Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

Isn't that YUM?

Ok, but seriously, I'm not sure where the saying came from, but it always makes me hungry.

In this case, however, we're not giving away chicken.

I realize I've been delayed, but unfortunately for me, my immune system isn't rock solid and therefore a lovely allergy attack had knocked me on my ass. But I'm here now, and taking care of some unfinished business.

First - thank you to all who toured with us and donated to Sommer Marsden. When the donations finally closed, £911 had been raised. Which is roughly, $1495 US!!! So WTG guys!

We have a winner from my Snogs for Sommer tour. My lovely assistant - her name is Aryia - chose a name from the four (yes Victoria I included yours) names that were kind enough to leave me a comment.

For those wondering about my lovely assistant, this is her.

And how she helped me choose was a rather different method. I just wrote everyone's names down on four slips of paper, and let her play with them for a bit. And whichever one had a readable name would win.

And the winner of a copy of Morning, Noon and Night, as well as an adorable make-up case with things to keep your lips in pucker form is.....*drum roll courtesy of Neil Pert*


Lovely one, please contact me with your name and mailing address so I can get your prize out to you immediately.

To everyone, y'all rock my socks off - and since Sommer and I both love our socks, it's a good thing, and not easy to do. I'm truly touched to be part of such an amazing community.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Snogging for Sommer - no seriously...

Howdy to all my hotties and heaux!

Lately, you've all been reading a lot about our lovely lady Sommer Marsden and what she's going through. Well, unfortunately for Sommer and her family, it's not over.

Fortunately for us though, that means plenty of creative ways to help her out! And as a community, we're an endless fountain of ideas!

Today we are snogging for Sommer. Now, for those of us who live on this side of the Atlantic Ocean and are not Brit-o-philes, what, exactly, is snogging?

Well, according to the online Oxford Dictionary, it is defined as:
     v. to kiss and cuddle amorously

Damn! I'm totally down with that! And so are the 58 (as of this writing) authors who have put up a "snogging" excerpt from either a work in progress, or an already published work. For a full line up, check out the Smut for Good website page here. There's also a button where you can donate to help Sommer, as well as a link to order all of her wonderfully smutty, incredibly well written and amazingly heartfelt books.

Most of those wonderful authors also have giveaways happening, and yours truly is no exception. Now, y'all know I love kisses, and kissing. And I'm OBSESSED with lip balm, and lip gloss, and just about anything that keeps these lovely lips in kissable condition.

SO, with that being said, I am offering up, as a prize to one lucky commenter - either here or on twitter (#SnogforSommer)  cuz I still don't know how those other prize helicopter thingy's work - a lovely little prize pack containing a copy of Morning, Noon and Night, which contains my story Test Drive, and an adorable make-up bag with a few things to keep your lips in their perfect pucker,

So read, comment, share it with your friends, and their friends, and so-on and so-on. Until everyone knows how to snog.

Today's snog is from a (started REALLY long ago buts still working on) current untitled work-in-progress. Hope you enjoy. 


‘To hell with it,’ Shari thought, and put her bottle on the desk. She faced the boys, and kicking off her shoes, undid the final buttons on her blouse, letting it fall off her shoulders to the ground. Gabe practically licked his lips, and Jude just stared. Cocking an eyebrow, she slid her jeans to the floor, delicately stepped out of them and kicked them to the side.

She stood in front of them, covered only in a lacy white bra and thong set. She took her beer, sauntered over to the king sized bed, and arranged herself against the headboard. She gestured to the two of them. “Next.” Gabe stood, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. He undid his pants and almost fell over getting out of themClad in only his underwear, he climbed onto the bed, got in behind Shari, and the both of them gazed at Jude.

“Your turn pal.” Jude was a little more careful with his clothing, slowly unbuttoning his black shirt. He took his time, knowing that Shari liked that. Gabe had started rubbing her shoulders, but her eyes never left him. He left his shirt hanging open while he got out of his pants, which he carefully folded and left over the lone chair. Turning back, he unbuttoned his cuffs.

“Wait.” Shari’s voice was breathless. “Leave it on.” She handed Gabe her beer, and crawled across the bed to where Jude stood. Her hands ran up and down his chest, and she rose up on her knees to take his face in her hands. She nipped at his lower lip, tracing it with her tongue and kissing him full force.

His hands reached around and grasped her ass, pulling her into his chest as he savoured her lips for the first time that night. She moaned and pushed her tongue further into his mouth. His hands came up to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back sharply and sinking his teeth into her neck. As he marked her, he made eye contact with Gabe.

Gabe nodded, understanding immediately. He was claiming ownership.  And Gabe had no problem with that. Setting the bottles down, he came up behind her, undoing her bra with a snap of his fingers. He knelt behind her, reaching around to cup her tits, and finally touch those sensitive nipples. Crushing her between them, he began kissing her shoulders.

Shari gasped. She could feel Gabe’s hard on pressing into her ass, and Jude’s was rubbing against her pussy. Her head was spinning with lust and booze and hormones. Hands were everywhere, pinching, kneading, caressing.

She pushed away from the two of them. “Hold on.” Her breath came in gasps as she got off the bed. Her bra straps slid down her shoulders, and she gazed coyly over her shoulder before letting it fall to the floor with the rest of her clothing. She stood with her hands on her hips. “Now boys. This is how it’s going to start. Tonight, I’ve heard some very interesting things, and I’ve seen some very interesting…. dynamics.” Her tone was playful and she licked her lips. “So, seeing as how I didn’t know you guys when this all occurred, and with all that talk earlier getting me so wet, I want a replay.  I want to see if Gabe really CAN teach me a thing or two about giving a blow job.”

Gabe and Jude looked at each other. “Is she serious?” Gabe asked. Shari laughed, the sound throaty and lust filled. Placing a hand on the back of both their necks, she pulled their faces into hers. “I’m.” She kissed Gabe deeply and thoroughly. “Very.” Turning her head, she did the same to Jude. “Serious.” Pushing their heads together, she waited.

Gabe could see the hesitation in Jude’s eyes and knew that they’d never get through this if he didn’t initiate. He leaned in further, pressing his lips to Jude’s. His face was a stone statue at first, but then his eyes closed, and his lips became pliant and soft. Gabe’s tongue slid through Jude’s mouth like silk. Jude responded by grabbing his head in both hands, attacking the other man’s mouth with a fervor that confirmed years of pent up frustration. Slowly, Shari backed away, climbing onto the bed with wide eyes, and a wider smile.  


©Miz Angell 2010

PS - I don't own either of those sexy images above. I just found them online. But the top one is pretty fucking hot, huh?

Friday, August 1, 2014

Round Six - Overheard at the next table...

So, as usual, I'm late getting this up. LOL. Story of my life.

Round six of Alison Tyler's Smut Marathon, is up and running. The voting ends at midnight on Sunday. Which means you still have three days to go and see which conversation would get your blood boiling, in a good way.

Anyone who's been following Alison knows that our little Trollop is a voyeur at heart. And she picks up the most random bits of conversation and turns them into incredible tales. So our assignment this time around was to work eavesdropping into our stories - and tell what happens next.

250 words. If you've been reading me often, you know that I often curse the flash story. It takes way more talent than I have to turn in something that is interesting in 250 words. And, if you're a writer like me, you tend to be a tad verbose when setting a scene.

That being said, follow the link above to check out the six remaining contestants. And be sure to vote. And then tell your friends. And make sure they vote.

You know the drill.

(Pssst - this pic ain't mine. Found on the interwebz, but who doesn't love NPH?)

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Everybody's Loving Summer

(I went through all the summer songs I could think of, but this one stuck with me as truly a Sommer song)

All right y'all.

It's mid-July. The weather gets hot, sticky, humid (and sometimes all three at once). It's summertime and it's all about having fun, swimming (skinny-dipping?), sitting on the deck with a cold brew, some good tunes and amazing friends, and enjoying the sunshine, the late sunsets and the starry nights.

It's also time to relax and catch up on some good reading. Now that don't necessarily mean Game of Thrones (no offence to George RR Martin - I'm mid book one myself). It could be quick, light, fun and sexy. Which, to be honest, in the summer, it's what I prefer. I like to leave the heavy stuff for long winter nights, with a fireplace and a hot toddy. (Winter is coming....right?)

And no one does light, fun, quick and sexy better than the group of authors who've put together Summer Loving. Spearheaded by Tasmin Flowers, and pushed along and edited by - who else? - Alison Tyler, this particular collection was put together to help our favourite season, Sommer Marsden.

A quick re-cap on how this came about. Our lovely Sommer, who does so much for other people and barely anything for herself, got poleaxed by some incredibly bad news last year. To her credit, she's been as much of a rock as anyone could be in this situation. But like all bad news, it comes with financial issues. I wrote a bit about Sommer's trials and tribulations here.

As Sommer has done before for others, Tasmin thought we will now do for her. So she got together with Alison, and together they put the call out to the erotica community for submissions for a special anthology. All proceeds, and I do mean ALL, go towards helping Sommer's family. All stories have been donated by the amazing authors.

Admittedly, I procrastinated. It wasn't that I didn't want to contribute, it's that I was completely swamped and caught up in real life drama. Alison, in her generous way, asked me to contribute by penning the foreword. I was - and am - honoured to be able to be a small part of this project. And the foreword? Man, I'll NEVER be asked to do one of those again. I almost cried.

So, fast forward a year and a bit, and here we are. Summer Loving is now out as an e-book, and ready to be purchased, read and enjoyed. And right now, it's on sale. A whole $0.69! Can you believe that?

If you're looking for the table of contents, check out Alison's post here.

And check out this cover! Is that totally retro sexy or what? The amazingly talented Willsin Rowe was the genius behind it.

So tell your friends - hell, be nice and buy them a copy for their e-reader. You'll be doing a good deed and getting some good reading in.

At the time of year when it's steamy and sticky, this won't cool you down, but it'll make you sweat in a good way.


It's not just up on all romance ebooks. It's also available in the following locations:
There y'all go. No excuses. 

Friday, June 13, 2014

Back from NYC - and why it might be my last trip to the States

As the 2013 Tony Awards drew to a close, I sat there, on the couch, thinking to myself how wonderful it would be to be in the audience and witness the best of the best on Broadway get awarded for their hard work.

And then I thought to myself - well, why can't I?

Hence, my ultimate trip to NYC started being planned. I got online with my BFF of 30-some-odd years and said "Let's celebrate being fabulous and 40 in our Mecca." Having never traveled together, and with our birthdays a mere 35 days apart, we figured it would be the perfect trip.

I spent a year conversing with old friends in New York, surfing for places to stay, and eagerly awaiting the moment that the 2014 Tony tickets went on sale. I planned and researched and bought tickets and would spend hours dreaming and plotting the ultimate birthday trip.

The day I was to fly out of Toronto to New York was a sunny one. I was packed, prepped and had everything in place.

I checked in to my flight the night before. Done.

My stomach was a bundle of nerves as I approached the airport. In the last 20 years, I'd only ever driven across the border. It was to be a short flight - and I loved flying - but I was still apprehensive. I tend to babble and say the wrong thing at the most inopportune times.

I got my boarding pass and was eagerly anticipating passing through customs so I could finally have a coffee - which I opted not to get before going through because handling a hot coffee and two bags was a juggling task I would not have excelled at.

The first round of customs couldn't clear me. I couldn't figure out why, but wasn't phased. I went to the second stage. And I waited. And I watched the clock. And I waited some more. I wasn't worried. There was still plenty of time to catch my flight. Finally, my name was called. I went up, I was respectful. I answered all the questions asked of me truthfully and honestly. They took my fingerprints, which, again, didn't set off any bells, as I hadn't flown into the US post 9/11 as of yet, so I didn't think it was a bad thing.

Until my luggage tag was ripped off my suitcase. Well, to me that just meant I was going to miss my flight and I would catch the next one out. No big deal. I refused to panic. This was my vacation and it was going to be glorious.

And then the customs officer said those words.

"I'm sorry, but we cannot allow you to enter the United States."

I fell to my knees, my eyes welling up with tears, and my breath refusing to come. A year of planning, of even GOING to the US periodically, and suddenly I wasn't allowed? I didn't understand.

The culprit was two shoplifting charges from TWENTY YEARS AGO. According to the US border patrol, these are crimes of "moral turpitude" and as such would prevent me from entering the country.

Yes, I do have those charges on me. But, as I pointed out, they were TWENTY YEARS AGO. They occurred during a pretty dark time in my life. I've been clear ever since. For God's sake, I've been coming and going from the United States at least once a year for the last twenty. But because I flew, they now are aware of this charge, and I am no longer allowed to enter.

I begged to speak to a supervisor. I pleaded with tears running down my face, and my breath coming in sobs. But she wouldn't allow me to. She just said that the answer would be the same, and sent me on my way.

After informing my travel companion (who was leaving the next day) of the problem, she came and got me and took me to the US Consulate. Where I was informed that only the border patrol can take care of this issue.

A call to a lawyer who specializes in this, and $300 later (for the phone consultation), he offered to file a parole form on my behalf, but it would cost $1500 to do that, and another $1500 if he succeeded. Well, there was no way I could afford that. So, I did what every grown up would do - I printed out my receipts for my Tony tickets, the correspondence with the Broadway Across America people (for the Tony tickets) and my credit card statement as well. And then my mother and I drove down to the border, hoping to find someone who was willing to listen.

When I managed to speak to someone, I was informed that the parole forms the lawyer was talking about were only issued for humanitarian reasons - ie/ a family member dying or dead in the US and a funeral to attend. I almost lost all hope, but the gentleman was willing to listen, and to speak to his supervisor. It then went one level higher, and after three hours of pleading my case, examination of my documents and discussion, I was allowed to go. I had a parole for the length of my trip, plus a day in case there were return travel issues.

I was incredibly grateful. This trip meant the world to me, and I would be able to see one of my dreams come true.

But now, if I ever want to travel to the US again, I need to get what is called a waiver. Which involves gathering my court records (again, twenty years old), a background check, a fingerprint card, a written statement from me about how I've "rehabilitated" (like all this time without incident isn't enough), and $585 US. Once I have all that, it has to be approved. This process could take anywhere from six to twelve months, AND the waiver could be valid from one month to five years. Which means that whenever they decide it's up, I have to do it ALL. OVER. AGAIN.

What equals to two misdemeanors in the US means I have this label on me for the rest of my life, unless I manage to secure a pardon. And apparently those can only come from the President or a US governor. Never mind that a pardon in Canada means NOTHING to them.

So that means no more weekend trips with the family to Buffalo for shopping. No more trips to Disney or anywhere in Florida, where the memories of good times with my father are very strong and prevalent. No trips to catch a musical on Broadway, or even to see good friends.

Meanwhile, there are shootings all over the United States, people sneaking over the border from Mexico, and people with WORSE criminal records than mine being let in on a daily basis.

If I had just driven to Buffalo or taken the bus to NYC, this wouldn't be an issue. As I've pointed out, I've been down and back at least once a year for the last twenty. But because I decided to fly, my entire traveling future is limited.

I think the United States government has a lot more to worry about than a person who made two little mistakes. My government has chosen to look past it. My employers have chosen to look past it, recognizing that while I wasn't technically a child, I was still young, and learning my way in the world.

So, now I have to decide if it's worth it at all. And there's a part of me saying no. But then I remember all the good times I might be missing out on, and the memorable places I'll never get to see again. And then that part of me says yes.

I'm torn. 

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Round and Round We Go

It's time for Round 4 of Alison's Smut Marathon. For those of you that have been playing along, I've managed - through the grace of God and lovely voters - to stay in the game.

For those who haven't, well, here are links to the first three rounds. Obviously voting is over, but don't deprive yourself of some wonderful reading.

Round One - Once Upon A Time challenge. Pen an opening line. Just one. We all know how important that opening line can be when grabbing a readers attention.

Round Two - Take two. Using a line from the previous challenge, one other than your own, pen a 250 word story start. The line didn't have to be the opening one, just as long as it was in there. Talk about tough!

Round Three  - The musical challenge. To write 300 words inspired by a song, any song, but not to reveal what it was (silly me - my song title wound up being the title of the piece - D'OH!)

And now here we are at Round Four. For this round, Alison gave us this story as inspiration. There is no summing it up - well, I'll try anyway. Cindy Sherman, artist, found this note card in a trove of old photos that she had bought in a junk shop some years ago. It's an interesting card, a telling of a lovers deception discovered before her marriage was to take place.

Her challenge was for us to pen a "notecard" that would intrigue someone enough to keep it around for almost a century, to be found by a treasure hunter, such as Cindy.

So go on over, take a look, and as you read, imagine which one you would pick up years later, and wonder...

what's the story behind the note?

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Anything But An Average Sommer

It's always such a pleasure to have the wonderfully talented, and incredibly funny Sommer Marsden drop by. But even more so when she's brought with her another set of characters for us to fall in love with. She's here on her "pseudo-blog" (her term, not mine) tour to share her latest offering Poster Boy for Average. Which, let me tell you, is anything but. Just as Sommer is exquisite and unique, so is this tale of a modest man who must be shown that he is, indeed, above average.

And so, without further gilding the lily, and with no more ado (bonus points if you can tell me what movie that was from), I give you Sommer Marsden!

Longing is lovely. Don’t you think? To write it is a pleasure. To write it about two characters I adore is heaven. So when I wrote this scene I made sure to pause and savor that painful little ache it triggered. But the breathy kind of want that followed swiftly on its tail… 


Once she’d fed Bruce and made arrangements for Bradlee and Laura to come get him after school, she marched across the lawn that separated her and Mike and knocked.  

“What are you doing?” she muttered. “This is ridiculous. This is just an excuse to see him.”  

And it was. She knew it was and she didn’t give a shit. She wanted him to know she’d be gone for various reasons. They ranged from in case someone broke into her house or it burned down, to if he needed her she wouldn’t be there. And yes, part of her hoped beyond reasonable sane-person hope that he would miss her. Some. At least a little.  

A bit.  

It wasn’t even seven a.m. so she rang the bell. Best for him to hear her. When she heard the chain slide back her heart jack-rabbited and she had the irrational urge to flee. Instead, she straightened her spine and stood there waiting.  

Mike opened the door and regarded her with bloodshot eyes.  

“Hi,” he said, leaning forward against the door jamb.  

“You look like shit,” Aubrey blurted.  

“Why thank you. Did you stop by just to tell me that?”  

She snorted and quickly covered her face. “No. I actually came by to tell you…” Her tongue didn’t want to put the words out.  

He opened the door wide and stepped back. “Why don’t you come in and tell me? It’s weird keeping you out there.”  

She’d kept him out there the night before. But it had been midnight and she’d been—  

Hurt. Unsure.  

Aubrey stepped inside and realized she’d never been inside before. Her eyes went to the sofa. It was milk-chocolate brown, deep, cushiony and rumpled all to hell. A throw lay tangled at one end as if he’d camped out there all night. An infomercial ran on TV, so she was pretty sure her guess was accurate.  

“Tell me what?” He hooked a finger at her and went into the downstairs half-bath. He took a swig of mouthwash, swished it and recapped it. “Sorry, didn’t want to kill you with my dragon breath.”  

“I wanted to tell you,” she said, so close to him in the small room she couldn’t seem to draw a deep enough breath, “that I’m going away for three or four days.”  

“Is it three or four?” He grinned at her. Between the grin and the unreadable blue eyes and the sleep corkscrews in his hair, she felt the draw of attraction in the pit of her stomach. She tried to shake it off but it refused to be shaken.  

“Not sure. Can’t remember.”  

“Can’t remember?” He touched the underside of her wrist with his fingertip. Simply stroked gently above her pulse. That small gesture nearly undid her.  

“Yeah. I just got the call. I’m going to Key West.”  

“Business or pleasure?”  

The word pleasure made her knees feel all buckly and such. “Business. Shooting a calendar. Which reminds me. They want to use one of my shots of you. For December. But I was thinking when I get back I could…” She was staring at his bare chest. He’d slept in his jeans, but that was all. Aubrey realized she could see the tanned skin jump softly with each beat of his heart. Judging by the pace of the jumps, his heart was beating a little fast.  

Just like hers.  

“Could what?”  

She did two things simultaneously. She took a step back but she reached out to touch that leaping skin. Her fingers came in contact and he stepped toward her just as she retreated.  

“Could set up one of my fake trees and take some shots. So you really look all Decembery.” Her hand was now splayed against his warm skin. She could feel his heartbeat now. Not just see it.  

“That’s fine.” He looked down at her hand and she glanced at his jeans. He was hard. She could see it. And the visual coaxed a shivery little sigh out of her. “You’re touching me.”  

“You’re wanting me,” she replied. Why had she said that? 

Indie photographer and book cover artist Aubrey Singleton is living up to her last name. A long summer at the lake has cured her of her recent breakup, and she’s embracing life as a single woman. What she’s not prepared for is to come back home to find she has a handsome new single neighbor. 
Mike Sykes is a roofer—though he’s afraid of heights—a father of two and recently divorced. Oh and one might classify him as smoking hot. 
The photographer in Aubrey is smitten, the single woman in her is breathless. She’s ready to make Mike a star—on book covers and, though she’s wary of a broken heart, in her life. He’s not so sure. Mike sees himself as a life complication due to his younger son’s illness, and not hot by a long shot. In fact, he thinks he’s the poster boy for average. 
But a “business” trip to Key West, rife with hunky models, sets a backdrop for a shot at true love… 

Buy it here!
Ellora’s Cave: 


About the Author: 

Professional dirty word writer, gluten free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, expert procrastinator. Called "one of the top storytellers in the erotic genre" by Violet Blue, Sommer Marsden writes for HarperCollins Mischief, Ellora's Cave, Excessica, Xcite Books and Resplendence Publishing. She's the author of numerous erotic novels including Poster Boy for Average, The Accidental Cougar, Lost in You, and Learning to Drown. Visit