My cat was not expensive in the beginning. She was your typical cat, albeit cuter than most with a smushed in face and zig-zag tail. When she was about seven, however, she started acting funny. She would hiss for no reason, which was not like her. She started peeing wherever she felt like it. She turned from adorable kitty to psycho bitch from hell practically overnight. So I did what any normal girl would do; I took her to the vet.

My cat stepped out of her crate and hissed at the vet.

“She seems like a normal cat to me,” said the vet.

“No,” I protested, “She’s turned into a huge bitch. She never used to hiss at anyone. And she peed on my sofa yesterday.”

The vet dutifully gave her an exam but proclaimed her normal and sent her home. I called the next day to say she started growling and acting shaky. Again he told me it was normal yet I insisted she needed to come back in. I brought her in the next day but, despite the odd hiss, she acted like a little sweetheart. It was sickening. Now the vet was starting to think I was the one with a problem. He looked at me like I was one of those crazy animal people who wanted to take my pet to a cat whisperer or animal psychiatrist.

Determined to prove my cat had real issues, I recorded her next little hissy fit, which seemed to be getting a little worse, on my phone. I brought her back to the vet for a third time in just one week and showed him the video.

“Oh, that’s a seizure,” the vet said. “We should do some tests.”

That is when the whirlwind started. Up until then things crawled at an agonizing pace. At this point in my story, however, everything seemed to happen in a blurry flash. They did tests but the results were inconclusive and very upsetting to my cat. She started having several full blown seizures. I mean, flailing around on the floor, piss everywhere, biting her own paw episodes. At one point she was lying on me when she had one and ripped my arm to shreds.  The vet put her on a narcotic drip and when she conked out enough, suggested I immediately bring her to another clinic that specialized in neurological disorders. The next clinic did tests over the weekend. A lot of tests, including a spinal tap and an MRI. All tests ended with a giant “inconclusive”. They also tried and failed to stop the seizures with several drugs, including Phenobarbital, Lorazepam and Clonazepam. They kept having to put her back on the drip.

Luckily, they eventually decided it was “probably” epilepsy and they found a drug combination that worked for her.

Now her seizures are less frequent and usually mild. Sure, I have to cut and then shove pills (that cost about a dollar each) down her throat every day, hire a cat sitter if I am going to be out of town for longer than a twelve hour period, and put up with a pet that is either comically stoned or insanely bitchy but, overall, it’s a happy ending, right?

Right?

Almost.

See, along with the cheerful prognosis of, “She’ll live until the pills eventually destroy her liver,” I also got the vet bills, all nicely itemized for me on my credit card.

Would you like to guess how much?

Please sit down before I tell you. Make sure you are not drinking any liquid that may cause damage to your computer, should you spit it out of your mouth as your jaw drops in horror.

Okay…here is the amount….

…Okay. I’m sorry. I’ve chickened out. I can’t tell you the exact amount. First, you will lose any shred of  respect for me that you might currently hold. Second, if the clinic ever gets bombed, everyone on the internet will assume it was me who did it. I’ll get thrown in jail on motive alone.  I will however give you a list of things I might have chosen to purchase had I not given all my money to the vet.

1. An all-inclusive trip to Africa.

2. A very nice used car.

3. A whopping down payment on a new car.

4. A plethora of new cats.

5. A larger sailboat off Kijiji.

6. Everything I need to redecorate my living room, as necessitated by my psycho cat pissing on all my furniture.

7. Lots and lots of liposuction to get rid of my hated knees and thighs.

8. An inexpensive wedding, should the bf and I ever decide to get hitched.

9. About as many books as I could probably read in my lifetime.

10. A bunch of ridiculously priced purses and shoes.

It is settled, then. In my next life, I’m coming back as a vet who specializes in neurological disorders.

I am always up for an adventure, and if someone asks me to do something weird, crazy or just, well, different, I can usually be counted on to say yes with no questions asked.

Sometimes. Sometimes I should really ask questions first, though. For example:

“D.C., do you want to dress up in a mascot costume for a weekend?”

Instead of immediately agreeing, I should have asked the following:

“Will I be outside in the blistering heat for several hours?”

and

“Are people mean to mascots?”

and

“Will this be filmed and then subsequently televised on national television?”

These were things I should have asked instead of simply shrugging and saying, “Sure! I’ve never done that before.”

Next example:

“D.C., my sister needs to move to British Columbia. Will you drive there with her so I know she’s safe?”

Instead of saying, “Sure but you owe me,” here is what I should’ve asked.

“Will we be driving in a rented U-Haul with no air conditioning or shocks in the blistering heat of summer for six days?”

and

“Will there be a screaming new baby seated between us the whole way?”

and

“Will your sister insist I stay in B.C. to help her unpack, find a job and provide emotional support through the midst of what seems to be a nervous breakdown?”

and

“Will your sister make any attempt whatsoever to accommodate my vegetarianism or will she try to force feed me meat for the entire trip?”

Example Three:

(In Hong Kong) “D.C., would you like to go on hike?”

Instead of saying, “Hell yeah, I would,” here is what I should’ve asked:

“Will this hike take place on three mountains known worldwide as Dragon’s Back?”

and

“Are you a semi professional athlete who will demand that I keep up as you practically jog the path?”

and

“How long will this hike take?”

and

“Should I bring a change of clothes for after the hike?”

Next example:

“Hey D.C., want to go for a ride on a thirty person bike?”

Instead of answering, “Sure I do!” I perhaps should have asked:

“Will this bike have more than one gear?”

and

“Will everyone peddle equally or will some people find it funny to put their feet up for the ENTIRE ride?”

and

“Will I spend over an hour getting there to find the bike ride is just around one block?”

and

“Am I supposed to get donations?”

Another example:

(In Budapest) “Hey D.C., want to go on a wine tour then visit some natural hot springs and mud baths?”

Instead of saying, “Abso-fucking-lutely!” I should have asked:

“What is the alcohol content in this wine?”

and

“Is the point of this wine tour to sample wine from sixty different caves in a two hour time frame?”

and

“Are the hot springs hot enough to boil eggs?”

and

“Is it a requirement that I must be naked to enter the mud baths?”

Final example:

“D.C., want to go to Karaoke Box tonight?”

Instead of saying, “Sure, why not?” I should’ve asked:

“What the fuck is Karaoke Box?”

~~~

Yes, perhaps if I had half a brain in my head, I would have asked questions instead of jumping in to all of the above activities. Oh who am I kidding? I would have done all of them anyway. I can’t help it; I’m a Yes Girl!

~

Geez, it almost makes me want to get married. I’m always looking for something dumb to do. Well, except being proposed to online or in front of a big crowd. But other than that, I love dumb things. I’m not a big fan of being on the receiving end of grand, public gestures. I do, however, like watching other people do it.

Yes, I understand he backhanded a reporter but it wasn’t even hard. Personally, if a stranger kissed me without some form of implied or overt invitation, I would likely backhand him so hard his head would spin. And no one would blame me. So why is it that just because Will Smith is male or famous or has money or whatever, people are calling this a controversy? Some are opining about whether or not the reporter will sue. Sue? WTF? The guy’s lucky Will Smith isn’t suing him!

Here is the stupid video of the Will Smith incident:

~

Now, speaking of unwanted kisses, here are two personal kissy stories for your amusement.

I remember when I was a kid, a young, handicapped  guy kissed me on a crowded bus. Like, out of nowhere. I was just sitting there minding my own business and all of a sudden this huge, mentally challenged guy – maybe late teen or early twenties – just grabbed me and planted a huge smooch on my lips. I was shocked and completely unsure as to what to do. Had it been a “normal” guy, I of course would have decked him but this guy was clearly not right. I was in the middle of working through what I thought my my mom would say about me punching a mentally handicapped guy right in his mouth when the driver solved my predicament by pulling over the bus and yelling at the guy to get out. Immediately forgetting that the guy had just had his grubby lips on mine, I freaked out because I thought the guy was too stupid to find his way home if he didn’t get off at the right stop. The bus driver relented but made him move seats. After the poor guy (yes, at this point I felt sorry for him because he appeared very heartbroken) moved seats I realized everyone on the bus was staring at me. How embarrassing! I did not think things could get any worse but then the guy, now seated opposite me, started crying. Loudly. The bus driver yelled at him to shut up, I tried to disappear into my seat, convinced this whole mess was my fault for smiling at him when I first stepped on the bus. I decided to get off and walk the rest of the way home. As I exited the bus, he (loudly) professed his love for me. Wow.

Now, I would like to share with you the story of my first kiss.

I was a tomboy as a kid, albeit the girliest tomboy ever. I would race the boys on my BMX bike with the understanding that if I won (which I usually did) then they would have to play barbies with me. I wasn’t completely heartless, though, so we usually ended up playing Barbie and G.I. Joe get married and then kill each other in a magnificent battle.

Anyway, my best friend, a boy obviously, asked me to go for a walk along the creek beside our school. I was immediately suspicious because he was acting shady and he held something behind his back. I thought he planned to show me a dead animal or something. Despite my reservations, I walked with him along the creek for what seemed like ever and then finally, refusing to take another step, I demanded to know wth was going on. From behind his back he produced a pretty pink flower. I stared at it nonplussed. Finally I looked up at him to ask what the hell I was supposed to do with a flower. And that’s when he kissed me right on the lips. Shocked, my jaw dropped open. He pulled away and offered a beatific smile. At which point I punched him right in the mouth. The poor guy dropped like a tonne of bricks. For good measure I kicked him in the ass and then ran away. To my credit, I never told anyone about the incident, except my mom who thought it was hilarious, and we remained friends. In my mind, we had to. He was the only kid in school who had a real tree house.

My mom still thinks I am responsible for turning him gay. I don’t think this is true. After all, his name is Lance. A man with the name Lance is pretty much on his way to being gay anyway, right? No? Okay. Maybe it was me, then.

Lily Harlem lives in the UK with a workaholic hunk, a crazy cat and an old dog. With a desk overlooking farmland, she allows her imagination to run free and revels in being able to use the written word as an outlet for her creativity. She won the Lovehoney award for erotic fiction in 2009 and has been writing non-stop ever since and is now multi-published by both US and UK houses as well as featuring in numerous anthologies.

Doesn’t that sound like a fabulous life? Welcome Lily!

Thanks so much for inviting me over today. It is really great to be here.

As I haven’t stopped by before I’ll tell you a little about myself, beyond the bio. I’m English, live in a cottage amongst the rolling green hills of the UK and before writing consumed me I worked as a nurse in a trauma unit in London.

I adore my homeland and often set my stories here (though if you check out my website you’ll notice that I’m a bit of a hockey groupie which takes my imagination across the Atlantic on frequent, fun-filled occasions!) To give you a taste of the locations of my books and where I live here are some of the places I’ve set recent novels in.

cardiff

Cardiff sets the scene for a steamy ménage. SHARED was my first full-length novel at Ellora’s Cave and the sexy antics of Liam, Quinn and lucky Ariane I feel have put the capital of Wales on the erotic fiction map which gives me quite a thrill.

the cotswolds

Cold Nights, Hot Bodies is predominantly located in the beautiful Cotswolds. It is a naughty role-play novel and I have to say one of my most favorite covers of all time! He is hot with a capital H and looks exactly like Shane, the hero of the book. I was a puddle of lust on the floor when that piece of cover art came through –PHEW! The Cotswolds are stunning, endless green hills, pretty villages with cottages made from  ginger-coloured stone and in the winter it becomes winter wonderland. Its this winter wonderland that gave me the idea of my hero and heroine getting snowed into their hotel and having to find ways to entertain themselves.

london

My Mattress Music series is set in sexy rock and roll London. I adore Snow Patrol, Kings of Leon, Cold Play, U2, The Script, One Republic, Mumford and Sons – the list goes on – and they all inspired me to write this naughty trilogy about a rock group called Manic Machines and how the musically talented band members fall in love and lust in what is, I have to confess, my most favourite city in the world.

oxford

And my latest novel, Stockholm Surrender is set in stunning Oxford.

I adore Oxford and spent time there studying many years ago. It’s a rabbit warren of old streets. The bars come to life at night with students and there is always something going on.

Stockholm Surrender actually has a bit of a back-story. I released a free short read at Ellora’s Cave a couple of years ago called Stockholm Seduction. It is about a Penny Tipping, the British Foreign Ministers daughter, enjoying a gap year in Australia. She is kidnapped by a hunky surfer and…

Actually it’s probably easier for you to read the blurb -

I was having a fabulous extended gap year in Oz. Sun, sea, sand and seriously hot surfers rolling in on every wave. Mmm, what could possibly be better?

But then I was taken…taken against my will. Stolen like a prized object. I was tied up, held for ransom. I didn’t know if I would survive, if I would walk away alive. And then, to top it all off, I was tortured in the sweetest, most delicious, most sensual way imaginable.

That was when I realized my fun down under had only just begun.

To be honest I didn’t think much more about this story after it was released. It was just a taster for people to hear my voice and sample my style without having to pay for it.

Then about a year ago I was wandering around Amazon looking for something to read when I came across reviews for Stockholm Seduction. I was surprised to find that it either had the ‘ick’ factor or the ‘more’ factor. Here are a couple of reader comments from either side of that spectrum.

“A woman is kidnapped, and decides to have sex with her captor? The message in this short story is disturbing on so many levels.”

And…

“I was panting to know what happened when he found her next! I’ve read romantic short stories before, and they always left me hollow, but Lily’s left me craving. I would definitely recommend this e-book if you want a quick read with steamy scenes, hot men, and women that know what they want and are not ashamed to admit it. I get excited shivers thinking what the author could do with a full length book!”

This got me really thinking and I headed over to Goodreads to see what readers had said there. The overwhelming comments were to the effect of “this story is too short” and “where is the rest?”

So me being me, I got my naughty mind whirring and over the next few weeks waited to see if the characters would talk to me again. I wanted desperately to oblige the people who had taken the time to comment on the book and give them the rest of the novel.

Luckily Penny and Ty were eager to have their steamy tale told and soon it was evolving in my mind and flowing from my fingertips at a rate of knots. The result was Stockholm Surrender and this took me from Oxford to Bangkok to Edinburgh. All places I completely adore.

Below is an excerpt from a third of the way through Stockholm Surrender, though if you want to download Stockholm Seduction (what is now the prologue) for FREE click here. The first chapter of Stockholm Surrender can also be found on D Renne Bagby’s first chapter blog. Though if you want to just buy the whole thing and join Penny on a wild ride of hostage taking, infatuation and dangerous liaisons that is super-cool too.

Thanks so much for having me here today. I will be around to chat and answer questions, though on GMT time, so feel free to leave comments. I would love to hear from you.

Have a great day,

Lily Harlem

Winner of 2009 Lovehoney Award for Erotic Fiction

www.lilyharlem.com

Blurb for Stockholm Surrender

My soul was in turmoil. Ty Winters had not only kidnapped me in Oz, my heartstoppingly gorgeous surfer had also stoked my darkest desires, bringing all my fantasies to the surface. So Oxford wasn’t going well. Until, that is, he creeped from the shadows—desperate, sexy, dangerous and wanting a piece of me, literally!

He teased me with a taste of his carnal skills, leaving me burning with frustration then forced to stand by as he fought for his beliefs using my lust-addled body as his most powerful weapon.

Oh, my kidnapper knew just how to get what he wanted, giving me just what I needed, while hiding our relationship from the British foreign minister and police. Because sometimes two people are meant to be, even in the most unconventional circumstances and twisted situations. We could fight the world, but we couldn’t fight our passion.

Reader Advisory: This book contains a steamy scene where Ty shares Penny with his best mate—lucky girl!

Excerpt from Stockholm Surrender

With my window letting in the sounds of the city, I spread my notes on my bed and tapped away on my netbook. The history of law was everyone’s most hated subject, but I knew the sooner I tackled it the better. Leaving it to the last minute would be crazy.

Eventually though, as darkness claimed the hall grounds and the lampposts flicked on, I decided to call it a day, or rather a night. Saved my work and flopped back on the bed. I would just stretch out for ten minutes before I got up to change and get ready for sleep.

But sleep wouldn’t wait, and before I knew it I felt myself drifting. Falling into a dark, dreamy world. My eyes were heavy, my breathing shallow. I let myself go—float into a world of thoughts and nothingness, white clouds and black sleep.

“Shh!”

There was tightness over my mouth and pressure over the entire length of my body. Whatever it was had squeezed the air from my lungs and was pinning me to the bed. I opened my eyes, panicked.

“Shh!” Ty said, his eyes wide and his nose practically touching mine.

Hastily, I nodded. Oh my god. Was I dreaming or was Ty really here, lying on the bed with me?

He hesitated then lifted his gloved hand from my mouth just a fraction. “You are going to keep quiet, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” I whispered.

This was no dream.

“Good, ’cause I don’t want that copper who’s stalking you to come crashing in.”

“He won’t. I promise.”

Ty lifted up, reached over and shut the window. With a snap, he drew the curtains then pulled off his gloves.

“Is that how you got in?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Really, up the tree, and…” Something was different. I realized what it was. “Why has the lamppost gone off?”

“I tripped it, didn’t want anyone seeing me breaking into the foreign minister’s daughter’s bedroom.” He grinned naughtily.

“And did they?”

“No, I shouldn’t think so, not at three in the morning.”

“Three?” I glanced at my bedside clock. Sure enough, it was three a.m.

He chuckled and lay back down next to me. “I guess you got carried away with your studies. I used to be like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, don’t look so shocked, I have a first in sports science.” He touched his finger to the bald patch of my scalp and a rush of heated desire poured through me. “I know all about the human body,” he whispered, “and exactly what it needs to stay healthy and happy and…satisfied.”

Unable to suppress a whimper of pure lust, I slid my hand over his shoulders and tugged him closer. “I wish you would damn well give me some of the satisfaction I need.”

“You’re always so demanding, and so…damn…horny.” He touched his lips to mine, soft and gentle, his tongue peeking into my mouth and past my teeth to tangle and turn and explore. “Oh Jesus, Penny, you drive me crazy,” he murmured. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Good, because that’s how you make me feel.”

He stroked down the column of my neck, dipping his fingertip into the hollow of my throat and down my sternum. “I want you so bad,” he said, “but there is something we have to do before we can be together.”

“What?” What could he possibly need to do other than put on a damn condom? His erection was growing by the second against my hip. All I needed was for him to get inside me like he had before. Thrust and grind and do that thing to my clit he was so bloody good at. Just the thought of it had me shivering.

“Wait,” he said, reaching behind himself.

Suddenly a tight strip of tape slapped over my mouth. Gone was the luscious kissing of moments ago and in its place foul plastic stickiness.

“Mmmph!” I managed, trying to project massive indignation with my eyes.

“It won’t take long.”

I tried to reach for the tape, intent on pulling it off, but he had both my hands harnessed in just one of his.

“Sit.” He pulled me upright, tugging at my sweater. “We need this off.”

His breaths were rapid and hot on my face as he moved his hands quickly and efficiently, freeing my arms from the sweater before swiftly dragging it over my head.

“Ah fuck, white,” he said, staring at my pretty lace bra. It had delicate scallop details over the rise of my small, pert breasts and a tiny pale blue flower in the center between the cups. “White is my very favorite.” His voice was almost wistful.

“Mmmph!” I mumbled again. Why did I have this tape on? I said I wouldn’t shout for Roger. Why didn’t he believe me?

“Shh, shh, just for a minute, baby, just for a couple of minutes.” He stood, still holding my wrists tight, and nudged the straight-backed chair out from under my desk with his foot. “Up, come on, sit on here, quickly.” He glanced at the door.

As soon as I was on the chair he was behind me, wrapping what felt like cord around my wrists. I yanked but the binding was tight and attached me to the rungs.

“It’s okay,” he soothed by my ear, his breath warm and tickly. “It’s okay.” He slid his hand over my bare shoulder, tracing the strap of my bra right down to the cup.

I arched my spine, needing his touch so desperately. Ty in my fantasies would have his hands all over me by now. Ty in my fantasies would already be ravishing me until we were both desperately trying to muffle our screams and panting for breath.

But this wasn’t fantasy, this was real. Ty was really here, really tying me up again. And for god’s sake, why was this stuff on my mouth?

He poked his fingers into my bra and tweaked my nipple. I whimpered and fluttered my eyes shut. His caress sent sinful licks of wantonness raging though me.

“Damn it, Ty,” he muttered. “Think of James.” His body heat left me and the next thing I knew he was pulling off my jeans, exposing my tiny white thong. “Ah, fucking hell, what are you trying to do to me?” he groaned, wearing a very real expression of pain.

I couldn’t answer.

He reached back onto the bed for a small, brown leather rucksack. He delved into it and pulled out a newspaper and a camera.

“It’s yesterday’s,” he said. “But your father will still get the message.” He tilted his head and smirked lopsidedly. “The message that I can get to you whenever I want, wherever I want, bodyguard or no bodyguard.” Carefully he laid the newspaper on my lap. It was sort of folded up onto my belly so that the headline was visible. He took a step back and held up a small, silver digital camera. “I would say smile,” he said with a shrug, “but I guess it’s not appropriate.”

Appropriate!

That was the goddamn understatement of the year. Dad was really going to flip at this one. Me in my underwear, gagged, tied to a chair in my room with Roger snoozing outside, just a few feet away. The shit was really going to hit the fan. Big-time.

I heard the camera click once then Ty was back next to me. He folded up the paper and shoved it along with the camera into his bag.

“Mmmph,” I said, shifting on the chair.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he said, bending over me and peeling off the tape. It tugged and stung as it pulled my skin. “Baby, I’m sorry, I just needed to do that.” He shoved the tape into his bag too.

“For fuck’s sake,” I hissed. “That stuff is foul and what the hell are you playing at?”

He stooped and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Sorry, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I allowed my mouth to become pliant and open, let him in to search and gently tease my tongue with his in slow, languid movements. He tasted divine, like fresh water, a hint of vanilla and turned-on man. As he kissed me reverently, indulgently, my irritation with him dissolved as though it were a spoonful of sugar in hot tea. This was what I’d been waiting for, this moment with Ty. The man I shouldn’t want but did. The man whose tenacity and loyalty I admired even though everyone else thought he was a brutish thug who should be hung, drawn and quartered.

“Ty,” I gasped. “Please, untie me.”

“Mmm, in a minute. I kinda like having you at my mercy.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He smiled, slow and sexy. “It gives me all kinds of dirty ideas.”

~~~

Whewh! Thanks for sharing such wonderful images, especially that cover of Cold Nights, Hot Bodies. That just might be my favourite cover of all time, too! Please come back any time!

Folks please look up Lily at any of the following links:

Links

Website http://www.lilyharlem.com/

Blog http://www.lilyharlem.blogspot.com/

Twitter https://twitter.com/#!/lily_harlem

Facebook http://en-gb.facebook.com/people/Lily-Harlem/100003519563064

Facebook author page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Lily-Harlem-author-page/200182030094568

Pinterest http://pinterest.com/lilyharlem/

I know what you’re thinking;how could that tweet not inspire a Threesome Thursday post?

Now, even though Charlotte thinks very little of Taylor Kitsch, I need a third and I think he looks hot without his shirt on so let’s get on with it!

Alexander Skarsgard

~

Liam Neeson

~

Taylor Kitsch

~

Just for funzies, here is another one of Liam Neeson:

Liam Neeson

~

And here is one of Taylor and Meg Ryan in their own little threesome:

source

I mean not to be disrespectful but it makes me feel like every person with a web page has decided they can enter the REJECTION SLIP GAME.

This got me to thinking two things. The first was, screw KDP Select for sending a rejection letter to Rob’s blog. So what if Rob doesn’t particularly care about this rejection, and sure, they had a valid reason. Regardless, I still say screw them.

The next thought I had was, “Hey! I own a website. Does this mean I can jump on the rejection slip game?” Hells yeah, it does.

So folks, I have created a handy dandy, Mad Lib’s style rejection letter. All I have to do is circle the appropriate spots and hand it over. Starting today, I will carry my rejection letters and a pencil on my person, everywhere I go. Bad attitude from a waiter? Whip out my rejection slip. Racist joke? Out comes the rejection letter. My friend makes me sit through two hours of horrible acting in a play about vaginas? Babe, I love you but you’re getting the rejection slip.

Dear (Sir / Madame / House Pet / Androgynous Life Form),

It is with (sincere regret / mild consternation / blood boiling anger) that I must (reject / burn / point and laugh at) your (manuscript / screen play / disastrous creative explosion / service / opinion / ill-designed product / sexual advances).

While your (manuscript / screen play / disastrous creative explosion / service / opinion / ill-designed product / sexual advances) does / do show (promise / a complete lack of common decency / the beginnings of an illustrious career as a serial killer / malicious intent / your true colours), it is not what I am looking for at this (time / stage of drunkenness).

I wish you much (luck / hot dogs / jail time / rejection slips) in your future endeavors.  Please note, I will not return your (manuscript / screen play / disastrous creative explosion / service / opinion / ill-designed product / sexual advances), nor will I keep it/them on file. I may, however, (turn it over to the police as evidence / share it with all of my friends so they can get a good laugh / post an excerpt on my blog for an informative segment I call What Not To Do / send you my resulting psychiatrist bills / drink myself into a drunken stupor in an attempt to forget this ever happened).

(Sincerely  /  Go to Hell / Suck it Up, Buttercup),

D.C. McMillen

If you would also like to jump on the rejection letter game, you are welcome to copy, paste and print the above letter for your personal use. If, however, you don’t like the letter then please feel free to create your own rejection letter to reject my rejection letter and email it to me. At which point, I will wholeheartedly reject your rejection. Or cry. It could go either way, really.

But on to Fifty Shades of Gray trilogy.

I don’t usually opine about other writer’s books on this blog. I hold back for a couple of reasons. First, things that bug me in books are usually the same dumb little things that I do in my own writing. How can a pot, in good conscience, call the kettle black? Also, even when the little things about a book bug me, I usually love it anyway. It is no different with Fifty Shades of Gray, so why have I decided to write about the Trilogy here? Well, first of all, the author has sold, like, a buhzillion copies so I am pretty sure she doesn’t give a damn what I think about her books. Second, the trilogy is so ridiculously popular that I would feel remiss not mentioning it on the e-rotica blog.

Now, on to my humble opinions.

Fifty Shades of Gray is hot. It’s chock full of sex, and it would likely serve as inspirational and informative for couples who are toying with the idea of, well, toys…and bondage and what not. When I started the first book, I could not put it down. Luckily, I run my own company so I had the luxury of taking the whole morning off to read it cover to cover. But the ending wasn’t really an ending, which pissed me off. Thank goodness I bought all three books at once because I then had to take the entire afternoon off to read the second book, Fifty Shades Darker.

Fifty Shades Darker had an actual ending, which made me happier. There was also a neat little cliff hanger that made me want to read Fifty Shades Freed, the third book. Another reason I wanted to read the third book was because a conversation between Ana and Fifty’s psychiatrist led me to believe that the reason for her complete lack of self-confidence and awareness might be revealed. I mean, come on? What devastating experiences led to a gorgeous, seemingly intelligent young woman to not feel even an ounce of beauty within herself? And she’s like, 22, right? And still a virgin. That is not so entirely remarkable in itself. I am sure there are a few 22 year old virgins in the United States. But she’s never even masturbated? WTF? Mental problems, right? I really wanted the explanations for this to be intertwined into the third story. They weren’t.

I, of course, lent the books to my mom. I warned her that the author tended to use the same adverbs and adjectives over and over again, she referred to inner goddess to the point of reader exhaustion, and the ending of the first book wasn’t, but I insisted she read the books anyway because they are entertaining as hell, the story line is interesting and the sex is hot.

When my mother returned the books, I asked her what she thought. Here was her response:

“My inner goddess enjoyed them immensely. In fact, she wouldn’t stop doing back flips until I frowned petulantly at her.”

“Mother, you are so mercurial,” I responded.  At this point, we both peeled into laughter.

Teasing about the book aside, my mom enjoyed them as well and lent them to a friend. There were a couple other parts of the book that bugged me (and my mom) but overall, it was a great read. And I am thankful that these books are so popular. I see people reading them on the subway and other public places. What erotica books will they read next? Mine? Yours? Let’s hope so.

So, if you haven’t yet, pick up Fifty Shades of Gray (the best of the three, despite the ending, in my humble opinion). Once you have read all about Ana and Christian, why not move on to another erotica author’s books?  E.L. James was an indie author. Hell Fifty Shades was originally published as fan fiction. It is my sincere hope that, if people will read her books in public and recommend them to friends, they will do the same with other erotica. In the mean time, I’ll be thinking more about this Fifty Shades of Gay idea….

The Rusty Nail, excerpt:

“I have a present for you, Alexandria,” I said suggestively. She swallowed hard in response. “Would you like to know what it is?” She looked like she was going to say something but instead she simply nodded her head and swallowed again. I looked at her breasts; even mashed into an unflattering, tight fitting sports bra they looked beautiful. I felt a surge a power when her breath quickened and they started to rise and fall more quickly under my gaze.

If you would like to purchase a copy of The Rusty Nail, please visit Amazon or other online book retailers.

Now, without getting all sappy and emotional, I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who purchased or plans to purchase a copy of one or both of these stories. I hope you get a kick out of them, as I had a blast writing them.

For those of you who are waiting for more hot little stories from me, I have at least one short coming out through MuseItHot but not for a while yet so…yeah. I will keep everyone updated on the progress of the story and, while we’re waiting, how about I give you a little tease of this WIP?

Here goes…

A Decent December

Blurb:

When Nina finds her boyfriend playing hide the sausage with a local deli clerk, she swears off men for a yet to be determined amount of time and heads to Toronto with her faithful companion, an English bulldog named Betty. En route, she picks up a Hitachi Magic Wand to help keep herself (ahem) occupied. When Nina meets her adorable new next door neighbor, Ned, however, she may have found someone who can give her resolve and faithful Mr. Hitachi a run for its money.

Excerpt/Intro:

December is supposed to be the month of wrap ups, of endings. The year comes to a close, and it gets you to thinking about ending old habits, about closing doors and filing all the shit that’s happened to you over the course of the year under S in the old mental filing cabinet. This December, however, turned out to be a month of discoveries.

First, I discovered my asshole boyfriend in bed with Lorna, a bag of almost twice my age from the grocery store Al worked at. Next, I discovered a new city. My company had been on me to relocate to their new office for months and, after finding Al playing hide the sausage with that leather-skinned deli-clerk, I could no longer think of a reason not to move to Toronto. So Betty, my English Bull dog with a severe under bite, and I packed up and hightailed it to Ontario.

The next big discovery I made was the actual magic that is the Hitachi Magic Wand. I’d been putting off shelling out the sixty bucks for that little toy for over a year now but since I’d sworn off men, and had yet to make any friends in Toronto to distract me from my distinct lack of quality orgasms, I decided to give it a go. Wowzers, am I glad that I did! That thing gets me from zero to oh in about three and a half minutes. Two minutes if I switch it to the high speed, which is very convenient for me if I don’t want to miss Conan’s opening monologue. Yep, Mr. Hitachi became part of my late night routine.

Finally, I discovered Ned. Ned is my super hot neighbour. He loves Betty and every time we cross paths in the hallway of our building, he spends five minutes fawning over her while I spend an equal amount of time chastising my heart for making these ridiculous pitter-pattering type flips against my ribcage. I mean, I’m a grown woman, for god’s sake. These physiological responses to cute boys were supposed to end in grade school.

While I admired Ned from afar, he admired Betty from up close. He even offered his services as a dog walker, if I ever found myself in a bind. Of course, I was positive Ned’s interest in me began and ended with my dog but that did not stop me from fantasizing about Ned taking the place of Old Mr. Hitachi once in a while. Alas, I resigned myself to playing second fiddle to Betty. Until, that is, one frigid day just one week after I arrived in Toronto.

Thanks for reading this excerpt! You are awesome.