Unusual Fetishes

Our guest today is the very talented Lily Harlem. Lily is from across the big pond and an absolute doll. So glad she found her way to the States and Ellora's Cave. It's an absolute pleasure to call her friend. She's also a real kick in the pants as you'll see by her post. And I know you're going to love her books!

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Thanks for inviting me to hang out at Three Wicked Writers. It’s great to be here and I’ve been looking forward to it very much.

When I was asked to join 3WW for the day I initially wondered what to chat about and pondered on several different subjects, but then, while researching a new project, I came across a pile of unusual fetishes and kinks. Well, me being me, I thought I’d share and see what you lovely ladies all thought of this list and if you have ever written, read or come across any of these sexual preferences.

Okay *deep breath* here goes – see if you can guess what they are just by the name.

Catoptrophilia

Macrophilia

Pogonophilia

Agalmatophilia

Sitophilia

Hierophilia

Smoking fetish (okay so that one is self-explanatory!)

Kleptolagnia

Trichophilia

Dendrophilia

Emetophilia (Yep, it is what you’re thinking!)

Oculolintus

Mmm, how will did you do? Okay, I’ll put you out of suspense, here’s the definitions:-

Catoptrophilia

Unusual titillation in the presence of mirrors. At first glance, this may seem to be one of the most widespread: take mirrors on bedroom ceilings, or the ever-increasing number of sex tapes made by both celebs and amateurs. But catroptrophilia is quite a bit stranger. Apparently what catroptophiles are excited by is the perception of a kind of other version of themselves — a psychic double or doppelganger, an estranged twin or ghostly self. 

Macrophilia

The attraction to giants, especially domination by giant women. Apparently for those who love to be afraid of very big women, the Museum of Sex in New York has a fabulous exhibit on this fetish- though I can’t confirm this. More mundanely though, we see hints of it in those odd couples: little, reedy men and large, ample women. I read about one couple where the size difference was so profound, the husband was referred to as "The Dildo" — his whole body was seen as a sexual organ relative to his massive partner's bulk and stature.

Pogonophilia

The fixation on bearded men. I looked at an article about this, it was an interview with a woman with this fetish to the extreme, she was shown four pictures of naked men: a well-endowed eighteen-year-old model, an extremely thin bearded man in his early thirties, a heavily muscled former professional athlete in his late forties, and Peter North, the porn star. Asked to choose the most virile and masculine of the group, she selected the bearded man instantly. What she didn't know was that the bearded man was quite seriously ill. So much for choosing someone healthy to reproduce with. However, I’m sure by looking at George we can all appreciate how an obsession like this starts.

Agalmatophilia

To be aroused by statues, mannequins, dolls and effigies. With so many animatronic characters in our midst, we're really not that far from artificial sex partners. Japanese robotics innovators are already on the case – so they say! But wouldn't sex robots solve many problems associated with prostitution: moral, social, hygienic? In any case, this fetish casts a rather different light on seemingly harmless activities like doll collecting, and even ventriloquism. One Oakland woman blogs about the acute arousal derived from being treated like a doll or mannequin by her female partner, whether she was being stripped, posed, redressed into clothes again, or restrained. The process of manipulation, the loss of all will and direction, brought her a kind of release that she said that "left orgasms for dead."

Sploshing/Sitophilia

Food fights a waste of food? Not to sploshers and sitophiles who find them incredibly titillating. It seems there a lots of people all over the world find it intensely stimulating to be covered in wet, messy, food substances. While these fetishes might be messy, they’re otherwise fairly harmless and a lot more innocent than many other sexual obsessions found on the net. But while the two fetishes have a lot of crossover with one another, they are not completely the same. Sitophiles are turned on by food, but this can be through consumption, direct sexual contact with the food or simply by rolling around in it. Sploshers love being wet and messy and while the most common substances involved in the fetish tend to be edible, some sploshers like mud, oil and paint in place of pies, pudding and syrup. I can’t help but think of that fabulous scene in 91/2 weeks when they sat in front of the fridge, her blindfolded and him serving her sweet sticky treats, what was the song? –“ I like bread and butter, he likes toast and jam!”

Hierophilia

Religious Fetish. While most people think that religious fetishes are the epitome of blasphemy, the reality is that most of these people are actually incredibly religious and completely dedicated to their selected belief system. They are so infatuated with religion that they cross the line between loving their sacred icons and making love to these icons.

Smoking Fetish

The term “cock smoker” takes on a whole new meaning when you actually catch a glance of a smoking fetish website. For some, the smoking simply signifies a desired characteristic in the partner, such as rebelliousness, masculinity or self-confidence, but for others the fetish really is all about the cigarette itself –the smell, the burning cherry, the loose ashes and the smoke emissions. Smoking fetishes often involve the use of the cigarette during sex, even oral sex, with the cigarette dangerously close to the genitals. Ouch!!

Kleptolagnia

Stealing Fetish. These theft fetishists not only enjoy stealing, but are sexually excited by the act of taking things that are not theirs. They could have a really good time stealing sex toys, which could then be used in further fantasies about similar great heists. Mmm, another story perhaps?

Trichophilia

Hair Fetish. Who doesn’t love a beautiful head of hair? Of course, for trichophiles, the hair obsession can go beyond wanting to touch and look at shiny locks to wanting to caress and kiss the tresses. While the fetish can extend to body hair, most trichophiles love hair on people’s heads and would make excellent, yet creepy, hairstylists. Now that you know about hair fetishists, that scene from Something About Mary will take on a whole new meaning whenever you watch the movie in the future.

Dendrophilia

People with this condition prefer trees to humans as sex partners, yes you read right, with some men using holes in the bark as vaginal substitutes. It’s believed by some psychiatrists that these men fear their own homosexual impulses and deal with the fear by finding a vagina in a phallic object. This brings a whole new meaning to the word “woodpecker.”

Emetophilia

Yuk! A fetish for throwing up and being thrown up on – an action also known as a Roman shower (if anyone knew how to have a good time, it was the Romans). Some shrinks have said that this preference may start back in infancy, when throwing up often led to receiving a lot of love and attention.

Oculintus

A rare fetish where people are sexually aroused by licking a partner’s eyeball. In fact, I came across one reported case of a female who was unable to have an orgasm unless she licked the eyeball of her obliging lover. 

So have I opened your eyes, sorry(!), to some weird and wonderful turn-ons? I could have doubled the size of this list but didn’t want to overdose on fetishes. 

Let me know what you think. I’d love to hear from you. Oh, and just so you know, none of the above feature in the novels listed below, though there’s a healthy dose of many other preferences and kinks enjoyed by Ariane, Liam and Quinn!

Lily x

www.lilyharlem.com

 

Newest release – SHARED TOO, the sequel to SHARED

Blurb for SHARED (Book 1)

Struggling artist Ariane Arlington flees the Welsh valleys after exposing her corrupt boss. But when the sun rises she finds herself jobless and homeless in Cardiff city with barely a penny to her name.

She responds to an advert in the local paper—Room to let, wanted, girl to share. What she doesn’t realize is that the two insanely gorgeous guys who live in the penthouse apartment really do want a girl to share, in every sense of the word. Fortunately for Ariane, rent is the last thing on their minds.

She discovers the men are bound together by a turbulent past. Liam, a computer whiz, keeps a painful secret hidden beneath his buff exterior, whilst Quinn, a pioneering neurosurgeon, wonders if he’ll ever meet a woman who can live with his controlling ways. They admit the one thing missing from their lives is a woman just like Ariane, who can handle them both in and out of the bedroom and who, together, they can keep satisfied, loved and most of all, safe.

Click HERE to purchase SHARED

 

Blurb for SHARED TOO (Book 2)

Ten years on I’m still convinced I’m the luckiest woman on earth. Two devastatingly gorgeous husbands committed to my satisfaction—phew!—life doesn’t get much better or much sexier.

But as though the mere concept of a perfect existence was created to be shattered, one day Quinn turned to me and said, “Shared too. I want to be shared too.” Add in the monster that haunted my nightmares and I was struggling to keep a grip on my sanity.

I soon realized the path Quinn wanted us to travel would stretch not only his experience of giving and taking, but also mine and Liam’s. In a whirlwind of desperate emotions, dark desires and erotic fantasy, we were all so distant but also so sublimely close. Sharing had never been as sweet as it was bitter, or as depraved as it was heavenly.

Reader Advisory: Features the sharing of multiple bodies (F/F, M/F/M, F/M/F/M), bondage and other naughty sexual adventures!

Click HERE to purchase SHARED TOO

Condom Interruptus

I had a post all written about condom use in fiction and kablam, Blogger went kerflewy. Yes, apparently weird "k" words suit my mood today. Rather than post it tonight, I figured I'd just give you a little eye candy to nosh on and set it to post next Friday so we can have a full on discussion before our Saturday guest arrives.

To keep this post from being a total wash, I'm happy to give away the choice of any ebook in my backlist - including PROVOKE ME, which technically isn't backlist but frontlist because it hasn't even released yet! I'm still doing edits on it but once I get my author copies later this year, I'll send one to the winner if that's their pick. It's the second book in my new EC series, Unveiled, and partially set in a voyeurism club called Kink. There's some watching and some doing and some more watching...

Sound good? I'll pick a random commenter and announce the winner next week during our condompalooza discussion. Go forth and comment...maybe share with us what you're reading right now or want to read.

Now for your visual treat! Hot man body ahead!

Heroism, what be thou?

Like most of us, I suffer from author Multiple Personality Disorder. It's a little difficult to keep things flowing from one aspect of my persona to the other. Especially when I have friends who don't understand writing, don't read, think I'm nuts for writing what I write, and generally are unimpressed that I know famous people (and trust me, with the name dropping I've done, I could have sunk the Titanic all over again, <--Just realized that makes me sound like an ass, but I promise, if I'm an ass, I'm a really nice one. *blink* So now I just sound like I have absolutely no humility. I think I'll stop while I'm a head.).

BUT (she said, trying to get back on topic), I'm gonna veer around this topic until I finally figure out my point, bear with me. It's only because I'm actually trying to draw from two totally opposite directions.

What directions, you may ask? Writing romances and Biggest Loser and heroism. No, srly. And here's why.

We write about heroes. Duh. Not exactly a news flash. But what is it that makes our heroes heroic? I remember when I was a brand new baby writer, I had this book with a woman (what? I can write women, shut up) in it. The way I had written the story, she did prevail in the end, but for the majority of the book she was petulant and childish (that's what I get for modeling my heroine after the books of teh 80z). I sent it to a contest thingy, and three of the five judges wrote, "Not heroic" in the margin. Sure they said it in different ways, yet the message was the same. Characters throwing hissy fits, stomping their size four and a half feet, tossing their "wild mane of curls", and pouting with cherry red lips (gag. gag. gag) aren't heroic. They're just childish.

So back to boyz. Because I like me some of that.

What makes a hero, heroic? Is it because he puts up with the above type heroine and doesn't lose his patience? Is it because he handles all the problems with his big broad shoulders and never lets on how difficult it is? Is it because he's freakin' hawt and he lets his woman be her own person, save her own day, make her own discoveries while he screws her senseless and loves her unendingly (okay, I think that one got my vote. Way to go, subconscious!)?

Now to Biggest Loser. You still with me? I record shows, because they are inconveniently on. Last night while I worked on the day job (which bleed over by a lot), I had Biggest Loser playing in the background. They had this "Final Exam" thing with each of the trainers. When they got to Jillian, I started tearing up. I was annoyed, because displays of emotion for no apparent reason trigger my WTF button in a big way.

But then I realized why it got to me. I teared up because she was playing the part of someone who feels defeated by their failures. The job of the contestant was to give her usable advice to show her what they'd learned about self-worth. But here's the clencher: One of the contestants realized what she was doing. She said, at some point she heard all the words she used to say about herself, coming out of Jillian's mouth like they were her own problems.

With that in mind, I listened to contestant after contestant deal with their own self-doubt and self-hatred in the guise of comforting Jillian through her weakness. OMG! TEARZ! Contestant after contestant, all but one having lost more than 100 pounds at this point (the other lost 98), were faced with their own words. Their own tape recorder of hate that they used to play. "I'm a failure. I never accomplish anything. I'm too fat/short/stupid to deserve happiness. I'm so tired of my life." And who wouldn't be with that kind of baggage, that kind of verbal butt-kicking? I just wanted to hug them all.

As writers, I think we deal with the self-recriminations too. If we write, we feel guilty about not spending time with the family. If we don't write, we feel guilty about not working. If we don't sell enough, we decide we're inadequate/stupid/bad writers/terrible people. If we sell a lot, it only lasts until the next royalty check when, if it dips, we wonder where we went wrong. If our family disapproves, we might hide what we do, defend what we do, blush because of what we do. We face social ridicule for writing "those books" and even though we're proud of them, the sting does eventually settle in as defensiveness.

And here's where I tie all this together. I have this fan-girl. Her name is Amanda P. She's from England and she is the most amazing woman. Despite any of her own life drama, she never fails to send me encouragement. I get long emails from her a couple of times a week talking about my talent. Admittedly, it's hard to hear. I have my own tape recorder of failures playing, and hers, talking over it, confuses my tiny mind. Her latest email made me think of Biggest Loser and those heart wrenching confessions. It made me think of how easily we give the title "hero" to a fictitious character, but forget to remember the heroes we see everyday.

The heroes like you. Like me. Like your neighbor, Bob, who looks like he doesn't care a whit that his dog just went in your yard. Even he has that tape recorder. Some people just live up to that expectation they have for themselves. Some people strive to improve. Some people struggle under the weight of their own self-hate, never realizing that they are heroes. HEROES!

Amanda wrote me this, in her most recent email. It's all I'm going to share because it was a private email, and she knows stuff that I don't want to put out there. Also, pretend she's talking to you. Pretend it all day long and remind yourself of it when your tape recorder begins to play.

I say, don't you always find  the ones who can laugh about the shit that has literally been thrown at them are always the bestest of people and have to have any problems dragged out of them? It makes my respect for you grow because, although i am aware you weren't fishing for it and certainly don't think you deserve it, to follow your dreams against opposition and keep trying despite all the setbacks sounds bloody heroic to me.

~Amanda P.

One breath in. Now breathe out. YOU are a hero. Believe it.

~Mia

Terrifying Tails From the EDJ

 

 

This weeks tail (HA HA) comes from my evil day job (EDJ). For reasons of my personal safety it must remain nameless. No I'm not a spy & I don't get to carry a gun. Though there are many times when I wish I had one. Including attacking wild turkeys, feral pigs & a mean tempered rooster.

(The actual events take place 10/10 in a place outside of Texas in a crappy motel driving a crappy rental car)

Life with EDJ is never dull, no more so than today. Picture this :) Not so chirpy me getting up at the butt crack of dawn to find my lovely hotel coffee pot doesn't work. Picking myself up off the floor I grab my handy dandy GPS, purse & EDJ crap bag and hit the road. Halfway to my destination my not so handy dandy GPS dies. It was sudden and no amount of medical effort ie: bashing, beating, throwing or cursing the thing would bring it back. I'm stuck on the 290 in the middle of rush hour, no clue where I'm going, no caffeine, no smoking and no sanity.  I get off someplace that seems familiar. Oh so wrong again. 

I ended up in a neighborhood crack whores are afraid to walk. Needless to say my semi-lilly white skin stood out like a yodeler at a rap concert. I smashed down on the gas and my little Kia rental putted away from there as fast it could...about 20MPH. Sometime later, I lost track of time and reality at this point, I spy the gates of heaven and they look exactly like Target. 

Oh there is life left in me as I stumble into the brightly lit store and beg for coffee. The girl behind the counter must have sensed my plight because she upgraded my cup with nary a word. I drank the whole thing down standing there, like a drunk off a three day sobriety run or my friend Bev after a long week :)
 

Knowing I have a chance to make it now that the god of caffeine is once more flowing through my veins, I shell out for another GPS, pull up my big big girl panties and hit the road once more. I won't bore anyone with the details of smells and scents for the first few stops. Even I don't want to remember them and I was there!
 

So by this time it's around noon or so and I'm feeling pretty good, almost cocky. Certain my day is only going to get better and I'm right until I cross paths with the white Koujo from hell. It attacks from out of nowhere. 

Bam, one minute I'm innocently walking through a fence and the next I'm wondering if a dog just gave me a Brazilian wax via teeth. The owner is screaming (at the dog or me, not sure), I'm running around in circles with said dog attached to said body, the husband is trying to calm both of us down and my EDJ bag-oh-crap nails Benji on head...crack, whap with the full size mag lite. The score is even: Allie-1, Kujo-1, but before we have a chance to rematch said owner jumps in to protect her baby, the dog not me. It was rigged I tell you! I had that dog in my sites. One good kick and they'd be driving across state lines to find that mutant canine.
 

The day moved on. I mainlined coffee and Diet Coke w/ vanilla, forgot to get my latest trophy looked at until I got back to the hotel around 8pm. When I finally looked in the hotel mirror I about spit pea soup. That sadistic frog in a dog's coat got way to personal without shelling out for dinner first.
So the lesson for the day, girls, is to always be aware of your surroundings and practice punting small dogs at every opportunity.

(No actual dogs were injured in the living or remembering of this story. However it's not for the lack of me trying. Seriously I love dogs. Have one myself what I dislike are owners who can't/won't train their pets!)

Multi-tasking FAILURE

For years I've read about writers who bounce back and forth between current works in progress. Never, never have I been able to figure out how that do it. I'm jealous, too! I would love to take a morning to work on a shifter and then switch gears to my hot, little cowboy story in the afternoon. You know, I figured I must be missing something or just flat not doing something right. So several weeks ago I tackled this. How hard could it be? Take a short break between the two stories and dig in. Riiiiight. That folk saying about teaching  old dogs new tricks definitely applies readily to ME. I just couldn't do it. Not exactly sure why but skipping between stories messes with my WAH, my ZEN, my HAPPY PLACE. Could NOT find my happy place while working on several things at once. It screws with my head and I've now decided I'm just not a multi tasker. I sooo envy women who do many things at once, do a perfect job at each and manage it with every hair in place and hell, they do it in heels.

Most of my friends know that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love it because it's not about gifts. Just a great meal shared with family and loved ones. As I thought today about my super duper multi-tasking failure I wondered about my love of this holiday considering all that cooking. Yes, I do it all from planning the meal, grocery shopping and all preparations (not to mention fancifying everything). Had a conversation with my son the other day about my failure and he laughed...Mom, I can't do it either. I suck at it but hey, you do Thanksgiving, don't you? It's great every year and it's a lot of work.

Yes, son, it is.

 I've been thinking today that maybe I'm not so great at this holiday. I've been fooling myself since I'm not a multi-tasker. I do great until The Mothers show up. I work away, totally in control and in my element but then they arrive and all my calm and cool flies right out the window.

Mom: Honey, can I do something?
Me (putting together a last minute dish): No Mom. Thanks, just sit over there and look pretty.
Mom: Are you sure?
Me (looking up as sweat begins to bead on my forehead): Uh uh. Yeah. Uh. Yes. I'm good. You just sit.
MIL (who can't hear and talks very loudly...bless her heart): Honey, can I do something?
Me (shaking head, trying to smile): Nope. No, you just sit there and look pretty. Sit with Mom. You can look pretty together.
MIL (moving closer, very close, oh about three inches from my face): ARE YOU SURE? Can I set the table?
Me: okay. okay. Sure. (I begin to look frantically for an ingredient only to find it is right in front of me)
MIL: Where are the placemats? Oh can I pour tea?
Mom (jumping up and tired of looking pretty): I can do that. Oh, the tea needs sugar. Where's the sugar? Is it in here? (She then proceeds to open and shut every damn cabinet. In the background Mr. Reg is yelling from his post in front of the game...dinner almost ready? Do you need anything?)
Me (stirring, stirring, forgetting an ingredient, cussing a blue streak before remembering it's Thanksgiving and I'm supposed to be sweet and cheerful): No, not that one Mom. Here wait. It'll be easier if I get it.
Darling Husband (walking in, seeing me wilting and harried): Hey ladies! Lets watch the parade.
MIL and Mom: Ohhhh noooooo. She needs help.
Mom: Honey, you're sweating. Are you okay?
Daughter: (who is quietly watching the chaos) Here you go, Mom. (as she drops two tylenol into my hand)

In the end it all works out as it has for the past twenty-five years but each time, the conversations are the same. For me? Too much info to process coming straight at my head. So I figure I'm not as good at multitasking as I thought.

Talk on the phone and drive? Not happening (nor should it). Walk and chew gum (doubtful). Write two books at once? Nope. Not ever.

Where Do YOU Draw The Line?

Before I begin today's post, I want to remind everyone that The Three Wicked Writers Plus Two have a Yahoo group and we chat there all day every day. It's a fun group to belong to and we invite you to join. 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/threewickedwriters

Also, Regina Carlysle, Natalie Dae, and I share a newsletter group. No chatting. Just once a month news

from the three of us. So if you're interested in receiving a monthly update from us, please join the Risque 

Newsletter. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/risquenewsletter 

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We draw imaginary lines in our personal lives all of the time. Simple things like what types of movies we watch or TV programs, what to wear and just how low cut. LOL All of this got me to thinking about just where we should draw the line in what we write overall within the erotic romance genre.

It would seem that more and more, certain subject matters are becoming less and less taboo. It wasn’t that long ago, maybe four, that M/M was considered to be a taboo genre. But look at it now! It has been well accepted within the almost all female erotic romance reading community.

There was a time in which BDSM was only whispered about. Now? Even I have a scene or two here and there with handcuffs and a spanking. LOL I even have one book in which I use wax play. It never ceases to amaze me just how sexy all of this comes across when I write it, too. If a guy had you tied up in bed and was coming at you with a candle and tilted it so the wax would drip on your nipple, would you think that was sexy? In my real life, I just can’t see that happening in any way that I would consider sexy. But when I see it all written down? WOW! Just WOW! Now I’ve had a paraffin bath for my hands and that feels pretty good. But the temperature is a certain level, etc., and I’m in control. And as we all know, it’s that lack of control that makes the difference. But still…my nipples? Hmmm…

Menage is all the rage. I’ve got one of those I’m working on—IF I can ever finish it. I have trouble writing ménage as strictly romance, however. I’m pretty vanilla—well, I like a little chocolate syrup and a few nuts, too—LOL—but I don’t see the romance in ménage at all. I’m more of a one-man-one-woman kind of gal. But I have read a ménage or two that came close to showing me a loving relationship. I think my friend Ava Rose Johnson did a good job with her books. For me, though, ménage fits much better in the paranormal realms, maybe sci-fi, too. But that’s just me.

Publishers usually list what they DON’T want to see in a submission. And I must say I agree with their list. However, there are publishers out there that will publish anything. We’ve all seen that. No bestiality has always been a rule with legitimate publishers, but lately I’m seeing publishers extending that warning to include no sex with a shifter while in shifted (animal) form. That leads me to believe that there are enough authors out there who are writing this that the warnings have started showing up. I love shifters. But to me sex with a shifted form would be a major ick factor.

Today that has me thinking about just where I believe the line is sometimes crossed and places we don’t need to go. I don’t like to see blood drawn in BDSM books. That bothers me. I don’t like to read erotic romance books in which children are introduced as characters. And I’m not talking about children being a part of the actual story line other than being someone’s children, but just being in the story. If a character has children, and the romance starts, I like to see the kids packed off to grandma’s. LOL A sexy relationship with kids underfoot just loses its sexual tension for me. Now that doesn’t mean it can’t be done or isn’t being done. Just means I haven’t read one in which it works and it’s not good for me. So personally I won’t write a book with children in it—unless it’s NOT erotic romance—and very probably not in mainstream romance either.

I also have a bit of a problem with polyamory. Or however that’s spelled, LOL. And it’s not the sex part of it all. Nope. It’s the way the relationship is presented. One man—two or three women. And these women get along???? No way. Two women in the same house???? There would be blood on the floor. Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that this does and has worked for a very long time in real life and we see these men and women on TV all of the time.

Yep, we do. And it’s usually when the FBI has gone in and rescued a bunch of them. OR it’s on a Lifetime movie. To me? That’s a “control” situation. A cult. Brainwashing. The women are born into a situation in which they had no choice or are lured into a situation where they had no real understanding of what they were getting into. And I have heard of polyamorous relationships that work just fine through a couple of blogs. But I do believe those are the exceptions and not the rule at all. So I don’t enjoy reading that particular subject matter.

What about the “ick” factors in acceptable scenes? Anal without lube? Anal and then vaginal sex with no clean up in between? Those are two of mine for sure. Authors AND EDITORS need to pay attention to specifics. What do you think of two brothers involved in a ménage? Or fisting? Tongues in places you generally wouldn’t think about putting them?  

Where do YOU draw the line? What’s your personal ICK factor? What sexual relationship or act do you feel is just not for you? Has anything in the erotic romance/erotica genre NOT been explored that you’d like to see written about? 

Today I'm sharing Tina Donahue's book trailer from her sinfully good IN HIS ARMS. The music, the imagery...everything is just so amazing. Make sure you stop by Tina's website and check out all her books. She's just too talented and you can't bypass her books for sure! http://tinadonahue.com 

http://tessmackall.com  

Three Wicked Writers Plus Two Yahoo Group:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/threewickedwriters

The Powerful Woman

Today we are so very lucky that the amazing R. Paul Sardanas has stopped in once again to share his thoughts on women with us. I've often said that he is THE most enlightened man I know. I'm sure you'll agree. He has brought along his writing partner, the very talented Tisha Garcia, to share their thoughts on their latest collaboration, Torera, and to discuss femininity through strength. I'm sure you'll all want to get in on this discussion.
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When we began work on our joint novel Torera, chronicling the life of a lady matador, there was no doubt that we would be writing about a powerful woman. Here is the quote that follows our dedications in the book:

"Her record stands as a rebuke to every man of us who has ever maintained that a woman must lose something of her femininity if she seeks to compete with men."

                                                                                                           —Orson Welles

Orson could easily have been referring to our Torera, Lucretia Maria Calderon, or for that matter to many other characters in our bibliographies, including R. Paul’s Siobhan Bishop in his Erotic Underworld books, or the wildly intense serial killer Emma in Tisha’s screenplay with writing partner David Strickler, Submission. Unquestionably the powerful woman has an indelible presence in our creative minds.

This springs from an absolute belief that a strong woman is feminine and sensual to the highest degree. One could hardly imagine a career more dominated by men than classical Spanish bullfighting—Hemingway’s book on the subject, Death in the Afternoon, is so dripping in machismo that it practically explodes with testosterone. And yet our fictional Lucretia has precedents in real history. Among the successful, fiery, and ferociously brave women who have stepped into a ring with toro bravos—fighting bulls—are Conchita Cintron and the American Patricia McCormick, both respected for their skill and power, and also their pride in their femininity.

Early in the book, our character explains a little of why she walked away from a career as a dancer, to feel alive and empowered in the arena:

The men in my family spend countless hours and days learning and practicing to be bullfighters. The more I watched and learned the more I desired to master the art. I like to think that my years of dance prepared me for being one of the best matadors in the ring. When you look at the positions matadors are assuming when twirling and luring the bull in with cape, it's almost art, like a ballet, but really in a woman these are more graceful, more feminine and more natural positions.

And here, a taste of the perceptions she must contend against, as she argues with her lover, also a matador:

Two weeks after signing with Diego’s manager, Lucretia had suffered an accident in the ring, being bumped so hard by a toro bravo that she had broken two ribs. Though the pain had been excruciating, she’d shrugged off the injury, binding her torso tight and refusing to skip even a single fight. Diego, instead of giving even grudging admiration to this level of determination, had berated her about it.

            “What is your problem, Diego?” She had finally confronted him. “No fighter with pride would go whining to bed with aching ribs. Would you?”

            “I’m a man, Lucretia. What are you?”

            “I’m woman enough for you in your bed, Diego the Master.”

            “Which is where you belong.”

            “Is it jealousy then, Diego? Must I always be one step below you in order for you to be content?”

            “Now you talk foolishness.”

            “Do I?”

            He looked at her very seriously. “You must never doubt that I respect you.”

            “Yes, with your constant talk of the kitchen and bedroom being the only place for a woman.”

            “Well, that’s true. And my respect for you is also true.” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Even God could not sort that out, torera.”

God might not be able to sort out that kind of thinking, but we give it our best shot, making our lady bullfighter driven and sexual, but also at times introspective and vulnerable. She is not a woman encased in steel, despite being one who wields a sword in an arena of bloody grace. She faces derision and dismissal, alongside adulation from the crowds. The men in her life (like men everywhere in the world), have their issues with a woman of power, with responses that veer all over the emotional map, from scorn to adoration.

In a way, our collaboration in writing this novel also underscores the things a man and woman can achieve when respecting and encouraging one another as mutually powerful. We wrote together as equals, each of us creating scenes for both the male and female characters of the book, gaining insight into the different ways men and women perceive their lives and the world.

All of us step into an arena of sorts every day, and we can do so in a way that is vividly alive, actualized with our power as individuals, prepared and eager to be brilliant. Even everyday life gives us that opportunity, as much as it gave to a woman with a cape in one hand and a sword in the other. When we reach for that, and support one another in the reaching, we are unstoppable.

                                                              Portrait by David Cuccia

Torera, the Lady Matador, is available from Passion in Print Press: www.passioninprint.com

More of R. Paul Sardanas’ creations, including novels, art and poetry, can be found at: www.rpaulsardanas.com

The creative world of Tisha Garcia can be explored at her website:

http://onedirtyword.weebly.com

Torera cover by Deana Jamroz, PIP Press

Lucretia Maria Calderon “La Encarnado Beso” portrait by David Cuccia  

Do you have a guilty pleasure?

I have a couple of them. I suppose some might say my second career as an erotic romance writer is something of a guilty pleasure in itself, as I have a pen name and only a couple of people in my regular life know about it. Even fewer know the content of what I write. To say some of my friends and co-workers would be shocked is an understatement, but as far as I'm concerned, that just goes to show you that you never really know anyone that well--or what they might do in their spare time. I think writing - and reading - romance is great. It's a healthy expression of what goes on in real life, no matter how shocked some people claim to be by it. But still, the naysayers prevail.

Besides my writing, I have another guilty pleasure, mainly because it seems like antithesis of my style. I write really contemporary stories and I've been told I have kind of an edgy voice. So why do I love, love, love historical romances? The lush usage of language, the clothing, an author's masterful way of sweeping me away to another time and place...historicals just enthrall me. I hope to write one of my own one day, even though it's at the absolute opposite end of the spectrum from my natural style. But I think it's good to try to stretch yourself from time to time. I'm doing that now with a m/m/f menage I'm writing. I've never worked with three POVs before, nor have I ever written any m/m scenes. It's been fun to try something different.

What about you? Do you have a guilty pleasure? Not that there's anything to feel guilty about with liking historicals, but I think it might surprise a few of my friends. Your guilty pleasure can be a certain genre of book you like, a favorite TV show you don't tell too many people you enjoy (Jersey Shore anyone?) or even some decadent high calorie treat you indulge in on special occasions. It can even be something a bit wilder. This is a judgment free zone. ;) So c'mon, spill!

Horny, Hard, and Hare-y is out!

I'm happy to announce that Horny, Hard, and Hare-y is available from Resplendence Publishing as of yesterday!

Blurb:

It's time for the annual race, and tortoise shifter, Duncan, is finally going to catch some tail—hare shifter tail, otherwise known as Charlie. With Gibbs, their owl shifter friend, keeping an eye out overhead, they're off and running. But Charlie is as spontaneously careless as the fairytale hare and finds himself caught by local DNR officer, Ben.

The full moon is rising, and if Charlie stays collared through the Hare Moon, he'll remain an animal forever. It's up to Duncan and Gibbs to free him before time is up. But in telling their secret, will they lose Ben forever? It's a foursome waiting to happen, where Ben reconnects with a mysterious lover, and the tortoise finally catches his hare.

Excerpt:

Charlie Cuelho glanced over his furry brown shoulder. His ears twitched, ruffling a little in the breeze as his constantly moving nose tried to find Duncan’s scent on the wind. Charlie had time, lots of time, so he stopped to run a soft paw behind his long ear and down his nose. He practically shivered at how awesome that felt, so he repeated the motion.

“You’re going to lose again.” A great horned owl settled onto a nearby branch.

“I’m fine, Gibbs. He’s nowhere in sight,” Charlie disregarded. Besides, having the tortoise in his sites as he won the race was exactly what he wanted. He just didn’t want to push it too close. The fact that he’d be able to laud the achievement over Duncan again and again, didn’t hurt either. There was nothing sexier than a pissed off tortoise shifter, who owed you a debt.

Since Charlie had yet to decide what that debt would be, it would only make the moment sweeter. Definitely something Duncan didn’t want to do, like kiss him whenever Charlie snapped his fingers. For an entire month. Yeah, that would be awesome.

“That’s what you said last time, and he won. You two are a cliché,” Gibson complained, tearing Charlie away from his thoughts.

“Fuck you,” Charlie barked.

He stood up on his hind legs, trying to make his exclamation sound more impressive. Which was difficult, considering he was a hare and too damn fluffy to be imposing.

“You mean, fuck like a bunny?” Gibbs made a sound like a sniff. Which wasn’t possible, technically, since he didn’t have a nose—in owl form. “I shouldn’t be warning you, but there’s a trap ahead.”

“I’ll jump it.” A movement caught Charlie’s eye, and the tell-tale scent of tortoise reached his sensitive, ever moving nose. “You know, most owls sleep in the daytime. You don’t make a very convincing shape shifter if you can’t keep the same habits.” He’d waited long enough. Duncan’s head poked from behind a bush, stretching for a better look. “Gotta go!” Charlie told the owl.

“Wait!” Gibbs called.

Charlie didn’t wait, he wouldn’t. It was just a ploy to get him to slow down enough so that the tortoise would win the race, a-damn-gain. Every year it was the same thing, laundry chores and dishes for six weeks. If Duncan had ever made him pay up creatively, Charlie might have lost on purpose. Stinky laundry and dishes weren’t creative.

Bathing Duncan for six weeks—with my tongue—now that would be hot.

Charlie raced forward, leaping over leaves and branches. His hips twisted in mid-air, knocking his long back paws together like he was clicking his heels, before they came down, dug in and pushed him off even faster.

No way was Duncan going to win another race. Not this time. No fucking way. He glanced back as he made another leap. Exultant that he didn’t see Duncan anywhere near him, he bounded happily onward. Twigs popped under his feet. Leaves rattled this way and that, with each successive jump forward. He had this race in the ba—.

His back left paw extended. Momentum carried him to a lurching stop and Charlie scrambled uncomprehendingly, when his left paw remained immobile, no matter how he shook it.

Overhead, Gibbs circled, screeching alarm. He’d be saying “I told you so”, unless the hunter was nearby to hear him.

Charlie’s heart hammered in rapid staccato beats. His keen eyes caught the flicker of movement even before he heard the crunch of boots. Charlie froze instinctively. He huddled making himself as small as possible, even though he knew it was already too late. He’d been seen, and trapped, just like Gibbs had warned.

Fuck!

“It’s okay, little guy. No one’s gonna hurt you,” the gentle voice of a man reached him. It sounded hypnotic and soothing. A voice like that could make a guy forget that he’d just been snared, and might end up as somebody’s stew meat.

Wouldn’t this dude be surprised when he tried to skin him and found a naked man instead? Charlie almost smirked. Except he couldn’t, because he was busy freaking out at the moment.

This is the second book I did for a five person, year long anthology. My first book, Unchaste, released in March. I loved this project! We had a very few rules: Word count, menage, shape shifters coinciding with the moon on the month of our release, and a happily ever after for everyone. Some of us wrote m/m, but there are several m/f books too. Check us out at ResplendencePublishing.com