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IS Zak Jane Keir Keeping it Real?

SFWL COVERWhen it comes to being asked That Question, the one that gets asked of erotica writers far more than writers in any other genre, the ‘Have you really done all that stuff you write about?’ question, my answers have included ‘Maybe…’ ‘Well, what do you think?’ and ‘Look, pal, if I’d done all of that I’d probably be dead by now.’

 

Most erotica writers have had sex. Most erotica writers really like sex, and either spend a lot of time having it or thinking about ways in which they would like to have it, and who they would like to have it with. (People who really don’t like sex do not make good erotica writers, especially when they are people who think erotica is both crap and a shortcut to easy money.) Sometimes, we use the sex we’ve had, or the sex we might have, or the sex we want to have with certain individuals as yet impervious to our charms, as the basis for our stories, which is absolutely fine as long as we change the names and physical attributes enough to keep ourselves safe from outrage, hurt feelings or lawsuits. Not only is it ethical to remove identifying details if your starting point is someone you know – or would like to know better – but doing so takes your work where it needs to go: further into the wonderful, fertile, unlimited territory of the author’s imagination.

 

Some of the stories in my new anthology are just a little tiny bit based on things I got up to and things I might like to get up to. Because I run reading slams, that can sometimes make things even more interesting, should there be someone in the audience who recognises himself or herself in what’s being read out. Advice given to anyone new to public speaking often includes a suggestion of picking one member of the audience to look at and telling yourself that you are addressing that one person. I would have to say that if what you are reading is some erotica you have written and it has some particular relevance to a member of the audience then the last thing you want to do is catch that person’s eye when you get to the good bits. You will either go purple in the face with embarrassment or be consumed with such lust that you drop your clipboard and have to press your thighs together tightly. Other listeners may be intrigued and thrilled by the almost palpable erotic tension in the room, or they may just think you are a dipstick who hasn’t prepared your material very well – or that you are drunk. Depending on how much your actual relationship with the person in question varies from the one you have been writing about may also affect how well your performance goes, er, down: if s/he is someone you are seeing/married to/about to consummate a flirtation with then there is a good chance of thrills all round. However, if you have an unrequited crush and the object of your affections turns green and flees the premises, then you will just have to console yourself with the fact that your mortification has made the evening memorable for everyone else.

 

You may be wondering if this is the sort of thing that actually happens at DSW slam nights. My possible answers to that might include ’Maybe’ ‘What do you think?’ and ‘Why don’t you come and find out for yourself?’

 

EXTRACT: The Tops, from Sticky Fingers And Warm Leatherette

 

She sauntered through the crowd, head high, face composed. Her long, light-brown hair was caught up in a high ponytail on the crown of her head; her scarlet latex catsuit gleamed under the lights and her patent leather boots shone just as brightly. She carried a scarlet suede flogger with twelve tails, fastened to her wrist with a loop of plaited black leather, and her make up was still entirely flawless. Pausing for a moment at the far end of the bar, she contemplated getting another vodka, but decided against it. For the moment, she wanted to keep her head clear. Besides, soon enough some slave or other would probably want to endear himself to her with the offer of a drink.

 

In the alcove by the staircase, she saw a beautiful Japanese girl who hadn’t been around for months but was clearly delighted to be here tonight. She was leaning back in her chair, eyes shut and lips slightly parted, her fingers splayed on the table top. Passing a little closer by, Lynsey was able to tell that there was someone kneeling between the other woman’s legs, but couldn’t be sure if it was male or female. Not that it mattered, naturally. She smiled and walked on, silently wishing the pair of them well. House of Sinners was one of the more permissive clubs, and it was definitely one of those nights when people were inclined to go for it. Interesting, really, how the mood of a whole club could vary from month to month: even in the more behave-yourself venues such as the city centre wine bar that hosted Leather&Chain: from time to time there would be a night when there was something in the air and people would keep disappearing off to the loos, all giggly and conspiratorial and coming back with naughty, sated looks on their faces. Lynsey had had her own share of that sort of thing, though she tended to prefer waiting till the end of the night and taking her captive home in a taxi before getting really intimate.

 

She spotted another couple in a corner on the top floor, near the dungeon: this time it was a man sitting back with a blissful expression, and no table to conceal anyone’s view of the girl on her knees in front of him. She was naked, apart from a neat and unadorned set of black leather cuffs, and a matching collar round her slender neck. As Lynsey drew near, the girl raised her head slightly so that she held only the tip of her lover’s impressive tool between her gloss-smeared lips, her tongue presumably working on the little slit in his cock-head, probing and teasing and tantalising in the hope of triggering the mouthfuls of hot spunk she appeared to crave. Her eyes were half-open, but there was a moment where her gaze and Lynsey’s met, and Lynsey had a dizzying flash of imagining herself in that position, naked, on her knees, gobbling a huge cock, maybe fingering herself as she sucked and licked and all-but devoured… She shook her head and moved quickly on.

 

 

About Zak:

Zak Jane Keir is a veteran writer of erotic fiction and occasional ranty blog posts. She also runs Dirty Sexy Words erotica slams in London.

 

 

Find her books here:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_ebooks_1?ie=UTF8&text=Zak+Jane+Keir&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Zak+Jane+Keir&sort=relevancerank

 

 

Find out more about Dirty Sexy Words here:

https://www.facebook.com/DirtySexyWords/

 

 

 

Naked in the Lakes for a Great Cause!

No one could follow this blog or my face book page or read very many of my novels without knowing that I adore the English Lake District. My husband and I have been fell walking in Lakeland for nearly eight years now. When I joined a group on Face Book called I Love the Lake District where I met the fabulous Jo Bell. She and some of her friends are getting naked in the Lakes for a great cause, and you don’t have to get naked to help.  Here’s Jo to tell you all about it.

 

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I hope this idea to raise money would make you smile? I had only ever bought the cheeky Farmers’
Calendars featuring either lady or male farmers with various farming equipment or a tractor strategically placed for the photo but these calendars are from Plymouth in Devon!

I had the initial idea, after a friend had told me that she’d had some photos taken of herself to help to boost her self esteem through seeing herself undressed, so its all her fault! In the summer of 2014, a group of 7 ladies got together and, with the help of a local willing photographer, ventured into Egremont and Ennerdale and got up close and personal with nature! Quite literally!

 

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I like to call it ‘Naked in the Lakes’ Calendar Girls style and thought it would be a great idea for a
Calendar with a difference rather than just photos of the Lakeland Fells. We are raising money for the Give Us A Break charity as West Cumbria, England, urgently needs a suitable Short Break Centre located nearby to support children with disabilities and their families. Currently a suitable facility does not exist and/or would require extensive travel or financial commitment to access. It is unreasonable to assume that families should continue to struggle on a daily basis, with long waiting lists, driving excessive distances and working through difficult systems to access care.

 

Miss. March

 

 

Calendars are £10 each

PayPal payment to go to  joannabell238@btinternet.com

 

The end of January, we are making a donation from the calendar sales to Give Us A Break.

I’d love to hear what your thoughts are on women getting naked outdoors and would be great for
you to see our results and maybe even join in our next one, if you’re coming up to the Cumbrian Lakes this summer!! I’ve got 70 members wanting to join in our next calendar, so will try not to get us all arrested if there are large groups of naked people roaming through the countryside this summer!!

Thank you for reading and I would love to hear from you, Jo Bell – nakedinthelakes@gmail.com.

Photos taken at Florence Mine, Egremont, Ennerdale Lake, Ehen river and Florence Mine (in banner) xx

 

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Out Now – Love on Location by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #mm #gay #lgbt #erotica #romance #ku

Love on LocationBlurb:

When Theo Samuels heads off to film on location in the village of Stoneydale, he’s expecting drama to take place on camera, not off. But when he meets gorgeous local lad, Eddie Henderson, he struggles to ignore his attraction. A relationship between the two of them would be utterly impractical, yet they’re drawn together nonetheless. Can they overcome the seemingly endless hurdles between them? Or is their fling destined to remain as just that?

Note: Love on Location has been previously released as part of the Brit Boys: On Boys boxed set.

Buy from Amazon, or read as part of your Kindle Unlimited subscription: http://mybook.to/loveonlocation

Add to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28373646-love-on-location

*****

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Excerpt:

Theodore Albert Samuels strode through Stoneydale Hall, barely giving the opulent furnishings, the priceless art or the stunning architecture a second glance. It belonged to him, after all. It was all his, his birthright, his inheritance.

He stopped suddenly. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, hoping none of the film crew were taking any notice of him. Looking over, it appeared they were still absorbed in figuring out lighting, props and where the actors should stand to get the best shots. Good—he wasn’t due to have a camera pointed at him for another two days; plenty of time to get his head around his role. And it was imperative he did—it was his biggest and highest profile part to date. If he got this right, it could truly launch his career. Maybe even into Oscar-winning territory.

Taking several deep breaths, he pulled himself up to his full height of 6ft 4” and adopted a haughty, disinterested manner—channelling Mr Darcy, perhaps? Either the one from Pride and Prejudice or Bridget Jones’ Diary would do.

I am William Arthur Stoneydale. And this property is mine.

They’d pretty much been given the run of the house—the real owners having gone to the south of France for the summer—so Theo continued marching around, upstairs and down, pulling in everything he could from his surroundings to make him truly feel like lord of the manor.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his mop of black curls and headed out into the gardens. They were beautiful; all manicured lawns, parterres, rose gardens, arches and perfectly placed shrubs. Despite the perfection, Theo felt more comfortable here—probably because he’d always been an outdoorsy sort, ever since he was a child. Only the strict yet loving influences of his parents had coaxed him inside to do his homework, study for his exams and eventually land himself a place at The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, better known as RADA.

The latter had been completely his choice—his mother and father had only wanted him to work hard and do his best. His career options had not been chosen by them, only supported.

Slumping onto a bench, Theo reminded himself of his parents’ wholehearted support and belief. That, and the fact he’d graduated from RADA with a first. Following that, he’d gone from strength to strength.

“Come on, Theo,” he muttered to himself. “You can do this. It’s just another role. A role you can play. Can be.”

His solo pep talk was interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel. Then, from behind a line of expertly done topiary appeared a young man, perhaps a few years Theo’s junior.

“Oh,” the other man said, slowing as he spotted Theo, “sorry. Didn’t know anyone would be out here. You’re not filming, are you?” He looked around for cameras. “I was told it wouldn’t be for a few days, give me time to finish—”

Theo cut him off. “Relax, mate, there’s no filming today. Not anywhere. The crew are still setting things up.”

The other man heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s all right then. Gave me a fright, that did. I need to make sure everything’s spot on in the gardens before they get rolling. So, what’s the star of the show doing out here by himself, anyway?”

Theo gave a wry grin. “Oh, I don’t know about star.”

The man made a scoffing sound. Then, “That’s not what I’ve heard. I’m Eddie, by the way. Eddie Henderson.”

Theo took the hand that was offered, and shook it. “Theodore Samuels. Theo. Nice to meet you.”

“You too. So, you never answered my question. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Theo said with a shrug. “Just nerves, I think. I’m struggling to get into the right mindset for this character. But I’ve got a couple of days—so I won’t panic just yet. Actually,” he paused as a bright idea illuminated his brain, “could I ask you something?”

Eddie took a seat beside Theo on the bench, and it was only when they were up close and personal that he realised just how handsome the younger man was. He had a lightly-muscled build, ginger hair, a riot of freckles on his face and forearms, blue-green eyes and a slight gap between his two front teeth. Cute and sexy all at once. Christ, he’s going to be trouble.

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller) and Eyes Wide Open (an Amazon bestseller). Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 140 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter and Facebook. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

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Out Now – Moondancing by Celia J Anderson (@celiaanderson1) #romance #contemporary #ebook

MoondancingBlurb:

Together since their teens, Molly and Jake have four children, a house in a sleepy village and jobs that bore them to distraction. Their marriage is an accident waiting to happen. When Nick arrives in Mayfield, young, disturbed and in desperate need of mother-love, Molly doesn’t realise that he will be the catalyst that blows everything apart. Add a headmaster whose wife doesn’t understand him and Molly’s unpredictable, frustrated best friend to the mix, and the blue touch paper has been well and truly lit.

Buy links: http://celiajanderson.co.uk/books/moondancing/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27841152-moondancing

 

Excerpt:

‘But who’s going to do our lunch if Mum’s staying in bed?’ asks Max.

‘If people need things putting in boxes, they’ll have to find them and put them in themselves for once,’ says Jake through gritted teeth, as he tries to make toast, unload the dishwasher, find clean socks for Hattie’s netball match and avoid the small pile of cat-sick by the table leg. He sighs and mops up the squelchy mess on the floor before Theo spreads it around the kitchen with her big boots.

It’s only the third day of term so the foolproof system for school mornings hasn’t kicked in yet. Even the two kittens look offended, meowing around Theo’s feet as she rifles through her schoolbag for her lost homework.

Jake feels as if he’s dropped into some alien, much less relaxing world. His early morning routine usually involves sitting at the kitchen table drinking strong coffee and keeping some kind of order while Molly dashes around serving up milky tea, bacon sandwiches, and muesli. As she cling-films sandwiches, throws yogurts and chocolate biscuits into plastic bags and sorts out last-minute crises, she talks him through the day ahead. She likes him to know what’s going on.

Theo still hasn’t found her homework. Jake and Molly’s eldest daughter is reasonably chilled, as a rule, but today she’s in a filthy mood. Her form tutor has given a final warning that if anyone else comes to school with purple streaks in their hair, he’ll make them wear his grey woolly hat to lessons. Theo’s managed to cover the offending bit of her fringe with black poster paint, having run out of dye, but she knows if it rains things could go badly wrong.

Jake can hear Theo muttering as she abandons the homework search and opens a tin of food for the yowling kittens, gashing her finger in the process, and bleeding all over Sam’s newly-made tuna sandwiches. She spits out all the rudest words she knows, and so does Sam, which makes Hattie run round the table screaming, ‘He said the “F” word, Dad, and she said “bugger”.’

Jake’s patience, never his strong point, runs out. ‘At your age,’ he thunders, ‘me and my little brother did all the chores for our mum before breakfast, went to school without moaning, and then came back and did our paper rounds. We weren’t spoiled like you lot – you’re all an absolute disgrace.’

Theo pulls herself up to her full five feet four inches. She hasn’t been allowed to have a paper round due to Molly’s fear of possible rapists and muggers on the loose. It’s a peaceful village normally, but there’s a first for everything.

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Author Bio:

Celia J Anderson loves cake, champagne and her family, although not in that order. Moondancing is the first book she ever completed but it needed a couple of years relaxing in the cupboard before it was ready to be revamped to follow Sweet Proposal, Little Boxes and Living the Dream out into the world.

One eighth of the Romaniacs, to be found at  https://theromaniacgroup.wordpress.com, Celia regularly blogs with this sparkling group of writers who support each other through the journey to publishing and beyond. Her ultimate aims are to spend less time on Facebook, have a few less chins and to walk five miles a day – she feels the three may be connected…

http://celiajanderson.co.uk

https://www.facebook.com/CeliaJAndersonAuthor

http://www.twitter.com/celiaanderson1

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Out Now! Cupid by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985 @evernightpub) #holiday #christmas #erotica #romance #shifter #paranormal #pnr

CupidBlurb:

As a postman by day, and one of Santa’s reindeer on a single very special night, Cassius Cupid eats, sleeps, and breathes deliveries. He doesn’t mind, but sometimes wishes that someone would send him something more exciting than bills and junk mail.

One cold January morning, Cassius gets his wish. A young woman arrives with a parcel. Turns out it’s for his housemate – but Cassius doesn’t care. All he’s interested in is Carina – the beautiful female courier.

Has Cupid finally met his match?

Buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/cupid/

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27255784-cupid

*****

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Excerpt:

Cassius Cupid woke with a start, and then sat bolt upright in his bed. Shit, I’m going to be late! was his first thought.

Milliseconds later his brain switched on, and he remembered. He was on holiday. Flopping back onto the warm mattress and pillows with a contented sigh, he smiled. No work for fourteen whole days—it was going to be utter bliss. He stretched, relishing the feeling it created in his sleep-softened muscles. Ahhh…this is the life.

He knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep—hell, it was eight o’clock, which was practically the middle of the day for someone in his profession—so Cassius fell to thinking about how he was going to spend his day, not to mention the several others in front of him. God knew he deserved to relax and have some fun. He’d just emerged from the busiest part of his year, and he was more than ready to do some chilling out.

He enjoyed his job as a postman—he really did—but the Christmas period was a total killer. He idly wondered how many cards and presents he’d delivered over the past few weeks. It didn’t bear thinking about. Once you factored in the festive period itself, the weird few days between Christmas and New Year, and then the flurry of mail that got sent when everyone went back to work properly at the beginning of January, he’d racked up some serious deliveries. And that was before you even thought about his other job—which was for just one day a year, but was arguably more important than the other 364 put together.

Cassius—or Cupid, as he was known to his boss and colleagues in his second, but most important job—was not only a regular postman for the Royal Mail, but also a reindeer. For a single day of the year, Cassius had the supernatural power to transform into one of Santa’s faithful steeds and help pull that famous magical sleigh, delivering presents to excited children the world over.

Therefore, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Cassius really did eat, sleep and breathe deliveries, but not for the next fourteen days. All he planned to do was watch some TV, read some books, maybe go out hiking, meet some friends… basically anything that wasn’t delivering something to someone. Hey, he might even receive something through the post himself—preferably not the usual crap; bills and junk mail. He didn’t hold out much hope.

He lounged in bed for another ten minutes before realising he was lying there just for the sake of it. Being on holiday didn’t have to equal staying in bed all day—and certainly not for someone as active as him. He reached over to his bedside table, grabbed his glasses and put them on. Throwing off his thick duvet, he walked to his bedroom window and peeked out through the curtains, immediately glad of the effective central heating he and his housemate had forked out to have installed the previous year.

The outside world was covered in a thick layer of snow, and Cassius was mightily glad that he wasn’t out delivering letters and parcels. The stuff was treacherous enough without having to carry a heavy bag up and down driveways, paths, and pavements — most of which either hadn’t been cleared, or had been cleared badly, leaving incredibly slippery patches of ground for an unsuspecting postie to come across. God knows he’d gone down enough times, but, much to his relief, nobody had ever seen him do it. He’d always been relatively unharmed—excerpt for his pride, of course—and had been able to scramble back to his feet and carry on.

The eerie silence outside was broken by the rumble of an engine, and Cassius turned his head to look up the street—he lived in a cul-de-sac, so he knew that’s where the vehicle would come from—and watched as a delivery van made its way slowly and carefully down the road. He hoped the driver was sensible enough to try and steer over the thickest parts of the snow—the more people went over and over the same patches, packing it down, the more the road surface resembled an ice rink. And since the cul-de-sac was on a slight hill, it was easy enough to get stuck. He’d seen it so many times—even going outside one time last winter to suggest the driver go down to the bottom of the road, turn around and try reversing up the hill—an almost foolproof plan for vans with rear-wheel drive. He’d gotten a big thumbs-up for that suggestion as the driver finally got to the junction where the road became flat, and went on his merry way.

As the van drew closer to his house, he saw that the driver was a woman. That would explain her cautious driving—he’d never admit it to one of his drinking buddies, but women were far superior when it came to driving in adverse weather conditions. He even thought he’d seen some survey containing statistics that proved it.

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*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 140 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

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