New Release: Waiting In Vain!

That's right. I have a new mini-novella out today, right on my birthday sequel! (I get two birthday days this year, because yesterday, I was thirty. So it's birthday one, and birthday two: electric boogaloo).

Isn't that fabulous? Not only is it an actual story what I have wrote that's being released from a real place and everything, but it's my first from the amazing Total-E-Bound, it's Christmas themed, it stars an Alex O'Loughlin look-a-like, I thought I'd never be published again after my publisher closed and it's being released on Birthday Two! Excitement!!

Here's the blurb:

His desires aren't going to wait for her any longer...When Nancy is invited to her sister-in-law's Christmas get-together so that she won't be alone over the holidays, she doesn't have the heart to refuse. They've been nothing but fun in the past, after all.

But Nancy isn't counting on just how much fun it's going to be this year. Sexy, sultry Mick Hennessey is on the prowl, and he isn't about to stop at a sly hand on her thigh under the dining room table. He wants to see how far he can push her, even if it means risking her heart on top of her most secret desires.

Here's the link:

http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=658

(Only 1.69! It's a Crimbo bargain! All the Charlotte Stein flavour, none of the bank breaking)

And here's a pic of my hunk of the moment, wearing a Christmas hat:

Mmmm, hunky. And also, not as droopy as that hat suggests. And my story has nothing to do with vampires, so I don't know why I've used a vampire hunk. But there it is. Alexander Skarsgard's hotness transcends sense.

Anyway, enough about me. How are you? How was your Christmas? Did some sexy man launch himself at you like a laser guided sexy missile? I tell you what, if you tell me about your Christmas, I will reward your seasonal spirit by putting you in a giant hat and shaking you around. Orsum, eh? And then I shall pick one of you at random to receive a free totally free fab copy of Waiting In Vain!

I'm practically Santa Clause. The Alexander Skarsgard version.

Mancandy Monday: Santa Claus

Bearded, wears sultry red, is massive (probably all over), gives loads of pressies and has a fabulous bachelor pad, despite only working one day a year.

What more could a girl want? And especially when he's Tim Allen, as he is in the pic above. What? Tim Allen is kind of hot, in a nice Dad sort of way.

Plus Santa would be a total slut for you. You know he would be. Check out his catchphrase:

Ho ho ho!

What other interpretation of those words could there be? Unless he means that he'd like YOU to be his ho ho ho, in which case- right on, Santa. I'll be leaving more than milk and a mince pie under MY tree, for you.

Merry Christmas, Everybody!

Mancandy Monday: That Dude From Oglaf

Seriously, have you read that comic strip recommended by Janine Ashbless? Oglaf? Here it is:

http://www.oglaf.com/archive.html

And it is hilarious, filthy, brilliant at playing with fantasy conventions and just...go read it. I've fallen in love. With both it and one of the creations in it:

Yeah, I know he's a cartoon. And I know that it doesn't excuse this awful crush because I once fancied Pete Venkman from The Real Ghostbusters cartoon show. But as I spent the evening trying to think of a real live man who could play the part of a castle skivvy with a bodily fluid sprite that tattles on him, I feel I can be forgiven.

Can't I?

U.S. Release!

So today, The Things That Make Me Give In is released in the states. Et voila:

http://www.amazon.com/Things-That-Make-Give-Black/dp/035234542X/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

It's also available here and here:

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Things-That-Make-Me-Give-In/Charlotte-Stein/e/9780352345424/?itm=1&usri=the+things+that+make+me+give+in

http://www.booksamillion.com/product/9780352345424?id=4602919566365

Amazing! Especially considering that I didn't even think it would get released in England, never mind America.

So to celebrate, I'm putting up yet another excerpt from my book. I know, I know. You're tired of excerpts. Where are all the hot men? Well, I'll give you one of those, too. Because I'm nice that way.

Here is an excerpt from Spying, and a pic of Alex O'Loughlin looking an awful lot like the main character...




Spying

That first time– I tried to turn away. I thought about saintly things, like Jesus and Gandhi and charity drives.

But even then it was too much for me to fight. Gandhi lost and I ended up standing at that secret window, fingernail between my chewing teeth, thighs pressed too tight together, watching the man in the apartment across the alley.

It’s the angle of the apartments, I think. Mine is higher up, and his is lower down, and the strip of alley between us means that he can’t see my window as well as I can see his.

At first I was sure he was putting on a show for the couple below, but then they invited me around to tea and I saw nothing but wall facing the alley. No window. He thinks he does his little show for nothing but brick, or maybe he doesn’t think it’s a show at all.

It’s just the way he is. He can’t help himself.

And I can’t help watching.

I mean, it makes things worse that he’s gorgeous. I don’t think that’s what initially hooked me, but it certainly contributes. He has this lean, leonine face, which gives him a constant predatory air. His lips curl into an ever-pout, as sultry as the exotic dancer I liked to imagine he was. When his mouth hangs open, pulled by lust, it destroys every effort that morality makes at claiming me.

But I didn’t notice his face the first time, because I was too busy watching him reveal his body to my starving eyes.

He had been wearing this clingy top, with buttons all down the front. A kind of undershirt, I think– obviously I had missed the first part of the show. But the second part was the real meat of the thing, so I needn’t have worried.

I remember thinking in an almost laughing way: what is he doing? Because he had stood there in front of his window, sideways on to me, and started unbuttoning the shirt. And he had done it in such a deliberate, sluttish, stripping sort of way that I had immediately thought: he’s with someone. Someone is in front of him, off-screen where I can’t see, and he’s stripping for her one button at a time.

But I know now that there was no one.

I think he does it in front of a mirror. I can’t fault him for it; God knows I would too, if I looked like him. I would slide that shirt off my shoulders, shoulders jutting out like accusing fingers, lips parted. I would admire the golden slide of my body, the rough scratch of hair on my chest, the dip of my navel and the curves of my solid muscles.

Oh mystery apartment guy, how glorious you are! I’m weak, I’m weak, weak in the presence of shapely strippers.

And then he slid his jeans down his legs, too, and I was hypnotised. I was paralysed. The little movie he made in the box of his window got hold of me, and chained me to my own window. I bit semi-circles into all of my nails. I spliced my thighs together.

The jockeys he was wearing clung to him in a way I wanted my hands to. My hands were actually briefly jealous of them. He had – has – a fabulous arse. Almost too big, perhaps, with a delicious curving heft to it that makes a person want to squeeze.

And of course, his cock. I think his cock sealed the paralysis. The way it curved – really curved – like a crooked finger, and always seemed to try and bob upwards as though its own weight kept dragging it back down again. It had a lot of weight, like the rest of him. A real fleshiness, a solidness.

It didn’t take much for me to imagine taking that cock in my mouth, my pussy, my arse– anywhere, anywhere he wanted to put it. For the first time in my life, I fantasised about a real live man, a man I could actually see, fucking and fucking me. I remember standing there feeling a hollow space between my legs, one that waited for him to fill it up.

And it was better and dirtier because it wasn’t some actor in some movie, but a real person. I watched a real person take his cock in his hand, and rub himself slowly, so slowly. I watched him look down at what he was doing, and watched his lips part and heard the groan he made even though it was soundless to me, and it was as sweet as ripe cherries. As sweet as sugar poured on my tongue.

He fucked his own hand, and rocked his hips into it, and let his eyes shutter closed just for me, all for me. And when he came I came close too, because there’s nothing sexier than watching a man make love to himself.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

In truth, there are sexier things. And he was only too happy to show them to me.

Some Nice Things

So I think I mentioned that Michelle Buonfiglio said that my book was one of the sexiest erotic romance reads of 2009, or similar. Which was enough to put me on for the entire rest of my career, TBH. If she had never spoken a word to me ever again for the entirety of our days, I would have thought nothing of it. If she had by some freak accident been at my Christmas dinner table and failed to so much as ask me to pass the brussel sprouts (gladly), I wouldn't have blinked an eye.

She is Michelle Buonfiglio. I am tiny speck. I'm not even a tiny speck of something, I am beyond something, I am nothing. A speck of nothing on the shoe of no-one.

So to say I'm staggered that she put me on a list of books is an understatement. And it's not even a list of books she's heard of. Or books that have the word "things" in the title. Or books written by Charlottes- though it could have been. There's another Charlotte on there. I had to keep checking, just to make sure it wasn't "Charlottes Who Released Books In 2009".

But it's not. It's a list of her faves of 2009.

So I went away to check that "fave" didn't mean "some books that are orsum, and one that definitely isn't".

But get this: it doesn't mean that! Not anywhere! And it's not even a best and worst list, with one book that's rubbish and one that's brilliant! Underneath the heading "Erotic Romance" there is Megan Hart's book (which would have been the brilliant one) and my book (which would have been the awful one).

But it's not even the awful one! See:

http://bookclubs.barnesandnoble.com/t5/Heart-to-Heart/BN-Best-of-2009-Romance/bc-p/420022

I'm not making this up. If I was going to make this up, I'd aim much lower. Something that's almost believable, like: "my best friend actually bothered to put a review of my book somewhere for me, and didn't lend said book to some nobody she hardly knows".

I know, right? Laughable. But still, within the boundaries of believability, I feel. Unlike Michelle Buonfiglio noticing my book and liking it so most that she puts it on a list of faves, which is something I thought would never happen in a million years. It's only slightly behind "snogging Zachary Quinto", and he's gay!

Probably.

P.S. Today is the actual real release day of Justine Elyot's book, On Demand. As my book has been noticed by Michelle Buonfiglio, hers is probably about to be noticed by Jesus because she's waaayyy better than me. So you must must buy it, before she's more famous than God and you're not allowed to buy her books anymore, because they're just too orsum and have had Jesus' fingers all over them. So get it here, quick!

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Demand-Black-Lace-Justine-Elyot/dp/0352345438/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1259883203&sr=8-1

Mancandy Monday: The Hot Dude On The Cover Of On Demand

I was going to do "Mancandy Monday: Justine Elyot", but that would have been weird.

I mean, I've never seen her face. So technically, she could look like Zachary Quinto. But somehow, I don't think God is kind enough to put the brilliant mind of an orsum erotica writer into the body of someone who looks like ZQ.

So I chose the burly beefcake caged inside a gorgeous suit on the cover of her book, On Demand, as today's belated Mancandy Monday. Et voila:




Just look at him there. Look how massive he is! So burly. And he's kind of half-smiling, too, as though he's singing Sugar Lumps in his head: I see you girl, checking out the front of my trunks. That sort of thing.

But more than how hot this hunk is, more than my confused feelings for Justine "ZQ" Elyot, is what is within the sexy covers of this fabulous book. I haven't finished reading it yet, but ohhh, what I have read. And what I read from Justine Elyot before I got my mitts on her fab collection of short stories.

The first story I ever read of hers was Advanced Corsetry, in Liaisons. Directly after reading it, I went online to find out who she was. That's the effect Justine's work has on you- you want to know more, immediatly, about this electric new voice on the erotica scene. She made me so happy, that BL was still taking on new brilliant writers like her.

She is a master of words, a wit, and in every sex scene she pushes boundaries and expectations. If you're not interested in any of those things, then obviously, don't buy her book. But I know you are interested in those things. I know what you're thinking right now: why haven't I bought On Demand, already?

Because you're mad, clearly. Now get out there and buy it!

On Demand Out Soon

Yes, that's right folks. Justine Elyot's fabulous collection of super sexy hot stories is out v. soon (December 3rd, fact fans), and to commemorate this occasion she's doing a month long thingie to Black Lace (as it will be Black Lace's final book!). Here is what she's doing in her own words:

http://smutoliloquy.blogspot.com/2009/11/invitation.html

And she's inviting peeps to come along and make their contributions, if they ever loved or wrote for BL. Excitement! And sadness! But mostly excitement! Yeah!

Mancandy Monday: Mick Hennessey

In honour of my almost-novella, Waiting In Vain, now having a page on Total-E-Bound's site (HOORAY!!!! And phew!!!):

http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=658

I thought I would have its hero as today's Mancandy Monday. Because Mick is cheaky and laidback and horny, and I love him to death. And also, he looks a lot like this:

Except cheekier. Here's the blurb for WIV:

"His desires aren't going to wait for her any longer...When Nancy is invited to her sister-in-law's Christmas get-together so that she won't be alone over the holidays, she doesn't have the heart to refuse. They've been nothing but fun in the past, after all.

But Nancy isn't counting on just how much fun it's going to be this year. Sexy, sultry Mick Hennessey is on the prowl, and he isn't about to stop at a sly hand on her thigh under the dining room table. He wants to see how far he can push her, even if it means risking her heart on top of her most secret desires."

.

Even though it doesn't come out 'til 28th December. I'm as excitable as what lives inside Mick's underpants, it seems.

Mancandy Monday: Mr Sweater Vest

I'm deep in enemy territory, at the moment. And by "enemy", I mean "sweater vest", and by "territory" I mean "my book", which features a dude modelling a sweater vest constantly, for nothing more than my sexual pleasure. So I'm cheating, and revisiting my old favourite: Guy Wearing Sweater Vest.

I think I'm going to have to rename this segment of my blog "Random Weirdo Monday". Because folks, there's precious little candy here. To anyone but me. And other people who want uptight repressed dudes in sweater vests.

This one's for you, secret sweater vest lover:

It's all his fault.

You can see where I've gone wrong here, can't you. It's all right. You don't have to tell me.

The King of the Sweater Vests, Chandler Bing. He leads the dance all the way down to Marks and Spencer's.

Technically not a sweater vest, I know. But fook, I've got to have some pretty somewhere on here.

And this is definitely, definitely not a sweater vest. You see, there are levels of sweater vest- all the way from the magnificent no-buttons-kind-of-tight-around-the-shoulders-olive-green nightmare, down to what is, essentially, a waistcoat.

I will allow a waistcoat, if Lee Pace is the one wearing said garment. Otherwise, waistcoats are right out. They're banned, from my Guys Who Wear Sweater Vests and Nothing Else club.

Sorry, waistcoats. You're just not weird enough, for my liking.

Yet More Lovely Things In A Way That's Starting To Freak Me Out

This run of luck is really getting out of hand, now. I'm starting to be embarrassed about it, like a person who keeps winning the lottery every week. You'd hate that person, right? It's okay. I hate me too. Fookin' little apple polisher that I am.

Anyhoo, enough about my self-hatred and constant lottery winning. On to the lottery wins themselves!

First up, Michelle Buonfiglio, awesome romance community blogger and reviewer and one of the Big Five (Dear Author, Smart Bitches, Mrs Giggles, Karen Knows Best and Michelle's blog: Romance Buy The Book) commented on my cover on the B&N Unabashedly bookish blog, here:

http://bookclubs.barnesandnoble.com/t5/Unabashedly-Bookish/Authors-Plan-Cover-Gods-Laugh/ba-p/410638

She had this to say about the cover:

"Anything but classic romance-novel cover, Charlotte Stein's "The Things that Make Me Give In" is stunning and alluring in its stark communication of intent to meet readers' expectations."

And then this, to say about the book itself:

"...one of the sexiest erotic-romance reads of 2009."

To which I say this:

...
...
...

I had to email the lovely Michelle to ask her if she actually really meant it. I kept checking the blog, to make sure she wasn't talking about someone else. I thought perhaps it was just one of those comments you make, you know, to be nice.

I have not recovered from her reply, in which she informed me that no, actually, she meant it. And that she'd read the book. And that she'd liked it. There are several levels of enjoyment here, I feel:

a) Michelle Buonfiglio actually noticed my book, amidst all the thousands of books she must get sent daily.

b) Not only did she notice it, she also read it. Yet another real live person actually read my book!

c) Not only did she read it, she also liked it.

d) She also then wrote about it, on the internet.

e) And provided me with a truly orsum cover quote for my next book. It's so orsum I might have to have it on my blog somewhere. It's so orsum that it contravenes my wariness of self-promotion and bragging and the like.

And as if that wasn't enough, I also heard that I'm going to be in the Xcite Valentine anthology, which you can see now listed on my sidebar of Ultimate Bragging. Or at least, I think that's the right cover and book (Janine Ashbless sez so, and I trust her). Getting into it was all a bit mysterious and last minute and things, and I followed the old rule rather than stopping to see what antho it was: if an editor asks you if you'd like to try for something, you drop everything and do it, immediatly.

My luck is soooo going to run out any minute. Right, single magpies?

More Lovely Things!

So first off, I'm only in a bloody press release:

http://www.booktrade.info/index.php/showarticle/24187

I almost fainted. And Chloe Thurlow, KD Grace and Justine Elyot are going to be doing Xcite books, too! How amazing is that? They definitely are the creme de la creme of erotica, and am so happy for them. Especially my pal Justine, who deserves that end to the road to nowheresville more than anyone.

And then also, I've heard that the line up for Fairytale Lust has been approved by Cleis- and I'm in it! Having a story in this book is a great honour for me, not only because I've always wanted to write erotic fairytales, but also because Kristina Wright is a wonderful writer, an inspiration, and a lovely, lovely person. I was thrilled when she got this editing gig, and even more thrilled to have a story accepted by her.

Not only that, but I'm going to be rubbing shoulders with all sorts of fab peeps, like Justine Elyot, Saskia Walker, Jeremy Edwards, Janine Ashbless...I tell you what, when I first started out on this trail I never thought I'd get to be in books with the people I've looked up to for so long.

But anyhoo, my story is called The Return, and it's kind of based on something a little different. The Return of Martin Guerre- which isn't exactly a fairytale, but I've always felt it kind of is. Thankfully, Kristina agreed with me!

Big News

Okay, so I went back and forth about whether I should talk about this on my blog, yet. But the editor has said I can and I got the contract through today (so quickly!) so I think it's safe. I'm scared of jinxing it and somehow I still don't think it's real, but...here goes.

I'm going to be writing a novel for Xcite books! An entire novel! My second full length book! I'm actually getting the opportunity to write a second book, which after the summer I've had seems like some sort of miracle.

Of course I know that other authors have it far worse than me. That really, Black Lace closing is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of Bad Things That Can Happen To Writers. But I did really feel as though I'd failed, somehow- that my dream of being a writer had ended, no matter how daft that might seem to the tough and hardy amongst you, out there.

So to have this opportunity again is just...I wish there was some writing God I could now make a grateful sacrifice to. Or someone I could thank. Of course I've thanked Adam Nevill. I mean, just because he liked me at Black Lace, did not in any way mean he was going to either a) like me at Xcite or b) be able to persuade the top brass there that I'm any good. So I should probably thank the top brass at Xcite.

But also Justine Elyot, who kept me going when times got rough. And Saskia Walker, Janine Ashbless, Jeremy Edwards, Madelynne Ellis, Portia Da Costa, Danielle, the LOFG forum gals...all you guys, everyone who has twittered me or commented on my blog and just kept me going. Christine Riley, my new ed. at Total-E-Bound, who's helped me get the faith back in myself. Lizzie, who made me do all of this in the first place. And Sefi, who is always my good friend whether I'm a writer or not.

It means so much to have that support, when writing can be so lonely and terrifying. So I swear, I will make it my mission in life to help any writer just starting out. That's how I'll pay it back. If you're out there, and there's a cheering word I can give you, I'll find you and give it. Don't give up. Don't ever give up, okay? It's been a year for me of steep lows and dizzying highs, but I've loved it all and wouldn't trade it for anything.

Hitting The Hot Spot

So today's my day to post on Total-E-Bound's blog, Hitting The Hot Spot! See me here, rambling as usual about hot dudes and the stuff they do to me:

http://totalebound.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-need-hot-dudes.html

Yeah! Check me out, all being a Total-E-Bound author! Still don't think it's quite sunk in that I've got a novella coming out with them.

Exciting News!

Now that Cleis has given final approval to the TOC, I can at last announce what I've been dying to announce and fretted about sudden disapproval from Cleis for what seems like forever:

My short story, Pleasure Keeper, was accepted by the fabulous, stunning, amazing Rachel Kramer Bussel for inclusion in her anthology: Please, Sir!
And lookee at its beyootiful cover!




It's also already up on amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Please-Sir-Stories-Female-Submission/dp/1573443891/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1256676245&sr=8-1

And is out in the US May 1st, 2010.

I'm in extremely esteemed company so it's a double bonus, and on a personal note this acceptance meant an awful lot to me, because it came at a time when I was certain that a) I'd never get in to anything but a Black Lace antho and b) Black Lace, unbeknowst to me, was about to shut up shop.

So it was both a lovely validation, an honour and a huge relief. My heartfelt thanks to Rachel Kramer Bussel for all of the above.

Mancandy Monday: Murdock, From The A-Team

When I was far too young to be fancying full grown men (though in truth, I've never fancied anything but), I wanted to snog Face, from the A-Team. Everyone else wanted to snog Corey Haim, but not me. I wanted Face.

Until a pattern emerged- one that would continue with me for the rest of my life. I call it: "starting to fancy the non-obvious guy". Suddenly, v. handsome guy starts not being enough for me. Isn't he just a little bit too handsome? A bit too smug, a bit too smooth around the edges. He's practically an apple.

Where as I always want lychees: the scariest, weirdest, most eyeball-like of all fruits. The fruit you've never heard of and which terrifies you.

So I started fancying Murdock.

Mad, big tiger jacket wearing, sock puppet loving, practically bald Murdock. Murdock, who spent his time trying to enrage a gigantic mohawked man. Murdock, who would never be as handsome as Face, but who I loved, regardless.

I wanted to escape a mental ward with him in a helicopter. And then snog, naturally.

Of course now, I want to do many, many other things to him. And especially as he's soon to look a lot like Sharlto Copley, who has a spectacular head of hair but makes me think he's still somehow bald underneath that baseball cap.

I don't care how bald you are, Murdock. How weird and non-obvious. I love you anyway.

Heroes. P.S. MASSIVE SPOILERS

I know I'm supposed to use this blog to promote my writing and whatever, but seriously- don't do it, Heroes. If you kill Sylar, where will all the sex in the world go? You're making a sex abyss, Heroes, and I hate you for it.

Kill someone less sexy! Mohinder would be sexy, but he's fookin' boring so he'd barely create a sex sinkhole. Plenty of sex would be left for everyone, if Mohinder died! And yes, there'd be less scope for Mylar fanfic, but Sylar could have sex with a table and I'd be happy.

I shall call this new pairing: TabLar.

But I digress.

Kill Hiro! He is extremely not sexy. He acts like he's twelve and he's carking it now anyway! We all know he's never going to become sexy cool goatee Hiro, because you never follow through on anything, Heroes. It's how I know that Sylar is going to be the "unexpected" "male character" "who dies", because although it looks like he's going down the route of becoming that weird ass Sylar in the future with a kid (he's a blank slate, he's hooking up with that blonde chick), YOU NEVER FOLLOW THROUGH.

So it's not going to happen. Instead he's going to die. And you'll only have yourselves to blame, when sex stops calling you.

News And Another Excerpt

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Mancandy Monday: Matthew Macfadyen

The reason I've chosen Mr Macfadyen as this Monday's Mancandy, is because he features in many a story in The Things That Make Me Give In. Or rather, he was the inspiration for at least two of the male characters, and I'm sure you can all see why:

So what I thought I'd do is marry my Mancandys with my book promotion in some sort of unholy union from hell, and give you all a little taste of in what way, exactly, Matthew Macfadyen inspired me.

He inspired me to write about a very, very naughty university Professor, who does very, very naughty things with his student, while looking a lot like Matthew Macfdyen, and a lot like Remus Lupin from the Harry Potter films/books. Tired looking tweedy Professors with hidden strict streaks are hot, I tells you!

See if you agree:

‘Go to the board behind me,’ he says, finally. His voice seems to...deepen when he does, but it’s hard to tell. Harder yet to understand what deepening might mean. That he realises he’s doing something wrong?
He’s about to do something worse, she knows. It’s obvious, even before he tells her to pick up the pen. Though maybe it’s just worse because she obeys, file now closed and pinned back to her chest.
‘Write fifty times: I must write less ridiculous love scenes.’
‘Is that what you think they are? Love scenes?’
‘I don’t know, Clara. Do you feel like you’re in love?’
‘Just shut-up, all right. I’m not doing this, you know.’
‘Fifty times. I must write less ridiculous love scenes.’
‘Don’t you mean fuck? Fuck scenes.’
There is a pause in between her putting the pen to the board, and him speaking next. It’s the heaviest one yet and she feels it pressing on her back– though maybe it’s just his presence that’s pressing, as he stands up behind her. Her legs are now trembling and buckling under the pressure, she knows, but God, at least she hasn’t cried in front of him.
‘Yes, I mean fuck,’ he says, and then too alarming to bear– he puts his hand over the curving top swell of her bottom.
The pen slides up on its own and makes a scything smile of green that isn’t meant to be there. The word scene on her first line is now ruined– she can’t reach most of the shaking mistake, to rub it out.
She goes to turn and say something sharp, but he then pats her bottom. He pats it, and says:
‘Keep writing, Clara.’
The face she had half-turned to him seems to want to turn back, but she doesn’t know if she can bear that. If she turns back, and keeps writing, what then? What then of flowery words and teachers and students and ridiculousness? This wouldn’t happen in her story. It wouldn’t happen. It’s too sordid.
It feels heavenly.
He just strokes her bottom, just slow, ever so slow and in circles. And when she makes fumbling marks on the board once more, then – oh, then – he begins to ruffle her skirt up, inch by inch.
Suddenly his mouth is at her ear, his breath as hot as her own insides feel.
‘What do all good romance heroines get, Clara?’ he says and for a moment she can’t think. She has no idea. Hand holding? Marriage? A yacht and three mansions and–
‘The hero!’ she says, and then is embarrassed that she has yelled it out, like a little apple polisher. Ever the A student, ever the good girl, and apparently also slightly more than the second string character.
Even if he isn’t the hero of anything.

‘And tell me, what are the heroes usually like, in a romance?’
She can feel herself shaking, now. He has his hand on the seat of her knickers, her skirt completely pushed up. As she answers, he strokes just one finger into the split of her buttocks through the material.
‘Aggressive. Arrogant. Dominant.’
‘And the women?’
‘Submissive. Pathetic.’
‘Is that what you really think? That they’re pathetic?’
His fingers strokes tighter into the crease, straining against the taut material. She gasps, and writes things that are not words.
‘Yes. Yes.’
‘And you hate arrogant men, cold men, nasty rotten rakes. You don’t like to write about them.’
‘I...find it hard. I find it hard to write about...dominant men.’
‘Shall I yank your knickers down?’
‘Yes! Jesus, yes.’

And The Winner Is...

Jeremy Edwards!! Yeah!!!

Yes, the lovely Jeremy got picked out of the hat (actual thing I picked out of: an old ice-cream tub) completely at random, and so wins a copy of my super duper book The Things That Make Me Give In.

Hopefully you'll see this, Jeremy, so I can send you your copy. Just email me at charlotte_stein@hotmail.co.uk with the address you want it sent to, and I'll get that in the post as soon as possible.

And I just want to finish by saying thank you, to Jeremy, Danielle, Emerald, T. Harrison, Justine (I know you didn't enter cos you bought it, but even so!) and Sefi, for taking the time to enter and comment and be lovely. I wish I had copies for you all, but unfortunately my relatives have pretty much stolen all of them.

Stupid relatives.

Waiting In Vain

Okay, so the contract's been signed for this. I think it's safe for me to post something about it.

Total-E-Bound have accepted my novella/short story, Waiting In Vain, for publication!!!!!! YARGHH!

As you may or may not know, Bertha, this is really excellent news for a variety of reasons:

a) After Black Lace closed, I was terrified that no other publisher would ever want my work.

b) I was just generally terrified that no erotic romance publisher would ever want my work, even though I longed to be a writer of things both erotic and romantic.

c) Total-E-Bound are orsum.

d) Total-E-Bound publish all sorts of different sub-genres within the erotic romance genre, and as my dream is to one day have an erotic romance paranormal type novel published, perhaps I'm one small step closer to fulfulling this dream.

e) It's going to be the longest single thing I've yet had published. At 10k, it's just about a novella. I've progressed from short stories to almost novellas!

f) Although I submitted it for their Christmas Crackers anthology, it's actually going to be published as a single Lust Bite on its own, on (hopefully!) December 28th- the day after my birthday.

g) Two weird coincedences: my first published thing was in the anthology Lust At First Bite. And the star of Waiting In Vain was fuelled by the same inspiration as in Playing- Alex O'Loughlin. I should really consider writing him a thank you note:

Dear Alex O'Loughlin,

Thank you for being so disgustingly gorgeous. Because of your disgusting gorgeosity, I was mightily inspired and produced two works that are apparently worthy of publication. You are the muse that makes woo-woos happen in my underpants.

Love,

Charlotte Stein

Though I realise I'm thanking the wrong person. And no, I'm not going to start blubbing and reading out thank yous like I've been given an Oscar or summat. But I should really thank my editor at TEB (I have an editor at TEB!) for being orsum enough to take a chance on my work. And there are also people out there who have kept me going when things looked really bleak, writing wise. And they (and this happening) have really made me want to say this:

Don't ever stop. I came *this* close to not submitting to that TEB call. Literally- I had minutes to spare before the deadline. I agonised over it. I thought- there's no point. They didn't like my last thing, why should they like this? I'm not erotic romance. I'm too foofy. I'm too erotic. I'm not erotic enough. My stories are boring. I can't write. I need to live in the real world, now. I've failed.

But I was wrong and stupid and don't ever give up. Promise? Don't give up. Stay strong, okay? Because every single thing you almost didn't send could be 1.34 mins away from someone saying yes.

What Makes You Give In?

No, seriously. What does? Thanks to the divine Janine Ashbless and the wonderful Roberta Fleck, both of who commented on Janine's blog about the things that make them give in, I'm now wondering what makes you give in, lovely people of the world.

For me, it's this:

And this:

And this:

The smell of a just cracked book and the Starman soundtrack in my ears. HR Giger and Sigourney Weaver. Black as midnight hair. The month November and all its misty coldness. Fizzy worms, oh fizzy worms and lamb spiced with cumin!

.

Those are the things that make me give in, to a variety of things and in a number of different ways.

Now it's your turn. Tell me what makes you give in, and I'll put your name in a hat, shake you all about, and choose one of you at random to receive a copy of my orsum fabulous amazing book, The Things That Make Me Give In.

And if what makes you give in happens to be "being put in a hat, shaken all about, and then chosen at random", well...all the better, eh?

The Things That Make Me Give In

Okay, I thought I'd have at least another six days before I had to start the probable month long celebrations, promos and other things I haven't actually worked out yet, for the release of my book. I've spent so long sure that my book wasn't coming out, I've made no plans. I've picked no excerpts. I don't even know what the blurb is on the back of the book.

And yet behold, it is real! It's as real as my lust for Alex O'Loughlin! It's as real as a really real thing designed by Professor Actua-Lee Happ-Ning of the So Real You Can Bite It clinic for the Starving Hungry! It has been released into the world like those corn husk chicken things on that animal program this morning!

Other people have seen it before I have!

I curse you for living so far away, Justine Elyot. But Justine Elyot is also fabulous, for letting me know that the book is real. It actually arrived at her house! So unless there's only one copy in existence, my book is out on Amazon UK, six days early!

ARGH!

These things aside, here is what it looks like:

In case you've forgotten, Bertha. And here is its Amazon link:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Things-That-Make-Give-Black/dp/035234542X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1253904439&sr=1-1

I don't expect you to know that off by heart.

It is also available these places:

http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/displayProductDetails.do?sku=6597317

http://www.whsmith.co.uk/CatalogAndSearch/ProductDetails-The+Things+That+Make+Me+Give+in+-9780352345424.html

http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/book/9780352345424/The-Things-That-Make-Me-Give-in

But not yet, which is making me flap and fuddle and other words that don't exist, trying to decide what to do. I think what I shall do is not be able to sleep a wink tonight, in anticpation of what could be my book (a complete book that I wrote fook me!) arriving tomorrow. And then hubbie will torment me by claiming it hasn't arrived, so that he can do the Joey Tribbiani "no it hasn't, yeah it has really" fake-out like he always does.

And then I do the "I'm going to divorce you, no not really" fake-out.

But I digress.

Now go buy my book, people of the world*! It's really good, honest- even Bertha** thinks so. I'll be posting excerpts and running a contest in days to come, so you can see just how good it is with your own two eyes!***

*By people of the world, I of course mean "the three people who read this blog".

**May not be a reliable witness.

***Results may vary.

Mancandy Monday: My Inner Bear

Once, Activia yoghurt did not have adverts that featured a load of bloated women. They had marvellous, inventive, wonderful ads, that featured a creature I labelled the "Inner Bear". Behold:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7u14d0euO2c

I'm pretty sure I have an Inner Bear. I'm also dead certain that he looks like this:

I have no idea why he's male, however. Though it is nice having a man inside me, all the time. Plus it justifies me having him as my Mancandy Monday, so that it's less like I fancy myself and more like I fancy a three foot tall bear with dead eyes and chocolate round its gob.

Until it turns, goblin-shapeshifter-like, into six foot tall Alex O'Loughlin without a shirt:

There's an awful mess when he bursts out of me like in Alien. But he's worth it.

Mancandy Monday: Swedish Viking Vampires

Somehow, for me, the word "Swedish" in there makes the whole concept of Viking Vampires even hotter than it was before. Though I'm sure Alexander Skarsgard as a vampire has a lot to do with that. Behold, Eric Northman:

And also this:

And here's his hot Dad as a Viking, too:

Not a vampire one, but even so.

.

I've never been a big fan of Vikings in that Romancelandia sort of way, I have to say. I don't see the title: "The Very Virile Viking" and immediatly go oh, ho-OT! Auto-buy in my Amazon basket etc etc. But the idea of a modern day vamp who was once a Viking...yeah, that's hot. That way, you get all of the seething swarthy pillage and rapey-ness, only under the surface.

And you know me and under the surface-is-ity. Cry, cry your bloody tears Eric Northman. And then boil all over me like a raging man-cano.

Review: I Kissed A Girl, ed. Regina Perry

I like erotic anthologies. I like erotic anthologies by certain editors, because you know you're going to get a good one. Rachel Kramer Bussel, any Black Lace antho (and therefore either Kerri Sharp or Adam Nevill), Regina Perry, Alison Tyler...you can't go far wrong with any of those peeps.

And so it is with this anthology:

http://www.ravenousromance.com/lesbian/i-kissed-a-girl.php

Even though it's about girl love, and I'm big into the man ogling.

But I like stuff about girl love, too. I'm not one of those readers who gets all squicked and ew vaginas about FF in my smut. I like my vagina. Vaginas are nice. It's still two people getting it on, so get over it. Etc.

And they get it on very nicely in this anthology. Particularly in Lady's Maid, by K Ann Karlsson. Which is awesome. It kind of reminded me of Sarah Waters' I'm a loveable Cockney/Irish etc working class gel type of things, only really, really horny. Excellent stuff.

I also appreciated Get Thee To A Nunnery by Samantha Jones (?!), which has a lovely cheeky turnabout playfulness that I thoroughly enjoyed. I get so tired of of innocent prudish women being led astray by giant hairy men, so this was a nice surprise on many levels.

And finally, another of my faves: Show Me Yours, by Lucy Felthouse. In fact, I liked it so much that at the end, I was flicking through pages trying to find more of it. It has the same quality I always appreciate in stories by Ms Felthouse- that of reality, of something that really happened. She makes you believe in the scenario utterly, which is something sorely lacking in much of today's erotic/erotic romance fiction.

Of course, there were other stories in this antho that I liked. Just because I've chosen to mention these three as the standouts, doesn't mean I hated all the rest. Quite the contrary- it's a solid set of stories and I hope that Ravenous Romance continues to put out anthologies by such well thought of editors, filled with much respected writers. It's the way forward for them, I feel.

Mancandy Tuesday: Sharlto Copley

What do you mean, you don't know who he is? You should- he's only in the best fookin' film of the year, District 9. And not only is he in it, but he carries the entire thing on his manager-of-Tescos shoulders, like an ant carrying a 30 million dollar Peter Jackson produced planet on its back.

.

For that alone he deserves my love, even if he's playing perhaps the most excrutiating middle manager dorkus creep ever seen on a movie screen. Observe:

And that's not even the dorkiest he looks in the movie. I couldn't find any pics of him wearing his olive green knitted tank top- probably because everyone else is sanely not fancying him.

.

And yet, I luff him. I even love his side-parting and his moustache and his tank top. The whole film is like watching Michael Scott (Wikus is not quite as unbearable as David Brent) being turned into an alien and forced to shoot things against his will. Just think about that, for a second. We live in a world where we can actually go to the movies and see a film about a guy like Michael Scott or a manager of Tescos or summat being body shocked like in The Fly. And then doing a bunch of other stuff that by the end has you clutching your chest for him.
.

There's something about such a thing that I find astonishing.
.

And the fact that he looks a lot like Hart Bochner after being squeezed through a nerdinator doesn't hurt. For the record here is Hart Bochner:

And here is Sharlto Copley:

But I'll take Wikus Van Der Merwe over either of them any day, just for his constant fookins and his glorious accent and that game of catch he plays. And for the one alien eye, of course:

Reviewing

Okay, so, I've decided that I'm going to do a weekly review on my blog. Partly because I was asked by someone if I'd possibly do a review of something, and partly because I love talking about great books.

So before I get to the actual reviewing, some rambling thoughts:

I'm not going to always be a pussycat about things, but I'm not going to be a brute. I think that's the kind of creative writing teacher I am, and it seems to have turned out all right for me in that area. I've never had someone beat me up, at any rate- touch wood.

I think I'll mostly stick to books I really love - especially ones that have influenced me, erotica-wise - but if anyone else out there would like me to review something, ask away! I'd love to review anything and everything, including "Great Knitting Patterns of Europe" and "Garden Gnomes: A History". And my blog has had a thousand visitors (ZOMG!), so it's possible someone will see my review of your awesome book/story/knitting pattern treatise.

Of course, those thousand visitors are all probably just two people visiting me a thousand times, but even so! Two whole people! Yeah!

Mancandy Monday: Sam Rockwell

Yes, Sam Rockwell falls into the "some weirdo" category. But he deserves his own Mancandy Monday, I feel. Because I first loved him in the awful Charlie's Angels movie, which I came out of all those years ago saying: who was that guy?

I still remember that feeling of who was that guy. I wish he was more than who was that guy, now, but he's still the quirky indie kid who never does what you expect him to. He plays psychotic funny and funny psychotic and then BAM! Is suddenly in a sci-fi movie.

I wish he was in more sci-fi. His two best movies, Galaxy Quest and Moon, are sci-fi. I think he's just too weird and quirky to be contained in serious dramas. He needs otherworldly, he needs to advise people to make rudimentary lathes, he needs to be scared and desperate and running away from xenomorphs, maybe.

While looking like this:



Or this:



What? Don't look at me like that. Just trust me: with Sam Rockwell, the bigger the moustache and the wilder the hair, the more aliens he's saved you from and the better the crazy sex is going to be.

Or at least, that's the way it always is, in my head.

On Demand

You want to know why Justine Elyot is great? Because she wrote Advanced Corsetry, The Number, Office Sex and The Interview, all awesome stories that feature in Black Lace anthologies. She is a fresh and exciting new voice in erotica, and I find it amazing that I can say that without feeling like I'm delivering an insincere soundbite. Not only are her stories really well written, interesting and layered, they're also horny.

So you'll forgive me for getting excited because her own collection of short stories, On Demand, comes out in December. Or at least, I hope it does. Currently, Amazon seems to be dickering about with the date, which displeases me greatly.

I want On Demand now, dammit. Heh. No pun intended.

But anyway, support my sister in Black Lace and pre-order her fabulous book here: http://http://www.amazon.co.uk/Demand-Justine-Elyot/dp/0352345438/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

Mancandy Monday: Some Weirdo

If you regularly read this blog - as I know you do, Bertha - you'll be aware that I like weird men. Men that only a select number of women like. Though I know the number of those women is growing.

Because women, I feel, sometimes find it easier to like weird men. As opposed to men, who even when they're weird often prefer babelicious women.

Though there's nothing wrong with that. I can understand why some weird men would like to be surrounded by hot babes. Sometimes I would like to be surrounded by Alexander Skarsgards.

Though the fact that I like Alexander Skarsgard because he is Swedish seems a bit odd, I have to say. Even the handsome men I like, I usually like because there's something weird about them. I prefer George Clooney when he's fat. Billy Zane when he's balding and also kind of fat. I would rather Sam Rockwell have a slight gut and that straggly moustache he sometimes wears, so that he looks like he just fell out of a trailer park somewhere at three o'clock in the morning, with no pants on.

I always like it when my dudes are playing some weirdo.

Of course the epitome of weird-cool at the moment is probably Jemaine Clement:

But maybe he's so weird that I can no longer like him. He's gone all the way around the scale and back into normal again. It would be too generic to surround myself with a gaggle of hims. Maybe if I surrounded myself with Rhys Darbys, who plays the even weirder band manager of Flight of the Conchords:

That would be weird enough?

I'm not sure. But here is another picture of Jemaine looking even weirder than he did in that other pic, to help me make up my mind:

I can definitely see him burning my heroine's name into a lawn somewhere, but leaving the last letter off because he didn't have enough gasoline: Popp.

Yeah, I can see that. I wish I could shake this feeling of helpless nothingness in order to write it. But then, it's even weirder than the other stuff I've written, so what's the use? You do me no favours, weird men. No favours at all.

Mancandy Mon- Tuesday: True Blood

I couldn't decide who to have for this belated Mancandy Monday. Mainly because the show True Blood is so full of pretty it should be outlawed.

But in particular I appreciate Sam Merlotte:

Who occasionally turns into this:

Bestiality: It's not just for weirdoes anymore.
.

And then there's this gigantic hunk of Swede:

He's also a hunk of cucumber, carrot and aubergine. Especially aubergine. Plus he has this amazing accent, the kind of accent that Stellan Skarsgard usually melts me with. On his son it's even better, because it's like this essence of Stellan in the body of a 6"5 young buck. It's this ancient cold...otherness, like he lived in the forests of dark European countries that had different names 1000 years ago.

I sure hope they do the whole "Eric has no memory" storyline on True Blood. Oh, what I could do with distilled-Stellan-1000-years-old Eric Northman, if he had no memory.

Flying Away

So, I'm off. Just in case you got to wondering where I am, Bertha. I'm flying to the land of lobsters and massive cupcakes, to spend money I don't have on things I don't want.

I shall see you when I return, burnt in some impossible place, on August 17th.

Snogs to all who want them,

Charlotte

Mancandy Monday: Black Lace

The first thing I ever read that had some serious bonking in it was The Fog, by James Herbert. Even more astonishing than that first foray into frankly quite odd sex (seeing as how the people are kind of mental when they're doing it, turned insane by THE FOG!), was my first exposure to erotica: The Splits, by Ray Gordon.

Which wasn't quite all I could have hoped for, I have to say. Although I boggled at some of the detail he went into (and still does go into), the female protagonist seemed a little...over the top. She breathed every word she said and loved loads of stuff really suddenly, including some things that sounded as painful as the activities in Anne Rice's Beauty books. I suspected that secretly, the main character wasn't loving things as much as Ray Gordon claimed she did.

In fact, I suspected that she secretly hated having ten bananas shoved up her bum*. And I didn’t want women who secretly hated very painful sounding things. I wanted women who were dirty and naughty and loved and were loved and did all of these things while making me believe in them, absolutely. They spoke with my voice. Even when they had crazy things to say.

Which is when I read Path of the Tiger, by Cleo Cordell, Gemini Heat by Portia Da Costa, Crash Course by Juliet Hastings, Conquered by Fleur Reynolds, Dreamers In Time by Sarah Copeland, The Houseshare by Pat O’Brien, The Stranger, by Portia Da Costa, Menage by Emma Holly.

I’d never read anything like them. I still haven’t. I’ve read far and wide in the world of erotica, I’ve read erotic romances and paranormal erotic romances and books in which the hero and heroine travel through space and VR machines and lands populated by werewolves, while bonking. I’ve read about alpha males that look like Fabio, big girls and small girls and silly girls and clever girls.

But I’ve never read books like Black Lace books. When I was choosing my pseudonym, I almost called myself Claudia Winthrop. You know why? Because Claudia is the name of the central character in The Stranger, and Winthrop is the surname of the central character in Menage.

You meant a lot to me, Black Lace. I will always be grateful to you, for representing me. For showing me that it's okay to think men look hot and to talk about it, to write about women that can be tough and not tough and all things in between without seeming weak or stupid. And for not insisting that women like ten bananas shoved up their bums.

.

Or at least not in a way that I couldn't buy into.

.

I am glad I got to write for you, even if it was just for a little while. I shall miss you very much, in all ways that it's possible to miss something. Once, I was a young woman in her boyfriend’s little blue bedroom, marveling at the things you told me I could do, if I wanted to.

And I’m not just talking about the uses for garden vegetables.

All my love now and forever,

Claudia Winthrop

.

*May not have actually happened in book.

Mancandy Monday: Lord Bramhope

There is no Lord Bramhope, as I'm sure you know. He lives inside my head, in the file marked "cold and inaccessible yet filled with repressed Other-y passions posh bloke from them days".

Though I imagine he looks a bit like this:

And maybe some of this:

Occasionally he looks like this:

But mostly it's just this:

Probably without the mobile phone I like to imagine he's using there and all the laughing.

Lord Bramhope never laughs. He strides around the halls of some Gothic-y mansion, telling me lies about the strange moaning sounds coming from the attic. I catch him lurking in the darkness, and strike a match that illuminates his groin weakeningly blue eyes. But not in a Wayne taunting Garth with a torch and the movie Leprechaun sort of way.

More of the sort of way where he then takes me roughly on something that sounds like it's from them days, like a credenza or a doily. It's possible that he could also be doing filthy things with the maids, but sometimes I like my historicals to have everyone as repressed and oblivious to sex things as possible, and then WHAM! Sex hits them like a doily to the face.

Plz 2 b writing more of these, authors. I can't write it myself. I keep shoving televisions and can openers and the wrong sorts of shoes in there. They had flushing indoor toilets in them days, right?

Well, That's It, Then.

So much for Black Lace, the one erotica publisher I thought would be safe to send to because dear God, it will never close! No, never! Not Black Lace, sixteen years and four million books strong!

What an idiot I am. I probably cursed it with my sureity. Whenever I'm sure about anything it always blows up in my face.

Ah, well. At least I got a few stories and an entire collection in, before the implosion. Though I swear, God, I am not sure about my collection. I promise, there's no sureity going on. The head of Virgin books has assured me that my collection will go ahead, that 2009 is safe, but I'm not banking on it.

Please let it go ahead.

Anyhoo, where was I. Ah yes, the disaster area of my career, now just a meteorite crater where once there was a strong possibility that I'd have two more novels published. Though I say strong, when really I have no idea what the editor thought about them, and now never will.

I'll now never do anything, most likely. Black Sheep and Fantasyland can sit inside my laptop for another three years, too afraid to crawl out and see the light of day. I keep telling myself that tomorrow, I'm going to send everything out to every publisher and agent ever, but secretly inside I'm sure that no other editor will ever like my stuff.

It was a miracle that one did.

But even so. Even so, I think I might. If Random House/Virgin/Black Lace don't want Black Sheep and Fantasyland...well. They're all ready to go. I could send them somewhere else right now, right this second. They don't even need changing- my worry with them was that there wasn't enough sex. Now there's plenty for just about any other publisher.

So what say you, publishing world? Would you like my novels? I guess we'll see.

Jesus Christ Thursday

I didn't have a Mancandy Monday due to other things getting in the way. So instead I'll have a Jesus H Christ on a pogo stick Thursday:

I mean, what the hell, Alex O'Loughlin. I'm here trying to write about spaceships and Nathan Fillion's ass, and you have to stomp in with your big hairy sex leaking out of your pores self, and strong arm me into writing about vampires?

Plus I think I'm going to have to rewrite most of the whole damned thing, because it should be sticky New York neon. Not LA gloss. Goddammit.

But I'll forgive you, for this:

.

And not just because you've got a big thing in your mouth and look like you're not wearing any pants just under the line of the picture. Know what that tattoo on his arm is? A HR Giger design. That's right folks. He has something drawn by HR Giger on his arm. The only thing I could imagine being more of a thrill on his bicep, is a drawing of my fanny.

.

Though I swear, my fanny doesn't have teeth.

Erotica Revealed Review!

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Excerpt From The Things That Make Me Give In

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Mancandy Monday: Simon Tam

My blog is henceforth going to refuse to descend into a pity party. No. Instead, it's going to focus, fiercely, on the pretty.

And oh, Simon Tam is very pretty indeed.

You might not know who he is. In the late great show Firefly, he was third most handsome. After Nathan Fillion, and a gigantic meatheaded moron. Who also happens to play a gigantic meatheaded moron on the show- Jayne Cobb aka Adam Baldwin.

But I digress. Let's get back to what I can only imagine must be the weird pretty of Simon Tam (aka Sean Maher):

See? That's nice, right? Or maybe it's just nice for me, considering my penchant for uptight, black haired, blue eyed, probably-a-virgin men. I mean check out this picture:

He totally looks like he's just stepped out of one of those sci-fi erotic romances where the hero and heroine live on a world without sex. And then have to discover it, together, by bonking loads (which I LOVE, BTW. If you have any recommendations for books based around this scenario, please feel free to tell them to me immediatly. Because I'm a weird-virgin-sex pervert).

So where was I again? Oh yeah. Simon Tam. He's just that type, you know. The type I always end up crushing on while everyone else crushes on Chris Pine. I like the background guy, the guy who lures you in stealthily, the guy who's hardly in something and has a CV with about four films on it so you have to scour the internet, looking for a fix of his giant man-nipples like a crazed junkie.

.

But really. Who wouldn't get crazed over this?