Monday, December 23, 2013


Happy December 23rd y'all!

Life has finally slowed down (a bit). But of course now that I've said that, it'll start to get utterly fuck-tic hectic. Where's that wooden block I have....?

But I have started to write again.

Writers often say that it's not about writing when you're inspired to, it's about writing when you're not. And it's so true. Like anything, you have to practice, and keep at it, and push, even when you think you have nothing to write about.

That's how you become great at it.

But, inspiration did hit me the other night. I started working on this piece, and while I know it's going to be a short one, I'm not quite sure where it's going right now.

But I ADORE the beginning lines. And I'm posting here, for your opinions.

Because I love you.

Tonight, I wanted you.

Shamefully, embarrassingly, desperately wanted you. I know I shouldn't, for so very many reasons. But then again, I've never been one to pay attention to rules, let alone play by them.

I wanted your attention. I was a whore for it. I dressed the part - short, flirty skirt with knee high fuck-me boots. Holey sweater with tight glittered tank beneath. Red - festive.

Glittery eyes - black and red. The night's theme.

Laughter throughout the night. Side glances down the table. Comments and innuendos, playful, flirty, fraught with meaning, hints.


Whipped cream on my coffee, lifted by a scarlet tipped finger, sucked into glossy lips and a promising smile.

Did you notice? Were you aware of me as I was of you, when I grabbed your arm and leaned in a little closer than normal? Could you smell my arousal, my thighs slick under my skirt? My black and red thong was no help against the rush of lust that coated my skin. Simply because you were near.

 Well? Whatcha think?

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Christmas is here!

I love Christmas. I always have. The second December 1 shows on the calendar, all I listen to is Christmas carols. It's the same ones over and over, different versions by different artists, but I love them all just the same.

Over at Sommer's place, she's sharing Christmas memories. So I thought, why not share one of my own?

When I was a child, my grandparents had a huge house. Five bedrooms, four levels. The tree was HUGE, with so many decorations you'd get buried under them. It stood right next to the fireplace, where we'd have a roaring one going as we tossed ornaments, fake apples and tinsel at each other. We'd roast chestnuts - the old fashioned way - and have hot chocolate. And we'd laugh. So much laughter, our bellies would ache. When we got tired, we'd curl up with my grandmother, and watch as the grownups finished trimming the tree.

Then every Christmas Eve, we would have dinner - all 35 or 40 of the family and various stray friends with nowhere to go - and then we'd tear down dinner and gather in the living room. My mom would play the piano, we'd pass out song books, and sing carols for hours on end. (*Just a note on those song books - every year mom & I would go through them, replacing ripped pages, and putting new songs in. It was a PAIN*) We'd have a couple of breaks in the action, where we'd raid the treat table, refresh drinks, and then sit back down, calling out carols and page numbers. Our measuring stick was the 12 Days of Christmas. If we could get through all 12 days, the adults clearly needed more alcohol. To this day, that's one tradition that's remained the same.

When it was time for us to go to bed, my brother and I would trudge upstairs - under protest - and get into our jammies. After mom tucked us in, she'd go back downstairs to the festivities, and we'd sneak out into the hallway, sitting on either side of the large doorway, and listen to the fun, and wish we were old enough to stay up.

In the morning, we'd be up early as we could be. Under the same roof would be us, my parents, my two aunts, my two uncles and my grandparents. And we'd have so much fun waking them all up. We didn't realize until we got to be adults that they were up until two or three in the morning, not just tidying up after the caroling, but putting together my dollhouse or my brother's train set. We had no mercy.

As the adults pulled themselves - under protest - out of bed, my brother and I would run downstairs, hopping up and down eagerly to see what was under the tree. My father would come down and start the fire, my grandfather would pour out the traditional Christmas morning shot of liqueur, and my mom would take her place next to the tree to start handing out gifts.

If I close my eyes, I can still see it all - the twinkling lights on the tree, the red-orange flames, the horrible shag rug, the green furniture...and I can feel it.

The love. The warmth.


I loved how I was the only one I knew who had her whole family under the same roof for Christmas. When my grandparents sold the house, and we no longer had that tradition, well, I was bitter. But nothing lasts forever right?

It's going on ten years since we lost my aunt Gail to pancreatic cancer. My father has been gone for three, and my grandfather two. The family scatters now. We're all getting older, there's not as many children to keep up traditions for.

But come Christmas Eve, we'll still be trying to get through the 12 days of Christmas.

Just add alcohol.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Rated "R"....

I know! I know, I'm late....AGAIN.

As it does every November, work got in the way. I would have rather been here, posting with you fine folks, then keeping company with horses, sheep, and lots of cows. Although there is something to be said for keeping the company of the fine-ass ring crew that constantly has me in stitches and makes it not seem so much like work - but more about them at a later date.

I am proud to say, hotties and heaux, that I am the last stop on Ms. Sommer Marsden's Restricted Release kinda-sorta-almost-coulda-been-a-real-blog-tour. Heh. Love that.

I read Release as soon as it came out - and I've been a horrible friend by not posting the most glowing review possible because I love it! And so will you.

That very first kiss... 

I was in love with Matt from that very first kiss. Did I say I? Heh. I meant Clara. *cough*. Totally.

There's something magical about that very first kiss. Especially if it's been a while since you've been kissed.

Clara's hidden herself away for quite some time by the time Matt moves in. She's convinced herself that there's nothing out there for her. Especially love. Especially a man. Especially a shot at happiness.

Isn't it interesting when someone comes along to prove you wrong in the best possible way.

                    All the air had left the room. All of it. I felt like a fish out of water. A girl 
                   chained to the bottom of the pool. I was drowning.

                   But then he kissed me and I could breathe.

I'm not one for being wrong but I think here even I could make an exception.

I mean Clara.

I totally meant Clara...


It would be odd to fall in love with a fictional caracher...said the odd woman.

Hey, I never claimed to be normal.



Copyright © SOMMER MARSDEN, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

We sat in the center of his box-cluttered living room floor on a large blanket. Around us was scattered some leftover takeout, cheese, crackers, a box of lemon cookies, mixed nuts, olives, pickles and a bottle of wine.

“This should be disgusting,” he said, eating a pickle with a piece of cheese on a cracker.

“But it‘s so, so good,” I said, eating my own cracker with cheese. I ate it in small nibbles because my stomach was electric.

“Really?” He cocked his head. “Because you barely seem to be eating.” He touched my leg with his bare foot. He was warm.

“I‘m eating.” I pulled the sweatshirt he‘d draped over me close to my body. Besides his sweatshirt, I wore my white slouchy socks and we‘d located my panties.

He held out a box of cookies. “I’m good,” I said.

Matt studied me. “I‘m not as dumb as I look, you know.”

I ate the rest of my cracker and took a sip of wine. It was nice. It had that whiskey aftertaste I usually hate and yet I didn‘t this time. There was enough of a fruity burst in it to temper the oak. “I don‘t think you look dumb at all. I think you look really smart,” I said.

I hoped he didn‘t hear the mixture of annoyance and anxiety in my voice. I wanted to get past the food thing.

No chance.

“So tell me, mysterious neighbor. Why do you seem to be a person who sticks very close to home? Why do you seem so…gun-shy? Is that a good description?”

I tried to nod but my head barely moved.

“I know why I‘ve been a monkish man for almost a year. Why have you been Sister Clara Barrett?”

I cleared my throat. “I don‘t know.”

He cocked his head and then cut his eyes away. He tried to make it look nonchalant, but I knew what he was doing. He was giving me a moment to consider the situation.



Matt held up a hand, looking me right in the eye so I felt totally naked. For a crazy moment I felt as if there were no barriers between what was inside of me and what was inside of him. He said, “You were bold enough this morning to straight up tell me you wanted to have sex with me.”

I opened my mouth but he kept that silencing hand up and I shut my mouth with an audible snap. His fingers slipped beneath my sock, circled my ankle and he said very softly, “Please let me finish before you throw up your security fences and barriers.”

My throat was tight. I nodded.

“You were bold enough to watch me in my bathroom. When I probably could have spotted you at any time, and I sorta kind of did at the end there. And…” He squeezed my ankle and the pressure went right to my pussy. “You were bold enough to come over here on a…” He chuckled. “Booty call.”

I made a small noise of protest but then laughed. Our laughter mingled and I felt a rightness I couldn‘t remember feeling. It scared the shit out of me.

“But you won‘t tell me what your history is, Clara?” He didn‘t say it to belittle me. I could tell he wasn‘t angry. It was simply a question to help him understand. And that made me tell him.

I finished my wine in three big gulps and leaned back on my hands, keeping my legs in crisscross-applesauce fashion.

“I was married.” I picked at a loose thread on my sock and then looked at him. His eyes were amazing. Gorgeous and kind and deep—if they were the windows to Matt Millen’s soul, his soul was a wonder of the Universe.

“I‘m going to say this in one big breath and get it over with, okay?” I said, feeling my eyes sting a little. I willed myself not to cry. I could not cry. That would be stupid. That bad part of my life was over. I needed to move past it.

“Okay,” Matt said. His hand stayed around my ankle, loose but comforting. He wasn‘t eating or drinking, but he wasn‘t poking or prodding either. He was waiting. Listening. Paying attention.

“I was married to a man who wasn‘t…nice.” I shrugged but it felt like I was being blasé about something that was anything but. So I stilled my body and went on, willing myself to be strong. “He didn’t beat me or anything. But he carved me up emotionally. My sister Cat once said it would have been better if he had beaten me.” My voice had gotten small. My stomach hurt.

His eyes flashed with anger but he kept his face schooled. “And why is that?”

I blew out a shuddery breath and whispered. “She said that if he‘d left bruises on me—broke bones—I‘d have known that it was wrong. But as it stood, he got inside my head and…” I tapped my temple. “Fucked with me. He played on my biggest fears and weaknesses to control me. It‘s like in those books where you read about demons and possession and Hell,” I laughed. “He infiltrated my brain and he trapped me with my own fear.”

Matt sighed and popped an olive in his mouth. “I‘m going to go out on a limb here, slim lady, and say one of your issues is food and body image?”

My cheeks heated and I nodded, saying nothing at all. I had to fight the urge to cover myself with his sweatshirt. To pull it down over my knees and hide myself in it. It was a war I still waged most days, even thought I was alone about 80 percent of the time.

He watched me. He was waiting.



Clara is the recovering anorexic who’s nearly become a shut-in after the end of her emotionally abusive marriage. Matt is the new boy next door. Graphic artist, nice guy, funny…accepting of Clara.  She wants him, he wants her—but Clara is afraid.

Nadia is the stand-in—Matt’s idea, Clara’s challenge to accept. A longtime friend of Matt’s, she’s a sexual surrogate intended to guide Clara until she’s not afraid of Matt’s desire for her or hers for him. Twosomes become threesomes, watching becomes touching and lust becomes love.

When Matt moved in next door, lust was the last thing Clara expected. Two lovers never crossed her mind. And the need to make a choice was something she thought she’d never encounter. But she’s bolder now, healing, and everything has changed. And a choice must be made, no matter how hard.

Inside scoop: Clara’s healing includes a hot woman who wants to show her how desirable she is, as well as f/m/f menagés.

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
Ellora’s Cave



Sommer Marsden’s been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler), “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen),and “Erotica royalty…” (Lucy Felthouse).

Her erotic novels include Restricted Release, Restless Spirit, Boys Next Door, and Learning to Drown. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for Xcite Books, eXcessica, Ellora’s Cave, Pretty Things Press, Resplendence Publishing and Mischief Books. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning, wannabe runner author writes work that runs the gamut from bondage to zombies to humor.

Sommer’s short works can be found in well over one hundred (and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines–both in print and online.Visit her at Unapologetic Fiction

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Generosity Abounds

At least that's what we're hoping for.

One of our darling's, a woman whom I've pimped out and adored for years, the amazingly generous Sommer Marsden, has had a bit of a rough go lately.

About six months back, her husband was diagnosed with cancer. Horrible right? It could happen to any one of us or our loved ones. What adds insult to injury is that her insurance company won't cover the cost of his chemo.

So, the erotica community is banding together to do what we can to help. Led by the magnificent Bronwyn Green, and supported by erotic heavyweights such as Victoria Blisse, Saskia Walker and of course Alison Tyler (just to name a few), an indiegogo project was created with amazing rewards at every level of donation. 

The aim is to raise $3000.00 to help with household expenses. I'm hoping it's more. 

Check it out, and please donate what you can.

Times are tough for everyone - we all understand. And if you'd like to help, but can't afford to donate, help spread the word. Tweet about it, Facebook it, blog it, send out smoke signals. Tell your neighbours, your friends, hell tell the neighbours friends dog. 

Together, we can definitely make a difference for this family.


(*I don't own this image, but it's so cute!)

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

SShhhh - it's a secret... (DSL Blog Tour stop)

Ok, not really. And I'm not so good at keeping secrets anyway.

As I sit here, attempting to figure out how to introduce this, I'm brought back to 2007 - and the first time I saw Alison Tyler's blog. She was - confessing is the closest word I can think of - and keeping her readers on the edge of our seats. It was a tale of shame, of discovery, of release. It was a tale of newly discovered pride.

Even after she stopped telling, it stuck with me for awhile. And I stuck around to see if she'd finish it.

Six years later, she's started it all over again. But this time in book form.

The first installment of this tale is titled Dark Secret Love. And like Alison herself, is unique and incredible. You'll have to attach yourself to something steady, because it's easy to fall into her world.

Today, our lovely Trollop answers a few questions, and poses a challenge for readers in the last one.


You’ve said that whatever you write always contains a sliver of yourself. With DSL, it’s more than a sliver. Did you discover anything new about yourself this time around that you didn’t back in 2006 when you first began telling your tale on your blog?

Here’s a tequila-induced confession. I was fucking terrified to revisit the story. I wrote this entirely organically, if that makes sense. Every day, I committed to about a thousand words. I let music inspire me as far as the tone. So if I heard a Pink Floyd song one day, I might write with that atmosphere in my mind the next. I had no real grasp of whether the piece would hold together in book form. What did I discover? That petrifying fear, which gradually let me loose the longer I worked on the project.
See, the thing is, there are 500,000 words to the tale. I’m at book eight of compiling, and it’s not finished.

Where’s the craziest place you’ve found inspiration for one of your stories?

I entertain myself by constantly writing stories in my head. Any place where you’re stuck for more than a few minutes, that’s when my over-active brain takes over. I’ve written stories set in the DMV. While waiting for a Tow Truck. While stuck in traffic. I like to say that I see sex wherever I go. It’s the truth. Give me a few people, an odd location, and ten minutes—and I’ll write you a story.

How hard was it to come to terms with your sexual “appetites” in a society that insisted they remain hidden? Do you feel it would be easier if you had to do it in today’s world?

There are so many more resources available for kinky people now. At least, resources you can easily put your hands on. The internet is a wealth of knowledge for fetishists and kinksters. In my formative years, as they say, I was pretty much alone. And lonely. That is, until I met Brock:

And it wasn't long before I realized that high school life and my world with Brock were parallel universes that didn't have anything else in common—running side by side on twin tracks. I felt as if I were in a dream as I walked through the Quad, watching the popular kids up on the wall, the jocks out by the basketball court, the stoners behind the gym. I faked everything from 8 - 3, not coming alive again until Brock picked me up on his Harley. Somehow, I was smart enough to do well in class simply by going through the motions. But I no longer had a desire to fit in.
            I think we are all hardwired for what we crave. When I’d gone on the few miserable dates with guys my age, I would invariably offer my wrists to them. To hold. To kiss. I didn’t even know why I was doing this. And the guys never figured out what I wanted. I can imagine their confusion now. What’s with this chick? But Brock did. He rarely held my hand. He gripped my wrist instead, letting me know what it would feel like to be bound to his bed, to be in his power. Letting me know ahead of time, before he made that fantasy come true.

DSL is a huge hit – and Hollywood comes knocking. Who do you see playing the parts?

Ha. I love you. I wish I could close my eyes and see the cast all lined up neatly. But I can't wrap my head around the casting! I want to say, an eloquent Tom Sizemore. Or Michael Madsen in this one scene of this one movie. Or David Straithairn circa L.A. Confidential. Or John Doe in Slam Dance. Even if his coloring is wrong, there's something so brutal and sexy about him. Especially, in that three-piece suit.

But you know what? I want to flip the question and ask readers instead. Who would you cast for the roles? 


I think she really wants to know guys. So answer in the comments, and at the end of the blog tour, Alison will choose her favourite answer and that lovely reader will receive a fun prize. Not sure what yet, but you can bet it'll be cool. (Also, if you check out that entry, you can enter to win a prize pack from Alison herself).  

If you don't have your copy yet, check out Dark Secret Love at Amazon UKAmazon US or at your local book store. 

Called a “Trollop with a Laptop” by East Bay Express and “a hell of a writer” by Violet Blue, Alison Tyler is naughty and she knows it. Her sultry short stories have appeared in more than 100 anthologies. She is the author of more than 25 erotic novels, most recently Dark Secret Love, and the editor of more than 75 explicit anthologies. Visit 24/7 as she’s a total insomniac.

Friday, September 27, 2013

I spy....

Sex. It's not just for couples anymore.

What I mean to say is, it's not just for two people. I mean, there might just be two people HAVING sex, but in today's society - there might always be someone watching.

Hence the topic for the next round in Alison's Smut Marathon - which is now up and running.

Here was our assignment:

Where do we find inspiration? I like to say that I see sex everywhere I go. (I don’t just like to say this because the words feel good in my mouth. I say this because it’s true.) So here is your assignment. Look out the window—I don’t care what window. Any window. Anywhere. And see sex.
That accomplished, write me a piece up to 500 words that describes an erotic scene featuring a window.

As a result, there are seven hot, sultry different ways to spy on your fellow man .. and woman.

Grab a cold drink, your binoculars, and sit by the window.

You never know what you're going to see.

I spy, with my little eye....

Thursday, September 12, 2013


So, all my hotties and heaux, you know how much I love my girl Sommer Marsden, right? Of course you do. I've only said it here, and here, and I'm sure in several other places that I can't locate right at this moment.

She's brilliant, and sexy, and talented. And ambitious.

Two years ago - I posted this entry. About Sommer's ambitious project - a live serial, written in real time on her blog.

What a project it was. What it turned into, what it IS, is breathtaking.

She called it Wanderlust.

And now, it is available at AllRomance Ebooks FOR FREE.

That's right - this 67 chapter wonderment of words is available today and tomorrow for you to add to your Kindle/e-reader for free. Just follow the link.

And, while you're there, why not check out some other amazing authors and their tales of love, romance and sexy-sexy now? Prices are reasonable and the range of talent is incredible. Who knows?

You might fall in love on your own journey of self discovery.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013


That's right - next round of Alison Tyler's Smut Marathon has hit the ballot! (What round are we on anyway? I'm losing track of things so easily lately).

This assignment was a free-for-all. Sort of.

A story. A short, smutty, sexy story - with only 500 little words.

And as I've stated in several of her challenges - it's a hard thing to do, to tell a complete story in 500 words. They come - and go - so fast it's like a blink. (DON'T BLINK!)

And speaking of quick - my time is up on the blogger-verse for the moment. Work demands are getting in the way.

But I wanted to direct y'all to go on over and VOTE VOTE VOTE.

As usual, it's all anonymous. But really, with entries like this - everyone is a winner.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

No Holds "Barred"....

She's heeeeere! She's here!

How's my hair? Is my lipstick smudged? Did I put out enough wine?

(Ok, just breathe. Everything is fine.)

Why the fuss? you ask. Why are there throw pillows on the floor, 80's tunes in the background, and all that  tequila?

Didn't you see the title today?

We have a very, VERY special guest.

Well, you know I've been bragging on her and pimping her out and playing with her for YEARS now. And finally, she's come to visit. So of course, everything has to be perfect.

Hotties & heaux, pour yourself a drink, whether a shot or two or a glass of merlot, kick off those stilettos and get comfy.

Here to talk about ... bars and their affect on her writing, is the literary siren herself, our very own Trollop with a Laptop, and the very reason so many of us are even published in this genre,



Banging Rebecca really starts behind a bar. A venue, it’s called. A club. A Pico Blvd. nightspot. But it’s a bar. And I like bars. 
If you’ve read more than a handful of my stories, you’ve probably guessed this fact. Off the top of my head, the following stories of mine mention—or are set in—bars: 

Last Call—in Morning, Noon, and Night 
I want the bartender to close and lock the front door of the bar. “What happens in The Local, stays in The Local,” I want some wiseass to say. There will be laughter, of the nervous variety, and the men will try not to look into each other’s eyes. Because what we’re going to do here is a gangbang, and brother, when you say that word aloud, people get jittery. 
Sitting Pretty—in Bound for Trouble 
Let’s discuss the placement. Positions are extremely important. I’m not talking in bed—doggy-style, missionary, or otherwise—but positions in the bar. 
The Pick-Up Artist—in Gritty 
Valentine’s Day at a singles bar. Life doesn’t get much lonelier than that. Flirty paper hearts were stuck to the mirror on the back of the bar. Shiny cupids dangled on fishing wire over head. Keith eyed the girls in their frippery and finery—so much scarlet, fuchsia, and pink. The bartender was pouring carnation-colored Cosmos and cardinal-hued Sea Breezes—anything with a bit of cranberry juice or grenadine. Keith asked for vodka—clear, not pink—and scanned the room. 
Cubed—in Cuffed 
I turned to gaze into the corner of the bar, where the cowboy was pointing. I don’t know why I looked. I know what shop teachers look like, and I also knew what this man looked like. He had short silver hair and the type of jaw made for a razor commercial, so different from the cowboy with his baby face and his wheat-blonde wave. The quiet man in the corner and I had been trading glances all evening— I’d felt his eyes on me, felt his interest. The cowboy must have, too, which is why he’d tossed out the insult. 

So why do I hang out in bars? Oh, you think you’re so smart with your “tequila” answer ready right there next to your lime and salt. And yes, I do like a shot with the ends of my days. But one of my favorite pastimes is people watching, and bars provide the perfect opportunity. Rebecca watched Sean at the bar. He could feel her watching him: 
that very first night, he was up with me. Up in the alley behind the Pico Boulevard venue, pressing against me, pawing his way into my little black satin shorts, flicking open the silver buttons on my buffalo plaid shirt with a dynamic rhythm.  
I could almost hear the drum beat in my head. 
“Saw you in the front row,” he told me, mouth to my ear, hot breath on my skin. “I knew you saw me, too.” 

Of course, what happens behind the bar…well, that’s when the fun begins. 


Called a “Trollop with a Laptop” by East Bay Express and “a hell of a writer” by Violet Blue, Alison Tyler is naughty and she knows it. Her sultry short stories have appeared in more than 100 anthologies. She is the author of more than 25 erotic novels, most recently Dark Secret Love, and the editor of more than 75 explicit anthologies. Visit 24/7 as she’s a total insomniac.

***AND, kidlets, if you haven't kinked up your Kindle with a copy of Banging Rebecca yet, hop over to Amazon and grab one. Not only will you get a sexy short, you'll help this lovely lady hit her 50,000 goal. So GO. Now. ***

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

The Waiting Game


It seems like you, my wonderful, loyal hotties and heaux, are always playing this game with me. I post, and then a whole ton of time goes by, and then I post again...and the cycle continues.

It's vicious, I know.

I have a post for you - I swear I do. But as I went to add what I needed from my email this morning - outlook crapped out on me.

Yes, I know - a pain in the ass. But crap out it did. So I currently cannot access it.


So, instead, I'm going to give you a brief run-down of what's going on in my life.

I went on a wonderful cruise with my family - we docked in Grand Turks, La Romana, Curacao and Aruba. I'd never been on a cruise before, so it was an amazing new experience for me.

This was our boat - The Carnival Breeze.

This was the view from our balcony. Dreamy huh?

This was the view at all the places we visited. Talk about heaven.

I drank a WHOLE lot of drinks that looked similar to this (I think tequila was my best friend but she didn't make my clothes fall off - much).

The whole trip was ten days. I have never been so relaxed in my life. I unplugged for eight of the ten days. Barely looked at my phone, didn't pick up my iPad to read, didn't even write anything. I was just in the moment, enjoying every second of being away.

And then I came home and got SICK. I mean, coughing so hard I was peeing myself every five minutes type of hacking, and congested so badly it felt like my head was full of cotton.

That was a month ago. I'm STILL sick. Not so much hacking and coughing, that's mostly gone. But I think the congestion has joined forces with my allergies to make sure I don't have a peaceful night's sleep. It sucks.

I've also started working out with a personal trainer. I hate her. But apparently, from what I hear, she's not doing her job if I don't, so....

AND starting September 10, I'm going back to school to continue my studies in Publishing.

WHEW. A lot going on.

The saddest event of my summer (so far, and please let it be this and nothing more), was having to put down my baby girl. That's her below.

She was fifteen. She was born in my garage two weeks before my wedding. I helped deliver her. She was the runt of the litter, not expected to survive.

Last weekend, she got into a fight with a raccoon (we can only assume). It chomped on her ass-end pretty good, and fractured her lower spine. Combine that with health issues that come with old age - emphysema, renal failure, seizures - and we knew it was her time to go.

She had a great run of it. She was never a cuddly cat, but she gave love in her own little ways.

*shakes head*

Anyway, so that's been my summer, in a thousand words or less (ok maybe fifteen hundred).

But coming up next - have I got an entry for you....and a very special guest.

And as one of my fave celebrity chefs (and girl crush) Nadia G says,  "A la prossima!"

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Just call me Madame Angell...

I was thinking Pimp Daddy, but I've got breasteses and Pimp mama just sounds...wrong. So Madame Angell it is.

Why the sudden change in names? Because I'm changing careers, for a moment.

Today, I am pimping out my girl Alison Tyler - or more specifically, her book Banging Rebecca.

Look at this beautiful cover.

Doesn't it just CALL to you? The siren song of a scintillating story. The melodic music of a magnificent memoir. 

The titillating tone of a transcendent tale.

*shrug* Ok, so I'm not as good at alliteration as Alison herself.

But you get my meaning right?

Alison's goal is to sell 50,000 copies - whether hard-copy or e-book format. Both are simply pennies in the bang-for-a-buck category. 

The Kindle version is selling for a mere $2.99 u.s. That's less than a skinny mocha-latte at Starbucks. And this will last you longer. And you can enjoy it again, and again.

The hard-copy is currently on sale for $5.49. (No more Starbucks comparisons - one is all I got in me. I'm a Tim Horton's kind of girl. See?).

What's it about? Well... let's borrow a review from Amazon, shall we? (re-posted with permission)

5.0 out of 5 stars Rocking the Vibe

This is how I dreamed my meeting with a rock star would go.

In the first lines of Banging Rebecca, Alison Tyler successfully transforms even the stodgiest of readers into the most willing of groupies. The character of Rebecca could have been me, in another lifetime. This is every fantasy, every x rated dream, every scenario (and then some) that's brought me to my knees over the last twenty years.

Written in a language that's simple, and yet all her own, Alison brings us into the world of rock and roll with few words, images that cause you to sweat inside, and a desire for the life that eludes the majority of us.

This has to be the hottest of the hot produced so far by Ms. A.

Need I say more?

So, help a girl - no, help a GODDESS out. Go buy a copy - and while you're at it, get one for a friend.

Trust me, they'll thank you.

Monday, June 24, 2013

SWF, w4m, FWb?

Have you ever written a personal ad?

Me neither. Never thought to. But I do seriously enjoy reading them. So much so that I actually follow my city's Casual Encounters on twitter. Just for the hell of it. And in the name of research. Yes, research.

Especially for this round of Alison Tyler's Smut Marathon.

You do recall the lovely, sensual characters penned in Round Two? If not, why not pop back and familiarize yourself with them once more? It's ok. I can wait.

Wonderful aren't they?

So, our assignment this round was to write a personal ad for one of those delightful, sexy people. Just not the one we created.

What resulted was entertaining, amusing and all sorts of LULZ. And wet panties. Yep. Because they are all of the above, and they are sexy too. Just like they should be.

So grab a coffee, or beverage of choice (hell it's five o'clock somewhere right?), and find yourself a match. And then tell your friends.

Because that's what friends do right? Share?

Friday, May 24, 2013

Fall in Lust...

Fifteen times if you please.

Round two of Alison Tyler's Smut Marathon is up and running. This was our challenge.

Choose a location described in Round 1. Any location. Except the one you wrote. Keep the location in your mind as you write a 200-word (max) character description of someone who might venture to the location.

Keep in mind that while creativity counts, you can expect (those of you with a little foresight) that you might be asked to include this character (male, female, trans, etc.) in an erotic story in the future. So please, a) no underage. And 2) consider penning a character your readers might like to have a literary romp with. (I mean, you might enjoy describing the next hunchback of Notre Dame but will you want to see him fuck? Maybe. That’s up to you.)

Give your character sketch a title. Makes it easier for me with the poll. That doesn’t have to count in the 200 words.

What else? Oh, yes, you won’t know which locations the other writers have chosen. I don’t mind doubles, triples, etc. We’ll all find out who chose whose when the stories post and the authors are revealed.
So there you go. Challenge accepted. And it really was a challenge. 
Like the first, the different takes on characters are compelling and exciting. So go ahead.
Go fall in love - as many times as you like.  

But only one can get your vote. 

Spread the word, tell your friends. Voting is open until the May 30. And then come on back to see who won, and who was the first to fall.
Thank y'all. 

Monday, April 29, 2013

I'm late, I'm late, I'm late...


Ok, this time I have an excuse. I pulled double shifts this weekend at the second job. By the time my weary bones made it home, it was an effort just to crawl into bed.

But there is still time! For what? you ask.

To vote in round one of Alison Tyler's Smut-A-Thon. :D

Our first assignment seemed to be a piece of cake (double chocolate fudge if you please). What our perfect setting for an erotic story would be. No people, no action, just the setting. In two hundred little words. Simple right?

WRONG. So very, very wrong.

But what came out were fifteen very different, very special ideas.

So, on that note, voting ends at midnight tomorrow. So follow the link, vote for your favourite (no I can't tell you which one is mine but that's ok - they're all awesome!), and tune in to see who advances.

Kind of like The Voice and American Idol, except without the nasty judges or the super-fine bromance between Blake Shelton & Adam Levine. You know, these two gorgeous pieces of man-flesh.

Did I really just say that? Oh boy...

Make sure to follow the authors, even if they don't make it through every round. Because they're chosen for being talented. And awesome. And super, super sexy.

Did I mention talented? And awesome?

Ok, good.

Monday, April 15, 2013

What's in a Name?

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That which we call smut by any other name, would still be as hot, and sexy, and steamy...

In this case, it's Alison Tyler's Project Smut-way. Or Smut Marathon. Or Smut-A-Thon. Well, whatever you call it, it's time for the 2013 edition!

The last time we did this, I made it so close to the end, only to be ousted in Round Eleven. But let me tell you, I'd never had so much fun writing.

We had a stellar line-up of contestants back then, including May Deva, Dorla Moorehouse, Joss Lockwood, Monocle, Vida Bailey, Scarlett Greyson and Willsin Rowe to name a few.

This time around, the competition is doubly fierce as more smutters want to participate in the fun and games.

So, pop over to Alison's Smut Marathon blog, and meet the contestants. And keep your eyes peeled for the challenges and entries.

The first time around was amazingly fun and challenging. And what's the saying about things being better the second time around?

I can't wait!

Friday, April 12, 2013

Bad, bad kitty....

Taming His Wild Cat.

It never fails to amaze me at how truly talented writers don’t need a lot of words to get their point across. Andrea Dale is one of those. This story, in Alison Tyler’s latest anthology Sudden Sex, is approximately two hundred words.

That’s all - two hundred simple, tiny words. But put them all together, and it’s a quick, intense, erotic experience that left me diving for my laptop and my bookmarked sex shops.

And because it’s only two hundred words, there’s really no summing it up. So I’ll just leave you with four of my own: hot, kinky, wild.


Click the link to purchase your own copy of this sizzling anthology, courtesy of the one, the only, Alison Tyler.