Sunday Snog #214: Raw Silk -- #newrelease #excerpt #sundaysnog

Happy Sunday!

I’ve been really busy promoting TheGazillionaire and the Virgin, but actually I have another release I should be flogging (so to speak!) The new, expanded edition of Raw Silk is available now for early download from Totally Bound. It will go live on Amazon and other sites on March 1^st.

So I thought I should treat you to a brand new excerpt from that opus. In case you’re a newcomer to my work, here’s the blurb:

In a foreign land, a woman discovers exotic new realms of the senses…

When software engineer Kate O’Neill leaves her lover David to take a job in Thailand, she becomes sexually involved with two very different men—a handsome and debauched member of the Thai aristocracy, and the charismatic proprietor of a sex bar.

Each touches her in a different way, each teaches her different things about her body and her heart.

Then David comes to Bangkok, and Kate realizes that, finally, she must choose one of the three men who all desire her. 

The scene below is the beginning of the chapter “Showdown”, in which each of Kate’s lovers tries to convince her that he’s the man she should choose!

When you’re done here, by the way, hop back to Victoria’s for links to more sexy Sunday kisses.

The suite was spacious, lavish, gorgeously appointed with rare textiles and antiques. Plush oriental carpets soothed her feet. Couches of carved teak, brocade upholstered, invited her to recline. On a low table in the center of the room, someone had provided a porcelain vase of orchids, an assortment of succulent-looking fruit, several bottles of wine, crystal goblets and a corkscrew. Kate sipped her chilled Pinot Grigio as she contemplated the twists that had brought her to this point in her life.

She had always viewed herself as sober, responsible, practical, someone who considered the alternatives and weighed the consequences before making any decision. Yet she had come to Bangkok, half a world from home, essentially on a whim, veering wildly off the course she had plotted for her life. She had allowed herself to be seduced, used, abused, fingered, fondled, and fucked. She had plunged willingly into a sea of debauchery and depravity.

She did not regret it, any of it. As dusk settled over the City of Angels, she knew finally that the controlled, pragmatic, sensible self she recalled was just a mask. She had found her true self here, in the embraces and the bonds of those who had possessed her.

And now, the final act in this passion play was about to start. Kate refilled her glass and drank deep, trying to relax.

There was a soft knock. “Come in,” she said without rising from the couch. Somtow had the key, and he had promised that they would all arrive together, to avoid any awkwardness. The door swung open soundlessly. Her three lovers filed in.

David came first, a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye, a remarkable contrast to the weary, rumpled young man she had met at the airport only a few days before. He wore blue jeans and a shirt of multicolored batik that set off his rich brown hair and tan skin. Before she could stop him, he knelt beside her and took her in his arms, his tongue probing her mouth, his hands wandering over her breasts.

“David!” she said, laughing despite herself as she pushed him away. “That’s not fair. We’re supposed to draw lots.”

“I can’t help myself,” he said, grinning. “After all, it has been ages since I’ve seen you.”

Somtow entered next, elegant in a teal silk shirt and linen trousers. He too knelt beside her, opposite David. He took her hand and kissed it gracefully. Then, just as she was admiring his gallantry, he took her middle finger into his mouth and began to suck it. He ran his tongue in the sensitive groove between her fingers. The warm, wet touch sent electric sparks through her.

“Somtow, you have no excuse,” she said. “Play by the rules.”

Finally, Gregory entered, and stood towering over them all. Kate was interested to see that, in contrast to his usual dark garb, he had dressed all in white. His clothing looked vaguely nautical, a softly flowing shirt open at the neck and tight pants of white duck. His jet hair was pulled back from his broad forehead and a silver hoop gleamed in his earlobe. He reminded Kate of some eighteenth century pirate. His expression fit the role. With his eyes blazing and his sensual lips pressed together, he look fierce, desperate, dangerous.

His voice, however, was as melodious and controlled as ever. “Good evening, my little Kate,” he said. He held out his hand to her, and she could not help rising to take it. Heat traveled from his fevered skin, up her arm, through her nipples, down to her sex. He didn’t make any further advances. For a long moment they simply stood together, as the flames flickered through her body.

Somtow spoke, finally, breaking the spell. “So, here we are, Katherine, at your service, yours to command.”

Get your copy of this sizzling erotic classic here!

How the World’s Least Romantic Woman became a Romance Writer

By Red L. Jameson (Guest Blogger)

Not too long ago billions of people celebrated Valentine’s Day. Gazillions of flowers and chocolates were sold. Restaurants dimmed their lighting all day long. And there were pink hearts and red ribbons everywhere. And every year, I kind of hate it. Please don’t kill me!

I do remember most birthdays, but I always forget anniversaries. I hate weddings. And, here’s something huge, I don’t believe in true love.

So how did I, probably one of life’s biggest cynics of love, become a romance writer, you might ask? Well, here’s how it all started…

My first taste of a romance book was when I was fifteen and at a boarding academy. One of the girls had a dog-eared, well-worn book that she’d read aloud to us when no adults were around. I have no idea what the plot was, but I think it had something to do with a pirate and a woman who fainted a lot. The parts that were read were the sex scenes. There was a lot of moaning, and I think the heroine flew. Being that I was so young and lacking any experience whatsoever, I wondered if really good sex would cause me to levitate. That sounded interesting, but I was pretty sure I would have heard about the good sex/levitation phenomenon by then. So I doubted and went on my merry way, not reading anything else in the romance realm for more than a decade.

I was bedridden, thanks to many complications of my first pregnancy. And, being forced to be so still, to not do anything except read or watch TV, had me begging for books. Luckily, I have wonderful friends who gave me boxes of them, and one of the boxes had two romance books. After reading everything else, I finally gave in and read them, expecting to find purple prose, flowery imagery, and something wholly unrealistic. (I’m not sure if it’s noticeable yet, but I was a literary snob.) However, both of the books did not meet my expectations. And one of the books was fascinating. I was hooked from the very beginning. The prose was lovely, not silly. The plot was realistic and heart-breaking. Everything about that book I adored. So I read it again.

However, once I had my son, I didn’t read any romance for another…well, lets just say it was a long time. And I wasn’t planning to read any other romance. But, I was making a change in my career. I had finally come clean to my friends and family members that I wanted to write fiction. And as chance would have it, I’d already written a book. Oh, it was a horrible thing—monstrously huge with so many mistakes it’s laughable. But it was finished. So it was time to learn how to get published. Along the way, I had a critique partner who informed me that I wrote the best romance she’d ever read.

Interesting, I thought, since that wasn’t my goal. And I was pretty sure I wasn’t writing romance. I wrote about love. Still, I decided to get to the bottom of this issue if I unknowingly wrote romance. Which meant, I’d have to read romance books.

I dove into my research, reading around twenty books per month for a year. I joined the Romance Writers of America organization and other romance writers’ chapters too. I studied romance writing how-to books—even took many classes. So, during that year I learned that, no, I was not writing romance, per se. But I discovered a plethora of books that I loved. And all my expectations of what I thought constituted a romance book had been left by the wayside.

Of the romance books that I loved, they didn’t write about romance but more about love. You see, I’m a pragmatic person, and sometimes romance feels…fake. But love…real love is messy and lovely, crazy and calm, beautiful and ugly. I may not believe in true love, but I believe there’s truth in love. There’s honesty and authenticity. And that, I realized during my year of research, was what I wanted to write.

So I did and still do. And I’ve never been happier—me, the woman who scowls at Valentine’s Day jewelry commercials, is happiest when writing romance. 

Blurb

Book 1 of the Wild Love Series, an erotic romance

The fireman is hot—able to burn me. But still, I crave the singe.

The professor is cold—brooding with intrigue, making me yearn for more.

The police officer easily unlocks my laugh—something I thought was caged for life.

Two years ago, before my cheating husband died, he promised he'd right his wrongs—and there were so many wrongs. On his deathbed, he swore he’d send a slew of men to worship me and treat me like a goddess.

I don't know how, but my husband kept that one promise.

Unbelievably, I get to choose between three men—one’s perhaps too hot, another too cold, while the other might be just right. And faintly, I can hear my husband chuckling and whispering that I don’t have to choose.

Maybe—just maybe, they could all be mine...

Excerpt

Someone tries to take my shoulder and bodily move me. But I won’t have it. I need to keep Bethany in my view. I need to make sure she’s okay because I love her so much and if one more person dies on me I’ll buy a gun and…okay, not really. But I couldn’t stand life without her.

I fight strong arms, gripping me around my waist, pulling me away from Bethany. I kick, buck, do everything possible to get my body back under my own volition.

Whiskers rake my cheek. “Shh, shh, I got you,” a man whispers. His arms hold me even tighter.

That’s when I see the firemen around Bethany. Their royal blue pants, royal blue t-shirts, light blue gloves over large hands.

“That’s it,” the man holding me says. “That’s it. You gotta make room for the men to work on your friend, baby.”

Baby?

I’m breathing so hard my lungs feel like there are fissures in every inch of them. The man has me in a weird grip, almost cupping one of my breasts, and I realize the position of my hands are forcing him to hold me that way. But I don’t let go of him.

“You saved her?” the man whispers into my ear.

“Yes, she saved me,” Bethany says loudly, smiling at me, still so red-looking it scares me. “She did the Heimlich thing. That’s my friend, Jane, Jane Emory. She’s super smart and super fast and she saved my life.”

I want to laugh at Bethany’s statements, but I just can’t. I want to cry. However, my hands relax against the man’s iron-like forearms. I notice the striations of his muscles there. They twitch, still holding me in a firm grip. He has blond hair. Golden. It sparkles in the light. His chest encompasses me from behind. It’s so firm, and his heart is beating into my back. His whiskers are still against me. This is intimate.

Where you can find Shine:

Amazon – http://amzn.to/1NgORzF

iBooks – http://apple.co/1n6UNWB

Barnes & Noble – http://bit.ly/1OsMzl2

All Romance – http://bit.ly/1KUPO6k

And other retail book sellers

About Me

Red L. Jameson is an award-winning and multi-published author. She writes in many genres. Her pen name, L. B. Joramo, includes the odd combination of historical and paranormal for the Immortal American Series. However, it is under her “Red” name, her nickname too, where all her stories are strongly laced with love, including contemporary, historical, time-travel, paranormal, and erotic romance. Red lives in the wilds of Montana with her family and a few too many animals, and is currently working on her next novel that she hopes will make her readers laugh, cry, think, and fall in love.

She loves her readers, so please feel free to contact her at http://www.redljameson.com

You can find Red L. Jameson at . . .

Website: www.redljameson.com

Blog: http://immortalhistory.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100005536457451

Amazon Author Page: http://goo.gl/Gvd2vq

Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/redljameson/

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1Gvpo5O

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RedLJameson

  

I'm Crowing! #review #romance

I just got the most amazing review from Kayla Lords, BDSM blogger extraordinaire! Plus an email in which she told me "I looooooved this book!"

I'm so pleased when someone who's actually involved in the kinky lifestyle finds my BDSM fiction believable and hot. Kayla writes:

People from all walks of life can be Dominant or submissive. And D/s doesn’t always go as planned, and Dominants don’t always know exactly what they want to do in any given BDSM scene. Lisabet Sarai hits on this so well with characters you might never have imagined together, and yet, they work so well.

Thank you, thank you!

You can read the whole review here (plus ogle the cover, and enjoy and excerpt):

http://kaylalords.com/2016/02/the-gazillionaire-and-the-virgin-lisabetsarai/

Whooee!

G&V Blog Tour Round-Up and Giveaway #excerpt #romance #giveaway

I want to shout out a huge thank you to everyone who participated in my blog tour for The Gazillionaire and the Virgin. The tour included eighteen exclusive posts, with titles like “Subversion”, “Sex and Money”, “Allure of the Nerd” and “Coming Clean About Kink”. Lots of sexy excerpts, too! I really appreciate the help from all authors who hosted me. (You can find a full list of the posts here. I hope you’ll go back and visit their blogs to learn more about their work!)

There were 128 individual reader comments. Congratulations to Sue A., who won the grand prize (fifty bucks worth of books!) and BN, who won second prize (a print copy of G&V). S.Dora won my host prize for the most comments and Lynn Townsend won my randomly chose host prize.

I do love to give stuff away, though. So I thought I’d do an impromptu contest today. You’ll find a brand new excerpt from G&V below. Read it, then leave me a comment with your email. Tell me what you think about the possibility of a twenty nine year old guy being a virgin. Is this too strange to be believable? Or can you imagine it, for someone like Theo.

I’ll draw one name and give away your choice of one of my D&S Duos books!

I’ve got to find out where we stand, Theo and I. I’ve got to talk to him.

I swipe my phone and redial.

This time he answers on the first ring.

“Hello.”

His voice is flat, devoid of emotion. He also sounds out of breath, as though he’s been exercising. Who knows, maybe he works out. It doesn’t fit my image of him, but that impressive body must come from somewhere.

“Hi, Theo. It’s me, Rachel.”

Silence. Will he hang up on me?

“Are you still there?” I venture, after what feels like thirty seconds of dead time.

“Um, yes. I’m here.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Honestly? I have no idea what to say.” His voice rises, a sign of impending panic. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”

What is he talking about? “What situation?”

“I mean – I – you – I mean, us…” He strives valiantly to continue.

Light dawns.

“Theo – you mean – I’m your first lover?” I remember his grace, his strength, his confidence as he gave me the ultimate in pleasure. It couldn’t be possible!

“My first fuck. Yeah.” He sounds grim. “Pretty sad, right? Twenty nine and still a virgin.” His bitter laughter makes me flinch. “Hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

“Theo – dear Theo – you know you didn’t. I know this sounds sappy, but it was wonderful.”

“Wonderful? Please. That’s a bit overdone, don’t you think, Dr. Zelinsky?”

“No, I mean it. Special.”

More silence, but somehow less threatening. He’s considering my words, trying to decide whether to believe me.

“Thank you,” he says finally, his voice small. “Is that why you called, to tell me that?”

“Partly,” I reply, letting out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Plus I need to know the bank and account number for Code in the Hood. We scored about one point five million dollars last night.”

“Can’t you find that out via your spies?”

I bristle until I realize he’s teasing me. “Probably. So you might as well tell me.”

“Not over the phone. It could be tapped.” I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “We’ll have to meet in person.”

A Good Place to Fall in Love

By Iris Blobel (Guest Blogger)

What begun with a little paragraph for "Tuesday Tales" where authors write to a prompt, has ended in one of my favourite books. But it was when we travelled to this small coastal town along the Great Ocean Road in Australia, that I picked up the story again and came up with the idea of how it'd be like to live in a small place like this compared to the big city. I re-visited the town a few months later on my own, and listened more to the people's conversation. I wasn't interested in what they were talking about, but how they talked to each other. And I loved it. We live in a small community, and the sense of belonging and friendship is wonderful. I tried to put this into the book as much as possible in a not-so-clichéd kind of way.

And ... it's a romance book, and I love getting couples together. I wondered how it'd be to be childhood friends and how they'd connect after twenty-plus years apart. How much would they remember? How much does a person change from childhood to adulthood. It can go either way .... but I let your readers find out, which way this story is going.

Echoes of the Past by Iris Blobel

Fermosa Bay, Book 1

Blurb

Emily Bradshaw waited over twenty years to see Connor again…

When her childhood friend, Connor Walsh, returns home to see his ailing father, Emily is elated to be reunited with the handsome man who moved to London so many years ago. But excitement fades to disappointment when he doesn’t remember her—or their first kiss. With her crush on Connor still in full swing, she’s determined to enjoy the short time he’s in Fermosa Bay, even though she knows her heart will break when he returns to his life in London.

When Connor receives news that his biological father is terminally ill, he returns to Fermosa Bay, Australia.

With memories of his childhood tucked fondly in the back of his mind, returning to the small, coastal town leaves him to wonder how life would have been if his mother had never taken him away. Would he have been married and had children? Perhaps with Emily Bradshaw…

Secrets from long ago begin to unfold…

As Connor and his father grow closer, Connor learns his parents have a broken love story of their own. Will the echoes of the past lure him into staying, maybe for good? Or will he relive his parents’ tragic story and flee to London?

Walking away from a real chance at true love…

Get your copy of Echoes of the Past today!

AMAZON US: http://amzn.to/23ZYPS5

AMAZON UK: http://amzn.to/23ZYVJw

AMAZON AU: http://bit.ly/23ZZ27R

Excerpt

Connor leaned against the window frame with his arms crossed as he watched the waves crashing against the rocks. In front of him, as wide as the horizon, was the ocean. With the clouds drifting in from the sea, the sky had turned grey and dark, and he knew there’d be even more rain coming later in the day.

He would’ve enjoyed the scene if it hadn’t reminded him of his changing life. He’d been back in Fermosa Bay for two days already, but the memories of the first seven years of his life he’d spent in this small Australian coastal town were tucked away in the back of his mind. Seemingly inaccessible.

Nowadays, his life was in London and had been for the last twenty-three years. He took a couple of deep breaths as he looked towards the harbour in the distance, and the small town in the alcove with the hilly forest in the background where he’d spend the first seven years of his life. It was truly one very picturesque little place.

A noise from the other end of the house hauled him back from his thoughts, and he stepped away from the window. Over the last few weeks, since he’d decided to accept Jack’s invitation to Australia, he’d had visions of what he’d find here. His mother hadn’t told him much about the time she’d lived here, except about Jack owning a pub. Connor had been furious for her lack of memory, but in the end admitted to himself it’d probably not been a time she’d like to remember.

So he was surprised to find out that Jack lived in this massive house just outside Fermosa Bay, on the top of the cliffs, with a view over the ocean. The house had five rooms and a small study at the back. The lounge room, with a high pitched ceiling, had wood fire heating and a big window front. Connor had loved the house the instant he’d stepped into it.

When he entered the hall, he saw his father and said, “Good morning, Jack.”

The old man sighed sadly. “You still can’t bring it over your heart to call me Dad?”

Connor’s gaze wandered from his father to all the many framed photos along the wall. Jack was in many of the photos, but most them had people in them he didn’t know, except the biggest one, which showed Connor as a child in Jack’s arms. A wave of sadness shook him. No, it wasn’t in him to call him Dad. Or to even think of him as his dad.

After a moment’s silence, he turned to his father and shook his head. “Sorry.”

Jack coughed, and Connor quickly rushed to his side, holding him upright.

“Another bad day?” Connor asked.

“Son, there will be no more good days. One day is like the other, until it will be the last.”

The words struck Connor deep enough to feel some emotions for his father. He knew time was running out, but hearing it made it sound final.

“There’s a front coming, but I think you’d be able to sit outside for a little while. At least until the nurse comes.”

Jack simply nodded.

Connor helped his father out onto the deck where the old man sat down on his swing seat.

“Thanks, Son.”

Without a reply, Connor stepped away and watched the sea again.

“I couldn’t keep you away from the water when you were a child,” Jack said.

“What do you mean?” Connor asked.

Jack didn’t answer, so he turned around to look at his father. The old man stared into the distance, a withdrawn expression on his face.

“You were constantly in the water. Whatever opportunity you had, you grabbed your little board and spent most of the day there.”

“So what happened?”

His father shrugged. “You left with your mother.”

Sitting down on the chair next to Jack, Connor let out a long breath. “Something must’ve happened. I never go near water, let alone go in it.”

Still gazing into the distance, Jack said, “I still have the blue board. Ethan’s little son sometimes uses it nowadays.”

Not sure where the conversation was heading, Connor just went along. “Who’s Ethan?” he asked.

The reaction from his father wasn’t what he expected. With his shoulders sagged, Jack closed his eyes. He looked so old and frail. From what Connor saw in all the photos around the house, cancer had taken a lot of life out of his father, leaving behind a haggard body with no energy left. Initially, he’d been taken aback by their similarities in looks, with their dark brown eyes and dark blond hair, including the stubborn curl above the ears, but after all, Jack was his father.

Meet the Author

Iris Blobel was born and raised in Germany and only immigrated to Australia in the late 1990s. Having had the travel bug most of her life, Iris spent quite some time living in Scotland, London as well as Canada where she met her husband. Her love for putting her stories onto paper has only emerged recently, but now her laptop is a constant companion.

Iris resides west of Melbourne with her husband and her two beautiful daughters.

Next to her job at a private school, she also presents a German Program at the local Community Radio.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/IrisBlobel

Twitter: https://twitter.com/_iris_b

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4067254.Iris_Blobel

Review Tuesday: Wild Girls, Wild Nights edited by Sacchi Green

Wild Girls, Wild Nights: True Lesbian Sex Stories

Edited by Sacchi Green

Cleis Press, 2013

How does one evaluate a collection subtitled “True Lesbian Sex Stories”?

Originality counts as one of my top criteria when reviewing fiction. A startling premise, a setting or a conflict I haven't encountered in the past, will immediately predispose me toward enjoying a story. Can this be applied to real life tales, though? To a large extent, we don't choose our experiences, although authors will clearly exercise discretion in selecting the events to recount. Still, given the fantasy-oriented nature of much erotica, the more creative and unusual premises often tend to be the most implausible.

How about the arousal generated by the stories? This is a highly personal criterion, depending as it does on one's own sexual proclivities. A couple of tales in this collection definitely pushed my buttons, especially “The Insatiable Travel Itch”, by Evan Mora, which brilliantly exposes the narrator's frustrated fantasies, and “Delinquents”, by Catherine Paulssen, a gorgeously sensual first-time tale. Given my usual tastes, one might have expected me to mention some of the kinkier offerings, such as Mia Savage's “Kat's House”, Danielle Mignon's “Are You My Mommy?” or Cheyenne Blue's “Nurse Joan”. However, I have no experience with and relatively few fantasies about F/F dominance and submission, so these titles had less of a visceral effect on me than I would have guessed.

Writing quality, then? No problem here. With one or two exceptions, the offerings in Wild Girls, Wild Nights are as well-crafted as I'd expect from an award-winning editor like Sacchi Green. Vivid descriptions, believable characters, variety in subject and voice: if this were a fiction anthology, I'd have no reservations about giving this book a definite thumbs up.

But therein lies the rub. For the most part, these tales read not like true confessions, but like fiction. They have initial hooks, plot arcs, conflict and resolution. Real world experience is messy, confusing, and usually inconclusive. Ambiguity reigns. There's no ending, happily-ever-after or other. These tales, however, are mostly polished, self-aware, self-contained nuggets with a point and a punch-line.

Of course, this isn't all that surprising. Most erotic authors mine their own sexual adventures in creating their fiction. One gets into the habit of focusing on some details and glossing over others, ramping up the heat and playing down discomfort or insecurity, twisting the outcomes in directions that makes them more satisfying for readers. I've certainly done this myself, in dozens of stories.

Then there's the fact that perceptual experience is notoriously difficult to recall accurately. It's generally not possible to give an accurate account of past events without “filling in the blanks”, whether consciously or not. When the experience in question occurred decades ago (as is obviously the case for some of these authors), the imagination-to-fact ratio increases dramatically.

When I recall my first Sapphic experience now (after more than thirty years), I remember only a few salient details. If I were to recount this for a book, I'd have to recreate – or invent – almost all the context. And then there would be the temptation to change the outcome – the fact that this woman, a dear friend, and I have never talked about that one night again. That doesn't make a good ending, after all.

So I don't fault the authors in this book for producing stories that feel like – stories. However, that makes me admire the few authors whose accounts really did feel more like “being there”.

“Higher Learning” by Charlotte Dare fell into that category. I liked this account because of the unconventional relationship between an older woman returning to college and a much younger student who is nevertheless old enough to know what she wants – and what she's doing. The uncertainties of the older narrator come through clearly and ring true. Every woman, after a certain age, wonders how she could possibly be viewed as desirable. Most of all, I appreciated the fact that the story ends with a question mark. The two women pursue separate career paths in different states. Neither wants to end the relationship, but will it survive the stress of geographic separation? Ms. Dare leaves us to wonder.

Another stand-out for me was Catherine Henreid's “Odds”. This story, set in Tel Aviv, has enough disasters in it that I can't help believe it. The quirky and unpredictable encounter between the narrator and her bisexual housemate, who is in some sense a total mystery, was both intriguing and arousing.

I've already mentioned “Delinquents”, about two girlfriends who experiment with lesbian sex while their parents are away. I strongly identified with the narrator's concerns about how this would alter the relationship – naturally, given my personal experience.

Finally, I have no doubts about the truth of Dawn McKay's “Hot Summer Nights”, in which the author, a military medic in what is likely Iraq, shares a single night of healing passion with an off-limits officer. The sense of risk, of desperation, of sorrow, that permeates this story make it one of the most intense in the volume.

“I'll see you around,” she said.

“Yeah.” I knew I wouldn't. So did she.

…

She left as quietly as she had come, slipping from my tent in the middle of a sandstorm.

I have to reserve special mention for Allison Moon's “Foxy and the Ridiculous Lesbian Orgy”. In terms of the activities it describes, this tale is by far the wildest in the book, and certainly one of the funniest. The events in the tale undoubtedly took place – because the author staged them in order to have some content for a live girl-on-girl storytelling event.

I had no story to tell, but the flyers had gone out, and time was short. I had no choice. For the sake of science – nay for the sake of art, I had to take matters into my own hands. I had to throw a Ridiculous Lesbian Orgy.

Now, I know what you're thinking. If you construct the context for a story, are you actually experiencing the story, or are just experiencing yourself experiencing the story, thus negating the veracity of the experience? If it's really happening but in an artificial context, does it count as “true”? I'm a writer, these are the things I think about.

I'm an author, and I think about these things too. Wild Girls, Wild Nights is a bit of an epistemological puzzle, all the way around. However, if your main interest is simply in reading some hot, believable, girl-on-girl tales, you won't be disappointed.