Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
By the way, Citadel of Women just got a wonderful review from Lin Holmes.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
I have often said, I grew up in the country living in the city of Pittsburgh. Our house sat on what was then the western edge of the city, and we had no front street. A cinder alley led to our back yard. I walked through woods from three directions to get home, passing farms on two of these wooded paths. When I was fifteen (1952), my family moved to rural Ohio. It should come as no surprise, therefore, that several of my novels have a country setting. In one, the path that looked down on a farm found its way into my story. In another, it was the farm in the valley down the dirt road from my brother’s hunting cabin in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania that became the home of my main characters. In another the setting was the basement of my Pittsburgh home, back when we still had a coal burning furnace. The chicken house from my uncle’s farm made it into that story also.
But each of these, and several others, fall into the sci fi genre. So, imagine a country boy going off to college for two years, majoring in a beautiful girl named Carolyn and minoring in the consumption of beer (back then “low” beer was legal in Ohio for those having reached their eighteen birthday). I felt I needed to grow up, and enlisted in the army. Eventually I ended up stationed in Korea (after the conflict had ended) and spent long nights alone, sitting in a radio hut surrounded by rice paddies. I passed the time writing sci fi short stories. I was twenty-one at the time (1957). These stories sat in a box in my attic for over fifty years before finally being published.
Many years passed during which my writing was confined to term papers, research reports and journal articles. I received my Ph.D. in psychology 1967, eventually specializing in marital and sex therapy. In 1996 I published my first non-fiction book, an illustrated manual on cunnilingus. ORAL CARESS was an immediate success, as it was one of the very first written on this delicious topic. Sex manuals on premature ejaculation, sex and aging, and female orgasm followed. It was not until retirement that I launched my late-in-life career as an erotic romance writer.
I will admit that my first 400+ page novel, published in 2002, was more erotic than romantic. One reviewer wondered if I had used my case files to come up with the characters and some of their kinky behavior. Another reviewer wondered if a reader would learn anything reading fiction by a retired sex therapist, answering her own question by stating my book was full of "novel" advice. To date, I have published eight adult novels, and a four-book series of erotic-romance sci fi novellas. I also have two collections of erotic short stories in print.
Most of my stories have science fiction plots. There are those involving aliens and some involving time travel. All are heavy on the erotic end of the continuum and most are sprinkled with a bit of humor. One reviewer was disturbed by the blue tongue that slid out of an alien female’s genitalia that was located high on an inner thigh. Why would one expect an alien’s genitals to resemble those of humans?
I am guilty of using strong sexual terminology and describing the sexual encounters in graphic detail. One female reviewer felt I should have left more to the reader’s imagination. I am also guilty of staying realistic. In my books you’ll never find sexual marathons with a dozen encores. I am also guilty of not always having a budding romance and watching it grow, but all my books have love and commitment woven into a strong plot with a happy every after ending.
STRIPPED AND SNATCHED: Abducted for Harvesting
Young men and women are vanishing into thin air, leaving clothing behind, layered just as though their bodies evaporated. Julie, a virginal farm girl, is on of the abductees. She suddenly finds herself naked and surrounded by dozens of other naked young adults. She has been snatched and transported into the year 2510, where she is subjected to propaganda and mental manipulation. She soon discovers that the women are their for their fertile eggs and the men for their sperm.
Physical contact between the abductees is forbidden. As a control, twice daily the abductees are ushered into the Palace of Pleasure, a room in which intense orgasms are computer generated without human touch. Abductees who have been there the longest have had their memories erased, but Julie fights to retain hers. When her boyfriend Fred arrives they join with other newcomers and plot their escape.
Why do those in the future need to harvest eggs and sperm? How has the appreciation of sensual love and erotic touch been lost? Can the abductees find a way to travel back in time and return to their homes, and will Julie and Fred finally get to make love?
The door opened and naked young people, white, African American and Latino, began walking in from the dining area. Sheep having been fed and now filing into the breeding pen, Julie thought as she looked at the variety of breast and penis sizes and the distribution and colors of pubic hair, but what struck her most were the excited expressions on the faces.
The group of nudes was followed in by six tall uniformed technicians wearing what looked more like slippers than shoes. Each carried a metallic container. From these containers they handed each man a collection bag that he then pulled over his penis. To Julie there appeared to be something stimulating about these thick condom-like collection devices, for each man hardened as he pulled it on. She was surprised, however, to feel herself begin to turn on and lubricate. She looked around at the other females lying on the mat and between their spread legs noticed that each pussy glistened with moisture. Julie’s heart actually raced with anticipation. I’m feeling so excited. What’s happening here? She looked around at the different angles of the erections and wondered if it was the visual stimulation that was turning her on.
After sliding what looked like rubber sheets under several of the young women’s hips, the technicians left the room and closed the door behind them. Why’d they do that and why’d they leave? There was a barely audible hum coming from behind the walls, but the sounds that grew louder were the moans and groans emanating from the aroused naked occupants of the room. As Julie’s own sexual excitement grew she found herself begin to moan also. It was an involuntary response to her escalating arousal, which was amazingly intense and extremely pleasurable.
Suddenly an orgasm began and the series of powerful contractions that followed caused her to yell out with pleasure, her cries blending with the orgasmic cries of all the others, male and female. All the orgasms in the room occurred simultaneously with each wave of pleasure synchronized. Julie felt the Earth move, or so she thought. Her powerful orgasmic contractions seemed also to fade in synch with others, timed just as precisely as was the simultaneous initiation of the climactic responses. Julie now understood the purpose for the rubber sheets, for the technicians had obviously identified the female ejaculators in the group. The gushers gushed, the squirters squirted, and Julie witnessed something she had only heard of in the vaguest of terms.
The collective feeling of shared afterglow in the room was almost palpable. Julie felt all warm and snuggly. Briefly she sensed she was really quite alone in this post-orgasmic glow, but this fleeting moment of loneliness was replaced by a wonderful feeling of ultimate internal satisfaction. After a few minutes of quiet purrs and other sounds of contentment, those in the room began to stir and put their feelings into words.
TO LEARN MORE OR BUY
Kindle format at www.amazon.com
Ebook format at www.carnaldesirespublishing.com
Print copies at www.erotic-romance-novels.com
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Do you love the undead? I'm seeking the crème de la crème of vampire-themed erotica and erotic romance for this charity anthology, to be published in December 2012 by Coming Together.
Your pen name
Saturday, April 21, 2012
By Paige Turner (Guest Blogger)
You can’t possibly have missed it – the sinking of the Titanic has been everywhere on the hundredth anniversary of the disaster. From the re-release of James Cameron’s blockbuster film, to television series and documentaries, to books both factual and fictionalising the event, including my own MM erotic romance Unsinkable .
A hundred years ago, yet the disaster remains fresh in our imaginations, perhaps because there are so many surviving eye witness accounts that one can easily read about what it felt like to be aboard the doomed liner as she disappeared with frightening rapidity into the waters of the Atlantic.
And yet little more than a decade earlier, the longest-reigning English monarch died . Only two years after the Titanic sank, the globe was plunged into the Great War , two years of bloodshed that took some twenty million lives. It was in 1903 that men first took to the skies and in 1915 Typhoid Mary unwittingly infected twenty-five people and was placed in quarantine for life.
The early twentieth century was full of incident – sometimes tragic, sometimes fascinating, sometimes surreal. So many things happened that don’t necessarily get the same attention as the sinking of the Titanic – but perhaps they should. What incident, event or personality from the early twentieth century would you like to see explored in print? Let me know in the comments for a chance to win a copy of Unsinkable and a pack of replica Titanic ephemera.
Blurb for Unsinkable by Paige Turner
The world had never seen anything like the RMS Titanic - enormous, opulent...and unsinkable. The Ship of Dreams.
Ted Dorley, confidence man, is looking for a new life in the New World, and relishes the opportunity to mingle with the great and the good of the day on board the RMS Titanic.
He expects to find fortune, and perhaps to find fame, but he doesn’t expect to find love in the arms of dark-eyed cellist Robert Briceaux, one of the Titanic’s band of dedicated musicians.
When the ship strikes an iceberg close to midnight in the middle of the Atlantic, passengers panic and the crew try to keep calm...as the band plays on. As the Ship of Dreams disappears into the calm, black waters of the deep, has Ted lost his new-found love to the icy embrace of the ocean?
ExcerptThe White Star Dock, Southampton
Wednesday 10th April, 1912
Robert was spun around in the crowd as a steward barged past him, so loaded down with cases and hatboxes that he could barely see over the top of them. He held his cello case closer to his body, protective of the instrument in this monstrous crush. His cello-and his hands-were the most precious things he had. So many people had wanted to see the launch of the RMS Titanic that tickets had had to be issued to keep the crowds under control. Robert could quite see why.
It was a bright, brisk April morning, and Robert had to squint against the sunlight as it struck off the myriad windows of the magnificent ocean liner. She was immense, making the other ships docked nearby look like toys beside her elegant bulk. The sheer size of her was enough to turn Robert into a bundle of nerves, and he peered anxiously through the throng, looking for the upright figure of Wallace Hartley, the band leader, with his long face, always composed, and his dark hair. Robert liked Wallace-most people did. He was a friendly, gentlemanly sort, and Robert would feel more at ease once he had found him. Failing that, though, he'd be pleased to see anyone clutching a violin case, because that would mean he'd found one of the other professionals who would be providing musical diversion for the passengers on the Titanic's maiden voyage.
He'd been performing since he was a boy, but suddenly, amongst these hundreds of people, he felt a queer sort of stage fright that made him feel slightly ill.
Even a stranger would be a welcome sight. There was a kind of brotherhood among the musicians who played on the liners. They looked out for one another. They had to, with the agents giving them as few rights as possible and the White Star Line washing its hands of the whole affair. Still, there were dozens of cellists who would have jumped at the chance to take Robert's place on board the Titanic.
The porters were bustling around the dock. Near where he stood, a harried-looking pair were loading crate after crate of lettuce—what must be thousands and thousands of heads of the stuff. He thought about the other supplies that they must be loading—magnums of champagne, barrels of oysters, sides of beef. As he watched in wonder, a small boy tried to sell him a postcard of the ship. It was a picture of the liner sailing out from Southampton, tinted with watercolours. He shook his head and the lad scampered away, unperturbed, to tug at the skirts of a stern-looking elderly woman in old-fashioned black bombazine.
The passengers and crew were all sorts, from babes in arms to the very elderly, and grubby-faced stokers still smelling of beer from their celebrations the night before to debutantes decked out in furs and jewels. But Robert couldn't see the other musicians anywhere. How could he expect to find anybody in this insane crush?
As Robert pushed his way towards berth forty-four, he was startled when a pleasant voice called his name and he turned to see a young man juggling the handles of two violin cases in one hand and extending the other in enthusiastic greeting. Robert fidgeted where he stood, like an excited kid.
A gangling kind of chap, with curly blond hair, pale eyes and a friendly grin, he seemed to give off a sort of contagious energy that Robert immediately found appealing.
Still, he heard the caution and reserve in his own voice when he confirmed, "I am Robert Briceaux." He felt a little self-conscious about his French accent, which was still very pronounced even after his time with an English orchestra. Still, he'd been told he'd been selected for this voyage partly to add a sense of authenticity to the Café Parisien, where he would play as part of a trio, so perhaps it was just as well that he'd never been able to get his tongue around the plummy vowels and clipped consonants of the British upper and middle classes.
"John Hume," the curly-haired youth went on gaily, "only do call me Jock-absolutely everybody does. I'm first violin. I've already met Wes—that's the other cellist-so when I saw you struggling with your kit I knew it must be you."
Robert found himself swept along in Jock's wake. He envied him his effortless, effervescent self-confidence. The crowds seemed to part for him as he gestured expansively with his free hand, babbling with good-natured excitement about the expense and glamour of the ship they were about to board, from the thousands of pieces of silverware to the fully-equipped gymnasium and the heated, salt-water swimming pool.
Robert didn't suppose there'd be a great deal of time for them to explore the ship in between playing, and in any case he wasn't the best of swimmers, but Jock's excitement was palpable and Robert found his spirits lifting. Jock seemed like somebody who'd be easy to get along with. He hoped his other companions would be as agreeable.
He was a bit flustered and out of breath by the time they reached berth forty-four. His cello was bulky and as he tried to keep up with Jock's long, energetic strides, he limped slightly, the legacy of a motor bicycle accident. He was only glad it had been his leg that had been injured, not his hands. He hadn't ridden on one of the machines since.
By the time Robert and Jock had found the other members of the ship's on-board orchestra, the first of the passengers were starting to board, swarming up the second- and third-class gangways in excited, chattering groups, pushing perambulators or scolding children.
Wallace Hartley greeted them warmly and presented them to their fellows. The other cellist was Wes Woodward. He had a soft, unexceptionable sort of face, small, round eyeglasses and a moustache that was waxed into points at the end. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, and a little stiff in his bearing, though not unfriendly.
* * *
Bio: Paige Turner is an Englishwoman who believes very firmly in the restorative power of tea. Paige likes to write MM love stories with a difference—whether it’s boy-meets-boy in a hot historical or mortal-meets-monster in an erotic otherworld, she thinks that everyone deserves a happy ending.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
I have a couple of news items to share with you.
First, I got a very nice review of Hot Spell on Romance Junkies, Four Ribbons. Chrissy writes:
Lisabet Sarai’s descriptions of the nature surrounding this couple seem to blend in perfectly with the sheer eroticism of their actions
You can read the full review at:
Second, I now have the release date for Quarantine. If all goes according to plan, Total-E-Bound will publish my M/M sci fi novel on July 9th! I'm planning a big release blitz, with lots of prizes (of course), so stay tuned!
Third, I just got my first month's royalties for Just a Spanking and while I don't want to brag - I was pretty blown away. If you're one of the folks who bought the book - THANK YOU! And if you're not...well, what are you waiting for?
Finally, I'm going to be editing an charity anthology of vampire erotica and erotic romance called Coming Together: In Vein, to benefit Doctors Without Borders. I'll have the details for you soon!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
By J.E. Taylor (Guest Blogger)
Before I get into my guest post, I want to thank Lisabet for having me on her blog today for my Crystal Illusions release tour. I’ve decided to talk about something other than writing today, something that happened recently and warrants a mini-rant…
Ever wonder if your husband or significant other has started taking "stupid pills"?
Well, I began to think my other half has started a regiment of them after the following conversation…
Him: “Don’t go grocery shopping until I get home.”
Me: “Okay. Any particular reason?”
Him: “Yes, I want to go. I want to teach you how to shop.”
I had no snappy comeback, just went completely blank at the gross stupidity of that statement.
I have been the one grocery shopping for our family for at least twenty years because he hates to shop.
He’s very lucky I wasn’t near any sharp, deadly projectiles because I’m fairly sure he would have received a lethal dose of something after those words tumbled from his lips.
Instead of reacting, I just said okay and watched him leave for work. You can bet I was on the phone with my sister within minutes, ranting about his sheer lack of intelligence. But I decided to try to see the humor in his statement and keep an open mind. What exactly could he teach me?
He wanted me to use coupons.
I used to but then the benefits started to diminish. When they started requiring you to buy three or more items to get a dollar off and when double and triple coupons went by the wayside, I stopped using them. So, he clipped coupons and wrote out the grocery list and off we went. He really had no concept of what groceries cost now-a-days, and his little adventure in couponing didn’t net as much as he thought. Yes, we saved enough to pay for a couple gallons of gas, but it wasn’t in the realm of extreme couponing like he thought it would be. I also had to keep him in check every time we passed sale items, because we didn’t need the “buy one get one free” items.
I never mentioned how irritated I was at this, but it’s not the only sideways thing he’s done lately and I’m beginning to wonder if this is some sort of weird mid-life crisis or if it’s just the reality of college sticker shock. Yes – our oldest is heading to college in the fall and I think this is the root of his intelligence lapses.
Either way, I still love him - despite the sudden onset of stupidity.
Hopefully his little antics will pass and he’ll get back to the even-keeled man I’m used to. If not, I might just have to hit him upside the head with an iron pan.
Thanks for swinging into this stop on my Blog Tour and I hope you’ll stop by Bitten By Books on the 20th for a chance to win a $50.00 Amazon gift certificate and if you’d like to check out Crystal Illusions, you can purchase it here on Amazon.
Until next time,
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The Master's Prize by Maggie Nash
Anyone who's had any contact with me or my work will know that I love BDSM. Nothing turns me on like a well-written tale of dominance and submission. The ecstatic release of surrendering to a powerful master or mistress; the intimacy of revealing your most secret and perverse fantasies; the thrill of breaking down emotional and physical barriers, pushing to ever greater extremes of sensation and trust ... Simply describing the attributes of a great BDSM story is enough to make me damp!
Unfortunately, it's more difficult than you might think for me to find BDSM fiction that I truly enjoy. Too many books focus on the physical trials the dominant sets for the submissive, when what interests me is the emotional dynamics of their power exchange. Some authors appear to believe that BDSM is about abuse or humiliation, and I guess that some readers enjoy that – but not me. I also find myself getting annoyed by so-called kinky erotic romance where basically vanilla couples introduce bondage or spanking into their relationship just to spice things up. Please don't misunderstand – I don't think there's anything wrong with erotic play that borrows the trappings or activities of dominance and submission. However, the sine qua non of D/s has to do with the interaction between the top and the bottom, the sub's willing release of control and the dom's assumption of power over (and responsibility for) the sub's experiences. The ropes, blindfolds, whips and nipple clamps are merely external tools to enhance that experience.
I'm pleased to say that Maggie Nash's novella The Master's Prize offers just the sort of story I enjoy. Elise Blake is a confident career woman, a local radio personality who doesn't allow herself to be pushed around. Nevertheless, she's drawn to notion of sexual submission, though she scarcely knows what that means. Mitchell Collins, a wealthy hi-tech entrepreneur who's also a Master and trainer, first sees Elise when she visits his regular BDSM club as an observer. He reads the excitement on her masked face and becomes obsessed with the goal of possessing and mastering her.
He pursues her, practically kidnaps her, and coaxes her into admitting her desire for submission. He then begins to train her in obedience and trust, using a combination of pleasure and pain that's heavily weighted toward the former. When Mitch brings Elise back to Club Fetish, upon her request, he realizes that he doesn't have nearly the control over her that he thought – and that his feelings for her go far beyond anything he's experienced with any of his former conquests.
At first I found Mitchell's cockiness and his no-holds-barred pursuit of Elise a bit creepy and unappealing. I prefer dominants who cleverly seduce their slaves as opposed to overpowering them. Mitch's behavior borders on stalking. However, he makes it clear Elise must willingly consent to be mastered, if she wants to explore her submissive side, and there's no doubt that Elise enjoys the process. Ultimately, it's Elise who turns out to have the upper hand in the relationship. Mitchell comes to understand he has actually misjudged her nature. Despite her readiness to surrender, she's more of a switch than a pure sub. By the time Mitch realizes this, he's so in love with her that he really doesn't care.
The sexual connection between Mitch and Elise is deliciously hot. The story begins with a kiss, which Mitch buys from the reluctant Elise by making a donation to charity. The intensity of that kiss makes it clear that regardless of Elise's ambivalence, the two have great physical chemistry. The promise of that kiss is more than redeemed in their later scenes. Indeed, Mitch is so aroused by Elise he has some difficulties maintaining his Dom persona.
The Master's Prize slides back and forth between Elise's and Mitch's points of view. It's a tribute to Ms. Nash's writing skill that these shifts feel completely natural, never disorienting or confusing. The reader gains insight into both characters' minds and hearts.
The book's plot is pretty simple. I think Mitch and Elise could have used a longer story, to explore their connections in a more leisurely fashion. However, that's just my preference. After all, who wouldn't enjoy more sexy, kinky scenes between two people obviously made for one another?
If you like BDSM fiction that emphasized emotion over the physical trappings of kink, you're likely to enjoy The Master's Prize.
Monday, April 16, 2012
I recently found out about this amazing book of photography by Natacha Merritt. It's due out in May, but I was lucky enough to get some advance photos. Bizarrely beautiful - disturbingly kinky - I thought it worthwhile to showcase her press release on my blog.
In 2000, Natacha Merritt released Digital-Diaries (Taschen), the first ever book to feature exclusively digital photography. What was the 21 year old San Francisco native photographing? Her sex life with her friends, masturbating with and without accessories, in bed, in the shower, in hotel rooms, from every imaginable angle and with the camera usually at arm’s length. Digital-Diaries allowed the reader a no-holds-barred insight into Merritt’s fantasies, desires, exploits and realities. Her controversial work was soon featured in diverse publications across the world from Rolling Stone to The Observer, from Playboy and Der Spiegel to Dazed and Confused. The book went on to become an L. A. Times and Amazon bestseller, moving over 300,000 copies.
Merritt’s new book Sexual Selection is in many ways even more captivating. She applied her distinctive vision to a subtle and complex art, creating astonishing and surprisingly lyrical images as she compares and contrasts the sexual intricacies of plants and insects with her own elaborate sexuality. She returned to higher education to study evolutionary biology, noting “The leap makes sense when you are passionate about sex. All roads lead to evolutionary biology, speciation and genetics.” It wasn’t long before she became transfixed with arachnid genitalia, peering down a microscope for hours on end in order to capture the perfect images of a spider’s erect penis, one of the photos featured in her new book Sexual Selection, published in May 2012 by cult Berlin arthouse Bongoût.
Each image is unmistakably a work of art that transcends easy categorisation. Lush and eerily intimate photographs capture the fleeting moments of arousal and grant us a rare insight into our universal sexuality. With the questions she asks as a scientist, she answers as an artist with photography and writing; why are some sexual practices and organs so detailed, complex and downright bizarre when this gets in the way of basic survival? As Natacha explains, “Sexual selection is the sensual side of evolution. It explains the ornate, the creative and the beautiful, it can explain arousal. It’s what gets us laid.”
By exposing the often over-looked sensual and sexual behaviour of other species as well as our own, Sexual Selection is guaranteed to broaden the readers’ sense of beauty and arousal regardless of their vantage point.
“Her eerily intimate depictions of fucking and sucking transcend smut. Even literate smut.” Rolling Stone (about Digital-Diaries, 2000)
“The juxtapositions are exceptional… Of course I like the real people having sex, and to put them next to these other biological forms is really original and leads one's imagination to places it hasn't been…” Richard Prince (about Sexual Selection, 12/2011)
Pre-order your copy here: http://shop.bongout.org/p-1450-pre-order-sexual-selection-natacha-merritt.aspx