I’m so excited that my site is one of the stopping points for the sizzling Sapphic Planet Blog Tour, April 23 – May 4! And what a tour! Sapphic Planet are giving away a free download of Sapphic Planet to one lucky commenter. You’ll want to be sure and check out all the posts on their tour: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/sapphic-planet/. Remember, the more blogs you comment on, the more chances you have to win!
Today, I’m very pleased to welcome author Ann Cory with an excerpt from her story, Her Forever.
On the night before her arranged marriage, Callista waits beneath the moon for her true love, Selena, for a final night of passion.
EXCERPT
She ran from her family’s home, out into the silvery moonlight. A pale glow illuminated her way along the pebbles that were far too rough for her bare feet. Callista cared little about the pain. It was nothing compared to the anguish in her heart. She felt broken and beyond repair. In her short, black dress she made her way through the village until she heard the echo of Ramiro’s sensual Bolero music. The midnight sky stretched overhead sprinkled with an endless pattern of twinkling stars. They knew her secret.
Callista found a patch of soft earth and stood, with her eyes closed, arms stretched out wide. Her hips embraced the erotic tempo and rocked from side to side. She leaned her head back and welcomed the gentle rain along her throat, willing it to wash away all traces of the unwelcome kiss from earlier. She would wait all night to dance with her true love.
The torrid melody from the guitar reverberated around her, wrapping her body in its tempestuous notes. A heaviness consumed her. Was this to be her fate? To live as prisoner who would never again taste sweet freedom? Dark thoughts embedded in her mind. Would Ramiro still want her if she raked her face against the sharp rocks of the embankment? Perhaps disfigurement could get her out of the arranged marriage. Or lightning could strike and erase all emotions of need and desire from her. Desperation had taken hold and she could see no other way out. She imagined herself jumping from the highest cliff, her body spiraling down to the raging sea below. But the voice of an angel broke her fall.
Welcome to the Sapphic Planet, a literary realm where women are free to love one another without fear of prejudice or reprisal. Inside these pages you’ll discover nineteen stories written specifically to tease and titillate your senses.
From a frolic in the rain with a Bathing Beauty, to a concerned sibling showing his sister some Brotherly Love, and everything in between – whether you’re in the mood for steamy romance or unrequited lust, we’ve got a story guaranteed to satisfy your cravings.
This anthology showcases just a fraction of the talent from the writers of Sapphic Planet, a group specifically created for authors and aspiring authors of quality lesbian literature. Now sit back, relax and enter our world. Afterwards, while waiting to catch your breath, take a moment to visit us online at www.sapphicplanet.com
Contributing Authors
Beth Wylde, Jean Roberta, Kissa Starling, Jodi Payne, Meg Leigh, Jennifer Cross, Dylynn DeSaint, JT Langdon, Allison Wonderland, Nan Andrews, Fiona Zedde, Ann Cory, Adriana Kraft, Dalia Craig, Stephanie Rose, Tenille Brown, Kira Chase, Moondancer Drake, Roxy Katt
In the twilight year of the Edwardian age, two young boys, Eddie and Bertie, embark on an erotic adventure at the Great Hall, discovering the pleasures of male love as they explore their emotions and their bodies for the first time. But two acts of sexual betrayal will shatter their sensual idyll and soon the horrors of the Great War will change their lives forever. Only one of the boys will return from the trenches of the Somme to begin a fresh journey that will take him from the hidden gay bars of Soho, to the decadent bohemian world of artistic Chelsea and the pleasurable possibilities of life aboard a luxury liner. Soldiers, servants, businessmen, tycoons, artists and models – it seems like every man is a more than willing partner in this lusty, sex-fuelled romp through the early 20th Century
Chapter One
It was a cold damp November late afternoon, the first traces of fog beginning to fill the air as I walked along Regent Street, trying to look as though I belonged, as if I was part of the crowd that bustled in and out of shops, hailed cabs and jostled against each other, trying not to drop parcels as they hurried for the warmth of home.
I had been out since early morning, wandering the streets of the West End, looking in windows for the cards that suggested there might be work inside then, as the need to succeed became more desperate, finding the courage and the nerve to walk into shops, bars and restaurants and ask if there was work of any kind to be had.
The answer was always the same, a polite no from the kinder ones and a brusque refusal from those who had forgotten what it was like to be cold and hungry in a strange city where you have no friends and no prospects.
So now I was heading towards Piccadilly, wondering yet again why I hadn’t gone back to the Great Hall once I had received my Army discharge, one of the lucky thousands to have survived the trenches more or less intact while the men we had fought alongside remained in the mud of the French killing fields.
The answer was that there were too many memories back at the Great Hall, images that cluttered my mind as I stared without really looking at shop window displays of goods I could not afford, feeling the wet rising through the hole in the sole of my shoe, the damp of the thickening London fog taking hold of the fabric of my thin, shabby jacket.
Eddie would have laughed if he could see me now, tell me that I didn’t belong here, that London wasn’t the city for a country boy like me, that there would be a warm welcome waiting for me if I could only forget the past – a past that he could never return to.
We had arrived at the Hall together, two young men embarking on new lives as footmen, thinking we were about the escape the drudgery of rural life and only too late realising that domestic service was an even greater drudgery.
Every night we would escape to our tiny room up in the attic and collapse onto our thin iron bedsteads, falling straight into a deep sleep, knowing that in just five or six hours the hard daily routine would begin all over again, the austere Jordan, butler and master of the Servants’ Hall, watching out for every little mistake, every failure of protocol.
It was another night like this, the end of a wearying day of domestic chores in the cold and damp that Eddie first came into my bed.
“You don’t mind Bertie, do you?” he asked, as he pressed up against my back. “It’s so cold, I know I’ll never get to sleep – and nobody need ever know.”
I didn’t mind at all – in fact, I even enjoyed the sensation of his chest pressed against me, the feeling of his breath on my neck, his arm casually around me.
It reminded me that we were no alone, that there was a friend who felt just as lonely and far from home as I did.
It continued that way for a few nights, the simple pleasure of no longer feeling cold and alone but then perhaps a week later, I felt a movement against me that I recognised straight away.
Eddie seemed to be asleep but I could feel his cock stirring against the fabric of his nightshirt, pressing against the back of my leg –and I have to confess that, much to my surprise, I enjoyed the sensation and I had to stop myself from simply reaching back to grasp that fledgling boner in my hand and begin to stimulate it.
It all started with an email from Jessica Tully Wednesday afternoon late asking if I could be on C5 news on Thursday night. We traded emails then a couple of phone calls and all was set for me to go into the studios in the afternoon to pre-record an segment for a piece they were doing on the rise of erotica for eBooks. It was supposed to run on the five o’clock and the 6:30 news. I began immediately to psych myself for the occasion. It wouldn’t be too scary. After all, it would be pre-recorded.
The day of the big event, I took extra time putting on slap, even emailed to see what I should wear. Then I packed my most sexy, most vicious shoes just in case, god forbid, the camera did a foot shot. Hedgehogs rock for walking, but even my shiny new blank and mauve ones are NSFTV. I looked about as telly-worthy as it’s really possible for an introverted smutter, like me, to look on a Thursday morning. I was just ready to step out the door when the call came. That’s right, my 2.5 minutes of fame had been cancelled. Now while the introvert in my was gasping a sigh of relief, the practical part of me was wondering what the hell I was going to do all made up and dressed to the nines at eleven o’clock on Thursday morning? It seemed a pity to have wasted the war paint for nothing.
Having worked in television, though in a MUCH smaller market and in what must have surely been another lifetime, I knew that news programmes and plans for stories are always prone to change, not at the last minute, but in the last ten seconds. That much certainly hadn’t changed!
Before I could finish wondering what to do with my now freed-up day, Jessica called back and asked if I’d be willing to do the 6:30 program. LIVE! After I’d finished trembling pathetically, I gulped hard, closed my eyes and said yes, I’d do it. I really HAD worked in television, after all! But I worked with production and NOT in front of the cameras. Oh wait, there was that one Christmas when the powers that be made all of us, individually, don a silly Santa Clause hat, stand in front of the camera, and wish our viewers a Merry Christmas to the soundtrack of a cheesy canned holiday medley. Okay, that’s it then, I’d had experience. I was ready!
Channel 5 was even going to send a car for me! Now you can imagine the vision of a limo with a mini bar and a complimentary masseur (preferably bare-chested with pecs of steel) that went through my mind. They were going to send somebody to prep me en route, the email said. I felt like Jane Bond.
Didn’t happen … Did not happen. After several hours of waiting for the Blackberry to ring, I got a call from an apologetic Monica – Jessica’s
Me at some point during my 2.5 minutes of fame.
assistant – saying they didn’t think they could get a car out my way and get me back through the rush hour traffic in time for the newscast. Would I mind taking a train, I was asked in a small voice. Hell, I’d planned to take a train anyway, so no I didn’t mind — though I really was looking forward to that masseur.
Then Monica handed the phone over to Nick, a news editor, who talked me through what I could expect — not very 007 at all, but still, it’s always fun to talk about smut. After I said good-bye to Nick, I was off for the train station WAAAAY early because, well I have a phobia of being late, and I always allow EXTRA time — specially for my national telly debut.
The Northern and Shell Building, the home of Channel Five offices, is an ultra-modern, tinted glass tower just a block or two from Monument. I signed in, was handed a nametag and told to sit and wait for Fay, who took me upstairs where she showed me a small roped-off area right in the middle of the hive of activity that was the news room. Inside there was a control panel on a trolley and squat, boxy camera that looked like it might double as fabulously creative torture implement in some well-equipped dungeon. In front of the torture camera was a chair just waiting for moi. Gulp! I was going live remote, all sat there in front of the camera talking to the voice in my ear, a voice only I would hear. Not that I don’t do that from time to time anyway, but never on national television! I wasn’t even going to talk to a real person.
Fay left me sitting at an empty desk next to the torture cam to contemplate my fate while she went in search of coffee. She was gone for a long time. I thought maybe she forgot about me. I just hoped at some point someone would remember that I was there.
With about thirty minutes before air time, Fay came rushing back to the desk where I sat and said the powers that be wanted me in the OTHER studio over by King’s Cross! She then rushed me downstairs, crammed me into a taxi and gave the driver instructions to an address completely unknown to me. Then we race across London to my new destination … Through grid-lock. I think I could have gotten out and ran faster. Except I didn’t know where to run to.
Strangely as the minutes ticked away I found myself getting calmer and calmer as the realization hit me that there was absolutely NOTHING I could do. We would either get there in time or we wouldn’t. I spent the ticking minutes frantically texting and emailing Raymond and Lucy Felthouse and Kay Jaybee, who were all holding my hand remotely, so to speak, and cheering me on. I didn’t know until much later how many other people were cheering me on. I’m still amazed and touched by the outpouring of support.
We arrived at the studio with me climbing into my nosebleed shoes, throwing some money at the wonderful taxi driver, who got me there against all odds and running into the building.
With less than five minutes before my segment was to begin I was thrust into the green room, introduced to Emma Crosby, the anchor, during a commercial break, miked, told not to use bad language and not to be rude, then shoved onto the stage just as the video tape accompanying the segment I was in came to an end.
AND I was on! National telly! In front of everybody and their dog! To me, it felt like I was only up there for two seconds. As I found out later, I was up there long enough to say BDSM and ménage, which I gather had far more of a shock impact than I really intended. I REALLY was trying to behave.
When my 2.5 minutes were up, I was ushered off the stage, unmiked and escorted to the lobby where I was pointed to the nearest tube station, at my request. I’m sure someone would have called me a taxi, but I’d had enough taxis for one day.
I changed back into the Hedgehogs and walked to King’s Cross in a daze. It had all happened so fast, I wasn’t even sure it actually HAD happened. I emailed to say I’d survived the ordeal, then headed home. Raymond picked me up at the train station, took me home and fed me.
...and the books ... they feel so good ...
While I ate, I watched the recorded version of me talk to Emma Crosby about erotica on national TV, like it was something I did every day! It was then I realised that I wasn’t really given a chance to get nervous, in the midst of all the chaos. And sure enough, there was a shoe shot! My feet looked very well dressed, indeed, not as well dressed as Emma’s, of course, but then she WAS the anchor.
After it was all over, and I was settled with a glass of wine reading over Facebook and Twitter conversations about my adventure with Channel 5, I was even more amazed at what had been going on while I was in a taxi struggling to get to my 2.5 minutes. I was astounded by the support of the fabulous community of erotica writers of which I’m a part. The excitement, the well-wishing, the feeling of everyone rooting for me, and the message I was sharing reminded me again of how much we all really believe in what we’re doing. We’re making positive changes in attitudes toward sex. We’re celebrating and reclaiming one of the very best parts of what it is to be human. And wow! That’s so worth believing in!
It was hours before I finally got to sleep, as I played the whole experience over in my head – all of it from the first email from Channel 5, to me looking excitedly over twitter conversations that were going on while friends and fellow smutters were watching me on telly. I’m still trying to take in the whole experience, and I know this may sound strange, but my actual 2.5 minutes was only a small part of the whole. I’m so glad to be a part of something so vibrant and edgy and in-your-face that it burst onto nationally telly proud and naughty and sassy and just getting started!
I woke up the next morning to discover that thanks to my dear friends, Kevin Mitnik, scheming with Lucy Felthouse, the segment was up on youtube. They wanted to surprise me. And it was a wonderful surprise! Thanks lovelies! You’re the best! Here’s the link if you haven’t seen it yet. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBYornouDXI&feature=youtu.be
The idea for my novel, Don’t Call Me Baby, had been forming in my head for many years. It’s based on my own sexual explorations when I was in college in the 1980s. When I was a freshman I was still a virgin and I wanted to be rid of that albatross before I turned 20. Losing my virginity was a huge event for me, and I wanted to choose the right man for my first lover. I didn’t date in junior high school or high school so I was a bit afraid.
I had always been attracted to men quite a bit older than me, most notably my teachers. So when I met the man who would become my first lover I wasn’t surprised he was a college professor. He also went against my type. I prefer my men tall, dark, and handsome but he was of average height, blonde, but cute. I met him when I was a high school student visiting colleges. I spoke to him about the college’s communications department and lack of a theater department. I chose the college (which will go unnamed) precisely because it had no theater department. I didn’t want to be tempted by a likely dead-end major. The irony was that I eventually chose fine art as my major. Go figure. I did later enjoy a brief career as a stagehand that was quite lucrative for me. Those were fun times.
Jake (not his real name) was sarcastic, sexy, and very popular with the women on campus. That should have clued me in. I fell hard for him but it turned out he didn’t feel quite the same way about me. It was lust at first sight for both of us, though. See, at the time I was really looking for love but I couldn’t find it. Plenty of men wanted to have sex with me but that’s all they were interested in. I turned them down, much to their irritation. Jake seemed to be different.
He wasn’t.
Catherine Stone, the protagonist in my novel, Don’t Call Me Baby, suffers from the same disillusionment. She doesn’t have the bad luck I had when looking for love. She thinks of sex the same way I do – giving your body to a man (or woman) is the greatest gift you can give. The problem is it’s easy to get hurt doing that sort of thing. I was badly hurt. Catherine wasn’t. She has more control, confidence, and intuitiveness than I had at her age.
I had no idea at the time many men were fascinated with virgins. Snagging a virgin was a great notch to put on your bedpost. I became a notch as far as Jake was concerned. When you the reader meet Catherine in Don’t Call Me Baby, she had given away her virginity two years prior. You won’t learn about her Jake (named Chris), but she mentions him in passing. When I write a second book about her sexual explorations I’ll delve into her experiences with her virginity. I’m not sure how she will handle herself, but I’m sure she’ll have a level head on her shoulders like she usually does.
Catherine is a force to be reckoned with. She’s not and never will be a cougar. She prefers her men with a little snow on the roof. She is very comfortable with her sexuality, and she likes to bed numerous men, but she’s really looking for love. Does she confuse sex with love? Not really, although sex is a very strong pull. Most men can’t keep up with her and her openness about sexuality and relationships. She does meet her match and you’ll get to know him in the book. Once she meets him and trusts him, she gives herself over to him completely. Like many women, not only is she looking for someone who cherishes her body, she wants a man who respects her, cares about her, enjoys her company, and challenges her.
Does Catherine sound like a woman with whom you may identify? Then you will enjoy Don’t Call Me Baby.
BLURB:
DON’T CALL ME BABY is a fast-paced, quick-witted, sexy, novel about a young woman exploring her sexuality and the cultural mores she collides with on a daily basis.
It’s 1983 in Maryland and Catherine Stone is sex on wheels. She plays the field the way men have done for eons. Not content to strive for her MRS degree like so many young women her age, she seduces men of all stripes, married college professors, theatre students, virgins, complete strangers who intrigue her. She has already cost one man his job.
She asks herself lots of questions on her search to enjoy her sexuality. Why don’t other women enjoy their sex as much as she does? Why do so many women and men look down on sexually free women, calling them sluts while sexually free men are called studs and Lotharios? She bucks at the double standards. Catherine has made no commitment to any man. She’s free to explore and she gladly does so. No man can tie her down and no woman’s judgment will stop her from playing the field to her heart’s content.
Does she meet her match in a new man who introduces her to sexual bliss she has never before experienced? When she tries multiple partners and bondage for the first time as a submissive, she believes she’s found the sexual bliss she is looking for, and with a man who not only introduces her to the fineries in life but also cares about her like no man ever has before.
EXCERPT:
The moment Eric left, Catherine stripped to her cotton underwear, and climbed into bed. Horny as hell, she grabbed her vibrator, and slid it in. Being so wet and aroused from making out with Eric, her vibrator had no difficulty sliding inside her. That vibrator was a birthday gift from her first boyfriend, Chris. While the relationship ended badly, especially when he was fired from his instructor job at Quincy because of her, she did get some nice gifts from him. This vibrator being one of them.
Her pussy made slurping sounds as she slid the vibrator back and forth. She pulled it out, and pressed the tip against her clit. She rocked against her bed as she rubbed the tip of the vibrator against her clit. As she pulled on her nipples, she fantasized about Eric’s strong hands against her small, firm breasts. His fingers felt so good as they pinched her hard nipples. With an image of his broad shoulders and firm biceps as his arms encircled her, she flashed onto her memory of Ryan’s admiring gaze. Both Ryan and Eric had the most amazing dimples, and that was her weakness – gorgeous men with dimples. She thought of Ryan eyeing up her legs as she displayed them during their first meeting. That memory drifted into her memory of DJ’s lazy gaze upon her through his thick hair. She enjoyed the attention, and she knew she was going to get more of it before this camp closed for the summer. When would she be lucky enough to get Ryan and DJ in her bed the way she enjoyed Eric? She remembered the feel and taste of Eric’s lips and tongue in her mouth, and with the memory of his hands on her body and his mouth on hers, she came hard against the vibrator. Ramping up the speed with a twist of the controls, her orgasm exploded so hard she doubled over in her bed. She came in hard waves, up and down, rocking her hips in time to her thundering heartbeat. With Eric on her mind, she drifted off to a deep sleep.
She lives in Massachusetts next to the ocean with her husband, son, and four cats. Her articles, erotic books and short stories have been published by Naughty Night’s Press, Romance Divine, Circlet Press, Ravenous Romance, Xcite Books, Sexis Magazine, Alternet, Good Vibrations Magazine, and nuts4chic.
Shay Briscoe and his powerful interpretation of the love spell threesome near the end of BTR
I’m very excited to welcome the talented Shay Briscoe to my site today. Shay is one of the three lovely artists who gave me a very special gift for the launch of my latest novel, Body Temperature and Rising. Shay, along with Fuschia Ayling (who was my guest recently) and Jess Pritchard (who will hopefully be my guest in the near future) volunteered to illustrate three scenes from my novel, three scenes that I planned to read at the launch party. At the time they were exhibiting some of their work at Sh! Portobello. I was elated with their offer, and my guests and I were totally enthralled with the end result! It is a total pleasure to have Shay on my site today to tell us a bit about himself and to share a little of his wonderful work with us. Welcome, Shay!
Body Book
KD: Have you always known you wanted to be an artist?
SB: I only really got into art around three years ago, upon meeting the lovely Fuschia Ayling and realising that I don’t have to be a good painter to be a good artist. I was a chef for a long time before I started making art, though I knew that cheffing was not the career I wanted. When I discovered my passion for art at the age of twenty-one, I finally knew what I wanted to do with my life!
KD: Tell us a little bit about yourself. Shay.
SB:I grew up in Gloucestershire in a large family. When I was eighteen I began coming
Tapestry Close-up
to terms with the fact that I was transgender and slowly took steps to become the boy I should have been born as. I currently study fine art at Kingston University, and I am engaged to fellow artist Fuschia Ayling. I have a very nice ferret called Floppy, and I have serious love for dinosaurs, Greek mythology, playing stupid games on my laptop, cats, trivia and deep sea creatures. It may not come as a surprise after reading this that I have Asperger Syndrome.
KD: Why did you choose to make sexuality the central theme in your artwork?
SB: I don’t think that it was really a choice – it seemed natural for my artwork to center upon something so significant in my life. Making work about my gender is very therapeutic for me. It lets me get out all the stresses of living in a body that doesn’t feel like my own. And also, it means I can hopefully educate others about people like me, against whom there is still a lot of prejudice. Sex is something that we all experience, so it is something that everybody can relate to in some way.
KD: Where do you get your inspiration?
SB:My inspiration comes from everything around me. Random images from the internet, new
Tapestry
stationary, lines from books, funny shaped leaves, television adverts, labels from clothes, children’s toys, song lyrics, going to exhibitions, gawping out of the window, packaging, smells, tastes, textures, so many things! The world in general is a very inspirational place.
KD: What’s the hardest thing about being an artist?
SB: The days where all your creativity seems to have disappeared and you feel like it’ll never come back. That, and the worry that I’ll never make enough money to live!
KD: Who inspires you as an artist?
Anderson and Tim
SB: My favourite artists are Egon Schiele and Yayoi Kusama, I take a lot of inspiration from both. Also, when I read the books of Neil Gaiman (Neverwhere, The Eternals, American Gods) and Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell (The Edge Chronicles), I get a massive urge to get into the studio!
KD: What is the best thing about being an artist?
SB: Being able to do whatever I want and it counting as work! I love that I am allowed to create literally anything, and discover new ways of doing things that I hadn’t thought of before. I like being able to express what I feel inside in ways that I couldn’t using just words.
KD: What are you working on now?
SB: I’m currently developing an idea which will involve a book and possibly a film. I don’t want to say too much yet, but hopefully it will be a success! I’m also making a couple of condom packet pillows, which I’m enjoying greatly.
KD: Future plans?
SB: I want to continue exploring the subjects of gender and sexuality and how they impact upon my life. Further on into the future, my ambition is to return to my love of street culture and open a shop that sells t shirts, designer toys and accessories that I make myself, along with pieces from other artists. Hopefully as well as the shop I’ll be able to exhibit my work in galleries… That’s the long term plan anyway!
Thank you, Shay, for sharing a little of yourself and your work with us, and very best of luck in all that you do!
EXCERPT
