Science Fiction Double Feature - #scifi #FirstLove #giveaway

Science fiction was one of my first loves. If you'd peeked into my room pretty much any afternoon when I was in school, you would have found me sprawled across the bed with my nose in a book, and it's quite likely it would have been sci fi. I couldn't have been more than seven or eight when I began exploring Eleanor Cameron's Mushroom Planet. Then I moved on to Heinlein's and Bradbury's visions of Mars (very different places!), and the world of Asimov's Foundation trilogy. I was in high school when I devoured Stranger in a Strange Land, fell head over heals for Valentine Michael Smith, and developed my enduring fascination with polyamory.

My husband introduced me to Philip K. Dick, Stanislaw Lem and Fritz Leiber. Then we became friends with a woman who taught English at a local university. She organized a scifi reading group. What a glorious year and a half that was! Every month we'd read a new book and discuss it, over delicious potluck dinners (with a strong emphasis on the desserts). I sampled a raft of new authors: Olivia Butler, Greg Bear, Sheri S. Tepper, Pat Cadigan, Harry Harrison, James Tiptree, David Brin... I was like a kid in a candy store!

I discovered that I much preferred “soft” science fiction – stories that start with some premise about society or history and then explore the consequences. For example, The Man in the High Castle, which is the first Dick book I read, turns on the notion that the United States and its allies lost World War II. The author then proceeds to build a world in which the Japanese and the Germans have divided up the American continent, and San Francisco is mostly Asian. (Gee, sounds like the present!) Another favorite is A Canticle for Lebowitz, by Walter M. Miller, Jr. In a post-apocalyptic future, devout communities of monks act as custodians for the mysterious knowledge and artifacts of vanished civilization. One of the most sacred of all texts is written in the hand of Saint Isaac Lebowitz and begins “gallon of milk/loaf of bread/...” Then there's Kate Wilhelm's The Year of the Cloud. I don't remember where I picked this novel up – it's obscure, far less well known than her masterpiece Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang – but I remember now, decades later, how it impressed me. The earth passes through a cloud of stellar dust. The dust has the effect of “thickening” water, turning it from liquid to a kind of sludge. Having posited this single fact, Wilhelm then proceeds to show how this turns society upside down, as humans (over ninety percent H₂O) die and usable water becomes increasingly scarce. I found the book chilling but totally plausible, once you had accepted the triggering event.

So when I began publishing, why didn't I write science fiction instead of erotica? Partly because I didn't dare! I doubted my ability to create a compelling yet believable alternative world. And I'd read so much science fiction by then, I felt as though all my ideas would be derivative.

Still, I've been tempted – and once or twice, I've given in. Now, after more than a dozen years as an author, I've published just two science fiction erotic romances: a M/F/M ménage novella called Bodiesof Light and my M/M novel Quarantine. As you might guess, both fall into the “soft sci fi” category, even though Bodies of Light is set on a starship hurtling toward a far galaxy.

Bodies of Light is about the non-corporeal nature of desire. Since my primary genre is erotica/erotic romance, it's natural that the sci fi themes that interest me relate to sexuality.

Physicist Dr. Christine Monroe has devoted her lonely life to research on hyper-space travel. Guilt about her continued failure leads her to sign on to the Archimedes, a sub-light-speed mission aimed at establishing a colony in the Sirius B system. When she wakes from suspended animation, she discovers that the ship is wildly off course and the rest of the crew are dead due to equipment failure. At first she thinks the two handsome strangers who show up on the ship are figments of her imagination - erotic hallucinations created by isolation and stress. However, Alyn and Zed are solid, real, and ready to sacrifice their lives for the strong woman they've found stranded in deep space. As her ship begins to disintegrate, Christine must choose between the planet she was sent to save and the two alien beings she's come to cherish.

Quarantine focuses on politics and prejudice. It takes place in a dystopian near future, when all known homosexuals (identified by a genetic marker) have been imprisoned in remote quarantine camps, ostensibly to protect the general population from the plague the gays carry. After seven years of confinement, inmate Dylan Moore will do anything for freedom, including seducing Rafe Cowell, an ex-gang member sentenced to a bleak stint as a camp guard. 

 

Rafe is H-negative. He figures the lust he feels watching prisoner 3218 masturbate on the surveillance cameras must be due to his loneliness and isolation. When he finally meets the young queer, however, he finds he can't resist the other man's charm. By the time Dylan asks for his help in escaping, Rafe cares too much for Dylan to refuse.

The novel follows the two men as they become fugitives, fighting murderous androids, homophobic ideologues and their own mutual distrust. Hiding in the Plague-ravaged city of Sanfran, Dylan and Rafe learn there's far more than their own safety at stake – that the lives of millions more people depend on their success in resisting the shadowy Guardians who control and manipulate what's left of American society.

I'm afraid that neither book will win a Hugo (although Bodies of Light received a Best Book award from Whipped Cream reviews). Nevertheless, I'm incredibly proud that I've finally added my own visions to the science fiction canon.

I’ve accepted that no scifi I write is going to be Philip K. Dick (though he might well have felt at home in Rafe's and Dylan's world) – but it's my attempt to honor my life long love. 

I'm giving away a copy of Bodies of Light to one person who comments on this blog post. Tell me about your favorite sci-fi title - or just say hi! Don't forget to include your email address.

It's Not About Sex -- #erotica #desire #genres

Let me start by saying that I have a bit of a problem with genre labels. My own work doesn't fit into neat pigeonholes, and often, the fiction I enjoy most is just as stubborn. I've found that the best books frequently defy categorization – or create new genres, which is basically the same thing.

Advocates of labeling claim that assigning books to particular genres helps readers find what they like. I'd argue that it's just as likely to discourage readers from picking up something new that they might actually love.

When I’m forced to be specific about my genre, I usually say I write “erotica”. But that can be misleading. What is erotica? There's a lot of sex between the covers of books that aren't sold as erotica. Some of that is marketing strategy, but is there a fundamental difference between erotica and a story with graphic sex?

You want my opinion? (Well, of course you do, or you wouldn't be reading my post...) I think that erotica is not about sex, per se. Erotica is fiction that focuses on the experience of sexual desire Sexual desire may be a concomitant or precursor to physical sexual activity, but it doesn't have to be. Desire in its many variants (arousal, lust, love, obsession) is fundamentally an emotional state or process. Thus, it's theoretically possible to write erotica that contains no overt sex at all. (More on this below.)

Conversely, a story that includes graphic sex does not deserve to be called erotica unless the author is primarily concerned with the characters' feelings about their encounters, and how those feelings affect the non-sexual aspects of the characters' lives. To the extent that sex is treated as a mindless, instinctual activity, a response to a stimulus that brings relief like a sneeze, it does not (in my view) merit the term erotic.

I've been a member of the Erotica Readers & Writers Association for almost two decades. ERWA has a list called Storytime, where members share their erotic fiction (and poetry) and ask for critiques. (If this sounds like something that would interest you, you can sign up here.) I don't participate in Storytime much now – I just don't have the time – but the three or four years that I did had a powerful influence on my own writing.

In any case, I still recall one story that was posted on Storytime – at least fifteen years ago. I don't remember who wrote it, though I recall that it was a man. The main – indeed, the only – character is a soldier, staying in a cheap rented room somewhere, maybe Paris. A woman lives in the next room; the walls are thin. Night after night he listens to the sounds she makes coupling with her lover. He finds himself terribly aroused by this unseen female. He masturbates to her cries. He fantasizes about meeting her, about taking her lover's place. His obsession grows, his desire is unbearable, yet he still can't find the courage to knock on her door. Finally, one day, she's gone – the room next door is empty.

I found this story to be one of the most erotic pieces I've ever read. There was no sex involved, or at least none that involved the object of desire. Yet the tale managed to convey such a sense of yearning, a desperate, intense need – manufactured entirely out of the soldier's imagination.

That story (I really wish I still had a copy) has become my touchstone for erotica. I enjoy writing about sex, but like the soldier, it's the idea of sex that really turns me on. I've experimented, trying to write (and sell) erotica that keeps the physical side of sex to an absolute minimum. One story that falls into that category is “Stroke”, which originally appeared in Please Sir: Erotic Stories of Female Submission edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. The male protagonist is a Dom who's bedridden in a rehab facility, partially paralyzed by a stroke. The heroine is his nurse, who suffers from kinky fantasies her boyfriend labels as sick and shameful. The dominant manages to fulfill Cassie's fantasies, without ever touching her.

***

"Look at me." His tone was softer but no less firm. I raised my eyes to his, which were the startling blue of glacial ice. I shivered and burned. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Yes, Sir," he corrected me. My nipples tightened inside my bra.

"Yes, Sir." Just his voice was enough to make me ache.

"What's your name?"

"Cassie, Sir. Cassie Leonard."

"Don't look away, Cassie. Look at me. Do you know who I am?"

"No, Sir. I just started at Lindenwood this week. Before that I was in the rehab department at Miriam Hospital."

"My slaves call me Master Jonathan."

My earlobes, my nipples, my fingertips, all seemed to catch fire. I wanted to sink through the floor. I didn't want him to see how his words excited me.

But he did see. I stared at my hands, knuckles white from gripping the rail.

"You have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I do." An image of Ryan rose in my mind, his brown curls and uneven grin, muscled chest and hard thighs. I did love him, truly I did, with his quirky humor, his gentle fingers and his boyish ardor. He was a fine young man. My mother approved of him.

"He doesn't satisfy you." It was a statement, not a question. Tears of remembered frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. "Why not, Cassie? Is his cock too small?"

I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with a stranger, a patient, a half-paralyzed man forty years older than I was. I stole a glance at Dr. Carver. His mouth was firm but his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth.

"No, Sir. His cock is fine." Ryan was justifiably proud of his meaty hard-ons.

"What is it then? Is he a selfish lover? Does he come too quickly for you?"

Guilt washed over me. Ryan would happily spend hours licking my pussy and fingering me, trying to get me off. The only way I could manage it was to think about scenes from the kinky porn I hid from him. Whippings and spankings, gags and handcuffs, all the clichés that I couldn't stop myself from wanting.

"Well? Tell me, Cassie. What do you need that he doesn't provide? What do you want?"

My mouth filled with cotton. I couldn't speak. I was acutely aware of my rigid nipples pressing against the starched fabric of my uniform. My clit pulsed like a sore tooth inside my sodden panties.

"Cassie, I'm waiting." His sternness sent electricity shimmering through my limbs. "Don't disappoint me."

I dared a glance at his face. His left eyelid drooped slightly. His eyes snared mine. I couldn't look away. One eyebrow arched in an unspoken question.

"I—um—I want him to, uh, to do things to me. That he doesn't want to do.” I tried to break away from his gaze, but the force of his will held me.

“Things?” He sounded amused. A fresh wave of hot, wet shame swamped my body. “What sort of things?”

“Uh—tie me up. Spank me. Use me. Treat me like his slave.” It all came out in a rush, the desires I'd never shared with anyone except Ryan. Even then, I'd only shown him the tip of the iceberg, the least perverted of my needs. “He wouldn't, though. He was shocked when I told him. Disgusted. Said that I had a filthy mind.” The tears that had gathered earlier spilled out over my cheeks.

“I imagine that you do, little one, delightfully filthy.” His voice was a caress, soothing and seductive. “I knew that right away, just from your reactions to my voice. Your deepest desire is to submit to a strong master, isn't it?”

“Yes—Sir.” I felt relief, now that I'd admitted my secret. He at least didn't seem to condemn me.

“You want to be beaten and buggered, shackled to the bed and split open by a huge cock. You want to bath in your master's come, maybe even his piss. To be forced to service his friends.”

It was thrilling and horrible, listening to him enumerating my darkest fantasies out loud. My clit felt the size of a ripe plum, swollen and juicy, ready to burst. I nodded, still finding it difficult to expose myself so completely.

“I will do those things for you, if you'd like.”

“You?” The suggestion startled me enough that I forgot the honorific, but he seemed to forgive my lapse. I searched his handsome, ravaged face. “How...?”

"Don't underestimate me, girl. I may not be the Dom I once was, but I can still make you burn for my touch. I can still make you beg.” He snagged the button on the end of its cord and raised himself to full sitting position. He moved more smoothly and easily than before. “Remove your clothing.”

****

A while back, I tried a more extreme experiment. I wrote a scifi ménage novella which included erotic scenes where the protagonists have no bodies at all. Bodies of Light includes some normal, physical, tab-A-in-Slot-B (and tab-C-in-slot-D) scenes, but at the story's climax, Christine, Alyn and Zed couple in the astral sphere, as beings of pure energy.

(You can read an excerpt over at the Oh Get A Grip blog this week.)

Is it erotic? I think so. And I suppose at some level it is about sex – the kind of sex that happens in the mind.

I really do subscribe to the philosophy summarized by my tag line. Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac. For me, erotica deals, first and foremost, with the mental and emotional aspects of desire. The physical stuff is optional.

Love travels faster than light (#scifi #menage #MFRWHooks)

For today’s Book Hooks post, I’m sharing a very small excerpt from my science fiction ménage erotic romance novella, Bodies of Light. Like many of my books, this one began as a what if. What if your lovers had no physical bodies? What would making love be like for creatures of pure energy?

If you’re curious... the buy links are at the end!

Blurb

Love travels faster than light.

Physicist Dr. Christine Monroe has devoted her lonely life to research on hyper-space travel. Her continued failure leads her to sign on to the Archimedes, a sub-light-speed mission aimed at establishing a colony in the Sirius B system. Waking from suspended animation, she discovers that the ship is wildly off course and the rest of the crew are dead due to equipment failure. At first she thinks the two handsome strangers who show up on the ship are figments of her imagination - erotic hallucinations created by isolation and stress. However, Alyn and Zed are solid, real, and ready to sacrifice their lives for the strong woman they’ve found stranded in deep space. As her ship begins to disintegrate, Christine must choose between the planet she was sent to save and the two alien beings she’s come to cherish. 

 

The Hook

“Christine.” The voice rang like crystal and flowed like water, a far cry from the flat, synthetic tones of the Archimedes. “Do not despair, lovely one.”

Christine could not help smiling at the endearment. No one had called her lovely for a very long time. She kept her eyes closed, willing the dream to continue.

“We are with you, Christine.” Deeper, richer, edged with laughter, another voice chimed in. “You are not alone.” A cool, soothing palm cupped her brow. Strong hands settled on her shoulders, drawing her upright, then slipped down to cradle her breasts. Luscious heat suffused her, focused on her suddenly-taut nipples. They were smouldering embers ready to burst into flame. Soft lips brushed her neck just below the hairline, sending shivers spiralling through her. Someone unknotted her hair and let the weight of it cascade freely down her back. She sighed as careful fingers eased out the tangles. Each gentle tug at her scalp was pure pleasure.

Voted Best Book of the Month at Whipped Cream Reviews!

Get your own copy!

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/Bodies-Light-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B005J6TA2O/

BN

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bodies-of-light-lisabet-sarai/1106799983?ean=9780857155665

TotallyBound

https://www.totallybound.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=1228

Audio edition

https://www.totallybound.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=1266

Add on Goodreads!

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11251092-bodies-of-light?from_search=true

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today's Book Hooks blog hop!

 

 

Sunday Snog #114: Bodies of Light

As noted in the title for this post, this is my one hundred and fourteenth Sunday Snog. I never knew I'd written so many kisses!

It's a point of pride to me not to repeat a kiss in any Sunday post. This sends me scrambling into my back list each Sunday, looking for snogs I haven't yet shared.

As far as I can tell, I haven't offered you any kisses from my scifi ménage tale Bodies of Light. This erotic romance was originally published as part of the Seeing Stars anthology and won a Best Book award from the Long and Short Reviews site. (It has one of my all-time favorite covers, too!) Here's the blurb:

Love travels faster than light

Physicist Dr Christine Monroe has devoted her lonely life to research on hyper-space travel. Her continued failure leads her to sign on to the Archimedes, a sub-light-speed mission aimed at establishing a colony in the Sirius B system.

Waking from suspended animation, she discovers that the ship is wildly off course and the rest of the crew are dead due to equipment failure. At first she thinks the two handsome strangers who show up on the ship are figments of her imagination - erotic hallucinations created by isolation and stress.

However, Alyn and Zed are solid, real, and ready to sacrifice their lives for the strong woman they've found stranded in deep space. As her ship begins to disintegrate, Christine must choose between the planet she was sent to save and the two alien beings she's come to cherish.


You'll find the kiss below. After you savor this quick and delicious snippet, head back to Victoria's Sunday Snog page for links to lots more sexy snogs!

She slept without dreams, cradled in sweet oblivion. Awareness returned gradually: scents of new-mown grass and fresh-baked bread reminding her of Earth; a rich voice humming an unfamiliar melody; warm flesh pressed against her bare skin. As she became conscious of her body and surroundings, the warmth grew, dancing along her arms and legs, hovering at her breasts and belly, diving into the moist gap between her thighs. 
 

Christine opened her eyes. She lay in her bunk, on her back. Zed curled against her left side, his body wedged between her and the wall. Alyn had somehow managed to find enough space to stretch out along her right. He had extracted the safety harness from its hatch on the bulkhead, pulled it over their bodies and fastened it to the edge of the bed. The elastic web, intended to keep the occupant from floating off the mattress, effectively sealed the three of them into the narrow bunk.

Zed crooned some alien lullaby, close to her ear. Alyn feathered caresses over her skin, sparking pleasure everywhere he touched. Christine’s eyes met his. She caught her breath at the emotion she saw there. He might be some extraterrestrial monster, but he cared about her—in a way no one else ever had.

When he saw that she was awake, he raised himself on his elbow, bringing his lips to within millimetres of her own, but not making contact. His gaze drilled into her, asking a wordless question.

Christine tangled her fingers in his silver locks and pulled his mouth to hers. Yes, she answered silently. Yes! I want you. I need you. I forgive you. She thrust her bold tongue beyond his perfect white teeth, taking all that he offered, drinking in his sweetness and his passion. All the while his hands roamed over her body, teasing her taut nipples, circling her navel, playing in the humid forest of her pussy hair.

She broke the kiss at last in order to face Zed and offer him her lips in turn. Fire burned in his bottomless eyes, raw and seductive, kindling a sympathetic blaze. As Zed probed her mouth, Alyn’s clever fingers found her clit, sending her soaring into bliss.

Back List Blast: Bodies of Light

Bodies of Light by Lisabet Sarai

M/F/M science fiction erotic romance

Love travels faster than light.

Physicist Dr. Christine Monroe has devoted her lonely life to research on hyper-space travel. Her continued failure leads her to sign on to the Archimedes, a sub-light-speed mission aimed at establishing a colony in the Sirius B system. Waking from suspended animation, she discovers that the ship is wildly off course and the rest of the crew are dead due to equipment failure. At first she thinks the two handsome strangers who show up on the ship are figments of her imagination - erotic hallucinations created by isolation and stress. However, Alyn and Zed are solid, real, and ready to sacrifice their lives for the strong woman they've found stranded in deep space. As her ship begins to disintegrate, Christine must choose between the planet she was sent to save and the two alien beings she's come to cherish. 

Excerpt

Symbols danced before Christine's eyes, rainbow-hued Greek and Latin characters, subscripts and superscripts. Schrödinger's equation waltzed with Vernon's reformulated field expressions. The de Broglie wave function shimmered in and out of focus as it transitioned through various eigenstates.

Feynman's path integral slithered through her consciousness. Constants slotted in and out of matrices. Four-dimensional graphs appeared in graceful rotation, displaying successive three-dimensional views.

It was all so clear. The necessary transformations were obvious. The mathematical notations reassembled themselves into intricate patterns that Christine immediately grasped. The solution was surprising but beautifully simple.

Triumph filled her. She understood at last how to twist the universe and unlock the gates to other dimensions. Joy suffused her spirit like pure light. Humanity was saved, saved from its own stupid errors.

A touch woke her. The equations fled, along with her comprehension. She opened her eyes to find Zed bent over her, shaking her shoulder and looking concerned.

"Why didn't you let me sleep? I saw it - the way to bend space and make faster-than-light travel possible. Now it's gone." She sat up, shaking her head, and glared at the stocky extraterrestrial.

"You were moaning and thrashing around on the bed. Almost like convulsions. We were worried."

 "In any case, you've been asleep for thirteen hours," Alyn added. In two strides he crossed the floor of Christine's tiny quarters and seated himself on the bunk beside her.

"Thirteen hours?" She searched her memory. The pictures it provided made her blush. Alyn's platinum-crowned head buried between her damp thighs. Zed's massive erection bobbing in her face. She recalled the salty taste of him, the silk of his skin sliding over her tongue, the metallic tang of his cum. She remembered writhing against Alyn's mouth as he devoured her pussy. And there was more, much more - endless moments of shameful delight, pinned between them, Zed's cock buried in her cunt while Alyn's slender organ plundered her ass.

Christine remembered it all, far more clearly than her fast-evaporating dream of quantum inspiration. Her body remembered, too. Her quadriceps ached as though she'd done ten kilometres on the treadmill. Her inner thighs were tacky with her juices and pleasantly sore. When she shifted to support her back against the bulkhead, little twinges of pain recalled the outrageous sensation of being stretched and filled in both her orifices. Fresh moisture pooled in her cleft despite her determination to stay aloof.

"I guess you two wore me out." She twisted out of Zed's grasp, still bitter about losing the revelation from her dream.

"That's part of it," Alyn replied, trying to capture her hand. She snatched it away. "I suspect it is also a side-effect of your time in stasis. The stress from your mishap outside the ship may also have had an impact."

"So how do you feel now?" asked Zed, stroking his half-erect penis. "We missed you, while you were sleeping."

Christine tried to feel annoyed by the alien's apparently insatiable interest in sex. He was so beautiful, so hard and hungry-looking, so male, that she lost the battle.

"Rested. Starved. And not for sex," she added, noting Alyn's cock was also swollen. "No more sex until I've eaten. And until you've given me some answers."

You can buy Bodies of Light here...

The Last Flight

A few days ago the space shuttle blasted off for what would be its final flight. From now on, we'll rely on the Russians to get us to the International Space Station. There's no new project on the horizon - no trips to the Moon or Mars. To be honest, I'm in a state of mourning. What will happen to us, now that our dreams of space have been allowed to die?

The space age and I were born almost at the same time. I was four when the Soviet Union launched Sputnik 1. I was eight when Alan Shepard piloted his Freedom-7 capsule into the stratosphere, becoming the first American, and the second human, in space. I vividly recall sitting on the floor in our crowded school cafeteria, watching the flight on the black and white television hung up near the ceiling. I couldn't take my eyes off the grainy images. It was the one of the most exciting moments of my young life.

That was the moment when I decided that I wanted to be an astronaut. I was already reading science fiction; I knew the path I'd chosen would require intelligence, courage, determination and a spirit of adventure. Certainly I could offer all those qualities. What I didn't have, I later learned, was the perfect eyesight needed for a career in space flight. (My uncorrected vision is so bad that in some states I'd be legally blind.) I decided to become a scientist instead, but I never lost my fascination with the stars.

A month or so ago, I finally published my first science fiction work, an erotic romance novella entitled "Bodies of Light". I poured a lot of my self into this story. I was there with my heroine Christine when she awakened in deep space, to discover that she alone, of all the crew of her interstellar ship, had survived. I sucked in my breath along with her as she opened the viewport on the bridge and was confronted for the first time with the vast emptiness of space. When she donned her pressure suit and exited the air lock to repair a breach in the hull, I floated weightless by her side, tethered to the ship and to life by a single fragile cable. I gave to Christine's grandmother my own memories of Alan Shepard's triumphant ride into the unknown.

Yes, "Bodies of Light" is a highly personal story, in a different sense than much of my other work. It's pretty common for me to use some erotic experience or relationship of my own as a starting point in my romances. Not this story. The romantic aspects are completely fantasy, though I hope they're convincing. The setting, though - the billions of miles of near-vacuum stretching between the stars - the claustrophobic confines of a starship - these are places I've visited many times in my imagination.

I'm fifty eight now. Space tourism is on the horizon, but I realize that I may never the opportunity to fulfill my childhood dreams of the stars. That's okay. Now that I'm a writer, I have the ability to make them real in a different way - for myself and for my readers.

Still I feel a sense of grief as the shuttle program winds down - or sputters out. We've lost something important, I believe. A sense of adventure, of possibility. Is it just me? Am I being silly, impractical? Politicians these days we tell us we can't afford to have a space program. Personally, I think we can't afford not to.

I Won!

I can hardly believe it. I never win anything. Especially not for my writing, which is normally too unconventional, too distant from general readers' tastes, to attract a large following.

And yet - and yet - I somehow managed to win the Whipped Cream Book of the Week contest. I'm still in shock.

It works like this. Every week, Whipped Cream, a popular erotic romance review site, collects all the books that have been reviewed during the past seven days. Any review that received a rating of 4.5 Cherries or better gets thrown into the poll. Over the weekend, readers can vote for the book they'd most like to read, based on the reviews.

When I learned that I'd gotten a 5 Cherry review for Bodies of Light, I was ecstatic - especially after I read Clematis' review. She called my book "original" - not once but twice. For me, it's hard to imagine higher praise. It's so difficult to come up with anything new in erotic romance. Evidence that I seem to have succeeded in doing so is incredibly satisfying.

Anyway, my book got thrown into the poll, but I didn't have much hope of winning that sort of popularity contest. After all, even the reviewer said she'd never heard of me before reading this book! I didn't want to beg for votes but I did send out the review and poll links to my lists, just in case anyone really felt like giving me their vote. (I admit, I also emailed my sister and a couple of friends who know I what I write.)

I promised myself I wouldn't keep checking back to see how I was doing, and I kept that promise. For one thing, it was a bit awkward since I was competing against two other authors from my main publisher, Total-E-Bound.

Anyway, I finally allowed myself to look at the results today, July 4th, after the polls had closed. I was floored to see my name at the top of the list.

I want to thank everyone who did vote for me. Now my review will be on the front page of the site for a week, hopefully a boost to sales. If you want to read the review for yourself, just click here

Now, I think I'll go pour myself another glass of champagne...!

Lust in Space

Greetings, Earthlings!

Today I'm celebrating TEB's release of my science fiction ménage Bodies of Light as a standalone novella. Yes, I know the story only came out in anthology form a few weeks ago. I'm as surprised as you at the fast separate release. Guess Total-E-Bound knows a great tale when they read it... ;^)

Anyway, what better way to celebrate a release than to give away a copy of the book? I'm guest blogging at Amy Valenti's today (http://amyvalenti.wordpress.com/) as well as here. Leave a comment at either blog to be entered in the drawing. Leave a comment at both and you'll have two chances to win. I'll select a winner on Wednesday June 1st.

So what is Bodies of Light about? Well, physics. Frustration. Interstellar travel. And of course, lust and love.

My heroine, Dr. Christine Clarkson, has spent her whole career trying to work out the secret of faster-than-light travel. You know what I mean - trying to build a "warp drive" that will let humans travel to far distant planets.... Every science fiction author knows that it must be possible, and Christine believes that too, but she's had no success. Meanwhile, humans are crowded together on a depleted, polluted planet - travel to the distant stars may be their last chance to survive as a species.

As a sort of penance for her failure, Christine signs up as crew on the Archimedes, a sub-light speed mission to colonize a planet in one of the closest star systems. Without warp travel, the flight will take more than a dozen years. Christine and her crewmates must spend most of the trip in suspended animation. As the story opens, she awakens unexpectedly from stasis to discover that the rest of the crew are dead and the Archimedes is wildly off course.

There she is, alone in deep space - then all at once she has company, a pair of handsome and extremely virile men who somehow simply appear on the ship. At first she thinks they're a figment of her imagination, a product of stress or sexual frustration. Alyn and Zed work hard to convince her that she's wrong...

****

“Christine.” The voice rang like crystal and flowed like water, a far cry from the flat, synthetic tones of the Archimedes. “Do not despair, lovely one.”

Christine could not help smiling at the endearment. No one had called her lovely for a very long time. She kept her eyes closed, willing the dream to continue.

“We are with you, Christine.” Deeper, richer, edged with laughter, another voice chimed in. “You are not alone.” A cool, soothing palm cupped her brow. Strong hands settled on her shoulders, drawing her upright, then slipped down to cradle her breasts. Luscious heat suffused her, focused on her suddenly-taut nipples. They were smouldering embers ready to burst into flame. Soft lips brushed her neck just below the hairline, sending shivers spiralling through her. Someone unknotted her hair and let the weight of it cascade freely down her back. She sighed as careful fingers eased out the tangles. Each gentle tug at her scalp was pure pleasure.

The caresses ceased for an instant while her chair swung away from the control panel. Then the sensations began again, delicious and irresistible—unseen hands kneading her breasts, a warm mouth nuzzling her earlobe, a teasing tickle tracing its way down her belly, firm pressure parting her thighs and the barest graze of a fingertip across her pubis. A fierce stab of delight ripped away her languid mood. She moaned, arching up towards the retreating finger. Laughter poured over her like dark honey.

“You like that, sweet?” asked the baritone. The finger returned, pressing into her nylon-covered cleft and sliding back and forth along her length.

Christine gasped. “Oh, yes…” Swirls of fluorescent colour danced on her closed eyelids. Familiar scents teased her nostrils, earth after a rain and new-mown grass. The finger moved faster. The soaked fabric of her coveralls slithered across her sensitised flesh. A climax gathered in her depths, heavy and full as summer thunderheads. “More,” she whispered, just as someone dragged the zip of her garment down below her waist. “More!” she yelled, as sharp teeth fastened on her bared nipple and hard digits plunged into her naked cunt.

Dozens of hands fluttered over her skin, strummed in her pussy, plucked at her swollen breasts. The ripe clouds burst. A torrent of pleasure flooded her senses. Her body dissolved. There was nothing left but pure ecstasy, vibrating through her being like celestial music.

“Open your eyes.” The higher voice, the one that shimmered like liquid starlight, spoke close to her ear. The suggestion filtered through her post-orgasmic haze. This dream is certainly tenacious, she thought, her limbs still tingling. Usually I wake up after I come.

“We’re here with you now,” added the earthy voice, from the other side. “Look upon us.”

Why should she resist? It was just a dream. Her eyelids felt leaden but she forced them apart.

A stranger stood to her right. He had marble-pale skin and hair like spun silver. Smoke-coloured brows shaded his piercing violet eyes. A pert nose and full lips gave him an androgynous look, but his lithe body was undeniably male—especially the column of rigid flesh that jutted from his groin.

Arousal flickered through Christine’s body, faint echoes of her recent climax. “Who are you?” she queried, her mouth watering at the sight of his sturdy erection. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Alyn,” the young man answered with a smile that stole Christine’s breath. His skin gleamed in the dim light of the bridge as though dusted with stars. Fat pink nipples winked at her from his smoothly muscled chest. She ached to touch them. As though he read her thoughts, he reached for her hand and drew it to his breast. “I’m here for you, Christine. To cherish and to comfort you.”

His skin was silk under her palm. She moulded the shape of his pectoral and flicked at the taut nub at its centre. His cock surged in response. A drop of clear moisture gathered at the tip. She wet her lips, suddenly hungry. “Alyn,” she repeated, rolling the name on her tongue.

“And I’m Zed,” came the deeper voice, from her left. She turned to gaze at the second man, taller and stockier than Alyn but equally beautiful. Zed had jet hair and ebony eyes. With his prominent cheekbones, broad mouth and bronzed complexion, he made Christine think of some ancient tribal warrior. A provocative grin lit his face. He seized her other hand and curled her fingers around his swollen cock. “This is for you, little one.”

Blood pulsed through his shaft. Her small hand could barely encompass his girth. She squeezed and felt him harden further. He thrust into her palm, satin-sheathed stone. Her pussy ached to feel him driving into her depths. Alyn knelt before her and removed her sandals, then pulled her to her feet. “We’ve been waiting for you to awaken.”

****

Ready for some lust in space? Get yourself a copy of Bodies of Light. Or start by leaving a comment - you might win one!

Out of This World

I just got the cover for Total-E-Bound's upcoming anthology Seeing Stars. The book, a collection of science fiction erotic romance, includes my novella "Bodies of Light", a M/F/M ménage about a doomed interstellar mission.

Don't you just love it? I must admit, I never realized that space men wore jeans. On the other hand, he's not so much wearing them as losing them, from what I can see. Maybe it's the low gravity...

Anyway, a spicy cover like that deserves a spicy excerpt. So here's an unedited snippet from "Bodies of Light". Let me know what you think!

***

“Christine.” The voice rang like crystal and flowed like water, a far cry from the flat, synthetic tones of the Archimedes. “Do not despair, lovely one.”

Christine could not help smiling at the endearment. No one had called her lovely for a very long time. She kept her eyes closed, willing the dream to continue.

“We are with you, Christine.” Deeper, richer, edged with laughter, another voice chimed in. “You are not alone.” A cool, soothing palm cupped her brow. Strong hands settled on her shoulders, drawing her upright, then slipped down to cradle her breasts. Luscious heat suffused her, focused on her suddenly-taut nipples. They were smouldering embers ready to burst into flame. Soft lips brushed her neck just below the hairline, sending shivers spiralling through her. Someone unknotted her hair and let the weight of it cascade freely down her back. She sighed as careful fingers eased out the tangles. Each gentle tug at her scalp was pure pleasure.

The caresses ceased for an instant while her chair swung away from the control panel. Then sensations began again, delicious and irresistible – unseen hands kneading her breasts, a warm mouth nuzzling her earlobe, a teasing tickle tracing its way down her belly, firm pressure parting her thighs and the barest graze of a fingertip across her pubis. A fierce stab of delight ripped away her languid mood. She moaned, arching up toward the retreating finger. Laughter poured over her like dark honey.

“You like that, sweet?” asked the baritone. The finger returned, pressing into her nylon-covered cleft and sliding back and forth along her length.

Christine gasped. “Oh, yes...” Swirls of fluorescent colour danced on her closed eyelids. Familiar scents teased her nostrils, earth after a rain and new-mown grass. The finger moved faster. The soaked fabric of her coveralls slithered across her sensitized flesh. A climax gathered in her depths, heavy and full as summer thunderheads. “More,” she whispered, just as someone dragged the zip of her garment down below her waist. “More!” she yelled, as sharp teeth fastened on her bared nipple and hard digits plunged into her naked cunt.

Dozens of hands fluttered over her skin, strummed in her pussy, plucked at her swollen breasts. The ripe clouds burst. A torrent of pleasure flooded her senses. Her body dissolved. There was nothing left but pure ecstasy, vibrating through her being like celestial music.

“Open your eyes.” The higher voice, the one that shimmered like liquid starlight, spoke close to her ear. The suggestion filtered through her post-orgasmic haze. This dream is certainly tenacious, she thought, her limbs still tingling. Usually I wake up after I come.

“We’re here with you now,” added the earthy voice, from the other side. “Look upon us.”

Why should she resist? It was just a dream. Her eyelids felt leaden but she forced them apart.

A stranger stood to her right, a youth with marble-pale skin and hair like spun silver. Smoke-coloured brows shaded his piercing violet eyes. A pert nose and full lips gave him an androgynous look, but his lithe body was undeniably male – especially the column of rigid flesh that jutted from his hairless groin.

Arousal flickered through Christine’s body, faint echoes of her recent climax. “Who are you?,” she queried, her mouth watering at the sight of his sturdy erection. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Alyn,” the young man answered with a smile that stole Christine’s breath. His skin gleamed in the dim light of the bridge as though dusted with stars. Fat pink nipples winked at her from his smoothly muscled chest. She ached to touch them. As though he read her thoughts, he reached for her hand and drew it to his breast. “I’m here for you, Christine. To cherish and to comfort you.”

His skin was silk under her palm. She moulded the shape of his pectoral and flicked at the taut nub at its centre. His cock surged in response. She could see a drop of clear moisture gathering at the tip. She wet her lips, suddenly hungry. “Alyn,” she repeated, rolling the name on her tongue.

“And I’m Zed,” came the deeper voice, from her left. She turned to gaze at the second man, taller and stockier than Alyn but equally beautiful. Zed had jet hair and ebony eyes. With his prominent cheekbones, broad mouth and bronzed complexion, he made Christine think of some ancient tribal warrior. A provocative grin lit his face. He seized her other hand and curled her fingers around his swollen cock. “This is for you, little one.”