Next!

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.

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,


ALISON TYLER.

********

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. 

XXX, 

Alison 

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 alisontyler.blogspot.com 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. ***

The Waiting Game

Tick.....tick.....tick.

 

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.

DISLIKE.

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!"

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.