality’ at all pissed me off. I have fought long and hard to not be seen as ‘weak’ because I’m a submissive woman. For some reason, being that irks a lot of other women, as if the Doms in my life abuse me because I just don’t know no better. Please. I’m a submissive. My submissiveness is just as valid and real as any male’s submission. And what I enjoy with my Doms isn’t brutal. It isn’t even sadistic.

Sadism is a very, very special thing. Quite frankly, sadism is the enjoyment of inflicting pain regardless of the situation or status of consent. Bottom line. A sadist likes to dole out pain. They get a rush from it, be it sexual, emotional, or mental. They don’t care if the other person agrees to it or not. They want the pain. It’s not always physical, either. Some sadists love to mentally fuck their victims. There is a desire to be in control, to cause the pain—however they can—to their victims. To slap ‘caning’ into the category of ‘sadism’ bothers me because, while sadism has its own terminology within the BDSM community, that’s not what was being said here.

Then, this comment goes on to lump caning with brutality. When I see/hear the word brutality, I don’t think about being bent over the edge of a bed with my loving Dom who then works me up with the cane, lulling me into a rhythm, and then gently tests my limits and sends me flying. You know what I think of when I see/hear the word brutality? Rape. Assault. War crimes. Child abuse. Animal cruelty. Now, this may be my beef and not the original poster’s, but the choice of word was pretty damn specific. There was an image they wanted to be attributed to the act of caning within the BDSM context, and it wasn’t a pretty image at all.

And, let’s be honest. If you see the simple act of caning as the pinnacle of ‘brutality’ in BDSM, then you are showing that you have zero concept of the diversity of fetishes in BDSM. I mean… TENS units? Fire cupping? Sensory deprivation? Vampire gloves? Cock-and-ball torture? All of these acts—and more!—are far more visually ‘brutal’ than a thuddy little cane. There are submissives who literally act as human ashtrays or even human toilets for their Dominants. And yet, even these extreme acts are consented to on both sides!

Brutality? Really? Do you even understand the definition of the word? Or do you look at a fight scene on TV and wonder how much those two people must hate each other to so ruthlessly beat up on each other? News flash: BDSM is about mutual trust, mutual understanding, and a mutual desire for pleasure. There’s a word for BDSM-related activities that occur outside the bounds of negotiated consent—that word is ‘abuse’. And it is NOT the same thing any more than a stage fight is real, malicious violence.

While there were other comments in that thread that just… really made me see red, they were along these lines, too. The one person who said that people who engage in BDSM are just not getting what they need in their sex lives made me want to smack a bitch.

It’s actually the exact opposite: if I have vanilla sex when what I want is to be bound, spanked, and come on, then I feel something is missing. I mean, what exactly does this person think that I ‘need’ in my sex life? Is this like the “you’re not really a lesbian; you just need the right man to fix you” accusation? That people into BDSM are only such because they’ve never had ‘normal’ sex before, and all they need is that perfect vanilla lover to break them of their ‘unnatural’ desires? How freaking stupid are these people? What gives anyone the right to tell me how I am and am not allowed to get off?

But my need to be humiliated or caned or gang-banged doesn’t mean my life is somehow missing something crucial. It just means that my sexual tastes lean toward the more intense. Not everyone’s kink is my kink, and my kink isn’t everyone else’s. But I’m not crazy, nor do I lack in my life for anything that makes me happy and content. I respect everyone else’s right to enjoy their life however them deem necessary to be happy, and I just wish people would do the same for me and mine, you know?

Recipe Monday: Goat Cheese Ravioli

So, here comes a new portion of my weekly blog posts. I love to cook. In fact, K. is slowly compiling my recipes as I go along. Every time I create something new, she’s there with her laptop, demanding I tell her what I’m doing, how much of what I’m using, and how long to let stuff simmer. So, every Monday, I’m going to offer up a recipe. It may be small and quick or quite involved, but it’ll be good, I promise!

Ingredients

1 package wonton wrappers

12oz goat cheese, room temperature

3 shallots

1/2C cream

salt

pepper

Directions

In a pan on medium heat, melt 1TBPS butter and 1TBSP canola oil. Slice the three shallots thinly and add to the pan with a sprinkle of salt. Cook on medium heat until the shallots are caramelized. Transfer to a bowl. Add the goat cheese and cream, season with salt and pepper, and milk thoroughly.

Lay out a couple of wonton wrappers at a time and keep the others under a damp cloth. Use 1TSP of filling per wonton. Wet the four edges of the wonton wrappers and bring two of the points together in a triangle. Make sure you get all the air out around the filling as you press the edges together. Set aside under a damp towel.

At this point, you can freeze them on sheet trays and package them in freezer bags for about four to six months.

When you want to cook them, add to a lightly simmering pot of water. Don’t use a hard boil or you’ll beat the hell out of the ravioli. Cook until the ravioli float.

I serve them in a brown butter, shallot, and lemon sauce. It’s easy to make. Just brown the butter in a pan with the shallots, and then add a squeeze or two of lemon juice. Toss the cooked ravioli in it, top with parmesan, and you’re good to go!

Another “Mae” Teaser

I thought I’d share a new Mae teaser for Friday the 13th. We’re loving this manuscript. Wil and Zach and Mae are just sweet, and we adore writing them. I can’t wait to be done so we can share the whole book with everyone!

—

When his lips were numb from all the kissing, Zach sat back, panting, staring down at Wil beneath him. Wil was sexy. There was no denying it, or the effect Wil had on his own body. Zach was uncomfortably hard, and he could easily feel the line of Wil’s cock against him when they rubbed together. That, Zach thought, was one hell of a turn on. He licked his lips as he looked down at Wil’s chest, and his fingers trailed along the golden-hued skin, his thumbs brushing over Wil’s nipples. The moan Wil uttered was enough to send a shiver down Zach’s spine.

“You’re gorgeous,” Zach whispered. “Would it sound stupid to say I’ve been fantasizing about this moment for months?”

Wil hissed when Zach’s fingers pinched at his nipples. “No more stupid than if I admitted the same thing.” Wil’s hands slid up Zach’s thighs, his thumbs brushing near his crotch. “You look so good right now.”

Zach couldn’t help his flush. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Wil pulled him down for another kiss. It was sweet and slow, and Zach was soon thrusting against Wil. He almost stopped the minute he realized he was doing it, but the low moan Wil uttered bolstered his resolve. He pulled away from Wil’s sinful lips and trailed kisses down his throat, his fingers playing with Wil’s nipples, trying for more of those gorgeous sounds. His heart was racing, his body hard and ready, but still he hesitated to let his fingers move lower, to finally touch what he could feel through their jeans.

Wil wasn’t nearly as uncertain, and he was glad of it. While he hesitated to touch, he could feel Wil’s hands kneading at the muscles of his hips, lower back, and ass. When he pulled back to take a breath, Wil panted against his lips, “May I touch you?” Touch him? Wil was already touching him, and it felt amazing. His pause must have conveyed his thoughts, because Wil chuckled, and his hands moved forward, whispering over Zach’s groin. “Touch you here?”

Zach groaned, wiggling his hips up to meet Wil’s hand. He could say no, stop things from going any further, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel Wil’s hands all over him, and that definitely included the skin still hidden beneath his jeans. “Yes,” he breathed, a smile quirking his lips upward. “Please.”

It’s a Perspective Thing

This has been on my mind quite a lot since I started writing Mae, 52 Weeks, and the Pawns trilogy. Why? Well, let me explain.

With Pawns, I’m doing something I don’t see much in romance. The perspective changes based on who best serves the scene. It’s Ash, Frost, Crabapple, Slate, Quince, Flurry, and whoever else fits the scene best, and there is no rhyme or reason as we watch this cat-and-mouse game unfold through the eyes of a dozen different characters. This isn’t unusual in other genres—especially sci-fi—but I don’t see it much in romance. Of course, Pawns is unusual in a lot of ways since the way we’re telling the story is also unusual. But, I didn’t see another way for this to be told and still hold onto my intention of the storytelling being a vehicle for a chess game played out between Frost and Ash.

Then there’s Mae and 52 Weeks. They are each only told from a single point of view. Usually, when I write a romance, I like showing both protagonists’ thoughts and feelings throughout the book. But, when I sat down to work on Mae, I realized I didn’t want to visit Wil’s head. Why? Mainly because Wil is pretty much what he appears to be. He has no ulterior motive in Zack’s life. He has his secrets, his problems, yes, but he doesn’t lie or hide them, so as Zach comes across them, so will the reader. The one who is most important, who will do the most changing, is Zach, and so it made perfect sense to remain in Zach’s head 100% of the time.

When I began working on 52 Weeks, I fully intended to tell half of the story from Rhys’ point of view. Within two chapters, though, I knew it wouldn’t work. There are secrets in Rhys’ past that I don’t want the reader to know. I want the reader to learn those secrets as Aspen does. This led to the decision to tell none of the story from Rhys’ perspective. It’s more important to see Aspen grown, change, fight, and learn who the man he’s given himself to for a year is. Therefore, it made perfect sense to me to keep everything from Aspen’s point of view.

In For the Love of a Master, I use first person, which is so strange for me. It’s been a while since I’ve written in first person like this. But, we’re in Ewan’s head from beginning to end, and I’m enjoying the challenge of writing something a little different from my usual fare.

But it’s odd for me. There are times I really want to give a glimpse into Rhys’ or Wil’s or Sir Jiat’s head, show the reader a little something. It’s so ingrained in me to give both perspectives. It’s the only way I’ve ever done it except for Morningstar, and that was a long time ago. So, I’m playing with perspective, stretching my wings, and I’m determined to never box myself in. XD

It's a Perspective Thing

This has been on my mind quite a lot since I started writing Mae, 52 Weeks, and the Pawns trilogy. Why? Well, let me explain.

With Pawns, I'm doing something I don't see much in romance. The perspective changes based on who best serves the scene. It's Ash, Frost, Crabapple, Slate, Quince, Flurry, and whoever else fits the scene best, and there is no rhyme or reason as we watch this cat-and-mouse game unfold through the eyes of a dozen different characters. This isn't unusual in other genres—especially sci-fi—but I don't see it much in romance. Of course, Pawns is unusual in a lot of ways since the way we're telling the story is also unusual. But, I didn't see another way for this to be told and still hold onto my intention of the storytelling being a vehicle for a chess game played out between Frost and Ash.

Then there's Mae and 52 Weeks. They are each only told from a single point of view. Usually, when I write a romance, I like showing both protagonists' thoughts and feelings throughout the book. But, when I sat down to work on Mae, I realized I didn't want to visit Wil's head. Why? Mainly because Wil is pretty much what he appears to be. He has no ulterior motive in Zack's life. He has his secrets, his problems, yes, but he doesn't lie or hide them, so as Zach comes across them, so will the reader. The one who is most important, who will do the most changing, is Zach, and so it made perfect sense to remain in Zach's head 100% of the time.

When I began working on 52 Weeks, I fully intended to tell half of the story from Rhys' point of view. Within two chapters, though, I knew it wouldn't work. There are secrets in Rhys' past that I don't want the reader to know. I want the reader to learn those secrets as Aspen does. This led to the decision to tell none of the story from Rhys' perspective. It's more important to see Aspen grown, change, fight, and learn who the man he's given himself to for a year is. Therefore, it made perfect sense to me to keep everything from Aspen's point of view.

In For the Love of a Master, I use first person, which is so strange for me. It's been a while since I've written in first person like this. But, we're in Ewan's head from beginning to end, and I'm enjoying the challenge of writing something a little different from my usual fare.

But it's odd for me. There are times I really want to give a glimpse into Rhys' or Wil's or Sir Jiat's head, show the reader a little something. It's so ingrained in me to give both perspectives. It's the only way I've ever done it except for Morningstar, and that was a long time ago. So, I'm playing with perspective, stretching my wings, and I'm determined to never box myself in. XD