A common question in author interviews is “How did you get started writing?” In my case, I’ve been writing more or less forever. My first stories and poems date from third grade. (I skipped second grade, so I was about seven.) During elementary school I wrote romantic and adventure tales, at least three plays (including one slightly racy romp about the Greek gods), and lots of poetry. In high school, I started a ghost novel (which I sometimes think about finishing). In college and grad school, I switched to science fiction and erotic fantasy.
Even before I started writing stories, though, I was exposed to storytelling. My dad had a fantastic imagination, and he used it to concoct all sorts of tales for my younger brother and me. Many of his stories featured magic and monsters. I vividly recall one chilling tale in which the hero (a young man named Thomas Karl Sefney) encounters an evil, octopus-like creature with a hundred arms, who is guarding the treasure. Thomas has exactly one minute to touch each of the demon’s appendages with his wand of power. If he fails, he’ll die. I still remember my breathless excitement as my father described in thrilling detail the hero’s desperate efforts to fulfill this quest and break the curse.
Looking back, I realize that my father’s storytelling has had a significant influence on mine. My paranormal stories have some of the same intensity as his, the sense of staking everything in a battle of power and wills. There’s more darkness in my supernatural stories than in most of what I write. This is particularly true of my paranormal collection Fourth World: Erotic tales of monsters, myths and magic.
Enter the fourth world - a world of lust and shadows, where anything can happen.
Obsessive passion and dark ecstasy mark these seven stories of paranormal desire from eroticist Lisabet Sarai. An undead couple hunts for beauty and youth in the history-drenched streets of Prague. A sex addict meets his fate in the embrace of a seductive monster. An innocent writer offers her body and heart to a century-old ghost. A spiritual seeker succumbs to temptation in the arms of a fearsome and greedy goddess. A kinky, blood-drenched threesome unfolds in a luxurious Bangkok penthouse. These tales conjure the magic of sex, and its dangers. Expect to be unbearably aroused and occasionally terrified. Do not expect happily ever afters.
Fourth World is only 99 cents until the end of October, as part of my Month of Magic!
From "Naked in Varanasi"
She was everything he had sworn to avoid.
Her scent hauled him back to the world of things, invading the hard-won emptiness of his mind. At first, he struggled to hold on to his meditative state, but soon he understood that the struggle itself caused more damage than her disturbingly feminine presence. With a sigh of resignation, he opened his eyes.
Breasts round as the moon spilled from her sari, a careless drape of gold-embroidered crimson that barely hid her lush hips and buttocks. A ruby nestled in her exposed navel, crowning the gentle hillock of her belly. Her thighs whispered to him, coy behind the silken cascade of her skirts. She smelled of frangipani and musk. Each time he breathed, he hardened further.
Jet eyes sparkled under brows arched in amusement. A smile danced on her full lips. As he watched, transfixed, she peeled a ripe mango with jeweled fingers and took a generous bite. Juice trickled down her chin, into the hollow between her breasts. His traitor cock twitched as he fought the lascivious images she evoked. He saw himself, burying his face in that valley to lick out the sweetness—moving down to suckle the prominent, chocolate-hued nipples—then sinking lower still.
"Would you like some?" She offered the moist yellow fruit, bearing obvious marks from her white teeth, and his stomach growled.
"No—no, thank you." As part of his pilgrimage, he had resolved to eat only once a day, a meager bowl of rice and dahl taken before the sun rose. At first he had been hungry all the time, but now, after a month, he thought he'd learned to ignore the craving for more food. Now her presence rekindled that hunger as well.
"Are you quite sure?" She stepped into the shade of the banyan tree, where he'd been sitting in full lotus, meditating, since dawn. "You're very thin—I can see your ribs. You need to eat more. Come with me to the darshan. They're handing out sweetmeats blessed by the Lord Shiva."
"I eat to keep my body alive. That's enough."
Her laugh was a crystal bell ringing through the temple courtyard. She sank to her haunches in front of him and her thighs parted, releasing a new gust of oceany perfume. His cock reared up from his lap, distorting the loose cotton dhoti wrapped around his hips. "Silly man," she murmured. She brushed the palm of her hand over the hidden bulb, sending a shimmer of pleasure through his body.
"Don't!" He grabbed her wrist before she could touch him again. Her cinnamon-colored skin felt like sun-warmed satin under his fingers. Lust boiled up, threatening to drown him. He closed his eyes, fighting for control. She reminded him so much of Sara, despite the differences in complexion and hair color, with her lush, treacherous curves and intoxicating scent. He had to get away, to escape her, before all his resolutions crumbled to dust.
Her bangles clinked as she extricated herself from his grasp. "Another holy fool who believes that denying the flesh is the path to moksha." Sympathy mingled with the scorn in her voice. She cupped his cheek, staring into his eyes, and electric delight shuddered up his spine. "You poor misguided soul. Renunciation will not lead to what you seek. Believe me, I have tried that path. I've endured austerities you can't begin to imagine. You can't make the physical world go away by pretending that it doesn't exist."
"Each of us must find our own path," he told her, shaking her off and trying to rise, eager to flee. Stiff from sitting for so long, his limbs wouldn't obey him. He stumbled, falling into her waiting arms.
Fire raced through him as she clasped him to her bountiful breasts. His bare chest tingled everywhere it touched her flesh. "Ah yes," she murmured, planting sticky, mango-flavored kisses on his lips. His swollen cock settled into the silk-lined creased between her thighs, ready to explode. "That's much better, isn't it? Devotion is the only true path to release, meri jaan." Her hands roved over his body until they found the spot where his dhoti tucked into his waist. Her mouth still feasting on his, she tugged at the cloth. It fell away, leaving him naked and unprotected as she bore him to the dusty ground and stretched her ripe body over his.