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The Girl Crush I Never Knew I Had – Guest blog by Sommer Marsden

I admit I have a thing–a big, huge thing–for men with dark hair and light eyes. I once had a friend write to me and say, “Do you ever write blond boys with brown eyes?”

Hmph.

So, I wrote a blond boy with brown eyes. And a brown haired boy with brown eyes. But I almost always return to the dark haired boys with light eyes.

When it came to writing the female love interest in Restricted Release, for there are two, a man and a woman, I wasn’t sure which direction I’d go.

We recently had a conversation at the dinner table (God, I love my dinner table) where my daughter announced her friends discussing ‘who would you go gay for?’ Which girl would make you want a girl, basically. Assuming you’re hetero, that is.

I laughed, “Julianne Moore.” There. That was easy. I’ve had a big old girl crush on her for ages. There’s something so ethereally beautiful about her. And yet she’s also so down to earth pretty.

Once upon a time my answer would have been Angelina Jolie. But tastes change and I think most women would’ve gone gay for her at one point. Heh. Let’s not forget my longstanding girl crush, Jamie Lee Curtis. It still rages on today. I even wrote a story called The Scream Queen for her that appeared in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s The Mile High Club.

But I digress! (with the topic of all these beautiful women). My daughter’s answer, in case you’re interested, was “Jennifer Lawrence. She’s so pretty but she has the best personality EVER.”

I loved that answer.

So back to my book, since that’s why I’m here, right? Boy do I go off on tangents sometimes. The point is, I wasn’t sure what direction I’d go with Nadia. I assumed it would be a Julianne knock-off. Or even a Jamie. But nope. Imagine my surprise when Nadia showed up…

“Clara?” She stuck out her hand.
“Nadia?” I shook her hand shyly.
She nodded. She was shorter than I by almost six inches. She was thin but not skinny, plump in places but not fat. Her skin was the color of the sweet hard caramels my grandfather had always kept in his pocket, but the cold February wind had put roses in her cheeks. Her hair was as black as a crow’s feather and cut short so it fell in spiky brazen bits around her round face. She wore faded jeans with a hole in the knee, boots with faux-fur lining and a peacoat that was way too big for her but flattered her small frame nonetheless.
“Can I come in?” she asked, teeth chattering.
I gasped, feeling downright rude, and stepped back. “Of course. My gosh, I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? I just…I’m sort of…”
She stepped in and shook off the few snowflakes that had settled in her thick hair. “Freaked out?”
“Yes.”
She shucked the peacoat and hung it on a wall hook while I remained stupid and mute. Under the coat she wore a long concert t-shirt for Counting Crows and a gold belt that cinched it close to her small waist. She was punky and perfect—an instant girl crush.
“Would you…would you…” I was trying to ask her if she wanted coffee or tea or anything to warm her up but I was too busy staring. My gaze locked on her liquid-ink eyes and her plump pink lips. They were free of lip-gloss or lipstick or anything at all and yet as pink as my mother’s tea roses.
“Would I…?”
I blinked, found her gaze, but my eyes returned quickly to that mouth. And the things that Matt had told me it might do to me. With me. On me.
“Would you…” I whispered, losing my thought yet again.
“Well, balls,” she said with a small laugh. Then she pushed me hard against the foyer wall and kissed me.

Isn’t she stunning? I thought so. God, I love my job. I learn something new about myself every day. Including girl crushes I never knew I had. And what sploshing is. But that’s a post for another day. (there go my tangents again.)

XOXO
Sommer

Excerpt from RESTRICTED RELEASE
By Sommer Marsden

“Hi,” I blurted.
He grinned at me and warmth curled in my belly. A wild untamed fear of what I was about to do flooded my veins.
“Hi there.” Matt grabbed my wrist very gently and pulled me in the house. He knew. We both knew.
“I came to…I wanted to…” I sighed.
He leaned against a huge stack of moving boxes, most just labeled by room. Living Room, Kitchen, Den and some were marked JUNK. When I said nothing he said, “Wanted?”
“You,” I blurted. “I wanted you. I saw…” I swallowed hard. “God, I really suck ass at this, you know?” I growled.
That earned me a laugh and I finally noticed his hand was still wrapped around my wrist. My pulse jumped madly beneath his fingers.
“I saw you naked,” I whispered as if he were the only man to ever be naked in the history of the world.
He chuckled again. In my mind his laughter was made of smoke and cashmere. It was soft and slightly sinister but soothing as well. It was a fucking enigma is what it was.
Matt put his hand to his chest in mock shock. “Oh no…not…naked.”
I nodded. “Yes, naked. And I wanted to…I wanted you,” I said, despite the fact that my face felt like it had caught fire. “And I figured if I was bold enough to admit it at my house earlier I should be able to just put on my big-girl panties and say it to you. Even thought it is utterly insane. Like lock-me-up crazy.”
I took a deep breath as if I’d just surfaced from swimming.
“So that’s what you have on then?”
I blinked slowly, trying to figure out what he meant. The fingers of his free hand curled in the waistband of my gray leggings and he pulled me toward him. I took the staggering step and realized I’d been forgetting to breathe.
“What?” I finally gave up and asked.
“That’s what you have on? Your big-girl panties?” He pulled my waistband out and peered into my panties.
My heart shot up into my throat and then started beating in my temples. I couldn’t remember what panties I had on. Shit, I couldn’t remember if I had panties on.
“No,” I sighed.
He pushed fingers into my knickers and simply cupped my pussy. His hand was insanely warm and his middle finger curled snug to the split of me, pressing very gently against my clitoris.
All the air had left the room. All of it. I felt like a fish out of water. A girl chained to the bottom of the pool. I was drowning.
But then he kissed me and I could breathe.
*****

Blurb:
Clara is the recovering anorexic who’s nearly become a shut-in after the end of her emotionally abusive marriage. Matt is the new boy next door. Graphic artist, nice guy, funny…accepting of Clara. She wants him, he wants her—but Clara is afraid.

Nadia is the stand-in—Matt’s idea, Clara’s challenge to accept. A longtime friend of Matt’s, she’s a sexual surrogate intended to guide Clara until she’s not afraid of Matt’s desire for her or hers for him. Twosomes become threesomes, watching becomes touching and lust becomes love.

When Matt moved in next door, lust was the last thing Clara expected. Two lovers never crossed her mind. And the need to make a choice was something she thought she’d never encounter. But she’s bolder now, healing, and everything has changed. And a choice must be made, no matter how hard.

Inside scoop: Clara’s healing includes a hot woman who wants to show her how desirable she is, as well as f/m/f menagés.

Available from:Amazon UK
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
Ellora’s Cave
*****

Bio
Sommer Marsden’s been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler), “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen),and “Erotica royalty…” (Lucy Felthouse).

Her erotic novels include Restricted Release, Restless Spirit, Boys Next Door, and Learning to Drown. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for Xcite Books, eXcessica, Ellora’s Cave, Pretty Things Press, Resplendence Publishing and Mischief Books. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning, wannabe runner author writes work that runs the gamut from bondage to zombies to humor.

Sommer’s short works can be found in well over one hundred (and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines–both in print and online. Visit her at Unapologetic Fiction http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

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“Oh No She Didn’t!” A Guest Post by Giselle Renarde

adamshereesfamilybusinessare

Oh no I didn’t? Oh yes I did! I wrote Adam and Sheree’s Family Vacation: a book so vile, so filthy, so taboo that it was banned by Amazon and many other retailers.

You’d think I’d have learned my lesson. Amazon is the world’s biggest seller of ebooks, right? If they won’t carry it, isn’t that like throwing months of hard work down the drain? Wouldn’t you think a clever, business-conscious writer would pack it in and write something a little tamer?

Well, I guess I’m an idiot because… I wrote another one.

The sequel to Adam and Sheree’s Family Vacation is called Adam and Sheree’s Family Business, and it’s every bit as sordid as the first. No, it’s more sordid. Not only does the sequel feature shockingly explicit sex between a brother and sister, it includes all the dirty details of how Sheree drags her brother Adam (and all three of his college housemates!) into her fledgling porn business.

So why on earth would I write a book that’s 100% guaranteed to get banned by Amazon? Their rules are clear: they don’t allow erotic content that includes sex between blood relatives. Same goes for ebook retailers like All Romance and BookStrand. Even if I am lucky enough to work with a publisher that welcomes taboo content, am I stupid or what? I’ve now written two novellas readers’ go-to online bookshop refuses to carry.

Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty stupid.

But there’s something about censorship that gets my goat. Maybe I didn’t rebel enough as a teenager, I don’t know, but when I hear there’s something the Amazonian Amazon WILL NOT ALLOW… well, I can’t help but wonder why. Why can’t I write an erotic story about a sexual relationship between two consenting adults?

Well, there’s an easy answer: because they’re siblings. And that’s just not permissible.

Remember when Flowers in the Attic came out and everyone in your class at school read it before the parental units found out why the kids always had their faces shoved in a book? Is Amazon now the scolding parent we writers are looking out for over our shoulders while we work?

And, speaking of Flowers in the Attic, why is Amazon totally cool about carrying a popular incest book by a bestselling author, but they won’t carry books by low-grossing writers like me (and maybe you, if you’re an author too)? Who gets to dictate what constitutes literary merit? Why does explicit fiction get so brutally castigated? Can’t a book be smutty and thought-provoking?

These are the questions I ask myself while cutting coupons and praying my rent cheque doesn’t bounce.

Sibling incest is an uncomfortable topic, but that’s why so many readers find it titillating. The more Big Daddy Amazon says YOU CAN’T READ THAT, the more we want to. Same goes for writers. Tell us we can’t explore a topic, and going to write the holy hell out of it.

Adam and Sheree’s Family Vacation, as well as its brand new sequel Adam and Sheree’s Family Business, may not be available from Amazon, but you CAN purchase them at eXcessica’s EDEN website and Barnes & Noble.

Read the Blurb/Excerpt or Purchase Adam and Sheree’s Family Vacation from EDEN:
http://excessica.com/eden/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=15&products_id=173
Read the Blurb/Excerpt or Purchase Adam and Sheree’s Family Vacation from Barnes & Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/adam-and-sherees-family-vacation-giselle-renarde/1115524496?ean=2940016708492

Read the Blurb/Excerpt or Purchase Adam and Sheree’s Family Business from EDEN:
http://excessica.com/eden/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=30&products_id=179
Read the Blurb/Excerpt or Purchase Adam and Sheree’s Family Business from Barnes & Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/adam-and-sheree-x2019-s-family-business-giselle-renarde/1116893547?ean=2940148682998

Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, and contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bondage Erotica, and Best Lesbian Romance. Ms Renarde has written dozens of juicy books, including Anonymous, Ondine, and Nanny State. Her book The Red Satin Collection won Best Transgender Romance in the 2012 Rainbow Awards. Giselle lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.

Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!

Visit me online
http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com
http://www.wix.com/gisellerenarde/erotica
http://twitter.com/GiselleRenarde

Right this way…

abook

Let me point you to a couple of nice reviews for Baby Got Back, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, which includes my story on boo-tay play, Brenda’s Booty and which isn’t even officially out yet!

There’s this one from Tumblr

And this one from Jason Frost – love this guy.

I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy that both reviews mention my story. 🙂

“If it ain’t nasty, it ain’t right…”

Very little people in my life (who aren’t immediately related or really close friends) know that I write, and especially what I write. When people learn this information, be it hearing it from someone else or (Gasp!) opening a book and seeing my name and bio, they always seem surprised. I could venture to guess the reason why this sort of news would shock them – I’m a quiet wife who works nine to five, loves to cook and dotes on her two children – but I never ask why.

It’s so funny, though, when I actually engage in the conversation, and even better when I offer to bring the person something of mine to read. It happened today because of this new tattoo:

teni

The person asked what it meant and if it was personal, and people who know me of course realize that it’s self explanatory, so I told him that I’m a writer not thinking we’d need to elaborate on that, but then he added, “Oh, yeah. I heard that. I heard about you a long time ago as a matter of fact. You’re a porno writer.”

It was all I could do not to fall out laughing, but we were at work and I kept it together. Then he said, “I like to read, too, you know. You ought to show me your stuff.”

Long story short, I’m bringing him an antho or two tomorrow so that he can get a sample of my “porno” writing because he told me he has just one rule:

“It it ain’t nasty, it ain’t right.”

I’ll let you know soon if it’s right or wrong.

The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker Makes An Impression

butcher

It seemed more than coincidence to me that I wound up with Suzanne Portnoy’s The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker in my hands to review. Its original release was in 2006, a year that flew right by me because I was in the midst of a separation from my two children’s father, moving back in with my mother, losing my full-time job and entering a brand new relationship.

At that time, the world around me was reading about a 40-year old divorcee’s wildly erotic adventures. Now fast forward seven years, the book has been re-released, and my life has changed dramatically and fresh meat like me got the opportunity to climb into bed with it for the very first time.

I knew when researching the book what is was about and what I didn’t want to write about it. Yes there is sex and yes it is sexy…very, very sexy. And I only got that out of the way to allow me to say that that there’s some really good stuff here. And in this instance the stuff I’m referring to is Suzanne’s superb writing.
The sex inside the pages wooed me, but Suzanne’s way with words wowed me.

The scenarios presented in this memoir were so magically painted that it almost read like an erotic novel, and while I believe that fantasy is great, anyone who knows me knows I like my sex with a little reality. That makes it perfect that there is plenty of emotion tied in with this erotic memoir’s mistress, Suzanne’s couplings.

No way does she does she make the mistake of confusing sex with love, not even in the beginning after she has sewn what she thought were her wild oats and settled down and married. She doesn’t look for love in sex – not in dives, not in sex clubs or in saunas.

She also doesn’t present us with a faux representation of what it’s like to be a mother of two, over forty, and sexing again in happening cities like London and New York a la Sex and the City’s Samantha Jones.

Suzanne has her share of thrills and her share of disappointments, and what will keep her readers turning the pages and ultimately hesitating to close the book is that through it all she gets right back up and tries again.
The Butcher, The Baker tugged me every which way. It made me happy to be currently married and out of the dating scene, but also made me wish I and made more of the free time I had between marriages.

However, The Butcher, The Baker is not just for the mature, divorced woman, it’s for the adventurous couple, it’s for the curious single, it’s for the voyeuristic man which she so eloquently writes about… it’s for the woman who wants to wrap her hands around a firm glass of cabernet and swallow hard as she devours every delicious word.

"I’m on Valium; Everything’s okay."

It’s been a running joke for me the last few months, how I would just love for my doctor to prescribe me Valium and make everything okay. I made light of it because I know that there is often a stigma attached to people relieving their stress, anxiety and depression with medication. I, however, have been doing so since my early twenties. My mother only just realized that I take anti-depressants and anxiety medication. She often asks why and if she contributed to the reason, but that’s neither here nor there at this point, so I simply tell her “no.”

And I can’t really blame any one person or thing unless it’s myself and my inability to properly express myself and not fear the consequences and repercussions. I over-compensate. I bend over backwards to make sure everyone else is happy and I rarely, if ever ask for help.

So, I took myself to the doctor last week and told him, without too much detail, the current height of my stress level. He recommended Ativan, but I insisted on Valium because I know better than anyone that I am, indeed, at that point.

He gave it to me. At first, it felt like I was taking a placebo. I wanted it to work and I wanted it to work fast. Turns out I had to adjust my dosage just a little and then…eureka.

I don’t want to depend on a pill to “deal,” but during a particularly tough time today, I popped one. It was either that or break down crying and have to leave my job because I was such a wreck.

But…I prefer this to my other self, where I scream and hit and cry and beg and beg for my voice to be heard to no avail. Right now, I’m still not being heard, I’m still being misunderstood, but…I kinda don’t give a fuck.

That in and of itself seems pretty harsh and cold, but I can’t continue being the only one who cares, the only one who feels anything, the only one who’s hurt. So, if it takes me having to pop a “happy” pill now and again to keep myself from saying or doing something I shouldn’t then, so be it.

I don’t care that my husband is not talking to me. I don’t care that when he does talk to me it’s with anger and resentment in his voice. I don’t care that he hasn’t fucked me and probably won’t anytime soon. I just don’t fucking care.

The mind boggling thing, though, is that if he has this massive misperception of me, if he thinks me to be this horrible person who doesn’t have his and our family’s best interest at heart, why the hell is he still here? Why is wasting his time and mine?

I am perfectly self-sufficient. I left home at 18 and never, ever looked back… well, except that one time in ’06, lol. Still. I can take care of me and mine. But, I don’t go around screaming this to him. I need him, absolutely, but in totally different ways than he realizes.

I need him to know and understand me. I need him to see and hear me. It’s been five years, why has this not happened yet? Or am I just too naïve to see and accept that it never will?