Liz Everly's Blog, page 41

Cuckold Beach 1: Pink Bow – Simply Sinful Basket Gveaway

By Isabelle Drake

Yes! You are taking a break from deal hunting, cleaning, or driving. Welcome to Lady Smut’s Simply Sinful Giveaway.

I’m here to heat things up with a trip to a sizzling stretch of California beach, where devoted husbands are dedicated to satisfying their wives’ deepest desires. They’ll do whatever it takes to bring intimacy and ecstasy to the women they love…even if it means giving their wives to other men…while they watch.

Be sure to remember to comment on any (or all) of the excerpts today in order to be eligible to win our dangerously sinful Black Friday “Basket of Sin” giveaway basket. Check back in tomorrow (that’s Saturday, in case you have shopping blackout and lose track of the days) when we announce the winner!

Cuckold Beach 1: Pink Bow 

Troy and I got married six months ago, so it won’t surprise you to know we have a lot of sex. But there’s one night each week that’s extra-special—every Thursday we play Scrabble first.

I know when I say it like that it sounds really boring, but trust me—it isn’t. Troy’s dick is always hard throughout the game and he really knows how to make me beg for what I already want. I’ll be sitting across the board from him, watching his long fingers put tiles in place, wondering how he’s going to make me come later. By the time the game is over, I’m on fire with anticipation.

But that Thursday night, about three months ago, instead of pulling the Scrabble board out from under the bed, he led me to the closet and told me to put on my shortest skirt and highest heels and left the room. I made a joke out it and put on a pair of stripper heels a friend had given me. Then I slipped into the tiny slip-on skirt I bought on clearance but never wore. No top. No panties.

He didn’t laugh when I marched out into our small living room, jiggled my boobs and then spun around to show him my bare ass. He looked me up and down and said, totally straight-faced, “The no-panties idea is perfect, but you better go ahead and put a shirt on or I’m going to fuck you myself, right now.” Then he looked away and added, “Hurry up so we can get going.”

“Where’re we going?”

He didn’t look at me.

“Should I wear t-shirt? Or a nice blouse?” I asked, stepping backward toward our bedroom.

“Wear the sluttiest top you can come up with.”

That got my attention. Not him using the word “sluttiest”. I’m used to that because he calls me “slut” all the time. And for good reason—I can’t get enough. However and whenever he wants to fuck me, I’m ready. Sometimes I think I’ll never, ever get enough sex. Before Troy and I got married, I was pretty wild. There isn’t much I haven’t tried. But I was doing a good job of keeping my unusually intense sex drive a secret from my husband. Or at least I thought I was. It was on that Thursday night that I learned he’d known the truth about me for a while.

Not only did he know the truth. He planned to exploit it for his own pleasure.

Right before we left our condo, he made me stand in front of him and stick out my chest.

“Take your bra off.”

“I can’t go out like that! What if someone sees me?”

“They will see you. That’s the idea. I want everyone to be able to see your hard nipples.”

I tried to slip past him to get to the door but he blocked me. “Take it off and hand it to me. Or I’ll rip it off myself.”

I know it sounds terrible, but I love it when he talks that way. I know if I asked him to stop using that tone with me, he would. Instantly. But I never do because his rough commands make my pussy so hot and wet, I wouldn’t even consider telling him to stop.

So, I did what I always do—exactly what he wants. I slipped my sparkly pink t-shirt over my head and handed it to him. Then I took off my bra and handed him that. He reached out and pinched each of my nipples, and then sucked on them until they were both tight and incredibly stiff.

“I expect you to keep them hard all night. If you don’t, I’ll lift your shirt up and take care of it myself. I won’t care who sees me sucking on your tits.”

A shiver went down my back and settled in my pussy. The kind of shiver that doesn’t go away until it’s good and ready. Or until Troy fucks it out of me. I put my shirt back on and looked down. Sure enough, the hard points of my nipples were clearly showing.

Troy nodded with a sharp tip of his head. “Turn around,” he barked.

I did, pivoting on my strappy platform sandals. Once my back was to him, he lifted my tiny black skirt. “No panties. Good girl.” Then he smacked my bare ass several times, keeping at it until my ass stung. Then he walked out.

Damn him for getting me so turned on and then leaving! I rushed after him, walking as fast as I could in the stripper heels and doing my best to ignore the bouncing of my tits. Outside, a couple of our neighbors were chatting near their cars but were too far away to get a clear look at me. Troy was already getting into his car.

The sun had just set when we pulled out of the parking lot but the air was still really hot. The kind of weather you expect in Southern California in August. Steamy and sensual. As we drove, the crowded city faded into the distance and the traffic thinned. After a while, Troy turned off the freeway and headed down one of the smaller roads that run up and down the coast. When we got close to the ocean, I unrolled my window and breathed in the thick, salty air.

Troy didn’t say anything as we passed through the towns along the water. It wasn’t the kind of quiet when he’s upset, but the kind when he’s excited or anxious or just considering something important. So I didn’t worry about him not talking. I looked out the window and tried not to think about the fact that only a tiny layer of fabric separated my bare pussy from Troy’s view.

As we went farther down the coastline, the buildings became smaller and closer together but it was obvious that everyone who lived along the coast was loaded. The yards were landscaped with flowers, beach grasses and fan palms, and lit with soft spotlights. Many of the houses were tall and narrow, with parking garages on the ground level and living spaces above. It was a neighborhood way out of our price range, that was for sure.

Another thing I was sure of—we didn’t know anyone who lived here. Or maybe it was just me who didn’t know anyone, otherwise why would Troy bring us here?

After a long while, Troy turned off the main road and started checking the map on his phone. My curiosity was making me so jittery, each minute dragged, but finally he parked. Once he cut the engine, he turned to me and put his hand on my leg. “You know how much I love you, right?”

“More than the moon loves the stars,” I said, repeating our special phrase.

“That’s right. And I always will.” He slid his hand up my leg. “I know about the porn.”

My mind went blank.

Was that what he’d been thinking about during the drive? Heavy silence settled between us until I broke it with words, even though I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to say. I explained about a girl at work telling me to check out a particular site and how the site made me curious, so I kept looking… And I kept babbling, telling most but not all of the truth, until he cut me off.

“It’s okay. I love you, Abby. And I know what you need—so I’m going to make sure you get it.”

I started to talk again, telling him how much I loved him and that he always satisfied me, but he cut me off a second time by kissing me firmly on the mouth. His hard kiss stirred up all that lust that had brewing since he’d told me to change clothes. Within a minute, I was panting and reaching for his belt. He guided my hands away with a smile and laugh.

“No, no. Tonight is going to be different. For one thing, you aren’t in charge.”

“What else?” I asked, eager to know.

He shook his head and climbed out of the car. “Follow me and find out.”

I jogged after him, this time glancing around to see if anyone might spot me and guess who, or what, I was—a horny wife with no panties who liked to get bossed around by her husband so much, she lets him call her a slut and make her go out in public looking like a hooker.

Here’s the truth—I hadn’t been so turned on in weeks. Months. Maybe years. Maybe ever. My pussy was so slick, my juices were dripping onto my thighs.

Even though there were many homes, we were the only people on the street. The air was salty and the ocean rumbled in the distance. The house he led me to had a long flight of stairs up to the small front porch, and low, bass-filled dance music thumped from behind the door, which opened before we’d even knocked.

We stepped inside and were greeted by a man standing in a large foyer that had a pair of doors on one side, a table and hanging mirror on the other. With his clean-shaven head, black goatee and giant shoulders, he looked like a bouncer, which I guess is what he was. Troy handed him his driver’s license and the guy checked a list on a clipboard and nodded.

The man gave Troy his license back and then set the clipboard on the table. He looked me up and down, his gaze gliding over my body with care and interest. “Nice choice, sir. She’ll be a welcome addition here.”

A lot of girls might start asking questions at this point, but I trust my husband completely. He would never put me in danger or take me somewhere I didn’t want to go. One thing I was sure of—this night had something to do with sex, so I was all in.

“Thanks. She’s my wife.” Pride deepened Troy’s voice. By this point I wasn’t quite my usual self and the compliment really got to me. I shimmied a bit, making my breasts wiggle beneath the sparkly shirt.

The man’s white teeth flashed brightly when he smiled. Then he took something from a basket on the floor and handed it to Troy. It was a long, bright-pink sash with a bow tied in the middle.

“Put this around your waist,” Troy said, holding it out to me.

The fabric was smooth against my palm. “Don’t you get one?” I asked, hoping to get a smile from him.

“No. I don’t.”

I fastened the ribbon using the tiny silver buckle attached. The other man stepped over and adjusted the bow so it rested on the curve of my ass.

All of a sudden I understood. I was a walking present—but for who?

The man patted my butt and then gave me a gentle push. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Troy put his arm around me as we walked down the hall. He stopped at the end and looked at my face, his gaze serious. He kissed me on the mouth, letting his warm lips linger above mine just a second longer than I expected before lifting his head and taking my hand.

Three steps later I was in the living room—and instantly took two steps back.

Troy caught my retreat and guided me forward by wrapping his arm firmly behind my back. I continued to move forward with him as my gaze roamed the room.

Get started at the beach with Cuckold Beach 1: Pink Bow

Professor and multi-genre author Isabelle Drake doesn’t shy away from a writing challenge. She’ll create a charming, reserved, young adult heroine, then turn around and give life a wall-climbing zombie who acquires men to service her dark sexual needs. During her early writing days, Isabelle drove an ice cream truck, had a couple gigs as the mall Easter Bunny, and spent too much time reading classic Betty & Veronica comics. Now that she gets to spend more time writing, she’s given up the quirky jobs…but not the vintage comics. Find her all around social media as IsabelleDrake or stop by her website www.isabelledrake.com

Remember, comment below–or on any post published today, November 25–and be entered to win a Simply Sinful basket of book goodness. Giveaway closes at midnight (Eastern), November 25, 2016.

Next up in the Lady Smut Simply Sinful Reader Event is Madeline Iva at 1 P.M. EST

Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 excerpt: Simply Sinful Giveaway

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Welcome to our Simply Sinful Black Friday Reader Event, where we’re sharing excerpts all day and giving away the gorgeous basket you see below, full of goodies any romance lover would want.

My excerpt is from Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, part of the annual series I edit for Cleis Press, from my bisexual open marriage travel erotic short story, “Flying Solo.”

Blurb: Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, edited by award-winning author and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel, delivers risky, romantic, heart-pounding thrills. Featuring a diverse range of characters, sexualities and scenarios, these 22 steamy stories revel in erotic adventure, from the sparks between strangers to the knowing caresses of longtime lovers. Women learn “The Ropes,” get “Starstruck” and dine with “Two Doms for Dinner.” Penned by beloved authors such as L. Marie Adeline and Tiffany Reisz along with newcomers to the genre, these sexy encounters will give you plenty of fantasy fodder to last all year long.

Excerpt of “Flying Solo” by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I’ve made sure my camera has plenty of battery left for this trip, because you’re not here to watch me. I wish you were, but life sometimes keeps us apart. You didn’t ask me to, but I want to send you photos of me naked, turned on, wet for you. Even though you’re not talking up a storm as you usually are when we travel, I feel you with me as I pass through security, and especially as I head to the gate and start casually, quietly, discreetly looking around, the way we did on our honeymoon. Has it really been four years? They’ve flown by.

I’ll never forget sitting with you and hearing you whisper, “Find someone to take back to our hotel room with us.” You didn’t specify if it should be a man or a woman, and although I’d never considered it before, the idea of being pressed between you and another man made me so excited I almost spilled the medium coffee I’d just purchased. You took it from my hand and blew through the small opening in the plastic top for me, raising your eyebrows. I giggled, then started looking. I reached for your hand for support; you squeezed it but then let me go. I fiddled with my wedding ring, twisting around the new gold band over and over, afraid I looked like a kid in a candy store.

You’d whispered to me again. “I’m just so madly in love with you, and I think this should be a new tradition; when we travel, we find someone to join us. Just for fun, no strings attached.” I’d spent the entire time before we boarded perusing every adult sitting around us, mentally undressing them, wondering who had piercings or tattoos, who was kinky, who was the best kisser. I pictured the tall man in a suit, speaking rapidly in Spanish on the phone, with his cock in your mouth. I pictured the short, curvy redhead with her head buried between my legs while you entered her from behind.

“Well?” you’d asked, as they started to board the plane.

“I can’t decide. And I certainly can’t go up to any of these people. What am I going to say? ‘I just got married and my husband wants to have a threesome?’” Yet even saying those unspeakable words made me wet, made my mind and heart race. I’d told you that I was bisexual after our third date, wanting to make sure you wouldn’t have that awful, frat-boy, “That’s hot!” reaction that even most seemingly sophisticated men busted out once I revealed I went both ways. You just nodded and let me tell you all about Simone, the gorgeous woman with the smoky voice and beautiful, curvy body I’d most recently bedded.

I’d fallen in love with you in part because you let me tell you anything, and in turn revealed some of your fantasies. We’d tried out many of them—bondage, strap-ons, hot wax. We’d talked about threesomes and orgies but in a fantasy way, until that trip. For whatever reason, you’d never mentioned wanting to be with another man, but I liked learning new things about you just when I thought I knew it all. “Let’s wait until we’re on the plane,” I’d said, and lucky me: my dream girl, the one whose face I kept returning to, was sitting next to me on the plane. You’d pretended to sleep while I made small talk with her, all the while working up the courage to say what I most wanted to. As it turned out, she’d been the one to whisper in my ear, “I wish I could be alone with you for an hour. I want to kiss you all over.”

I’d stared right back at her, barely hearing the screaming infant behind us, or the blaring music from the woman’s headphones in front of us. I just saw her, Katia, her ripe, naturally pink lips, her jet-black hair, the tiny diamond glinting from her lightly freckled nose. When I reached up and traced her lips, you’d stirred, gently knocking my knee with yours. “You can. Well, not alone, exactly. I’m with him,” I’d whispered, getting close enough to make sure my lips grazed her earlobe. “It’s our honeymoon, but he wants me to bring someone home for us to share.”

“I’m good at sharing,” she’d whispered back, and she’d proven exactly how good once we were settled into our suite. Fresh from a hot shower we’d shared, our kisses making me tingle all over, Katia had gotten you and me on our backs and eased her mouth from one to the other until I was absolutely dripping wet, desperate for more. “You get on top of him,” she’d instructed, in the sweetest, silkiest voice possible. It was an order, but a gentle one. If I’d had a better plan I’m sure she’d have gone along with it, but there was nothing I wanted more than your cock inside me, my body primed from her hot, hungry tongue. She eased you inside me and just as I moaned and thought I might come right then and there, her tongue was back, lapping between the cheeks she held open with those soft, delicate hands. Her tongue pressed against my rosebud, making me groan.

“She’s licking me,” I’d whispered frantically before burying my face in your neck. She worked me into a frenzy, one that your hard, driving cock only made more frantic. When Katia’s fingers reached around me to circle my clit, I came, trembling against both of you, then biting your neck when her fingers didn’t stop dancing against my hard bud. She raised her head, only to nip at the soft flesh of my ass while she coaxed another climax from me. But it wasn’t until she lifted me off of you, pressed three fingers deep inside me, then eased them out and put them in your mouth that I really lost it. The look of sheer ecstasy on your face had me slamming down on top of you, fucking you harder than I ever had. You looked right at me while you sucked her fingers, and I came for the third time, something I’d also never done.

“Can I taste him?” she’d asked, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth than I was climbing off of you, wrapping my hand around the base of your cock, and feeding it to her. She didn’t swallow the whole thing greedily like I would have. Instead, Katia was like a cat with a bowl of milk, her tongue slowly licking up the cream at the tip, one long stroke at a time. I’d never seen a woman give a blow job up close like that, and I didn’t even think about what I did next, I just leaned forward and joined her, my tongue on one side of the ridged crown, hers on the other. Soon we were taking turns putting the head in our mouths, but I let her do the honors when you started to buck your hips up and down. I was too blissed out to give you the proper care and devotion you deserved, but Katia certainly wasn’t. I saw her saliva glinting off the length of your shaft as she rose all the way up, opened those beautiful brown eyes to stare at me, then, keeping her gaze locked on mine, moved all the way down. When I reached out to stroke her hair, you grabbed my hand and we both put just a little pressure on her head, enough to make her moan. Soon you were fucking her face—there’s no other way to describe it. She was grunting like an animal and you were lost in the feel of her mouth.

If someone had told me I’d spend the first night of my honeymoon watching another woman giving my husband head—and liking it—a few years before, or even a few weeks before, I’d have thought they were crazy. But in the moment, it was the hottest thing ever. There was no separation between us; we were all connected by our desire, our yearning to give and get pleasure all at the same time. When you came, I could tell instantly, even though Katia expertly sucked down every drop. “I think you should let Katia sit on your face,” you told me.

Oh my goodness. Of course. I lay back and soon she was on top of me, not writhing wildly, but slowly pressing herself against my mouth, enveloping my senses with her perfume. You got between my legs and ate me while I ate her, and even though your tongue distracted me from what I was doing, nobody minded. Eventually her languid movements weren’t enough for me, and I pulled her tight against me, loving how wet she was getting, loving it even more when she came. She repeated her clit stroking as you kept your mouth on me, so I got to experience a fourth orgasm that knocked me out. Katia was gone by the time I woke up, but what she left us with was an insatiable sense of sexual adventure.

Since then we’ve bedded men, women and couples—only while traveling, never back home. Today will be a first, though, and I not only don’t want to let you down, I’m curious what it’ll be like. Though I’ve had more partners than most of my married friends, when I’m with you, it always feels like married sex, no matter how many people are in the room. This time, it’s just me, and I have to imagine you watching, you whispering to me, you encouraging me. I still get nervous, as you well know, but I’ve loved every single one of our encounters, both in the moment, and how they spur us on later when we’re alone.

I text you a quick hello along with a photo of me, and just as I’m finished sending it, I see a man watching me. His head is shaved, and he towers over my five-two frame. I can tell he’s muscular from how his suit doesn’t quite fit him, even though he looks amazing. He’s taller and wider and probably stronger than you, but again, I know that if you were here you wouldn’t be threatened. Remember that pro football player we picked up, the one who not only bent me over and, with my head buried in the sheets, fucked me so well I squirted, but also fucked you? I think about that when I’m alone sometimes. It was one of the hottest things we’ve ever done. I wonder if Mr. Muscles would ever want to be with a man like you. Instantly, I blush; I can never hide that.

You’ve told me that’s one of the things you love about me—how easily I blush, how readily you can tell when I’m thinking something dirty. The muscle guy walks over. “Hi,” he says, his voice deep yet somehow boyish. “You busy?”

“Just waiting for my plane. Going on a business trip,” I say.

“Me too. Meetings, but not till three tomorrow.” Our flight’s at seven and is only an hour and a half, which means we both have a whole night free. “Look, I don’t want to bother you if you aren’t interested”—he nods at my wedding ring, which I only take off when I shower—“but I couldn’t help noticing you.”

“I’m interested,” I say quietly. I’ve had this conversation dozens of times, but it’s never easy to tell a stranger you’re in an open marriage, and it’s even more challenging without you by my side to help ease things along. “I’m…available. Tonight, anyway,” I say with a laugh.

“Tonight works for me,” he says. I motion to the seat next to me and we sit in companionable silence. I have an urge to lean my head on his shoulder, so I do. He strokes my hair, a seemingly gentle touch, but one that sends shivers running through my body. I picture you on my other side, and me snug between two men, one who sets me on edge and one who makes me feel safe—and sexy too. That’s what you do, if you didn’t know; I feel like I could take on the world in every way, knowing you’re there for me.

You can read the whole story in the anthology, available in print, ebook (including Kindle, Nook, Google Play, iBooks and Kobo) and audiobook. You can also listen to the full story free read by Audible audiobook narrator Rose Caraway

Comment below–or on any post published today, November 25–and be entered to win a Simply Sinful basket of book goodness.

Books! Wine! Bath bombs and soaps! Scones! What more could you need?

Giveaway closes at midnight (Eastern), November 25, 2016.

Next up in the LadySmut Simply Sinful Reader Event is Isabelle Drake at 11 a.m.

——-

Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, 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.

Because Food Is Sex In My Mouth

Yes, the symbology here is SUPER twisted on many levels. But hey, I think they know that. They’re having fun and look–the turkey is winning!

by Madeline Iva

This morning I’m slogging through 3.5 miles at a Turkey Trot.  I try to start as far in the back as I can, but it’s a given that I will still be passed by:

Moms or dads with a baby jogger (bonus points for decorative turkey hats).
Dads running with pre-pubescent daughters, still skittish about running a whole race.  Dads will say reassuring words: pace yourself Ashley, just take it slow. Daughters eventually take off like rabbits.
People who look out of shape but aren’t.
People who are walking

Yep.  I’m the world’s slowest jogger.  So why do I put myself through this? It’s bright out and still early. I’m squinting despite sunglasses and shivering despite layers of exercise clothing.

I do it, because it’s so easy to bring a few cans to donate to people who need food.  I like seeing turkeys giving high fives to kids vs. on a platter, ready to eat.  And I do this because during the race I live in my body.

I feel the surge and slump of adrenaline. I feel the heft of all my weight as I pull it through time and space.  My lungs are burning, my tendons protesting, etc. I’m in the here and now, awake and alive.

It’s good to really be aware of our bodies.  How much time do you spend in your head, ignoring everything else? 99% of the time I’m in my head.  I’d like it to be more like 70%.

There is a shining beacon of humanity during the race.  We turn down the old country road, go past the water stop, and then start uphill in the new-but-boring subdivision.  The road begins to undulate up and down as we reach the people who every year make their driveway a mimosa station for the runners.  We’re greeted with good cheer and an offer of liquid sunshine in a dixie cup.  Everyone perks up for that last mile.  I love those guys.

Pie for the win!

Which brings us to food.  It’s good to run and burn calories before indulging.  (I’m looking at you, cherry pie.)  Everything in moderation, Aristotle said–except love.  I have to love my body more, people, which ultimately means loving food a little less.

Because food is like sex in my mouth.  Jogging along, there are jiggling reminders of all that food sex I had with some chocolate truffles last night.  I won’t even talk about the threesome with the buttered toast and jam that happened this morning.  Carby sugary food dulls my experience of life.  It’s my love-drug of choice.

This love affair has got to stop.  Well, not stop, but slow down a little.  I want to spend more time indulging in my other senses.  I want to cheat on food with some nice lingerie, some sexy underwear, and some sensuous stretching.  I want to replace food sex with sex sex.

Yes, my sweetie and I sprawl all over each other on the couch while watching TV.  Yes, we spoon every night under the warm covers to fall asleep.  This offers me such a profound comfort I cannot even put words to it.  On the other hand, how many hours do we spend next to each other on our computers, which might as well be a million miles away?

I’ve been recently cured me of my internet addiction.  Just skimming the news and skimming social media.  Amazing how many hours there are in the day now. When we were young and poor, we had no TV or internet. We took baths together a lot instead.  Bath time is coming back.  And after that, hiking? (Maybe–don’t push it.)

My hypothesis is this: the more I live in my body–in a healthy way–natch–the more I will feel love, good will, sexy sparkies and engage with my friends. What do you think? If you had to choose between a snack or sex, which one do you reach for?

We at Lady Smut wish you the Happiest Thanksgiving Day! Come back tomorrow — we’ve got a fun surprise for you. ; >

My dad never wore a turkey hat on his head or took me to a road race. Lucky girl!

Madeline Iva writes fantasy and paranormal romance.  Her fantasy romance, WICKED APPRENTICE, featuring a magic geek heroine, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and through iTunes.  Sign up for Madeline Iva news & give aways.  

 

 

 

 

 

Making Love In The Mud To Save The Earth

By Elizabeth Shore

Here’s a conundrum to consider: what do you do when you’re so adoring of the earth that recycling your plastics or turning off lights as you leave a room aren’t nearly enough to show your planetary passion? When you’re so besotted with nature that you’re perfectly comfortable talking dirty to dirt? Or making love to a carrot? Why, it’s simple, really. If you find yourself pining for a pine tree, wanting to truly commune with nature, then you, my friend, might be an Ecosexual.

A good pal recently alerted me to this growing phenomenon, and growing it is! According to an article in The Sun (and really, how appropriate for an article about the earth to appear in The Sun), there are now more than 100,000 people worldwide who call themselves Ecosexuals. They even, luckily, have a manifesto. Here we can read about the beliefs and behaviors of nature lovers who, literally, love nature. They celebrate their “E-spots.” They also, according to the manifesto, “shamelessly hug trees, massage the earth with our feet, and talk erotically to plants.” Well, okay. Aside from the plant thing it doesn’t sound all that nutty. But is this merely to demonstrate a wonderous worship of the planet? No indeed! As it turns out, Ecosexuals not only love the planet, they feel that making love to the planet can actually help save it.

From what I gather, the thinking revolves around lovemaking as a means of rejuvenation. Life begins with a seed, and spilling seminal seed into the earth might just give it a revitalizing boost. Of course, biologically speaking, that’s a bunch of hooey. Human seminal fluid isn’t exactly going to fertilize corn. Or is it? If Ecosexuals believe that making love to the planet can help regenerate it, a quick romp in potting soil might be just what the earth doctor ordered. As their manifesto even states, “We are very dirty.” Oh my.

For those planet-loving Ecosexuals for whom showing their passion for the earth by spilling their passion on the earth still isn’t enough, good news! You can also marry the earth. Or the moon. Or a lump of coal. How? By taking earth vows, of course. Elizabeth Stephens and Annie Sprinkles, whose field of research is “Sexecology”  – the intersection of sexology and ecology – perform earth weddings and have posted earth vows on their website. If you, too, want to take the plunge and marry the earth, it’s important to remember that part of the vow includes the statement, “everyday [sic] we promise to taste you.” Sooooo…. however you want to interpret that, if you marry the earth it’s your duty as earth groom or bride to taste your spouse. Whether that means simply consuming some of earth’s bounty, like a freshly picked apple, or whether that means licking mud appears to be entirely up to the newlyweds.

For Sexecology experts Stephens and Sprinkles, their fervid earthiness is shown in various ways, including publishing a list of “25 ways to make love to the earth.” First order of business: ditch those feelings of embarrassment you may have about you and the earth shackin’ up. Much like with a human lover, the earth has no need for a lack of self-confidence. You love the earth? Well then, show her, damn it! Roll around in the dirt, masturbate under a waterfall, f**k a tree – you name it. Go “au naturel” and make love to the grass. Rusticate with roses. As long as you’re a peace-lovin’ earth lover, it’s all good.

Elizabeth Shore writes both contemporary and historical erotic romance. Her newest book is an erotic historical novella, Desire Rising, from The Wild Rose Press. Other releases include Hot Bayou Nights and The Lady Smut Book of Dark Desires. 

 

 

 

Indivisible: The Simple Invincibility of Loving

It is as simple, and as powerful, as this.

By Alexa Day

About 18 months ago, I received news of Jeff Nichols’s film, Loving, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. I did promise to give the movie a fair chance, but I could not imagine that any film would do justice to the real Richard and Mildred Loving, two people who simply belonged together.

I saw Loving this past weekend. It is magnetic.

From the very beginning, Nichols draws us into a world that never gets much larger than the two people at the heart of the story. The energy that flows between Joel Edgerton and Ruth Negga, who play the Lovings, is palpable but very gentle, a deep-running but quiet passion. As we follow them to Washington, D.C. and then back to Virginia, with three children in tow, the only thing any of us knows for certain is that these two people belong to each other. They nourish each other, and they grow into and through each other, and they are absolutely bound to each other. They are indivisible.

Given the groundbreaking nature of the Loving decision, I imagine that there’s always a temptation to turn this story into something large and sensational. It would be easy to play to the audience with raised voices and racial slurs and the protracted study of racial inequality in America in the 1960s. Nichols resists this temptation, and the film shines because of his restraint.

The beauty of the Virginia countryside fills the screen with lush color. The changing seasons come to life, softly reminding the viewer of just how long it took for the case to rise from Caroline County to the Supreme Court. Don’t even start me talking about the cars. Every detail is beautifully rendered, but all of that is just a backdrop for Richard and Mildred. They’re a constant in a world that slides around them. It is impossible to look away from them.

The movie never raises the question of whether the Lovings would stay together despite the opposition to their marriage. The film is built on one premise, the unbreakable certainty that neither would abandon the union. A different question arises from that foundation. We never wonder if the Lovings will stay together … but before long, we doubt society’s power to challenge them.

There is tremendous comfort to be found in the knowledge that two people would survive and thrive, despite opposition, simply by refusing to let go of each other. At one point, Mildred tells a reporter that she’s aware of the conflict she faces, but that she also knows that she and her husband have many, many allies. No matter what happens, the two of them are determined to live their lives on their terms, surrounded by family and friends.

That sort of confidence is the source of real, lasting change.

Is Loving playing in your town? Go check the website. Then have a look at Grey Villet’s photos of the Lovings.

And follow Lady Smut.

Good Behavior. The Dark Romance You Should Be Watching

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

That’s right, I said watching. Good Behavior is a television show, newly debuted on the TNT network this week and holy cats, is it a doozy. It’s like the best dark romance we’ve never before had on TV and didn’t realize we were missing, with an unlikable heroine you wanna root for despite the jail time and the drugs and the booze, and a villainous bad boy with potential alpha hole tendencies you want to climb like a tree despite, ya know, that whole pesky hit man thing.

Also, it’s *seriously* hot. They are seriously hot together, and they’re not even sure whether they like one another yet, but they’re stuck together and, holy hopping snot, do they spark.

Lately in Romancelandia, the dark romance has become a thing–or a thing again as some form of dark romance has been around since the late eighteenth century. In its current conception, these are romances where the hero is a mobster or something nefarious and comes into the heroine’s orbit through some criminal manner. He proceeds to do some pretty terrible things to the heroine, despite having feelings for her. Often, these terrible things are sexual and there’s a lot of explanation about how the heroine shouldn’t like what she’s doing and oh this is so bad but she can’t stop it or A Bad Thing will happen. Things proceed, bad guys often show up putting lives in danger, feelings grow, behavior is forgiven, lather, rinse, repeat. I’m blasé about this sub genre because to me, it smacks too much of the rapetastic, forced seduction, Great Misunderstanding historicals of the 80s and early 90s only updated from disenfranchised Scottish bandits and English roses to Russian Bratva and the daughters of their mortal enemy. That’s not to say I don’t like romances with heroes and heroines of dubious character and motivation. Done right, I *love* them, but I’ve yet to find a “dark romance” that makes me care enough to send my very best. Even after reading all of the Dark Mafia Prince books and Kresley Cole’s The Master, The Professional, and The Player series, both highly recommend dark romances series, yet I remain unmoved. Though I will add the caveat that the biker romance subgenre could absolutely be seen as dark romances and, as any regular Lady Smut reader will know by now, with those books I am totally on board.

I DVRd Good Behavior because TNT advertised the crap outta of it for the last two months and that usually annoys me enough to either tune it to see what all the hype is about or tune out completely (which is what I did with that Animal Kingdom show despite the fact that it features the great Ellen Barkin.) It took me till midway through the second episode to realize I was basically watching a dark romance, and, this time, I was loving it.

Given the lack of a comparable “blurb”, here’s the gist of this show: con artist, meth head, alcoholic, Letty Raines (Michelle Dockery, late of Downton Abbey) has just been let out of jail early for good behavior. She’s trying to stick to the straight and narrow, as ugly as that often becomes, in order to get her parental rights to her son back. But she can’t keep from her thieving ways, ways that include robbing high-end hotels (and that involve ever entertaining costume and wig changes). While robbing one hotel room, the guest returns early. As she hides in the closet, Letty overhears a hit man planning a murder with the soon-to-be victim’s husband.

Eventually, Letty makes her escape, but she can’t stop thinking about the woman who is about to be killed. She goes back to the hotel in a different disguise and tracks the hit man to a nearby club. After manipulating their version of a meet cute, she and Javier (for such is his name) proceed to have the best date ever during which Letty gets totally hammered. It’s a date during which they lie nonstop to each other, but they’re both also have a great time. They are totally into each other.

Dinner leads to some smoking hot sex. In the morning, Letty manages to sneak a peek at the information for the hit. She tries to warn the woman who is to be killed, but Javier (Juan Diego Botto) is right behind her and, when she and the victim confront him over a shotgun, he tells the victim that she knows why she’s been targeted even if he doesn’t. It’s here that the victim grabs the shotgun from Letty and holds it on Javier. So clearly, she definitely does know why she’s been targeted. By now, sirens can be heard as they called the cops before confronting the hit man. Javier, mostly unruffled by this chain of events, Letty to take the car out front and the money in it and go. Letty, still a work in progress, goes, leaving the other two to whatever will play out.

Shaken by what’s happened, Letty decides to do a swan dive off the wagon, buying up a bunch of meth and washing it down with vodka. First though she calls her parole officer and leaves him a broken message about how she’s giving up and giving in. In the middle of her bender, Javier finds her (making a wildly dramatic entrance). He flushes the rest of her meth down the toilet and tells her that, since she took his money, she now works for him.

That’s just episode one.

In episode two, Javier forces Letty to play his wife at an exclusive hotel in the Smokey Mountains. He’s on a job and he needs her to play the role. Role-playing is what Letty does best–both on the job and in her life–and she can’t escape the siren song of all the wealthy trappings that surround her, waiting to be plucked. Plus, there’s the fact that Javier will kill her if she tries to run.

And he absolutely will do this. He might not want to and he might hate doing it, but make no mistake, Javier is more than capable of killing Letty. She knows this and believes this, but she’s also deeply attracted to him and not just sexually, though that continues to flare. It’s like once the light goes on and Javier realizes she’s a thief and a con artist, all the pieces click for him and he really likes the puzzle that falls into place. He doesn’t like the drugs and self-destructive behavior, but he does like the woman he sees is there once Letty gets over and past her own shit. She genuinely wants to be a better person, she just keeps giving up. Javier doesn’t pat her hand and placate by saying, “I know you’re trying,” he tells her “Try harder. You could do if you’d just stop screwing up.”

Javier gets her. He gets all of her. By the time he catches up with her, he knows her entire past, her rap sheet, her sentencing, what made her lose her parental rights, even how many abortions she’s had, for crying out loud. The guy’s information is damn thorough. And when he reads down the laundry list of her crimes, ticking off her life in one line item after another, the despair that engulfs Letty to hear her life encapsulated like that is palpable. When, seconds later, Javier points the gun at her forehead, Letty closes her eyes, waiting to die because, after that list, what really does she have to live for?

Initially, Javier does seem to plan to kill her, but in that moment, he sees something in her that stops him. I think he sees how broken she is and just can’t put her out of her misery. Because he also sees (as does her parole officer, ironically) that she has immense potential to live an extraordinary life if she’d just stop screwing it up. So instead, he kidnaps her and forces her compliance in his next hit.

Letty is drawn to him. She disgusted by and terrified of him, but she’s also keeps coming back to him. She could’ve seen him go to the club and knowing he was out of the hotel, go back to his room and find the information on the hit. But she follows him instead and forces a meet, then goes to dinner with him and then to bed. She feels that pull too and despite ongoing attempts, can’t shake loose of him. Part of this is because Javier knows she’s a runner and is constantly in her path. He doesn’t want to kill her and more doesn’t want to lose her, and so he puts in considerable effort into keeping on top of her. But this is still a seriously scary dude.

Established as a couple on the 10th anniversary trip, Letty makes friends (as ordered by Javier) with the wife of his mark. She can’t keep herself from lifting a necklace from the woman and later models it for Javier. They commiserate over the gullibility of the woman and sink more deeply into their role play, spinning out the fiction of how they met ten years prior and how he won her. This leads to some sexy times–like, uncomfortably sensual–in the middle of which Javier whispers, “Happy Anniversary, baby,” with a wicked grin. And Letty laughs, full and unabashed, no calculation, because in that moment, they’re still role-playing their fiction, but yet there’s a level on which it’s deeply real, and they both know it. They get it. They get them. (This was also the moment when I was completely done.)

Dinner and a movie? More like stealing and killing. #GoodBehavior pic.twitter.com/Ru1hgelL09

— Chad Hodge (@chad_hodge) November 16, 2016

//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

Afterwards, he again orders her to return the necklace and he gets pretty damn scary about it too when she bucks, all while still inside her. Yeesh, it’s awful but still so sexy. It’s the dark romance!

This is Letty’s last straw and she finally bolts, but she’s waylaid out the back of the resort by the mark and his wife who are sneaking a joint. Forced by the role-play to smoke with her new friends, Letty’s still there a moment later when Javier comes around the bend. He immediately hauls Letty in and kisses her, a hard kiss of genuine relief, and tells her sincerely, “I’m so glad you didn’t leave,” which manages to bewilder Letty even more.

Look, I don’t know if or how the show is going to maintain and expand this initial premise going forward, but even if it winds up being Letty and Javier pulling of con jobs and arguing and struggling with each other and with themselves to be better people and what that might mean in the kind of lives they’re leading, I’d totally watch that. Their chemistry alone is compelling, but there’s also the complexity of their characters. We’ve already been given hints that Javier’s murderous business may have a noble patina (though murder for hire is bad! Bad, I say!) and while Letty is an adept thief and grifter (and Meth is bad. Bad, I say!), she often displays an emotional fragility and vulnerability at odds with her history and felonious bent. She wants good things, she wants to do good things, she wants to be a better person, she just has no idea what that means in real life. It’s possible, Javier could help her find out.

The romances–dark or otherwise–that compel me the most as a reader and are at the core of what I want to create as a writer, are ones where the heroine and hero “get” one another like no one else can, and where they love one another not in spite of what may be their worst traits, but almost because of them too. They’re the romances where they ultimately make one another better people (and that being better might have dark tints to it depending on the story) and that intimacy that grows between them enriches who they are and who they can be together. I see those things Letty and Javier in Good Behavior. I can’t wait to see more.

To sum up, here are some quotes from behind the scenes videos on Letty and Javier from their portrayers.

Juan Diego Botto on Javier: When Javier looks at Letty, he sees a beautiful, smart, intelligent, sensitive woman, and he’s absolutely fascinated by her. He’s fallen in love with her. We’re, all the time, fighting. I like you but I hate you. I want to be with you but I want to be alone, I’ve always been alone. That is happening all the time.

Michelle Dockery on Javier and Letty: Him being a hit man is in some ways irrelevant to Letty. She’s not attracted to him because he’s a cold-blooded murderer. It’s not about that, in fact she wants him to stop doing that. It’s more about this connection that they have from the get go that makes him want to be a better person.

Juan Diego Botto on Javier’s role in Letty’s sobriety: He’s very on top of her not to drink, but I think the main role that he plays in her being sober is confidence; I think I make her feel better about herself, and that’s, I think, the bigger role that I play in her recovery.

Good Behavior is on Tuesday night on the TNT channel. Check your local listings. Past episodes are available at TNT.com.

Follow Lady Smut. Dark, light, or in between, we got your romance right here.

Writer, singer, editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten Hallie Krum avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities strait is hard enough work. She writes smart, sharp, and sexy romantic suspense. Her debut romantic suspense novel,   Wild on the Rocks,  is now available. Visit her website at  www.kierstenkrum.com  and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

This weekend heralds the last blast of a golden orange tapestry outside my door.  But maybe you feel like fall is done and gone where you are. Maybe you feel like winter is here.

Fear not! Get yourself next to the fireplace and huddle up with something hot to drink. We’re here to broaden your gender horizons with tales of sex, and love, and Beyonce Cyber Feminism!

From Madeline:

Okay, show of hands–who here has a work husband? Turns out a work spouse could make you happier.

The Guy Who Was A Spy…And Loved His Cat

Surprise! I’m a muslim and in a feminist marriage.

I’ve seen articles about professional bridesmaids in the news, but this is a WHOLE OTHER thing going on in China.

See! Women don’t hate nice guys after all.  Altruistic people have more sex.

Beyonce & Cyber Feminism

You know that friend of yours who always drags you into her drama and is a total time suck? She’s your email inbox and the death of your productivity at work.

Queer sex myths debunked.

Like A Virgin: More boys are afraid when it comes to sex & also want to experience love, not just be a stud. 

Body Dysmorphia and how it can really mess a girl up.

When Gustav and Margareta found lurv: Tales of a Swedish King and his relationship with his women.

If you’re ever going to date a guy who treats you like someone worthy of respect, you’re going to have to set about the unpleasant job of alienating the men who don’t. Here’s HOW to quickly get rid of the ass-hats.

 

 

 

On creating inclusive, multicultural erotica in the age of Trump

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

In the nine days since I woke up and learned that Donald Trump had been elected president, I must admit that everything I do with my life has seemed largely pointless, from sex journalism to erotica editing to even blogging. How could it not be n the face of public discussions in 2016 in favor of a registry for Muslims and praising Japanese internment camps? The question that made my 41st birthday on the tenth and the rest of the ensuing days pass by in a blur of bingo and the blahs has been, What am I doing to make this world a better place? Because I had already been in somewhat of a creative lull and mental haze, the answer I kept coming back to was: nothing.

It felt ridiculous to be talking with the social media manager I had been so proud of myself for hiring about what quotes and images to use to promote my books, like I was ignoring the very real problems that have exploded into our world with a vengeance since last week’s news, despite not being able to take my eyes away from my increasingly scary Facebook feed for more than a half hour at a time.

And then copies of my new anthology, Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 2, arrived, all 200 that I had purchased in a burst of optimism and eagerness. There’s always something thrilling about seeing a book with my name on the cover for the first time, knowing that it went from a mere concept in my head into an actual paperback that will soon be on the shelves of bookstores and sex toy stores in all its shiny glory. I savored that moment, realizing that the book was bigger than me, and that I had authors who were excited to be published, many of them for the very first time, and that by helping them share their work, I might also be encouraging future authors to get writing. So I stopped feeling despondent for a little while and got to work packaging up those books and mailing out contributor copies to my 21 authors from around the world. I actually think my trips to the post office are my favorite part of the anthology editing process, even more than opening those boxes, because I get to be the one to deliver something that’s so much more than the sum of its individual parts to the people who helped create it, without whom the book wouldn’t exist.

Hot off the press Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 2

Holding those books in my hands made me realize that while I don’t consider myself an activist, what I can do in my own small way, is continue on with my vision for inclusive erotica. When I took over editing the series (which used to include calendar years in its title; my editing started with Volume 1), I decided to make some changes. One biggie was that authors who’d been published in one of my volumes before wouldn’t be able to submit again, in order to make room for more voices. While I’m only contracted through Volume 4, my dream is to get to edit 10 volumes, and in the process, publish writing by over 200 amazing authors, while also boosting their profiles and helping them gain a dedicated readership. I also started doing more outreach to writers who might not consider themselves “erotica writers” but who might want to contribute, because I believe there are so many people with brilliant untold stories that speak to their deepest desires, even when times are hard, even when other things may seem and actually be far more urgent than plain old s-e-x.

Now, I vow to do even more of that, because while I only have 65,000 words to do so, within that space, I want to publish the types of authors who may not be heard in mainstream erotica, yet whose perspectives are vital and urgent and powerful and lively and fierce and tender, who find eroticism within circumstances that may seem unlikely or unusual, whose fetishes defy categorization, whose desires continue unabated no matter how many hurdles, internal and external, they have to jump through to act on them. I want to continue to seek out women from small towns and big cities, from atheists to dedicated believers, from brand new adults to those many, many decades their senior, to contribute and make this a more varied, diverse series and share aspects of sexuality that help us understand each other better. This may be my Polyanna side showing, but I hope that in illuminating how sex and lust and love play a role in the lives of the kinds of women readers may or may not know in real life, these stories bring us all a little closer together.

So here is what I will ask you: please think about women and gender nonconforming/nonbinary people you know who might have a fascinating erotic story to tell, and pass on my call for submissions for Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 3. The deadline, December 1, is soon, but for those with stories to tell, I hope this call inspires them (and I will be editing Volume 4 next year, so stay tuned). Authors whose stories are accepted for publication will receive $150 and 2 copies of the book (plus as much social media promotion and support as I can possibly provide).

While I intend these volumes to be timeless and, hopefully, still in existence twenty, thirty, fifty years from now, I also want them to grapple with what it’s like to live and love and lust now, in such a chaotic political climate, not just in the United States but all over. I want them to run the gamut of human experience and look at how sex and religion, sex and age, sex and race, sex and disability, sex and gender, sex and anger and sadness intersect. I don’t want cardboard cutout characters or agendas, but humanity in all its messy imperfection. I want characters who break the rules (their own and society’s), who try something new, who surprise readers and themselves by following the path their desire takes them, even if it’s not “smart” or “rational” (perhaps especially if it’s not). I want them to defy stereotypes and slut shaming and the notion of being “good girls.” I want characters who deserve (and maybe even get, or have gotten) their own novels to truly see thir journeys to their fullest course. No, these aren’t essays, and their primary purpose still needs to be to arouse readers, and perhaps offer them an escape from the real world, but I don’t think that’s antithetical to also giving those consuming those words something lasting to think about.

On a personal level, I also am grateful that I’ve already got a mini book tour in the works, because I’m sure if I had the option of planning one now, I’d chose instead to stay home, to savor the small comforts of my little corner of suburbia, where people from different cultures do actually live together in harmony, rather than going out into the big wide world where it seems like we are becoming more and more divided and the worst of humanity is on full, loud, public, scary display.

Will anyone want to hear erotica read to them after the inauguration? I have no idea, but one of the things that has sustained me through editing anthologies over the last 12 years is taking an often lonely process that happens solely in my home and channeling it into something that brings real, live people together in a room. I also believe we need our independent bookstores and sex toy shops more than ever to be community spaces, places where we can find new ideas and entertainment, and I’m proud and honored that they want to work with me and my authors.

I don’t know what the future holds, for my country or my career. But right now, I know that this is my path, and I intend to use it to help other writers get published, get paid and help spread their words as far and wide as I can. It may be a drop in the ocean in terms of making the world a more understanding, less hateful place, but it’s the drop I can offer.

Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, 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.

I’ve Got a Plan & It’s Just Not That Complicated

by Madeline Iva

Sometimes you need to retreat, huddle up, hunker down, and regroup.  For introverts like me, this is actually our natural state of being.  The thing is–you gotta have a plan.

I love the part in The Bourne Legacy[image error]BOURNE LEGACY, where Jeremy Renner (yum!) needs some information from Rachel Weisz who is sputtering over her suddenly-everyone-wants-to-kill-me reality.  Jeremy Renner cuts through her confusion and says, “Now I’ve got a plan, and it’s just not that complicated.  What I’m going to do is wait for the next person to come and kill you.  Maybe they can help me.”  Well, I’ve got a plan, Lady Smut readers, and it’s just not that complicated.

There’s a romance plot spinning in my brain.
I’m going to binge write all weekend long and get as much of it out of my head and splatted onto the page as I can.

That’s the good kind of binge, of course.

I’m going to try HBO NOW to watch Westworld. This is their new streaming subscription. (Like Netflix only all HBO.) First month is free…

Then there are the other kinds of binging.  Hey, let’s face it, I’m a binge-y kind of woman.  If a little is good, a lot is better.  My favorite types of binges: TV, movies, food, and romance novels.  But first, I will be productive.  I will lay down five thousand words a day (eek!)  and only then will I reach out to find other forms of comfort.

TV Series to Binge:

Westworld
The Crown
Luke Cage

Dr. Who? Who knew Matt Smith could play the perfect consort?

At the movie theatre:

DR. STRANGE
ARRIVAL
FANTASTIC BEASTS
MISS PEREGRINE’S HOME FOR PECULIAR CHILDREN

Hey look–it’s Jeremy Renner again!

Meanwhile, Thanksgiving is next week.  We’re making two pies: cherry and sour-cream apple pie. Well, it’s vegan sour cream apple pie, but it’s still completely awesome.

Along with the usual suspects: garlic green beans with toasted almonds, mashed potatoes, and homemade stuffing, (though my grandmother always called it ‘dressing’) we’re in the midst of deciding what the main dish will be.  You might think as vegans we’d be terribly limited for options.  Not so, my friends.  Here are the candidates:

chickpea crepes with cauliflower & shiitake mushroom filling
panko crusted sweet potato cakes with mushroom ragout
black bean & acorn squash empanadas
pumpkin gnocchi
three-sisters savory pie–with corn, beans, and pumpkin

Add yummy mushroom sauce and devour! I have a grudge against T-day feasts that are only shades of tan. Get some color on that plate, people!

Finally, I’ve been reading Patrick Rothfuss’s NAME OF THE WIND, (so good!) but I’m almost done.  There’s a whole world of  fantasy goodness by new authors on my kindle just waiting for me to dive on in and check them out.

A Dragon's Destiny (Dragons Book 1)[image error]

I ***LOVE*** this cover!

The Beltane Kiss: (Faerie Forest Book 1)[image error]THE BELTANE KISS by Denise D. Young
A Dragon's Destiny (Dragons Book 1)[image error]A DRAGON’S DESTINY by Tina Glasneck
Watcher (The Shining Ones Book 1)[image error]WATCHER by Shawnee Small
The Bone Witch[image error]THE BONE WITCH by Rin Chupeco

And an advanced copy of Cara McKenna’s Brutal Game (Flynn and Laurel Book 2)[image error]BRUTAL GAME is in there as well — Think of it as a kind of sexy, contemporary palate cleanser for all the fantasy.

The Beltane Kiss: (Faerie Forest Book 1)[image error]

Click to buy–.99 cents!

So that’s the plan.  This afternoon, I’m piling on the sweaters and slippers over the pj’s and sinking into the primordial stew of my creative subconscious.

When I emerge after the holiday, the anxious stew in my brain will be quiet.  I will be ready to be fed–both literally and metaphorically.  At that point, I think I’ll be fit to rejoin the world again.

See you on the other side.

–Madeline

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s Smart, She’s Hot, She Gives Me Hope. My Girl Crush on Rachel Maddow

Smart, sexy, super hot

By Elizabeth Shore

You know how it is when you have a horrid nightmare, the kind that scares the bejesus out of every living cell in your body, and when you wake up you’re flooded with sweet, blessed, awesome relief as you realize it was only a dream? That’s how I’ve been feeling over the past week ever since the election, with the difference being that I can’t wake from this nightmare. Hillary Clinton, despite receiving a majority of the popular vote, is not our first female president. W.T.F??!!

The reality of misery loving company has never been more true than it is now. I’ve mourned the loss of what should have been with my closest friends and family as we all support each other in the face of this new reality. But there’s someone else from whom I also take comfort, and solace, someone whom I don’t even – sadly – know.

When I reflect on how the election unfolded over the past several months – especially those post-convention, high-drama months – and what’s going on now that it’s over, there’s a source to whom I consistently turn to keep myself abreast of the latest happenings. A source whose opinion I respect, whose judgment is sound, and whose credentials support the ability to intelligently discuss and present to viewers matters of varying complexity. Someone whose logic and pragmatism offer hope for the future despite crushing disappointment. Oh, and did I mention that my source is super sexy hot? Yes, I’ll confess straight up, I’m crushing big time on Rachel Maddow.

For those who might not be familiar with Ms. Maddow, for the past 8 years she’s hosted an eponymous weeknight talk show on MSNBC in which she discusses politics, presents news stories, and interviews guests. Her fact-checking on stories is phenomenal. She’s witty, she’s funny, and she’s sharp as a tack. She holds a doctorate in political science from no less than Oxford, which she attended on a Rhodes Scholarship. She’s also openly gay and has been with artist Susan Mikula since 1999. She also has really amazing big brown eyes. Just sayin’.

My girl crush on Rachel Maddow is the combination of several factors. Her intellect, her humor, and her balls – I mean, really, the woman shies away from no one – all make her, IMHO, soooo scorchingly sexy. Plus, she’s got the aforementioned big brown eyes, a beautiful smile, and nice teeth.

I think one of the biggest draws I have toward Maddow is that she’s a storyteller. For obvious reasons, being a writer, I relate to that. Rachel begins most of her shows with a fairly lengthy monologue, so refreshing from the quick-hit sound bites we’ve all gotten used to. Her detailed monologues are the video version of long-form journalism, the kind you still see in respected newspapers and magazines, or in some of the news stories on NPR. The stories she tells are replete with factual back-up and her own personal commentary. As she explained in an interview with CBS’s Rita Braver, “Storytelling is fun for me. But I also think when you’re telling a good story, it sinks in more. That’s a more influential way to communicate information rather than just reading the news.” She went on to say that her goal in storytelling is to get people to really listen. I for one, certainly am.

Although the outcome isn’t what many the majority of us wanted, I can at least appreciate the advances Hillary Clinton made as our first major party female candidate and the awesomeness associated with that juggernaut. And, too, I reflect back on other women who’ve been movers and shakers and influencers and whom I’ve simply admired for myriad reasons. Rachel Maddow fits the bill in spades, which is why she’s my no-longer-secret girl crush.

Elizabeth Shore writes both contemporary and historical erotic romance. Her newest book is an erotic historical novella, Desire Rising, from The Wild Rose Press. Other releases include Hot Bayou Nights and The Lady Smut Book of Dark Desires.