And I wound up writing erotica. As a college pal of mine once said, when I questioned all the sex talk, “I like having sex. And when I’m not having sex, I like talking about sex.” It’s hard to argue with that logic.

I don’t talk about sex so much, what with being a product of my repressed Southern Baptist childhood, and an introvert to boot, but I sure like having it–and writing about it. So when I started writing erotic romance, I naturally drew on my own experiences, as everyone does. When I wrote stories about group sex, or swinging in particular (Queen Bee, or The Wild One) I drew on my more specific experiences with those things. Experiences which both were, and weren’t, what I had learned to expect from years of reading Penthouse Letters and other descriptions (real or imagined) of what sexual adventures were like. I learned things.

So, just in case you’re ever invited to an orgy, some observations from personal experience:

1. Respond To The Invitation! You wouldn’t think this would have to be said. Alas, you’d be wrong. It’s amazing how many people, lucky enough to have been invited to an orgy, can’t be bothered to let the hosts know whether or not they’re going to attend. Waiting until the last minute to RSVP is rude, and suggests (perhaps correctly) that you’re waiting to see if you get a “better” offer. It’s hard enough throwing a party when you don’t know how many people will be there, and doubly so when you’re trying to balance the number of men and women attending. That kind of behavior will not get you invited to a second party.
2. Not Everyone Is Hotter Than Blazes. In real life, most of us are not the equals of the gorgeous young eye candy to be found in Hollywood, in either mainstream film or porn. Even if we start out that way, all of us will get older–if we’re lucky–and most of us will get heavier and lose…definition. What we generally don’t lose, or at least much more slowly, is our sex drive. We still want it, and we still get it. Real world sex parties are full of people who don’t meet the Hollywood criteria for beauty, but they’re still attractive, and still capable of rocking your world if you give them the chance.
3. Sex Parties Are For Sex. Or, in the immortal words of one playmate, when we were the only ones getting busy, “Those silly people in the next room. They’re out there talking when they could be fucking.” That said, you don’t have to have sex with everyone–or anyone, if you don’t want to. I’ve known nervous first-timers who feared that they would be subjected to pressure to participate. I wasn’t one of them. I was the nervous first timer (and I was nervous, but also excited) who hoped to be invited to participate. I’d been wanting to try it for years. I was, and I did. It was great.
4. No Means No. This is pretty self-explanatory, I think. If invited to have sex (“play”) with someone, you can always decline. Furthermore…
5. You Don’t Have To Make Excuses. And you’re well advised not to make excuses. If you’re approached by someone who doesn’t turn your crank, float your boat, or some other euphemism for making you want to get physical with him, you don’t have to explain why you don’t want to play with him. A simple “No, thank you” is sufficient. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re thirsty or hungry. Maybe you’re actually involved in an interesting conversation with other partygoers. Maybe he just doesn’t do it for you. Whatever the reason, you don’t owe it to anyone to explain yourself–and a transparent lie (telling someone you’re too tired right now to take up her offer of sex, then immediately inviting someone else to play, for instance, as I’ve seen happen) is just rude. It’s almost as bad as telling someone outright that he’s too old, too fat, to unattractive to interest you. It may be true–but you don’t have to say so. Be kind; it could be you on the receiving end of a “no, thank you” next time.
6. By The Same Token, Don’t Keep Asking. If you’ve asked someone to play with you and she’s said no, don’t keep asking. Not at the same event. If you meet again on another evening, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask again–though a second (or at most, a third) rejection should make it clear that you’re just not her type. Don’t ask again. If she ever changes her mind, she’ll let you know. She may tell you why she’s saying no (though she’s under no obligation to do so), or suggest asking again later. Or she might approach you later that evening, or at another event. But understand that nobody is everyone else’s cup of tea–name the hottest Hollywood celebrity in history and there are people who just don’t understand what all the fuss is about. You’re not going to be catnip to everyone you fancy either.
7. No Touching Without Permission. Just because someone is scantily clad or naked doesn’t mean you can walk up and touch him. No, not even if someone else is doing so. No, not even if he’s having sex right there in front of you with two or three other women. Or men. Or men and women. You weren’t invited. They were. Or at least, that’s what you should assume. If you want to join in, ask. Chances are they’ll agree. If they don’t, see Rule # 3. (I have to confess, however, that in my personal experience, this rule tends to be observed less strictly than all the others. It annoys me, especially when it happens to me. I’ve participated in my share of threesomes or group gropes, though I prefer to concentrate on one playmate at a time. Going into a threesome is one thing, having a third party invite himself or herself into the action midway is something else again. Don’t do it!)
8. This Is Not A Date. Don’t monopolize another guest. If you’re only interested into getting together with one another, get your own room.
9. Don’t Be An Ass. Some of the rules above are simply specific ass-like behaviors to avoid, but the rule is also broader than that. Sex aside, a swing party is like any other–behave like you would at any other gathering. Be polite, be friendly. The swinging community, in any given locale, is a small one. If you behave like an ass, or a boor, people will notice. And they’ll talk. And you’ll find your opportunities for partying drying up in a hurry.

There’s more I could say, but really the best way to learn what such an event is like, is to try it yourself. At worst, you’ll have a new experience to draw upon for your writing, if you’re a writer, or a great story to tell your friends. At best, you’ll have lots of great sex and meet some new friends.

I’m excited and delighted to announce the release of my first fairy story, a hot piece with a killer cover: Secrets of the Solstice Sacrifice!

Secrets of the Solstice Sacrifice

By: Giselle Renarde

Published By: loveyoudivine

ISBN # 9781600544927

http://tiny.cc/cypm4

Professor Selyf is a fay magical, a solitary academic who lives near the mythical village of Gwyllion on a Welsh hillside. When a knock at the door interrupts him from his manuscript, he curses the intruders—until he gets a look at them! The ginger boy, Bedwyn, he doesn’t much care for, but Trysta, his beautiful cara, awakens Selyf’s heart and the sleeping serpent within.

Trysta has a “female problem,” as Bedwyn puts it, and needs the professor’s audience. She and Bedwyn are mixed-bloods–half human, half fay. When Trysta’s mother conceived her, she wished for a little girl. The fae have a unique ability to select their children’s genders with simple wishes, but since Trysta’s system contained “stagnant” human blood, the wish only half succeeded. Trysta was born a girl with one particular boy part.

Bedwyn doesn’t know the true nature of Trysta’s “female problem,” and she asks Selyf to help her resolve it so she can finally share her body with her caru. As a guest in Selyf’s home, Trysta grows as attracted to the professor’s magical intellect as he is to her beauty. The desire to give in to temptation mounts, particularly when Selyf realizes the only way to resolve Trysta’s problem involves a sexual sacrifice on the solstice.

Excerpt:

He knew she’d return. He sensed it in her look of longing as she left
for dinner with that stupid sod of a caru. “You’re here for my bed, I
presume?” Selyf said as she slipped in the door. Her eyes revealed
everything she longed to say, but he understood her restriction. “Will
you sit with me?” he asked, beckoning her into the chair by his desk.

Gazing into the empty seat, she shook her head. “I should not have
come,” she said with a look of apprehension in her conflicted eyes.
Slipping her bag from her shoulder, she sat in the chair. “You should
know you represent a distinct temptation for me.”

Selyf was not easily scandalized, but her bold admission took his breath
away. “As do you, for me,” he admitted. “But you needn’t fear me, Fay
Trysta. I have spent all my adult life as a solitary magical. I know
denial and self-sacrifice only too well. You are safe here in my home.”

With tears in her eyes, she nodded. For a moment, she looked as though
she might speak, but then said nothing. As she rose from her chair, she
finally blurted, “What if I don’t want to be safe anymore?”

He only stammered, with no response at hand.

“You speak of denial?” she went on. “What do you think my life has
consisted of up until now? At my age, I have yet to experience the
pleasures of the flesh. In the village, I must pretend to be exactly
what I seem, and why? Because only my mother, her mid-wife, and I can
know the truth. You have no idea the trust I’ve put in you, Professor
Selyf. You hold my very life in your hands.”

“I hold your life,” he repeated, rushing around his desk to meet her.
“Why may I not hold your body as well?”

Slipping past him, she hurried to the window, mumbling, “Bedwyn.” Just
as Selyf’s heart began to plummet, she continued, “He mustn’t see.”
Ensuring the curtains were fully closed, she walked to him like a vixen
on the hunt. Her eyes burned like roaring embers as they explored the
lengths of his body. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she ensnared him
in a kiss the likes of which he’d never imagined. He felt her veiled
passion course through his veins as his mouth melded with hers. Their
tongues fluttered and surged one against the other. His whole body was
so rapt with hers he could hardly breathe. As they kissed, he ran
intrepid fingers through her silken hair and down her back. In turn, she
held his cheeks and his neck, his back and his sides. When he grasped
the firm flesh of her buttocks, Trysta wheezed and broke free.

The look in her eyes was indiscernible but for the temptation they
aroused. He almost apologized for being so dreadfully forward before
realizing it was she who’d kissed him. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled
her into his arms and carried forth the sweet embrace she’d abandoned.
After a moment of brave indecision, she gave in to the kiss and melted
in Selyf’s arms. His tongue wrangled hers until she broke away once
more. Pressing her soft lips to his ear, she whispered, “I’ve never felt
like this before.”

“Neither have I,” he admitted. “You’ve aroused in me the sleeping
serpent.”

At that turn of phrase, her body grew limp in his arms. “Yes,” she said.
“I know only too well what you mean.”

Buy Now! http://tiny.cc/cypm4

Hugs,

Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!

http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/

http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com

http://twitter.com/GiselleRenarde

http://audreyandlawrence.viviti.com/

Audrey and Lawrence are so excited to see all their adventures in a single collection, they’ve created a whole website for it! Okay, so they had a little help from an author friend, but I’m trying to stay humble about my contribution to their great endeavour…LOL

That’s right! THE BIRTHDAY GIFT by Giselle Renarde just won’t quit being popular! Many e-books enjoy a burst of popularity when they first hit the market, and then sales and awareness dwindle. THE BIRTHDAY GIFT is different. Even after a few fine years on the e-book market, it’s as much in demand as ever!

Why do readers enjoy THE BIRTHDAY GIFT ? One reader told me “it has something for everyone” because, as an MMFF menage story, there’s gay male, lesbian, and hetero naughtiness. Another reader calls THE BIRTHDAY GIFT “A Must Read!” Me? I like the surprise ending. I go for that sort of thing. Oh, and the cover is g-g-g-gorgeous!

What’s it all about? Read on

Meredith is a cake-baking, apron-wearing small-town Canadian mom. Her
guiding principle in life is, “What would June Cleaver do?” That is,
until a curious set of circumstances cause her to crash an outdoor
gathering where she stumbles upon a pair of delicious hunks getting a
little hands-on with each other. Surely June Cleaver would have headed
for the hills at the sight! Not Meredith. This relaxed get-together
really heats up when one man’s wife appears on the scene… and encourages
Meredith to join in.

Whew! Hot stuff! But the story’s not over yet. There’s still the
tropical vacation, the confinement in foreign prison, the trial for
freedom… and, hey, where’s Meredith’s husband in all this? It is his birthday, after all…

Intriguing, right? Well, it would be rude of me not to share a spicy excerpt, so here’s tidbit for those of us who love the image of two built guys getting frisky:

Excerpt from THE BIRTHDAY GIFT by Giselle Renarde

As Meredith drew her lids open, her heart nearly stopped.  On a built-in bench at the opposite end of the isolated deck sat Richard and Ash.   No clothes.  Two men—two strangers—naked in Joyce’s backyard.  A flutter of nervous excitement turned Meredith’s body into a battlefield.  Leave!  No, stay.  Watch!  No, go.

But how could she leave when, just a stone’s throw across the deck, Richard’s hard cock surged toward the well-defined muscles of his tight stomach? A tingling sensation culminated at the summit of Meredith’s lower lips when Ash reached over to stroke Richard’s rigid cock.  Was this an unwelcome act?  Apparently not!  Richard’s magnificent hairless chest glimmered with sweat as he swept a hand across Ash’s brawny thigh.  Close your mouth, young lady!  You’ll catch flies.

This must have been a common occurrence, because Joyce didn’t seem surprised in the least.  Meredith tried to be unnerved, offended, angered, upset by the men’s behavior, but it was impossible.  Two gorgeous men lying side-by-side in the summer sun and stroking each others’ rigid shafts?  June Cleaver would have been long gone by now, but Meredith was in awe of the men’s breathtaking bodies, of their surging muscles, of their cocks sparkling with pre-cum.  This was the single sexiest image she’d ever seen.  Richard and Ash didn’t seem to mind her being there, so what was the harm in watching?

A white hand firmly took hold of a thick brown cock while a brown hand slowly jerked off the large white rod.  This act ought to be the new symbol of international peace and brotherhood. Two masculine males pumping each others’ stiff rods was far more stimulating than a simple black hand shaking a white hand.  A warm tingling sensation took over Meredith’s body.

She clutched her fruit platter for fear she’d drop it and send porcelain and mango flying.  Maintain a safe distance.

* * *

Maybe you’ve read THE BIRTHDAY GIFT already.  If you haven’t, why not pick up a copy?  You can buy THE BIRTHDAY GIFT from eXcessica Publishing , All Romance e-books , Amazon , or any respected e-book retailer!

Hugs,

Giselle Renarde

Canada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/

http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com

I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I was growing up, no one ever had ‘the talk’ with me. My mother was against discussing anything sexual at all. My father? Well, he liked to joke and would have been a more open parent had he not been married to my mother. But that’s another story for another day.

The reason I’m blogging about sex ed today is because my little boy was talking about it a few days ago, and I thought it would be a good topic to get some opinions on. I guess I’m pro sex education, however, I don’t feel like they are going about it the right way. According to my kid, it appears to be more about reproductive parts and how the body works rather than the things that a kid needs to actually learn.

They don’t teach them about putting slot A into slot B, for instance. Now some of you might think that isn’t something they need to know—that if you tell them, they’ll go out and practice. I think that you’ve already got kids out there having sex and that those who do were going to anyway and those who don’t, well, knowing the details isn’t going to matter to them.

So why do we have some kids having sex at an early age when others refrain? I’ve heard a range of answers on that one for sure. Every excuse from seeing it on TV to peer pressure. Now I don’t doubt that kids watch too much TV, see things maybe they shouldn’t too soon, but I can’t blame their sexual activity on being exposed to too much too soon. Nor can I blame it on peer pressure completely. If we raise our children to be strong in mind, no amount of ‘overexposure’ to TV, video games, and movies could possibly sway them. And most certainly not little Sally Jane Doe from up the street.

I honestly believe that children, and when I say children I mean those eleven to fifteen years old, are inclined to seek out another person to share something with if their lives are somehow lacking. That it’s all about getting the attention they need. Maybe it’s about being touched in general. An awful lot of kids don’t get as many hugs as they should. I remember hearing a ten-year-old child say to me once that she wanted a baby. I knew her parents and knew that the child received no attention. That the child was actually hungry—and in more ways than one. Hungry for not only food, but love. That child was pregnant at age twelve. I saw that girl not too long ago, now all grown up and with three children. She’s probably twenty-five or so. She works as a caregiver to the elderly and is married, her husband employed in construction. I looked at her children and was immediately impressed with how they were dressed. She’d taken such care with them. Their hair was nice and shiny, clean clothes and shoes, and all were smiling and you could just tell they loved their Mama. It was nice to know that she’d broken what could have been a vicious cycle. That’s not to say I recommend anyone getting pregnant at age twelve. Hell no. But to explain that this child had nothing and so wanted something. She seemed happy now, and I can’t imagine what she had to go through to get to the place she is today.

Children crave love and affection. They need to know that parents are there to talk to and support them no matter what. The answer to preventing children from having babies isn’t in a sex ed class that never really does anything other than teach them about reproduction and whisper don’t do it because it ruins your life. The answer lies with good parenting. Open communication with children. Setting a good example.

And hugging.

I remember a girl in high school who evidently was learning disabled. Her mother gave birth to her late in life (well fortyish isn’t too late, but not the norm maybe) so she was fifteen and her parents were in their sixties. This girl thought she could get pregnant if a boy stuck his tongue in her ear. That’s one of the things her parents had told her. I’m all for protecting children, but that kind of lie doesn’t protect them, does it? The girl was pregnant by the end of her junior year.

At least sex ed is getting rid of the lies. I’ll say that much for the system. But it needs to go further. Instead of the gym teacher (that’s who teaches sex ed in our school system) getting up in front of the P.E. class for three weeks out of the school year and talking about sperm swimming and eggs traveling through tubes, it would seem that someone more qualified needs to be doing this. Someone who can speak to these children about their fears, their needs, and the consequences of their actions. These things are only touched on by that three week session. It might be different in other school systems, but where I live, the entire process is sorely lacking. I honestly believe that school systems should turn up the focus on the child/teen pregnancy problem a couple of notches and possibly even go so far as to have counselors in the schools that are trained to address this single issue. The systems could target schools where there seems to be a major problem.

In the meantime, I talk to my kid. I’m very open with him, and he’s very open with me. Sometimes his questions are a bit more than what I’d like to discuss with him. But it’s answering those hard questions despite the momentary embarrassment that makes us good parents, isn’t it? Staying involved in your child’s life is the single most important thing any of us will ever do.

And that involvement doesn’t end at age eighteen. Though I’ve had it said to me a hundred times in recent months that once they turn eighteen there is nothing else for me to do, I subscribe to the theory that with love comes responsibility. And my kids will always have me driving them crazy about this or that. I’ll always be their cheerleader, mentor, and staunchest critic. I’m not above ‘tough love’. But in the end, my actions are always fueled by my love.

People have said that middle age and getting old is a state of mind and they are both wrong and right about that. Your body is going to age and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Even a botoxed body is still aging. The surgeon has just shaken out the wrinkles as you would a sheet from the dryer. But what about your mind, your brain? As a woman of “a certain age” I can tell you that some point my brain stopped having birthdays. Yep. Totally stopped maturing. I see that gray hair when I look in the mirror and my brain rebels. It does not believe that is me.

This is most forcefully brought to my attention when I sit some place and people watch. Or more accurately, ogle men. I sat at lunch one day with a co-worker, she with her back to the window, in a trendy (and really yummy) new burger place called Habit. Behind her head, a plethora of men passed by. My brain, which still thinks like a 35 year old, had my eyes following the hot bodies of the men in the twenty and thirty something age range.  My libido, which also thinks it’s thirty-ish, created little fantasies in my head.

Hot dude in suit pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looks up at the window to find me staring at him. A slow smile curves his mouth. His eyes glitter with some emotion I can’t name and don’t care to analyze just yet. He rolls his sleeves higher and my eyes follow the movements of his long-fingered hands, the ripple of muscle in his forearms. He flexes his shoulders and the shirt tightens over biceps that I know my fingers can’t wrap around.

He sits down at one of the outside tables and unwraps his burger, his gaze never leaving mine. He bites and chews. I see the strong column of his neck flex with the movement of his jaw. He flicks his tongue at the corner of his lips, capturing a drop of sauce. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow, seductive movement, the skin of his throat rippling slightly. My breath catches in my throat as he leans forward, opening his mouth, white teeth gleaming, the pink of his tongue beckoning…His fingers squeeze the burger as his teeth sink into it. My panties dampen…and my co-worker starts packing up her trash so we can leave. Lunch is over.

No matter how many birthdays my body has, my brain has stopped having them. What I find attractive in a man hasn’t changed from my thirties. My fellow FAB blogger Tess MacKall has a thing for silver foxes. The only silver fox to ring my bells is Anderson Cooper and he’s prematurely gray. When I look at men, I realize that my tastes haven’t changed in lo these many years. I’ve gone from being a cougar to a dirty old woman. Well, not really. I’m not really old enough for that yet, but I can see that my brain is headed in that direction with regard to men.

What I find attractive in a man just has not matured along with me. I’m not sure what that means. I’ve always been a cougar, attracted to men younger than me. Oddly, men my age and older have never shown any attraction to me either. It’s always been the younger guys who’ve hit on me. There’s something very odd about how the universe works with this stuff. If I believed in karma, I’d say it was at work here.

So what happens when your body gets older but your brain doesn’t? For starters, the pickins get mighty slim when it comes to sexual partners. Sure, there are some hot thirty something guys out there who dig women in their forties and there are a lot of guys who will tell you age means nothing. Of course, age truly doesn’t mean anything to their cocks. If you get it hard, you just better be prepared to take care of it whether you’re ten years older than the guy or twenty.  Men are usually practical about a hard on. If they don’t like your gray hair, they’ll fist their hands in it and close their eyes. Dicks do not always see gray hair. Thank God for that. Like I said, if you can get their cock hard, at that point they do not care if you’re as old as their mom. They just want you to deal with the consequences of your actions.

I guess that will be my new thing. Don’t worry about age. Worry about whether you can arouse that hot younger guy. Sometimes, it’s not about looks but about actions. Not all men (or women) care about age or looks so seek out men who are all about attitude and sexuality. And enjoy those lunch hours where you can sit and ogle the manflesh. After all, there’s no law against letting your immature brain strip them naked.

I used to know, but I don’t anymore.

Fifteen years ago I could predict exactly the type of person I would develop a crush on. I knew every last characteristic. That person would be:

• Male
• Healthy & Fit
• Aged 48-60
• Bald
• Highly Intelligent/Academic
• Refined Manners and Tastes

Think Patrick Stewart. Yeppers, that was the man for me. Every time a man like that crossed my path, I’d melt into a gooey puddle of crush-juice.

Ten years ago, I noticed a shift in my crushes. Bald men stopped turning my head. A different type of person started attracting my attention:

• Female
• Artsy/Quirky
• Aged 18-30
• Small in Stature
• Eclectic Tastes
• Dark Hair

My rockabilly babe, pin-up model Bernie Dexter, should give you some idea of the kind of girl I’m talking about.

Now…I just don’t know anymore! I can’t predict when a crush will come along and what she’ll look like or act like. It’s like there are absolutely no commonalities anymore, except that I haven’t had a crush on a boy in a good ten years. What is my “crush type”? I’ve been mulling this over for a couple days now and…I’ve got nothing!

I mean, I think about my girlfriend of two years, and she doesn’t fit into any known category. Sweet’s:

• MTF Transsexual
• Tall
• Redhead
• “Curvy”
• Generous
• Wise Woman
• Geeky/Trekkie
• Tells Really Bad Jokes

Mind you, I don’t remember ever really having a crush on Sweet. I knew there was something special about her, and I fell in love. Or maybe I did have a crush on her…and maybe I still do. I certainly do find myself fantasizing about kissing her while I’m dozing on the subway. I still think about her all the time. Every time I’m in a store, I can’t resist buying her a present, even if it’s just a bottle of iced tea.

But that doesn’t help me in establishing my crush type. When I think about the women I’ve crushed on over the past five years, I see no similarities. Maybe we only see the similarities in retrospect. Maybe five years from now, it’ll all be clear.

What about you? Are there certain physical qualities you know you’ll be attracted to in any given person? Or do the physical qualities have to accompany personality qualities? Can you clearly identify the kind of person you’ll develop a crush on?

What’s your crush type?

Bright Blessings,
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
www.gisellerenarde.webs.com

The newest of my transgender lesbian stories is now available from the TransFix Line at lyd Alterotica!

Leslie Goosemoon the cowgirl used to be Leslie Goosemoon the cowboy, and folks in these parts don’t take kindly to changes.

New to the rodeo experience, Dina doesn’t understand why the biggest star on the circuit is despised by all. When she runs a search on the rodeo champ, it all becomes clear: Leslie Goosemoon the cowgirl used to be Leslie Goosemoon the cowboy, and folks in these parts don’t take too kindly to those people. The town’s intolerable ignorance drives Dina to seek out Leslie at her modest cabin, where desire is sparked by enlightening conversation, dusty jeans, and a refreshing shower in the great outdoors.

Excerpt:
“Leslie? Leslie Goosemoon?” Dina cried, chasing after the rodeo champ. “Wait up, will ya?”

The remarkable rider stopped in her tracks twenty meters ahead, and Dina slowed her gait from a gallop to an amble. It felt like a good five minutes before the mysterious stranger turned her head. Even when she did, the brim of her tawny cowboy hat obscured her eyes until she took it off to wipe dusty sweat from her brow.

“Well?” Leslie Goosemoon prodded.

Dina’s blood ran cold. She wasn’t anticipating such piercing blue eyes on a rough and tumble rider. Her eyes should be brown like the mud spray across her cheek.

“Hi,” Dina began, forgetting why she’d chased her down in the first place.

“Whaddya want?” the rider grumbled, her quick-draw stance keeping Dina at a distance.

“It just seems strange that nobody came to congratulate you. All the other girls in competition have their legions of fans. Here you’re the big winner and you’ve got no one telling you how great you rode today.” Dina tried to sound casual, taking a tentative step forward.

With a shrug, Leslie Goosemoon replied, “Lots of folks on the circuit could do without me.”

“Well, of course they could; if you weren’t around, those other girls might have a chance in hell at winning. Do you always ride like that?”

Another shrug, and a fraction of a smile.

“This is my first time,” Dina went on with a keen smirk. “At a rodeo, I mean.”

“That so?” Leslie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup.” Silence made Dina nervous, so she filled it. “My roommate’s boyfriend, Rod the Clod, commandeered our TV during the Calgary Stampede last year. I never liked cowboy stuff before that, but when you’re subjected to something night and day…”

“…it grows on you.”

“Exactly. Although, I never did warm up to Rod the Clod.” Dina hesitated, but what the hell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “I probably hated him so much because that rat bastard totally crushed my chance to get with Vicky. Hard to make a move with him on the couch twenty-four-seven.”

With a wolfish smile, Leslie gave her a blatant once-over. “You lookin’ to get over Vicky?”

Dina shrugged, meeting her penetrative gaze straight on. Leslie took two steps closer. In one fluid motion, her arm swooped around Dina’s waist and a dusty hand brushed through her hair, firm against her scalp. Those pink lips hovered like Tantalus’ water glass, so close she could nearly sip them.

“Best way to get over someone is to get under someone.”

Buy Leslie Goosemoon Rides Again by Giselle Renarde Now from All Romance ebooks!

Hugs,
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com

Seriously, no pun intended, but is erotica on the rise? Does it seem like the trend for erotic fiction is moving from erotic romances to pure erotica, or is it that erotica is merely experiencing a surge in popularity for a short time? Or perhaps it will become the other sexy fiction genre and run neck-and-neck with erotic romance?

I think it’s going to give erotic romance a run for its money. Erotica fiction has always been around, but now that the taboos of sexy fiction are beginning to fade and erotic het romance, f/f, and m/m romance seems to all be accepted by society (well, more or less…there are always those out there who rebel against anything, everything, and especially change), I feel erotica fiction will become the norm and be as easily available on both physical and cyber shelves as any other readily accepted genre.

Erotica has existed since the dawn of time. The Egyptians wrote about it on the walls of their dwellings, tombs, and places of worship. Pompeii and another neighboring city, whose name escapes me, focused on sex as a huge part of their economy. Their bath houses also served as places for prostitutes to hang out, and even public areas for sex—stone rooms without roofs—were used to meet and shag, for a price. Even the cobbled streets had phallic images carved on them to point the horny guy or gal in the right direction where he or she could scratch their itch. Ancient Rome, too, is known for all its sex fests—some quite gruesome, I might add—that occurred within the walls of its home city or its conquered ones.

In 1798, Fanny Hill by John Cleland was first published in England, and then it grew in popularity in America. LOL…imagine the outcry by those involved in The Great Awakening! I can only envision the dark corners, basements, saloons, and caves where there are hidden copies of Fanny Hill’s adventures!

So, erotica has been around a long, long time indeed!

About three weeks ago, I mentioned I had resurrected an old pen name of mine: Molly Diamond. In the past two weeks, I’ve secured two contracts under MD’s name. What actually urged me to bring the pen name back was the fact that my hubby’s employer recognized the name from reading Gent and various men’s magazines. This impressed me so much I incorporated it into my author bio on my MD site (http://mollydiamond.wordpress.com).

But as I submit erotica stories, as I take note of what’s selling on cyber shelves, and what I see in brick-and-mortar stores, one thing jumps out at me: Erotica is becoming more and more popular.

When I put on Molly Diamond’s writing cap, I write contemporary stories that are real life. People meeting people who are attracted to one another. Sometimes you’ll find a bit of m/m erotica too, but the characters are still portrayed as real people. Oh, sure you’ll find some paranormal erotica, or maybe a li’l magic realism will appear in one of my erotica stories, but overall, it’s real life.

Real life and real people doing real things is the appeal of erotica—well, that’s my theory anyway, lol. Erotica gives readers a glimpse into the “real” world of characters who just want to enjoy sex, and the reader can do it without having to walk a mile in the character’s shoes. They’re only along for the ride, and therefore can “get off” anytime he or she chooses. No fuss, no muss, no mess, and no broken commitments.

So tell me…do you enjoy reading erotica, or are you a die-hard erotic romance reader only?

It’s got bondage, rope play, a love story, a curse, and a BDSM dungeon. Now Faithful John and the Dungeon Ravens has a new cover as well! Isn’t it hot?

In this loose adaptation of the Grimm Brothers’ tale Faithful John, the queen’s untimely death leaves her son in charge of the brothel-like castle dungeon. Though her devoted servant, Faithful John, promised the queen he would keep the young man from the cursed Mistress Mei, nothing can divide royalty and young love. When the young king asks for her hand in marriage, she realizes her acceptance is a death sentence and says yes even so. Can Faithful John save Mistress Mei from her prescribed fate, or will his devotion see him turned to stone?

Buy Now from All Romance ebooks!

Hugs,
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com