Saturday, February 28, 2009

Men: Part Two

Okay, so if you recall, Bertha (and I know you don't, having spent yesterday filing your nails into points and disregarding everything about everyone systematically), I did a blog on men and stuff I like about them.

And so now we come to specific men, and why they are made of an entirely new rhyme that does not contain puppy dog's tails and snails. Instead, my rhyme goes like this:

Men are made of worms
Not the real kind, though.
Fizzy worms.
And also chocolate.
They must be, because I want to eat them.
And that's what men are made of.

And okay, it's not a rhyme. But it is one hundred percent true, so shut up.

So, anyway. Specific men. Okay, first up, my all time top five hot dudes no take backs who I'm allowed to sleep with by order of my real husband, should I ever meet them and look like Angelina Jolie while doing the meeting.

1. Scott Cohen. He may be deposed as the Glorious Leader of My Pantslandia soon, however. Because coming up the rear (maybe literally) is:

2. Clive Owen. I will be talking more about Le Owen during next week's Mancandy Monday. Suffice to say, if reality suddenly became fantasy and the world turned on its head, he would be hit by a sexual tornado the likes of which no man has ever seen.

3. Nick Lea. You know. Alex Krycek off the X-Files (remember when he used to run around in the dark, whispering and sweating a lot while Mulder chased him? I wish he'd whisper and sweat all over me). Otherwise known as The Prettiest Man Alive Even Now When He's About 800 Years Old. He probably would sleep with me, he's now so old. My husband is so going to be sorry we made this deal like they did in Friends, when all my fake boyfriends are 97 and I totally get to score with them.

4. Sam Rockwell. You know what I like about Sam Rockwell? He rocks a good moustache. Also, he can dance. His dancing actually sets me ablaze. Plus I almost died recently when watching a clip from his upcoming stupid movie, and the girl's team he's coaching tell him off for calling another girl fat. And then the fumbling confused way he makes up for it in that fumbling confused voice of his! It makes me think he'd be fumbling and confused when I had SEX with his FACE.

5. Ryan Reynolds. Shut up. I liked him when he was skinny, all right. Not just because he now looks like he's made of a truck.

So that's my top five. And I feel they fairly represent what I love about men- certain types of men. I love men who are masculine, who can be rough and tough and strong. But I like it even better when they look like they might...bend. You know, into kinky shapes. They're funny and weird and odd and sometimes starkly vulnerable. They make you believe that they'd read self-help books to honestly better themselves and contain the beast within and get the girl of their dreams, they run around war torn areas in flip-flops and deliver millions of babies while bullets fly, they let other dudes constantly hurl them against things even though they're meant to be Russkie double agents, they dance and look confused and do the willy tuck. They're not afraid to play roles that are usually assigned to women.

They are everything I like about men.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

My Cover!

Oh my God. So I comes onto Amazon today and what do I see? Only the cover of my fracking book.

Et voila:

How bloody gorgeous is that??? Her lips are like a big giant slippery cherry! The title looks ace! It's like those gorgeous looking Baileys ads. No chance of her not looking like all of the heroines in it. No chance of him not looking like Brandon Routh/Matthew Macfadyen/Alex O'Loughlin and instead looking some awful thug or weirdo.

Thank God, thank God.

Also- it's totally not what I ever expected my first cover to be like, back when I was considering submitting to Cronk-E Publishing. I thought my first cover would be giant manboobs accosting some bound and gagged woman. Done in crayola.

But this! It's red! It's sexy! It may not be a sexy man on the cover but seriously, with Black Lace, I don't mind as much. At least their covers are always beautiful and alluring. Which I think this is.

The only thing I wasn't sure about was the strapline. Pleasure with a perfect stranger? I mean, there are probably going to be liaisons with strangers in the stories, but even so...not quite what I hoped for. Even though I could never do better. And as hubbie pointed out- perhaps it means you. You know, I'm the perfect stranger. I like that idea.

Finally- thank God Adam suggested using that for a title. I absolutely adore it. It sums up so many of my stories so well. God bless you, Adam Nevill.

So. What do you guys think, if you're out there, listening? Too red? Too much lady on the cover? And what were your greatest triumphs and troubles with regards to covers? What covers stick in your mind?

Monday, February 23, 2009

Man Candy Monday: Scott Cohen

Okay, yeah. He's kind of old now and hasn't worked in anything good in years.

But once, he looked like this:

Once he was Wolf in The 10th Kingdom, and embodied all my fantasies about a man, ever. His bubbling rough lovely passion and excitement. His boyishness lined with that sly knowledge, that mystery in him. His gorgeous skin and his green eyes and his black black abundant hair. Those tight breeches. His utter funniness and sudden sarcasm, just lurking beneath that deceptively immature seeming exterior. His stubble like rough fur.

The fact that he's a werewolf, but never turns completely gnarly. I mean, I don't care what erotic romancelandia says. I don't actually want to sleep with a giant slobbering dog.

I just want to sleep with Wolf. Always and forever, amen.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Man Candy Monday: Nathan Fillion

For my first Man Candy Monday, I was going to go in order of my list. You know the one I'm talking about, ladeez. Your All Time Top Ten Hot List.

But instead I'm going with who I'm macking on at the moment. And he's eminently worth macking on. He's so handsome and funny and awesome, that it hurts your heart and groin to look at him. I mean, just look at that picture. Look how amiable and casual he is in his gorgeousness. He's so casual that he could just fall right into being your husband. Your naked husband. Your constantly naked husband who stops you taking showers, because he can clean you just fine with his tongue.

But don't just take my word for his awesomeness. Someone else with a far better blog than mine said the following when they discovered that Fillion had been photoshopped:

"In fact, I am fairly certain that was one of the original Ten Commandments: When thine Canadian Nathan Fillion appears unto you, thou shalt not ruin his prettiness with thine erase tool."

Bitch, you know it, says I.

Though I wish Nathan Fillion would appear unto me. I am thy Lord God, Nathan Fillion. Appear unto me and thou shalt be undressed. Lo, I didst write a paean unto thee on my Myspace page. Wouldst thou read it?

Oh, Nathan Fillion.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Men: Part One

Okay, so here is my first of many parts on men. And their many parts.

I love men. I love men to the length and breadth and depth of the ocean. I love their bits and bobs, I love their hair, I love their willies. I find it hard to write girl on girl scenes, not because I don’t find them sexy (in fact, I abhor those women who hate lesbian scenes because girl parts are disgusting), but just because I find men sexier.

Men are sexy. Which should maybe go without saying, but then there are a lot of people out there who seem to think men aren't sexy at all. Who wants to see ugly gnarly men, they cry, when you could see beautiful soft women? As though men are giant rocks covered in mould that live under bridges.

And all right. I can understand why certain parties could think that men are gnarly. They are probably straight men, and they likely watch a lot of porn. In which men are often gnarly.

But oh, men can be so lovely. Don't just take my word for it. Check it out:

I mean, what's nicer than that? I just can't help objectifying. I know it's naughty, but I'm staring right down at that arse, right now, with a feather duster right in my hand. And sure, I know it should be a riding crop. But sue me- I like to switch things up a bit.

In all seriousness, though. You know what I like about that pic? Not the fact that he's bound and blindfolded and I get to be the big bad stare-y person staring down at him. I like that curve. That delicious, animalistic curve right before his glorious bee-hind. So steep you could take off down it. Like a little hidden valley, just waiting for someone's tongue. Nom.

And then there's exhibit B, in why men (and men's body's, specifically) are sexy:

This one's fairly self-explanatory, I feel. Look at that little *tock* to his hips. Men can do that! And then there's all those wrinkles and dips and twists all over his arms and shoulders, as though men's bodies can say stuff. They can talk! Look, I'm tense! Maybe I'm flexing for you- who knows? Also, my buttocks are really, really nice. You like 'em all big and round, don't you, Charlotte. Check me flexing mah booty.

Mm. Yes I did. And now exhibit C:

Oh, what. Yeah, I'm going too far with mah newfound objectifying skillz. But dammit, he made me! Yeah, soap that car. Now put some of the water on your titties, you bad girl.

This is fun.

Exhibit D:

Now this one. This one. Oh, I like this one. I like it for many of the reasons I like exhibit C. Because you know what? He kind of looks like a girl.

Now I know what you're thinking, Bertha. You're thinking- but Charlotte! This blog is meant to be about how hot men are! And it is. Men are hot. But they're even hotter when they're in poses traditionally occupied by women. You know- the hot chick soaping her car (even though it's usually men who wash their ailing Ford Fiestas), the babe waiting for you to come to bed.

Well I want some menfolk waiting for me to come to bed. I want the above guy, sort of coyly peeling back the covers before I come to show him what's what.

I like men in traditionally female poses.

Which then leads me from general, into specifics. Because although I like looking at these examples of fine manhoodliness, I prefer specific men. I like characters. I like my bodies to have faces and personalities. I like Ryan Reynolds in a bathtub in that Amityville remake:

I wish this image did the scene justice. I do. Because I tell you what, I'd never seen anything like it before in a Hollywood movie. See my post on digital erosion for more information as to why I dug this so hard.

I dug it because men don't take baths, and they don't soap their cars, and they don't run away from the killer with their butt cheeks jiggling, and they don't turn around in the locker room showers with just a towel clinging to them when they hear a spooky noise, and they don't bend over just as the camera is in the way...

But I kind of want them to. And not because I really want to ogle (Bertha: HA!), but because it's so...different. I want men to not have to worry about being so macho all the time. I want that little tweak, that little slip of newness. Something upside down and inside out.

And I want specifics.

Next Part: Specific men, and why they are awesome. And a bit upside down and inside out.