Liz Everly's Blog, page 129

Fire Crotch: Curse of the Red Hot Redheads

Beware the Little Red Headed Girl.

by Madeline Iva

Rumored to have three times the sex drive.  Scientifically proven to be more sensitive to pain.  Rare–if you’re not in Scotland. Generating their own Vitamin D. Yes, I’m talking about Red Heads and the power of red heads.

This week we’re talking about All Things Scottish to celebrate the publication of Liz Everly’s latest book LIKE HONEY.  This book takes place in Scotland on a honey farm, and captures a lot of the beauty of the land, and the appeal of the Scottish men.

I find everything about Scotland appealing in theory…except for red heads. Two highly scarring events in my teen years left me highly ambivalent towards red heads.

Distribution of haplogroup red hair in Europe

In eighth grade I had a friend named Dawn.  Had being the operative word. In eighth grade I also had my first massive boy crush–on a guy named Chris.  Chris was an eighth grade version of Keanu Reeves.  Not much to say for himself, but tall with black hair/black eyes and pale skin.  Did I mention he was tall? My pubescent heart went pitter pat every time he smiled. He had perfect teeth.

In my group of friends I thought Dawn was the plainest of us all.  Kinda ugly even. Thick yellowish plastic glasses, small rodent teeth, and big goggly blue-gray eyes.  Sorta short, sorta blah, she no neck really, but she had milky pale skin and YES, super long curly red hair (Gah!).

Now, I was no stunner myself at this age.  I had greasy short hair, braces, acne, and was over all rather bloated.  Still, I didn’t think that I was too repulsive.  I mean, considering the warty general population of eighth grade overall.  I had good posture.  I was also *ahem* aware of my supreme intelligence and killer charm.

Moo, you cutie, you.

Perhaps looking back I vastly underrated my own aggressive attitude and hostile demeanor.  Most of the time I looked and acted like an outraged piranha. Still, I thought I had it going on compared to Dawn.  Also I saw Chris first.

Or at least I dominating his attention in our first period biology class no matter who was watching.

They were definitely watching and disapproving. Nevertheless, I was mysteriously compelled to attempt to charm Chris, aiming my conversational skills right between his eyes.  In a bold, daring move I even got a ten dollar roll of quarters off my mother and showed up after school at the arcade Chris and his geeky buddies visited.  I’m not sure what I thought I would achieve.  It was an unconscious urge, a driving compulsion for propinquity.

Dawn somehow got wind of my arcade coup, and urged on by my friends, ah, frenemies, they descended upon me, Chris, and all his pac man playing buddies.  Over the next two hours it slowly dawned on me that this was an unspoken declaration of war.  During biology every first period after that, I would sit across from Chris and now Dawn would pop  over and sit next to me.  I would talk. Chris remained silent unless prodded to speak.  Dawn cultivated this fit of maidenly meekness which made me ill, and I got no indication at all which one of us he liked.

Then came that horrific ritual–the eighth grade dance. Not even all the screaming hormones in my rebellious teenage body could make me submit to that barbaric rite of awkwardness.

I have no idea how things really went down at the dance between Dawn and Chris.  I was told they slow danced together and my unspoken hopes were crushed.  Let us draw a curtain over this dismal scene. I held my head high and carried on.

Come April our year books were passed out.  Dawn’s friends/my frenemies made sure to haul out Dawn’s yearbook when she was conveniently absent, just to grind my lesson in misery deep.  They pointed out where Chris had written in Dawn’s yearbook “Don’t worry about her.  I don’t like her, I like you and your long red hair.” :(

Foiled by a red head.

Beware the red-headed boy.

The knock to my heart and confidence was so severe, I was never quite the same. Which is probably a good thing.  Certainly I’ve toned down my piranha act a notch or two.  Dawn and Chris broke up almost immediately that summer and I went on to develop better taste in men.

My next helpless crush started in ninth grade.  He was seven years older than me.  He had hair like fire and a beard like satan.  It turns out that I too, was susceptible to gingery hotness.

I eventually got over that crush as well. (Because he liked someone else better than me–Gah!)

A true red head is pretty rare–if you’re not in Scotland.  Thank goodness.

Twice burned, I’m now involuntarily shy about red heads. A little red goes a long way.  Auburn hair is a much safer bet, and I will admit to liking a bit of burning red in the soft brown hair of my one true love.

He had hair like fire and a beard like Satan. It turns out that I too, was susceptible to gingery hotness.

What do you think, fair readers? Better red than dead? Sound off below.  And if you haven’t followed our blog, please do.

Meanwhile, get your Scotland on by checking out the soothing touch of LIKE HONEY by Liz Everly.

 

Men In Kilts Fighting Trouser Tyranny

No trousers, please – I’m a Kiltman

By Elizabeth Shore

With the celebration of Liz Everly’s Like Honey release this week, we’re talking all things Scottish here on Lady Smut. So I pondered what to write about Scotland. I thought of the rugged countryside, the thick brogues, the shrill bagpipes, the whisky. So far, not a dram of inspiration to be had. But then a writer friend (thanks Kelly Janicello!) forwarded me something about men in kilts. Hmmm. The seeds of inspiration sprouted at last.

There’s no doubt that a man in a kilt can look sexy. Take a look at Liz’s Pinterest board here if you’re skeptical. But in much of the western world, unless a guy fancies himself a cross-dresser, kilts are a no-go. They are technically speaking skirts, after all, and guys in skirts are about as accepted as nudists in Times Square. So what’s a kilt-wearing wannabe guy to do? Enter, kiltmen.com.

Kiltmen, or self-titled “Bravehearts” (and frankly, in many places a guy will indeed need to be brave to walk around in a kilt), are a group of men fighting against what they call trouser tyranny. Why should men be subject to that hellishly uncomfortable, binding, and restrictive garment called trousers when it makes much more anatomical sense for them to wear MUGs (male unbifurcated garments)?

The kilmen note quickly and often that they are NOT GAY, they’re merely fighters for the freedom and pleasure of wearing kilts and other non-restrictive forms of clothing such as caftans or robes. After all, they argue, trousers bind and chafe, even to the point of lowering sperm count. GAH!!! How can we as a reproductive-loving society allow such tyranny to occur? Is no one considering the long-term psychological damage inflicted upon 50% of the population by insisting that men wear pants??!

To be fair, the kiltmen make a good historical argument to support their views, pointing out that ancient Romans, Vikings, men of biblical times and, of course, Scottish highlanders have worn some form of unbifurcated garment for centuries. In addition, men in other parts of the world such as the Middle East continue wearing them today. It’s only been in relatively recent times that men in the western world  have had to endure the forced subjection of trouser wearing.

Part of me (admittedly, the sometimes cranky part) feels like telling the kiltmen that if they want to whine about societal repression it’s A-OK by me, but they’ll have to get in line behind the gazillion women ahead of them who’ve endured it since the dawn of time. But the nicer side of me feels simpatico with the kiltmen. Hey, I get it. It sucks to have to conform to someone else’s standards. Sometimes I’d like to wear my pj’s to work but noooooo. It’s not considered proper office attire, so in a skirt and heels I go.

Perhaps, if we’re talking about demanding clothing equality for all, we could take a page from the laws in several states – Massachusetts being a recent exception – where it’s legal to shoot photos up people’s skirts. The kiltmen claim that according to the Scottish highland regiments, nothing at all is to be worn under the kilt. The boys like to swing unimpeded, apparently. So, that being the case, a few snapshots of the freewheeling family jewels isn’t a problem, right? It’s all about fair play. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander (or the gonads, as the case may be). If the guys can shoot up women’s skirts, we gals can shoot up guy’s kilts.

What do you think? Do you support a man’s right to drop trou and don a kilt, or do you push to keep the pants firmly on? Let us know in the comments below. And if all these musings on kilts has gotten you in a wee bit of a Scottish mood, be sure to satisfy your hunger with a copy of Like Honey.

 

 

A Taste of LIKE HONEY

By Liz Everly

So LIKE HONEY is coming out on April 3! Yay! As you already know, this book means a lot to me–so I’m very excited. I have chapter one published on my blog, if you’d care to take a look. But one of the early reviewer said how much she liked the honey tasting scenes. So I thought I’d share the first one with you. Gray has brought Jennifer some honey to taste. Enjoy!

 

“What kind of honey did you bring?”

“Several different kinds,” he said, following her to the fire, pulling another chair over and then sliding a small table between them.

He set out three jars of honey in a variety of shades. A barely yellow, almost translucent honey was labeled Lavender, from France. A darker, almost brown honey was labeled Chestnut from Italy, and yet another deep rich golden-looking honey was labeled Tupelo, from Florida. Intriguing. Jennifer picked up the Tupelo jar and held it up to the firelight.

“Taste?” he said. She nodded.

“Tupelo honey,” he said as he dipped the spoon in for her and handed it to her. “It comes from the blossoms of the Ogeechee tupelo in Florida.”

Her mouth went around the spoon as she ate the honey, noting its taste and texture in her mouth. Sweet and light like cotton candy or flowers. “Good stuff,” she said.

“Tastes good, huh? But here’s the thing about this stuff, it doesn’t crystallize at all because of its high fructose content.”

“Crystallization is a problem for us, but only with the starflower crop, and most of our customers are local and they use it quickly,” she said. “Next.”

He dipped the next spoon, held it up as the silky thread of honey spun down. He dragged the spoon on the side of the jar. The rich amber color of it was breathtaking.

Jennifer reached for the spoon and in went the honey. The taste exploded in her mouth. Dark and spicy, with touches of smoke and leather.

“I’ve sampled chestnut honey from almost all of Italy’s regions, and no two of them have ever tasted alike. They vary wildly in intensity of color and flavor due to a number of factors, including the type of chestnut tree and its natural microclimate, the methods by which the bees are moved among the chestnut blossoms, and how or if the honey is refined after it has been collected. This is probably my favorite,” he said, then watched as she reacted with mmmm’s and nods. So sexy.

“This is honey?” she finally said. “It’s almost like wine. The different tastes and even textures. There’s so many of them. I’d like another spoonful please.”

“You’re right. Like wine varietals, each type and batch of honey has a unique flavor and texture, and trying to distinguish one from the next can be a daunting task. Two general rules apply: the darker the honey, the stronger the taste, and the more liquid the honey, the more fragrant.”

She leaned farther toward him in her chair and he was there already. His spoon touched her spoon as they each slopped into the honey jar for the last drop of chestnut honey.

“I didn’t bring very much, just a sample,” he said, and laughed. “Next time I’ll bring more.”

“I hope so,” said Jennifer. “You’re such a tease . . . with this honey,” she said, her face heating slightly. She loved watching his long fingers wrap around the spoon and stir into the thick sticky stuff.

The last jar was very light yellow in color, the lavender from France. When she tasted it, she nearly swooned. It was like tasting the fields of Provence.

Her eyes widened in sheer delight. “Mmm-mmm-Mmm.”

“Good, heh?” A grin spread across his face.

“So good!” She couldn’t hold back her enthusiasm; she almost felt like a child discovering a new toy, except that her senses were heightened and aware in a way that she could not have imagined as a child.

“Do you have more?” she asked after a moment.

“I have more back at my place. But maybe three honeys in one night is enough, considering the hour.”

The fire was blazing. Shadows played against the wall. Jennifer relished in the aftertaste of the honey. She tried not to look at her companion, whose eyes drew her in with each breath. The fire. Look at the fire. Not at his eyes.

 

That’s a Bonnie Hero There, Aye?

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

The brogue. The brawn. The dark and stormy brow. The hint of ginger.

From historical romances to modern-day romantic suspense to real-life anecdotes of love amidst The Highlands, the Scottish hero rolls his Rs right into the heart of the romance. Scottish heroes put the capital “R” in romantic.

Gerald Butler dressed to kilt.

From William Wallace to Robert the Bruce to Rob Roy, Scotland’s history is rampant with romantic if sometimes tragic heroes. Or at least the Hollywood version of that country’s history would have us believe. The Scottish hero isn’t afraid to let it all hang out for his lady love…or for his kilt. He’s strong and courageous, has a wry sense of humor, is clever and cagey, loves his scotch and oatmeal, is thrift to the point of cheapness, quotes Robbie Burns, and charms a lady with the mere sound of his voice.

“I’m Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.”

There’s a mysticism that surrounds the idea of a Scottish heroes no matter what the era. An old school sensibility. An inherent honor. Perhaps that’s why the Scottish hero is so prevalent in romantic fiction. It’s easy to believe that the sense of rightness that often drives a pig-headed stubborn streak includes a rare sense of unshakable right and wrong and the strength to back that code with a strength and resilience that so often seems so lacking in our regular world.

Sam Heughan as James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser

No Scottish hero embodies this ethos more than James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser from Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander. Stubborn, strong, educated, wise, canny, reliable with a fierce temper and a fiercer wit, Jamie has fought wars, dodged bullets, evaded assassination (often by his own family), incited the British, and love one woman for centuries.

Now that Outlander is being brought to the small screen this summer as a series, we’ll be able to see Jamie in all his Scottish glory by way of his alter ego, Sam Heughan.

But Sam isn’t the only Scottish actor raising his kilt on screen as a Scottish hero. From James Macavoy as young Professor X in the X men franchise to Tony Curran in Doctor Who (do we care that van Gogh is suddenly Scottish? We do not!) to Gerald Butler in….whatever Gerald Butler is up to these days to Ewan MacGregor as everything, Scotland’s sons are  bringing their versions of the Scottish hero—and sometimes anti-hero—to life and charming the hearts, or at least the pants, of women everywhere.

And we are very, very grateful.

Don’t miss a modern Scottish hero with a secret agenda and penchant for beekeepers in Liz Everly’s new release, Like Honey, out April 3rd. Find it, read it, and drink a dram.

 

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Tied Up in the Tangled Web … and Loving It

In life, we all wear a blank nametag, to be filled in by those who come to know us.

By Alexa Day

If I’m doing my job correctly, my boss thinks that butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

It’s probably more correct to say that if I’m doing things right, he has no fact-based reason to think I am anything other than the competent woman with the frumpy clothes. I don’t know what he’s really thinking. I could drive myself crazy trying to figure that out, but I bet the trip would be as enjoyable as it would be brief.

Earlier this year, I had a little fun with the proper care and feeding of a secret identity. If I sit still long enough to really think about it, I have to admit that it is pretty cool to have a double life as an erotica writer. If I’m really looking for a good time on a slow work day, though, I start thinking about the secrets other people are keeping. That’s the sort of thing I do wherever I go — as a writer, I’m quick to make up a backstory for all the strangers who cross my path. My day job is a real gold mine for this sort of thing.

I’m convinced that my line of work is a magnet for folks who don’t fit the traditional career model, and I’ve met some fascinating people on the job. Truck drivers, former cops, musicians, you name it. We’re all doing the best we can in a conservative industry in a conservative part of the country. We’re all in this weird, gossipy, judgmental Petri dish of personalities, and we all spend a certain amount of time wearing our Competent Employee masks so that we can afford the secret lives we love so much.

Hell, some of us might even be wearing the Tough But Fair Boss mask to support a secret life as —

See? I was just trying to avoid thinking about that, wasn’t I? I need to be able to look at all the people in my web of command (we do not have anything as linear as a chain at my job) without wondering about what else they might be up to. I know my limits. Once I start thinking about what my bosses are doing outside the office, I know I’m going to have a hard time stopping, and that’s where awkwardness really starts. It starts in the mind, along with the struggle to keep it there.

Maintaining a double life isn’t all roses and cake frosting. (Or cake-frosting roses, which are the best thing ever.) It’d really be nice to tell an alumni magazine, or a job interviewer, or a date about my secret identity. It’d be nice to tell them about both my names or that the trip I took a few months ago was actually a conference with demonstrations. It’d be nice to use some of my publishing credits on my resume.

Maybe someday.

Today, I can keep my mind busy with making sure the boss thinks butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. And maybe I can plan another one of those innocent trips. That always starts my work day with a smile.

You want to add a little secret spice to your life? You need to check out Liz Everly’s Like Honey. It’s coming out on April 3, it features a hot hero with a secret, and it opens with some sizzling outdoor action at a masked ball. It’s enough to make you wonder about the things other people are keeping under wraps, right?

Have a peek at it. Get in line for it.

And get to following Lady Smut. We are full of surprises around here.

 

Sexy Saturday Round-Up

By Liz Everly and the Lady Smut bloggers

Hello, Sexy! Welcome to Saturday and a whole list of FAB blog posts for your reading pleasure.

From Liz Everly:

On necrophilia. Yep.

You’ve been cheated on, now what? Chick Swagger weighs in.

Condoms in romance writing. Do you or don’t you? Nicola Jane has a thing or two to say about the subject.

From Madeline Iva:

Feral street teams?

Apparently we don’t believe no means no if a man is speaking.

Speed huffing: is smelling someone the new approach to finding your match?

An organization for women who just want to go topless.

Don’t like that? You can protest against them–topless of course! & more on Ukrainian topless protestors in the news.

From C. Margery Kempe:

Ian Fleming liked to spank!

Jane Friedman on what it means if Amazon has no competition.

Register now for The Feminist Porn Conference, University of Toronto, April 5-6, 2014

From Elizabeth:

Help for all of us trying to be perfect. One woman’s journey on learning to love her cellulite.

Dealing with criticism. 11 writers share how they do it.

Have we entered the golden age of sex addiction films?

Seven things women ask about sex behind closed doors.

 

Brand Spanking New

by C. Margery Kempe

As you may have noticed from my kind colleagues’ posts, I have a new collection out this week, Love on a Spoon. The stories really run the gamut from sweet encounters to sassy wild ones. There are hetero stories, one M/M, one F/F story and one cross-dressing story.

I like variety ;-)

The very first spanking story I wrote was for a British collection Six of the Best which is a typical term for getting spanked in school. Most Americans tend to be horrified by even the idea of school spankings, but there’s a long tradition in Britain that has left a fondness for the practice — at least among those who admit it. Even James Bond!

What can I say? It’s been a consistent seller since publication. Even most people who consider themselves fairly vanilla and have never had an interest in exploring kink, probably have had a little spanking action. It’s safe, playful and just a wee bit naughty.

Here’s the story:

Simon had worked for Dr. Kettering for six months and he still couldn’t quite figure her out. It wasn’t that she was cold or withdrawn; quite the opposite, in fact. She was also gorgeous, tall with curly auburn hair and striking green eyes. Every move had grace and poise, even if she was a trifle distant. Safely at home, he had fantasies of her exposing a vulnerability to him. But he couldn’t have been more surprised on that rainy Friday afternoon when she asked, “Can I share a secret with you, Simon?” because her fantasy was also his.

Buy CMK’s book!

Because their intimacy is new, there’s a lot of anxiety, hesitation and tender exploration working up to the first spanking session. Longing is such a great spur to narrative. You want people who yearn for something to get it — but not yet. Simon moons over his boss but he steps up to take command when she asks him to do so. They both respond to the hidden facets of their selves: the in-charge professional who wants someone else to take the reins for a while and the dutiful employee who allows his tentative power to play a little.

It’s all about building trust and communicating clearly — and ritual. Spanking is especially about ritual and role playing. Find your boundaries and explore.

‘Text Play’ has a little spanking too, thought the focus there is more on the developing D/s relationship —  spanking is only part of it. And then there’s ‘Twelve Drummers Drumming’ — does it count as spanking if it’s drumsticks? ‘Tying Up Loose Ends’ also has some interesting play, but as the name suggests, it’s about being tied up.

Have some fun and explore. I think you’ll find something to like — even if it’s only a fictional adventure. They are always the safest kind. How much are you willing to admit to here?

You can get Love on a Spoon in the Lady Smut shop along with some other fine stories from the crew. And don’t forget to follow us — we wouldn’t want to have to spank you for being a bad reader!

Weird Science: Why is Science Soooooo Sexy?

By Madeline Iva

MY FIRST EROTIC ROMANCE PROPOSAL–Actually, we don’t want to talk about that.

MY SECOND ROMANCE PROPOSAL was pretty cray-cray. You ready for it? Okay, here it is:

An evil drug company creates a cure for baldness called Senlox 6.  When ingested in large doses Senlox 6 makes men irresistible to women—before it kills them.

Three people—a beautiful researcher, a mad scientist, and a bad boy con artist–must work together to bring down the evil drug company. Can they do so before succumbing to the effects of Senlox 6?

The answer obviously is: no way!  So then a whole lotta sex ensues. *snort*

I still laugh reading this short synopsis.  Is that a good thing? Probably not.

This proposal ALMOST made it–but alas, in the end it was rejected by the publisher after a ‘maybe’. In my heart of hearts I still think Senlox 6 could be a great, albeit campy, erotic romance one day.

Now here’s the funny thing: A blog called Passionate Reads was holding a contest where you could post your pitch for your romance and an Ellora’s Cave editor would pick the best pitches. So I posted SENLOX 6.

Did it win? No. Did it even make the first cut? No.

Here’s the winning pitch:

After years of research, neuroscientist John March has finally created Impulse, an experimental drug that suppresses the bonding hormone, oxytocin, and would allow women to enjoy sex without commitment. Now he just needs a test subject who’s willing to put Impulse through its paces, a woman who’s not afraid to indulge all her sexual desires and then go on record with her experiences. He needs a woman like his best friend Grace. She and her boy toy could solve all John’s problems. If only he didn’t want her for himself …

Impulse is a dream come true for Grace Foley, and just in time. Her sex-without-strings arrangement with Tal Crusoe has started to feel a bit complicated. Too bad she can’t have John, too. She’s aching for a little experimentation of her own with the sexy scientist. But once it’s over, could they ever go back to being friends?

By CMK’s book!

Sound familiar? Other than the fact that my synopsis was totally cray-cray I thought there were a lot of similarities to this one. The one science-y woman and two guys thing. –Check it out, one of my guys is a scientist too, the other is a boy toy too! There’s also a science-y drug that affects desire, etc.

Another reason this synopsis should sound familiar: it’s on our SHOP page.

Lady Smut gal Alexa Day wrote this book ILLICIT IMPULSE–and yes, it was published by Ellora’s Cave.  This is how I first came to know of Alexa—through our kindred plot synopses. The rest is magical Lady Smut history.

Yet we’re not the only one’s who get a big kick out of campy science plots for erotic romance.  C.Margery Kempe’s latest book LOVE ON A SPOON contains a short story called NOT ROCKET SCIENCE.

CMK says it’s a kind of 50′s campy spoof with scientists and sex.

Now, it’s so cool that we all like the same stuff—but WHY do we like this stuff?

Why is science so sexy?  Here are the reasons I came up with.

1) Science = modern magic (Weird science)

2) Smart Geeks = sexy.

Scoff at me all you like, but I’m serious.  Smart wimmin have evolutionary drives (the theory goes) to produce smart children by means of super smart men.

3) Wacky science experiments = chaos & danger = people thrust together with yummy high stakes & excitement. Which naturally leads to boinking, right?

4) Monsters & Mad Scientists = messing up boring normality = fun!

The end result is that where you see glasses I see sexy. The bigger the pocket protector the bigger the…

Does anyone else out there consider syllogistic proofs just another brand of foreplay? I thought so.

Buy CMK’s book!

So if you want to check out some 50’s campy smexy fun, check out CMK’s book LOVE ON A SPOON.  Right there on our SHOP page.

Oh, and buy Alexa’s book ILLICIT IMPULSE while you’re at it.

Meanwhile, to all you science geeks out there—you know we love you.  *wink*  So follow our blog, k?

Ants On My Ass – The Perils Of Outdoor Sex

Looks sexy – but are they really having fun?

By Elizabeth Shore

Oftentimes when people fantasize about really hot sexual scenarios, the great outdoors factors into the equation. And why not, right? It’s such a free feeling to be outside. No walls to close us in, no rules that must be followed. Walk around a tranquil forest and it can feel like you’re the only person in the world. What better place, then, to share the seclusion with the one you love than by doing the lovin’ thing? Or so the thinking goes. But then reality hits.

Picture this: there you are in a dense thicket of trees, wrapped in your lover’s arms, thrilled by the illicit moment. Clothes are recklessly shed, lips and tongues feasting away on each other, soft breezes blowing over your naked skin. It’s sooooo sexy! Except . . . wait. Ow! What just bit you? You begin growing aware of the painful stab of tree bark digging into your back. And . . . shit. Is that a spider crawling toward your leg?!  Suddenly the allure of the outdoors holds as much appeal as a tooth extraction and your formerly sexy thoughts turn dark and foul. Same scenario holds true if you’re on the beach. The sand sticks to your skin, covers your clothes, it’s even in the crack of your – ah, you know what I mean. Damn sand is everywhere. And talk about no hiding places on the beach, so be prepared to flaunt it if someone happens to come along. It’s at that moment that outdoor sex, you decide, is literally for the birds.

Of course, in C. Margery Kempe’s story “Park Larks,” one of the fun sexy stories in her Love on a Spoon collection – which we’re celebrating this week – outdoor sex is indeed the steamy treat we imagine. It’s a fictional story, after all, an escape from the harsh realities of everyday life. Female characters having hot outdoor sex in a romance novel aren’t thinking about bugs crawling up their tushes, or contracting a case of poison ivy, or – as a friend wisely pointed out – having the beady eyes of a squirrel staring down at you from the tree branch above your head. Not in the least.  Romance heroines are getting seduced by a hot guy on a white sandy beach, or by an idyllic babbling brook, or atop a plush carpet of flowers in a meadow, and they’re loving every minute of it.

I know that part of the appeal of outdoor sex for some folks is the same thing that makes others stay far far away: the possibility of getting caught. Sparks of interest light an exhibitionist’s eyes that someone might be watching him getting down and dirty. The bark and the bugs are of no concern if part of the experience’s allure is knowing that you might get caught.

The truth is, some people just like being naked outside. I remember an experience I had once that’s always stayed with me. My best girlfriend at the time and I were celebrating completion of our first year of college and decided one night to share a six pack of beer in the park. As we sat on a bench drinking our beer and talking, we noticed a dog approaching us followed closely by the owner. It was pretty dark out so we didn’t see anything unusual at first, but as the owner got near enough we realized that except for his sneakers, he was out walking his dog totally in the buff. We, having had our fill of liquid courage, asked him what the deal was with being au naturel outside and he replied that he simply loved being naked and often walked his dog at night in the buff. So there you go.

If you’re like-minded with my naked dog-walker and couldn’t care less about staring squirrels or sand in your crack, lemondrop.com offers you tips on how to have sex almost anywhere. And be sure to check out C. Margery Kempe’s Love on a Spoon for more sexy fun in the great outdoors.

Is there an exhibitionist in you? Do thoughts of beach sex get you giddy? Let us know in the comments below, and be sure to hit that little follow button to the right so you’ll always get the naked truth.

 

Love on a Spoon: Yum

By  Liz Everly

In C. Margery Kempe’s latest book of short stories, the title story “Love on  Spoon,” is one I remember reading years ago in another collection. I think about it every time I see Nutella. After all, you know what a food-inspired bit of a freak I am. Smirk. But, the food-play is only part of what I liked it so much. Though just that aspect of it is well worth the read.

But first, if you haven’t seen this book, take a gander at the cover. What an amazing, enviable cover.

 

The story plays with one of the tropes I love in romance literature—and in life. It’s happened a few times in my own. It’s the magic, exciting moment when an old friend or a colleague suddenly inspires “very” friendly thoughts and you are floored and probably confused and trying to make a decision quickly a number possible outcomes of this entanglement. Oh boy. I’ve been there.

I’ve wondered: Is it just in my mind? Or is there an attraction simmering beneath the surface? Am I reading him correctly? What if I makes a move and he gives me the old smack down? Should we…?

In the moment, it seems like the right thing to do.

But.

If we “do” what will happen to the friendship? Is it worth the risk?  What if we take the plunge, and the sex is, um, less than good? Then what?

I’m telling you, reader, this scenario has a lot of potential for some nitty-gritty conflict—and for some HAWT scenes. C. Margery Kempe delivers the hotness in this story. (Of course!) But the other thing I like about it is the setting—very cozy and comfortable—and the bits and pieces of humor she injects into the story. I’ve not read the rest of the book, but if the other stories are as good as this delicious nugget, it will be a feast for readers. Get your copy today! And don’t forget to subscribe to Lady Smut, where we are always dishing up goodies!