Today I got back from two weeks away and GOD am I glad for the solitude!

This past week, I vacationed with family. Siblings…parents…that sort of thing. You know what I remembered as I spent twenty four hours a day, seven days a week with my family? I remembered why I do not live with, in, on, around, or in the vague vicinity of my family. Don’t get me wrong–I do love them! I do…but…but…well, there’s only so much family I can handle. This week, I went a little overboard and now I’m feeling the consequences.

It feels a lot like a hangover.

The week before last, I stayed at my girlfriend’s house. I love her too. I do…(can you see where this is going?)…and I can spend much more time with her than with my family before I peak in annoyance…but…but…well, Sweet’s house is very much her house. It isn’t my space. If I’m loading the dishwasher the wrong way, I’m going to hear about it. And, “Why are you chopping the onion like that? No, no. Give me the knife. I’ll show you how…”

*sigh*

I do know how to chop an onion. I’ve done it before, with relatively minor consequences.

Anyhoo…today I’m in my own home, where I can chop onions however I damn well please and load the dishwasher…well, actually, I don’t have a dishwasher, so I don’t need to worry about that part. But the point is that I’m back in my own space, and not a moment too soon.

I love the people in my life. I love my friends, my family, and most of all my pernickety girlfriend who must have onions chopped just so. Even though I love all these people, I don’t want to live with a single one of them. Call me a hermit, but I would go crazy without my solitude.

Virginia Woolf had her room. I have my bed. Yes, I do share it with cats, but cats are much less annoying than people. I’ll tell you a secret–I’ve never liked sharing a bed with anyone. I much prefer sleeping alone.

Waking up beside Sweet is pleasant. I do enjoy watching her dream. Her face is so perfectly beautiful when she’s at rest. All the same, I could do without the snoring, the excess body heat, and the ridiculously bad music they play on the radio station she insists on waking up to.

Lone wolf…hermit…crazy cat lady…call me what you will, but I believe in having a bed of one’s own.

Hugs,
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
gisellerenarde.webs.com
twitter.com/gisellerenarde

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/

I think High School, more than any other phase of life, is the one we most want to put behind us.

Am I right?

I won’t say I was a flake in High School, because I was a straight-A student, but I was into a lot of hippy-dippy stuff back then. I was all about my horoscope, and healing my soul, and “God is Love,” and all that. Not that I think of any of that stuff as total BS now, but I think my approach when I was younger was a little grasping.

Or maybe I was wise back then and now I’m just plain jaded.

What about you? Are you embarrassed by the person you used to be, or do you admire her? Do you wish you’d done things differently?

Who were you in High School?

Hugs,
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!

SPRING FEVER is a love story. I wrote it a few years ago, before my girlfriend Sweet and I started dating. I knew her as a “him” back then–an effeminate, quirky guy who attracted my attention, though I couldn’t quite figure out why. It was a long while before Sweet came out to me as a MTF transsexual. In the meantime, I wrote SPRING FEVER.

~Blurb~

Dotschy’s in love with a cross dresser. No, not in love. It’s just spring fever. Really it is…

After a rough break up, Dotschy doesn’t want to think about love everlasting. When spring comes around and she can’t stop smiling at Connor the sweet and sensitive semi-closet trans-curious sometimes-cross-dresser, she convinces herself it’s just infatuation. That doesn’t stop her from wanting him though. It doesn’t stop her from getting him either.

~Excerpt~

Connor, dressed as a woman, stood before me in a light pink sweater with pearly plastic buttons down the front. It was the type of sweater a mommy picks out for her little girl. That’s the spirit in which Connor dressed himself. Sure, he had plenty of life experience as a man, but he was a novice female. His skirt was a more mature tweedy grey shot with pink, slit in the back and just covering his knees. Did he shave his legs? I couldn’t tell, what with the pantyhose. His shoes matched his sweater. His nails matched his sweater. Connor pulled off the look beautifully. He looked almost elegant in his black Kiss of the Spider Woman wig. His boobs were generous, but he had a natural paunch to match. Despite his height, he didn’t look curiously tall. He looked perfect, actually. His glasses were the same pair he wore as a man. They suited him both ways.

Soft. That was Connor dressed as a woman. He was soft. Soft pinks, soft body, soft curves. I ran my hand across his cheek. That was soft too. No trace of stubble. Before I arrived at his house, I’d wondered if I would be as attracted to Connor dressed as a woman as I was to Connor dressed as a man. “You look beautiful.” I kissed his smooth cheek, lingering close. Those sparkling blue eyes were Connor. The clothes were different, but the person was the same. I would easily have made out with him, and not just to see if passers-by would throw stuff at us.

“You look fabulous, dear,” he said. His voice lilted, neither high nor low.

“Fabulous?” I chuckled. “Honey, you’re a woman, you’re not gay! Try ‘lovely’ or ‘gorgeous.’”

He leaned in close. Into my ear, he whispered, “Dotschy, you’re gorgeous.”

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

When my girlfriend and I went out for Sunday brunch this weekend, I ordered something I’d never tried before–Eggs Benedict.

“The first of my Audrey and Lawrence stories,” I told her, “starts with a joke about Eggs Benedict.”

She popped a red grape in her mouth. “What’s the joke?”

I didn’t want to tell her, at first. My mind was barraged by images of my past and my bed before she was in it, and I remembered the first time I heard the joke. I was young then, like Audrey. Like Audrey, I welcomed a married man into my apartment every Sunday morning. It was from him I heard this joke.

Excerpt from “Kiss the Cook” by Giselle Renarde,
From Audrey & Lawrence: The Complete Collection

“How are Eggs Benedict like oral sex?”

“I don’t know, Lawrence. How are Eggs Benedict like oral sex?”

“You don’t get either at home,” he chuckled.

My stomach plunged six stories. You don’t get either at home? I guess he meant it as some kind of a veiled compliment, but still…Lawrence wasn’t usually so crass. Even if the insult wasn’t aimed at me, it still hurt to hear him say something so mean-spirited.

“Groan,” I said, pretending to find his joke merely innocuous. Why did I always do that? Pretend to be perpetually un-offended, I mean. Kissing my way across Lawrence’s fleshy abdomen, I nuzzled his pubic hair from top to balls, taking in that quintessentially male aroma of spent cock. Pure sex. Now that was good stuff! What a bad joke, though. So bad I couldn’t relax after the rather incredible blowjob I’d just given him. This time, I had to say something.

“I don’t like it when you criticize your wife,” I confessed, running my fingers through those curly greying hairs.

Shaking his bald but beautiful head like he was scrambling eggs in there, Lawrence looked down at me.

“It’s very unbecoming,” I continued.

 “I don’t know what you mean,” he claimed. He claimed.

 “Eggs Benedict? Look, I know you and…” I tried to say Ruth, but it just wasn’t happening. His wife’s name was the only taboo word in our repertoire. “I know you and she don’t have a satisfying sex life…”

 “It’s not a matter of satisfying or unsatisfying,” Lawrence interrupted. “There is no sex life. It doesn’t exist.”

 The jealousy I’d felt only a moment earlier was eagerly consumed by schadenfreude. I was the only girl for Lawrence. Audrey LeBreton plus Lawrence Galloway equals (heart) 4-ever! At least that’s what I chose to believe.

As I poked my egg to release a runny yoke into its base of toasted baguette and Swiss, I pushed my past aside and looked into the face of my future. Sweet smiled. When I’d told her the Eggs Benedict joke, she was quiet for a moment. And then she laughed and said, “That’s true.”

Should I take that as a joke?

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

Find out more about Audrey & Lawrence: The Complete Collection at the Audrey & Lawrence website! Audrey & Lawrence is available now for pre-order, and for purchase March 28th, 2010 from eXcessica Publishing.

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 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

Like lesbian erotica?

Me too.  That’s why I write it.  The newest of my new lesbian releases is a great little Torquere Press Sip called WAXING IS FOR PUSSIES.  Best part?  It’s only $1.29!

Claire is a butch dyke who doesn’t go in for all the “girly” stuff. Her girlfriend Billie works at a salon, joyfully painting nails all day. When Billie takes up hot waxing, she asks Claire to be her test subject. She also asks her salon buddy Soo Jin to give her hand. How will Claire and Billie react when Soo Jin takes the request for help as an invitation to play?

Excerpt from WAXING IS FOR PUSSIES:

“Have you ever had a bikini wax?” Billie asked as she ate.

I laughed. “Do I look like someone who gets waxed?”

With a shrug, she said, “I don’t know. You got a pedicure once.”

“From you,” I reminded her. Billie lifted a piece of sushi saturated in soy sauce to her mouth. “I just wanted to meet you. Every time I tried to say hi on the street, I chickened out. I get nervous talking to beautiful girls.”

Billie smiled as she chewed. “Want one?”

I waved away the sushi. “Nah, I already ate, but thanks.”

Shaking her pretty head, she leaned forward to kiss my cheek. I knew she’d left a big red lipstick stain in her wake, but I ignored it for the moment. “Not sushi, sweetie,” she cooed like a crafty little dove. “A bikini wax. Want one?”

Without meaning to, I laughed out loud. There were so many reasons to say no, I didn’t know where to begin. “What, you mean at the salon?” I asked. “Because I’m pretty sure your boss banned me for life.”

“We could do it after hours,” she countered. “I’m a key holder.”

What other excuses could I come up with? “I’ve heard it hurts like hell.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” she said with a sneaky grin. She spread some wasabi on her sushi and topped it with pickled ginger before setting it in a pool of soy sauce. “You have how many tattoos? I think you can handle a little hot wax.”

Rising from the footstool, she pulled down on the hem of the black cotton dress that served as her uniform. The one last piece of sushi, she left in front of me in its plastic box. I stared at it in displaced awe. After tiptoeing to the door, she turned around and said, “Come down after hours. We’ll have a good time.”

Buy Now for only $1.29!

Thanks for reading!
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com