Reality Versus Fantasy

This has been on my mind quite a bit lately. But I won't say anything more about it today, because the video speaks for itself:

Hey...Wanna Flash With Me?

Today over on Hitting the Hot Spot, I'm talking about flashers -- flash short stories, that is! What kind of flashing did you think I meant?

Head over there to read a few of my flash stories and be sure to add your comments. Enjoy!

The Erotic Literary Salon

This summer I had the wonderful opportunity to read a few short stories at The Erotic Literary Salon in Philadelphia. The beautiful Susana Mayer was the hostess for a night that included a lovely burlesque dancer, several exceptional readers and a launch party for A Week in the Snow.

I can't say enough good things about Susana. She is a very open and compassionate hostess, filled with true joy in the work she does with the Salon. Her enthusiasm is contagious and drew me in immediately. Within five minutes of meeting her I felt as though she were an old friend.

The Salon was held in the Bohemian Absinthe Lounge, the sexy upstairs area of TIME Restaurant off Samson Street in Philly. Dinner at TIME was delightful and highly recommended, but upstairs was where the action really got into full swing.

That reading turned out to be one of the best in my career. I had so much fun! The energy in the room was alive, vivid and fluid. The readers were all passionate about their words. Those who came to listen really did listen -- I remember well the feeling of being completely in the moment, sharing something delightful with a room full of people who were truly paying attention.

My reading came near the end of the Salon evening, so for much of the time I was one of those who sat back and listened. What a ride it was! There were tales that made me want to cry, and those that made me laugh out loud. The mood swung from serious and somber to raucous and fun. It was a rollercoaster ride of a night that hooked me from the first five minutes and made me want to do it again.

If you happen to be near the City of Brotherly Love and you need something to get your juices flowing -- in every way you can imagine -- then this is the place to be.

Tomorrow night is another hot evening at the Salon. If you're in the Philly area, why not go and enjoy? For more information, take a look at The Erotic Literary Salon website.

It's hot as hell when a man does that...

Who's in the mood for a little naughty?

As A Week in the Snow begins, Rebecca is traveling from sunny Miami to very cold and snowy Iowa. Though a series of unfortunate events, she winds up getting stranded on an icy road. Richard is the man who comes to rescue her from a wintry cocoon.

Soon afterward, Richard is in bed, doing what lonely men in bed do in the middle of the night...

And...well, I'll let Richard take it from here.

Usually the fantasies that filled his mind were of a nameless, faceless woman, maybe dressed in leather and wearing high-heeled boots, daring him to come and take her -- if he could. Sometimes it was a trip to the sex toy store, where the clerk behind the counter was more than willing to try out all the merchandise with a good customer. When nothing else worked, he thought about two women, and that always seemed to trip his trigger.

This time it was the sex toy store. He slid his hand up and down, not quite ready to start stroking yet. He thought about sex toys hanging in neat rows on the corkboard walls. He imagined browsing through all the dildos and vibrators, not all that interested in buying one but intrigued by the different shapes and sizes. Then he would find the row of plastic pussies, the holes inviting him to stick it in, and the clerk would ask him what kind he liked most. Soft and slightly loose? Tight and a bit hard? Maybe really, really tight, the kind of pussy that would suck your dick even as you fucked it?

He started to stroke his cock when the clerk leaned over the counter. Her low-cut blouse rode even lower, and he got a good view of two large, round nipples. “I can help you find one you like,” she said. She licked her cherry-red lips as she looked at his crotch.

Richard made a fist and pushed harder into it, imagining how tight the clerk’s pussy would be, and how she would use it to great advantage. He pictured her bending over the racks of cock rings, helping him test one out as he pounded her from behind. He secretly hoped someone else would come into the store, a man perhaps -- one who would gauge the action with one look and decide that maybe that clerk needed a bit more than she was getting.

Sure enough, in fantasies, dreams come true. The man who walked into the store wasted no time in dropping his pants and offering his cock for the clerk’s mouth. She took it, moaned with approval, and rocked back and forth on two dicks. It was Richard who had made her want that, Richard who had the best of things, who would fuck her pussy until he made her come.

He tightened his fist and in his head the clerk moaned, her pussy getting tighter, almost ready to come by the sheer pleasure of his thrusting. He didn’t even have to touch her -- she was just that close, that fast.

In his bed, Richard arched his back and gritted his teeth, the orgasm right over the horizon, almost within his reach. He envisioned the clerk reaching back, between her legs and underneath herself, to cradle his balls in her hand. She would pull them gently, knowing just what a man liked, and when she did it would make him come…

Tap, tap, tap.

Richard froze in mid-stroke. His mind was pulled from the sex toy store back to the here and now, where he lay on a lonely bed with his dick in his hand. That dick was throbbing, right on the verge of exploding. The clerk vanished with the sound of another knock on his door.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, no. This isn’t happening.”

There was another tap on the door, this one a bit more hesitant.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, his dick protesting every movement. The erection that had been so enjoyable a moment before was now a source of pain as he grabbed his robe from the foot of the bed. He slipped his arms into it, hoping she wouldn’t open the door.

“Yes?” he asked, and blushed in the darkness at the sound of his voice, so rough and raw.

There's something so damn hot about a man pleasuring himself. *sigh*

If you're interested in reading more, check out A Week in the Snow in print or ebook. I'll put up more excerpts from time to time, because I just love to tease!

My Whiskey to Wine Evolution

“Hold still,” he whispered.

“But that’s cold!”

Gentleman Jack hit my belly button. Droplets peppered my torso. One of them slipped down my side to pool on the rug. The light of the candles danced, spinning embers in the glass of the whiskey bottle. The liquor splashed between my breasts, seeped into my hair.

He poured fire into my mouth and thrust deep.

The whiskey flavored us both. He turned up the bottle and drank deeply. We began to move, deep strokes that kindled a fire in the pit of my belly.

“It’s not so cold now,” he murmured.

Ah, yes. Not long ago, there was nothing that tripped my spirited trigger like a shot of the good stuff. I preferred Gentleman Jack, both for the taste and for the nostalgia. Sometimes a shot of Patron found its way to my hand, but for the most part, it was all about the Jack. I even became a connoisseur of sorts, the one my friends consulted when they wanted to know if a certain whiskey was good enough as a gift for a special someone.

Over the last decade or so, my tastes have gradually changed. It started innocently enough, with a few bottles of wine from friends. I enjoyed them, but didn't really savor them or understand them. Fast-forward a bit and I have learned that I love blush wines, don't like most dry reds and have a sweet spot -- literally -- for dessert wines or the semi-sweet reds. What can I say? Maybe I'm a girlie kind of girl when it comes to my wine.

Over time, I am learning. I am learning what tannic structure means, and how the most interesting of words -- robust, full, delightful, heady, rich, dark, molten, decadent, aged, worthy, and so many more -- really do describe the moment of the first sip, or the first scent, or the gentle finish that is left after the first swallow. I am learning which foods pair best with which wines, and more importantly, why. I am learning how wine is created, how the intensely complex process works, going back centuries long before the first vine sinks into that particular soil.

But lately, I have discovered a whole other world opened up by the popping of the cork. It's about walking hand-in-hand into a little winery, greeting those who have the wares spread out before them, slowly tasting the good things they have to offer, rolling the flavors on our tongues while we learn about the grapes, the seasons and the secrets. It's about looking over a plump and happy vineyard in the heat of the summer, or seeing the promise in barrenness right before the winter, wandering into tiny shops with stone floors and welcoming hand-made signs and heavy doors. It's about watching the vendors carefully wrap up the wine we have chosen, then carrying the package to the car and settling it gently in backseat, a promise of what will be thoroughly enjoyed later.

Ah, yes. Later.

There's something about that question -- "Shall we open a bottle tonight?" -- that sends shivers down my spine in a way that the best of whiskey was never quite able to accomplish. It's all about drinking that sweet wine from my lover's lips, watching him sip the dark red liquid, feeling his hands become more amorous as the sexy inebriation takes hold, the kisses full and heavy and lush. It's about becoming bolder than we were before -- if such a thing were possible -- and tossing about words that make us blush, fantasies that make us hot, dreams that make us smile.


And then it's about what happens after, when we're both a little giggly and the slightest bit unsteady and a lot turned on, when the wine hasn't quite made us drunk but hasn't left us innocent either. It's about the taste of the grapes, and the taste of him, and the taste of us, all blended together until it is impossible to tell one layer of sweetness from another. It's about waking up in the morning with the slightest headache lingering, but that is nothing compared to the little aches and pains and bruises of a body well-loved in utter abandon.

It's about finding that bottle sitting in an unlikely place in the light of an early morning sun, of playing with the cork as I remember the night before. It's about setting the empty bottle on the kitchen table and leaving it there. Just because -- and why not? I like looking at it, and remembering.

Soon that remembrance turns to something more, and one of us will say, "Maybe we should try that little winery we saw a few weeks ago..."

And so it begins again.

An Excerpt from The Green Room

The Green Room is one of my latest releases, and one of my favorites of all the books I have written. Here's the short and sweet, teasing blurb:

The glare of the spotlight, the paparazzi cameras, the tabloid snickers and the bad influence that flows as fast as a river through it all -- can love really survive the rigors of fame?

You can read a bit more about that here. But now, on to a sexy excerpt!

The concert that night was nothing compared to the sex.

Anthony’s hands were everywhere. He played me like a fine guitar, finding all the chords to strike deep within my most forbidden places. On my hands and knees, I braced myself on the rumpled bed. He slipped deep and I hissed in a breath of satisfaction.

“Is this what you want?” he moaned.

“For now.”

The motion was steady and unbroken. We were both dead tired, but that didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter, not even when his cell phone rang from somewhere on the nightstand. My fingers searched the polished top until I found it. Feeling entirely inappropriate and loving every second of it, I flipped the phone open and handed it to him.

“Yes…yes, I’m here in the hotel room…”

It was his wife.

I bit my lip and thrust back hard. I was determined that he would not forget who he was fucking, who had got him here, who had led the way to that recording contract he would sign in a few days. I swivelled my hips, reminding him who was really fucking whom. My lack of shame would bother me later, but right now I was too far gone with illicit pleasure to care.

“I miss you too, honey…”

He dipped one finger into the cleft of my ass. I pushed my hips up, inviting.

“No…no, I’m not sure…”

He thrust harder, and I reached under us to touch his balls. He struggled to control his breathing. He pinched my hip viciously, as if to warn me against acts that were far too indecent to carry on during a phone conversation. I squeezed with my inner muscles hard enough to make him stifle a moan.

It was a battle of wills, and I wasn’t the one holding the cell phone.

I picked up the pace, merciless.

“The show went well…I’m going to be in Alabama tomorrow…”

I looked at him over my shoulder. “Sodomy is illegal in Alabama,” I mouthed.

Anthony slipped out of me. He pressed hard against the tighter hole, the one that he hadn’t sampled yet. I pushed back and felt the delightful sting as my body began to open under his. I swivelled my hips, trying to make it easier.

“The show was great. Lots of fans…the place was packed…”

He held perfectly still. I thrust back slowly. I would pay for my little ingenuity in the morning, but I didn’t give a damn. I wanted to be as dirty and naughty as I could be while his wife listened to what she didn’t know was happening. If I had stopped to think about it, I might have been appalled by my actions.

Lucky for me, I was too busy fucking to think.

I thrust back harder, and Anthony’s cock slowly impaled me. I opened under the pressure with a burn and a moan. Anthony quickly covered my mouth.

“I’ll call you in the morning, honey…”

We suddenly found the right angle, the perfect fit. He slid all the way home, his balls pressing hard against me, every inch of my body throbbing with heat.

“I love you, too,” Anthony said to the Mrs Keenan as he began to move back and forth in earnest. He said goodbye, hung up the phone and tossed it to the floor. He grabbed a handful of my hair and thrust hard. Pain and pleasure shot through every pore of my body.

“Who’s doing the fucking now?” he growled in my ear.

I looked over at the mirror on the wall. I watched everything—our bodies, his thrusts, and my own face, flushed and wild with passion. I watched as he pushed my shoulders down on the bed, the better for my fingers to reach beneath me.

“Touch yourself. Make yourself come when I do,” Anthony demanded. I found my clit and began to play myself with the rhythm of his thrusts. The orgasm built from somewhere so deep it was almost frightening. I watched in the mirror until the pleasure of it made my eyes heavy, and I cried out into the comforter as I came.

Anthony followed right behind me, emptying himself with a harsh groan. For long moments there was no sound in the room, save our unsteady breathing.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered when I could finally catch my breath.

He slid out of me. I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.

“Is sodomy really illegal in Alabama?”

I laughed weakly. “Sodomy is illegal in lots of places. Especially in the south.”

“What’s the penalty if you get caught?”

“Castration, maybe.”

I slowly climbed off the bed. Anthony came with me, one hand on my belly to make sure I didn’t fall. My shaky legs came through admirably, and I wobbled towards the bathroom. Anthony watched me as I stepped into the shower.

“Is adultery illegal or just immoral?” he asked.

“It depends on how good your divorce attorney is.”

Want to get your own, in ebook or in print? Go here.

A Moment of Reflection

What a wild ride this year has been...

I considered writing a long blog post about the things that have happened this past year, but there are just too many things to say and not enough space to say them. There have been medical scares, devastating losses, new beginnings, bright horizons and significant change. More change than I have ever experienced before.

In fact, if there was a theme to 2011, it would have to be "change."

Some of those changes were frightening. Some were sad. Some were challenging. But thankfully, most of them -- the majority of them -- were sweet and good, the kind of change that makes better things grow.

So tonight, I leave 2011 behind with a humble gratitude. This year has taught me so much and brought unexpected gifts. Now I am ready to take those cherished gifts with me as I move into a new year filled with promise.

What are the themes of 2012? Discovery. Exploration. Love.

Here's to a beautiful journey!

Merry Christmas!

Are you loaded up on eggnog? Are you sleepy from the big dinner? Are you surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper? Do you love your family but can't wait for them to leave? Are you dying for a chance to jump the bones of the one you love most of all?

If you're looking for a bit of Christmas cheer with your beloved, I have a few tips over at Hitting the Hot Spot that might get you in the mood. Go check it out and do these tonight.

I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday. I sure am! *wink*

After All These Years

Has it really been many months since I last posted here? Time flies when you're writing up a storm! I have been busy with plenty of work, all of which will be coming to a website, ebook or print book near you very soon.

Speaking of print books, they are finally here! A Week in the Snow and The Green Room have been released in paperback. Though I really do love the ease of ebooks, there is something about holding a print book in my hands that never gets old. It's nice to see my words have found the best of both worlds!

Over the next few weeks, I will put up naughty experts from both. In the meantime, you can get your copies here.

If you're looking for a sexy snack of a story rather than the full-length sexiness, After All These Years fits the bill. It's my latest ebook release. Here's the blurb:

When Marilyn first meets William at the train station on a cold December day, she thinks he’s crazy. Soon she realises that he’s not crazy—just quirky—and she is stunned that he recognises her as the wife of Bobby Overmire, a Marine who was killed in the Beirut bombings in 1983. As time passes, Marilyn becomes much more interested in William than in the husband she lost over two decades ago. But William is harbouring a secret—a secret that could destroy Marilyn’s world all over again.

And here's a preview:

“What did Bobby tell you about me?” I asked.

William smiled and settled more comfortably on the couch. Tonight he wore a short-sleeved dress shirt and jeans, much more casual wear than I had seen him in before. When he shifted on the couch, the shirt showed a small glimpse of a very bad scar on his left arm, just below the line of the cotton.

“Bobby told me everything,” he said with a playful, ominous tone.

I laughed dutifully, then asked him the question again. This time he thought for a while before answering.

“He told me you like flowers. Yellow. You always wore yellow sundresses. You wore your hair up in a bun until he got home, then you took it down because he liked to see it that way. You burnt pizza every time, no matter how often you made it. You liked long bubble baths. You listened to him even when he thought you weren’t. You took care of your mother when she was sick.”

The words rolled from his lips so easily that I knew he had thought about those things for many years.

He stared into his champagne glass. “You sang along with the radio. You washed your hair with his beer. That drove him nuts. You had this pretty little nightgown that you always wore when you were feeling frisky.” William blushed, but didn’t look up.

I stared at him, not knowing what to say. William shifted again on the couch and for the first time I realised I could feel the heat of his body. The mere inches separating his arm from mine no longer seemed like a chasm.

“William…”

“You kissed him like he was the only man on Earth.”

In New York, the crowd was going wild. The gaudy crystal ball was flashing. As I watched, it started to drop. New York revellers were counting down the numbers with increasing frenzy.

William set his champagne glass on the table and turned to me. At the same time, I closed the distance by reaching out and lightly brushing his arm with the back of my hand. Though his left hand didn’t move, his right one did. He reached up and touched my hair, ran his fingertips through it, and moved closer. When I thought he would kiss me, he buried his nose in my hair and took a deep breath. He held very still as the numbers counted down and the crowd on the television screen got louder.

“Happy New Year, Marilyn,” he whispered into my ear.

He kissed me just as Dick Clark announced that the New Year had officially arrived in New York. William kissed me shyly, not touching anywhere but my lips. He nibbled with slow kisses at first, delving deeper with every one until his tongue touched mine.

It was like a match to dry tinder. I kissed him back, suddenly ravenous for what he tasted like, and he responded in kind. He kicked away the blankets and pushed me back against the corner of the couch until there was nowhere I could go and nothing I could do but kiss him right back. I was kissing him with every pent-up year of sexual frustration I had in me.

**
My loyal readers might recognize this couple -- they were introduced to you several years ago (again, time flies!). I hope you will take the journey down memory lane with them!

More soon (seriously!),
Gwenny

Come see me in NYC!

It's almost here, and I'm excited!

On Friday night, July 1, I will be reading at Ravenous Nights in New York City. I will join the awesome Daisy Harris, Louisa Bacio, and Kathy Kulig to bring you steamy erotica that is just perfect for kicking off the heat of summer.

Here are the details.

There will be cocktails. Conversation. Naughty erotic words.

I promise I will do my best to make you blush.

Today is the Day!

Today, A Week in the Snow is released! I am so proud to be a new member of the Total-e-Bound family, and so happy to be back in the erotica game after so many years away.

Help me celebrate! Head over to "Hitting the Hot Spot" to read an excerpt from the novel. Watch this blog throughout the week for more goodies, including a giveaway or two. Then join me in NYC on July 1 for Ravenous Nights.

In the meantime, get your copy of A Week in the Snow. Read it, enjoy it, and write to tell me what you think.

It's going to be a sizzling hot erotic summer!

Purple Panties and Clean Sheets

It has been a long time since one of my short stories appeared on Clean Sheets, but I am happy to say this week breaks the streak!

"Purple Panties" is the story of a couple who have a very special pair of panties...and what happens when they lose them. I won't say more...you have to go read the story to find out the rest. It's free to read right here on Clean Sheets.

Enjoy!

Join me in New York City on July 1 for Ravenous Nights!

Last week I read at the Erotic Literary Salon in Philadelphia. The energy in that room was contagious, as was the heat from the excellent erotic works! I walked out of there feeling all kinds of sexy, my face flushed, my body alive.

And I wanted to do it again...and again...and again.

If you will be in the Big Apple next weekend, come join me for another night of hot and sexy erotica. I will be reading at Happy Endings Lounge at 8 PM on Friday, July 1. Sponsored by Ravenous Romance, the Ravenous Nights reading always brings out a crowd and plenty of great erotica. I am so happy to be a part of it!

Here are all the details about the event. I hope to see you there!

You. Me. Philly. 8 PM.

If you're in the Philadelphia area tonight, why not come out to the Absinthe Lounge and spend some time with me? I will be reading a few naughty tales, listening to others read theirs, and watching the talents of a sexy Burlesque dancer. What's not to love?

Here are the details. Hope to see you there!

Join me in Philadelphia!

Would you enjoy a night of erotic reading? Would you like those delicious words that make your heart race and bring that blush of heat to your cheeks? Would you enjoy the intensity of sexual expression that a room full of naughty minds can provide?

I would love that too, and that's why I am reading at the Erotic Literary Salon in Philadelphia on Tuesday, June 21 at 8 PM.

There will be naughty readings. Cocktails. Lively conversation. The gorgeous Infamous Miss Mae. And the pre-release party for A Week in the Snow!

It's my first live appearance in quite some time, and I am excited! Get the details here, and I hope to see you there.

"A Week in the Snow" -- The First Preview

It's good to be back...and it's so, so good to be naughty!

A Week in the Snow is my latest release. I'm signed with Total-e-Bound, and I am so excited to announce that A Week in the Snow will be released on June 27!

To start the celebration, let's start with a naughty kind of celebration. Here's your first sneak peek at the latest erotic fun:

She pictured him as well as she could, drawing on her memory of those photographs he had sent her over the Internet connection. She envisioned his broad chest, the smattering of black hairs, the almost-flat stomach and the strong, shadowed jaw.

She also envisioned those pictures of his long, hard cock, the photographs that filled the computer screen when she opened the file, the ones that made her mouth water and her heart pound. The thought of having that in her mouth or between her thighs had kept her dreams in high gear. Now he was within less than an hour’s drive, but there was no way she could get to him.

But she did have him in her head, didn’t she?

Rebecca grinned and rested her forehead against the cool wall of the shower. The emotion of the evening caught up with her again, but instead of the urge for tears she felt the urge to do something that proved she was alive—something vital, something powerful.

The water slid down her back, arrowed down over her ass and dripped from her pussy. She let her breasts brush that shower wall, too—and though the water was incredibly hot, the wall was still cool. The rush of sensation was heady, made more powerful by the emotion of the evening. She pressed harder, until her nipples were flat against the wall, hardening at the contact, her breasts tingling with the pressure.

She took a deep breath and arched her back, pushing her head under one of the streams of water. It cascaded over her face. She held her breath as long as she could. When she pressed her forehead against the wall again, she was breathing hard. She spread her legs a bit wider, and suddenly she could see the picture in her head of what she must look like: a young, sexy woman dripping wet, her legs open, her whole body braced, waiting for whatever a lover might do to her.

Rebecca stood under the water and let the feeling build. The fantasy took flight, the images of Gene’s cock in her head adding fuel to the fire. She thought about the way he sounded when he came, so strong and vulnerable all at once, and that alone was enough to send a surge of wetness between her thighs. She slid her hand down her flat stomach and rested it there, right below her belly button.

The water cascaded over her fingers as her thoughts took a different turn. She imagined someone was watching her, someone she didn’t know, and her thoughts of Gene slipped away to be replaced by this new, intriguing fantasy. She pictured a man behind her, watching her while she went about what she was doing right then, which was sliding that hand even farther down.

She brushed the inside of her thighs and pressed her breasts harder against the wall, pushing her ass out, bending her knees just a little to make more room for whatever fantasy man might be watching her. She imagined he could see everything, her pussy open and dripping, a blatant invitation to the cock that might want to slip into her tight, wet hole.

Rebecca pressed her hand against her pussy and rocked. She bit her lip to hold in the long, low moan. The adrenaline of the night was now heading in a decidedly more sensual direction, and she let all the emotion flood her, let it turn into passion as she rode her own hand under the dual showerheads. She slipped two fingers into her cunt and imagined the fantasy man behind her, watching as her fingers disappeared inside her, maybe moaning his own pleasure as he stroked his hard cock. She slid her fingers out, stretching her pussy for his gaze, inviting him to put
something of his own in there.

Her fingertips danced across her clit as she imagined that fantasy man moving up behind her, slowly, giving her time to move away if she was so inclined. She imagined his tongue on the back of her neck, tasting the water that ran from her skin. She could almost feel him placing his hands on her hips, holding the swell of them, and pressing the head of his hard dick against her opening.

He would slide in slowly at first, testing her acquiescence, but soon he would be overcome by how slick and hot she was. He would start slow and gradually move harder, faster, until he was almost ramming her, lifting her feet from the floor with his thrusts, making her struggle for balance as he began to ride her.

With a quiet groan, she pushed two fingers into her pussy. As she pulled them out, she stroked her clit, then pushed them back in. She kept it up until she was panting and trembling. The water slid down her body and she imagined it was the gaze of her mystery lover, watching everything she did, every move she made. She envisioned him waiting, holding back, and finally feeling those first contractions of her pussy around him, announcing that she had reached the pinnacle of pleasure she deserved.

She imagined the spurt of his cream, so much hotter than her own wetness, and that was the final edge of fantasy it took to make her come. She bit her lip at the last moment to keep from screaming out her pleasure as the orgasm swept over her, reducing her to whimpers and moans.

Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor of the shower. Her body thrummed with pleasure. It was enhanced by the adrenaline of the evening, strong enough to make her gasp for breath. She burst into laughter, her mouth muffled by her hand, trying to keep quiet, mindful of the man who was somewhere in the house with her.

She had never felt so alive.

In the coming weeks I will add more teasers for your pervy pleasure, as well as a list of upcoming appearances and maybe even a few contests. Stay tuned!

---

Stand

I have to admit: I am not a big fan of Rascal Flatts. Not usually. Something about their music just doesn’t strike any of the right chords with me, so to speak. But several years ago they released a song called “Stand.” It was one of those songs that just hits where it counts. I remember where I was the first time I heard the song, and now I can recall that day as clearly as if it just happened an hour ago.

You feel like a candle in a hurricane
Just like a picture with a broken frame
Alone and helpless
Like you've lost your fight
But you'll be alright
You'll be alright

The lyrics spoke to me. Within the span of the song I saw so many things flash through my head. So many people came to mind. There was my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather and my little brother. There was my best friend. There was the man who loved her, the man she lost – the man we all lost. There was the random woman I had met at the grocery store check-out line, the one with so many mouths to feed and not enough money to do it. I thought of so many people who had been through so much.

It became an anthem of sorts. At that time in my life, things were smooth and easy. I was fortunate, and I knew it. But I tucked those words away in the back of my heart, just in case. There would be a day – I knew that for sure, even then – when push came to shove.

‘Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend ‘til you break
‘Cause it’s all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad
You get strong
Wipe your hands
Shake it off
Then you stand

And when push came to shove, it pushed hard. It knocked me off my feet.

This past year has been one of upheaval and change. Not all of it has been good, but I am confident that all of it has been leading me in the right direction. There were times I convinced myself I had it all together, had it all planned out. Then there were times when I felt like those lyrics were written just for me, when they were so pertinent to the moment – times when I was so lost that the only firm ground was the ground itself, and so I was actually on my knees, in the darkness, looking up to see some kind of light.

Life's like a novel
With the end ripped out
The edge of a canyon
With only one way down
Take what you're given
Before its gone
Start holding on
Keep holding on

For every success I have seen over the years, it seemed like there was a parallel and equally large failure. These failures were often personal – it’s funny how a career can go so well while everything behind the scenes is falling apart – but I did what so many do, and put on a brave smile while the walls caved in.

Then there came a day. A night. A moment. A time when I decided I was done.

It was time to shove back.

There was no huge shift in my actions, nor was there a significant change in my daily life. Not at that point. But there was a shift in the atmosphere, a change within me that started to change everything else. Gradually at first, like the ripple effect on a pond, circles that started out small and eventually reached out to touch every part of the shore of my life.

I started writing novels again. It started as a way to get out the emotion, pour myself onto the page, cheaper than any counselor and probably more effective. I started to find the person I used to be, the one before the world took a toll. I started back at the beginning, just like that little girl with an old Royal typewriter, pounding out one line after another and hoping I didn’t make a mistake, because that corrector ribbon always left ink and dust all over my hands.

Every time you get up
And get back in the race
One more small piece of you
Starts to fall into place

The words fell into place. Sometimes it was difficult, the words jumbled, like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. Other times those words fell into place with an almost audible click, so certain and true the aim. There were nights when it was just me and a blank page, staring each other down. Then there were days when the words flowed like water, so fast my hands couldn’t keep up. It was starts and stops, beginnings and endings, forward and back, until I finally found my rhythm. Until I found my place.

Today, I have a better sense of where I am going. The changes are not done yet. They keep coming, like waves rolling in – some small and not much in the grand scheme of things, some larger and more dangerous, some serious movers that lift up sand and shells and driftwood and all the trappings of a life before the swell.

But for the first time in a long while, that’s okay. I no longer fear I might drown.

I found firm ground, and I finally stood up.

Mark Twain put it best...

Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

Though I can understand why most might have thought I fell off the face of the earth. It's been a long while -- almost two years since I posted here, and almost that long since I posted anywhere else. I scaled back my public appearances. Even my almost constant stream of stories all over the web seemed to dry up. So where did I go?

The answer to that is long and complicated, but I will try to make it short and sweet. In a nutshell, here goes:

I started a freelance business. I loved writing erotica, but it was time to stretch my wings. What started out as an experiment grew at a rate that was sometimes downright frightening, to be honest. Soon I had a decision on my hands: should I continue the freelance business, even if that meant I had to pull back a bit on writing erotica?

I had been writing erotica on a professional level for well over 15 years at that point, and that's a long time to do any job. So why not try something new? For that and many other reasons, I forged ahead with the business. It did well, and I was quite pleased with it. I even tried my hand at working as a serious journalist, and wonder of wonders, I loved it -- and I was good at it.

All the hard work paid off, and soon I had another choice: Keep building the freelance business, or take the great offer to work for a media company. I chose the company, and it was a good decision to make. Sometimes it's hard to believe I actually have a "day job" after being self-employed and independent for so long. However, I love the work, and it gives me the freedom to pursue my other writing as well.

And that, my friends, brings us back to erotic writing.

I never abandoned erotica! I was still writing about the naughty things that happen between the sheets, but I didn't have time to do much more than write. As any writer knows, the writing is where it begins, but certainly not where it ends. There is so much more to being a working writer: tweaking manuscripts, making appearances, networking, taking the time to promote yourself and your novels, signing books and of course, getting a head start on writing the next one before the ink is dry on the previous book.

Of course, other things happened. Some personal, some not. Life changed. I moved to a little town on the Georgia coast, which is much quieter than my former home of Nashville. But I have also been spending time in a not-so-small town on the outskirts of Philadelphia, so in many ways I have the best of both worlds: the quiet and very private home in Georgia and all the cultural experiences to be found in the Keystone State.

Is that all a bit cryptic? Perhaps. But I have found a renewed enjoyment of privacy these last few years, and it's going to be hard to come out of that shell again. However, I intend to do just that, and it all starts with my new novel!

A Week in the Snow will be released by Total-e-Bound on June 27. This summer, I will be quite the busy bee, promoting the book on websites and in person. Look for me in Philadelphia, New York, and perhaps many places in between. I'm going to post a list of upcoming appearances over the next few weeks, as well as plenty of information on the new book.

It gets better -- there's yet another one coming soon after that! Then another...and another. Looks like I'm back in the erotica business, friends!

And oh, my. It's good to be back.

Are Your Sheets Clean?

Over at Clean Sheets, there is definitely something naughty going down...

Indiana Jones, with Camera

Of all the stories I have ever written (and that's a lot of stories!), this one is my favorite. I hope you enjoy it.

Let Me Seduce You...

Ah, yes. Seduction. That's what LoveHoney is all about this month, as they showcase the new Seduction anthology from Black Lace. They've chosen an excerpt from my short story to be feature this month, as well as an interview with yours truly!

You can read an introduction to the book here.

You can read the excerpt from "Rush" here.

And you can read my interview here!

Want to leave your own review of the book? You can do that here.

And...if you order Seduction, you get a free vibrator to help you act out a few of those naughty fantasies between the pages...what could be better?

With all this Seduction going on, it's getting a bit hot in here...