Liz Everly's Blog, page 17
September 21, 2017
Review of Hollywood Dirt from Passionflix
Hollywood Dirt is Passionflix‘s debut original film based on Alessandra Torre’s novel of the same name. For more than a year we’ve waited anxiously for this romance movie subscription service to launch, and I prayed–PRAYED–the service was going to be good. As for their original films? I really, really, really wanted them to be good. I’m a romance movie and book crackhead. There isn’t enough content in the world to satisfy this girl. Of course, this makes me a Typical Romance Book Lover so I felt some compassion for the Passionflix ladies knowing they had (have) a mighty job to do.
But this mighty job had to be done. I mean, who wants to slog through Netflix, Hulu [name your service] looking for a good movie–one that doesn’t want you to take a valium with a shot of vodka afterward? Last week I endured the movies Academy Award-winning Lion (cried), heart-wrenching A Dog’s Purpose (bawled), and sci-fi flick Life (was horrified). To say I was ready for a romance was a major understatement.
So last night while husband was out of town, I took the plunge. I got my laptop, poured a glass of wine, logged onto Passionflix, held my breath and hit . Here’s my take: Hollywood Dirt is awesome. Why bury the lede?
The movie is well paced, well written (Hello? Author Alessandra Torre who cannot be bad if she tried), and — thank you Jesus — well acted by actors (Though the lawyer, played by actor Marco Dapper, stole every scene he was in.)
Hollywood Dirt is the story of second chances and finding love in the unlikeliest of places. Mega Hollywood Star Cole Masten, abandoned by his superstar wife, comes to the little town of Quincy, Georgia to shoot a movie — partly to escape and partly to get back on his feet. He hadn’t expected Summer Jenkins, small town girl who has demons of her own, including a past mistake that is heartbreaking, hilarious, brilliant and steal-worthy (ya know, in case anything like that happens to me). They are from different worlds and try to not be attracted to one another. Well, we know how well that works out.
Despite a few, minor moments of over-the-top southern mockery in the very, very beginning, the movie nailed the small Southern Town, which, as it is in real life, is a character of its own. They also had excellent secondary characters and small roles that flavored the film without dissolving into subplot hell. The movie didn’t try to do too much (I’m looking at you Ron Howard) or too little (Sorry, George Clooney). Hollywood Dirt gave us just the right amount of story, heart, feels and character. Of course, look at the material they had to work with. (Hello again? There’s a reason Alessandra Torre lands on the bestseller lists with some regularity.)
As for the sex scenes?#NailedIt. Some things require watching rather than recounting. This is one of them. Just watch–you’ll see what I mean. (Excuse me while I go turn up the A/C now.) I really want to talk to some about that first sex scene — like what he did with her T-shirt afterward? SWOON. Did that slay you, too?
And, I have to believe the producers and director had fun with some of the actor’s lines, such as a screenwriter who had a bit part and got to deliver the line “A script is not a book!” Well, unless it’s a Passionflix movie. At last year’s RT Booklovers Convention, Alessandra Torres herself praised the Passionflix team on their unwavering commitment to stay true to the book right down to the dialogue and a certain scene involving a knee. (Watch. You’ll see.)
I look forward to Passionflix debuting more original movies, but I also hope they stock other movies in their database more robustly. As a subscription service for romance lovers, they have a large appetite to fill. Right now about 30 available movies is a good start, but given we consume books like oxygen, we need more! And, that’s how I’m ending this. Passionflix, give us more! Your first movie is a hit in this blogger’s eyes.
What’s next? How about a Sylvia Day original? Yes, please.
The motion picture adaptation of Afterburn & Aftershock is coming this November from Passionflix. Summary: Businesswoman Gia Rossi is determined to be successful in her new job, but when her ex lover Jax Rutledge waltzes back into her life, their passionate connection ignites not only in the boardroom, but the bedroom.
That’s a wrap!
While we’re waiting for that next original movie, pick up a copy of Kiersten Hallie Krum’s latest release, SEALed with a Twist.
Debutante. Heiress. Lady.
Skylar Thornquist has been called them all. But when her family insisted she stand as bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding to Skye’s ex-fiancé, she rebelled, drowning her public humiliation in tequila and a one-night stand of carnal debauchery with Grant Sisti. To escape her family’s iron grip, Skye now hides out cleaning toilets at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, masking her breeding and identity under a dye job, heavy makeup, and a smattering of fake tattoos while she tries to discover which label sticks to her best.
Doctor. Joker. Warrior.
Navy SEAL Grant “Twisted” Sisti has been them all. But since he failed to prevent the violent death of his teammate six months ago, Grant isn’t sure he can be any of those men anymore. He’s back at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa for his best friend’s wedding, but Grant knows he’s reaching the end of his rope. A state that isn’t improved by finding the help swimming naked in his private villa’s pool.
Skye never thought she’d get caught skinny dipping by the man who got her through her worst night. But this Grant is a different man than the one who lit up her world back then. And though it takes him too long to remember her, Skye is drawn even more to the wounded warrior than she was to the charming lover.
Grant is fascinated by the puzzle Skye presents, the debutante who cleans toilets and speaks like a queen. She’s the first thing he’s had any interest in since his friend’s death, the first woman in a long time to see the man before the SEAL.
They never expected to find each other again on Barefoot Bay, both hiding from who there were, both wondering who they should be. Until Skye’s identity is compromised and the Thornquist iron grip gets a stranglehold on her new life…only this time there’s a Navy SEAL by her side.
~~~~~
Elizabeth SaFleur is a contemporary erotic romance author and dying-to-retire public relations practitioner who writes, tweets and posts under a pseudonym since her business clients might be (WOULD be) shocked at her second career choice. Her books, the Elite Doms of Washington and Justice series were inspired by her thirty-year career serving D.C. clients where she learned not all power in our nation’s capital is wielded by politicians.
Passionflix’s Hollywood Dirt Review
Hollywood Dirt is Passionflix‘s debut original film based on Alessandra Torre’s novel of the same name. For more than a year we’ve waited anxiously for this romance movie subscription service to launch, and I prayed–PRAYED–the service was going to be good. As for their original films? I really, really, really wanted them to be good. I’m a romance movie and book crackhead. There isn’t enough content in the world to satisfy this girl. Of course, this makes me a Typical Romance Book Lover so I felt some compassion for the Passionflix ladies knowing they had (have) a mighty job to do.
But this mighty job had to be done. I mean, who wants to slog through Netflix, Hulu [name your service] looking for a good movie–one that doesn’t want you to take a valium with a shot of vodka afterward? Last week I endured the movies Academy Award-winning Lion (cried), heart-wrenching A Dog’s Purpose (bawled), and sci-fi flick Life (horrified). To say I was ready for a romance was a major understatement.
So last night while husband was out of town, I took the plunge. I got my laptop, poured a glass of wine, logged onto Passionflix, held my breath and hit . Here’s my take: Hollywood Dirt is awesome. Why bury the lede?
The movie is well paced, well written (Hello? Author Alessandra Torre who cannot be bad if she tried), and — thank you Jesus — well acted by actors (Though the lawyer, played by actor Marco Dapper, stole every scene he was in.)
Despite a few, minor moments of over-the-top southern mockery in the very, very beginning, the movie nailed the small Southern Town, which as it is in real life, a character of its own. They also had excellent secondary characters and small roles that flavored the film without dissolving into subplot hell. The movie didn’t try to do too much (I’m looking at you Ron Howard) or too little (Sorry, George Clooney). Hollywood Dirt gave us just the right amount of story, heart, feels and character. Of course, look at the material they had to work with. (Hello again? There’s a reason Alessandra Torre lands on the bestseller lists with some regularity.)
And I have to believe the producers and director had fun with some of the actor’s lines, such as a screenwriter who had a bit part and got to deliver the line “A script is not a book!” Well, unless it’s a Passionflix movie. At last year’s RT Booklovers Convention, Alessandra Torres herself praised the Passionflix team on their unwavering commitment to stay true to the book right down to the dialogue and a certain scene involving a knee. (Watch, you’ll see.)
I look forward to Passionflix debuting more original movies, but I also hope they stock other movies in their database more robustly. As a subscription service for romance lovers, they have a large appetite to fill. Right now about 30 available movies is a good start, but given we consume books like oxygen, we need more! And, that’s how I’m ending this. Passionflix, give us more! Your first movie is a hit in this blogger’s eyes.
What’s next? How about a Sylvia Day original? Yes, please.
The motion picture adaptation of Afterburn & Aftershock is coming this November from Passionflix. Summary: Businesswoman Gia Rossi is determined to be successful in her new job, but when her ex lover Jax Rutledge waltzes back into her life, their passionate connection ignites not only in the boardroom, but the bedroom.
That’s a wrap!
While we’re waiting for that next original movie, pick up a copy of Kiersten Hallie Krum’s latest release, SEALed with a Kiss.
Debutante. Heiress. Lady.
Skylar Thornquist has been called them all. But when her family insisted she stand as bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding to Skye’s ex-fiancé, she rebelled, drowning her public humiliation in tequila and a one-night stand of carnal debauchery with Grant Sisti. To escape her family’s iron grip, Skye now hides out cleaning toilets at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, masking her breeding and identity under a dye job, heavy makeup, and a smattering of fake tattoos while she tries to discover which label sticks to her best.
Doctor. Joker. Warrior.
Navy SEAL Grant “Twisted” Sisti has been them all. But since he failed to prevent the violent death of his teammate six months ago, Grant isn’t sure he can be any of those men anymore. He’s back at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa for his best friend’s wedding, but Grant knows he’s reaching the end of his rope. A state that isn’t improved by finding the help swimming naked in his private villa’s pool.
Skye never thought she’d get caught skinny dipping by the man who got her through her worst night. But this Grant is a different man than the one who lit up her world back then. And though it takes him too long to remember her, Skye is drawn even more to the wounded warrior than she was to the charming lover.
Grant is fascinated by the puzzle Skye presents, the debutante who cleans toilets and speaks like a queen. She’s the first thing he’s had any interest in since his friend’s death, the first woman in a long time to see the man before the SEAL.
They never expected to find each other again on Barefoot Bay, both hiding from who there were, both wondering who they should be. Until Skye’s identity is compromised and the Thornquist iron grip gets a stranglehold on her new life…only this time there’s a Navy SEAL by her side.
~~~~~
Elizabeth SaFleur is a contemporary erotic romance author and dying-to-retire public relations practitioner who writes, tweets and posts under a pseudonym since her business clients might be (WOULD be) shocked at her second career choice. Her books, the Elite Doms of Washington and Justice series were inspired by her thirty-year career serving D.C. clients where she learned not all power in our nation’s capital is wielded by politicians.
Hey, What’s Your Number?
But did I carry the one?
(This image was made by Loadmaster (David R. Tribble).)
By Alexa Day
(Welcome to Lady Smut’s #ThrowbackThursday! Let’s celebrate the beginning of the school year with a little math. This post from May 2015 is all about the sexual history calculator and the intriguing calculus of our sexual pasts.)
In yesterday’s Sexy Saturday Round-Up, my colleague Elizabeth Shore provided a link to a sexual history calculator. It’s over on Slate, and it collects your age, your gender (I know, I rolled my eyes here, too, but it’s necessary), and the number of people you’ve slept with. You plug this information in, and after a brief pause, during which the calculator wants to reassure you that this is supposed to be fun for you, you get a chart that compares your info with that of other people in your age group.
Simply put, the calculator is here to tell you — just for fun! — whether you’ve slept with more people or fewer people than the rest of your demographic.
So, just for fun, I plugged in my info, and just for fun, I got back the entirely expected response that I’ve slept with more people than most women in my age group.
This is not a surprise to me.
For one thing, I’m unmarried, so I’m still counting. That number is going to keep rising. I don’t think it will continue to rise as quickly as it did when the younger Alexa had fewer things to occupy her time, but who knows for sure?
For another thing, I’m convinced that a lot of women lie about The Number. I understand in large part why this happens, but I have so little patience for that. Seriously, if we’re going to stop slut-shaming, we need to start by treating ourselves better, don’t we? I don’t know if men lie about The Number or have the same reasons for lying as women do, but I am aware that they are not being shamed for having higher Numbers in the same way as we are. No doubt this is why we have to plug our gender into the calculator.
In any event, I was more troubled by my initial inability to account for everyone on The List. You know, the one that generates The Number. I stared at it after I plugged it into that little box and asked myself, “Is that right?” And then I went back into the dusty and neglected archive that is my long-term memory and tried to name names. Then I became hungry (this took about 45 seconds) and decided to go with the number I had.
It’s probably right. I think. But I pledged to spend the rest of the day really trying to think about this. After all, I should probably know with some level of certainty what The Number is, right? And isn’t it kind of sad not to be able to put a name with each and every face in my sexual history? Shouldn’t I be troubled with the ease with which I forgot someone who was, if only for a few hours, part of my life?
Well, now I’m not so sure.
Once you get past personal health concerns, so that you know exactly who to call in the event of unpleasantness, I’m not sure there’s a need to know exactly how many people you’ve slept with. It would certainly be nice to know, but is it truly necessary? The consideration of one’s sexual history as a whole is probably deserving of more consideration.
How many did you regret?
How many taught you something?
How many did you love?
Smaller numbers, perhaps, but more important subsets.
I will probably still try to reconstruct The List so that I can verify The Number. On the one hand, the memory defect bothers me, and on the other, I feel driven to have an accurate number. But in the meantime, I’m okay with having a highlight reel until I can create a director’s cut.
As long as there’s plenty of hot, buttery popcorn.
Follow Lady Smut. We’ve been around.
September 19, 2017
Chances To Ogle Lady Smut Bloggers In Person
[image error]By Madeline Iva
NOTE TO READERS: I’m now going to be blogging on Tuesdays at Lady Smut.
Breathless note! Things have been super busy—but very exciting. I spent an exceptionally gorgeous day last Saturday teaching a writing workshop up in Louden County, and this week —
Alexa Day and I are at #Fred Fest this weekend, Saturday Sept. 23rd. I’ll be the one with 100 lavender votive candles to give away. Perfect for your local coven meeting.
(The lovely Elizabeth SaFleur gave them to me.)
I mean, really, it’s going to be an EXTRAVAGANZA! Lots ‘o romance writers and our very own 3 tents, Q1 – Q3 will have historical romances (by Sue London), BDSM romances, Y.A., Urban Fantasy, and Fantasy Romance. And that’s just us – Washington Romance Writers & Virginia Romance Writers will be there as well.
Now, what am I going to wear?
[image error]The time to register for Hearts to You – aka the Washington Romance Writers luncheon for readers and bloggers — is upon us. Kiersten Hallie Krum will be there with an awesome Lady Smut basket to give away. Alexa Day, who last year got to sit all lunch long with Sarah Wendell from Smart Bitches Trashy Books (ooh, I was so envious) will be back again this year. Elizabeth SaFleur enchanted readers last year at her table with some excellent girl talk about sex and BDSM will also be kickin’ around in her elegant high heels.
Me? I’m not a squeal-y type of person, but this event gets my voice pretty high pitched. It’s just mega-fun. I’m not sure why. Is it all the give away baskets, the excellent location, the chance to take home a ton of free books? Maybe. Ultimately, I put it down to the rockin’ energy of the WRW tribe. They just make me want to stand up and testify to the power of romance.
So register at the WRW blog. It’s pretty inexpensive. I love it. We love it. You’ll love it too! Come meet us in person, chat romance, enjoy the day. (There’s even a rumor that some folks are going out for drinks afterwards.)
Okay — I’m off running around again. See you next week. 
September 17, 2017
SEALed WITH A TWIST
It’s a new week here at Lady Smut and we are still agog about our smokin’ new look–and thrilled to feature the emotional and sexy new book from Lady Smut blogger Kiersten Hallie Krum–SEALed With A Twist.
In this follow up to Kiersten’s wildly popular, RONE award finalist novel, Wild on the Rocks, fan-favorite, Navy SEAL Grant “Twisted” Sisti, returns to Barefoot Bay for the second wedding of his friends, Quinn and Jasper (from Wild on the Rocks)…and runs straight into the arms of a mysterious woman from his rocky past.
[image error]
EXCERPT
~~~~~
“I remember you.”
The words were so soft, it took several seconds for them to resonate in Skye, a slow earthquake that rippled out with increasing impact as their meaning and consequence took root.
“But you changed your look,” Grant continued. “Dyed your hair. Added some new tattoos I should’ve figured were temps. Slathered on enough makeup to make me wonder who you’re trying to hide from. Even with all that, there was something was so familiar about you. Couldn’t figure out how or why.
“Now I know.” His head slid to the side and Skye trembled for a different reason when he nipped at the jittery pulse in her neck. Her neck stretched back with an invitation he was eager to take. His hand slipped to pull one strand of her top out of his way before she felt his tongue on her throat as his mouth followed the line of it up to her ear. “I remember how you taste. How you feel when I’m inside you. How you sound when I make you come.”
That was an uncomfortably thorough and arousing account. Her legs shifted on the sand and restless with the need to relax beneath him and take all that was promised by his hard body and hot words.
“And sweetheart,” he continued, head lifting out of her neck so he could stare into her face. “When a girl runs out on you after a night of spectacular sex, it’s the definition of unfinished business.”
“You left first,” she accused, a child’s defense, but all she could manage against a tsunami of arousal. Dammit.
He released her wrists and brushed her hair back from her forehead before spearing his fingers through the bunched strands to cradle her head in his wide palm. “My friend needed me,” he explained, no less terse for the gentle way he touched her. “The same friend, funny enough, who got remarried last night, no small part because six months ago, I left a sexy debutante passed out in my bed to help him get his head outta his ass and make up with his then ex-wife. I didn’t think you’d bail the second I was gone!”
Remembering how hurt she’d been when she realized he’d run out on her re-ignited Skye’s ire. “Then you should’ve left a note!” She shoved at his shoulders, not that she could move him, but so frustrated, she couldn’t hold back. “Let me up!”
He cursed under his breath, but set her free, sliding off to her right so he shielded her while she set her suit to rights.
“I figured,” he growled, over his shoulder, “that after a night that good, you’d want more. I damn well did.” Checking she was decent, he flipped back around to face her. “Because, you’re right. What happened between us was a goddamn sexual unicorn. I wanted more. I wanted you. All the while, you were using the security guard to work out your rich-girl issues. Daddy cut off your trust fund again?”
She sucked a breath in through her teeth and lurched upright. “You have no idea what I was dealing with that night.”
“Ditto, princess,” he shot back.
“I’m not a princess.” She’d been cleaning toilets for long enough to bring that fact home.
Grant cocked an elbow on his bent knee and sneered, “You are. An American princess. Privileged and entitled. I grew up with your kind, sweetheart. I know your kind.”
“You do not know me.” Skye swept sand off her arms with a regal sniff, unconsciously giving weight to his label. “Amazing that you suddenly recall such salient details of our…dalliance when last night it escaped your memory entirely despite the fact that I stood naked before you. How convenient for you to stumble upon the details now. When, exactly, did you deign to remember you had…Biblical knowledge of me six months ago?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Biblical?”
“So help me, if you laugh…”
“This morning.” He cut her off before she could finish what they both knew would’ve been an empty threat. “I remembered this morning when Jasper and Quinn surprised me with morning-after breakfast. He brought up when I pulled you from the pool back then and—” He snapped his fingers so close to her face, she started in place. “Your puzzle pieces clicked together.”
“I am not a puzzle!”
“Baby, you are a Rubik’s Cube of contradictions. Fortunately, I’ve been well-trained in decoding all possible combinations.”
That was be disastrous.
God, he remembered. And in detail. Skye floundered for a retort, floored by too many quick changes to find stable footing.
As if sensing his advantage, Grant tugged her back in his arms. One calloused thumb rubbed her button lip; it caught on wind-chapped flesh, so that her tongue shot out to moisten his digit. She watched his pupil flare into a sharp green as desire drew skin taut across the craggy planes of his face.
A low keen hit her ear and Skye was too turned on to be mortified when she realized it came from her.
“Oh yeah,” Grant said, his words a sibilant sound against her cheek. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb sweeping back over her parted mouth. “I remember that too.”
This was bad. This was very, very bad. She was getting sucked back under when he’d already turned her down once. Truth was, she didn’t want to find someone else to be with for however long she had left here on Mimosa Key. Not when she was drawn to him like an opposing polarity, constantly failing to break the laws of magnetism and getting stuck on him over and over again.
And when he touched her…
Lord, was she in trouble.
It’d been that way since the night she’d slept with him. A night when she’d been given a glimpse of something she knew she’d never have again, not from any other man. And it wasn’t the orgasms or Grant’s physical prowess in her bed. It was how he’d lifted her up and carried her away from her deepest humiliation, from a lifetime of being less than, and made her feel like the most important woman in the world.
Treasured even.
Precious.
“It might’ve been a one-night stand for you, but waking up to find you gone killed me.”
Grant’s shock at her words was no less that hers for having said them. He reared back liked she’d slapped him. “The hell you say.”
But the gate had been breached and half a year of emotional trauma ripped out of her, raw and unrestrained. “That night—that was the worst night of my life. I was a joke, a punchline, and everyone at that bloody wedding knew it. So, yeah, tequila and the pool. Since if I was already publicly humiliated, best to make it really memorable.”
“But then you were there, laughing like I was the best time you’d ever seen. You jumped in the pool and…plucked me up like I weighed nothing.” She latched onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Cripes, I’ve never known anyone as strong as you,” she mused, fingers tracing the lateral muscles that bunched under her touch. “You took me out of that…horror show and made it…” she sighed heavily, “so much better. And god, the sex was amazing. Don’t look so smug. I may not have a lot of experience, but even I know three orgasms in one night isn’t customary. And then you were gone.”
She’d felt so ashamed and at the same time, so devastated by his absence. “After all that, you made me feel like some filthy cliché,” she said in a small voice. “I was fighting the first hangover of my life. Sick and…so very ashamed for…so many reasons. I had to get out of there before anyone saw me.” She bristled now, embarrassed at how naïve she’d been. “I get it now. I understand how such things work. But Grant, whether you meant to or not, you broke my heart.”
The hand cradling her head slid around to cup her chin. “Skye,” he murmured. “I didn’t know.”
Drained from her emotional purge, Skye merely nodded. “I know.”
He struggled with something for a moment before exhaling hard. Releasing her, he scrubbed both hands over the scruff on his face and considered her over the tips of his fingers.
“That night,” he began. He hesitated. “I—fuck—I was dealing with some shit too. Still am, for fuck’s sweet sake. You were blitzed. Totally shitfaced.” His face softened as if seeing her again. “And so beautiful. Stunning and tragic.”
She winced at the description. “I sound irresistible.”
“Utterly,” he said with simple sincerity. “And I—” His eyes clouded and he ducked his chin to gaze out toward the water. “I needed to forget for a while. I took advantage of that. I took advantage of you.”
The admission cost him. More, she saw the memory of what had driven him then continued to claw at him. ““What happened to you?” she asked softly. When he didn’t answer, she risked pushing a bit more. “You’re different. You’ve changed.” Now he looked at her.
“You come with me right now, back to the villa, and I’ll show you how much I haven’t.”
She’d be lying if she said the idea didn’t tempt her. “Don’t do that,” she gently admonished. “Tell me what you wanted to forget that night. Tell me what haunts you.”
“Tell me why you were drunk in that pool,” he countered. “Tell me what you’re hiding from now.”
“Grant,” she said. Only his name, but it hung there between them, weighted with meaning that didn’t require articulation.
“Let it go, Skye,” he demanded, brusque in a way that was meant to be obeyed.
Unfazed, she tilted her head to catalog his nuances. To anyone looking, he probably came off cool and aloof. A seasoned warrior at rest, perusing the beach with watchful eyes, never fully off-duty, but enjoying the bright side of life.
But all of it was a skillful mirage. The leveled lines of his shoulders remained locked tight, braced against whatever turmoil broiled right beneath his surface. His jaw was set, an acute angle that restrained some unholy impulse.
Beneath all that was…pain. His beautiful irises were dull and flat, deadened by the damage he kept locked away. A knot twisted in her plexus, making her chest feel concave with empathy. She wanted to hold him close, overwhelmed by an instinctive urge to protect this man no one else seemed to notice was quietly falling apart.
So Skye, with the lack of self-preservation no Thornquist breeding could fully wash out, led with her heart.
“Something’s changed in you.” She tried for a smile but knew it was weak. “I can see it there, behind your eyes. You’re not hiding it from me; I think, for some reason, you’re not trying that hard to.”
He started to reply, no doubt more assertions of how wrong she had him, but the alarm on her phone interrupted them. “Time to go,” she announced softly. “Mandy is treating me to a spa appointment.”
She rolled onto her side and pushed against the yielding sand, feeling ungainly and awkward through the modified yoga pose that got her to her feet. Once steady, she gazed down at him, strong and imposing even posed at her feet, self-assured if strangely aloof.
He stood in a rush with far more grace than she’d managed, as though the shifting sand was as solid beneath him as concrete.
Annoying.
Skye bent to gather her shorts and tee, pulling both on mechanically. Casting him a look from under her lashes, Skye searched her feelings, but they were too conflicted for her to settle on one. This was when being bold became uncomfortable risky. By the pool, in the dark of night, she could blame emotional trauma and the mistakes only the night would forgive. In bright sunshiny day, it was much harder to come up with excuses she could live with.
“Stay safe, Grant,” she said, feeling lame but somehow as if it was the right thing to say.
“If you can’t be safe, be fucking deadly,” he returned, then explained, “Something we say on the Teams.”
“Well.” That was certainly…definitive. “Try to be both. Not that I want you to be deadly per se,” she floundered as what she’d said registered. “I mean, I do, if that’s what it takes to make you and your friends safe, but it’s not like I want other people dead.” She winced when humor flashed through his eyes. “Just—keep breathing. For my sake, if not your own.” She studied his stalwart face for a moment. “Because I have a feeling you really don’t care whether you do or not.”
“But you do.”
“Yes,” she confirmed without hesitation. “I do.”
Those arms rippled as he again crossed them over his chest, a move she recognized as defensive but felt more aggressive coming from him. “Not sure what you want me to do with that, Skye.” And, by that flat, unyielding tone, he wasn’t too keen to find out.
Her smile turned wane. “Me neither.” She laid a hand on one bulging forearm. “But I care whether you live or die, Grant Sisti. What puzzles me is why you don’t.”
She gave him a squeeze, and left it at that, stepping back while swinging her bag up and over her shoulder before starting the short walk back to her putt putt.
Before she was three steps in, Grant snagged her hand and pulled her up short. “Skye,” he said in a sibilant tone, too masculine to be a whisper but pitched for her ears only. She shot an inquisitive glance over her shoulder.
Grant closed the distance between them in one stride. His hand skirted up her spine to squeeze the back of her neck. “Don’t try to get into my head,” he warned. “You won’t like what you find.”
“Maybe not,” she allowed. Going with her gut, she twisted at the waist and leaned into his touch, stretching her neck up to briefly press her lips against his. “But I bet I’ll still like you.”
~~~~~
SEALed With a Twist is now available exclusively from Amazon Kindle
Blurb:
Debutante. Heiress. Lady.
Skylar Thornquist has been called them all. But when her family insisted she stand as bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding to Skye’s ex-fiancé, she rebelled, drowning her public humiliation in tequila and a one-night stand of carnal debauchery with Grant Sisti. To escape her family’s iron grip, Skye now hides out cleaning toilets at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, masking her breeding and identity under a dye job, heavy makeup, and a smattering of fake tattoos while she tries to discover which label sticks to her best.
Doctor. Joker. Warrior.
Navy SEAL Grant “Twisted” Sisti has been them all. But since he failed to prevent the violent death of his teammate six months ago, Grant isn’t sure he can be any of those men anymore. He’s back at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa for his best friend’s wedding, but Grant knows he’s reaching the end of his rope. A state that isn’t improved by finding the help swimming naked in his private villa’s pool.
They never expected to find each other again on Barefoot Bay, both hiding from who there were, both wondering who they should be. Until Skye’s identity is compromised and the Thornquist iron grip gets a stranglehold on her new life…only this time there’s a Navy SEAL by her side.
Kiersten Hallie Krum writes smart, sharp, and sexy romantic suspense. She is the author of the prestigious RONE award finalist, Wild on the Rocks, and its follow-up, SEALed With a Twist. She is also a past winner of the Emily Award for unpublished novelists.
A member of the Romance Writers of America, the New Jersey Romance Writers, and the Long Island Romance Writers, Kiersten has been working in book publishing for more than twenty years in marketing and promotion. At other times in her career, she’s worked back stage for a regional theater, managed advertorials for a commerce newspaper in the World Trade Center, and served as senior editor for a pharmaceutical advertising agency.
Writer, singer, editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities straight is hard enough work. Born and bred in New Jersey (and accent free), Kiersten sings as easily, and as frequently, as she breathes, drives fast with the windows down and the music up, likes to randomly switch accents for kicks and giggles, and would be happy to spend all her money traveling for the rest of her life.
September 15, 2017
Sexy Saturday Round Up
[image error]By Elizabeth Mattila
Hey sexies! We’ve rounded up a truly eclectic mix of fun, weird, and get-the-fan-out scorching hot links for you from around the web. Sit back and enjoy. xoxo
The season of scare is about to descend. It has already floated into theaters, but if that isn’t enough for you, check out this round-up of the creepiest that 2017 has to offer – so far.
Hey leaf peepers, your interactive fall foliage map has arrived.
Total mysogynist a-hole moron goes on live TV and gives women yet another reason to hate him.
Want to have a great orgasm? First get yourself a good massage…down there.
Want to have lots of great orgasms? 5 tips for landing multiple trips to the promised land.
Drool alert! Blazing hot Will Wikle takes all his clothes off…and we get to watch.
So you really like him? Then do not say these seven things.
Who doesn’t like Ted Cruz “liking” a porn video? Porn stars.
Sexual Knowledge is Power
Since it’s Strong and Sexy Week here at Lady Smut celebrating Elizabeth Safleur’s brand new release The White House Gets a Spanking, I want to explore something I think is vital for everyone, and especially women, when it comes to gaining strength and power: sexual knowledge. I don’t just mean sexual activity with other people, although that can be part of how we learn about ourselves, or sex education, which is woefully lacking in so many parts of the United States. Rather, I mean understanding our own internal sexual selves, what turns us on, what doesn’t, what we want from our sexuality, and how we will get it. After all, how can we exert our sexual power if we don’t know what we want?
There have been times when I’ve looked back on my sexual history and thought, Why did I do that? That was such a dumb decision. Things like chasing after someone who was clearly not interested in me (I did this on more than one occasion), or hooking up with a guy just because I was enamored that he’d been a contestant on Top Chef, or cheating on my girlfriend, which still haunts me to this day even though we’re now friends. I could go on, because I’ve had lots of sexual experiences that in retrospect seem pointless, but all of them taught me things about myself, which to me means power. Why? Because that past helps guide me in my current life and relationship. They made me more powerful when it came to erotic decision making because I knew what situations I didn’t want to repeat. I was able to be more assertive with future partners based on that collective information.
In my personal life, sexual trial and error has taught me so much about myself. For instance,, even though I’m generally more submissive than dominant in my sex life (though I struggle to be assertive in my non-sexual life), the times I’ve been with a partner who wanted me to dominate them have been some of the hottest of my life. I learned how to step into that role, showed myself and my partners that I was capable of it, and even enjoyed it. Aside from the specifics of domination and power, simply knowing that I got off on something I wouldn’t have expected has informed my outlook on life and on my own sexual personality.
That’s the kind of sexual knowledge you can’t really glean in the abstract, although sometimes it can come from talking about sex, which is precisely the situation in the excellent new novel Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal.
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Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows
I finished this book recently and loved it. It’s not erotica per se, but about erotic storytelling and how, for the title group of widows who join a London English class taught by protagonist Nikki, sharing these sexual fantasies unlocks a very special kind of power. Jaswal does a wonderful job focusing on women who’ve largely been forgotten by society. They’re widows, and elderly, so are viewed as sexless, yet they are far, far from being over desire. In fact, once they’re given this opportunity to freely explore their most shameless urges, they go wild with it. The class was originally meant to teach them how to read and write in English, which isn’t their native language, but what they consider more pressing is unburdening themselves of all the ways their culture has kept sexual knowledge from them. They take turns sharing their erotic stories and quizzing each other about the origins, in the process learning about the kinds of secrets we all keep buried behind closed doors.
Kulwinder, Nikki’s boss, who’s initially against the idea of the women under her indirect supervision discussing sex so openly, finds that the stories have worked their way into her mind and affected her marriage to her husband, which has been largely distant since the untimely and violent death of their daughter. Yet when she reaches out to him for intimacy, he responds, leading to a wild night when she wakes up naked in bed, shocked at herself.
She closed her eyes in embarrassment. Oh what have we done? she thought. Behaving like goreh, getting carried away in their excitement. They had wrapped themselves around each other last night like giddy lovers, moving up and down, left and right, twisting even. Where had it come from? The stories had provided no instructions, but they had known anyway how to bring each other to such heat. The thought of it sent shocks through Kulwinder’s body and then she was overcome by a wave of shame.
But why?
She was startled by the question, uttered so clearly that it broke the silence in the room. Why was she ashamed? Because she was supposed to be; because women, especially her age, did not ask for these sorts of pleasures. She blushed, thinking of the uninhibited moans that escaped her mouth – from every part of her body it seemed – as she drew Sarab in closer and closer. What if the neighbors heard? It had not even occurred to her last night.
For me, this was one of the most moving passages of the novel, highlighting how once our sexual knowledge has taken hold, it can’t be tucked away as if it doesn’t exist. It can’t be ignored and, for Kulwinder, and many women, it forces us to stand up to the often sexist and shaming cultural notions we’re offered about what’s “proper” for women. I’d venture to say that every woman has butted up against those notions at some point in her life, whether about how she dresses, what she’s done sexually, her “number,” or how she’s perceived to have behaved sexually.
The widows in the book share fantasies about sex with their husbands, with other men, with women, with sex toys. And even women outside the circle of widows find that once this Pandora’s box of erotic tales has been opened, it can’t be contained. There’s a reason these stories spread like wildfire, especially from a population that’s clearly been starved for just such carnal knowledge: they are finally coming in to their power, their autonomy, their voices.
I consider this a lesson all of us can learn from, whether we intimately share the details of our sex lives with one another or simply remain open ourselves to what’s truly in our hearts. Sexual knowledge can be unnerving, scary and dangerous; it can throw us off from a course we assumed was our destiny. It can put us on a collision course with what we’ve expected for ourselves, or what others have come to expect of us. It can be far easier to ignore what we know about our sexuality in favor of making nice or compatibility or respectability or any number of other reasons. But I’d argue that there are far greater rewards than negatives for pursuing our sexual power, for learning more about ourselves rather than less. Not only can it be enlightening and arousing, but also the better we know our own sexuality, the more empathy we can give to others who may take a different approach. That’s what happens in the book, as the widows are confronted by their peers’ experiences that clash with theirs. Yet ultimately, through discussion and exploration, they come to understand each other far better than they did when they were keeping their sexual secrets under wraps.
For lots of erotic knowledge and a strong heroine, be sure to check out hot off the press Washington, DC sexy femdom erotic novel The White House Gets a Spanking by Elizabeth SaFleur! It’s on sale today for the launch price of 99 cents. You don’t want to miss it!
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The White House Gets a Spanking is out now!
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Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 and 2, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at eroticawriting101.com. You can follow Rachel on BookBub to get notified about new releases and ebook sales.
September 14, 2017
Viking Warrior Princess–Bitches!
[image error]by Madeline Iva
What you need to know:
For a long time, many asshats in the archeological world wouldn’t admit this mighty Viking warrior in the grave was not a dude. And that’s despite a lot of people saying “Um, that skeleton looks, um, female?” Because: swords—lots o swords. But until more asshats can disprove it, DNA tests seem to confirm that the warrior was female.
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We’ve got horses on the side, and some games and weapons. Yup, that’s a warrior. But, um, this dude looks like a lady.
Let me pause a minute to express myself to all those archeologists who weren’t willing to admit hard scientific evidence:
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I myself have always wanted to be a Viking warrior princess. I think I’ve got the hair for it, frankly. (You’re looking at my photo – don’t pay attention. I don’t really look like that.)
Scandanavian genes? Check. Not that I think these are necessary for a warrior princess…just if you want to be super Viking-y about it.
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Warrior Princesses are HOT, no matter what ethnic flavor.
Ability to fight with swords? Check. (Technically, it was fencing, but whateves. I could take you, is what I’m saying.)
Do people fear me? Well, no. But they did in high school. I was one of those tall, strapping girls who looked perpetually irritated with the world.
I did say one time about someone who was flirting with my sweetie that if I caught her doing that again I’d rip her tits off. Jokingly. I mean, in my defense, it was only one time. And I didn’t even say it to her directly. She wasn’t even there. It was more an aside to others. Of course for the next few days every time she saw me she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. Jokingly.
But I think the whole Viking warrior princess thing is a state of mind, really.
Viking Warrior Princess state of mind? Check.
An anecdote to illustrate:
Once, a good decade ago or more, I was hanging out with these three guy friends while I was working a summer job. My sweetie was working about an hour away, so for the first time ever we were living apart. That lasted exactly one week then one night sweetie said on the phone, “Hey! Guess who I ran into today?” It was his ex. The next week I got him a job where I was working. However, these three guy friends were rather curious to meet my sweetie. But later on, I asked them why they were so quiet when I introduced them. They said: “We were kinda underwhelmed.” Why? I asked. “He’s just not who we were expecting,” one of them mumbled. Who were you expecting? I asked. “Thor, god of thunder.”
Moving on—let’s discuss the perks of the warrior princess job:
1) Being called a Warrior Princess, obviously. I think this is an epithet that we cannot throw around too much. Let’s use it to replace bitch, slut, bossy pants, etc – all those negative terms we seek to pin on women who get shit done, who take charge, solve problems, and frankly, make the world go round.
We will know we’ve overused the term by the time Forbes says “Like the other 5000 warrior princess CEO’s of top American companies in the corporate world…XXX, who, before becoming president earned more than every other CEO to date, has finally gotten an equal pay amendment passed by congress.” At that point I’m happy to retire the term.
2) Fearless Sex. Viking Warrior Princesses have sex outdoors up against trees—where anybody—including squirrels–can see them. They have sex in pottery studios – a la Ghost but with less clay-goo and more biting. They are fearless about shower sex. I should know this – because I’m a Viking Warrior Princess and I’ve done all these things.
3) Weapons of choice. My weapon of choice these days is no longer a sword (technically a fencing foil). It’s a pick mattock – your garden’s version of a pick axe.
It looks like this:
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Scary, no? Mine is dull and needs to be sharpened as I tame this jungle we call our yard. Viking Warrior Princesses do not like dull weapons, btw. (Try hauling that thing over your head ten times fast while chopping out ash trees. It gets your heart rate right up there, lemme tell you.)
4) An excellent side kick. Warrior Princesses are lucky because superior side-kicks come in so many varieties these days. Take this quiz below and see if you know your awesome sidekicks.
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Don’t be surprised if I suddenly have a warrior princess series coming your way. Like they say–write what you know.
HEY! We’re also celebrating Elizabeth Sa Fleur’s latest release— check it out if you’re all into strong women like we are:
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Madeline Iva is the author of the fantasy romance Wicked Apprentice. Follow her on Wattpad to read her latest novel WICKED ENCHANTRESS. New chapters are posted every Friday. Join her newsletter.
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September 12, 2017
Of Men, Masquerades and the Monkey Trap: Naked Snctm is a Surprise
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By Alexa Day
(Strong and Sexy Week continues to celebrate colleague Elizabeth SaFleur’s new release, The White House Gets A Spanking, a fabulous and timely novella up for preorder right this second! But I couldn’t wait until October to go after Snctm again. I don’t do delayed gratification all that well. You know, sorry.)
The morning I discovered the email announcing that Snctm had a television series airing on Showtime, I began preparing to hate-watch it. I haven’t been terribly shy about my feelings when it comes to the Beverly Hills-based sex club. I figured a TV show was just another way for founder Damon Lawner and his inner circle to congratulate themselves for building this emporium for the male gaze.
After watching the first two episodes, I decided I was right about it. I only watched the third because I had something in the oven and my craptacular cable package didn’t have any better ideas.
Because of my chicken and rice casserole, I’m now writing a very different post from the one I thought I’d be writing.
But let’s start at the beginning.
I hesitate to call Naked Snctm a reality show. It has some of the trappings of the reality show, leading the viewer along with Damon as he goes about his version of a normal day. We even have those little confessional-style clips with his staff and some of Snctm’s members. Despite all that, Naked Snctm feels more like a documentary. It doesn’t feel cheap. It doesn’t even feel exploitative, really. And while I can often sense the producer’s hand at work in the typical reality show, Naked Snctm looks like it was assembled by a storyteller.
I have a LOT to say about this show, and I know you all have limited time. Everyone is busy these days, what with pumpkin spice lattes and the holidays swiftly approaching. I understand. I’ll keep this to two highlights per episode, for four episodes.
Near the beginning of the first episode, we meet Damon’s ex-wife as they sit down for a drink. Melissa explains to us in the confessional that she and Damon met when she was 18. She was raised to think of marriage and relationships in a relatively conservative way, and he … well, he wasn’t.
At the bar, Melissa tells Damon that their twelve-year-old daughter came home from school in tears. Some of the boys in her class have been giving her a hard time. They found Damon on Instagram, followed the breadcrumbs back to the Snctm website, and then did what the average twelve-year-old boy would do in a situation like that.
Damon’s response to this bothered me.
The only way to protect his daughters (he and Melissa also have a nine-year-old) from Snctm is to get rid of it altogether, he says. He isn’t going to get rid of it. It represents his only income stream, he says, and “I don’t have a Plan B.”
I’m not a parent. But I have lost my only income stream without warning. I’ll admit that it’s a little scary and would probably have been more scary if I had human dependents. Wanna guess what I did?
I fucking created a goddamned Plan B.
If I knew that my job was causing my daughter pain — and I think we both know that at 12 years old, this is probably not harmless teasing — I would quit that job, unless my job were critical to the continued existence of Planet Earth. Damon’s job is not critical to the continued existence of Planet Earth. I hope he’s not going to try to convince his daughter that it is.
This exchange takes place early in the first episode, right as we’re getting to know Damon. I can’t help but wonder why. Why tell us this now? Why tell us at all?
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Damon (left), with Nicolas, making an important business decision
We don’t have much time to think about this before we’re spirited away to Damon’s place for Diner. Nicolas, Snctm’s operations manager, is on hand for the event. Nicolas — a bright-eyed, clean-shaven, briskly accented opposite to Damon — explains that his job is to make sure everything on the premises is running smoothly. He keeps his eye on the multitudinous candles. He keeps glass off the floor. He isn’t all that interested in the erotic theater himself because that would detract from his job performance. He’s like the security guard at the museum, specifically chosen because he isn’t interested in the art.
Nicolas also reviews the written portion of the Snctm applications. He gave someone a thumbs-down because her essay was “pretty pathetic.”
Nicolas is now the most interesting person I have encountered thus far, in all my dealings with Snctm. Snctm people, take note: had you put me in touch with Nicolas, I might have been a little nicer to you. A little. Let’s not get crazy.
I am a little surprised to find that the artistic director at Snctm is a woman; the club strikes me as a little tone-deaf when it comes to what women would want. Still, Alina arranges the performances for Snctm events. At Diner, the performance is two women going down on each other, on the dinner table, before a third woman in a maid’s costume spreads cake frosting on them both for the consumption of the guests. Alina says this isn’t “some sloppy porn thing,” but where was the last place you saw two women eating each other out on a table where people were having a meal just moments before? It was porn, wasn’t it? Nothing against porn, but wasn’t it?
And if you answered this question, “Actually, Alexa, this sort of thing happens every night at the table for me, you plebeian clod, and no one cares that the wooden surface soaks up emissions like a sponge,” then I apologize. Sorry.
One of the second episode’s highlights is Osa. Osa is the first black woman I’ve seen in any of my writing on Snctm. At her audition to become a performer, she explains that she’s into fetish, including the fart fetish.
I have never heard of the fart fetish. Even the unflappable Nicolas seems flapped by it. Osa assures us that it’s on Wikipedia. It is, but it’s just on a list. Check out this article on eproctophilia from Psychology Today instead. Go right now. I will be here when you get back.
In gratitude for teaching me something I honestly did not know about the world of fetish, I will withdraw exactly one mean-spirited thing I have said about the Snctm people. I’ll let you know when I decide what it is.
The other highlight is a little less pleasant.
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The Snctm audition.
There are two dudes auditioning for roles at Snctm as well. One of them is dressed like Nicolas, in a suit with his shirt open at the throat. Like he’s looking for a job. Nice. The other is wearing a blue tank top and a pair of pink shorts. This one, Robbie, takes the top off for a moment to show his interviewers what he looks like in a state of undress. As soon as they get a look at him, that shirt goes right back on. Maybe that’s normal for a man’s interview. Everyone felt Osa up during her audition, so I guess it’s hard to tell what normal is.
Robbie is sent upstairs with the other hopefuls to wait for the next stage, whatever that is. While he’s up there, he’s generally making an ass of himself. “Can I get a kiss?” he asks one of the women who hasn’t auditioned yet. “Should we fuck so you aren’t so horny later?”
Word gets out that Robbie is going to be a problem. Damon and Nicolas send security upstairs to have him removed at once. They are adamant that this kind of thing doesn’t fly at Snctm, and indeed, the Snctm people have always taken that position with me.
Security is Johnathan, one of the performers. Sometimes, he wears a military-style uniform, and he was a cop stripper before Snctm. Evidently this qualifies him to be security at Snctm. Something to keep in mind before dropping money on a base membership.
The third episode takes us to New York and an East Coast Snctm masquerade. Two highlights from this episode as well.
First, as she’s auditioning performers for that night’s party, Alina says the performance has to be more than “two girls in lingerie making out because you can see that everywhere.” I will gently remind the reader that Alina was kind of excited about two girls in lingerie making out in the first episode. Just a reminder, no judgment. Reminds me of the time, also in the first episode, when Damon said Snctm members came from all walks of life and then in the next breath said the base membership cost $15,000. That, to me, excludes some walks of life, but again, that’s just an observation.
The other highlight of the third episode? The IV Doc. Something else I’m learning about for the first time from Naked Snctm.
After a night of overindulgence, Damon is quite unable to get out of bed. Nicolas and Alina need him to get up; there’s business to handle before the masquerade. Nicolas suggests that this happens more often than he’d like. He even seems a little annoyed. What’s a guy to do?
Enter the IV Doc. The IV Doc will come to you, wherever you are, and administer an intravenous pick-me-up that will help you get out of bed to face the day. You can choose vitamins or other supplements, depending on whether you need hydration, detox, or even recovery from food poisoning. It’s actually kind of reasonably priced, when you consider how much it should cost to have a medical professional come to you and give you anything at all.
I had to go onto their website to learn all this. I have a little bit of an issue with needles, so I wasn’t about to watch Damon take that IV, even for you all. There is no way I personally would volunteer to get an IV because I can’t get out of bed. We would just have to write that day off. Perhaps the IV Doctor has a discount package where they open the packet containing the needle and you leap, rejuvenated, out of bed in order to avoid it.
The fourth episode reunites Damon with his mom.
Damon and his mom don’t see eye to eye. It feels personal and not totally appropriate to go into it here. I’ll say that despite Melissa’s suggestion in the first episode that Damon’s parents lived a carefree lifestyle that makes him who he is, I think Damon is actually trying to break free from the world his parents created for him in childhood. Snctm is his world, and at first blush, it does look like a traveling orgy. But in reality, the Diners and the masquerades and all the rest of it operate in a very structured way. Membership comes in tiers. Certain people are allowed to do certain things. There are rules upon rules upon rules. The sex is choreography, designed to entice invited guests.
When Damon ultimately reconciles with his mother, I don’t get a theater vibe from their embrace. He’s made himself open and vulnerable, and he owns that moment completely. I think that if Damon and his mom had ended the conversation by cursing each other out, he’d have owned that, too. This is what I meant when I said that Naked Snctm didn’t feel like reality television. We are in a space with Damon that feels intimate. It’s just unclear whether he considers it intimate. It’s unclear what intimacy means to him, which makes it harder for us to find our footing with it.
Also in the fourth episode, Damon goes on a date.
He’s been set up with a lovely woman named Violine. They’re enjoying a glass of wine and some conversation, and Damon tells us in the confessional that Violine has no idea what he does. He says the experience is refreshing. I know that feeling all too well. I’ve been on that date myself, before the guy across the table knows I write erotica. I treasure the moment when he looks at me and sees the girl he met at Petco or the attorney who works downtown, the one with the weird sense of humor and an unfortunate taste for disco. There is no way to know, without telling him, whether that guy would date a woman who writes erotica. So I know Damon’s desire to preserve the bubble, where he’s just Damon, a guy Violine met through a mutual friend.
But then Damon tells Violine what he does. On the first date, just after telling us how wonderful it is just to be Damon. He explains to Violine about Snctm and his role in it. He asks if she could date a man who did that for a living. Violine touches the napkin to her lips, and I know the answer is no before she says it.
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Did you forget the preorder? Don’t forget the preorder. Click here!
I am reminded here of the monkey trap.
In the historically problematic miniseries Shaka Zulu, Edward Fox’s character Francis Farewell describes the monkey trap to Henry Cele’s King Shaka, leader of the Zulu nation. The trap is a gourd with a narrow neck, baited with something monkeys find tempting, like a piece of fruit or a shiny object. The monkey can reach into the gourd with no problem but he cannot withdraw his closed fist. To escape the trap, all the monkey must do is surrender the bait and open his hand. But monkeys won’t do that. Indeed, I saw a film the other day in which a trapped monkey frantically yanked at the gourd, desperate to flee the hunter but unwilling to relinquish his shiny prize.
I’ve come to realize that Damon is caught in a monkey trap. He himself observes that Snctm has cost him dearly. He’s lost his marriage. He’s leaving messages to speak to his daughter. It’s complicating his love life. He needs an IV to get out of bed.
But he won’t let go of it. While the club’s revels seem like the heights of sexual abandon to an outsider, Damon explains, “for me, it’s how I understand love. Sex is love.”
Snctm is Damon’s answer to some deep-seated question. It is the proof to some equation locked within him. It feels like a purpose and a solution to him, and with so much of himself wrapped up in it, I’m not sure what would remain if he let go of it.
He’s at home with his choice, and you all know that I stand for respecting a man’s choice. But I can’t help but see a gourd with a narrow neck, baited with something shiny.
Follow Lady Smut. We’re full of surprises.
I want to give you a hug for getting this far! Instead, I have two announcements.
I will be moving to a monthly post starting this month. Look for me on the first Friday of the month, beginning in October, and I promise to look for you, too. You’ll still get everything you’ve come to know and love from me — whatever that might be. You just won’t be seeing me as frequently.
Also, we at Lady Smut will be starting a new feature this week: Throwback Thursday. As we settle into this sophisticated new format, we’ll be featuring some of our greatest hits every Thursday! Tune in and get yourself a history lesson.
September 11, 2017
Age Is Just A Number Baby
In case you’re not feeling so strong and sexy (our theme at LadySmut this week), may Greta Pontarelli, a 66 year old woman who took up pole dancing just 7 years ago, inspire you. Age is nothing but a number, baby.
Whatever is in front of you right now, you can do it. We know you can.
Follow LadySmut. We believe in you.
~~~~~
Connect with Greta on Instagram
Follow her on Facebook
Visit her site (Pssst… she teaches!)
(Copyright owned by Greta Pontarelli. No copyright infringement intended.)
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