Welcome to Between The Covers, my monthly blog about erotic romance in the news! Have you ever read a passage in a book and thought, “that was awesome! I have got to try that!” I know I sure have. Luckily, most people are born with what I refer to as the digression gene. It’s that instinctive little voice in the back of your head that tells you that while doing something may be funny, it’s also not a good idea. Not everybody has this voice whispering sage advice in their ear, though.
For instance, while it is fun to pass around those e-mail pictures of snowmen doing obscene things, it is really not a good idea to build an anatomically correct snowman in your front yard and dye the genitalia pink. The home owner was under the mistaken idea that since he did own the property, he could do this and get away with it. He learned otherwise when he was told he had to chisel off the offending pink appendage or go to jail.
I love snowmen. I love running out and building them after a fresh batch of fluffy white snow has fallen. It’s like Mother Nature’s reward for being a good little girl and keeping my sidewalks shoveled. I have also wanted to build a snowman I saw in a newspaper cartoon. “Calvin and Hobbs” is a great resource for hilarious snowmen I’d build if I thought I could get away with it. The key words here are “if I could get away with it.” If the builder of the anatomically correct snowman had been thinking, he would have considered his venue and put the thing in his back yard and not his front.
Has anyone been watching the news about the mega flooding going on Down Under? I admit I have been and most of the stories coming out of Australia right now are either heartbreaking, awe inspiring, or both. One story I stumbled across, courtesy of my friend Abby, was neither. A pair of nineteen-year-olds had an “I’ve got to try that” moment and rode inflatable sex dolls down the flood-swollen Yarra river.
They were not trying to save themselves, at least not at first. They seem to have simply gotten a wild hair up their butts to go one a one-of-a-kind white-water rafting trip. After the woman lost control of her “sheila,” her male companion decided to stay with her. The two were then rescued using mundane life preserver vests. In the responding officer’s comments, I found a bit of Bill Engvall-style sage advice: blow-up sex toys are not recognized flotation devices. Here’s your sign.
I spend so much of my time chronicling what you should absolutely not re-enact from your favorite smoking’ hot erotic romance. This time, I found something that’s an absolute “do.” On a recent episode of “Say Yes to the Dress,” a bride was looking for a pirate-hooker wedding dress. This, ladies and gents, is a “do” assuming you are not going to shock your family. I know most Bridezillas think the wedding day is all about them, but in the real world a wedding day is a major milestone for many people, including your charming groom and all of both of your families. A wicked, well-thought-out wedding gown is one way to bring your secret fantasies to life while making the day memorable in a good way for everyone.
I’m not sure whether this next one is a “do,” a “don’t,” or a “maybe.” It is eye-catching, though. A group of strippers dressed in jeans, fur coats and naked chests were spotted and photographed shoveling snow in New York City shortly after a major snow storm. (Warning on the link, there is nip-age showing.) It was a publicity stunt that played off the city’s inability to address snow removal after the record snow fall. Like the fellow with the anatomically correct snowman, I wouldn’t recommend doing this without first considering your venue carefully. But if you don’t mind the cold and want to let your inner exhibitionist out, shoveling bare chested might actually be an option.
I’ll finish this month’s Between The Covers with a shameless plug. I have a new fantasy romance novella that was released January 28th. It’s called EQUAL PARTNERS and is the second in my “Wild Lords” series. It’s not erotic but it is only the very spicy side of “main stream” romance. Here’s a short excerpt:
“There was a time when a Creole woman with my coloring would have been highly sought after. They called us quadroons, courtesans and mistresses of the wealthy men of New Orleans. You, though—” she said as she turned and sauntered toward him, “I don’t know what you are.”
“Why do you say that?” he slurred. Lleu felt uneasy but couldn’t figure out why he should be bothered by her remark. She slid onto his lap, her long, slim legs straddling his hips. She slipped her hands over his shoulders and locked them behind his neck.
“Because, cher, it should not have taken so long to enthrall you.”
The unease flashed to a five-bell alarm, but he couldn’t seem to get his body to stir—other than his privates, anyway. That would be the point behind her enthralling me, he thought to himself. This kind of treachery is why I keep to myself!
“Are you in the habit of enthralling everyone you meet, then?” he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm despite being slightly slurred.
“Only the ones I wish to waylay,” she said, smirking.
“And you wished to waylay me why?”
“Purely selfish reasons, cher,” she said, her voice heavy with arousal as she grabbed a double handful of his hair, jerking his head back sharply. Lleu’s thoughts scattered when she lowered her head and drew her tongue from the base of his throat to just under his chin.
“And what reason is that, m’bandraoi diultach?” He gulped as her teeth nipped his chin, hard enough to sting without drawing blood.
“Donnella offered me an elfin spell if I promised to waylay her pursuers. For the chance to spend one night with an elf, I couldn’t resist,” the woman whispered in his ear. He realized she’d discovered it was pointed when her tongue lightly traced the outline of it. Ah, gods!
“You might have just asked if you wanted to mate, m’bandraoi diultach.” He groaned harshly when she wiggled her tight little butt and ground her center into his.
“What does that mean?” she whispered into his ear.
“What does what mean?” Lleu slurred, his mind completely fogged. His hands had crept around her trim waist of their own accord. One was holding her hips tightly to his swollen groin while the other was working her top up her back.
“What you called me, m’bandraoi diultach. What does it mean? I don’t know your language.”
“My treacherous witch.” He gulped as her teeth gently raked his lobe. “It means ‘my treacherous witch’ in elvish.” He whimpered when she pulled away to brush his hair back from his face, exposing a nasty scar from a sword cut that had almost beheaded him. He fought to make his eyes focus on her face and saw her eyes widen in shock. Not what she was expecting! his inner beast gloated. Lleu silently agreed. The little female may not have chosen him with honor or even an understanding of what she was doing, but she had chosen him. Her bright blue eyes locked with his then widened farther.
“Your eyes! I can see something moving behind them!” she gasped. Lleu clamped his arms down, steel vises holding the wildly squirming female from getting away.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Your games woke my wolf, m’bandraoi. Did no one ever warn you about using sex magic to enthrall a shifter lord?”
Remember folks, there’s nothing wrong with letting your inner id take you to adventurous places. But keep it between the covers or you might end up in the police blotters- or on this blog!
P.S. Feel free to add your own takes on any of these stories in the comments section. I bet I’m not the only one who can come up with fun scenarios and I’d love to hear yours!