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A.M. Hartnett Asks the Burning Question: Why Write Erotica?

It’s my pleasure to welcome A.M. Hartnett to A Hopeful Romantic to ask that burning question, why write erotica? And to talk about her novella, Here for a Good Time.

It always give me a chuckle when I see writing blogs tackling the big erotica debate. Not how to write erotica or how to write great sex scenes, but simply whether or not to write erotica at all. Depending on the blog’s audience, it either devolves into an orgy of clutching pearls or high-brow snobbery about those books. Of course, the arrival of The Book That Shall Not Be Named and its sisters has given birth to countless (and, in my opinion, pointless) articles about why women are reading these types of books and why women are writing them.

AM HarnetIf you were to ask me point blank why I write erotica, I’d be completely stumped. Why erotica specifically? I dunno. Somewhere along the way I just gravitated towards the smuttier side of things. Any genre I attempted ended up with explicit sex. Coming of age drama set in the 1920s? Threesome. Small town horror? Ghost sex. Cat and mouse game between a crime boss and a retired policewoman? Yeeeep, rough sex in the attic.

When I finished university and decided to dabble in writing, I discovered the market for erotica. After that, there was never any question as to what I was going to write. So needless to say when I started selling stories in 2006 and found out I was actually good at it, it was a bit of a relief, because it was pretty clear I couldn’t write anything else without filthy sex.

That’s not to say all the rules of storytelling go out the window when things get wet and dirty on paper. You still need to know how to write balanced scenes, even if the end result is an orgasm. You still need believable dialogue. You still need to set the mood. In other words, don’t believe the articles that tell you that you can make a quick buck writing erotica — you still need to know how to write and tell a story.

I tried explaining this to Arts Guy. AG is an online date I once had. We had similar backgrounds — degrees in English and love of books that spawned the need to write. He had seemed thrilled when he discovered I was a published writer, then snorted when he found out what I wrote. AG could come down on my smut all he wanted, but at the end of the day I could walk into my local bookstore and find a book that had my name in it, while he could go home and moan about how the university press wouldn’t recognize him as the next Robertson Davies and publish his angst-ridden shorts all because what he thought storytelling should be.

I may not be able to tell you why I write erotica, but I’m glad that’s the pins and needles path that sprang up in front of me. It’s fun, I’m good at it, and I like to think I don’t waste a reader’s time when they finish something I’ve written. My latest release is Here For A Good Time from Xcite Books. I love the chemistry between my characters Alexis and Chris, and I had a ball writing about the things they got up to when no one was looking. If I decided way back when that I was too good to write erotica, I would have missed out on a lot.

Here for a Good Time Blurb

When Alexis booked her work retreat at The Deveaux, the most she had to look forward to was a bit of spa time on the company dime, but flashy salesman Chris Kendrick has an even better suggestion. For years they’ve had a hot and cold working relationship with a bit of flirting mixed in, and now is the perfect time to get that spark out of their systems.

Three days hopping in and out of beds (and other convenient places) shows Alexis that Kendrick’s smooth demeanour is more than just talk, and that aromatherapy and soft-tissue massages have nothing on Kendrick’s firm hand.

Here for a Good Time Excerpt

‘Excited?’ he asked softly. His tie whisked out of his collar with a low hiss.


‘Give me your hands.’

Once more she did as he asked, and nothing in her life to that point had turned her on more than watching him bind her wrists with his tie.

He studied her as he tightened the knot, his brow crooked. ‘You ever been done like this?’

‘A time or two,’ she admitted in a puff of air. Three times to be exact, but she couldn’t recall being this hot the last time she put herself at the mercy of a lover.

‘Colour me surprised.’ He made a loop at the end, and then guided her arms up and hooked her.

‘After the way I pounded you this morning, I figured you liked a bit of rough stuff.’

Standing so close, his every movement made his clothes rustle against her, teasing her nipples into hard peaks while he unzipped himself. The moment she looked down, he caught her under the chin.

‘Eyes forward.’

The tip of his cock, slick with precome, brushed her belly. Alexis itched to get her hands on him, to wrap her lips around that thickness and suck him until he gave her something to swallow, but she’d allowed herself to be putty in his hands and there was nothing to do but relent.

It was easy to do. She could practically feel the hum of energy in her blood as he ran his hands all over her body. His gaze never left hers. It was as though he was daring her to give him a reason to rebuke her.

Buy Here for a Good Time here:



Find A.M. Hartnett Here

Web: www.amhartnett.com 

Twitter: www.twitter.com/amhartnett

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annemarie.hartnett

About A.M. Hartnett

A.M. Hartnett began writing in 2006 and has published more than thirty short stories. Her work has appeared in more than a dozen anthologies, including Cleis Press’s Sudden Sex: 69 Sultry Short Stories (Ed. Alison Tyler), and The Big Book of Orgasm: 69 Sexy Stories (Ed. Rachel Kramer Bussel). She has also written three novellas and a novel as Annemarie Hartnett. For more information on her publications, please visit www.amhartnett.com 



Tamsin Flowers’ The Christmas Tattoo – Awash with the Seasonal Feel-Good Factor

The Christmas TattooThere’s something about Christmas that gets to me. For 11 months of the year, I’m probably the least sentimental person you’ll meet and then, for the month of December, I transform into something soggy, sniveling and over-sentimental. Sit me down in front of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye singing ‘We’ll follow the old man’ in White Christmas and I’m gone. James Stewart in It’s A Wonderful Life – pass the tissues! Show me a John Lewis Christmas ad and I’m welling up. It doesn’t take much.

So around Christmas, I like to read something with the feel-good factor. This is the time of year for happy endings – the snow falls in White Christmas; George Bailey is reunited with his family in It’s A Wonderful Life and the bear wakes up for Christmas Day in the commercial. Oops – just thinking about it is enough to make my eyes tear up. And I want the same from a book if I’m reading it December.

Anyway, when I decided to write a Christmas erotic romance, I wanted to capture some of that feel-good emotion that makes Christmas what it is. Of course, it’s not all plain sailing and my two main characters have plenty of obstacles standing in the way of true love – a curmudgeon of a father, an ex boyfriend who reappears, a pregnant business partner, jealousy, tears and fights. But I don’t think it’s too much of spoiler to give away that The Christmas Tattoo has a happy ending.

After all, I couldn’t do otherwise at this time of year, could I?




The Christmas Tattoo – blurb

When sexy red-head Bradie Clements comes home from Washington to nurse a broken heart and build bridges with her estranged father, she’s certainly not on the lookout for romance. After catching her boyfriend Kris in bed with her best friend and boss, all she wants to do is run and hide. But a chance encounter with local tattoo artist Colton Bassett leads to an unexpected appointment with his needle. Even though it’s cold outside, the temperature rises to boiling point as the two discover an irresistible attraction. But then Kris arrives on the scene to claim her back in time for his family Christmas and Bradie starts to remember what she saw in him. Tormented by jealousy and suspicion over Colton’s pregnant business partner, Bradie starts to wonder if her new romance is over before it’s begun…


Buy links

Available at Amazon.com, Amazon UK, Kobo, and Xcite Books.



Colt Bassett’s legs turned to water as he bent in low enough for his lips to brush against Bradie’s.  He’d kissed those lips once before, briefly, and he’d never forgotten how they’d tasted.  He’d dreamt of kissing them again a million times and now, when he thought the flame he’d been carrying for her for over a decade had at last gone out, she’d walked back into his life. Right into his studio, asking for a tattoo.  Her eyes asking for a kiss.

His lips brushed hers, tentative at first.  He’d made mistakes with her before but he knew he was reading the signals right this time; a decade of experience had taught him what to look for.  Her pupils were dilated, her lips parted and a little moist.  Her breathing uneven.  He put a hand along her jaw to hold her still as his mouth moved over hers and he sensed the subtle arching of her back and tilting of her head to give him better access.

Her kiss tasted immediately familiar, her lips as soft and yielding as he remembered.  He swallowed and wondered whether he dared plunge his tongue into her mouth.  The thought of it sent a spasm of lust up through his cock, had his heart pounding against his chest and his balls throbbing in his shorts.  He knew he was reaching the point of no return; either draw back or take things forward.  He tried to read Bradie’s expression but her eyes were shut.  When her hand snaked up around the back of his neck, he recognized an invitation to continue, so he slowly traced the line of her lips with the tip of his tongue.

She rewarded him with a soft mewl from deep within her throat; she wanted this as much as he did.  Her mouth opened and then her tongue pressed against his, pushing into his mouth and intensifying his need to take things further.  She tasted of sweet coffee and he pushed back against her to find his way into her mouth; their tongues slipping past each other to explore at leisure.  Her back arched more and he gripped the back of her neck to pull her in against him.  Soft breasts touched his chest as her jacket fell open; he could feel her nipples pebbling hard through the thin fabric of her blouse.  He raised his other hand and brought it up to the side of her breast…

A bell rang.  A door slammed.

Fuck!  Someone had come into the shop.

“Colt?  Are you back there?”

Shit, Saskia! 


Tamsin FlowersTamsin Flowers

Tamsin Flowers loves to write light-hearted erotica, often with a twist in the tail/tale and a sense of fun.  In the words of one reviewer, ‘Ms Flowers has a way of describing sexual tension that forces itself upon your own body.’ Her stories have appeared in a wide variety of anthologies and she is now graduating to novellas, for publishers including Cleis Press, Xcite Books, Secret Cravings and Totally Bound. This year, she entered NaNoWriMo, with the intention of penning her magnum opus in the very near future.  In the meantime, like most erotica writers, she finds herself working on at least ten stories at once: while she figures out whose leg belongs in which story, you can find out more about her at Tamsin’s Superotica or Tamsin Flowers.


The Extraordinary Within the Ordinary

Many thanks to the lovely KD Grace for having me over today to discuss sex out of the ordinary.

Demelza Hart 2Where’s the most unexpected place you’ve ever done it? On a train? Aeroplane bathroom? Broom cupboard at work? All popular fantasies.

What is it about sex in mundane, everyday places that turns us on so much? After all, in reality, negotiating the coming together of body parts amongst cramped spaces, wash basins, mops and general daily detritus is a pretty tricky business. It’s certainly not done for the glamour of the location.

No, it’s the overwhelming need which compels us to do it in these places, the engulfing passion which overrides all else: sense, practicality and safety. These places may be entirely ordinary, but if you introduce the extraordinary into them – sex – the danger element makes the excitement of it so much more thrilling. Not only do you risk mistaking a broom handle for something else entirely, you also risk discovery. The exhibitionist in you lurks, daring you on.

Allow me to introduce Tara.

Demelza Hart 3Tara seeks the extraordinary within the ordinary, and in The Suit she’s met someone who can deliver. The Suit – nameless and effortlessly gorgeous – takes the mundane and, by introducing sex, turns it into something entirely irresistible.

Tara developed her taste for this – and for him – on that icon of routine and predictability, the London Underground. We first met her in my short ‘Come Underground’ (in Xcite’s Watching Me, Watching You and Your Ultimate Fantasy anthologies). On that occasion, she spent a trip on the Central Line ably entertained by five anonymous men, one of whom is The Suit. They weren’t supposed to see each other again.

But they do.

In Spontaneous (Book One of the Suited to You trilogy), we meet Tara as she contacts The Suit again. They continue where they left off.

In this extract, The Suit has arranged to meet Tara, telling her he’s going to ‘take her shopping’. With visions of Bond Street in mind, the supermarket where his chauffeur actually drops her isn’t quite what she’d envisaged, but The Suit always delivers.


I paced dejectedly along to the bright lights of the supermarket and strode morosely through the gaping doors. The glare from the store hurt my eyes and the beeping of the checkouts immediately grated on me. This had better bloody be good. I scanned the entrance for signs of The Suit, but could see nothing. Instinctively, I picked up a basket and made my way into the store. It was nearly empty. A few late-night shoppers were stocking up, Demelza Hartbut the aisles were largely deserted save for a few shelf stackers. I glanced around the magazines and cards. No sign. I made my way through homeware and clothing. Nothing. Was he even here?

 I threw a tube of toothpaste into the basket. I’d nearly run out; I may as well make the most of my time here. Then I turned into the broad expanse of the fruit and vegetable aisles. There he stood, still in his suit, studying an apple carefully before replacing it on the pile. I walked over.

‘Out of milk, are you?’ I’d intended to sound tetchy and succeeded. He turned as coolly as ever, his eyes quickly taking in my clothes and appearance.

‘Hello.’ He looked back to the apples. ‘Granny Smith or Pink Lady?’

‘Definitely Pink Lady.’

He took a few, put them in his basket, and moved on. I followed.

‘Why are we here?’

‘It’s an interesting environment.’

‘Is it?’ I wasn’t convinced.

‘I like the mundanity of it. I like the idea of the extraordinary concealed within the ordinary.’

‘And where is the extraordinary? I don’t see it.’

He didn’t answer. His Duchamp tie hung down when he bent over to look at things. I wanted to grab it, tug him round, and have him.

‘So what happens now? Are you going to fuck me with a cucumber?’

He at last deigned to look at me, his mouth rising into a slight smile. ‘Would you like that?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe. But only if they’re Class One organic cucumbers.’

He glanced above him at a CCTV camera. ‘We’re too visible here. It might be tricky.’

‘I wasn’t serious!’ I added.

‘Why not?’


The cucumbers remain where they are, but The Suit, Tara and another (more than) willing participant go on to take plentiful advantage of the BOGOF deals. Like The Suit says, it’s always worth seeking the extraordinary within the ordinary.

Come and say hello to Demelza on Facebook, Twitter or at her blog. She’d love to get to know you.

Spontaneous (Book One in the Suited to You trilogy) is available now, as is Watching Me, Watching You and Your Ultimate Fantasy (containing ‘Come Underground’).

Buy Spontaneous Here:





Sex Al Fresco! Tis the Season for Garden Porn

Raymond and I had breakfast in the allotment this morning. We ate our sandwiches and drank our coffee in plastic chairs looking out over our small holding, now in the full foliage and bloom of summer. We watched a pair of black birds hunting for invertabrates for the fledglings and flitting about to devour unprotected currents.

Last night we picked a mountain of french beans and enough hefty courgettes to inspire any writer of garden porn. There’s just something about being out in the fresh air and sunshine on a British Summer day that can’t help but make the pulse beat a little quicker and the blood run a little warmer. Phallic veg aside, let’s face it, the great outdoors is a powerful aphrodesiac. And it’s pretty much a guarantee that those who haven’t partaken of sex al fresco at least once have certainly fantasized about it.

Tuesday Chris Unity Bowness will be back on A Hopeful Romantic with his monthly comumn, Consenting Adults, to talk more about sex al fresco and how to make the best of it, but since I’m spending a lot of time in the veg patch these days, which will no doubt inspire some more seriously sizzling garden porn, I thought I’d inspire all of you to venture out into the hot and sexy natural world and enjoy. So here’s a little excerpt from my novella, SurrogatesS. With a warm and steamy Britain, you don’t have too go far to find heat outside. Whether you want to partake or only have a little voyeuristic pleasure reading about someone else doing the deed in the open air, here’s a little something to celebrate summer sex in the sun along with a few piccies from our veg patch.

Warning: This excerpt is not for the prim and proper. This is garden porn at is raunchiest.


DANIEL ALEXANDER III takes his marriage vows seriously. Until he gets the balls to ask his wife, BEL, for a divorce, watching each other masturbate is all he can offer his beautiful gardener, FRANCIE CARTER. But when Dan’s friend, SIMON PARIS, agrees to be his surrogate, affairs of the heart get complicated.

Surrogates surrogatesExcerpt:

‘Francie? Francie, are you there?’ Dan made his way around behind the jungle of runner beans, getting a shoe full of warm moist soil when he stepped off the path. As the grit infiltrated his dress socks, he would have cursed his clumsiness, but then he saw her on hands and knees, the swell of her hips slightly raised in her efforts to pull stubborn weeds. She didn’t have to do that. She was the head kitchen gardener, a goddess in her domain. He hired underlings to do the weeding, but fuck, he was glad she took the hands-on approach, especially at times like this. She had kicked off the silly blue plastic gardening clogs she always wore, and her bare toes curled into the soft earth as though the very touch of it was an irresistible pleasure. How could soil between toes be so goddamned sexy?

The thin summer skirt she wore barely covered the heart-shaped roundness of her bottom, hugging her and clinging in the heavy summer heat to the delicious juncture where her thighs met. There were clearly no panty lines. She gardened in skirts, like she wanted to expose herself, like the act of planting and digging and cultivating made her a naughty bitch, who couldn’t get enough. But then that was the way he saw her in his fantasies, and oh shit, did he have fantasies about her! His cock jerked with insistence that nearly took his breath away. ‘There you are,’ he breathed, fingers already fumbling at his fly.

‘Go away. I’m busy,’ she said, giving some unfortunate weed an angry tug, an act the made the thin skirt quiver, made the firm muscles of her buttocks beneath clench and release. And his balls surged sending a testosterone buzz clear to the crown of his head.

He ignored the anger in her voice, well he didn’t actually ignore it. Her saucy temper made his cock even harder. ‘It’s all right, darling, you keep on working. Just lift your skirt for me.’ He grunted softly as he released his cock into his hand.

‘Lift it yourself. I said I’m busy.’

‘You know I can’t do that, sweetheart.’

She growled something particularly feral under her breath. He figured it wasn’t fit for polite company, which made him wish all the more that he’d heard it.

‘I’ve got such a load for you. I’ll come all over it if you don’t lift it for me,’ he said.

‘I have other skirts, Daniel.’ She only called him Daniel when she was really angry. ‘Why do I care where you come?’

‘Because you know where I really want to come, darling, and you have to know how badly I want it.’ He moved slightly to one side, not so far that her magnificent bottom wasn’t the centre of his attention, but far enough that, in her peripheral vision, she might catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock. Even if she couldn’t, she knew what he was doing, and he had no intention of being quiet about it. He lifted his balls free from his boxers and groaned at the feel of himself so full, so heavy for her.

She gave another angry yank at the offending weeds, and the resulting squeeze of her buttocks nearly sent him over the edge.

He spat on his hand noisily, rubbed his saliva over the length of his cock and groaned again, squinting at her exquisite back side as though if he just stared at it hard enough he could slide the skirt up over her hips with sheer desire. And the view would be magnificent. The way her knees were open, the way she braced herself on the garden mat, would showcase the tight dark bud of her anus nestled just above the splayed pout of her pussy. And her pussy, he had no doubt, would be slickened from knowing what he was doing, from knowing what he’d come for, what he so desperately wanted … needed.

‘You were with her, weren’t you? You were with your wife,’ she said reaching a gloved hand to deposit a handful of weeds in the trug next to her, an act which made the skirt ride up even further, an act which made him breathless.

‘What? No! I wasn’t. I promise. I had a meeting with my accountant that ran long. I swear it, Francie, darling. I haven’t seen Bel since I got home. Besides she’s staying over at her sisters this evening. They’re having a girl’s night out. Sweetheart, you know if I were with her, I’d tell you. Haven’t I always been above board about what goes on between Bel and me?’

She knew he had. Not that there was much to tell, but on the odd occasion when Bel had had too much wine with dinner and demanded he do his husbandly duty, or when she was feeling morose about her advancing years, all thirty-four of them, and needed to be shown she was still sexy, he never lied about it. It didn’t matter what sex acts he’d had to perform to please his wife, when Francie asked for details, he gave them. A part of him hated that she always asked. Surly she knew it would be easier if she didn’t know, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. And he didn’t hold back anything, even though he was always careful to remind her that it was thinking about her that made him come when he did his duty where Bel was concerned.

And all the while he told Francie what he’d done to Bel, told her details that made him blush, details that made his cock stretch and arch towards her, she listen while her cunt got slick and fat. Even as those details made her angry and unhappy, she asked for them. And while he told her, she played with herself, fingers darting furiously in and out between her heavy slippery folds, hips shifting and grinding as she asked him in clipped breathless words for more details. What did Bel’s pussy look like? How did she smell? Could he taste the wine she’d drank or the spices from Cook’s currey when he ate her out? How hard did her nipples get? Did she talk dirty when he pushed into her? Jesus, having sex with Bel, even though he knew it hurt Francie, was almost worth it to watch the way Francie took the pain, twisted it, turned it, reshaped it and came on it, came in lovely gushing female squirts at what she had made of it in her filthy little head.

Of course she didn’t like it that someone else got his cock while she only got to watch him wank. He didn’t like it either, but there was nothing for it at the moment. As much as he wanted Francie, as much as he dreamed of riding her raw, he was still married to Bel, and he would stay faithful until he got the balls to ask for a divorce. No matter how badly he wanted Francie, he could never behave towards Bel the way his father had towards his mother.

So why was he such a coward? People got divorced every day. Lots of people. Hell he knew people who had already been married and divorced multiple times. It was a simple thing to ask for a divorce these days. And yet, here he was like a damned adolescence begging for a peek under a girl’s skirt. ‘Please, darling, he said. ‘I don’t have a lot of time, and I want to spend what I do have with you.’

He saw the sigh shiver up through her body, and he knew he’d been forgiven. She raised on her knees enough to take off the gloves she wore, then with one hand she eased the skirt up over her hips and wriggled slightly to open her legs a little wider on the mat where she knelt.

He pressed his thumb to the head of his cock. The urge to come at the sight of her all engorged and open was nearly overwhelming. The pearlescent sheen on the inside of her pouting labia told him he wasn’t the only one who needed to come. As she arched her back downward and forced her bottom even higher, her clit came into view looking like a heavy swollen marble at the apex of her pussy. ‘Oh, Francie –’ he breathed ‘– touch it for me.’

She dipped her index and middle fingers in between her slick folds then drew them upward tightly against either side of her clit until it bulged still further, like soft, ripe fruit waiting to be nibbled. And, fuck, how he wished he could!

‘Do you like that?’ She breathed, glancing over her shoulder.

‘Oh God yes,’ he grunted.

‘I thought you weren’t going to show. I was angry,’ she said. ‘Oh, I definitely had plans for the vegetables I was sending Cook for your dinner tonight.’ She nodded to the basket of mixed phallic veg sitting on the ground next to her.

His cock jerked. ‘Show me,’ he breathed. ‘Show me what you were going to do to my veg.’

She took a heavy courgette slightly thicker than his cock, crooked and arched nearly in the shape of a banana. She gave it a leisurely deep-throating that had him thumbing the underside of his cock again, that had him imagining how it would feel if it were him getting the benefit of her delicious tongue. Her cheek muscles tugged and pulled on the courgette like it was a rod of steel.

When she was absolutely certain she had his full attention, she repositioned herself to face him. She wriggled her bare arse down onto the mat with her legs spayed. With one hand, she scrunched her skirt into a wad just below her navel, raking her long slender hand over tightly trimmed pubic curls, then she slid two fingers into her milky cunt and opened herself. With a little lifting of her buttocks and shifting of her hips she was ready. She snugged the hard jut of the courgette up tight against her reluctant pout.

Suddenly it was as though he weren’t even there, and that made it all the harder for him to hold his wad. She spat on her fingers and rubbed saliva around the place where the courgette met the tight press of her cunt hole. As though the task at hand demanded all the focus in the world, she alternately lubricated and pushed, lubricated and pushed, all the while making tight little grunting sounds low in her belly. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the slow, but relentless yielding of her grudging pussy to the press of the veg. With each push, with each shift, her clit marbled and beaded harder and harder just above the nudging of the courgette. She continued to push and stroke, push and stroke until at last her pussy hole yielded, her eyes fluttered and she caught her breath in a little gasp as the veg slid cock-deep into her gash.

‘Ah!’ she breathed. ‘That’s better. That’s just what I needed. Such a tight fit, but oh so yummy.’ Then she raised her eyes to meet his and offered him a smile that was almost shy. ‘Now I’m ready to come.’ Fingers still wet from her efforts with the veg, she undid the buttons of her sundress, releasing high firm breasts topped with heavy raspberry nipples into the pinching, kneading caress of one hand.

‘I don’t know about you –’ she grunted as she began to thrust and gyrate against the veg ‘– but I won’t be able to hold back long with all this heft up in my tight little fanny. And when I’m done coming, I’ll let you take the veg to the house for Cook. That way if you want to sneak a taste of my cunt, who’ll know?’ With each breathless thrust she lifted her arse off the gardening mat, giving him teasing glimpses of her gripping anus, and she knew exactly what he was looking at. She offered a throaty chuckle. ‘Maybe next time I’ll let you watch me shove a nice plump carrot back there. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

He only nodded. This was the point in their wank sessions where he always became nonverbal, too taken in by the heat of her, by the want of her, by the knowing that this was as much as he could allow himself of her, no matter how willing she was. He yanked at his cock like it was a wild thing he had to tame. He yanked until it hurt, and he kneaded his balls, feeling the surge at the base all ready to spill out onto the warm earth in front of Francie. It was the best he had to offer her right now, his humiliation, his need, his lust once removed.

She fell back onto the ground with a little cry, legs akimbo offering him an exquisite view of the tremors of her orgasm tightly stretched around the courgette. The view, combined with the ripe scent of her was more than he could endure, and he unloaded in heavy spurts onto the ground scant centimetres from her bare thigh. He unloaded till he thought he’d turn himself inside out, convulsing and grunting until he was spent, bent forward on his knees in the veg bed next to her, gasping and gulping for breath.

It was almost enough to give him the courage to ask Isabel for a divorce. He was sure he could almost do it after such erotic bliss, and what a lovely surprise it would be for Francie. But before he could verbalize that bliss, Bel’s voice rang out over the garden wall.


Jennifer Denys Asks Why is the Hero Always Handsome and Hunky?

One of the fabulous writers I met for the first time at Smut by the Sea was the very talented, very quirky Jennifer Denys. Her reading from Friendly Seduction had her audience gripped and in stitches. I couldn’t wait to have Jennifer on my site to share a bit of Friendly Seduction and tell us why the hero is always handsome and hunky. Jennifer, welcome!

Jennifer DenysIt’s one of the unspoken rules of erotic romance that the hero and heroine are good looking with great figures (and young as well!). In my book Friendly Seduction the hero, Matt (handsome, of course!) is a sci-fi writer who has been told to add more romance to his stories, so he enlists the help of a friend, Lissa, who reads lots of erotic romances. When he asks what the heroes are like in the stories, she states,

“Apart from tall, good-looking, and hunky?”

“You mean short, ugly, and fat guys don’t get written into stories,” Matt asks humorously.

“I haven’t read one erotic book yet where the hero is short, ugly, and fat.”

This is not only in books but films and TV as well. Think of Michael Douglas in ‘Romancing the Stone’ where little Danny de Vito was the bad guy. And ALL the men that the girls in ‘Charmed’ fell in love with – not a single ugly one amongst them. And don’t forget adverts too like the current advert in the UK for coca cola where a bevy of young women eye up a gorgeous half-naked man (or, if you are old enough to remember, the Levi jeans advert where the attractive guy takes off his jeans in a launderette).

I rest my case.

And why? Well, in essence we read these books/watch these programmes because we don’t want realism, we want fantasy. We put ourselves in the shoes of the characters and for a while we can forget we are middle aged, on a diet, with greying hair that needs a new dye (at least that describes me!). And who would want to fantasize that you fall in love with the short, ugly, fat one?!

Similarly the hero is often a member of royalty, nobility, a great warrior, leader, millionaire, CEO, or top of their profession – never the man who cleans out the sewer.

Lissa goes on to say,

“He never shows negative attributes like cruelty, laziness, picking his nose, having a hairy back, and so on. Those are reserved for the bad guys.”

Of course the sex in erotic romances is always fabulous and the hero always seems to lift the girl effortlessly. In the book, when Matt tries he stumbles!

“Okay, I can see there is no hope for the human race if women have such a high standard. We men won’t be able to supply it,” Matt declares forlornly.

So true. I have a writer friend, fairly new to writing, who is getting back into the dating game after her ex left her a year ago and she recently commented that she finds herself measuring her ‘dates’ against the heroes in her books. Bad thing to do! No-one will ever compete with our fantasy heroes.

These mythical men also have no problem getting the girl’s clothes off.

“Okay, where the hell is the clasp of your bra?” Matt gestured to her front.

Lissa burst out laughing.

He crossed his arms. “What is so funny?” This was very irritating, particularly as it had been going so well.

Calming down, she wiped her tears off her face. “Oh, that’s a good one. Has every girl you’ve been out with had a bra with a clasp at the front?” she asked.

Realizing his error, he flushed. “Ah. Sorry. All the women have front clasps in the books you gave me.”

God forbid that the heroine would wear a sports bra! And have you ever wondered why the female sub in BDSM stories doesn’t wear any underwear? Lissa tells Matt,

“There’s a very good reason why the woman is always told not to wear panties in any BDSM stories! It’s so the writer doesn’t have the problem of getting the heroine’s panties off.”

She continues,

“You could always use the line ‘her clothes fell away from her body’ where the characters have no problems undoing anything. Or even better, the old chestnut when the writer has the character suddenly noticing they are naked with no idea of how they got there. I always groan when they use that one.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want my number one reader to groan, so I’m going to fall back on a sci-fi classic convention of being able to press a button on the clothing and it all comes apart in one go.”

Needless to say, Lissa did groan at that point!

Along the same lines have you ever sat in disbelief when the guy manages to get the girl to where he needs her to be because she is too busy struggling, looking around her, or distracted by something?

When Lissa points this out Matt responds,

“I’ll just have to spend time describing her gorgeous body as she is tied there. I think the readers will forgive this slight transgression if I do that.”

Unfortunately this is true. If we are in the shoes of our heroine and the hunky hero is describing the heroine aka the reader, as having a stunning figure we will forgive anything.

Having tied the heroine up Matt tells Lissa the hero then whips her.

“Whipped her… Um, why?”

He looked at her, chagrined. “Well, it features in some of those books you gave me, and you mentioned punishment of some sort goes down well with female readers.”

Too true. Throw some BDSM into a story and you’ve got a winner. Bondage at the very least and a spanking.

But why does the reader enjoy this so much? A great deal has to be because you are reading from the comfort of your armchair, bed (or bath, depending on your favourite reading spot!). You can imagine the pain of being tied up and whipped, flogged, spanked, etc, without actually feeling it and therefore it becomes erotic. The heroine is, after all, usually naked. And don’t forget the hero doing this to you is very good looking and you are already lusting after him.

In ‘Friendly Seduction’ Lissa does more than just discuss erotic romances with Matt. The ‘seduction’ of the title is him pretending he needs help practising certain scenes in the book he is writing. Lissa, (she has had a crush on Matt for some time), is happy to help – particularly when she is delighted he named the heroine after her. At this point in the story he has removed her clothes and put a blindfold on.

“Of course, at this auction Felissa appears half-naked so the potential owners can view her delicious body.” “The men at this auction need more than her just being naked.”

“Yeah—sooo?” Lissa asked very cautiously.

Moving away from her to get something, he then returned standing behind her. She shivered in his arms as he plucked at a hardening nipple. He had to push her hands down as they
automatically came up to cover herself. “The auction staff put clamps on their slaves.”

This now begs the question, why do we find the idea of auctions so arousing? Or any situation where the heroine is kidnapped? These are termed the ‘forced seduction’ type stories. The alien abduction plot is a common theme to sci-fi erotic romance. The reader knows quite well that the heroine will always end up with the hero so it is perfectly ‘safe’.

And the idea that the gorgeous hero has kidnapped her to be his one and only true ‘mate’ as destined by some prophesy or instinct is thrilling. It appeals to our sense of having a soul mate somewhere out there who will find us (having not found a mate, soul or otherwise, reading about it is my only option so I am a sucker for the alien kidnap stories, particularly if the stories involve a race of beings who are desperate for women because of some catastrophe to their people).

Lissa sums it up nicely,

“And the aliens in those circumstances are always humanoid.” She laughed. “I’ve never come across a story yet where the girl falls in love with a ten-armed, purple, blobby-like monster.”

Quite often the woman is expected to be in a ménage relationship in this situation. Even better! The idea of having two (or more!) hunky heroes lusting after you, and only you, is enough to bring the reader to their knees (well, it does me!).

Naturally Matt included a ménage in his story as well as a kidnap, an auction and some BDSM.

“Here come your new owners. You wait with bated breath, listening with all your being to every sound.” He moved to her side so he could whisper in her ear. “Do they sound
heavy-footed? Do they sound heavy-breathing? Do they carry chains? The footsteps stop by her swinging body, and she gasps as one touches a breast, tugging on the chain.”

I’ve been dotting around the story to pull out extracts, but one thing I have always laughed at when watching sci-fi is that nobody hits the wrong button. Think about all the times you hit the wrong key on the keyboard and all your work gets wiped or you end up on a page you didn’t know existed and have no idea how to get back. What happens if you are hurtling through space at the time? You could end up on the other side of a black hole. Or your machine closes down suddenly, and there is no one in the sci-fi version of the IT department to come and help which is disastrous when you are in the middle of a fight with the Klingons and need the button to fire the phasers!!

Sorry, that was an aside, although Lissa does raise this at one point in the story.

But sticking with the future Matt tells her that the heroine,

“Doesn’t want to be taken because it will mean being sent back to her owner.”

Lissa turned in his arms, her face showing her astonishment. “Her owner! What sort of future is this?”

Grinning at her fierce expression, he quickly invented a story. “She put herself into servitude to pay off debts but then ran away from her cruel and ugly master who wants her back—hence the bounty hunter.”

“Okay, so she doesn’t want to be taken, then. Particularly if her owner is ugly,” she retorted with a mocking tone. “Therefore she’ll be screaming blue murder and continually struggling to get free.”

The great thing about writing a futuristic story is that you can make up whatever you like and have fun ‘world-building’! One of my plans is to actually write the sci-fi story that Matt and Lissa conceive whilst falling in love.

And so to finish this article with a quote from Matt,

“If I understand correctly, you—and every other female reader possibly—like reading about manly heroes with beautiful heroines.” He counted these off on his fingers. “The hero
has to be a leader of some sort and be dominant but caring, and there has to be some sort of conflict or misunderstanding, maybe even a kidnapping. If there is some BDSM involved, and even a ménage a trois, that would be even better.”

“That’s it in a nutshell.”

Jennifer Denys

Buy ‘Friendly Seduction’ here:


or Amazon.com


About Jennifer Denys:

Jennifer Denys writes erotic romance with Siren Publishing and Evernight Publishing. Her first Jennifer Denys 2book came out in 2011 and she has written another ten books since then (they are mostly novellas, although she is the first to admit the initial impetus has faded and it takes her longer to write these days!)

She flits from one sub-genre to another wherever the muse strikes. She has written a trilogy of romantic comedies, several BDSM stories, two in a sci-fi futuristic ménage series, and two paranormal menage books (one with a co-author which was a whole different experience!).

Her best seller is Submissive Training. She reckons it is down to the title, as she has had several communications from people asking if this is a good book to learn about BDSM. She has had to explain that this is just ‘fiction’ where the hero is always handsome and there is always a happily ever after!

If you want to know more about Jennifer’s work her blog/website is http://jennifer-denys.blogspot.com/

Review of Friendly Seduction from Coffee Time Romance :

I loved, loved, LOVED Friendly Seduction! At times I found myself sighing because of the pure pleasure Matt took in discovering Lissa’s body. Other times, Ms. Denys had me laughing so hard at the less-than-stellar sexy performances that the words seemed to be jumping around on my eBook Reader. Reading this book was such a pleasure and I enjoyed each erotic encounter, whether it was pure sexual or had the humorous scenarios that made me fall in love with this tale. I want to read more by this author and I can only hope that her other stories will grip me from the getgo

© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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