Primula Bond's Blog, page 2

Wow! magazine interviews Pierre Levi as he recovers from his near-fatal accident

This is the first interview Pierre Levi has given since being badly injured in a hit and run in central London. We visited him at the exclusive Aura Clinic where he was transferred out of intensive care.         Thank you for seeing us, Pierre. Can you tell us how bad your injuries were and how you're doing now?
     Let me count the ways. Cracked pelvis. Two broken legs. One femur, one ankle. Nothing else broken. She saved the face,apart from the black eye.
     You mean the driver? We understand that Margot Levi was driving the car.
     Yes. My ex sister in law. My ex lover. She ran me down deliberately.
     And the police are looking for her in connection with the accident. Why do you think she did that?
     I think because she wanted my brother back and if she couldn't have Gustav she'd make sure no-one did. But then I came galloping to the rescue so hey, why not kill both birds with the one stone? Thank God it wasn't Gustav.
    But the injuries are healing now?
    Bones heal, don't they? But the real scars are inside. In my head.
    That's pretty intense. What do you mean?
    Nightmares. I make quite a spectacle of myself, apparently. I keep these poor nurses on their toes But it's not Margot causing the nightmares. It's me. What I've been like in the past. I made life hell for the people I should have been looking out for. Get this. I broke my brother's heart not once but twice.
    How did you do that? And why?
    I ran off with Margot, his first wife. Yep. The same woman who tried to run me over. How mad is that? Gustav and I were estranged for five years. Then I tried to break up him and his new girlfriend by seducing her.
    Why?
    Margot Levi persuaded me. Both times. And I was bitter and twisted enough to go along with it.
    She sounds like a very powerful influence.
    I was very young the first time. Totally bewitched. But the second time? It was her idea, sure, but I took it and ran with it, no question. I knew exactly what I was doing. What started off as a sick joke became a genuine addiction. I was mad about her.
    Who? Margot Levi?
    No. Serena Folkes. Gustav's fiance.
    But you didn't succeed? I mean, they're still together?
    They're unbreakable. You'll never witness love like it. I think that's why I wanted to destroy it. I was jealous. Still am. But I'm paying for all that now.
    That sounds harsh. Maybe even a little self-pitying?
    I don't pity myself. I pity everyone who comes into contact with me. I deserve everything she's thrown at me.
   Who? Serena?
   Ha ha. No. Margot. By rights I should be dead. At the very least maimed for life. It's my punishment for everything I put them through. I'm rotten. People should stay away from me.
   Ah, looks like matron is cutting short our interview. Two more questions. You've had to pull out of the reality show pilot you were making in LA before this happened. What do you think the future holds? I mean, professionally?
    Haven't you heard? The waters close over your head if you're out of circulation creatively. What's your second question?
   You famously revelled in your playboy image. Are you looking for love again?
   You mean, a love I can call my own rather than trashing other people's?
   Simple, really. The love of a good woman. You won't be short of offers once you're on your feet again.
   Are you flirting with me?
   Oh, that came out wrong, I - well, maybe?
   Cute, but listen up, sweet pea. I'm not safe to be around. I should have a health warning slapped on. Women can steer well clear. I don't know what's in my future, but I'm not up for any involvement. Apart from the fact that my body is fucked. No. Celibacy is definitely the way forward.
   
You heard it hear first. Pierre Levi plans to join monastery.
    Funny. I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much. Can I take your number?

PRIMULA AS BOOK DOCTOR

Read. As a book doctor and writer of critiques, I am astonished by aspiring writers who claim to be too busy to read. Any good writer will be a passionate reader and will learn from the writers they admire, from how they physically set their narrative out on the page to plotting, characterisation and dialogue. On the same token, don't sneer at TV and film. Watch good dramas, movies and soaps. They are a masterclass in plot structure and realistic, character-driven dialogue.Watch and listen. What's happening outside your window, on the station platform, in the park? Eavesdrop on conversations, remember anecdotes. Keep a notebook with you, especially in the bath or by the bed, because flashes of inspiration will be forgotten if you don't write them down immediately.You are transporting your readers to a highlighted version of real life, so create interesting characters, exotic settings, glamorous clothes and delicious food. Use smell, touch, scenery, your own travels. Or discover the erotic potential in the most mundane of relationships (husbands and wives, teachers and pupils, neighbours), settings (a suburban street, an office, a shop) or encounters (an awkward family gathering, new wife meeting her stepson for the first time, a comely landlady inflaming her lodger with her full English, or a convent girl falling for one of the nuns).If it helps you, see the action unfolding as if it's on screen, and you are the director.GETTING DOWN TO IT
You are writing about sex. It must turn you on to be convincing but even more importantly be aware of your audience and what will turn them on. Sex with aliens or men in galoshes might not be everyone's taste, and keep it consenting and legal.Discard self-consiousness. To hell with what others think. The reader is your confidante. Be honest (emotionally, if not factually) till readers writhe with recognition. Separate fact from fiction, or rather fact from fantasy. So a RAPE fantasy doesn't mean you want that, but desire to be overwhelmed, relieved of decision making, violently desirable, but NOT harmed or injured. Having established your characters, make us care about them well before they have sex. They may come from different worlds, or have a difference in age or power between them, but they are still magnets. Their attraction is what drives your story, and once we know how this dynamic works, we will know how and why they fancy each other, and your readers will fancy them, too. Sexy environment. Depending on their age, athleticism the back of a clapped out Ford Cortina or the bins behind the Plaza cinema might be just the place for a quick, rough first time, and that will do it for some readers. Any good erotic writer, like the old Martini adverts, can create a sex scene any time, any place, anywhere! But others are after escapism from mean streets of real life. So hie your characters off to a place you'd like to be. A moonlit beach, sumptuous hotel room, or a rug in front of a roaring fire. FIVE SENSES. Make sure there is low lighting and great music. Garish lighting and deadly silence are not always the sexist ambience, at least for the first time.Have fun as novel progresses, having them so hot for each other that after the first seduction they'll do it anywhere. A lift, a restaurant. A riding stable. An art gallery. PLAY WITH DYNAMIC too. Meek heroine takes the lead, for once. See how the hero responds to that.SUGGESTIVE conversation either blatant and in your face, or playful, teasing. don't stand woodenly about like actors in a bad am-dram. Eating, drinking, dancing, singing, involve us Clothes, how they fit, are they too formal or tight, how good does it feel as they come off? Unbuttoning cut-off jeans can be just as sexy as unzipping a ball gown. Tense, breathless, but take it slow. Keep it reasonably real. The first time you have sex is often urgently desired but ends up fast and disastrous. There will be hesitation, shyness and teasing (unless fuelled by alcohol, I suppose), mixed with the intoxicating desire to get their hands on each other. Make that clear, but prepare the way for a more leisurely, climactic second timeTalking of climaxes, here is how to build it up. There's the first sensation of skin on skin starts the action. Think of a movie scene. Imagine yourself as involved, generous, hands-on director, make sure the bed is soft, the studio is warm, and soon they'll take off on their own.Make it dramatic, but human. Not impossibly athletic, but not mundane either. The characters will already be attractive or arresting . The men will be strong, well hung and experienced unless they are being educated by a cougar.. in which case keep in the well hung bit! The women are curvacious, soft and wonderfully proportioned, and if not experienced, then primed and ready to learn – or teach! If this is a romantic setting, lots of kissing and stroking, exploration. If this is more down the BDSM route, then the participants will get their kicks from spanking, binding, roughness and pain. But there is always room for sensuousness and tenderness. The rhythm of your narrative should be similar to the rhythm of sex. First time fast and furious. After that think Strictly Come Dancing – Argentine Tango. Slow, slow, quick slow. EROTICA LOVERS tend to come together but there's room to be more realistic. Let one come before the other and show who is the generous one, who the thoughtful, who the selfish? Or are they both equally considerate, and if not, will they become so as the novel progresses. This is the basis for their relationship out of bed, as well as in.LANGUAGE. Keep it simple, punchy, evocative, but not obscene or anatomical. Your challenge is to find evocative language to describe something we've all done, we all know about, we've all talked about, but readers look to you to find something sensation to say about that rush of ecstasy, as if it's something new. But don't use euphemism or flowery words or ugly symbolism.

My review of 50 Shades of Grey

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY FILM REVIEW BY PRIMULA BOND
 
 
This is a film to be savoured in the communal atmosphere of a darkened cinema. The solidarity of those eager, giggling bodies around you, some women dragging along sheepish male partners, most tripping in with a shoal of girlie mates, all bearing glasses or even bottles of wine and/or champagne, made the experience enjoyable from the off.
            As I waited for my three girlfriends to escort me inside, two others emerged po-faced from the earlier showing. I stopped them for a quick vox-pop. In unison they muttered, tipping away their bottles of warm wine disguised as mineral water: 'Disappointing.'
            As the lights went down, two nattily dressed Chinese boys rushed to the front, which made us wonder if a) this trilogy has already become a gay destination event along the lines of those sing along SoundaMusic or Mamma Mia viewings (everyone whispering huskily iconic lines such as 'Enlighten me!' or 'Fuck the contract' or b) they thought they were seeing a film about interior decorating.
            Disappointing it may have been to some, but the auditorium was already hot and steamy by the time we took our seats. One of my friends hadn't read the book, so was coming to this box-fresh, but you'd have to be living in Outer Mongolia not to know something about this film. Even so,  as my sister pointed out on hearing I was going to see it, there's bound to be at least one fan even in Outer Mongolia.
            In other words it would be impossible to have absolutely no preconceptions. But I do wish I hadn't watched the Lego spoof trailer beforehand. I don't mean that a clutch of plastic figures with no joints and only one expression had more animation than the actors in this film. But it did make me splutter on my smuggled chardonnay when Ana first arrived to interview Christian. Watch it. You'll see what I mean.
            Also, it doesn't help that my real name is Anastasia (and Ana for short) so that every time Christian uttered it in that soft, hectoring accent I felt my subjective faculties evaporating.
            Ah, Christian. I was relieved that Jamie Dornan's previous, mesmerising incarnation as Paul Spector in The Fall was soon dissipated, because once I'd accepted the lack of beard, and that this role was not a natural fit for him, I was able fully to focus on the strengths and weaknesses of the movie, some of which were unexpected.
            As an erotic author, my critical antennae were exercised by the uneven pacing of the action and scenes and the introduction then abandoning of secondary characters such as the flatmate and the families - although, and maybe it's my age, I found myself identifying more with the naughty, feisty moms than with Ana, and wanting to see more of them. And what was the point of Rita Ora/Mia in that hideous syrup? The one line she spoke was, I think, supposed to be in French, but I certainly couldn't understand it.
            The dialogue, impeccably faithful to the original text, was sometimes clumsy ('What am I doing here, Christian?' Answer from the back row of the audience: 'Duh!'). Such distractions drained the central relationship of its essential intensity, and more fatally highlighted the inconsistency in the relationship between the ill-matched lovers.
            I'm all for a coup de foudre, but I also like a little foreplay before getting down and dirty. Any film needs dramatic tension and an erotic film needs sexual tension. We had two hours.  What was the rush? But we moved too quickly from one stage of their 'relationship' to the next. Within days of their first meeting, Christian had bought some equipment from a hardware store, cut short a meaningless cup of coffee, and was then storming into a night club to shove Ana's poor male friend aside for trying to kiss her.  Meanwhile Ana was already teasing him for playing push-me, pull-you (and inadvertently summing up a central flaw in her own story) as if they'd known each other for weeks.
            I can buy the idea of a troubled, solitary man blowing hot and cold with an enthusiastic, wholesome virgin, but this is a successful billionaire who doesn't seem wholeheartedly to believe in or enjoy his actual work. And who has an appalling taste in casual wear. Nor can he converse naturally or easily in his home life. His default tone is conversely both to lecture and conceal.
            In the fantasy world of fiction we expect to travel with our characters in order to care about them, to see them evolve, witness a flowering and development of their dynamic even if conflict arises and they argue or separate along the way. But Christian loses our belief in him when in one breath he's telling Ana he doesn't do romance, or sleeping together, or even making love, tells her he won't touch her without her written consent (which raised another laugh from the audience), yet does all the above within their first night together.
            Similarly Ana, who also has an unnervingly childish dress sense, dilly-dallies over signing the contract in order to get to know and test him– some of the best and unexpectedly comic scenes in the film – agrees to some of the punishments, admits she is falling for him, then after allowing him, indeed asking him to show her his worst, throws a massive strop when he makes free with the riding crop and stamps back into that goddamn lift. Not that I blame her. The initial slapping on the rump moments are unintentionally comical, and there seems little relevance or eroticism in that Red Room of Pain. Christian appears agonised as he practises his reef knots and brandishes the cat o-nine tails. Even then Ana is way ahead of him, sighing and gasping before he's even touched her.
            Nevertheless Dakota Johnson was a revelation and it was a bonus that she was relatively unknown. First off, am I the only person who thinks she looks like a younger version of the writer E L James? Secondly, by pure chance I'd seen her in The Social Network  climbing out of Justin Timberlake's bed just a day or so earlier, and thought her cute in those few screen moments, but she truly owns this film. She's not quite sexy or alluring enough for an erotic heroine, but she's charming, has an infectious giggle, and is believable to look and listen to, knocking spots off her co-star.
             9 and a half weeks this wasn't. Or at least, parts of it were. Parts of it were also  pure Pretty Woman. The sex was graphic, as you'd expect, and beautifully and daringly choreographed, but oddly untitillating. After a while I found myself wishing it would end so we could hear what Ana had to say next. Which, as I say, reveals both a terrible weakness and an unexpected, delightful strength.
            I'll leave the last word to the audience. About halfway through we were disturbed by some heavy breathing from the row behind us. Had Sam Taylor-Joynson, Dornan et al succeeded in 'moistening us' as one reviewer promised?
            No. It was one of the champagne wielding ladies. Fast asleep.
 
© Primula Bond 2015

THOUGHTS ON EROTICA TODAY - PART ONE

EROTICA TODAY – OLD AS THE HILLS, SO WHAT, IF ANYTHING, HAS CHANGED? BY PRIMULA BOND

The publishing world seems to be in two minds about erotica. On the one hand, the explosion of that trilogy two years ago cannot be ignored. It sent editors rushing to get their star writers to emulate the success of the three books which overnight introduced the phrase 50 Shadesinto common parlance around kitchen tables and water coolers, not to mention Facebook and Twitter. On the other hand, those of us who have been writing erotica for 20 years or more are still mostly rebuffed by an industry which sees erotica as smutty at best, second rate at worst. Much was made when 50 Shades came out that what it revealed about the mainly female readers was even more interesting than the story itself. To put it very simply, it transpired that no matter how successful and high-powered they were, women responded to the escapist, relinquishing theme of strong man educating submissive woman. Love it or loathe it, what the advent of that trilogy has alsoachieved with its focus on the emerging relationship of Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele (when they are not busy in his Red Room of pain), is the rise of the more accessible genre of adult, or erotic, romance. This has given seasoned writers like Sylvia Day and me, and newer arrivals like Jodi Ellen Malpas, the chance to flex our creative muscles after years of toeing an increasingly restricted line of stereotypes and sex scenes and we are now freer to expand and modernise an age-old theme, let rip with some really intelligent, credible, enjoyable story telling and introduce more complex characters and relationships. Meanwhile our widening market of eager readers can openly buy and display books with their understated 'grey' cover designs and bury themselves in a compelling love story which is every bit as hot and explicit as before, but can, and should, hold its head up with any other type of popular, well-written literature. Many historical examples of erotic writing, previously banished, are now resplendent on literary book shelves, to wit the works of the Marquis de Sade (1740-1814) who chronicled torture and cruelty as well as blasphemy against the Catholic Church, The Story of O(1954) which also deals with sado-masochism, and Anais Nin's Delta of Venus (1940s). These all explore fairly extreme, even brutal, examples of sexuality rather than the wilder shores of love. The much misunderstood Lady Chatterley (1928) comes closer to the deeper, more involved erotica that appeals to today's 'woman on the Tube' – in other words, the readers I am after. Whilst the Anglo-Saxon language is fruity and was considered shocking for its day, it perfectly expresses the awakening and wonder that occurs between the characters. Describing it as obscenity clouds the central tenet of the book. I like to open erotica workshops with a discussion on the stark difference, in my view, between pornography (visual, blatant, unimaginative, demeaning) and erotica (written, evocative, inspiring, celebratory), using Lady Chatterley as an example of misconception. The growing tenderness between Mellors (an articulate ex-Army officer, not a rude mechanical as is so often assumed) and Connie is not the overdone housewife-beds-plumber scenario, if only people would take the trouble to study it more closely. It's far more subtle, a release for both of them from the shackles on his part of a frustrating marriage and his withdrawn personality, and on her part from a loveless marriage and a stifling class system. This analysis of whether my chosen genre has evolved piqued me when I was asked recently if male and female characters and their motivations had changed with the times. I pondered this question as I wandered round the supermarket one weekend filling my trolley with such mundane items as spuds, sausage rolls, felafel balls (currently an obsession), beer, yoghurt and, ooh go on then, cucumbers and Magnum ice cream. Yes, we erotica writers see the suggestive everywhere we look, but we still have to eat, entertain and feed our families. And no, we are not paid enough to have lackeys to do it for us. The illusion our readers have of us lounging around all day dressed in leather bondage gear or baby doll nighties tip-tapping on our laptops and requiring a touch of flagellation before stepping out the front door is just that: a carefully constructed illusion. Some of us even masquerade as respectable matrons and pillars of the school gate. I am an Oxford educated mother of three sons who has juggled legal work, lodgers and family with writing newpaper and magazine features, and although I have a colourful smorgasbord of 'real life' experiences ranging from single motherhood, depression and Catholicism to living abroad, chronic illness and older parenthood to fill many an article, my real passion lies in fiction. Since I was a little girl scribbling in a grubby exercise book, the emphasis has always been on romance. Sometimes light, sometimes pretty dark. I dreamed of Mr Right, or more often Prince Right, during a mournful teenage listening to 10cc, university struggling with Shakespeare, twenties peppered with break-ups, and then the wonderful challenge of unexpected motherhood. My musings were consistently rejected until I submitted one to Mills and Boon. This time the rejection was at least constructive: my writing was great, but my sex scenes were too explicit. And so my erotica career was born.Tune in tomorrow to hear the next instalment!  

WRITERS WILL DO ANYTHING TO PROCRASTINATE ; ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A WRITER

A crazy day yesterday. Started with email going down, having to rush to school, do reading club, cancel coffee with my darling friend Lou to get the email sorted, wrestle with someone at BT to give me back my f***ing password, check issue to do with work sorted out, find number 3 son's lost saxophone, take it back to school, come home to find two polite strangers on my doorstep asking if they could possibly take a picture of the house, as they grew up here when the house was brand new in the 60's, asking them in, showing off our splendid extension, hearing great anecdotes about the old days, getting quite teary, agreeing the house has a lovely vibe and amazingly after 50 years has only had 3 families living here, wave goodbye, do a chapter of my 'serious' novel, chop onions for loussaka/masagna, Tweet to some 50 Shades sites in an effort to suggest something rivetting to read (my Unbreakable Trilogy, natch) while they are waiting for the movie to come out, including a  French site where it is called 50 Nuances (lovely French word) who I chat to in French (yeah, get me!), doorbell rings, 6 enormous schoolboys come with Number 2 son to watch football along with dazed looking man to read the electricity and gas meters, let them in (the boys that is), switch my huge TV over from Wimbledon to World Cup, shut teenagers firmly in the playroom, order the meter man through the tradesmen's entrance, add mince (to the frying pan, not the meter man), try not to overhear disgusting conversation coming from playroom, open tin of Italian chopped tomatoes, glance at Nadal winning next round at Wimbledon on tiny kitchen telly, doorbell rings again, my boss arrives wondering if we are having a family row because there's so much noise coming from the house, explain that it is the teenagers roaring at their mobile phones, note that she is looking fragrant and gorgeous while I am in old maxi dress and 'keep calm and carry on cooking' apron and no lipstick, collapse with her on the patio for five minutes, drink lemonade but long for chardonnay, say goodbye, grate loads of cheese with one egg and crème fraiche to make my version of béchamel, lodger and student return home and dump bags of washing in what number 2 son used to call the 'nativity room'... and on it goes. Total writing time: 1 hour.

Blog Promo Tour post

This is my part of a blog tour that Jenny Kane at http://www.jennykane.co.ukasked me to take part in, so here are some questions and my answers. Would be fascinating to see what answers other writers give to the same question! And check out my erotica workshop anyone who is going to Eroticon in Bristol 8/9thMarch 2014!

1)     What are you working on?
I am just halfway through the revisions on The Diamond Ring, the third book in my Unbreakable Trilogy. Having traced the love story of Serena Folkes and Gustav Levi through their meeting in London, their personal/professional contract, their slow burn commitment to each other as they move to New York, and then the threat to their relationship posed by faces from the past, this final book has been a challenge to keep up the tension while trying to wind everything down to a dramatic ending which will satisfy readers while making them miss the hero and heroine.
2)     How does my work differ from others of its genre?
My writing has been described as 'elegant', 'lush' and 'literary' and since being asked to write this Unbreakable Trilogy I have striven to keep it upmarket and classy. I have been writing erotica for 20 years and have therefore had plenty of time to hone my skill. I also write critiques for aspiring writers, which although pretty brutal at times, also makes me look at my own work with a more critical eye. Even so, when 50 Shades erupted on the world, it made me even more determined to write something that was more than just a 'naughty story with some whipping' and would really stand out from the crowd. I try to imbue my work with an accessible yet intellectual voice, and capture my readers with proper story telling while keeping it sexy and real. Because I love crime and psychological dramas, I have also given my Unbreakable Trilogy a thriller edge to keep readers on their toes.
3)     Why do I write what I do?
I fell into erotica by accident 20 years ago, having tried (and failed) to write for Mills and Boon. My natural bent is towards love stories, but my first short story to be accepted by a magazine was an erotic one about a lonely spinster receiving a man in a cage as a birthday present, and so my erotica career was born! Gradually the erotica I was writing for Black Lace through the years became more about sex, and edging towards pornography, than it was about love. In fact, two years ago I was on the point of giving up writing erotic altogether because I was being paid peanuts and I wasn't happy with the harder core stuff I was required to produce, but then I was asked by my editor at Harper Collins to try my hand at an erotic romance after the success of 50 Shades. This new erotic romance genre has opened up more range in subject, characterisation and expression, and has afforded the chance to return to good old fashioned romance, so I can now focus on writing the kind of love story (with impossibly beautiful protagonists and improbably frequent and climactic sex) that I would like to live in my own life. Having said that, I don't want to write within the parameters of erotic romance forever. I want to write a more commercial womens' novel next, under my own name, and indeed have written half of it already. Also, my sons are nagging me to try my hand at a far more difficult genre- children's fantasy!
4)     How does your writing process work?
I have two ways of working. One is to be given a brief, as I was with the Unbreakable Trilogy, and to work very closely with editors to shape my submission into what they want and what they think will sell. The other is to start with the kernel of my own idea that may come from a random comment or thought or news item or story or something from my own life (a pretty dramatic one, to date!) and then run with it as freely as I can. I hope to be able to do this with a spin-off idea I have as a kind of prequel to The Silver Chain. Once the idea has been tamed into a submission, it is then up to the editors to commission it, and then I treat the writing as more of an academic exercise, with notes and deadlines. But once the book is underway it becomes all consuming for the three months or so it take so write, so I am a slightly distracted, often pre-occupied wife and mother to live with. I have to plan my week very carefully to juggle the creative process with work and family, and my best writing is done when I am totally alone, in a totally empty house, in my own special corner. When a deadline is tight, I have to send everyone out at weekends to get it finished.

EXCERPT of THE GOLDEN LOCKET


Gustav shakes me, and the chill of sobriety nags me, because what my lover has produced from under the bed is a big, thick leather phallus, exaggerated in size but exact in anatomical detail, and curved slightly like a scimitar. This is a weapon, not a toy. He holds it up in the air between us like some kind of talisman, turns it so we can see it from every angle, then brings out a tiny jar of amber liquid. 'What are you doing?' I croak. I strain against the silver chain. 'That looks like honey.' 'Lubrication,' Gustav mutters in a deep, gutteral voice, dipping his fingers into the pot and running the honey over the leather. 'To anoint my little sinner.' I whimper and wriggle as he runs the tip of the now dripping dildo under my nose, pushes it across my upper lip, between my teeth so that I'm forced to suck it like a lollipop, then he hitches up my velvet dress and draws the thing slowly and deliberately up and down my spine, over my bottom, painting me with a languid trail of amber which is already turning from warm liquid to prickling stickiness as it dries on my skin. 'Don't resist, Serena. Isaw your eyes watering with desire when those strippers played with their dildos in the club earlier. So I asked them if I could have one for my girl to take home. I actually wanted one of the white ones they'd used, but they said this one was brand new and we could have it as a gift.' He laughs so boyishly just then that it infects me, too. 'They were all for coming home with us to demonstrate how best to use it, but I said no, I wanted you to myself. ButI took their number. For future reference!' I giggle helplessly and feel my body going all soft and willingas he bends to his gentle task and runs the blunt end down between the cheeks of my bottom and burrows underneath me, pushing open my resisting body, nosing towards the centre. Those strippers oiled up their phalluses with something good enough to lick and then buckled on special belts and aimed them at each other, suggestively at first and then thrusting their pelvises like men, pushing in and penetrating each other, long and slow. The resistance gives way to melting acceptance, and I revel in the fact that this is Gustav, my lover, who asked those scary strippers if he could have their dildo to take home and is wielding this thing and invading my most private part with it. I don't want anyone else to do this to me, not even some domineering woman I might play with in the future. 'Trust me. I'm your teacher. Although this is a first for me, Ihave to admit. We're experimenting together, remember? So think of this is not as punishment but as another pleasurable lesson. For both of us.' I have managed to push away Pierre's presence at last, but I can't look at Gustav while this is happening. Now his other hand is lifting me to get a better angle I suppose. His long warm fingers are wandering over my bottom, following the path of the dildo, and the combination of sensations is emptying my mind of all thought, filling my body with a riot of responses. His fingers find another way in. How dirty can this get? 'I'm here, Serena,' Gustav grunts, reading my mind as always. 'I'll always be here. You're perfectly safe. Give in to it. Go on. See how good it can feel.' Above my head the sun sinks rapidly over the Hudson River. Around us the city hums and sings.
REVIEWS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKET'This is one book that should be read with the AC on full blast with a glass of ice water sitting nearby. The series is proving to be extremely hot and explosive.' Larena's Reviews, Goodreads.
'Bond’s Oxford University roots show, she has an amazing writing style – precise, clean and mature with a literary edge'.Nightlyreading.
'This book is very gripping and hard to put down, you just get lost and captivated in the story and cannot wait till the next page. My only fault with this Trilogy is having to wait till book 3 is released.' J Allen, AmazonBUYING LINKSThe Golden Locket paperback is in Tesco in the UK and in ebook and paperback on amazon.co.uk£6.39: http://amzn.to/19V0Q3m or #Kindlejust £0.99: http://amzn.to/1klZvdN

Step Three: Say who is on next week (your own chosen three) – give a 1-2 line bio and link to their website.
 

LOOKING BACK OVER THE LAST SIX MONTHS: AN EARLY PRIMULA INTERVIEW

How did you start writing erotica? I was a struggling single mum and started writing erotica when I was rejected by Mills & Boon because my sex scenes were too explicit. I decided to try my hand at turning explicit into something sellable, turned the sex scene in question into a short story called 'Man in a Cage' and sold it to the now defunct magazine 'For Women.' The indescribable euphoria at being paid £150 for what amounted to an hour's escapism persuaded me that this, among other types of writing, was something I could do.What's your favourite published work and why? My favourite published work after three novels, two novellas and numerous short stories, is my latest, The Golden Locket, the second of my Unbreakable Trilogy for Avon Books coming out in paperback on December 19th.  Having cut my teeth on book one, The Silver Chain, I feel this second book has given me even more freedom to write as I want, within the parameters of erotica.Where do you draw your inspiration from? My first stories came from being a lonely single mum who exchanged a very varied romantic/sex life in London, travelling/partying a lot, to being alone with my little boy and in need not only of company, but of money! My inspiration came from frustration, the dating experiences I'd had, but expanding to take inspiration depending on my mood and encounters. It now comes from a mixture of something I've experienced, something someone has told me, something I've seen or read, eaten or drunk, somewhere I've travelled, but the majority, once I have the kernel, comes from my imagination. Then I allow myself total freedom to roam!Do you have any unusual writing rituals? Not really. I just have to dive in as soon as my family (husband, lodgers and 3 sons) are out of the house and on the days when I'm not working part time. I have a particular sofa in a particular room during the week, and I work on my bed at weekends if I have a deadline. I allow myself the odd break during the week day with day time TV or cooking shows.Who is your favourite character from one of your stories and why? Possibly my favourite character is from one of my short stories who is a very glamorous cougar MILF, the mother of a gorgeous twenty something boy who has gorgeous friends she starts to seduce one by one. Not based on fact, I hasten to add.Do your nearest and dearest know what you do and if so what was their reaction? My nearest and dearest have differing views. My husband dines out on the fact that I wrote 'Man in a Cage' when I was his secretary, and therefore in his time! I wrote it in a lunch hour and was already half in love with him altough he upped and married someone else, separated and divorced before we were finally able to get together. He's now very proud, but says it's really for women. My parents, older generation and Catholic to boot, disapprove even though I'm writing for a mainstream publisher and although I guess I can't blame them, it's a source of angst at the moment. Thank goodness for pseudonyms! My eldest son, now 25, says he was teased as a teenager when his mates saw my books on the shelves in the house. He used to turn the spines to the wall. Now most of the books are online, nobody is any the wiser.What was your ideal career when you were a child? I have wanted to be a writer ever since I wrote a novel when I was eight years old!How do you get in the mood for writing? If I have a deadline I write even if I'm not in the mood. Otherwise I make several very strong cups of coffee in the day time, or big glasses of wine at night.What is the best writing tip you've ever been given? Best writing tip was from my most steadfast editor and subsequently a writing workshop tutor. Plough on and get the first draft done and complete. Go over it then. Otherwise you spend weeks going over the first lines, first chapters, and never make progress.How do you get round writer's block? If I get writer's block I might award myself a morning or a day off, but I will force myself to write something, first words of a new scene, a scene of dialogue, an outline of the rest of the novel, the next day. After years of doing exams and a degree, that's the moment I approach it as an academic exercise.Which of your characters would you bring to life and why? I would like to bring Gustav Levi to life, the hero of my Unbreakable Trilogy. I'd like to shake him up a bit. And then sleep with himWhat are you working on at the moment? Currently I am waiting for my editor to send back the edits of Book 3 of my Unbreakable Trilogy, The Diamond Ring, where my hero and heroine, are even more committed to each other - but face the most dangerous threat yet.What is your biggest writing challenge and did you succeed? I had to rewrite the second half of The Silver Chain which was a little demoralising at the time, and incredibly difficult, but when you are with a heavyweight publisher you simply have to get on with it to meet contractual obligations and the deadlines. That's the reality of being a published writer. It's not all chewing one's pen and staring out of the window, or signing books for breathless fans. It's a business activity like any other. But the faith my publishers have in me has hugely encouraged me, too.What has been your greatest achievement? My greatest achievement, apart from obtaining a contract to write a trilogy for Harper Collins, was my first solo collection of short stories, Random Acts of Lust, for Xcite Books. Short story writing is my first love.

Gustav and Serena get down to it high above Central Park

I twist round to face him. He's grinning at me. Interrogation over. He really does look like king of the heap. I know that he was seriously worried just then, and I've managed to soothe him. I grin back at him, put one finger on his chest and push him down on the sofa. My power is growing. 'Nothing's going to stop me now.' He sighs deeply and falls back against the arm of the sofa, pulling me down with him. 'You know? Despite all their wealth and power I feel sorry for those Weinmeyers. I feel sorry for anyone who can't have you like I can.' He's beneath me. We haven't turned the lights on inside the apartment, but enough light floods in from the city sky to outline his beautiful carved features, calm and relieved again. Life with him really is like battling over a stormy ocean. Raging surf, becalmed seas, whirlpools, some gentle snorkelling. And my Gustav and me, one at each end of a boat, sometimes a battle ship, sometimes a life raft, but always tipping, one up, one down. No. No-one else is going to have me. I see the silver chain hanging out of his pocket, and I snatch it up. Something heats up inside me like a filament. The desire to take over for once. The desire to work off this toxic steam. My lover's dark, chiselled face is in repose. The black hair, falling across his eyes as he lies back, his hands resting on my bare legs now, the fight gone out of him. 'So cock-sure, aren't you Levi? Shall I rock your world for a moment and tell you what might have happened if I hadn't been such a good girl this morning?' He pushes his hair out of his eyes and gives me one of his straight, arrowing stares. 'Go on. Talk dirty to me. I dare you.' 'If they'd both had me at the same time.' I crawl over him like a lizard. He lifts his hands to take my breasts as they dangle above him, but quick as a flash I wrap the silver chain tightly round his wrists, pull his arms up over his head and attach the end of the silver chain to the log-like legs of the coffee table. 'Silly girl. Think you're stronger than me?' But he makes no effort to struggle. Just watches me, in that way that makes me want to dance for him. 'I'm showing you what Mrs Weinmeyer did to her big strong tycoon of a husband. She handcuffed him, and then she mounted him.' 'Can a female mount a male?' His black eyes are glinting but he's biting down hard on his lower lip to hide the grin. He tugs at the silver chain, but the heavy table doesn't budge and he's still attached. 'Oh, yes, she can. Just like this.' My voice is soft, mesmeric, as I unbutton the rest of his shirt and yank it down his arms so that his elbows are trapped against his sides. I tickle the ends of my hair over his chest, over his stomach, see him shiver in response. Then I undo his trousers, as slowly as I can bear, letting all the anxiety drain out of me, replacing it with impatient supremacy. They rip down along with his boxers and I shudder with glee, my body warming in response as he springs free beneath me. Again I tickle him with my hair, brushing it through his hair, around the shaft, run the circle of hair up and down until I see his Adam's apple jumping frantically in his throat. When he's rock hard, I brush over the balls already shrinking as his desire increases, and then it's time. I straddle him, hold myself up on my knees above him as if praying. 'I wonder how it would have worked, technically? What do you think, Gustav?' 'Am I not enough for you, you little slut? You bored with me already? Maybe it was a mistake bringing you across the Pond. Too many new experiences. Too many new people.' 'Don't answer back, boy.' I slap at his buttock. I catch his chin in my hand, just like he does to me, and grip it tight. I don't want to think about anyone else. 'You're a man of the world. Which bit goes where? One man. Two women. Where does the man fit into the ménage,do you suppose? I mean, I've never been with a woman, let alone a trois.' 'If I told you I know exactly how it works, it would be your turn to be jealous.' Gustav nips my finger, worrying at it in his mouth, still tugging at the silver chain. I see it biting into the crease of his wrist. I slap his buttock again, a satisfying sound. 'But two men, one woman? Much more fun.' 'Mr Weinmeyer didn't struggle like this. Oh, I forgot. She blindfolded him, too.' I sit back on his thighs and fold my green silk dress into a strip. I hesitate before I tie it over his eyes. I love his eyes. Despite his best efforts to be unreadable, I am learning to translate each and every one of his expressions. Tonight's expression is ferocious, surprised lust. I kiss him roughly on the mouth. Then I tie the blindfold oh so lightly, he could shake it off if he wanted. Then I ease myself on to him, oh so slowly, run my hands over his body, see his nipples prick up, feel the jump of him nearly inside me. He groans quietly as I lower myself inch by inch. My breasts brush over his mouth and he catches one, licks at it, then bites it, hard. Still fighting me. My body clenches tight with excitement, sucks him in, all the way to the hilt. It's so tempting to rush, but this is me. I'm in charge. Now we have a sweet rhythm. He's with me, we're rocking together, and all the talk, all the input of today is fizzing through my head. I get an overwhelming vision of him in another life, cavorting with other women, maybe two at once, the jealousy mingling with a contrary lust, an urge to see it, to watch, to try something new, a woman, a threesome, whatever. I grind myself over him, the flicker of the forbidden there again, another pair of black eyes staring at me, goading me from the sidelines. I push myself at Gustav's mouth so that the pain will eradicate that other face. The jealousy is good, we can keep that, I can risk imagining those other bodies, because Gustav is mine, I'm the only one riding him, jacking up the rhythm, rocketing up and down. I need to ease these urges because it's too soon, too soon, but it's so intense now, my lover pulling against the silver chain as I grip him tighter inside and he thrusts so hard that I bounce off him. ‘Tell me I’m the best you ever had,’ I suddenly growl, leaning close to him. ‘I want to hear you say it.’ He shakes his head. 'You're a bitch on heat.’ I lift myself right up so that I'm just balancing on the tip. 'You want this or not?' He lies still. I can't see him under the blindfold. I need his eyes on me, urgently, but I can't stop this, I flick myself so that he slips inside again and the pressure builds inside me, it feels so good to be on top. He draws back, tenses, and pushes hard and he doesn't stop until we can both hear my ragged gasps of pleasure but as soon as I start to shudder and scream he untwists his wrists from the silver chain, shakes off the blindfold, thank God it's him, and still inside me he hurls us both off the sofa. Now he's hanging over me. 'Not so fast, young lady. And I'm going to do you right down here, my little slattern, because today you deserve an unforgiving surface.' He pushes me across the cold floor and I relish the strength of him as my skin scrapes and squeaks and then he's coming too and the sound and the fury are over. I rest my head on his chest, listen to the drumming of his heart. His arms are tight around me, our legs splayed on the rug. I kiss his throat and can't resist one last jibe. 'All we're missing is someone else to join in. What would you say, master? Would you allow me to try it?' Oh, God. Why did I say that? Who am I talking about? 'Maybe. If I could vet who it was.' There's one person we could never allow. What is the matter with me? I have to hound Pierre out of my mind before he does any more damage. 'And if I am there to keep an eye. Make sure you don't get too sharp a taste for it.' Gustav brings his hands down with a harsh slap on my bottom. 'But as the Miss Folkes journal of how to live says. Never say never.'

A little tantaliser of The Golden Locket

As I've tweeted, The Golden Locket has gone out to reviewers prior to its ebook launch on 21st November, and it's like waving a child off to school. For some reason it's even more nerve wracking than waiting to hear what reviewers thought of The Silver Chain back in July. I started reading the reviews avidly, but very quickly became despondent when they weren't so hot, even though the great ones were really really GREAT.
    So anyway, The Golden Locket finds Serena and Gustav in New York - or at least, Serena is there. Gustav has failed to arrive at JFK airport from a trip back to the house in Lugano, and instead, she has two visitors in the penthouse apartment on the Upper West Side as they watch the New Year's Even fireworks over Central Park.
   A face from the past appeared at the very end of The Silver Chain. I won't say too much, but here is an excerpt from The Golden Locket to whet your appetite. Enjoy, lovelies, and spread the word!

'Gustav and I are in a cosy, intimate and very select restaurant in the West Village, tucked below street level. It's so discreet it looks like a kind of muted tavern and only has a small sign outside the glowing windows. I feel really special sitting here. I've seen one or two celebrities schmoozing in corners and a group of beautiful people who look like they must be models or the cast of a play carousing genteelly, if that isn't a contradiction in terms, in the glass garden room at the back. 'No need to obsess about the detail. They said it was for their private collection so I don't know if they'll want me to crop the pictures quite so brutally down to her private parts,' I murmur as he stares at the next picture. 'They were asking me to capture the moment. It's just that the moment they were referring to was when the two of them decided to get seriously naked.' 'You're telling me!' he splutters, bringing the camera close to his eyes. 'I knew the Weinmeyers were experimental exhibitionists, but these are practically pornographic, Serena! You're only just starting out in this business. What were they thinking of, dragging you in to their dungeon and making you do this?' I try to take the camera off him, but he snatches it back and folds it into his fist. His mouth has drawn into a line and a muscle flashes in his cheek. He pushes his black hair back off his face and sits back in the red leather seat, loosening his tie still further. His stretches his arms out in an effort to look nonchalant, but I can tell from the way his fingers are drumming that he's agitated. I start to shrink back in my own banquette. The leather squeaks under my bare thighs. I dressed up especially tonight. I'm wearing a very flimsy mint green silk dress and some heels, and I'm not wearing any knickers. The leather is hot and sticky beneath me. Gustav is glaring at me. I'm caught on the hop by his sharp questioning. He's wearing his authoritarian, headmaster face. I know it's the thin veneer he applies to conceal the bubbling pot of passion beneath, but it still unsettles me. Makes me eager to please. His frown furrows deeper when he sees a smile creeping round the edges of my mouth. 'You going to cane me for my misdemeanor, Gustav?' He shakes his head slightly. His features are still carved in granite. 'It's not your fault for getting into a dodgy situation, Serena. I'm blaming them. They should have known better than ask you to undertake a task like that.' I part my legs slightly on the seat while I think how best to reply to him without wrecking the atmosphere. I allow the leather to rub against my tender private flesh until the friction starts to work on me and I have to stop. 'Give me some credit, Gustav. They asked me because I was the right person for the job. As you know they saw my London exhibition and liked it. They've got my Paris lovers series on their wall. I'm a big girl, Gustav. Just like you said this morning. I fulfilled my commission to order. Yes, I was embarrassed at first, and then I admit I was downright shocked when they enticed me down these stairs into this red room and started writhing around on a gigantic bed and all that, but hey! Two consenting adults pleasuring each other under the watchful gaze of Venus in a sexy cosy nest, plying me with delicious punch. As Mrs Weinmeyer herself said, what's not to like?' His fingers stop tapping. I see his mouth twitching then with a hint of amusement but there's a tinge of sadness in his eyes. 'My country bumpkin. What's happened to her?' 'She's still here. But I was always a voyeur, Gustav. That's the first thing you noticed and liked about me.' I put my hand on his leg, and when he doesn't move I start to slide it up his thigh, squeezing the muscle which is all the sexier for being hidden under his formal business trousers. He shifts in his seat, his eyes half closing. 'Hey, baby. Let's not fall out,' he murmurs.
I move my hand into the warm fold of his groin, lean closer to whisper. 'I agree. I don't ever want to argue with you. But you've got to get this into your handsome head, Gustav. I want to be a famous photographer. And that means never saying never. To anything.'

Ill Gotten Gains and Faux Pas

Some people are so innocently tactless, aren't they? If that's possible.  Either they let something slip, immediately recognise the mistake, and make it right. Or more often they blithely go on with what they're saying with no inkling that they've made a faux pas and that the more they say the more it hurts.   The faux pas in question was just a couple of days ago. A very old friend, not seen for nearly 20 years, was repeating how she had tracked me down. She'd been talking at a book group with a group of girls who turned out, by some circuitous route, to know me of old. And when it transpired that I was now writing erotic romances (or bodice rippers, as they preferred to call it), their comments, repeated by her to me, were: 'Primula? She studied English at Oxford. What on EARTH is she doing writing erotica!'   In other words.  Primula is slumming it. Well, is that not what they meant? I can see the wrinkling of noble noses and the sucking of plums in mouths as we speak. What should I be doing? Writing unreadable Booker Prize winners? Literary tomes on the topic of The Faerie Queene? Speeches for David Cameron?   Of course I'm not slumming it. I'm proud of what I do, and so are my editors at Harper Collins. They asked me to write this. I like to think it's on the higher planes of intense, sexy romance rather than pure smut, but even if it is smut, who cares? It's harmless, arousing fun for adults, and it's become one of my day jobs.    Have any of those girls been approached by an editor to write a trilogy?    But they, unfortunately, aren't the only ones who disapprove. Closer to my home, my parents share that view. Instead of being pleased that I'm doing exactly what I've always dreamed of doing, degree or no degree, they feel I'm peddling porn. Yep. The exact words. Just like 50 Shades, they reckon, it's corrupting, dangerous porn. So what, I said, if I made a load of money from it? What would you think then?   It would be ill gotten gains, was my mother's quote.   So, even though they might have walked right past the book in Tesco or Smith, they will keep their eyes averted. Any articles I've written on the subject are an embarrassment and, the crux of the matter, reflects badly on them. Just as becoming a single mother did - but that's another wound too old to open.   So. Ill gotten gains. If they notice I've got a new lipstick, or bag, or kitchen, or holiday, thanks to sales of The Silver Chain and the Unbreakable Trilogy, they'll say nothing.   Well, my lips are zipped, too. It's ceased to matter what they think. While they speak about 'never having time to write, but of course I would if I could' I haven't told them about the fantastic Harper Collins summer party. I haven't told them about the two erotica readings I've done in London. Or the hilarious workshop I gave in York at the writing festival. Or the lovely comments from people on Twitter, Facebook and Amazon about The Silver Chain and it's sequel, The Golden Locket, about to come out.   So thanks to all you lovely people who follow me and read me, and the finger to those who disapprove! And here's a picture of my Oxford college where I learned everything I know!!!