Love, and Grey’s Anatomy

By Genevieve Bergeron (Guest Blogger)

It’s been almost ten months—my how time flies—since I’ve been a contributor on “Beyond Romance.” First, a warm “thank you!” to the lovely Lisabet Sarai for inviting me to post about my debut erotica last year as well as another “thanks!” for inviting me back to announce the release of my second novella, Sorry, Bro, a steamy M/M/M from Total E-Bound.

Since Sorry, Bro’s release about two weeks ago, a number of friends have asked me why I had chosen to write a medical-themed romance. “It’s so weird,” said one well-meaning friend. I was surprised by the question—aren’t a good number of romances set in hospitals?
I provided a two-word answer: Grey’s Anatomy.

Yes, I’m that girl. Everything I know about doctors and hospitals is based on a single television show. Yet, I think Grey’s Anatomy, with its runaway popularity among television viewers the world over, teaches us a valuable lesson about life and love. The show presents love and apathy (and hatred) and life and death, two universally experienced dichotomies, side-by-side. And as we see our favorite characters struggle daily with life and death, we recognize how much more important love and relationships are.

Hence, my story, wherein it takes a life-threatening accident to bring two best friends back together—and to recognize the love they’ve always shared.

Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment (with your email) and I'll enter you in a drawing for a free book from my backlist!

xo,

Gen

Blurb

Still aching from the mistakes and denials of his past, this ER nurse could heal anyone but himself…until now.

Handsome, athletic and intelligent, twenty-six-year-old Bryce should be living the high life.

But he’s far from it.

After shunning his best baseball buddy in high school, dropping out of medical school and fleeing New York to put down roots—if only shallow ones—in New Orleans, Bryce is uncertain about both his past and his future. Working long hours as a low-level nurse and confined by a sexless relationship with a questionably devoted girlfriend, Bryce can’t shake the feeling that things should be somehow better now he’s escaped the confusion and indecision of his former life.

Yet when the ghost of Bryce’s high school past, the handsome and charismatic Tim, shows up injured in the ER, Bryce’s already turbulent emotions engulf him in a vortex of confusion and regret. Haunted by his own insensitivity towards Tim eight years before, Bryce first finds comfort in the powerful arms of a resident surgeon he barely knows, then gives Tim the explosive, cataclysmic relief he had denied him in high school. 
As Bryce comes to terms with his sexuality and recognises his undeniable attraction to both men, he must decide, once and for all, where his fidelity—and his desires—lie. 

Excerpt

Bryce’s chest and abs retained the tell-tale glisten of the balmy New Orleans weather. As the cool air of the hospital locker room washed over him, goosebumps spread across Bryce’s back, prickling the short, dark hairs on his forearms and in the valley between his pecs. He shivered, and his nipples hardened as he pulled his white V-neck swiftly up over his head.

"Fuck," Bryce breathed.

He could dry at least of a few of the droplets of cold sweat from his body before he got dressed. Bryce ran his damp shirt roughly across his shoulders and around his lower back before balling the fabric in his hands and tossing it into the bottom of the open locker in front of him.

Bryce had ridden his rusted, hand-me-down bicycle up Esplanade Street, across North Rampart and a mile into the Central Business District, and the whole way, his body had seemed to pull humidity towards it. An otherwise leisurely ride had left him completely damp and uncomfortably chilled once he had arrived at the hospital to change into his scrubs. By now, the bumpy journey across the glass-littered, cracked sidewalks and potholed streets had become a well-practiced performance.

Summer in New Orleans made Bryce yearn for a beach—even a desert, anywhere without so much sticky humidity. Or better, for a job that would afford him a car, with air conditioning, to ride to work in.

Bryce’s hard nipples burned in the chilled air, and his skin tingled. He and his girlfriend, Tatum, hadn’t had sex in over three weeks—and his body knew it. His bed—now, at least—was colder than the artificial chill in the hospital locker room.

Bryce had come to New Orleans from New Jersey to escape two things—a routine life and the cold.
Against his parents’ wishes, he had followed his high school girlfriend, Jennifer, to medical school in New York. Soon afterward, he’d dropped out to study nursing. In New York, so close to his family, and so close to the same girlfriend he’d had since he had been fourteen, it was hard to escape routine. Work, subway, sleep, tired sex, work, subway, sleep, more tired—and unfulfilling—sex.

After finishing nursing school, Bryce had figured he could find a new beginning in New Orleans. Everything was different—different scenery, different people, different weather, a different hospital. That had been nearly a year ago. "Damn," Bryce breathed. An entire year.

Nothing had changed. Not really. Maybe the food was richer in the south, and maybe the weather was hotter and balmier. And maybe his girlfriend was named Tatum and not Jennifer, but everything was fundamentally the same. Work, bike, sleep, tired sex. Maybe a quick fuck in a seedy bar bathroom if he could get Tatum to shoot enough tequila.

But New Orleans should’ve been different.

At the very least, Tatum could’ve been different. She had been a real firecracker—in the beginning. Sex three times a day had turned into one drunk fuck a week, if that. And if they weren’t drunk fucking in the back of a bar, they weren’t fucking at all. For the past few months, Tatum had spent Bryce’s off night drinking and weekends taking trips to Biloxi with the Uptown sorority girls. Hell, they were seeing so little of each other now that it would be no surprise if Tatum were fucking tourists on Bourbon and Ole Miss fans at the cheap casinos in Mississippi.

Tatum would say, "You work too much. You’re so boring sometimes, hon, and I need excitement."

There was no changing it.

Bryce shook the sweat from his head and smoothed the moisture back through his short, dark hair before pulling on the top of his scrubs. He wrapped a red bandana around his head, just above his sunburned ears.
Bryce fumbled at his belt and unzipped his fly. Just as his nipples had sprung to life as the cool air washed over them, his penis hardened slightly. "Fuck," he whispered, glancing surreptitiously up and down the row of lockers. A moment before, the room had been empty.

Now, at the opposite end of the row, a tall, shirtless man had just tossed a striped polo into a navy blue gym bag. He turned just as Bryce looked his way.
 

About Gen Bergeron

Genevieve Bergeron has been an avid reader and writer of digital fiction for nearly two decades. A journalist, children’s author and professional communicator, Genevieve now spends her time reading and writing hi-tech inspired romance and erotica, in addition to working a fast-paced day job as a communications director at a Washington, D.C.-based national nonprofit. With her time, Genevieve does her best to avoid any steamy political scandals while collecting flavored condoms, cooking for friends, and sampling boxed wines.

Gen’s website and blog

Goodreads

Amazon.com

For all Gen’s books published with Total E-Bound, visit her page at http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=241.

“Coitus” of all things!

By Genevieve Bergeron (Guest Blogger)

My name is Genevieve Bergeron, I’m 24 years old, I live in Washington, D.C., and I write erotic romances.

The house I grew up in sat at the dead-end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac in Huntsville, Alabama. If there were a more boring, disconnected place, I couldn’t think of one.

Perhaps that ever-present feeling of disconnectedness is why I turned to books at such a young age. I devoured science fiction novels by the dozens, classics, historical fiction, contemporary, nonfiction myth and legend—you name it. This constant stream of mental stimulation made up for an ostensible lack thereof surrounding my childhood home.

The books turned me into one of those children. A precocious child. An insufferable brainiac.

Yet, what’s funny is that I never asked my parents any of the normal questions. Or, more precisely, the normal questions one would expect from an avid science fiction/classics/historical fiction reader. I’m sure my mother and father cursed the Gods—and often—for their luck. Instead of “Daddy, why aren’t there people living on the moon?” there would be “What’s an orgasm?”

I was about six when I asked. He replied calmly (against his better judgment), “Go look it up.” A few minutes later, I stomped back to here he read contentedly and, visibly agitated, I demanded, “What’s coitus?”

I also remember the dinner party a few years later, where I proudly explained to my aunt that my new favorite word was “salacious.” “Do you know ‘salacious’ means?” I glowed with pride. (I’ll be honest—I thought it meant “beautiful.”)

“No sweetie,” she said accommodatingly. “But let’s look it up.”

She led me over to a large, oak bookshelf, the kind that was built into the wall, and then hefted a large, red Merriam-Webster down to the floor so both of us could lean in close and look together. “Lustful. Ooohh my,” she said thoughtfully, after having flipped to the right place.

I smiled brightly, clueless as to what “lustful” meant.

Darn those dictionaries for using complicated words—at least I thought they were complicated at the time—to describe what should be down-and-dirty, insanely pleasurable, natural—often animalesque—moments.

So when I became an erotica author fifteen years later, it was no surprise. To anyone I know.

 

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, but in fact, my first “published” novella was released just two weeks ago from Total E-Bound publishers (there’s a link to read a synopsis and purchase at the end of this post).

My love for erotic words (though there’s little reference to “coitus” and “orgasming” in my books—more like “pulsing members” and “shrieks of pleasure”) is limitless, but I tend to focus on two main interests in my writing: Erotica with a high-tech twist, and hot, secretive gay romances.

My fascination with technology is a result of my background and (of course) my age. Between 2009 and 2011, I was enrolled in a graduate program at Georgetown University where I earned a Master’s degree in Strategic Communications and New Media technologies. The beauty and complexity of the digital world, to me, is tantalizing (perhaps even hotter than sex!). I decided to explore a sexual fantasy that springs, not first from physical attraction, but from a complete lack thereof. In fact, the attraction itself exists only in the imagination, at least in a digital world. Makes sense—with online dating, sometimes you’re not even sure what your date is going to look like! It was a challenge: could I write a book about texting and sexting and make it hot? And encourage people to read it? I don’t know. You tell me.

Forthcoming is another story entitled, “Sorry, Bro,” about one young man’s struggle with his sexuality and, ironically, the sexuality of his best friend. This one was especially fun to write, as many of the characters were based, very loosely, on college friends and acquaintances. It’s also set in my second hometown of New Orleans, which is the quintessential setting for any story about inner search, renewal, and passionate sex. I’ll keep you updated as the story develops.

In the meantime, I’d like to personally thank you for reading and for your interest in my work! To learn more about me and my writing, please visit my author page. My personal blog is still in the works.

xoxo,

Gen

Here’s more about Hyperpersonal/Hypersexual, my first book:

http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?P_ID=1755

In a world of Internet porn, sexting, texting, and digital flirting—can real sex be too good?

Juliette Bresson won't wait around for 'the man of her dreams'. That's because the heroine of Hyperpersonal/Hypersexual, knows that fantasies hardly ever manifest the way we intend.

Instead, Juliette—an energetic university instructor and savvy political consultant—imagines her men exactly how she wants them, and she forgoes real sex altogether. But eventually starved for tangible love and romantic excitement, Juliette replies to a string of anonymous yet provocative emails and instant messages she receives in response to an Internet forum post. She suddenly finds herself the recipient of a barrage of oversexed texts, salacious instant messages and requests for a face-to-face meeting. Finally, after a tantalising sexual encounter with her digital admirer, Juliette begins to think that real sex can be too good.

Now afraid of ruining her reputation, losing her job and her focus—or worse—Juliette must decide whether to give herself permission to love a lying man, a man who can fulfil her every sexual fantasy—or reject him altogether and cling to dreams that seem perfect but are really only mediocre, at best.