You Know You Want Them…

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The Importance of Being Lazy

I have mornings—much like this morning, actually—where the snooze button and I become naughty acquaintances. She likes it when I feel my way around her. Sometimes I give her a caress, rubbing my hand over her to beg for another nine minutes of peace. Sometimes I give her a lazy swat and demand it from her. She digs it. That's how we roll.

But there comes a time when she or I have had enough of our game, and I stare up at the ceiling, nestled under the delicious coolness of Egyptian cotton sheets. Then comes the choice: get up for work or laze about all day? Maybe I'll mull this over for a bit and psych myself up for a day of work, or maybe I'll claim the day for myself.

On days like that, the ones I claim for myself, I refuse to rush. I'll start the day with a very long, very hot shower, and reach one dripping, wet hand out to select scented soap or gel (I have a thing for them!). It's hot here now, so I'll pick something summery…maybe Satsuma? Perfect. I'll take my time finishing and dressing before leaving the house. Sometimes lazy days don't happen at home.

My day out of the house will start with a few hours of browsing at the nearest bookstore. This is the only place I find any joy in shopping. I get a lot of pleasure out of just browsing…touching the books, appreciating their cover art, opening them to random pages to see if the words sweep me into their poetic cocoon. If they do, well…I'm not shy. I'll sit on the floor in the aisle and relish them for a bit. Then, I'll move on until I find JUST the right one…one with mermaid lore or the science of snowflakes or how to write a poem in perfect iambic pentameter.

After I've satisfied my inner geek with a book I can use for research for some type of poem or story I'm crafting, I'm off to a favorite coffee shop or café for a little writing time. I'll buy one of those yummy coffee drinks and settle into the hot seat, a place I can watch all the folks heading in and out. I'll take out my Uni-ball Signo and my red, hard-covered notebook with the Indian design on it, then open to the first pristine page. I love the connection I have with my work when I write it directly on the paper, in my very own handwriting. I'll smooth the page and start the half-dream process I have with the first draft of a story that I hope will have its own bits of magic.

There will be times I stop writing and just enjoy watching the patrons around me. If I'm lucky, an attractive stranger on his lunch break or on a coffee run will come in. Maybe I'll like how he holds the door for someone to go ahead of him or like that he keeps his drink order simple or like the uniform he wears. I'll try to catch his eye, and if I do, I'll cock my head to the side just a bit and smile up at him. And if I'm very lucky, he'll smile back and say hi as he walks past. Those little flirts get my heart racing, and I'll grin to myself, satisfied, and slip back into my own fantasy world unfolding on the paper before me.

When it's time to leave…when I'm close to over-staying my welcome at the café or when my hand starts to ache…I'll be relaxed and feel satisfied by the time I get home. Then, if I'm ambitious, I walk down to the beach near my house. Or maybe I'll stay lazy and curl up with the book on the couch. Soon enough, it will be time to wrap myself in the comfort of cool, soft sheets. And maybe, I'll indulge in a fantasy about the stranger in the café where I get to end my day the same way it began: with a bit of caressing or a few lazy swats. Maybe.

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Luxuriously Lazy

There are days when you simply can’t imagine doing anything past getting out of bed. Now, if I had my choice, I’d spend the day in bed. But sometimes you have to get up. But in anticipation of my lazy mood, my lover would bring me breakfast in bed. Being the considerate mate that he is, he would definitely stay to help me clean my plate. I mean seriously, who wants to feed themselves fresh strawberries and blueberries.

And what happens if I dribble a bit of OJ down my chin? I can’t be expected to handle such a crisis on my own. It would be much more effective if my lover were to gently slide his warm tongue along the curve of my chin to lick the errant line of juice.

Fine, I can’t stay in bed all day, so I force myself out of bed and head for the shower. We’ll call my lover M.

M lays a towel on the counter for me and steps into the stream of scorching water behind me. As I stand facing the wall, the spray of warmth cascades down m face and drips along my shoulders, sending a shiver along my spine that is simply delicious. He moves in close and slowly slips his arms around me, caressing me in all the spots that I love to be touched. Hips lips brush against my neck and I actually tremble from the way it affects me. I lean back against him and let his fingers wander where they will, kneading and pinching, tweaking and teasing. My eyelids slowly slip down and I feel my body physically sigh with the total feeling of ecstasy.

As the water begins to cool, I shiver from the loss of warmth. M fills his palm with the silky gel, scented with vanilla and honey. He begins at my toes and meticulously rubs the satiny foam against my skin, lathering and massaging every single quivering inch of my body. AS the water turn dangerously cold, he splashes the water against me, rinsing the soap and teasing me with soft kisses before wrapping his arms around me. Quickly he turns the water off and wraps a large fluffy warm towel around my body and leads me back to the bedroom.

Once he has me propped back up in bed, he hands me my iPod and disappears. Some time later he returns with a tray of food fit for a queen. All my favorite foods, comfort foods. While I read on my iPod and graze the contents of the tray, M fills his hands with lotion and begins to massage my foot. As he rubs his thumbs against my flesh, it thrills me how the lotion makes his hands slick, giving his fingers an erotic intensity that leaves me nearly breathless. I don’t know when it happens, but I fall asleep as he continues to rub up my calves.

When I awake several hours later, there is a cup of tea and a note that says, “I love you.” I call for him as I realize it is nearly time to go to bed for the night.

He comes in and I watch him strip down to the beautiful nakedness that I truly admire. I sigh as he slips under the covers next to me and pulls me close against him and whispers goodnight as his hands begin another sensual journey.

(c)Karen L. Syed

Bring Me Some Water

It is instinctive, even elemental. Ripe, red strawberries make us hungry; the animal in us craves the fruit. The curve of a hip, the arch of a smile, the nearness of another's body heat makes us aware of our sexual desire. The blue waters of the oasis make us thirsty.

Like all living things, we need water to live. Our bodies are largely made of it. Two thirds of the surface of the planet is covered by it. We need it, cannot live for long without it. But what IS it about water that brings us so much pleasure?

Perhaps it is the way water cleanses. When we come home, tired and dirty with the dust of our day's journey, bathing refreshes it. It is a private act, a sensual one, and a not-so-secretly seductive one. How did King David spot Bathsheeba? She was bathing on the roof, and he instantly knew he had to have her. What sells so many copies of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue each year? We can see beautiful women's bodies anywhere, but the aquatic settings--the wet sand, the surf, the palm trees--give an extra, special allure. Don't believe me, ladies? Type "beach photos" and your favorite male celeb's name into your search engine and see for yourselves. Hugh Jackman wet is more fun than Hugh Jackman dry.

In the world's oldest tales, waters are personified, the seas are Neptune or Poseidon. To the Yoruba people, the sea is the goddess Yemaya. A Catholic church on Key West is named Mary Star of the Sea. The sea could be mother, lover, or monster.

Water is sacred; there is more than one kind of holy water. Throughout Europe, nearly every river, stream, fountain and well was once dedicated to a god or goddess, nymph, or fairy. You had to ask permission to drink, or to water your horse. You don't want to anger the fairies, and woe to you if you come across a nymph or a goddess bathing.

Water is also the home of the merfolk, the undersea people who sometimes fall in love with us land-dwellers. Hans Christian Anderson's Little Mermaid did. (Can you hear the opening notes of "Kiss the Girl?" in the back of your mind?) So did the French fairy noblewoman Melusine. The love between a mermaid or merman and one of us average joes and josephines has captured the human imagination for centuries. Modern writers of paranormal erotica have given the old fairy tales many new and fascinating twists.

Or maybe we love water because it is simply beautiful. It reflects the sky and the sun; its waves create psychedelic patterns from the clouds. Sometimes blue, sometimes the color of a blazing sunset, it can also be still and clear, quiet and calming. Flowing, it makes music to our ears. Water is romantic, and as refreshing as a melting popsicle on a hot July night.

Bomb Pop by Erin ORiordan: Buy the Book

What's your fantasy?

Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living.
~Dr. Seuss

Fantasies. Yeah. We all have them. Today, mine is being on a secluded beach somewhere, in a hammock. It's about 85 and breezy, with not a drop of humidity. I'm debating on whether or not I'm too lazy to walk over the hot sand for a swim, but I'm enjoying how it feels to drift in between dozing and that lazy half-awake feeling that washes over me. I smell like coconut suntan lotion. There is a little drink in a hollowed out pineapple next to me, and I might take a drink, or I might just lick the salt off my lips from the sea air. And up the beach a bit, I see a tall, dark-haired man walking toward me, ankle deep in the water that is lapping at the shore line.

So it begins. The fantasy, that is. We all know our realities of writing checks, folding laundry, sitting in rush-hour traffic. And those things are fine…that's how we survive our day-to-day stuff. But we need fantasy; we crave it. So maybe I'll retreat into my own personal fantasies. Or maybe I'll read erotica.

When I read erotica, I like to imagine someone completely new. I very rarely ever imagine a celebrity or someone I might know because I like the fantasy of it. So in my mind, I can make up the mysterious stranger in my daydream or imagine the hot doctor or bartender I read about in an erotic story. And even more than imaging who it is, I like imagining the sensations: the way my breath catches in my chest when the dark-haired stranger finally approaches my hammock, the way the sun beats down on me, the way his skin would feel under my fingertips as I trace the arch of his lower back.

When I read erotica, I also like that I get to visit someone else's fantasy. Do things I wouldn’t imagine doing, meet people I wouldn’t imagine meeting, go places I wouldn't imagine going. I relish in the author's creativity and enjoy their sensual nature. Maybe it will spark a few fantasies of my own.

Tomorrow, I will likely find something delicious to read. But for now, I'm going to get back to my real life, my work…and try very hard not to think of the way the swim trunks hang on my dark-haired fantasy man's hips or the first thing he says as he approaches my hammock. I said try. I am human, after all…

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Who do you like to read about in your erotic romances? by Lois Bonde

She had to finish the article, but she couldn't concentrate. She could hear the plumber working in the bath behind her. Now there was a man she would like to do more than read about.

Okay, back to the article: Who? Who?

The farmer who couldn't keep his hands off his wife, so he fired them?
The male nurse who made the patient without disturbing the bed?

He dropped a wrench into his bag of tools, and she jumped. Relax and think.

The fellow who lost his girl friend because he forgot where he laid her?
The frustrated musician who's flute went flat right in the middle of "My Fair Lady"?
The coffee bean that wouldn't try a new position because he preferred the old grind?

She heard the water turn on. She hoped he ran it a good long time to make sure the drain worked. A picture of him naked in her shower flashed into her mind.

The article. The article.
The diaphram who aspired to be a midnight trampoline?
The sleepy guy who couldn't stay awake for a second?
The high salaried movie producer who was always trying to make a little extra (She was a blonde.)?

The water turned off.

The truck driver who broke his arm when he pulled out to avoid a child and fell off the sofa?
The deliveryman who was late to the third floor because he got a little behind on the second?

She didn't hear him walk up behind her.

"The shower works fine."

Startled, she sat up straight. He was so close that her shoulder pressed against him. He grew hard under the pressure. She turned slowly and discovered he was naked. Drops of water glistened all over his body.

"It works very well," she noted.

The article was all wrong so far. Not the farmer, not the musician, not even the movie producer.

The plumber.

Buy Lois Bonde's latest release, Doctor on Call, at http://www.echelonpress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=11_55_60&products_id=145&zenid=8d3f0e603ef051e7efd7507bb72653a6

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Erotic Romance: More Than Just Thrusts and Beats

One of Ms. Anabel’s gentlemen friends is really into video sex. She hesitates to use the “P” word, because it offends many. Still, it’s fairly hard-core porn and she sometimes thinks it would work well as sex education material. Someone mentioned “insert Tab A into Slot B” and, well, that’s basically it, accompanying by hard-thumping sex music, each thrust timed to each beat, of course. Story? Ha!

But Etienne has a couple of DVD’s that Anabel actually likes. They are the ones with a story. They usually start out with a couple locking eyes across the room at a party, and the She of them starts having trouble with her date, they argue, and she takes off into the night on the beach. Then the He of the story notices, and slips out the back door in pursuit.

The He is sympathetic, and attentive. The ocean breeze is blowing, he offers his jacket, but the She doesn’t wear it for long because he has enticed her into a little mini-orgy on the sand. Oh yeah, She points those 4 inch clear Lucite stilettos toward the starry sky and next thing you know, Slot B is welcoming Tab A. Music is more dreamy, and kisses more passionate, less violent. Afterward, newly bonded couple is seen walking in the dawn light, romantic, sated, all shades of afterglow. He is carrying her killer shoes, she is again wearing his sexy jacket.

Why does Anabel prefer this video over the others? Story. Emotion. Beginning, middle, satisfying end. This is erotic romance.

Etienne humors Anabel by playing this video first. While he prefers the “let’s get it on” momentum of the aforementioned play-by-play discs, he understands her need for substance and plot. Because, after all, Anabel is a woman whose sexual power is channeled through, and heightened by, emotion.

Love, Anabel

--who hopes your nights are filled with more than just slots and tabs...

Anabel Blue is the author of SEX LIBRIS, new from Erotique Press, where Sex in the Library has never been this much fun! BUY IT NOW for a quick, steamy read!

What gets you hot?

Defining Erotica

What's the difference between erotica, erotic romance, and romance? I'm asked this question a lot. It used to trip me up, but I've learned quite a bit over the past twelve years of writing romance and erotic romance. (I also write erotica under other names, but that's for another time.) So let me see if I can share what I've learned.

We all know about romance, right? Romance is fiction focused primarily on the relationship and romantic love between two people. No matter what else the story contains (sci-fi, vampires, suspense, space travel, etc.), it must follow the couple through great conflict and conflict resolution, and must have an emotionally satisfying and generally optimistic ending. That's why we read it, isn't it? Not all our relationships in real life will make it through those terrifying crises, but we know the couple we're following in a romance will. Somehow.

Erotica is fiction (or non-fiction!) meant to be sexually arousing. I've had people ask me what distinguishes erotica from pornography. For me, erotica has to offer an emotional connection with the characters--a story. In general, women want to connect emotionally with the characters they read about. (Not always, of course. This is just a general statement.) Inserting tab A into slot B is pornography. Needing, aching to insert tab A into slot B is erotica. (I'm not suggesting that pornography is always a bad thing, mind you.)

So, that leaves erotic romance: sexually stimulating literature about a growing relationship with an emotionally satisfying ending. Easy, right? But where do you draw the line between spicy romance and erotic romance? Much of it has to do with language and detail. If you want to be aroused but are easily offended by "four-letter words," then stick with spicy romance. However, the line is more like a fuzzy zone these days, and I don't spend a lot of time worrying about the difference when I'm writing. My characters decide the level of detail and what kind of language they will use. (If they don't have minds of their own, they aren't worth writing about.)

We need examples, don't we? OK. This is the beginning of a chapter from Carved in Stone, my latest release from Erotique Press:

******
Barely giving Lizabeth a chance to respond, Jeremy forced her mouth open again. His hand moved from her ribs to her back and then under her blouse.

She shuddered as he touched her skin, burning a path around her midriff. Then his hand moved up to the side of her bra and he caressed her breast through nylon. She pressed herself against him.

The knowledge that she'd aroused him fired her further and she rubbed her hip against the bulge in his jeans. For a moment, she thought he would take her right there in the yard.

She wouldn't have stopped him.

"Wait," he whispered, pulling his mouth away from her again. He slid his hand out from under her blouse.

"Why?"

"Christ, I'm not going to ravish you out here."

She looked up, stunned by the desire in his eyes that perfectly reflected her own.

Jeremy pushed the hair back from her face. "I work better indoors."

******
Is it spicy romance, erotic romance, or erotica? There's no way of telling with just this information. (You can be fairly sure it isn't "sweet romance" where sex is only hinted at, if that. In fact, I'll guarantee it isn't "sweet.") What gives it away is what follows.

Curious? I hope so. I really enjoyed writing the story of Jeremy and Lizabeth, set on the steamy Gulf coast of Mississippi. Jeremy is a stoic artist who carves stone, and Lizabeth is his unwitting model. When they get together, sparks fly!

Which do you prefer to read, romance, erotic romance, or erotica? Or are you like me—someone who enjoys them all? Are you into paranormal erotica (hinting at my other identity), or contemporary erotic romance? We authors really want to know. We love to share our stories with you, and we want you to enjoy them.

Carved in Stone is closer to erotic romance than anything else. Just so you know.

Happy, spicy reading!

The Hot and Cold of It

Everything seems to be heightened in summer. Heightened excitement, since we are finally able to enjoy our favorite summer activities, like watching the fireworks on the fourth of July. Heightened anticipation of what can happen on a sultry summer night. Heightened senses, like savoring the taste of local watermelon or inhaling the scent of coconut suntan lotion.

And for that reason, we seem to feel things a lot more. We can feel every grain of sand beneath our feet, feel every breeze that wraps around our body as we lay in the hammock, feel every degree of the heat as we bake in the mid-day sun. Those sensations are even further heightened when they are placed with a sensation that is opposite, like stepping from a warm concrete sidewalk onto soft, dewy grass.

Hands down, my favorite juxtaposition of sensations is the sweltering summer heat and a cold ice cube. The heat bears down on you in a way you feel no other time of year, so just a hint of the ice is pure pleasure. And it's even better when you can play with a partner.

If you are a bit tentative, play with the ice cube in your mouth first. Take it out, trace your cold tongue along his lips, then lean in for a shocking kiss. Or leave it in your mouth and blow a chilly breeze across his warmed skin. Where you do that is up to you.

And the sensations can get even more intense. Let the ice start to melt between your finger tips, then drip it on your partner's skin, allowing the freezing drops to make their way down the nape of her neck, across his chest, or over her stomach. And when you see you have their attention--and you can see the anticipation in their eyes--pop the ice cube back in your mouth. Alternate dragging it between your teeth, blowing cold air over their skin, and licking a trail of icy goodness with your frozen tongue as they recline in the sun.

Don't underestimate the power of rubbing it over your own skin as they watch, either. There is nothing wrong with a little sensation for yourself while getting your partner's attention, which you are guaranteed to do while playing with an ice cube.

Just relax, enjoy, and have fun. Relish this sexy season we are beginning. Summer is all too short, too fleeting...but this early on, you still have a choice what you take from it: either sensual memories or a pocket full of sand. I'm going to opt for the memories.

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"Steamy and very erotic..."

Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talkin' bout. Danielle at Coffee Time Romance also has this to say about SEX LIBRIS: "so hot that I am surprised it did not singe my fingertips" and isn't that the goal?

You can burn your own fingertips for just $1.13 at Erotique Press! Give SEX LIBRIS by Anabel Blue a read--you know you want to...

Love,

Anabel
http://anabelblue.blogspot.com

They say in spring, a young man's fancy turns to love. So what happens the following season?

Will he act on that fancy? Oh, please do, you may be thinking. Summer is the real time of the mating dance. Spring may bring the renewal of life and all things verdant, but summer is the time for preening. All the ladies in their shape-hugging sheath dresses, the skimpy tops, the shortest shorts, the string bikinis and the gauzy wraps. All the guys in their unbuttoned shirts, faded cut-offs, tank tops, and hip-hugging swim suits.

Or let's think about a fancy occasion like a wedding, where she can wear her sleeveless, strapless, scantiest cocktail dress, and he can deck himself out in a cool suit with the tie that will come loose before the evening is over, and the jacket that will be draped over the nearest chair, the better to show off that slim, belted waist.

And at the end of all this posturing? One can hope that the mating dance is completed: he, taking the time to slip that dress from her shoulders, nuzzling the soft, smooth skin of her neck and growing intoxicated with her scent; she, unbuttoning that shirt and sliding it free of his pants, unbuckling the belt and loosening the top button before slowly, longingly undoing that zipper. And both of them sweetly touching, stroking, exploring until they can't wait any longer and their lips meet in a tease, a caress, to be followed by the sort of deep kiss that takes their breath and pulls them into that final embrace.

Sigh. I love summer, with the heat and the rhythms that go from easy and casual to pulsing and driven. Seduction in the shape of the mouth around a strawberry. Passion in the lips that open to accept a taste of a frozen cherry confection, the tongue slipping easily down the length of it to catch every melting drip.

Hmmm. I think I'll go see if hubby is up for a summer snack.

For more heat, check out my latest story, Bedroom Tiger! Buy it now at:
http://www.echelonpress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=11_55_60&products_id=148

Sole Seduction

Okay, this post is going up late, and I am overwriting someone else, but I was scheduled for yesterday and I missed it due to sore feet. No kidding. Being a new diabetic, I have been informed of the risks my feet are facing. How in the hell is this sexy you ask? Well, as my dietitian and diabetes specialist informed me, "This is how you make diabetes sexy, and get foreplay from your spouse." You simply make foot health a team sport.

The feet, tender little things that they are, take a lot of stress during the day. They get you from place to place, things get dropped on them, and they get abused by table and chair legs galore. No wonder they need such tender loving care.

My husband is wonderful, truly. He checks my feet for me now, every day. He starts with my toes, inspecting each one while he gently rubs and massages. He is very good with his thumbs so I am particularly pleased when he uses the pads of his thumbs to push upward from the tip of my toes to the top of my foot. Once he gives the all clear, the fun really begins.

A little bit of Tree Hut Shea Body Butter, Almond & Honey and it's on!

Using the palms of his hands, he kneads the soles of my feet, paying close attention to the balls, while the tips of his other fingers caress the top with long, hard, strokes. That's the part that starts me going.

Once he gets to the arch of my foot, he puts those glorious thumbs back into action as he rubs and strokes, and kneads each and every bare spot. By this point, my eyes are closed and I am in heaven. He works his way up each side of my ankles, inside and out, careful not to press too hard or squeeze too tight, until he gets to wherever it is he is going that night.

I am truly blessed to have such a man in my life, a man who is so in tune with each part of my body, including my feet. A man who not only cares for my health condition, but is willing to do this thing that gives me such pleasure.

The pleasures are often simple, but extreme in satisfaction.

Do you have a simple pleasure that involves your feet? Do you pay enough attention to your feet? Share with us!

Soleful Sensuality

Maybe it's just me, but I think feet can be one of the most sensual parts of body. Yes, I mean sensual in a sexual way—which can most certainly be fun!—but also sensual in the way of just awakening the senses or giving physical sensation. Not that the two are ever really independent of each other…sometimes awakening the senses is also awakening the whole body, which is an important part of sexuality, too.

Take, for example, being at the beach in the summer. The very first thing I do when I arrive is remove my shoes. Granted, I am barefoot as much as I can be each day, but there is something delicious about removing my shoes and walking through the sand. At first, it's hot, and the heat immediately warms my feet, but the sand can also be soft and powdery, offering resistance, wrapping around my foot like a warm massage. After I drop my towel, water, and sunscreen in a quiet area, I immediately head for the shoreline. There is a line on the beach where the waves have hit the shore, and in a matter of a single step, I leave the hot, soft sand and step into the cool, wet sand. My feet leave perfect footprint that wash away as the water comes in, removing any trace that one bit of earth has ever been touched by humans. I walk to the water, go in ankle deep at first, judging the temperature of the water, relishing the chill that washes through me when the water is cold on a summer day. A wave comes in, soaking me to my calves, and when it recedes, the water is drawn out of the sand, and I sink in, just a little. Then, when I'm done swimming, after I've kicked about in the waves and ridden them out, I head back to my towel and dig my toes in the hot sand again, loving the grittiness of grains stuck to my wet feet.

There are so many sensations we get from our feet from slipping on those fuzzy socks in the winter, from playing outside in the rain in the mud, from stimulation we receive from a great soak before a pedicure. Just don't get me started on foot massages. We could end up being here for hours.

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What could one add about feet after Lois's wonderful blog entry? As I sit and ponder that perplexing thought, I realize that I hardly ever think about feet unless I'm writing a scene in one of my stories focusing on a man with a foot fetish.

Why, you might be asking yourself. Aside from finding my feet useful because they firmly root me to the ground when I stand, they often cause me a great deal of grief--especially when I need to buy new shoes. According to statistics, the average shoe size for women today is 8-9.
I have become quite intimate with this fact. There are tons of boxes with large sizes underneath the shoe displays. When I look for my size, which is a 6, I can usually locate a single box. Inside there is usually one shoe. The other one is on diplay getting shopworn. Stores don't stock too many small sizes and if you come later in the season, you're out of luck.

I actually am lucky when I consider my husband's predicament. He has to order shoes from a special store because he wears a size 12AAA. I guess we were meant for each other.

Candy Caine
OOPS!
Christmas With a Stranger
Devil or Angel

Consider the Lowly Female Foot from Lois Bonde

Consider the lowly female foot.

It gets walked all over and that does nothing for its reputation.
It puts on beautiful high heels and we wonder why it complains.
It gets decorated with polish and then we hide it most often.
It demands good care and cleaning or it raises a stink.
It works hard and wears skin out only to have it sanded off.
It kicks soccer balls for kids' practice and stands in lines for hours without thanks.
It tiptoes bare to check on an ill child and walks fussy babies so everyone else can sleep and all it gets is cold.
It gets toes stubbed though it never deserved such punishment.
It is stepped on enough to grow larger throughout life without any appreciation.
It shows through holes in socks and gets rewarded with blisters.
It leans to the side in worn out shoes and then gets criticized and hurt for leaning.
Its real size is constricted to be more attractive, no matter what her height.

Yes, consider the lowly female foot.

It walks on cloud nine when the right man smiles.
It gets you into his arms at a run when you see him.
It signals other parts of the body to react wet and wild when it is massaged and rubbed with lotion after a long day.
It provides an erotic view when you're reclining and he lifts it.
It can curl around his legs to rub and encourage and direct.
It keeps us grounded but lets us soar to fulfill our life's dreams.

Buy Lois Bonde's latest releases at http://www.echelonpress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=12&zenid=57420837763b2c9db3549f9b2f4be2df

Visit her on the web at http://home.roadrunner.com/~topromances/lois_bonde/index.htm

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The Hottest Technology!

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TechnoRotica

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On The Fly!

Good morning, mes amies! I am on the run, as usual, and wanted to check in to see how everyone's doing today... I'm thinking about sex and technology, and aside from the usual, I can't see anything interesting enough to blog about. I mean, sex is as old as humanity; man and woman have never needed anything to make it happen, right?

Sure, there are all kinds of electronic devices and toys (see past blog about same); there are definitely chemical innovations, ranging from the almighty "pill" to his-and-hers lubricants, all brought to us by modern innovations through technology. But still...

That magic, that human chemistry that creates all the buzz and excitement and, dare I say? Ecstasy! We just don't really require much else, now do we!?

Off to seduce a prince or two. Will check in later...

Love,

Anabel
http://anabelblue.blogspot.com

What? Sex in the Library? Are you Kidding?
SEX LIBRIS from Erotique Press! Buy it here.

Where do you like to do it?

I have a question, but you’ll have to read down a ways to reach it. If I weren’t long-winded, all of my novels would be memos.

I love to read and write about specific places. To me, setting–when done correctly–is a major story element. I’ve written two historical romances for Echelon Press set in Louisiana that couldn’t have been set anywhere else (Just Kiss Me and Bayou Rhapsody). Something about living with the humidity, mosquitoes, and marsh gives people a different sense of humor. Ah, wait…perhaps it’s the effect setting has on characters that makes it interesting, or maybe it’s the kind of characters you find in certain places that does it. In Carve in Stone, the fact that Lizabeth grew up in the South defines her every move, and makes Jeremy initially despise her. Of course, he finally comes around, if you'll pardon the pun.

Another aspect of writing on the Gulf Coast is the hurricanes. Having lived through a few, I can't help but write about them. The fear and excitement tends to draw people together.

I’m currently reading the first Guido Brunetti mystery by Donna Leon, and enjoying the descriptions of Venice. But it’s more than just description. The author inserts the flavor of Venice into her writing. Without Venetian society and government, Guido’s life would be too easy and probably boring. Instead, we share his frustrations and revel in his joys. And speaking of Louisiana (we were, remember?), if you haven’t read any of James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux books, you’re missing the most amazingly accurate portrayal of southeast Louisiana ever written. He even gets the dialect right, him. (Sorry– that’s my Cajun heritage sneaking out.)

I promised a question, and I have one (or two). Do you have a favorite setting? Or do you like variety when you read? Are you sold on small town life with all its ups and downs, or is it the big city for you? Is there one setting you’d love to read about that you never have? I’d appreciate your feedback. I don’t know where my next book will be set. Well, except that one story will be on another planet–I’ve never done that before. I’m hoping someone will give me a new place to consider so I can start planning a vacation.

Happy reading to you all! I hope your summer is off to an extraordinarily spicy start.

Toys, Tea, and Female Bonding

It was bitter cold that November night, and honestly, I was hesitant. Toy parties? I was a little skeptical. Not that I didn't love toys…whether single or in a relationship, I'd always found them fun and interesting and a healthy part of one's sexuality. The thing was, I was used to shopping for them alone or with my partner. The idea of being with other people—strangers, no less—for such a party was a little embarrassing. So when I pulled into the driveway of an acquaintance's house and saw a few of my friends already mixing with some ladies I hadn't met yet, I took a deep breath and sat in the car for a minute before heading inside.

Typical of ladies who entertain, there was plenty of wine, tea, and fancy little snacks on dainty china platters. We introduced ourselves and began to get to get to know each other in the dining room before our hostess ushered us into the living room for the presentation. Products were out, displayed in much the same fashion as the merchandise I'd seen displayed at other parties that sold plastic dishes or stone baking pans. But this, my friends, was anything but typical.

We were all nervous at first, I think. And that might have actually helped us get over any bits of shyness, knowing most of us felt the same way. Nervous giggling was about all we heard as our presenter talked for the first ten minutes. Then, products began to get passed around. We got to taste things, try things, and touch all the goodies as they got went around the room. Soon, we'd all loosened up and were like old friends, joking and laughing…because hey, if you can't joke around when you have a vibrator in your hand in a room full of people, then when CAN you joke around?

I think what I'll always remember about the night, besides the one discussion that was deliciously scientific about pheromones, is how it was ok to just be myself there. To feel comfortable not only with the friends I came with but with strangers who were just like me: remarkably average and just a little bit unsure. To know that other folks in my very small town had private lives and were brave enough to celebrate them with a group of like-minded women. Even better, being able to have these kinds of conversations with the friends I went with opened up a course of dialogue that we are still able to continue today. And strengthening friendships, no matter where, is always worth it.

Relax and enjoy a little erotica. BUY OUR BOOKS at http://www.erotiquepress.com
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Playtime With and Without Toys

When I was first told that my blog topic this week was "Toys", I actually laughed in delight. My mind started churning with possibilities -where do I go with this? And then I hit the wall. Where DO I go with this? How rhapsodic can I wax about a vibrating dildo that hasn't already been, well, done? I'm not keen on flavored oils (they give me a stomach ache) and even though I find them intriguing, my husband and favorite research partner would not bother with candy pants unless they were made of chocolate actually molded onto me. Ahem.

When in doubt, do research. I have pored over toy catalogs, checking out glossy pictures of everything from toy whips to stimulating gels, masks to exotic costumes, and while I giggled over some of the displays, they really didn't get me all tingly. Well, not enough to make a difference!

That's about when I realized I'm actually a pretty basic person. I don't need hot wax or costumes. I don't need thirty candles blazing away in front of the mirror. I'm a simple gal - I like silk neckties. (For more on the feel of a good silk necktie, check out my story School Ties at Erotique Press http://www.erotiquepress.com/direct/buy-erp-al-st.htm

I also really like whipped cream. Mmmm. Are you beginning to catch my drift?

So maybe actual toys aren't my cup of tea. Or path to passion. As a writer, though, I will admit a weakness for books. Books with titles like The Joy of Sex, How to Please a Man/Woman, 101 Nights of Pleasure. Nothing like a little light reading to get the juices flowing.

And lately I've been noticing the advent of board games. Kind of like Monopoly for the bedroom. Some of the little squares you can land on -oooooh. Suggestions to nibble this, or stroke that, massage a little, or squeeze and tweak a lot. What a delightful thought! Throw a couple of neckties and a dollop of whipped cream into the mix, and I'm a happy camper!

Um, speaking of camping... Have you ever considered what you can do with bungee cords and four tent stakes?

My newest story, Bedroom Tiger, will be available at Erotique Press! Can I say, Coming Soon???

Get Your Italian On! at Isn't It Romantic?

My debut full-length novel, BELTANE, is spotlighted on the English/Italian bilingual website Isn't It Romantic? at http://romancebooks.splinder.com/. Stop by and get your Italian on!

Erin O'Riordan
Author of Bomb Pop, coming soon to Erotique Press
Home: www.aeess.com
Blog: www.erinoriordan.blogspot.com

Sex Toys?

I had to ask myself whatever do I know that I could relate to you about "Sex Toys?" Well certainly by and away the very best one I know of - is the picture above. There can be no better stimulation than a man with a body that knows how to use it. (well, in my case anyway, not accounting for other partner preferences)

That doesn't make me right and you wrong if you chose otherwise - while I realize some may not have a partner at all for whatever reason, there are plenty of diversions that you may purchase at any store with adult toys. Some quite amusing, others interesting and probably worth exploring. There always are the parties (similar to tupperware parties) you may be familiar with that are simply for purchasing toys to suit everyone's tastes)

The essence of passion is what your mind wraps around whatever toy you prefer. For instance, would you believe that cooking spaghetti sauce could influence your passion and bring life to your romance? Your passion? Rush over to Erotique Press and grab a copy of Valentine Express and you may think differently.

If you want to delve into the realm of Sex Toys - check out Dark Knight - where Cricket takes you on a tour of the many ways to enjoy, experiment and crank up and experience your passion renewed.

I have begun a new story - how creating a meal that can cook up a passion surpassed by anything else you do - You may see excerpts of Christmas Cioppino in earlier posts on this blog - keep your eyes open for it - guaranteed it will wet your appetite for more than good Seafood.

If you'd like to know more follow me on Twitter or FaceBook

The BEST Toys for Playtime!

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Christmas Cioppino continued

Part 3
Bonita turned on the television to relieve her seeming obsession with sex. What was with her today? Bradley certainly had satisfied her last night, and yet it only made her hunger for more.

The news broadcaster was adding background voice to the picture on the screen. A capsized fishing boat, Coast Guard life boats and crews battling waves to reach swimmers bobbing like buoys on the frigid dark, ominous water illuminated only by floodlights from the Coast Guard and the television news crews.

Bonita’s heart sank as she became wrapped in the adventure unfolding on the screen.
“This was the scene two hours ago as the Coast Guard received a nine one one call. Pirates had once again…”

Bonita’s mind went blank as a piece of wreckage floated into view. The camera drew in, a close up of the letters on the fragmented, bobbing piece of ship—the camera panned closer "mas … Cio…." The crisp red letters she had helped Bradley paint on the bow of their boat floated across the screen.

Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach, her stomach squeezed a knot. She couldn't believe her eyes, she wouldn't believe what she thought she was seeing...

Hope vanished

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View my blog at www.cricket-sawyer.com
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You Say It Like It's A Bad Thing...

Something changed. Maybe it's my new perfume. Maybe it's the way I curl my hair. Or maybe, just maybe, it's my attitude. I can't seem to put my finger on it. It's just that I seemed to wake up a few weeks ago, and suddenly, the men asking me out were younger. Twentysomethings. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

The last time I went out with someone who was in their mid-20s was when I was in my early 20s…which seems like just a few days ago. But in the last month or so, I've gotten more requests for "hanging out" from men in this age bracket than in the last ten years combined. Not that I accept many of these offers, but it is quite flattering, none the less.

Now, normally, I love the ruggedness of an older man, love how they are often careful and quick-witted and are already on the path they want their life to take. But there is a certain charm to the younger man that makes them hard to resist. When I was a younger woman, guys that age paid me little mind, and honestly, their charm made me nervous. Now, seated perfectly in the middle of my 30s, it amuses me. So, in honor of the 20somethings who entertain and delight me, I've composed a list with a few of my friends that highlight the best things about men from ages 24-29.

5. Their language. I'm a word geek, as you all have figured out by now. And sometimes, I heard words and phrases that crack me up. And other times, I hear things that I have to go look up to understand. For example, I heard the word "puma" when discussing older woman/younger man relationships with a 20something man. When asked what this meant, he sent me a link to a definition that read, "a hot girl between the age of 25-35, 35-45 is a cougar, 45 and above is a saber tooth." I learned something new, which also just happened to make me laugh.

4. They want to know what you have to say. My one girlfriend said that the younger man she dated asked her opinion on lots of things and looked for her guidance. But she's a smarty, anyway…and I think they were wise to look to her.

3. Less baggage. They have been in fewer relationships, which means fewer FAILED relationships. They haven't yet started carrying that with them, and it is nice to not have to tote ashes of ex-girlfriends on your dates.

2. Things are still new to them. There are foods they haven't tasted, places they haven't been, and experiences they haven't yet had. That is exciting. And to be the woman who introduces those things to them is special.

1. They get the you out of your comfort zone. Ok. So admit it. There are times when you feel stuck in a rut. But date a younger guy—one who is impulsive and high energy—and who knows where your evening could head? You could end up dropping everything to hit a club or take a road trip. And even if you did this stuff when you were in your 20s, there is something delicious about trying those spontaneous things again.

You will notice, of course, that I left out an obvious benefit most women stated when asked about dating a man in his 20s, but I'm sure you can figure it out if you use your imagination a little bit. An entire blog could be written about that alone. Or so I've heard.

So, until Mr. Right-for-Me sweeps me off my feet, I think I'm going to just relax and enjoy these men who make me laugh and make me crazy, regardless of their age. And if they just happen to be a 24-year-old with perfect skin who doesn't understand when I am being sarcastic, then so be it. Checking my sarcasm at the door might be a good thing. At least for a few dates, anyway.

Relax and enjoy a little erotica. BUY OUR BOOKS at http://www.erotiquepress.com

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Dream Big

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."
Eleanor Roosevelt
So dream large, dream often, and put into action those things you desire. Dare to be romantic, dare to love - DREAM!
Cricket
http://www.cricket-sawyer.com
Follow me on Twitter

Christmas Cioppino continued

CHRISTMAS CIOPPINO (Continued)
By Cricket Sawyer © 2009

Absent mindedly Bonita stirred the simmering broth. Then she set the timer for ten minutes. Oh, the things they could do with ten minutes of time — the commercial about the pizza delivery taking ten minutes caused a smile to cross her face—if only Bradley was here instead of out in that fishing boat. The times he spent out on the Christmas Cioppino was his livelihood and the reason their Christmas Eve always included the meal of its name sake.

But, she worried about him. The seas had become increasingly dangerous as economic conditions worsened and pirates raided, looted, and killed to feed their own needs. Bradley’s life was always on the edge.

Lately, several boats loaded with Cuban refugees had become the front for pirates. Maybe Mexican refuges had gotten the message that averting a border crossing by taking to the high seas was even more dangerous then their previous route was. Pirates cared little about the lives of those they used. Men, women even children didn’t seem to faze them as families died. Human beings only meant a means to their selfish ends. They cared even less for them then they cared for the men skippering and working those boats they robbed. A clue should be the refugees themselves. Didn’t they usually head for Florida’s shores? Why would they risk their lives in treacherous seas in over loaded boats to go farther than they needed to?

Bonita’s sense of justice, her dislike for the abuse of those powerless to protect themselves, flared. Anger replaced the passionate thoughts of Bradley and her.

Becoming a Port Authority Office helped her bring some weight to help those less fortunate, but not nearly as heavy a handed clout as she wanted to wield. If anything happened to Bradley, she would be ready to take a little vigilante revenge on the shores of California’s coast line.

The timer’s jolting jangle snapped her back to the hearty fare she was preparing and the preparation for the Christmas decorating they would engage in this evening. The traditional tree decorating party provided a much needed respite from the daily charge of eking a living from the over worked waters they combed daily. Absent mindedly Bonita stirred two cups of dry red wine into the boiling mixture, reheating it to the boiling point. She watched as ripples of heat echoed outward from the center eruption, the same ripples that touched every inch of her body as Bradley’s climax mimicked her own, exploding into ripples of pleasure moving outward from her center, dissipating at the edge to be rekindled in her center with the next thrust of his mast of pleasure, pouring over her in heated waves of thick, aromatic smells of lust reaching fruition. Feeling the flow of their love boiling inside her, she drew her attention to the large kettle before her on the stove. She carefully poured the boiling sauce over the prepared fish and crab and waited for it to return to boiling.

Buy my book at http://erotiquepress.com/direct/buy-erp-cs-dt.htm
View my blog at www.cricket-sawyer.com
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Fancy Pants

I want to say it started innocently enough, but that might just be a lie. It started with ulterior motives. In an attempt to change my dating karma a while ago, I started replacing the regular old underwear with the good stuff. Out went the white cotton standards; in came the plunges, the demis, the balconettes…the boy shorts, the hipsters, the cheekies. My thought was that if I felt gorgeous underneath, I'd start dating like a fiend again. That I'd have a most delicious little secret.

And I thought it was just me until a week or so ago. I met a girlfriend of mine for dinner. But, she informed me as she slid into the seat across from me, she had to go shopping for underwear. That night. After dinner. There was a date with a hottie to be had, and preparations were necessary. It wasn't exactly that she planned to show them, she explained as she folded the napkin in her lap, but she just felt powerful in them.

It's no surprise, of course, that Victoria's Secret, Fredericks, and Cacique have made billions of dollars pedaling satin and lace and bows as a prequel to sex. But were these pretty, feminine things only to be used when you knew you could hook up or make love? I contended no, given that wasn't what I used them for, or apparently, what my friends used them for. But it did make me start wondering who exactly these items were being purchased for. Was it for the boyfriend or husband, who may or may not notice? Or was it for us, for the women who were wearing them?

At least in my case, it's just for me. These days, it's not so much about changing my dating karma...it's that I like wearing pretty things. Now, it's just to know that—in the middle of a day packed full of meetings and deadlines and rush-hour traffic—I have spent a few minutes on myself to pick out something beautiful that helps me remember that I'm still girly and feminine. And if my delicious little secret helps me feel confident, if it makes me smile when I straighten a strap, then so be it.

Want to know what all the sexy heroines are wearing? BUY OUR BOOKS at http://www.erotiquepress.com

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